There’s a danger in being admired. At first glance, it seems like the best thing that could happen to churches, full of believers, respected, and leaders with influence. But when Christianity becomes popular, it often loses the very thing that makes it powerful.

Jesus warned of this when He said,

“Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! for so did their fathers to the false prophets.”

Popularity can be a trap. It lulls us into thinking we are strong when, in reality, we may be drifting far from the source of our strength.

When faith becomes fashionable, the fruit of grace begins to dry up. We start to compete instead of caring. We criticize instead of comfort. We divide instead of unite. And, without realizing it, we trade spiritual power for political power. We run after image and influence, forgetting that the Kingdom of God does not come by might or majority, but by the Spirit of the Lord.

And here’s the deeper issue: we forget grace.

We forget that the Christian life is not about us performing for God but about Christ living His life in us. We forget that we are already accepted, already loved, already righteous in Him. And when we forget, we scramble to prove ourselves. We polish our image. We compare our ministries. We judge the fallen because their weakness threatens the illusion of our strength.

But when church becomes about image, it’s because we’ve lost sight of identity. The gospel doesn’t call us to climb higher. It calls us to rest in what Christ has already done. We don’t earn His favor. We already have it. We don’t strive for His presence. He already dwells in us. That’s the miracle Paul called “Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

This is why the persecuted church so often shines brighter. Stripped of comfort, stripped of applause, stripped of power, they lean only on Christ. And in that weakness, His life becomes their strength. Where the popular church tries to impress, the persecuted church simply rests. Where the popular church hides its wounds, the persecuted church clings to grace. And what looks weak in the world’s eyes becomes unshakable in God’s.

So how do we, in a comfortable culture, recover the raw power of the gospel?

Put people before polish. The early believers didn’t draw crowds with slick programs. They loved their neighbors. They shared meals. They gave to anyone who had need. People mattered more than presentation.

Trade politics for prayer. Political kingdoms rise and fall, but God’s Kingdom is eternal. Revival has never started with ballots. It has always begun on our knees.

Lead with honesty. If church feels like a stage where everyone wears a mask, grace will never feel real. Leaders and members alike must be willing to say, “I’m broken, but Christ is enough.” That kind of honesty makes room for healing.

Make smaller circles. Life-change happens in living rooms, not auditoriums. In circles where people are known, where prayers are spoken over tears, where no one is invisible.

Treat the fallen like family, not failures. The measure of grace in a church is how it responds when someone stumbles. The gospel says restore, not reject. Mercy doesn’t excuse sin, but it never withholds love.

Keep the cross at the center. The cross is not only where we began—it’s how we live. It reminds us daily that life is not about our striving but His sacrifice. It keeps us humble, grateful, and centered in grace.

Friends, this isn’t about trying harder to fix the church. It’s about returning to the truth of the gospel. We don’t need more effort. We need more Jesus. We don’t need better strategies. We need to remember Christ is our life.

That’s how the church regains its power. Not by being popular, but by being faithful. Not by standing tall, but by kneeling low. Not by chasing crowns, but by carrying crosses.

Because when we remember who we are in Him, already accepted, already loved, already complete, the pressure lifts. Performance dies. Grace lives. And the world won’t just see a church trying to impress them. They’ll see Christ alive in His people.

The church adorned with crowns of gold,
Her name upon the lips of all,
Forgets the fire that made her bold,
Forgets the voice that gave the call.

She trades the cross for seats of power,
She hides her wounds, she plays the part;
She trims the thorns, she paints the flower,
But grace grows cold in polished hearts.

She whispers when her brother falls,
She shouts her victories loud and long;
She quarrels over empty halls,
And wonders why her flame feels wrong.

Yet far away in shadowed rooms,
Where prayers are whispered soft as breath,
Where saints sing hymns beneath the gloom,
And faith holds steady under death—

There burns a light both fierce and true,
A love that cannot be denied;
Not crowns of men, but Christ in you,
The risen Lord, the crucified.

So lay aside the hollow crown,
The polished mask, the thirst to win.
Kneel low beneath the cross bowed down,
And find His power deep within.

Not strong, but weak; not rich, but poor;
Not proud, but humble, Spirit-led.
The church regains her strength once more
When Christ alone is life and Bread.