There’s an old saying every carpenter knows: “You can’t build anything worth keeping without blood, sweat, and bent nails.” It’s the truth of the trade. You measure, you cut, you hammer, and sometimes you miss. A nail bends, a splinter bites, a hammerhead finds your thumb instead of the mark. It hurts. But you press on because you’ve got something to build. You’ve got a vision worth working for.
Jesus knew this too. Long before He preached to the crowds or flipped the money-changers’ tables, He was a carpenter. He knew the value of labor, the patience it takes to create something good and solid, the frustration of a bent nail, and the pain of a slip. And He understood that it wasn’t enough to just talk about building, it had to be done.
That’s the heart of this message: It’s time to stop talking about faith and start building it.
There are good, kind people in this country, people like you, who see what’s happening. You see the hate, the cruelty, the twisted use of Christ’s name to justify the oppression of the poor, the rejection of the refugee, the vilification of the outcast. You know, deep down, this isn’t what Jesus taught. But maybe you feel like it’s not your place to say anything, or maybe you’re afraid of what might happen if you do.
I get it. Speaking out can feel like pounding a bent nail into solid oak. It’s hard, and it’s frustrating, and it might feel pointless when the hammer comes back and splits your hand wide open. But ask yourself this: What would Jesus do? Would He sit quietly in the synagogue, watching the Pharisees tighten their grip? Would He shrug and say, “It’s not my place”? Or would He take up the tools He knew so well, patience, kindness, and truth, and start building a world where love, justice, and mercy are the foundation?
You know the answer.
The truth is, the faith you love, the faith that taught you to help your neighbor, to welcome the stranger, to love even your enemies, is being torn down. The people who taught you “This Little Light of Mine” have hidden theirs away, and the church is being twisted into something Jesus wouldn’t recognize. What’s left to hold onto isn’t going to last unless people like you stand up and rebuild it.
You don’t have to be loud to start. You don’t have to be perfect, either. Remember, every carpenter bends nails and sheds blood before the work is done. But if you want to see a world where faith means something real, where it builds instead of breaks, you’ve got to pick up the hammer and start.
Write a letter. Have a conversation. Speak the truth in love. Support the hurting. Feed the hungry. Protect the vulnerable. And when you get tired, and you will, remember the carpenter who bled for you, not just on the cross, but at the workbench, building a faith that could last through the ages.
The world is watching, and the world is waiting. What will you build?
Yours in faith and action,
R.L. Lawrence