There comes a moment when a people must decide whether they are preserving a tradition… or protecting a soul.

I have not stopped praying.

In truth, I may be praying now more deeply than ever.

But I have become increasingly convinced that I no longer wish to tether the sacred act of prayer to governmental sponsorship, political spectacle, or the machinery of national identity.

For years, many churches, including ours, participated in what is known as the National Day of Prayer. And I do not question the sincerity of many who gathered under its banner. Many came seeking God honestly. Many knelt with integrity. Many wept real tears.

But sincerity alone does not remove the need for discernment.

Something has shifted.

Or perhaps more truthfully: something already present has become more visible.

Over time, I have watched prayer become increasingly entangled with political theater, national mythology, and ideological performance. I have watched the language of the Kingdom confused with the language of empire. I have watched faith wrapped too tightly in flags, parties, personalities, and power.

And I can no longer comfortably stand in that stream.

Not because I reject prayer.

But because I revere it too much.

Prayer is not propaganda.
Prayer is not branding.
Prayer is not a photo opportunity for power.

Prayer is holy interruption.

Prayer is surrender.

Prayer is the soul standing naked before God without title, nation, platform, or pretense.

The prophets did not pray to sanctify kingdoms. They prayed to call kingdoms to repentance.

Jesus did not teach the disciples to pray, “Bless our dominance.”
He taught them to pray, “Thy Kingdom come.”

And there is a difference between those two prayers.

As a pastor, I must be careful what streams I invite our congregation to drink from. Not every gathering invoking God is automatically carrying the Spirit of God. Discernment still matters. The golden calf in Exodus was not presented as atheism—it was presented as worship. Yet heaven rejected it all the same.

So we are making a change.

We will no longer participate in or align ourselves with government-connected prayer observances or movements that blur the line between prophetic faith and nationalistic performance.

That does not mean we are abandoning prayer.

Quite the opposite.

We are reclaiming it.

Every Saturday morning at New Unity, the people already gather for prayer. Quietly. Faithfully. Without cameras. Without spectacle. Without needing the validation of political systems. And in the days ahead, we will continue discerning what our next sacred gathering of prayer shall become.

Not because prayer belongs to the state.

But because prayer belongs to God.

The river in Book of Ezekiel 47 did not flow from a palace, a senate chamber, or a throne of empire.

It flowed from the presence of God.

And wherever the river flowed, there was life.

That is the stream I choose to stand in.