I remember once standing in a kitchen so hot the walls were sweating. You know that kind of heat… the kind where even the devil himself would’ve asked for a fan. Orders were flying, pans crashing, voices barking. Somewhere between the smoke and the chaos, I noticed a cook who had been on the verge of quitting a dozen times that week. But when the fire was hottest, when the night was most brutal, he planted his feet, tightened his apron, and went to war for the team.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t polished. But it was hospitality.

Not the kind you wrap in Pinterest boards and scented candles. Not the kind that comes with a glass of sweet tea on the porch. This was the kind that fought so others could survive the night. Protection. Stability. A safe space in the middle of chaos.

And that’s the same flavor of hospitality we see in 2 Samuel 8.

David isn’t baking biscuits. He’s wielding swords. He isn’t inviting folks over for a warm stew. He’s clearing the battlefield so that when the dust settles, his people can eat, drink, worship, and raise their families in peace.

And as I sit here in the shadow of a nation spiraling out of control, in the wake of Charlie Kirk’s public murder, I can’t help but think: this is the kind of leadership, the kind of hospitality, that we’ve abandoned.

We usually picture hospitality as something soft: blankets, casseroles, handshakes at the church door. And don’t get me wrong, I love a casserole as much as the next big guy. But in 2 Samuel 8, hospitality is dressed in armor.

David defeats the Philistines, the Moabites, the Arameans, the Edomites, name a bad guy, and David probably had their sword hanging in his trophy room.

But here’s the twist: David doesn’t fight for the thrill of it. He fights so that the people of God can live in safety. Every strike of his sword, every conquest, is an act of hospitality. He’s building safe spaces not with bricks and doilies but with blood and borders. He’s making room for his people to heal, grow, and worship.

That’s hospitality. Protection as hospitality.

And let’s be honest, when we look at our government today, can we honestly say it’s doing the same? Is it shielding the people? Creating peace? Giving the family a place to breathe and grow? Or is it too busy bickering, dividing, and posturing while the people they’re called to serve suffer?

The role of government, at its core, is hospitality. To make space. To protect. To create stable ground where life can thrive. David understood this. We’ve forgotten it.

David didn’t just swing swords. Scripture says:

“David reigned over all Israel, doing what was just and right for all his people.”

— 2 Samuel 8:15

That means the widow, the orphan, the poor farmer, all had a shot at fairness under his rule. He didn’t just protect with might; he shepherded with equity.

Justice is hospitality.

Righteousness is hospitality.

It’s the quiet kind, the kind that doesn’t make headlines but makes homes. When the vulnerable aren’t overlooked. When people know they’ll be treated with dignity. That’s what makes a nation livable. That’s what makes families trust each other. That’s what makes churches thrive.

But look around today. Justice has been twisted into vengeance. Righteousness has been watered down into whatever “feels good.” The church, instead of standing as a beacon of God’s justice and righteousness, too often just parrots the world’s slogans or retreats into silence.

And let’s be real: I’m not shocked when the world does it. It’s sin nature, we don’t want to be ruled, we don’t want accountability, we don’t want anyone telling us what to do.

But when the church joins the chorus of rebellion? That’s when my jaw tightens. Because the church knows better, or at least it’s supposed to.

David didn’t hoard the gold and silver he won. Scripture says he dedicated it to the Lord (2 Samuel 8:11). Every victory was God’s, and David knew it.

That, too, is hospitality. Because hospitality isn’t just about keeping stuff for yourself; it’s about sharing the spoils. Dedicating wins back to the One who gave them. Spreading provision so others benefit.

But today? We’re a people who clutch what we’ve got with white knuckles, convinced it’s all ours. And it’s not just about money, it’s our time, our energy, our very lives. We’ve forgotten how to dedicate the spoils to God, and in turn, we’ve forgotten how to share them with each other.

Now here’s the ugly truth, the part that gets me in trouble at the potluck line: the moment we decided to kick God out of our government was the moment we began to rot from the inside.

It worked for Israel because their government was the Church. God’s word guided their policies. His justice was their law. His protection was their military might.

But America? We made it loud and clear, we didn’t want God’s fingerprints on our Constitution. Sure, we started on Christian principles, but eventually we shoved Him to the side and said, “Thanks for the blessings, Lord, but we’ll take it from here.”

And now look at us. A nation failing. Families collapsing. Churches fractured. We’ve traded God’s hospitality for our own cheap knockoff version.

But here’s the kicker: it’s not just Washington’s fault. It’s ours.

Because while we complain about government corruption, many of us have left God out of our family government. Fathers and mothers not leading with prayer or righteousness. Homes ruled by screens instead of Scripture. And worse still, many churches have left God out of their church government. Pastors tickling ears, leaders more concerned with branding than shepherding, congregations more entertained than sanctified.

If we’ve abandoned God in our families and churches, why are we surprised our nation is crumbling?

Here’s the truth that slices through all the noise:

We cannot function without the hospitality that comes from protection.

We cannot thrive without the hospitality of justice and righteousness.

We cannot grow without the hospitality of sharing in the spoils of God’s victories.

And all of that happens only when God is at the center of our government, our national government, our family government, and our church government.

Without Him, we’re just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. With Him, we have safety, justice, provision, and peace.

David swung swords. We don’t. At least not the kind forged in fire and sharpened on steel. His battlefield was filled with clashing armor and the sound of steel on bone.

Ours is different, it’s the conversations at the dinner table, the words we dare (or don’t dare) to speak in the workplace, the truths we proclaim (or swallow) in a culture that loves comfort more than conviction.

David fought with swords for protection, but our weapons today are words and hearts.

And let’s be honest, sometimes wielding words in a world like this feels more dangerous than carrying a blade. Say the wrong thing and you’ll be canceled; as we saw on 9/10/2025 its gone to a new level.

 Stand on Scripture and you’ll be called hateful. Speak truth and you’ll find yourself exiled by both the world and, sadly, sometimes even the church.

But if David had dropped his sword, Israel would have been overrun. If we drop our words, our silence will do the same. Evil doesn’t need our agreement, it only needs our silence.

We see this clearly in the Scriptures:

Hebrews 4:12 – “For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword.”

Ephesians 6:17 – “Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”

Jeremiah 23:29 – “Is not my word like fire, declares the Lord, and like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces?”

The Word of God is a sword sharper than any blade David carried. It cuts, yes, but it also heals. It divides, yes, but it also saves. And if we’re too timid to unsheathe it, then what good are we as soldiers in His Kingdom?

David’s sword cleared battlefields. Our words can clear hearts. His victories made a nation safe. Our courage can make space for souls to find salvation. But only if we stop being afraid.

So let’s speak His truth. Unafraid. Unashamed. With hearts burning and words anchored in Scripture. Because if we don’t, the world will gladly fill the silence.

And when it does, don’t be surprised if you wake up one day and realize the enemy’s already inside the gates.

So here’s the rally cry: put God back in the government and our lives.

Not just in Washington, but in your living room. Not just in your Constitution, but in your church constitution. Not just in your politics, but in your prayers.

David shows us in 2 Samuel 8 that hospitality isn’t just casseroles and hugs. It’s armor. It’s justice. It’s spoils dedicated to the Lord.

David had his sword, and he wasn’t afraid to use it for the protection of God’s people. We may not carry steel, but we’ve been given something sharper, the sword of truth.

And if we’re too afraid to lift our voices and wield the Word of God, then we’re already handing ground over to the enemy without a fight.

So I ask you:

Do you want the Lords hospitality?

Do you want to be able to share that hospitality?

Are you willing to submit?

Are you ready to let His government rule your nation, your family, your church, and your very life?

Are you ready to speak His truth with courage, to stand unashamed with Scripture in your mouth and conviction in your heart?

Or will we keep pretending we can run the show, hiding our words, softening His commands, even as the whole thing burns down around us?

Because the truth is this: hospitality without God isn’t hospitality at all. It’s just survival dressed up with a smile.

But when we submit to His rule and speak His truth, hospitality becomes the safe space our souls were made for, the peace, the justice, the provision, the shelter that only the King of Kings can provide.

And I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to pick up the sword of truth, open my mouth without fear, and live in that Kingdom.

Stay Salty.