Modern Christianity often treats “niceness” as its highest virtue and “offending” as its worst. The American church is far too often shaped by this creed. Yet the Gospels paint a far different picture of Jesus. He was loving, compassionate, and merciful, yes — but He was also unapologetically offensive when truth required it. When we avoid speaking hard truths for the sake of being liked or preserving a shallow sense of “peace,” we slip into spiritual complacency, apathy, and lukewarmness — all things Jesus rebuked.Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy.The American church has developed an aversion to tackling tough cultural issues that are, at their core, purely biblical. Pastors often retreat in fear of angry emails, pushback from congregants, or worse, the loss of Sunday pew-warmers. Last year, in my home state of South Dakota, an amendment allowing abortion up to nine months was on the ballot. A pastor of one of the state’s largest churches refused to address it, worried about being labeled the “abortion church.” He chose the path of cowardice instead of defending the innocent unborn. At its core, this kind of timidity is rooted in the fear of man, disguised as a desire to “attract” people to the gospel. Numbers are prioritized over hearts, popularity over true discipleship.What most pastors try so hard to avoid today, Jesus hit head on. Jesus offended — and offended often. His offense was never petty but was always purposeful. He never once flinched from boldly proclaiming truth because it might “offend” someone or ruffle feathers. Quite the opposite, in fact.Jesus set the example: Truth will offend The Pharisees were Jewish religious leaders of Jesus’ day, esteemed by many and considered high-class elites. But Jesus didn’t care how lofty and noble these men appeared to be — He saw straight through their transgressing hearts, calling them offensive names like “hypocrites,” “blind fools,” “brood of vipers,” “serpents,” “children of hell,” “whitewashed tombs,” and “greedy and self-indulgent.” Naturally they were offended. In Matthew 15:1-12 and Matthew 23, the disciples pulled Jesus aside after He offended the Pharisees by exposing their spiritual corruption. Jesus told these perceived religious zealots they honor God with their lips, but their hearts are far from Him. The disciples questioned, “Do you know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard this saying?” (Matthew 15:12). Jesus’ backbone, as stiff as steel, responded, “Let them alone; they are blind guides” (Matthew 15:14). He didn’t have any time for nonsense. Jesus didn’t just offend the Pharisees with truth; He offended His disciples too. RELATED: The era of Christian loserdom is over Christ driving money-changers from the Temple (Fine Art Images/Heritage Images via Getty Images)In John 6, the disciples took offense at Jesus’ teaching on the bread of life. He challenged their religious assumptions and expectations about the Messiah as He proclaimed, “I am the living bread” (John 6:51), and symbolically called them to “eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood” (John 6:53).Their offense shows their difficulty understanding the spiritual truths that transcended human understanding. Jesus offends repeatedly all throughout the Gospel stories. When He claims He existed before Abraham as John 8:56-59 says, the Jewish leaders interpreted His teaching as blasphemy, which led them to try to stone Him. When one of the Pharisees invites Him to dinner in Luke 11:37-54, instead of a surface-level conversation about the weather, Jesus didn't waste time and immediately unmasked their hypocrisy, legalism, and spiritual emptiness. In response, they began plotting against Jesus — not repenting and humbling themselves. Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy. He offended religious leaders, political authorities, and even His own followers when they opposed the kingdom of God. His love was inseparable from honesty. If we claim to follow Him, we cannot avoid offending people. Jesus reminds us in the Gospel of John that if the world hates us to remember it hated Him first. Faithful discipleship means being willing to confront lies, challenge sin, and speak truth, even when it divides, disrupts, or costs us something — or everything.Courageous truth-telling is a biblical virtueThe modern church often elevates “niceness” above righteousness and holiness. But Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice — He was crucified because He spoke truth that offended people even though a week before they spread cloaks and branches, shouting "Hosanna" as He entered Jerusalem. I recently read through the Gospels, noticing the countless times Jesus “offended” but for good reason. He never offended for the sake of it — but always because it was the outcome of teaching truth with conviction. In Jesus’ hometown, people were both astonished and “offended” when Jesus taught in their synagogue as Matthew 13:54-57 recounts. Their familiarity led to their unbelief, and Jesus exposed the depth of their spiritual blindness. The people of Nazareth then tried to throw Jesus off a cliff. They were first impressed but then violently offended (Luke 4:16-30).'Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.'Imagine congregants trying to throw a modern-day pastor off a cliff because he was too bold? Oh, to have more courageous pastors who righteously offend. Many would cower to the crowds or be taken to the side by their elder board demanding they tone it down, but not Jesus; He continued preaching truth at all costs. Even up to His crucifixion and death on the cross, Jesus didn’t try to appease or reason with the people. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t use caveats. He was mission-focused on preaching the gospel that saves and leads to repentance. Not once did He try to people-please at the price of watering down sound doctrine. Niceness avoids conflict, clarity, and offense — but Jesus didn’t. He embodied compassion and mercy, yet He also spoke hard, confrontational truths when necessary. True Christlikeness means loving people enough to tell them what they need to hear — not what keeps us comfortable or well-liked. Jesus didn’t offend to be cruel or to win an argument; He offended to reveal truth, to expose bondage, to free hearts, and to reveal God’s kingdom. His offense was holy, rooted in love, and aimed at transforming hearts and minds.Fear of offending has paralyzed the churchA.W. Tozer wisely said, "Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.”Many American pastors avoid addressing culturally explosive but biblically clear issues because they don’t want to offend. This silence stems from the fear of man — fear of losing members, donations, reputation, and influence. The result is lukewarm churches that prioritize optics over obedience. Nothing is “wrong” with the church, but nothing is “right” with it either. People aren’t leaving convicted or repentant. They’re leaving feeling pretty good about themselves as they wallow in complacency. Why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death.No boats have been rocked, no hearts have been transformed, and no one has been truly discipled. But the apostle Paul in Galatians 1:10 makes clear: “If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” You can only serve one master: God or the world.When leaders refuse to speak on matters like abortion, sexuality, or sin because they might upset people, they are choosing self-preservation over faithfulness. “If there is a decay of conscience, the pulpit is responsible for it. If the church is degenerate and worldly, the pulpit is responsible for it,” declared Charles Finney, a minister and leader during the Second Great Awakening. Speaking truth in love: The cost of radical discipleshipJohn the Baptist offended people when he called them to repentance, criticized Herod for committing adultery, and condemned religious hypocrisy. He lost his head as a result. Paul offended people by preaching the Christ crucified and calling out legalism and man-made traditions. He was decapitated because of it. Elijah offended King Ahab and the prophets of Baal by confronting idolatry. Jezebel threatened to kill him. Amos offended the Israelites in the Northern Kingdom when he spoke out against wealth, corruption, and injustice in Israel. He faced rejection and threats. These were all offenses they were willing to make because they lived for an audience of one. So why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death. Christian Nigerians right now are being slaughtered for their faith by the thousands, yet they continue gathering in droves to worship their King. Meanwhile American churches are sitting on the sidelines too worried about offending people to speak truth, rather than taking up our cross and truly following Christ.As believers, we must be strong and courageous, with a truth-telling edge. We should not be harsh or abrasive but rather love people enough to say what’s hard. If Jesus’ ministry provoked offense for the sake of truth, perhaps ours should too.

I don’t often argue with internet trends. Most of them exhaust themselves before they deserve the attention. But a certain kind of AI-generated nostalgia video has become too pervasive — and too seductive — to ignore.You’ve seen them. Soft-focus fragments of the 1970s and 1980s. Kids on bikes at dusk. Station wagons. Camaros. Shopping malls glowing gently from within. Fake wood paneling! Cathode ray tubes! Rotary phones! A past rendered as calm, legible, and safe. The message hums beneath the imagery: Wouldn’t it be nice to go back?Human nostalgia, as opposed to the AI-generated kind, eventually runs aground on grief, embarrassment, and the recognition that the past demanded something from us and took something in return. Eh ... not really, no. But I understand the appeal because, on certain exhausting days, it works on me too — just enough to make the present feel a little heavier by comparison.And I don’t like it. Not at all. And not because I’m hostile to memory.I was there, 3,000 years agoI was born in 1971. I lived in that world. I remember it pretty well.How well? One of my earliest, most vivid memories of television is not a cartoon or a sitcom. No, I’m a weirdo. It is the Senate Watergate hearings in 1973, broadcast on PBS in black and white. I was 2 years old.I didn’t understand the words, but I sort of grasped the tone. The seriousness. The tension. The sense that something grave was unfolding in full view of the world. Even as a toddler, I vaguely understood that it mattered. The adults in ties and horn-rimmed glasses were yelling at each other. Somebody was in trouble. Before I knew anything at all, I knew: This was serious stuff.A little later, I remember gas lines. Long ones. Cars waiting for hours on an even or odd day while enterprising teenagers sold lemonade. It felt ordinary at the time, probably because I hadn’t the slightest idea what “ordinary” meant. Only later did it reveal itself as an early lesson in scarcity and frustration.The past did not hum along effortlessly. Sometimes — often — it stalled.Freedom wasn’t safetyI remember my parents watching election returns in 1976 on network television. I was bored to tears — literally — but I remember my father’s disappointment when Gerald Ford lost to Jimmy Carter. And mind you, Ford was terrible.This was not some cozy TV ritual. It was a loss of some kind, plainly felt. Big, important institutions did not project confidence. They produced arguments, resentment, and unease. It wasn’t long before people were talking seriously about an “era of limits.” All I knew was Dad and Mom were worried.I remember a summer birthday party in the early 1980s at a classmate’s house. It was hot, but she had an awesome pool. I also remember my lungs ached. That day, Southern California was under a first-stage smog alert. The air itself was hazardous. The past did not smell like nostalgia. It smelled like exhaust with lead and cigarette smoke.I don’t miss that. Not even a little bit.Yes, I remember riding bikes through neighborhoods with friends. I remember disappearing for entire days. I remember my parents calling my name when the streetlights came on. I remember spending long stretches at neighbors’ houses without supervision. I remember watching old movies on Saturdays with my pal Jimmy. I remember Tom Hatten. I remember listening to KISS and Genesis and Black Sabbath. That freedom existed. It mattered. It was fun. But it lived alongside fear, not in its absence.Innocence collides with realityI don’t remember the Adam Walsh murder specifically, but I very much remember the network television movie it inspired in 1983. That moment changed American childhood in ways people still underestimate. It sure scared the hell out of me. Innocence didn’t drift into supervision — it collided with horror. Helicopter parenting did not emerge from neurosis. It emerged from bona fide terror.And before all of that, my first encounter with death arrived without explanation. A cousin of mine died in 1977. She was 16 years old, riding on the back of a motorcycle with a man 11 years her senior. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. The funeral was closed casket. I was too young to know all the details. Almost 50 years on, I don’t want to know. The age difference alone suggests things the adults in my life chose not to discuss.Silence was how they handled it. Silence was not ignorance — it was restraint.RELATED: 1980s-inspired AI companion promises to watch and interrupt you: ‘You can see me? That’s so cool’ seamartini via iStock/Getty ImagesMemory is not withdrawalThis is what the warm and fuzzy AI nostalgia videos cannot possibly show. They have no room for recklessness that ends in funerals, or for freedom that edges into life-threatening danger, or for adults who withhold truth because telling it would damage rather than protect.What we often recall as freedom often presented itself as recklessness ... or worse.None of this negates the goodness of those years. I’m grateful for when I came of age. I don’t resent my childhood at all. It formed me. It taught me how fragile stability is and how much of adulthood consists of absorbing uncertainty without dissolving into it.That’s precisely why I reject the invitation to go back.The new AI nostalgia doesn’t ask us to remember. In reality, it wants us to withdraw. It offers a sweet lullaby for the nervous system. It replaces the true cost of living with the comfort of atmosphere and a cool soundtrack. It edits out the smog, the scarcity, the fear, the crime, and the death, leaving only a vibe shaped like memory.Here’s a gentler hallucination, it says. Stay awhile.The cost of living, then and nowThe problem, then, isn’t sentiment. The problem is abdication.So the temptation today isn’t to recover what was seemingly lost but rather to anesthetize an uncertain present. Those Instagram Reels don’t draw their power from people who remember that era clearly but from people who feel exhausted, surveilled, indebted, and hemmed in right now — and are looking for proof that life once felt more human.RELATED: Late California LPETTET via iStock/Getty ImagesAnd who could blame them? Maybe it was more human. But not in the way people today would like to believe. Human experience has never been especially sweet or gentle.Human nostalgia, as opposed to the AI-generated kind, eventually runs aground on grief, embarrassment, and the recognition that the past demanded something from us and took something in return. Synthetic nostalgia can never reach that reckoning. It loops endlessly, frictionless and consequence-free.I don’t want a past without a bill attached. I already paid the thing. Sometimes I think I’m paying it still.A warningAI nostalgia videos promise relief without effort, feeling without action, memory without judgment.That may be comforting, but it isn’t healthy, and it isn’t right.Truth is, adulthood rightly understood does not consist of finding the softest place to lie down. It means carrying forward what we’ve lived through, even when it complicates our fantasies.Certain experiences were great the first time, Lord knows, but I don’t want to relive the 1970s or ’80s. I want to live now, alert to danger, capable of gratitude without illusion, willing to bear the weight of memory rather than dissolve into it.Nostalgia has its place. But don’t be seduced by sedation.Editor’s note: A version of this article appeared originally on Substack.

Washington rarely admits when policy has failed. But earlier this month, the White House stepped back from more than a decade of regulations that drove car prices to record highs, limited consumer choice, and tried to force an industry to move faster than technology, infrastructure, or American families could manage. With the unveiling of the Freedom Means Affordable Cars proposal, President Donald Trump and Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy signaled a dramatic shift in national auto policy — one aimed at making car ownership attainable again for millions priced out of the market.The Biden-Buttigieg standards were projected to generate $14 billion in compliance fines between 2027 and 2032, costs manufacturers said would be passed directly to buyers.The timing is critical. New vehicle prices topped $50,000 this fall, while average monthly payments approached $750. Families are keeping cars longer than ever, pushing the average age of the U.S. fleet to record levels. As Washington pushed electric vehicles, consumers pushed back: EV demand stalled, rejection rates soared, and buyers continued to favor affordable gas and hybrid vehicles. That tension has been building for years, and the December 3 announcement marked the most direct challenge yet to the regulatory regime behind it.Trump’s proposal resets National Highway Traffic Safety Administration fuel-economy rules, reversing Biden-era targets that aimed to push the fleet toward roughly 50 mpg. Closing the 'back door'Under the new plan, Corporate Average Fuel Economy standards return to 34.5 mpg — levels last seen in the late 2000s — with future increases scaled back to what Congress originally envisioned. The administration projects up to $109 billion in savings over five years and roughly $1,000 off the average new car. Whether those figures hold, the philosophical shift is clear: ending what the White House calls a backdoor EV mandate.For years, automakers warned privately that the prior rules forced them to build vehicles customers didn’t want simply to avoid massive penalties. The Biden-Buttigieg standards were projected to generate $14 billion in compliance fines between 2027 and 2032, costs manufacturers said would be passed directly to buyers. Aligning federal rules with California’s stricter standards further nudged companies toward EVs even as demand weakened. CAFE was never meant to reshape the marketplace — but that is how it was being used.The consequences were stark. Billions were poured into EV-charging initiatives with little to show for it; $5 trillion was allocated, yet only 11 stations were built nationwide. California faced rolling blackouts with EVs still just 2.3% of vehicles on the road. Experts warned that even 10% EV adoption would strain the grid under current infrastructure. Meanwhile buyers who didn’t want EVs — still the majority — faced fewer choices and higher prices.Attracting investmentThe Trump reset aims to reverse course. Automakers quickly announced new domestic investments. Stellantis committed $13 billion to expand U.S. manufacturing, including Jeep, Dodge, Ram, and Chrysler. Ford pledged $5 billion for American facilities, noting that 80% of its vehicles are already made domestically. General Motors announced $4 billion to bring production back from Mexico while retooling plants for broader consumer demand. Even the United Auto Workers offered support, citing increased U.S. jobs and domestic production.The plan also includes a tax change backed by the National Auto Dealers Association, allowing buyers to deduct interest on American-built vehicles. At a time when many families are locked out of the new-car market, the measure offers practical relief while encouraging domestic manufacturing.Less noticed — but equally important — was the Congressional Review Act action that eliminated California’s special emissions waivers. Signed in June 2025, those resolutions dismantled the structure that allowed California to dictate national vehicle policy, ending the EV mandate embedded in federal regulations and clearing the way for this shift.RELATED: Duffy threatens funding freeze for 3 states flouting English requirements for truck drivers Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy. Photographer: Eric Lee/Bloomberg via Getty ImagesNot far enough?Some analysts argue the rollback doesn’t go far enough. As long as CAFE exists — at any target — it remains vulnerable to political swings. They contend emissions should be regulated directly through the EPA, leaving the market to determine the mix of gas, hybrid, and electric vehicles. This view is gaining traction among critics who say CAFE no longer reflects consumer demand or technological reality.Even Republican Sen. Bernie Moreno of Ohio weighed in, calling the forced EV pivot “irrational policy” that benefits China. China controls roughly 80% of EV battery minerals and most related mining, while the U.S. holds the world’s largest proven oil reserves. Moreno’s argument is blunt: America weakened its own manufacturing base by adopting policies that played to China’s strengths.Sales data reinforces the point. EVs made up about 6% of new vehicle sales in November 2025, with rejection rates near 70% due to cost, charging gaps, range limits, insurance, and cold-weather performance. EVs still account for just 2.3% of vehicles on U.S. roads. The demand Washington expected never materialized.The new policy reflects those realities. It restores balance to an industry pushed into transformation without consumer support or infrastructure readiness. Automakers will still build EVs and hybrids and pursue new technologies — but consumers will decide the pace, not regulators.For the first time in years, drivers may again see affordability, variety, and genuine choice. Fuel-economy rules will remain contested, but the Freedom Means Affordable Cars plan marks the most significant shift in auto policy in over a decade.For millions of Americans priced out of the market, that change alone is long overdue.