By: Pastor Dennis Talbert

This week, I faced a hard truth—one I never thought I would apply to myself. I just might be a bigot. That’s a shocking realization for someone like me, a near lifelong Christian who has poured countless hours into mentoring and empowering thousands of young people through ministry, missions, and service projects around the world. And yet, here I am, saying it plainly: I am a bigot.

Bigotry, as I’ve come to define it, is more than just open hostility or hate. A bigot is someone who is intolerant of people who are different—be it in race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, or political belief. It’s an attitude, a posture, a resistance to seeing the humanity and dignity in others when they don’t mirror your own values or experiences. A bigot holds strong, unreasonable prejudices and often refuses to see things from another perspective, let alone treat those people with fairness or love. By that definition, the spirit of intolerance has, at times, influenced my own life. It has subtly and steadily crept in, impacting the very essence of who I am and distorting my grasp of the fruits of the Spirit described in Galatians 5:22–23: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I never wanted this. I never meant for intolerance to settle in my heart. My Christian witness has long been centered on Romans 12:18: “If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” But I now find myself asking—how can one live at peace when bigotry poisons the soul and breeds division, anger, and even hate?

Growing up in the Church, I often heard the phrase attributed to St. Augustine: “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” It sounded noble, maybe even biblical. But in recent years, I’ve begun to question its true intent and impact. That phrase—repeated so often in Christian circles—now strikes me as a contradiction. It creates emotional distance, allowing us to avoid the messy, costly love that Jesus actually modeled. Jesus didn’t merely “tolerate” sinners. He embraced them. He ate with tax collectors, allowed a prostitute to anoint his feet, spoke freely with outcasts, and taught in parables that exalted acts of mercy over piety. He fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, and clothed the naked. His love was complete, relational, and redemptive. If we say we “love the sinner,” shouldn’t that love resemble the embrace of Christ—patient, kind, and unflinchingly real?

This moment of self-reckoning compelled me to do what I’ve always done when facing a spiritual dilemma: I studied. I read the Scriptures, reflected on history, and dug into the roots of prejudice and hatred. What I discovered, and perhaps what you already know, is that bigotry has always been about more than feelings. It’s about power—who has it, who keeps it, and who is kept out. Bigotry is entangled with colonialism, racism, religious extremism, xenophobia, and nationalism. It’s been the fuel behind wars, oppression, and systems of injustice that continue to this day.

When I look around at the cultural climate we live in—politically divided, racially charged, and spiritually adrift—I understand how I got here. But my concern now stretches beyond myself. I am deeply troubled by what I see within the Body of Christ. Are we truly influencing the world for good? Or are we, in fact, being influenced by the world—conforming to its divisions and prejudices while hiding behind spiritual language?

One of Detroit’s great spiritual giants, the late Dr. Frederick G. Sampson, regularly prayed, “Lord, help me to rescue your church from your church.” That prayer echoes in my soul today. It might also be the silent cry of a generation of young people who keep walking in and out of our churches like they’re moving through a revolving door. They may lack formal theological training or institutional titles, but they know when something doesn’t add up. They can feel the dissonance between the Jesus we teach and the church we run. And many are choosing to walk away.

Perhaps it’s time for a new movement—not built on branding or tradition, but on truth and love. A movement that dares to preach the Christ of the cross, not a Christ of cultural conformity or political convenience. A movement that reclaims the radical humility and holy justice that defined the life of Jesus. Not a new denomination or a trendy campaign, but a rescue mission. A spiritual lifeboat for a church that may be drifting.  I’m just saying: What say you? Does the church need rescuing? Do we have the courage to confront our own prejudice, our institutional complacency, and the ways we’ve quietly accepted intolerance under the banner of faith?

P.S.    As for me, I return to the words of 1 Corinthians 9:27: “But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I should be disqualified.” I do not want to be disqualified—not from the race, the call, or the love I’ve spent a lifetime trying to embody. I need the Holy Spirit and my community to hold me accountable.

I am a sinner saved by grace and covered by mercy. But even grace demands that I grow.