Faith in Focus #15
A reflection from Connection Church and other spiritual events from the week
First, I want to apologize that there was no post last week. A bout of illness sidelined both my writing schedule and, if I’m honest, my motivation. Sitting down to produce Issue No. 15 last week simply wasn’t possible. Stepping away to recover was necessary, but not easy.
Faith in Focus is a weekly reflection on what God has been teaching me throughout the week regarding my faith. Whether it’s personal interactions, reading, or the Sunday sermon, God speaks through it all, and I hope this helps you focus on His mission.
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Sermon Reflection: The Anti-Karen Apostle: Why Paul Refused His Rights for the Gospel
Based on the sermon by Jonathan Land, Connection Church Sioux Falls, February 15, 2026.
In 1 Corinthians 9:1–23, Paul makes a startling claim. Christians have real rights, yet love sometimes compels us not to use them. What if true freedom isn’t insisting on what’s ours, but surrendering it for the sake of eternity?
We know the stereotype. The viral clip. The raised voice demanding a manager because “I have rights.”
Jonathan began the sermon with that familiar caricature, the “Karen”, not to mock, but to surface a question we rarely ask. What does a Christian do with their rights?
The passage before us, 1 Corinthians 9:1–23, sits in the middle of Paul’s longer argument that began in chapter 8. There, he urged believers to limit their liberty for the sake of weaker consciences. Now, in chapter 9, Paul turns the spotlight on himself. If anyone had rights, it was him. And yet, he chose not to use them.
The World Behind the Text
Corinth was a Roman colony obsessed with status, patronage, and public recognition. Traveling teachers and philosophers often expected financial support. Compensation signaled credibility. Refusing payment could look suspicious or foolish.
Paul insists he has every right to material support as an apostle:
“Who serves as a soldier at his own expense?” (1 Cor. 9:7, ESV)
He appeals to common sense, to the Law of Moses, and to temple practice. Even Jesus affirmed that “the laborer deserves his wages” (cf. Luke 10:7). In other words, Paul is not anti-rights. He defends them robustly.
But then comes the turn:
“Nevertheless we have not used this power; but suffer all things, lest we should hinder the gospel of Christ.” (1 Cor. 9:12, KJV)
The word translated “hinder” carries the sense of erecting an obstacle, like a barricade in the road. In a city suspicious of itinerant speakers and accustomed to religious charlatans, Paul refuses financial support so no one can accuse him of preaching for profit. That is profoundly countercultural.
Walking the Passage
James centered the sermon on verse 31 because it supplies the theological spine of the passage. If the world’s current form is fading, then wisdom looks different.
Contentment, Paul implies, cannot be rooted in circumstances that change. Marriage changes. Seasons change. Desires change. Even our best-laid plans eventually loosen their grip.
James connected this truth to the wider witness of Scripture. James 1:2–3 calls believers to “count it all joy” when trials come. Not because suffering is good, but because God uses it to form something enduring. Likewise, Colossians 3:2 urges believers to set their minds “on things above, not on earthly things.”
Contentment, then, is not achieved by fixing everything that feels unfinished in our lives. It is found by anchoring ourselves to someone who does not move. Paul is not commanding emotional detachment from life. He is calling for spiritual clarity about what deserves our ultimate devotion.
A Fair Counter-Reading
We should pause here. Is Paul establishing a universal command that pastors must refuse pay? Or that Christians should never assert their rights?
No.
Elsewhere, Paul defends the legitimacy of compensation for ministry (1 Tim. 5:17–18). In fact, in other contexts he receives support (Phil. 4:14–18). His point is not that rights are wrong, but that rights are subordinate to love.
We must also be trauma-aware in application. Some Christians have been taught to suppress boundaries in unhealthy or abusive contexts “for the Gospel.” That is not Paul’s argument. He is voluntarily relinquishing rights for mission, not enabling harm or injustice. Christian surrender is never coercion. Paul’s model assumes agency, wisdom, and love, not self-erasure.
The Turn
If Paul is the anti-Karen apostle, Jesus is the anti-Karen King.
Paul’s ethic echoes the deeper pattern of Christ Himself. Though equal with God, Jesus “took the form of a servant” (Phil. 2:7, ESV). The eternal Son did not cling to divine privilege. He entered our world as an infant, dependent, vulnerable, needing His diaper changed.
Throughout His ministry, He refused to leverage power for self-protection. He did not call down angels in Gethsemane. He endured injustice before Pilate. He absorbed shame at the cross. Not because He lacked rights. But because love demanded redemption.
In the language of the historic creeds, the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed, Christ is “true God from true God,” and yet He “for us and for our salvation came down from heaven.”
That is the pattern.
Gospel → Community → Mission.
The Gospel: Christ relinquished His rights to save us.
Community: We mirror that humility toward one another.
Mission: We lay down preferences so others can see Jesus clearly.
Paul’s climactic line makes it plain:
“I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessing.” (1 Cor. 9:23, ESV)
All things. Not some. All.
If following Christ never costs us anything, comfort, pride, time, money, reputation, have we truly centered our lives on Him?
Rights are real. The world understands that. But the world does not understand surrender.
Song of the week: The Love I Have For You - Colton Dixon
I’ve had a deep appreciation for Colton Dixon ever since I watched him take the stage at Lifelight in September 2023. What could have been a forgettable night quickly became a defining one. Early in his set, a technical malfunction forced his entire band offstage. The momentum stalled. The energy dipped. For a moment, it seemed as though the show might simply end there. Instead of walking off, Dixon stayed. Alone with his keyboard, he stripped the production back and delivered an intimate, impromptu set that turned a logistical setback into a powerful moment of worship. It was raw, unpolished and, in many ways, more impactful than a flawless performance could have been.
That same sincerity is evident in this particular song, where Dixon anchors his message in one of Scripture’s most enduring promises: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” The lyrics echo that assurance with striking clarity: “You told me once, you told me twice, you’ll say it again a thousand times. With the love I have for you, ain’t a mountain you can’t move, in the dark I’ll be the light, in the fight I’m by your side.”
Rather than offering vague inspiration, the song directly confronts the fear many believers quietly wrestle with. The idea that they may have gone too far, failed too often, or strayed too much to still be loved by God. Dixon’s chorus pushes back against that doubt, emphasizing a love that does not waver with circumstance or human weakness. In a culture quick to measure worth by performance and perfection, the reminder is countercultural. God’s love is not conditional. It is persistent. It is patient. It is present.
For anyone feeling distant, discouraged or unseen, this song serves less as entertainment and more as reassurance. The promise remains unchanged, no failure is final, no valley too deep, no darkness too thick for a love that refuses to let go.
Carry It Into the Week
So what does this look like in 2026?
It might mean:
Choosing patience over public outrage.
Refusing to win an argument so you can win a hearing.
Limiting a freedom if it confuses or wounds a weaker conscience.
Serving in obscurity with no recognition.
Enduring inconvenience because eternity outweighs preference.
This is not performative humility. It is Gospel calculus.
When Christ becomes your gravitational center, the math changes. Eternity outweighs entitlement. Love outruns liberty. And in that reordering, freedom deepens, not diminishes.
Because the freest person in the world is not the one who demands every right, but the one who is so secure in Christ that he can lay them down.
Week in Reflection
For those of us who thrive on routine, disruption can feel disproportionately heavy. Over the past week, I’ve been working to reestablish normal rhythms. The lapse affected more than just publishing. My reading plan, both personal and devotional, fell a full week behind. What is typically life-giving began to feel daunting, even burdensome. Catching up loomed larger than the reading itself. But in that tension came a needed reminder. Nowhere in Scripture does it say that finishing a “Bible in a Year” plan or never missing a daily devotion secures eternity. Those disciplines are deeply valuable. They anchor me in the Word and cultivate consistency. Yet salvation was never dependent on my streak counter. According to the gospel, Jesus has already accomplished what I could not. My role is not to achieve but to believe and to follow.
It’s a subtle but important distinction. Spiritual habits are tools of formation, not measures of worthiness. When they become metrics for self-evaluation, they quietly shift from grace to performance. If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by busyness or discouraged that you’re “not in the Word enough”, you’re not alone. The very desire to be present with God is evidence of the Spirit’s work. That longing matters. What doesn’t help is allowing guilt to crowd out grace.
Faith is not sustained by flawless consistency but by a faithful Savior.
Illness, unexpected seasons, and disrupted schedules will come. They do not disqualify us. Over time, the hope is that our desire for time with God continues to deepen, not out of obligation, but out of love. And when life interrupts our routines, we can trust that God is not keeping score. He provides the time in due season. We are called to provide the belief.
And remember, God loves you, and so do I.
