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When Naomi Tutu spoke at the January Series on January 19, she didn’t offer a list of policies to adopt or statements to sign. Instead, she told stories that quietly challenged the church to think about how we live our faith when no one is applauding, when the moment feels tense, or when fear would be the easier response.
That approach feels especially fitting for congregations asking a very practical question: What does faithfulness look like in a world marked by injustice, polarization, and fatigue?
One of the stories Tutu shared was about Martin Luther King Jr., riding late at night with his brother-in-law. An oncoming car refused to dim its headlights. When frustration rose, Dr. King calmly insisted, “Dim your lights. We need someone on this road who can see, even if it isn’t you.”
Tutu lingered on that moment, not because it was dramatic, but because it revealed something essential. Dr. King refused to dehumanize the other driver, even when the situation was dangerous. He chose to care about the shared road rather than “winning” the moment.
For churches, this is a grounding place to begin: faithfulness often shows up not in big declarations, but in how we speak, listen, and act in everyday encounters. How can we orient ourselves to see the humanity in all the human beings we meet today?
Try this:
Growing up under apartheid, Tutu experienced state violence firsthand. In one story, she recalled being stopped at a military roadblock. Faced with a frightened young soldier searching her car, she initially felt anger. Then she made a conscious choice: She began talking to him as a human being.
Nothing about apartheid changed in that moment. But for a few minutes, two people saw each other not as enemies, but as fellow bearers of God’s image. It wasn't a magical solution - she has no idea what happened to the soldier after that encounter; she didn't end the Apartheid regime - but it was nonetheless a courageous act of resistance against a social system that tries to teach us to ignore the image of God in every human being.
This story resonated because it avoids sentimentality. Seeing God in others does not mean excusing injustice. It means refusing to let injustice strip away our own humanity.
Try this:
Tutu emphasized that the stories that shape her heroes are not their famous moments, but the choices they made “when no one is watching.” Not everyone will lead a movement or win global recognition. Still, every Christian can choose courage in their own place: standing up for a neighbor, speaking against hateful language, refusing to let fear dictate behavior.
For churches feeling overwhelmed: This reframes faithfulness as possible, not heroic.
Try this:
Tutu spoke candidly about grief, fear, and the temptation to retreat from a painful world. Hope, she suggested, is not naive optimism—it’s something we practice for one another.
That may be one of the church’s most practical callings right now: to be communities where people can be honest about despair without being left there.
Try this:
Tutu closed with a simple conviction that feels especially actionable for the church: How we walk through the world makes a statement about the world we want.
For congregations wondering where to begin, the invitation is clear: start small, stay human, and practice courage, trusting that God is at work even in the quiet, unseen choices.
Biblical Justice, Church Renewal
Biblical Justice
Biblical Justice
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