It’s tempting to think the solution is to just avoid politics altogether. But the question isn’t whether we’ll be shaped by politics. It’s how. Because disengaging doesn’t form us into something neutral. It just leaves us unformed. And in a moment like this, formation matters.

We spend a lot of time asking: What do I believe? But the central question of The After Party is different: How am I showing up? Following Jesus doesn’t just shape what we believe. It shapes how we engage. If you’re asking how to navigate politics without losing your soul, join us. after-party.org

Not spoken to the righteous. Not to the powerful. But to a man dying beside Him. Even here at the cross, Jesus is extending mercy. Restoring dignity. Welcoming someone in. Because He didn’t die for the deserving. He died for all. The ones who get it right. The ones who don’t.

We’re always looking for signs of hope. Something measurable. Something we can point to. Something that tells us things are getting better. But Easter doesn’t offer that kind of reassurance. It offers something deeper. Not optimism about the moment—but confidence in a person.

He is risen, indeed. As Eastertide begins, we’re invited to consider: What does the resurrection actually change? Not just in what we believe—but in how we treat the people around us.

Showing someone dignity in conversation often looks like something simple: Listening. Not waiting for your turn. Not preparing your response. But actually trying to understand. Around a table, something different can happen. People become more than positions. Stories start to surface. Edges soften.

That’s a sobering thought. Because listening doesn’t feel like much. It’s quiet. Unimpressive. Easy to skip. But it’s one of the clearest ways we show dignity. To listen is to say: You matter. Your voice matters. I’m not dismissing you.

85% of Americans say political conversations have gotten worse. Why? Nearly 8 in 10 of us say we treat others with dignity—even when we disagree. But less than half say they’re treated that way. Dignity isn’t what we intend. It’s what the other person experiences.

Every person ought to matter. That’s not a political idea. It’s a Christian one. And it’s one we’re tempted to forget the moment someone disagrees with us. Dignity doesn’t depend on agreement. Now is not the time to abandon that. @drmoore.bsky.social

We talk a lot about truth. Less often about tone. Posture. Presence. But Scripture is clear: Every person bears the image of God. Which means dignity isn’t optional. And it isn’t reserved for people we agree with. (1/2)

We spend a lot of time asking: Is the church too liberal? Too conservative? What if the real issue is that we’ve settled for something smaller— a faith shaped more by our culture than by Jesus himself? That’s a harder conversation. But probably the more important one.

How should the church show up right now? In a moment that rewards outrage, speed, and certainty… this is a different kind of vision. Not louder. Not harsher. Not more reactive. But a people shaped by resurrection— marked by service, humility, and a stubborn kind of love.

Fear spreads quickly. Outrage spreads even faster. But the church was never meant to echo the anger of the moment. We’re called to reflect something better—the character of Christ. Hope over panic. Humility over certainty. Love over contempt.

Sometimes faithfulness doesn’t look like switching sides. Sometimes it looks like telling the truth when your side wishes you didn’t. There is a kind of faith that asks us to protect our tribe. And there is a deeper kind of faithfulness that asks us to follow Jesus. No matter how anxious the times.

Anxious times don’t just call for louder opinions. They call for deeper conversations. What does it mean to seek the kingdom of God today? Is empathy weakness or obedience? Does character still matter? What does it actually mean to love our neighbor in a divided world?

In anxious times, outrage is easy. It’s rewarded, amplified, and often expected. But followers of Jesus are called to something different. Not louder anger. Not sharper contempt. But a love that stands out in a divided world.

Anxious times raise an important question for followers of Jesus: What kind of people should we be? The world often responds to fear with anger, outrage, and contempt. But Scripture calls us to something different.

In politics, we’re often handed a package deal. You may care deeply about one issue, something that genuinely matters. But the “deal” often comes with a long list of other things attached. But following Jesus has never been about a package deal. The way we pursue what we believe is right matters.

Character matters. Integrity matters. Not because Christians are trying to be polite. Not because we’re trying to look respectable. But because the ethics of Jesus leave no room for a different standard.

The After Party isn’t a debate club or a policy seminar. It’s a space for Christians to slow down, ask better questions, and wrestle together with what it means to follow Jesus in a political age. Simple setup. Big questions. Good company. Get started.

There is no spiritual or political moment when the way of Jesus becomes optional. Not when the stakes are high. Not when the outcome feels urgent. Not when “our side” might lose. Cruelty doesn’t become virtue because it’s useful. Dishonesty doesn’t become righteous because it wins.

t’s possible to be right about everything…and wrong about the one thing that matters most. In a political age that prizes certainty and rewards outrage, this verse feels almost subversive. Love is not an accessory to truth. It’s the evidence that we belong to it.

Have you settled into any rhythms for Lent this year? Or maybe discovered how hard they are to keep? Here’s a reframing we find helpful: Lent isn’t spiritual self-improvement. It’s counter-formation.

Neighbor-love doesn’t start in Washington. It starts around the table. With real people. With awkward pauses. With disagreements that don’t disappear. It looks like staying seated. Listening longer than is comfortable. Refusing to turn a family member into a headline.

The Good Samaritan didn’t just avoid violence. He refused indifference. To silently pass by while someone spreads lies about your neighbor is its own kind of crossing to the other side of the road. Neighbor-love isn’t sentimental. It requires courage. It can require saying, “That’s not true.”

It’s hard to love your neighbor once you’ve reduced them to “them.” “Us vs. them” feels powerful. It feels clarifying. It even feels righteous. But Jesus didn’t divide the road that way. When we sort people into tribes first and image-bearers second, love becomes almost impossible.

A resurrection faith does not withdraw from a broken world. It moves toward it. Toward the suffering. Toward the alienated. Toward the sick. Not because it’s fashionable. Not because it’s politically useful. But because that’s where Jesus goes.

Faith has always had a place in public life. What it doesn’t need is dominance. Christians don’t have to choose between showing up and taking over. We can participate with conviction, speak with humility, and resist the temptation to confuse influence with control.

We’re hearing it more and more: people are starting to ask honest questions about faith and politics, sometimes for the very first time. If that’s you, we’re glad you’re here. & if you’ve been around for a while, maybe you’re noticing a friend who’s finally ready to step into the conversation too.

Loving a country doesn’t require pretending it’s perfect. And criticizing it doesn’t mean you’ve abandoned it. When the Kingdom comes first, gratitude & honesty can live together. We can celebrate what is good, tell the truth about what is broken, and refuse to confuse any nation as our final home.

Real conversation doesn’t require being in the same room.It just requires a shared commitment to showing up, in good faith. Across screens and time zones, people are showing up, listening well, and practicing a better way of “doing politics”, together.

Christians have always lived with divided loyalties. But Jesus was clear about which one comes first. That doesn’t make us less engaged in the world. It makes us engaged in a different way. Slower. Kinder. Harder to sort into tribes or teams. And maybe more faithful. Swipe through.

A lot of people aren’t really asking, “What’s the right thing to do?” They’re asking, “What can I do that will work?” But if you’re following Jesus, faithfulness always comes before outcomes. We weren’t promised success. We were commanded to love. Even if it doesn’t “work.” Even if we lose.

Every headline is a test. Not just of what we think, but who we’re becoming. We will not be remembered for how quickly we took sides, but for how we responded to suffering—with defensiveness or with discernment, with tribal reflexes or with Christ-shaped compassion. @drmoore.bsky.social

It’s not just what we believe. It’s how we carry it. You can support the rule of law — and still grieve when force is misused. You can hold firm convictions — and still refuse to dehumanize your opponent.

Why should Christians care about democracy? Because we know power corrupts — and no one is immune. That’s not cynicism. That’s Christian realism. Democracy doesn’t assume people are perfect. In fact, it assumes we’re not.

We're on Substack! Follow us for more from Good Faith and @theafterparty2024.bsky.social. substack.com/@goodfaithne...?

What does faithfulness look like when the stakes are high? When things get tense - politically, culturally, spiritually - we all ask: What can I do? Will it work?

We’re not going to argue our way back to unity. But we might listen our way there. Kindness doesn’t mean silence. Understanding doesn’t mean compromise. They mean choosing relationship over rage. And maybe—just maybe—that’s what starts to bring the church back together.

The church isn’t empty because people stopped loving Jesus. It’s empty because too often, we forgot how to love like Him. When the church becomes known more for division than discipleship, people leave—not because they’ve rejected the faith, but because they’re heartbroken by what it’s become.

What happens when the church becomes more about power than people, more about politics than Jesus? Many still believe in God. They're just struggling to find Him in places that once felt like home. Maybe the better question isn't "Why are they leaving?" but "What have we become?"

The church was never meant to mirror the fractures of the world. It was meant to form a people who could live with difference. But when our churches became politically sorted, our politics followed.

Jesus didn’t shout His way into power. He knelt. He washed feet. He loved even the ones who betrayed Him. In a culture obsessed with winning, maybe what we need most is to remember the One who laid down His life instead. Politics can be loud. But love can still be louder.

In a world full of noise, formation is happening—whether we realize it or not. The blessed life isn’t shaped by the loudest voices or latest outrage. It’s shaped by delighting in God’s Word. By meditating—day and night. The question isn’t if you’re being formed. It’s by what—or by whom.

Oof. That one hits. It’s easy to shape our faith around our politics. But Jesus doesn’t ride along as decoration. He’s the Driver. He changes our priorities. He challenges our instincts. He doesn’t just affirm what we already think—He transforms it.

MLK wasn’t a mascot for political slogans. He was a theologian. A pastor. A follower of Jesus. This MLK Day, we don’t need nostalgia. We need conviction. Following Christ will always mean carrying a cross. Sometimes that cross looks like staying seated on a bus. Or linking arms in the street.

Jesus never told us to win at all costs. He told us to carry a cross. Following Jesus won’t make us more dangerous to others. It will make us more dangerous to our own desire for control.

Where does morality go when power takes center stage? In this week’s Good Faith episode, Curtis Chang sits down with Pete Wehner to ask a timeless—and timely—question: What happens when we forget that truth and human dignity are not optional in public life? podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/p...

2024 was loud. 2025 was heavy. But 2026? Maybe it’s the year we stop clinging to what was. Maybe it’s the year we stop assuming nothing can change. God is still making a way. Even here. Even now. Do you see it?

When we stop letting Scripture shape us from the inside out, all we’re left with is noise. Louder slogans. Sharper divisions. Less Jesus. At The After Party, we’re not just asking what you believe politically. We’re asking how you’re being formed — and who’s doing the forming.