The actor who played Jesus sits next to a megaurch pastor on a plane. What happens next changes everything. Jonathan Roomie stood in the first class boarding line at Los Angeles International Airport. Dressed simply in a way that made him nearly invisible among the luxury around him.
A worn denim jacket, faded jeans, scuffed boots that had walked countless miles. He carried a single backpack that looked like it had traveled the world with him. Its straps frayed and its fabric sunbleleached. There was nothing about his appearance that suggested wealth or status. And perhaps because of that, most people walked right past him without a second glance.
But anyone who looked closer, who took the time to really see him, would notice something different. It wasn’t in what he wore or what he carried. It was in his eyes, a calmness that seemed out of place in the chaos of the airport, a presence that suggested he had learned to be still in the middle of storms.
He stood there, watching the rush of humanity around him, with the patience of someone who understood that the journey mattered more than the destination. Behind him in line stood a man who was his complete opposite in every possible way. Joel Ostein moved through the airport like he owned it. His thousand suit perfectly tailored. His shoes polished to a mirror shine.
His hair styled with the precision of someone who appeared on television every week. Everything about him was calculated to project success. From the designer watch on his wrist to the confident smile he flashed at anyone who made eye contact. He was a man who had built an empire on the promise that God wanted everyone to be wealthy. And he wore that theology like armor.
Joel’s eyes swept the boarding line with the practiced assessment of someone who constantly evaluated everyone around him. When his gaze landed on Jonathan, standing there in his simple clothes with his battered backpack, something like disdain flickered across his face. He couldn’t help himself. The contrast was too stark.
too jarring in a space that was supposed to be reserved for people of means. First class. Who? Joel said, his voice carrying that practiced warmth that could turn cold in an instant. You never know who might show up these days. The comment hung in the air between them, loaded with judgment, disguised as casual observation.
Jonathan turned slightly, his expression calm and unreadable. The world is full of surprises, he replied simply, his voice carrying none of the defensiveness Joel seemed to be hoping for. Joel frowned, momentarily thrown by the lack of reaction. He was used to people recognizing him. Used to deference and admiration, this man’s casual dismissal of his provocation felt like an insult in itself.
Look, nothing personal, Joel continued, unable to let it go. But you don’t exactly fit the profile of someone who flies this way. The boarding announcement cut through their exchange, and the line began to move forward. Jonathan picked up his backpack and walked toward the gate without responding, leaving Joel to follow behind, his smile tight with irritation.
The aircraft was one of those widebody jets with first class seats that converted into beds. Each one a private pod of luxury designed to make passengers forget they were 35,000 ft in the air. Jonathan found his seat by the window. 2 a and settled in with the ease of someone who had learned long ago that comfort had nothing to do with thread count or leg room.
He stowed his backpack, pulled out a worn paperback, and was already absorbed in reading. When Joel arrived at his row, Joel stopped in the aisle, checked his boarding pass again, then looked at the seat numbers with growing disbelief. “To be right next to the man he had just been silently judging.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Jonathan to hear. Jonathan glanced up from his book and offered a slight smile. “Looks like we’re traveling companions,” he said, his tone friendly, but not overeager. Joel forced a smile and lowered himself into the seat, his movement stiff with barely concealed displeasure.
“Of all the seats on this plane,” he thought. Of all the possible scenarios, he had paid premium for this ticket, expecting to spend the flight in contemplative luxury, perhaps reviewing his sermon notes or recording content for his podcast. Instead, he was stuck next to someone who looked like they had wandered in from a backpacking hostel.
As the rest of the passengers boarded, Joel tried to ignore Jonathan’s presence by scrolling through his phone, responding to messages from his ministry team, checking the latest numbers from last Sunday’s service. 73,000 in attendance, offerings up 12% from the previous month. Everything was tracking well, but he kept finding his attention drawn back to the man beside him.
Irritated by how completely unbothered Jonathan seemed to be. When the flight attendant came by to take drink orders, Joel made sure his response projected exactly the image he wanted. “I’ll have the champagne,” he said, his voice carrying just far enough that other passengers could hear. “Might as well enjoy what we’re paying for up here.
” He emphasized the word we in a way that was clearly meant to draw a line between himself and Jonathan. Jonathan simply asked for water. “Just water.” “Thank you,” he said to the attendant, who nodded and moved on. Joel couldn’t resist. “Water? Really?” He let out a small laugh. “You’re flying first class and you’re ordering water.
” “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who thinks suffering builds character.” Jonathan took the bottle when the attendant returned and opened it slowly. I just prefer it, he said. Sometimes simple is enough. Joel shook his head, taking a sip of his champagne. Simple is what people say when they’ve never had access to anything better.
Trust me, once you experience real luxury, real success, you don’t go back to calling water in a plastic bottle enough. Jonathan didn’t respond immediately, just took a drink and returned his attention to his book. The lack of engagement seemed to irritate Joel more than any argument would have. “So, what do you do?” Joel asked abruptly. Unable to stand, being ignored for work.
“I mean, you mentioned you’re in entertainment.” Jonathan looked up from his page and considered the question. “I act.” he said. Mostly television. Joel’s eyebrows rose slightly. Television? Let me guess. Commercials background work. He said it with the casual cruelty of someone who genuinely believed some careers were beneath others. I’ve done a few projects.
Jonathan replied, his voice still maddeningly calm. Nothing you’d probably recognize. Joel took another sip of champagne, emboldened by what he perceived as confirmation of his assumptions. You know, I meet a lot of people in entertainment. Most of them are chasing something they’ll never catch.
Bame, validation, meaning he turned in his seat to face Jonathan more directly. The truth is real success, real wealth that comes from understanding how the world actually works. You can’t just show up and hope things work out. You have to know how to position yourself. Jonathan closed his book, marking his place with his finger.
“And how do you position yourself?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. Joel smiled, settling into comfortable territory. I’m a pastor, senior pastor at Lakewood Church in Houston. Maybe you’ve heard of it. We have one of the largest congregations in America. 50,000 people every week. Television broadcast in 100 countries.
I’ve written seven New York Times bestsellers about how God wants us to prosper, how faith and success are connected, how we’re all meant to live our best lives now.” Jonathan nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of Lakewood,” he said carefully. “That’s the church in the old basketball arena, right?” Joel’s chest puffed slightly with pride.
“The former compact center?” Yes, we renovated it. State-of-the-art facility cost over $und00 million. But when God blesses you, you don’t hide it. You share that blessing with others. You show them what’s possible when they align their faith with God’s plan for prosperity.
What about people who have faith but aren’t prosperous? Jonathan asked, his voice still gentle but the question sharp. What about people who believe deeply? who pray faithfully but still struggle financially, still face illness, still lose people they love. Joel’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. Well, that’s where understanding comes in.
See, a lot of people have faith, but they don’t have the right kind of faith. They don’t understand that God wants to bless them, but they have to position themselves to receive those blessings. They have to give generously. They have to speak positivity into their circumstances. They have to believe that abundance is their inheritance. So, poverty is a failure of faith, Jonathan asked.
Joel shifted in his seat. I wouldn’t put it that way exactly. But I do believe that when we align ourselves properly with God’s principles, blessings follow. When we give, we receive. When we speak life, we get life. The Bible is clear about this. Seow and reap. It’s basic agriculture applied to spiritual life.
Jonathan was quiet for a moment, and Joel took his silence as agreement, or perhaps as the confusion of someone who had never been exposed to this kind of teaching before. The thing is, Joel continued, warming to his subject. Most people never reach their potential because they’re stuck in poverty thinking.
They’ve been taught that suffering is noble, that being poor is somehow more spiritual. But that’s not what the Bible teaches. Abraham was wealthy. Solomon was wealthy. Job was restored to even greater wealth. God doesn’t want his children begging. “What about Jesus?” Jonathan asked softly. Joel blinked.
What about him? Was Jesus wealthy? Joel’s expression flickered with something like annoyance. Jesus had access to resources. He had supporters. His ministry was funded. The Bible mentions that Judas kept the money bag, which means there was money to keep. So yes, in his way, Jesus operated in abundance. Jonathan tilted his head slightly.
He also said, “It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” Joel’s jaw tightened. That’s often misunderstood. He was talking about people who make wealth their God, not about wealth itself. God isn’t opposed to money. He’s opposed to the love of money. There’s a difference, is there?” Jonathan asked. Because from what I’ve read, Jesus spent most of his time with the poor.
He was born in a stable. He worked as a carpenter. He told people to sell everything and give to the poor. He said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” He warned constantly about the dangers of wealth. He didn’t seem to think prosperity was evidence of God’s favor. Joel’s face flushed slightly. You’re taking those verses out of context. The Bible has to be read as a whole.
And when you do, the pattern is clear. God blesses his people. He wants them to thrive. He wants them to be examples of his goodness in the world. And sometimes, often that includes financial blessing. Jonathan nodded slowly, but his expression suggested he wasn’t convinced. I guess I just wonder, he said, if we’ve maybe confused the American dream with the gospel, if we’ve made God into a cosmic ATM where you put in faith and good deeds and expect prosperity to come out, because that doesn’t sound much like the Jesus who said his kingdom was not of this world.
The air between them had grown noticeably cooler. Joel took a long sip of his champagne, using the moment to recalibrate. Look, he said finally, his voice taking on a harder edge. It’s easy to philosophize about poverty when you’ve never built anything. When you’ve never had to manage an organization, meet a payroll, be responsible for thousands of people’s spiritual lives. I deal with reality every single week.
And the reality is that when people apply biblical principles of giving and faith, their lives improve. I see it constantly. Or maybe, Jonathan said quietly, they’re working harder because they believe working harder will earn God’s favor. Maybe they’re sacrificing their families and their health, chasing a prosperity that was never promised to them.
Maybe they’re giving money they don’t have to ministries that are telling them it will come back multiplied. And when it doesn’t, they blame themselves instead of questioning the teaching. Joel’s face went hard. That’s a pretty cynical view of faith. Is it? Jonathan asked. Or is it cynical to promise people that God will make them rich if they just believe hard enough and give generously enough? Is it cynical to suggest that the single mother working three jobs doesn’t have enough faith? That the man dying of cancer just needs to speak more positivity that poverty is always a
spiritual failure. The conversation had drawn the attention of the passengers around them. A woman across the aisle was no longer pretending to read her magazine. The man in front had tilted his seat back, but was clearly listening to every word. And Joel was beginning to realize that this wasn’t just some random encounter.
This man, whoever he was, had clearly thought deeply about these things. Let me ask you something, Joel said, leaning forward. Do you believe God wants his children to suffer? No. Jonathan replied, “But I don’t think the absence of suffering equals prosperity. And I don’t think suffering is always evidence of sin or weak faith.
Some of the most faithful people I know have endured incredible hardship, and some of the wealthiest people I know have faith in nothing but themselves.” Joel opened his mouth to respond, but the flight attendant interrupted, asking if they needed anything. Joel ordered another champagne. Jonathan declined politely.
When the attendant moved away, Joel tried a different approach. “You know what? I think Joel said, his voice taking on a more condescending tone. I think you’re uncomfortable with success. I think there’s a part of you that’s bought into the idea that being poor is somehow more righteous.” But that’s just fear masquerading as humility. God didn’t give us a spirit of poverty.
He gave us power and love and a sound mind. And part of having a sound mind is understanding that there’s nothing wrong with blessing, with prosperity, with enjoying the good things God provides. Jonathan looked at him for a long moment. You keep saying God provides these things. he said finally.
But it seems like what you’re really saying is that God provides them to people who can afford first class tickets and designer suits and arenasized churches. What about the people who can’t afford any of that? Are they less blessed, less loved, less worthy? Of course not, Joel said quickly. But they have access to the same principles. They can start where they are and grow into greater blessing.
Can they? Jonathan asked. Can the single mother in Detroit start where she is and grow into an arena church? Can the farmer in rural Africa apply your principles and end up on television in a 100 countries? Or is it possible that your theology works really well for you because you started with advantages that most people will never have? Joel’s face darkened. I started with nothing.
My father built that church from the ground up. I inherited responsibility, not wealth. You inherited a congregation, Jonathan said gently. You inherited a platform. You inherited credibility. Most people start with none of those things. And when your message is that their lack of prosperity is evidence of weak faith, you’re not giving them hope. You’re giving them shame.
The cabin had gone very quiet. Even the sound of the engines seemed muted. Joel looked around and realized that every passenger in first class was now listening to their conversation. Some with interest, some with approval, and some with expressions that suggested they agreed with the man in the simple clothes sitting beside him. Joel’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“You don’t know anything about my ministry,” he said, his voice tight. You don’t know the lives that have been changed, the people who have been helped, the good that we do. Jonathan’s expression softened. I’m sure you have helped people. He said, “I’m sure there are people whose lives are better because of your church.
But I also think there are people whose lives have been hurt. People who gave money they couldn’t afford because you told them it was seed faith. People who stayed in abusive situations because you preached that God would reward their endurance. People who look at their poverty and believe it means God doesn’t love them. That’s not fair, Joel said.
But his voice had lost some of its certainty. Maybe not, Jonathan replied. But it’s true, isn’t it? At least for some people. Joel didn’t answer. He turned away, staring at the seat in front of him. his champagne forgotten. The flight attendant made another pass through the cabin. And this time, when she reached their row, she paused.
“Mister Roomie,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to let you know that the captain is a huge fan of the chosen. He wanted me to pass along his appreciation for your work.” “The effect was instantaneous.” The businessman across the aisle sat up straighter. his eyes widening. The woman who had been pretending to read her magazine gasped softly, and Joel Ostein turned slowly, his face draining of color.
Roomie, the businessman, said, “Jonathan, Roomie, you’re the actor who plays Jesus.” Jonathan smiled a little sheepishly. “Guilty,” he said. Joel looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stared at Jonathan. His mouth opening and closing soundlessly. All the color had drained from his face. His perfectly styled hair suddenly seemed ridiculous. His expensive suit felt like costume.
And every word he had spoken for the past hour replayed in his mind with devastating clarity. Your Joel started then stopped. His voice came out as barely more than a whisper. You’re Jonathan Roomie. Jonathan turned to look at him. His expression calm but not unkind. That’s right. The man who plays Jesus on the chosen. Yes. Joel’s hands were shaking slightly.
He set down his champagne glass carefully. As if afraid he might drop it. I didn’t. He began, then stopped again. his carefully constructed persona. The confident megaurch pastor who always knew what to say had completely collapsed. “I had no idea. Would it have mattered?” Jonathan asked gently.
“Would you have treated me differently if you’d known who I was?” The question hung in the air like an accusation. Joel wanted to say no. Wanted to maintain some dignity, but he knew the answer was yes. Of course, he would have treated Jonathan differently. He would have been differential, respectful, eager to be associated with someone famous. And that realization made everything so much worse.
I Joel said, struggling to find words. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be to come across as his voice trailed off. Arrogant Jonathan suggested quietly. dismissive, judgmental. Joel flinched at each word. Yes, he admitted all of that. The other passengers were watching now with undisguised interest.
The businessman across the aisle was recording on his phone. The woman with the magazine had abandoned all pretense of not listening, and Joel felt himself shrinking under the weight of their attention. “Can I ask you something?” Jonathan said, his voice still gentle despite everything.
Why did you assume I didn’t belong in first class? Was it my clothes, my appearance, the fact that I wasn’t broadcasting my status? Joel looked down at his hands. I don’t know, he said. I guess I just I made assumptions. Based on what? based on Joel Ped struggling with the honesty based on the fact that you didn’t look successful.
You didn’t present yourself the way I think successful people should present themselves. And what way is that? Joel gestured vaguely at his own suit, his watch like this. I suppose like someone who has achieved something. Jonathan nodded slowly. So success has to be visible. He said it has to be displayed.
It has to be obvious to everyone around you. Otherwise, it doesn’t count. That’s not what I meant. Joel protested weakly. Isn’t it? Jonathan asked. Because that’s what your theology teaches, isn’t it? That blessing is visible. That prosperity is proof of God’s favor. that if you’re truly faithful, truly aligned with God’s principles, it will show in your bank account, your possessions, your status.” Joel couldn’t answer.
The words he had preached thousands of times suddenly sounded hollow when reflected back to him. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned,” Jonathan said. And now his voice carried a weight that made everyone in the cabin lean in to listen. I’ve spent years studying Jesus, trying to understand him, trying to portray him as honestly as I can, and the more I learn, the more I realize that everything he taught runs counter to what our culture values.
He said, “The last shall be first.” He said, “Blessed are the poor.” He said, “If you want to be great, become a servant.” He washed his disciples feet. He touched lepers. He ate with prostitutes and tax collectors. He spent his time with the people everyone else dismissed. He paused, letting the words settle. And then he was murdered by the religious establishment.
By the people who had built their power on telling everyone else how to live, by the people who sat in the best seats and wore the finest robes and made a show of their righteousness. Jesus called them whitewashed tombs. Beautiful on the outside, full of death on the inside. Joel’s face had gone from pale to red. Are you calling me a whitewashed tomb? Jonathan met his eyes.
I’m saying that when we build our faith on prosperity instead of on sacrifice, on status instead of on service, on being seen instead of on seeing others? We risk becoming exactly what Jesus condemned. We risk building kingdoms for ourselves instead of pointing people to God’s kingdom. The cabin was absolutely silent.
Even the flight attendants had stopped their service to listen. And Joel Ostein, one of the most successful pastors in America, sat there with tears beginning to form in his eyes. I don’t know how to respond to that, Joel said finally, his voice breaking. You don’t have to respond. Jonathan said, “You just have to think about it. Really think about it.
Ask yourself if the Jesus you preach looks anything like the Jesus who died on a cross. Ask yourself if the people who follow your teaching are becoming more like Christ or more like the world. Ask yourself if you’re leading people to God or just to a more comfortable version of themselves.
” Joel put his head in his hands. The businessman across the aisle had stopped recording, looking uncomfortable with witnessing such a raw moment. The woman with the magazine had tears in her own eyes. When Joel finally looked up, his face was stre with tears. He looked at Jonathan with something like desperation. “What do I do?” he asked.
“If you’re right, if I’ve gotten it all wrong? What am I supposed to do now?” Jonathan’s expression softened. I don’t know. He said, “Honestly, I don’t have all the answers, but I think maybe you start by listening. Really listening to the people you’re teaching has hurt to the voices you’ve dismissed, to the Jesus you claim to follow.
” How Joel asked, “How do I even begin?” Jonathan reached into his backpack and pulled out his worn Bible. He opened it to a marked page and handed it to Joel. Start here, he said. Matthew 57, the Sermon on the Mount. Read it like you’ve never read it before. Not looking for ways to make it fit your theology, just reading what Jesus actually said. And then ask yourself if that sounds like prosperity gospel.
Joel took the Bible with shaking hands. He looked down at the words and for the first time in years, “Maybe that.” He read them not as a pastor looking for sermon material, but as a man looking for truth. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
The words seem to leap off the page. words he had read a thousand times but never really heard because hearing them meant acknowledging that everything he had built was constructed on sand. The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, announcing their descent into Houston.
The cabin stirred as passengers began to put away their belongings and return their seats to the upright position. But Joel sat frozen, still staring at the Bible in his hands. Jonathan gently took the Bible back. Keep reading,” he said quietly. “And keep asking questions. The truth is there if you’re willing to see it.
” As the plane touched down and taxied to the gate, Joel remained in his seat even as other passengers began to stand and collect their luggage. Jonathan stood, pulled down his backpack, and prepared to leave. But before he stepped into the aisle, he turned back one more time. You asked me if God wants his children to suffer. Jonathan said, “And I told you no.
” But I think God does want us to be uncomfortable with comfort when it comes at someone else’s expense. I think he wants us to be troubled by prosperity when it blinds us to poverty. I think he wants us to be restless with success when it makes us forget about service. Because the moment we become comfortable with inequality, with injustice, with suffering, we could alleviate but choose not to, we’ve stopped following Jesus,” Joel nodded, unable to speak. Jonathan gave him a small smile.
“Maybe we’ll talk again sometime,” he said. Then he was gone, lost in the crowd of deplaning passengers. Joel sat alone in his seat long after everyone else had left. The flight crew waited patiently, accustomed to passengers who needed a moment.
Finally, he stood, gathered his things, and walked through the airport in a days. His assistant was waiting at baggage claim, holding a sign with his name, even though it wasn’t necessary. “Pastor Ostein,” she said brightly. “Welcome home.” The car is waiting. We have the evening service in 4 hours. And there are three media interviews scheduled for tomorrow morning.
Also, the production team wants to discuss the new book tour dates. Joel listened to her rattle off his schedule. And for the first time, it all sounded hollow, empty, like noise designed to fill a silence he had been running from his entire life. Cancel the interviews. he said quietly. His assistant blinked. Cancel them.
But these are major networks. CNN, Fox News, the Today Show. This is huge exposure for the new book. Cancel them. Joel repeated. Tell them I need time to reflect. Tell them. He paused, searching for words. Tell them I’m not sure I have anything worth saying right now. The assistant stared at him like he had lost his mind.
Pastor, are you feeling all right? Should I call someone? I’m fine, Joel said, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. I just need time to think. Reschedule everything for next week. I need a few days. He walked out of the airport into the Houston heat. And instead of heading to the waiting car, he just stood there. People moved around him. Everyone rushing somewhere.
Everyone pursuing something. And for the first time in as long as he could remember. Joel Austin didn’t know what he was pursuing anymore. That night, instead of preaching to thousands, Joel sat alone in his home office with Jonathan’s words echoing in his mind. He pulled out his own Bible and opened it to the sermon on the mount.
And he began to read, really read as if his life depended on understanding these words that he had quoted so many times but never truly absorbed. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. None of this sounded like prosperity gospel.
None of this promised wealth or success or comfortable lives. In fact, it promised the opposite. It promised persecution. It promised that following Jesus would be hard. It promised that the world would hate his followers the way it had hated him. Joel kept reading, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.
Don’t store up treasures on earth. You cannot serve both God and money. Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or drink or wear. Seek first the kingdom of God. With each passage, Joel felt the foundation of his theology cracking. These weren’t suggestions Jesus was making. They were commands. Clear, direct, unambiguous commands. that completely contradicted the message Joel had been preaching for 20 years.
He thought about the people who had given their last dollars to his ministry, believing it was seed faith. He thought about the families who had gone into debt to attend his conferences. He thought about the countless individuals who looked at their poverty and believed it meant God had rejected them.
And he wept. Not the careful photogenic tears of a man who knew he was being watched, but the deep, gut-wrenching sobs of someone whose entire worldview had shattered. Everything he had built, everything he had believed, everything he had taught, it was all wrong. Or at least it was all incomplete enough to be dangerous.
His wife found him hours later, still sitting in the dark office, his Bible open on his lap. “Jel,” she said, concerned. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Joel looked up at her, his face ravaged by tears. “I met someone on the plane today,” he said. “And I think he showed me that I’ve been completely wrong about everything.” She sat down next to him, taking his hand.
What do you mean? So he told her about Jonathan Roomie, about their conversation, about the way he had judged and dismissed and belittled a man without knowing anything about him, about how that man had turned out to be someone famous, but more importantly, someone who had clearly thought deeply about Jesus in ways that Joel never had.
about how every word Jonathan spoke had cut through years of carefully constructed theology to expose the rot underneath. “What are you going to do?” his wife asked when he finished. Joel looked down at his Bible. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I can’t keep preaching what I’ve been preaching.” “Not now. Not after this.
” The next Sunday, Joel stood behind the pulpit at Lakewood Church and looked out at the thousands of faces staring back at him. Faces that had come expecting encouragement, expecting to be told that God wanted them to prosper, expecting to leave feeling good about themselves and their futures. But Joel couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t stand there and preach prosperity when he had spent the week reading about sacrifice. He couldn’t promise them wealth when Jesus had promised them crosses. He couldn’t tell them to store up treasures on earth when scripture explicitly commanded the opposite. So instead, he did something he had never done before. He told them the truth.
I met someone this week who showed me that I’ve been wrong. He began his voice shaking. I’ve been preaching a gospel that makes people feel good but doesn’t make them more like Jesus. I’ve been promising prosperity when Jesus promised persecution. I’ve been building a kingdom for myself instead of pointing people to God’s kingdom. The congregation stirred uncomfortably. This wasn’t what they had come for.
I’m going to be taking some time. Joel continued to study and pray and figure out what it really means to follow Jesus. And I’m asking you to do the same. Don’t listen to me just because I’m standing behind this pulpit. Read the Gospels for yourselves. Look at what Jesus actually said and did.
And then ask yourselves if the Christianity we’re practicing here looks anything like what he taught. The sermon that followed was unlike anything Lakewood had ever heard from that stage. Joel didn’t promise blessings or breakthroughs or miracles. He just read from the sermon on the mount and let Jesus’s words speak for themselves.
And when he finished, there was no applause, no aemons, just stunned silence. Some people walked out, others sat in shock. But a few, a very few, had tears in their eyes because they had been waiting their entire lives to hear someone from that pulpit speak truth instead of comfort. In the weeks that followed, Joel’s world transformed in ways both terrible and beautiful. He lost followers. He lost book deals.
He lost respect for many of his peers in the prosperity gospel movement who saw him as a traitor. But he gained something more valuable. He gained authenticity. He gained the ability to sleep at night. He gained the knowledge that he was finally maybe for the first time actually trying to follow Jesus instead of just using his name.
And somewhere in Los Angeles, Jonathan Roomie got a text message from an unknown number. It simply said, “Thank you for telling me the truth. I’m trying to do better.” It was signed, Joel. Jonathan smiled and sent back a single word. “Keep going. Because that’s all any of them could do. Keep going. Keep learning.
keep trying to close the gap between the Jesus they claimed to follow and the lives they actually lived. It was hard work, uncomfortable work, work that required dying to self and ego and status every single day. But it was the work Jesus had called them to. And in the end, that was the only thing that mattered.
The plane ride that had started with judgment and ended with revelation became something else entirely. a reminder that truth often comes from unexpected places. That status means nothing compared to substance. That sometimes God uses a chance encounter to shatter everything we think we know so that something real can finally grow.
And that the man who plays Jesus on television understood something that many pastors never learned. Following Christ isn’t about prosperity or success or comfortable lives. It’s about loving people the way Jesus loved them. seeing people the way Jesus saw them and being willing to challenge power the way Jesus challenged it, even when it costs us everything.
Because in the end, that’s what the gospel has always been. Not a promise of wealth or status or ease, but a call to die so that we can truly live. To lose our lives so we can find them, to embrace the poverty of spirit that opens us to the riches of grace. And Joel Ostein, who had spent decades teaching people to prosper, was finally learning what it meant to be poor in spirit and discovering that the kingdom of heaven felt more like home than any arena ever had.
