FOR THE LIFE OF MARK
Because one lifetime is not enough for all my hobbies.
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Because one lifetime is not enough for all my hobbies.
As I started learning more about missions and found myself jumping into the pool — fully employed, yet burning to share the good news of Jesus — a quiet question began to form in my heart.
When did we start monetising the Gospel?
Small churches that cannot afford a licensing fee to project a worship song on their wall. Preachers with their name on a leather-bound cover drawing entirely from a well that belongs to all of us. Awards accepted with "glory to God" while the applause fills the room.
I miss the simplicity of it. A person, a story and the unshakeable belief that this news was too good to keep to themselves.
Jesus said it plainly: freely you have received, freely give.
So when did the Gospel become something you subscribe to?
The camera can capture lifted hands, closed eyes and perfect lighting.
But it cannot capture posture.
Real posture is hidden. It is formed in obedience. It is revealed in surrender. And at the end of the night, when the lights dim and the applause fades, only God truly knows who we were worshipping.
Martin may be a known name. Cypress may be rising. I may have been behind the lens. But when the Holy Spirit fills a room, titles disappear. Platforms lose their weight. There is no celebrity, no professional, no important person left standing.
There is only God.
And the real question is not who was seen.
It is who was obeyed.
Here is something I have learned over the years. You cannot enter a new place like a king waiting for a red carpet reception. No confetti. No choir. No spotlight. If you want community, you must participate in building it. You cannot stand in the corner waiting for someone to rescue you from your own silence. You show up, you talk to people, you engage, you ask questions, you build relationships like someone who actually wants them.
We are adults. Friends are no longer assigned like groupwork partners in school. You build them.
Kazakhstan doesn’t scream for attention. It doesn’t beg to be Instagram-famous. It just quietly exists, vast and wild, waiting for those curious enough to step into its winter.
And winter is where it truly reveals itself.