One of the quiet lies implanted into American culture is that people are only as valuable as what they produce.

We rarely say it out loud, but we live like it’s true. Your worth is tied to your job title, your productivity, your politics, your usefulness, your ability to stay in line or stay relevant. Even compassion gets rationed. Some people “deserve” it. Others don’t. Some lives are worth protecting. Others are up for debate.

This idea shapes our workplaces, our social media feeds, our news cycles, and yes, even our churches.

And American Christianity has accepted this rather than challenged it.

We preach grace while keeping score.
We talk about love while deciding who deserves it.
We say everyone matters, but our actions tell a very different story.

That tension is at the heart of a moment in the Gospel of Matthew.

Beloved Before All Else

In Matthew 3:13–17, Jesus shows up at the Jordan River to be baptized. John the Baptist hesitates, wouldn’t you? This doesn’t make sense. Jesus hasn’t preached a sermon yet. He hasn’t healed anyone. He hasn’t confronted religious hypocrisy or challenged political power.

He hasn’t done anything.

And yet, as Jesus comes up out of the water, God speaks:
“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

The order of these things is important.

Jesus is named, claimed, and delighted in before he proves anything. Before the teachings. Before the miracles. Before the cross and resurrection.

Belovedness comes first.

This is out of step with how most of us were taught.

From a young age, many of us learned that love can be conditional. You earn it by behaving, conforming, staying quiet, staying useful, staying on the right side of things…including the people with power. Even our faith communities often reinforce this.

Read your Bible more.
Give more.
Volunteer more.
Avoid the wrong people.
Don’t ask uncomfortable questions.

Then—maybe—you’re in good standing.

The problem is that none of that sounds like the riverbank where Jesus stands soaking wet, having done nothing yet.

The Myth of Earned Worth

American culture thrives on sorting people.

Social media turns people into products.
Politics turns neighbors into opponents.
Cable news feeds on fear for profit.
Churches turn living faith into a checklist of correct beliefs.

And once people become labels, it becomes easier to dismiss them.

Immigrants become “illegals.”
The poor become “lazy.”
The addicted become “irresponsible.”
People who vote differently become “dangerous.”
People who leave the church become “lost causes.”

What we’re really doing is attaching worth to usefulness, agreement, or behavior and then dousing it with religious language.

That’s not new. It was the same as the world Jesus lived in.

In the first century, worth was tied to gender, ethnicity, health, wealth, and religious status. Clean and unclean. Insider and outsider. Blessed and cursed.

It’s not just that Jesus challenges this system, but it’s when God speaks over him.

God does not wait to see how effective Jesus will be.
God does not hedge divine approval on future obedience.
God does not say, “Let’s see how this goes.”

God says, Beloved.

Why Identity Comes Before Behavior

This is where things get difficult, especially for church folks.

Because if identity comes before good behavior, then fear loses its power.

People who know they are loved don’t live in a constant state of defense.
They don’t have to win every argument.
They don’t need to turn disagreement into hostility.

They can listen without fear.
They can grow without losing themselves.

That kind of security produces courage.

Which is why this message is threat to systems that rely on shame and fear to keep people in line.

Fred Rogers understood this better than most religious leaders ever did. When he told children, “You are special just the way you are,” he wasn’t dismissing bad behavior. He was grounding them in identity so growth could actually happen.

Shame doesn’t produce growth.
Fear doesn’t produce love.
Anxiety doesn’t produce faith.

But secure love does.

Scripture agrees. Paul writes that nothing can separate us from the love of God. Not failure, not success, not politics, not death. John says we love because God loved us first.

Love flows from being loved.

The Church’s Complicity

Much of the American church has confused being comfortable with being faithful.

We’ve settled into routines that keep us from being challenged. We cling to familiar language, familiar enemies, familiar fears. We worship nostalgia and call it tradition. We resist growth and call it faithfulness.

Meanwhile, we participate, willingly or unwillingly, in systems that devalue human lives.

We excuse cruelty in politics because it protects our interests.
We overlook racism because addressing it would be “divisive.”
We downplay poverty because it’s complicated.
We spiritualize suffering instead of confronting its causes.

And then we wonder why fewer people trust the church.

It’s not because the world is “too secular.”
It’s because too often the church sounds exactly like the world, just with Bible verses attached.

The Gospel doesn’t ask us to be more pious versions of the same broken value system. It asks us to live out of a completely different one.

Politics Reveals Our Theology

You can tell what we really believe about human worth by how we talk about people with less power than us.

Our politics are not neutral. They reveal our theology.

When policies are driven by revenge instead of repair, fear instead of compassion, exclusion instead of dignity, we should not be surprised when Christians cheer instead of resist.

Jesus steps into the water with everyone else.
Not just the righteous or deserving.

That image alone should trouble our public witness.

If we truly believed people were beloved before they were useful, our conversations would sound different. Our priorities would shift. Our tone would soften. Our policies would look less punitive and more humane.

That doesn’t mean agreement on everything. It means refusing to reduce people to problems.

Living Like It’s True

Right after Jesus’ baptism, he’s tempted in the wilderness. Every temptation starts the same way: “If you are the Son of God…”

Prove it.
Perform.
Impress.
Take shortcuts.

Jesus resists because he already knows who he is.

We live in a culture constantly poking at our identity. No wonder we’re exhausted.

But imagine a church made up of people who actually believed they were beloved.

People who didn’t need to gatekeep God.
People who could admit they were wrong.
People who could make room for difference.
People who could love neighbors without measuring the cost.

The world does not need more scared Christians trying to control outcomes.

It needs people so grounded in love that they can afford to love others well, even when it’s uncomfortable or inconvenient.

God has already said what needs to be said.

The question isn’t whether we believe it.
The question is whether we’re willing to live like it’s true.

Reflection Question

Where have I learned to measure my worth, or someone else’s, by usefulness, agreement, or behavior instead of belovedness, and what would it look like to live differently this week?

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Closing Prayer

Loving God,
You spoke love over Jesus before he proved anything,
and somehow we still act as if love has to be earned.

We confess how easily we rank people,
how quickly we decide who matters,
how often fear shapes our words, our politics, and even our faith.

Remind us who we are before we try to be right.
Free us from the anxiety of needing to justify ourselves or diminish others.
Teach us to live from the truth that we are already held, already named, already loved.

Let that love soften our tone, widen our compassion,
and make us better neighbors in a divided world.

Give us the courage to live like your grace is real.
Amen.