You Can't Just Slap Jesus' Name on Something and Call It Holy

I've been watching the Sean Feucht situation unfold with a mix of vindication and sadness. For those who haven't been following, the worship leader behind the "Let Us Worship" rallies is now facing accusations of financial mishandling, gross mismanagement of resources, and treating volunteers and staff terribly.

If you're thinking, "Wait, isn't this the guy who held those massive worship gatherings during COVID?" Yes, that's him. The same one who framed public health measures as religious persecution while people were literally dying.

Back in 2020, I spoke out against these rallies. Nobody was stopping churches from worshiping—we were creating policies to save lives from a deadly virus. It seemed pretty obvious that the whole thing was a front for getting money and attention. A former friend told me he couldn't believe that a "so-called man of God" would stand against someone leading revivals in our country.

Here's the thing: You can't just slap Jesus' name on something and expect it to be considered holy or good.

You'd think we would have learned this lesson by now. It's literally one of the primary themes running through the Hebrew prophets. God is perfectly fine rejecting worship offered in the divine name if it's not accompanied by feeding the hungry, caring for orphans and widows, and welcoming immigrants and strangers.

This is what Amos is screaming about:

"I hate, I reject your festivals; I don't enjoy your joyous assemblies... But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream" (Amos 5:21-24).

Isaiah says it even more bluntly:

"Stop bringing me your worthless offerings... Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed" (Isaiah 1:13-17).

The prophets' message is crystal clear: God cares far more about how we treat the vulnerable than about our worship concerts.

Which brings me to this weekend: Pride.

Pride is one of my absolutely favorite times for our church. And while Jesus' name isn't slapped onto the branding and marketing, it's one of the holiest things I've ever been part of. It embodies the actual values of Jesus and Scripture—that all human beings are created in the image of God and deserve love, that bodies are good and worth caring for and resurrecting.

This is The Table's fourth year marching in Pride, and it's been transformative for both our LGBTQ members and allies. We've heard stories of parade-watchers literally pulling our members aside to talk about how meaningful it was to see a church marching. People didn't know a church like ours could exist—that they could love Jesus and be queer.

I fully believe that God's Spirit is doing far more work at Pride than She ever did at one of Sean Feucht's "Let Us Worship" rallies. Why? Because Pride is about affirming human dignity, celebrating diversity, and creating spaces where marginalized people can experience joy and acceptance. Meanwhile, those rallies were about manufacturing persecution narratives and platforming political grievances.

The irony is thick: The event with "worship" in the name was mishandling money and mistreating people, while the "secular" event is creating spaces of radical welcome and acceptance.

Maybe it's time we stopped evaluating holiness by who can shout "Jesus" the loudest and started looking at who's actually doing the work of Jesus—loving neighbors, welcoming outcasts, and standing with the marginalized.

After all, Jesus himself warned us: "Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father" (Matthew 7:21).

So this Pride weekend, while some Christians clutch their pearls about rainbow flags, I'll be celebrating with my church family—gay, straight, trans, queer, and everything in between—knowing that we're participating in something truly sacred: the radical, inclusive love of God made manifest in the world.

That's what real worship looks like.