MK Gantt Ministries

A Guest Post from Andrew Gantt of Salt, Light, & Hospitality

I did not write this. The thoughts come from my son, Andrew Gantt of Salt, Light, & Hospitality of Savannah, Georgia. He gave me permission to add thoughts and reblog, but honestly I don’t think there are any words that would add to the value of these thoughts. We are all stunned, heartbroken, and perhaps angry. Unless of course you happen to be one of the folks who believe that disagreements should be settled by a funeral. In that case, you might be the problem.

I need you to understand something right out of the gate. I don’t write this lightly. This one carries weight. Heavy weight. And I feel the responsibility of it pressing on me even as I type.

Today is 9/11/2025. That date already drips with meaning in this country. For most people, it drags our memories back to 2001… the images, the chaos, the heartbreak, and yes, the unity that came in the ashes. But today, I’m not only looking back. I’m looking at 9/10/2025, and I’m remembering 9/12/2001.

Two days when the world changed. Two days when the air got punched out of our lungs. Two days when time froze.

Yesterday, we watched the world stop again. Charlie Kirk was murdered while doing what he always did, using his voice. Some of you reading this loved the man, followed him, cheered him on. Some of you couldn’t stand him, thought he was too much, rolled your eyes at his every word. I don’t care which side of that line you’re on right now. That’s not the point.

Here’s the point: a man who stood relentlessly for freedom of speech, unity, and our God-given authority, had his life taken while speaking truth as he saw it.

And whether you liked him or not, the silence of his voice should shake you.

My mind went immediately to Acts. To Stephen. The first martyr. A man who stood there with his face shining like an angel while people hurled rocks at him until his last breath.

And who was there? Saul. Standing by. Holding the coats. Nodding along with the crowd. Approving.

And yet that very moment, along with an encounter with Christ on a dusty road, ignited something that turned Saul into Paul. The greatest missionary the church has ever known. The bridge-builder between Jew and Gentile. The one who taught us what unity actually looks like.

What the enemy meant to silence became the spark that set the gospel ablaze across the world.

I can’t help but feel the same question clawing at me right now: what will be born out of this moment? Will it just be another headline? Another round of social media wars? Another excuse for us to dig our trenches deeper?

Or will we finally wake up and realize that the church has work to do, and it cannot be done divided?

This thought has been bouncing around my head since Sunday. I was sitting in church when the Lord dropped it on me, but I didn’t really get it until last night.

When Paul wrote letters, who did he write to? The church of Rome. The church of Corinth. The church of Galatia. The church of Ephesus. The church of Philippi. The church of Colossae. The church of Thessalonica.

Let it sink in. He didn’t write to The Connection Church of Rome. He didn’t write to The Lighthouse Church of Ephesus. He didn’t write to Corinth’s Family Church.

He wrote to the church of that city. One body. One mission. One people.

But look at us now.

We’ve splintered ourselves into a thousand pieces. We’ve got churches on every corner, each one branding itself like it’s a sneaker company. We’ve got pastors side-eyeing each other like jealous exes. We’ve got members refusing to share a meal with someone who goes to “that other church.” We’ve got leaders belittling others from the pulpit because “they stole one of my sheep” or “they don’t do church like we do.”

Newsflash: they’re not your sheep. They’re His. And the second you start treating them like your personal property, you’ve stopped being a shepherd and started being a hired hand.

And tell me, how is that any different from the hatred that pulled a trigger yesterday? Division kills. Whether it comes from a gun or from a pulpit, it leaves bodies on the ground.

What good could we do if we stopped playing petty games and acted like the actual church of our cities? Imagine it. The Church of Savannah. The Church of Rincon. The Church of Brattleboro. The Church of New York. One church per city. One body per community. Not divided by signs and slogans but united in mission.

That’s not some pipe dream. That’s the New Testament blueprint. And we’ve traded it for church league politics.

Now, let me tie this to hospitality, because that’s the lens God keeps calling me back to.

Hospitality isn’t just casseroles, greeters at the door, or free coffee in the lobby. That’s the kiddie pool. Hospitality at its root is the ministry of welcome. It’s making space for someone else. It’s saying, “You belong here, even if you don’t look like me, think like me, or come from where I come from.”

And here’s the ugly truth: the church has failed at hospitality, not to the stranger, but to each other.

We brag about being “welcoming,” but we mean welcoming to strangers who might become our members. We’re not welcoming to other believers. We’re not welcoming to pastors who preach differently. We’re not welcoming to churches across town who don’t fit our mold.

That’s not hospitality. That’s arrogance. That’s insecurity dressed up as outreach.

Real hospitality tears down walls. Real hospitality unites. Real hospitality doesn’t care whose name is on the sign, it cares whose name is on the throne.

Now let me give you a picture from my world… the kitchen.

Kitchens are divided too. You’ve got front of house: servers, hosts, bussers, bartenders. And you’ve got back of house: cooks, dishwashers, prep. Different jobs. Different worlds. Sometimes different languages. And plenty of tension between them.

But when the dinner rush hits, none of that matters. Tickets are flying, tables are full, and the only way you survive is together. Front and back. Hands and voices. Everybody moving like one machine.

Nobody cares who’s in charge. Nobody cares who gets the glory. You just do the job and support each other until the last table is cleared.

The church should be no different.

But here’s what’s happening: pastors are trying to run their city with a skeleton crew. Churches are trying to win their town like a half-manned kitchen on a Friday night. And then they wonder why they’re drowning.

The job is too big for one house. The mission is too massive for one flock. The call is too heavy for one set of shoulders.

We need each other. Period.

So here it is. My rally cry. My war drum. My plea to the body of Christ.

Pastors!  Stop playing empire-builder. Quit guarding your turf like some medieval warlord. Work with your brothers. Pray with them. Plan with them. Stop seeing them as competition and start seeing them as co-laborers.

Believers!  Get off your blessed assurance. Stop hiding behind church walls and pretending that posting a Bible verse on Facebook counts as kingdom work. Go be the hands and feet of Jesus. Feed someone. Visit someone. Pray with someone.

Church! Rise up. Quit pretending we’re healthy while we bleed out from self-inflicted wounds. Stop competing. Stop dividing. Stop acting like high school cliques fighting over lunch tables. Start acting like the body of Christ.

Do you remember 9/12/2001? The unity? The flags waving? The tears shared? The strangers helping strangers? Nobody cared about differences that day. We were Americans first.

What if the church took that same spirit, but made it permanent? What if we stood as one body, one people, one mission? What if we were unafraid to use our voices, our platforms, our numbers, our God-given authority, just like Charlie Kirk did?

What would your city look like?

This is not theory. This is not a blog post to make you feel warm inside and move on. This is a call to action.

If you’re in Georgia, please contact me. Don’t wait. My email is saltlightandhospitality@gmail.com

 and my phone number is 912-438-2962. Let’s build the movement. Let’s be the church… not a church, not my church, not your church, THE CHURCH.

If you’re outside Georgia, start where you are. Talk to your pastors. Talk to your people. Break bread with believers across town. Become the voice crying out in your city: “We are one body. We are one church. We are one kingdom.”

Because at the end of the day, the mission hasn’t changed. The King hasn’t changed. The gospel hasn’t changed.

We are called to preach the kingdom. To make disciples. To be God’s hands and feet. And we cannot do it divided.

This is the moment. The church has work to do. So get to it, and remember…

Stay Salty