The Anchor and the Adoration

Why justice, evangelism, and strategy must begin in affection.

I heard an old worship song last week. One I hadn’t sung in years:

“Father, we love You,
We worship and adore You,
Glorify Thy name in all the earth.”

It was so simple, and the melody played through my speakers with such gentleness, like a sweet breeze on a hot sunny day, it caused my whole body to respond. I’ve always loved this song, it’s a sweet song of adoration that is full and rich with simplicity and mystery. Glorify your name in all the earth…what a statement. In this earth, full of war, prejudice, poverty, hunger, loneliness, and depravity…the prophetic soul cry still rings true, glorify your name in all the earth.

In the professional world of ministry, we talk so much about glorifying Jesus’ name, whether it’s through our preaching, our planning, our dreaming, our protesting, our advocacy, our content strategy, our community outreach. Truly, those things may be, and in many cases are, holy. But as I let the wind of the Spirit wash over me as the chorus echoed in the background, I felt the whisper of Holy say, “My people have become so busy doing things in my name, that they’ve forgotten to cultivate being in love with me.”

Donna Adkins penned this song in 1981, inspired by Jesus’ prayer in John 17, that His people would be one. In just a few lines, the song captures a sacred rhythm: we love, we worship, we adore… and then we petition one thing. That through it all, God would glorify His name.

I felt a familiar burn of conviction while the Spirit’s words echoed in my heart as the song softly played behind me. If we are honest with ourselves, we don’t forget why we’re doing what we’re doing, not exactly, if anything, especially for those who actively work in ministry, it feels always before us. It’s a mandate, a calling. However, if we aren’t careful, so quickly we just stop remembering who we’re doing it with. And without realizing it, our hearts begin to drift. And then we look around and see the cultural wind and waves swirling out of our control, it can overwhelm us in an instant and we can be tossed back and forth without anything to steady us except the unreliability of our emotions.

Hebrews 6:19 tells us that Christ is our Anchor.

It’s such a particular image and maybe a strange one for those of us who don’t spend our lives on the water. But anchors matter most when the storm is raging. Anchors don't calm the sea or change the weather. What they do is hold you steady when everything else says you should be destroyed by the storm. In fact, the way an anchor functions is striking, it sinks below the surface, digs deep into what cannot be seen, and connects the vessel above to something stronger, older, and unmoved. A well-set anchor doesn’t eliminate the tossing, it keeps the tossing from becoming destruction.

And so it is with Christ.

He is not simply our inspiration, he is our unshifting hope, our beneath the surface security. He is the one who keeps us tethered when politics rage, when ministry burns us out, when the cause gets loud, when we are betrayed or face unpredictable grief or death, and even when good work wears thin.

Christ is the Anchor.
Firm and secure.
Not always visible, but always holding.

He is steady and unshifting, he the one who secures us when the waves of cultural pressure, exhaustion, (in many countries genuine persecution) and even good-hearted urgency threaten to pull us recklessly into the storm. He doesn’t drift. He doesn’t fray. He is the fixed point beneath the surface, the one who holds when we cannot hold ourselves.

Hebrews 6:19 calls Him “a hope... both sure and steadfast.” That’s not poetic embellishment; it’s a reminder of our lifeline. When our strategies wear thin and our strength runs out, when chaos and destruction, pain and grief circle around, Jesus remains firm, faithful, immovable, leading us to the margins where he is always at work.

Have we loosened our grip to our Anchor in the midst of our trials, anger, exhaustion, or confusion?

Let’s be honest, it’s not always in rebellion or even because of pain, often it can happen because of good things: defending the faith, evangelizing, advocating, writing, voting, podcasting, posting, pastoring. Here’s my concern, my friend, I’m worried that the church in America has turned Christ’s name into a campaign slogan. That we’ve used His words to back our own and we’ve forgotten that Jesus doesn’t stand in court at the center of empires, but he brings justice to the edges of the wilderness, to the marginalized, and hungry and in so doing he glorifies his name.

Jesus is not a mascot for our cause.
He is not a brand for our content.
He is not a footnote in our agenda.
He is the Anchor, firm and furious with love and compassion and a grace that makes me uncomfortable at times.

He is the One who weeps over the children of Gaza more than we do.

He fumes more than we do over the injustice from terrorist organizations than the fiercest mother.

He sees the persecuted church in Syria, DRC, and Iran and holds his children when they breathe their last at the hands of those seeking to kill his people.

In all of this, he is also the one who watches our striving and whispers,

“Lay it down. Come sit with me, remember me.”.”

Sometimes, the most faithful act is not louder devotion, but deeper affection.

It’s a prayer, before we lead publicly, that moans first in the quiet dark secret places, “Jesus, I don’t just want to serve you. I want to adore you. I want to be anchored in you. I don’t want my anchor in what I do for you, even if what I do is good and what you’ve asked me to do. I adore, I worship and love you. Will you glorify your name in this earth?”

Today, before you lead, before you write that sermon, before you take that meeting, before you advocate for the marginalized, before you post online, before you promote your next event, before you tell others about Jesus, take a moment and remember the Anchor who holds you when everything else is unmoored.

He’s here.
Waiting, not to be used, but to be known.

Because the overflow of adoration is action.
It is advocacy.
It’s letting our hearts break for what breaks his.
It’s calling prophetically what the people of God should look like and renouncing what they shouldn’t.
It is speaking truth, seeking justice, embodying mercy.

But when we skip past adoration,
when we run on fumes of outrage or pressure or performance,
we lose the point.

Prophecy without presence becomes noise.
Justice without Jesus becomes ideology.
Evangelism without intimacy becomes marketing.

Because in the end, he will glorify his name all the earth.
Not through louder platforms or busier calendars, but through hearts wholly in love with Him. Through lives stilled long enough to hear His voice.
Through broken places made whole by His presence and through his people.

He will glorify His name.
In every land.
In every storm.
He will do it through us, he will do it through you. He will do it through his church when we’re anchored in adoration.

So, for a moment today, put the mic down, let the inbox wait, forget the algorithm. Just for a moment and remember the Anchor who holds you when everything else is drifting in the storm.

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”
— Hebrews 6:19

Let that be enough today.

Listen to "Glorify Thy Name" here