No King But God: Hope in the Midst of a Sh*tty (I Mean, Shifting!) Nation
Everywhere you turn, there’s a wall going up.
Some are made of bricks. Some of policy. Some of fear dressed as “order.”
Immigration headlines remind us—yet again—who this country believes belongs.
And who doesn’t.
Children are separated from parents.
Mothers wait for court dates that may never come.
People who fled war, hunger, persecution—now face cold floors and colder laws.
And yet, we say we’re the land of the free.
But freedom built on exclusion isn’t freedom.
It's monarchy masked as democracy.
And the truth is—there are no kings here.
Not in this Kingdom we belong to.
The Kingdom where Jesus sits at the well with the outsider.
Where the foreigner isn’t a threat but a mirror of ourselves.
Where no border, no badge, no government seal gets the final say.
Because Jesus didn’t just welcome the Samaritan woman—
He crossed into her region.
He walked the road most Jews avoided.
He entered her territory, sat on her land, and spoke her language of shame and survival until it turned into belonging.
The invitation of Jesus is not just to love the refugee as our neighbor—
But to walk in their shoes, sit in their tension, and dwell where they dwell.
He didn’t send hope from afar.
He became hope among them.
And that should reshape everything—especially for those of us who claim to follow Him.
Yet it’s not just policy makers or pundits who cry for walls;
It’s people with crosses around their necks and "God bless America" in their bios.
It's church folks praying revival while turning their backs on the very ones Jesus sought out.
But the gospel doesn’t build cages.
It builds bridges.
And if we are to be people of hope, we cannot look away.
Hope means we remember.
That even when kingdoms fail and leaders falter, God never does.
That the tides of injustice still answer to a higher tide.
That no amount of policy can override the invitation Jesus gave to the woman at the well:
“COME HERE. Drink what I have. Be with me and I'll be with you.”
no passport required.
no pedigree either.
just a desire for true freedom.
Because what drives these policies…
Is not practicality.
Is not protection.
It’s fear.
Fear that if someone else is seen, we’ll be forgotten.
Fear that if someone else is given power, we’ll lose ours.
Fear that inclusion will strip us of identity instead of grounding us in it.
But fear is a liar.
And fear breeds hopelessness.
Because fear shrinks the world.
Hope expands it.
God’s Kingdom makes room for all of us to thrive—but only through love.
Not power.
Not politics.
Not self-preservation.
Through the Spirit—who is not just Comforter, but Creator of hope itself.
So today, we pray for the refugee.
For the migrant mother.
The displaced father.
For the child who crossed desert and sea.
For the neighbor we don't see anymore.
The corner store owner who may lose everything.
The uncle who's looking over their shoulder.
the Godmother who doesn't want to leave her home.
And for every heart still clinging to fear as their compass, yes, even them.
We remember: hope isn’t tied to citizenship.
It’s tied to the cross.
In a country that often forgets its own story,
may we be people who live out ours.
No king but God.
No fear in love.
No shame in hope.
Hope is still home—especially for the displaced.
note on lowercase styling:
you may notice that “God” and “Jesus” appear in lowercase throughout the site. this isn’t a sign of irreverence—it’s simply a design default. the lowercase aesthetic reflects the tone and visual style of the omi brand, not the weight of the One being referenced. trust—His name is still above every name, and that’s honored here. (philippians 2:9)
