In Acts 4, Peter and John healed a crippled man at the temple gate called “Beautiful”. The miracle stirred opposition. The rulers hauled them in and commanded: “Do not speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus.” But Peter and John answered, “Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge—for we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.” They didn’t form a task force. They didn’t request a permit. They obeyed God.

Christians are once again flexing some long-neglected faith muscles—helped in no small part by the Trump administration’s extended hand. And as good as that is, the moment demands more than strength. It demands humility. Are we flexing our repentance muscles?

I was the music minister at a church that closed its doors on Easter Sunday back in 2020 – even with Trump was in the White House.
Not because of persecution.
Not because of war or disaster.
But because of fear.

And I helped let it happen.

We were a small church. No livestream. No backup plan.
Just silence. And a sign.

Taped to the front door of our sanctuary were the words I’ll never forget:
“By order of the Governor of Montana, Steve Bullock…”

That was it. The state spoke—and the church fell silent.
No gathering. No singing. No communion. No Easter.
On the highest day in the Christian calendar, the sanctuary stayed dark.
And I’ve regretted it ever since.

In Acts 4, Peter and John healed a crippled man at the temple gate called “Beautiful”. The miracle stirred opposition. The rulers hauled them in and commanded: “Do not speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus.” But Peter and John answered, “Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge—for we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.”

They didn’t form a task force. They didn’t request a permit. They obeyed God.

Meanwhile, in 2020, many of us caved to pressure that didn’t even come with handcuffs. No one locked our doors. They didn’t need to. We did it ourselves—voluntarily, quietly, and in some cases, proudly. We didn’t resist Caesar. We asked him for livestream instructions.

The late R.C. Sproul once said, “When the state forbids what God commands, or commands what God forbids, we must obey God rather than men.” That’s not political defiance. That’s biblical obedience.

Scripture tells us to honor authority—but never at the expense of obeying Christ. Hebrews 10:25 commands us: “Do not neglect meeting together, as is the habit of some, but encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” That verse doesn’t come with a viral exception clause. The early church gathered under threat of death. We canceled for a press conference. We called it wisdom. We called it love. We called it responsible. But in truth? We traded the fear of God for the fear of man.

We were lied to—and we listened. Dr. Anthony Fauci admitted that the six-foot distancing rule was “an empiric decision that wasn’t based on data.” (Washington Post, June 2, 2024). A 2022 CDC study showed cloth masks offered limited protection and results that weren’t statistically significant. (Washington Post, Feb. 4, 2022). In February 2023, the U.S. Department of Energy concluded—with “low confidence”—that COVID-19 likely originated from a lab leak. (Washington Post, Feb. 27, 2023). And while abortion clinics and liquor stores stayed open, churches were declared non-essential. (Washington Post, May 22, 2020).

Meanwhile, in China, believers meet in secret. In Iran, they whisper hymns under threat of death. In North Korea, they worship in hiding—treasuring torn pages of Scripture. And in America, we canceled Easter because a governor told us to.

We need more than righteous indignation. We need to repent. We didn’t just misjudge. We broke covenant. We didn’t just get cautious. We got cowardly.

If I’d studied my history a little better, I might’ve remembered the words of James Madison: “The truth is that all men having power ought to be mistrusted.” But instead of mistrust, we gave away the keys. Instead of discernment, we offered deference. We forgot that Caesar always overreaches—and we let him redefine what Christ had already established.

And the silence we allowed in 2020 echoed into 2024, when President Biden promoted Transgender Day of Visibility—on Easter Sunday. That wasn’t an oversight. It was an insult. And too many Christians shrugged. We let cowardice identify as meekness. We let capitulation masquerade as turning the other cheek.

God is not fooled. He isn’t interested in our PR-approved virtue signaling. He’s calling His people to fall on their knees.

As 2 Chronicles 7:14 reminds us:
“If My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and heal their land.”

Our land needs to be healed—and God has clearly outlined the path: repentance.

In today’s culture, Christians have effectively been assigned to a reservation. We’re allowed to believe—as long as we keep it to ourselves. Say your prayers. Stay in your lane. Don’t speak too loudly.

But step outside those lines—live visibly, speak truth publicly, oppose the new moral order—and suddenly we’re branded intolerant, hateful, or dangerous.

We’ve been told our place. And for too long, we’ve accepted it.

But Christ didn’t rise from the grave to give His church a quiet corner of cultural irrelevance. He didn’t purchase us to sit silently while lies parade as truth. We are not guests in this world. We are ambassadors of His Kingdom.

It’s time to step off the reservation—with repentance in our hearts and fire in our bones.

Never again will I treat Christ’s worship as optional. Never again will I call silence “wisdom.” Never again will I help the state redefine what is “essential.”

The church must rise—not with arrogance, but with authority. Not with rage, but with repentance. Not with trendy slogans, but with unshakable truth.

We must return to the courage of Peter and John. To the faith of those who sang in prisons. To the boldness of those who stood before kings and said, “We cannot help but speak of what we have seen and heard.”

We cannot help but gather.
We cannot help but worship.
We cannot help but obey.

Even if it costs us. Because it cost Him more.

Peter Rosenberger hosts the nationally syndicated radio program, Hope for the Caregiver. He’s published four books, and his most recent is A MINUTE FOR CAREGIVERS – When Every Day Feels Like Monday. PeterRosenberger.com | @hope4caregiver