The headlines around immigration enforcement have stirred deep emotions. Fear. Anger. Defensiveness. Grief. It is understandable. These issues touch real lives, real families, and real wounds. But beneath the policy debates and moral arguments, there is a quieter question worth asking: What is this moment doing to us?

Not just to our institutions—but to our hearts.

It is easy to point in one direction. Some of us instinctively turn our frustration toward civic authority. Others turn it toward the church. But a more honest—and more hopeful—response is to recognize that when the deeper Christian ethic thins, both spheres suffer. Civic authority loses its humanity. The church loses its courage to love.

And neither becomes what God intends.

Distinct Callings, Shared Need

Scripture speaks of governing authority as a gift meant to restrain evil and preserve order. It also speaks of the church as a people formed to embody mercy, truth, and sacrificial love. These are distinct callings, and they should not be confused. Yet both depend on the same source: hearts shaped by humility.

When civic authority operates without moral formation, law can harden into something cold and impersonal—even when it is legal. When the church absorbs a shallow humanism, love can shrink into politeness, silence, or fear of offense. In the name of tolerance, it forgets how to love boldly.

Neither failure is abstract. Both show up in real lives. And both begin long before policies or sermons—they begin in formation.

Becoming Something, Slowly

This is where the insight of C. S. Lewis is so helpful. Lewis reminds us that every choice, every reaction, every posture of the heart is shaping us into a particular kind of person. Over time, we become more capable of heaven—or more comfortable with something else.

That truth applies not only to individuals, but to communities, churches, and institutions. A church can slowly become hollow. A civic body can slowly become harsh. Not because of one dramatic failure, but because of thousands of small, unexamined defaults.

Philippians 2 and the Way Back

Philippians 2 does not give us a strategy. It gives us a posture.

Christ did not cling to power.
He did not abandon responsibility.
He emptied Himself.

For civic authority, this means exercising power with restraint and remembering the dignity of those it governs.
For the church, it means refusing comfort and distance, moving toward suffering with truth and love.

For all of us, it means letting go of the reflex to justify ourselves and instead asking to be formed.

A Personal Question We Cannot Avoid

So here is the gentle, uncomfortable question this moment invites us to ask:

Where do you find yourself becoming?

When you read the news, what rises first?
Anger toward civic authority?
Disdain toward the church?
A sense of superiority?
A withdrawal into cynicism?

Lewis would say those reactions are not harmless. They are shaping us.

Are we becoming more hellish—quick to accuse, slow to love, eager to harden?
Or more heavenly—patient, prayerful, willing to serve even those we disagree with?

Who are your “enemies” right now?
The officer?
The immigrant?
The institution?
The church leader?
The neighbor who sees this differently?

Christ’s ethic does not begin with fixing them. It begins with praying for them. Serving them. Refusing to let contempt take root.

Small Faithfulness, Real Renewal

We will not heal the church or the state by shouting louder. We will not restore moral clarity by choosing better villains. Renewal begins quietly, personally, and faithfully—in homes, workplaces, firehouses, churches, and neighborhoods.

As we pray for civic authority, it may recover its vocation to govern justly.
As we pray for the church, it may recover its courage to love deeply.
And as we allow Christ to form us, we may find ourselves becoming the kind of people who can live faithfully in both spheres.

That is not a political project. It is a spiritual one.

And it begins wherever you find yourself today—turning again toward the humility of Christ, and asking to become something better than you were yesterday.