The afternoon crowd at The Shepherds Cafe had thinned down to the faithful few—people who weren’t in a hurry and didn’t need noise to feel alive. The espresso machine sighed now and then, and the rain on the windows sounded like fingers tapping a steady rhythm.
Barbara was wiping down the counter when she noticed Elijah sitting unusually still. His glasses were low on his nose, and his phone was face-up on the table—not because he was distracted, but because he was reading something carefully, like a man weighing words.
Jeremiah walked in, shook the rain from his jacket, and gave Barbara a nod. She poured his coffee before he asked.
Jeremiah slid into the booth across from Elijah. “You look like you’re reading something that hit a nerve.”
Elijah turned the phone slightly. “It did. It’s an article from La Vista—called ‘Trust.’”
Jeremiah glanced at the screen, then leaned back. “That’s a loaded topic. Trust is hard right now.”
Barbara, still near the counter, kept one ear turned toward them. “Trust is hard,” she said, “because a lot of people learned the cost of being naïve.”
Elijah nodded. “This article starts with a passage from the Law—Exodus 22:10–11—where a neighbor’s property is entrusted to another man, and if something happens ‘without anyone seeing it,’ an oath before the Lord settled the matter. The owner accepted the oath. The man’s word was enough.”
Jeremiah’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s… almost unimaginable now.”
Elijah said, “Exactly. The author points out how modern cynicism makes it difficult to take anyone at their word, but God expected His people to be the kind of people whose word could be accepted.”
Barbara folded a towel and set it down. “It’s not that we want to be suspicious,” she said. “It’s that we’ve been trained to assume the worst—and we call it wisdom.”
Jeremiah opened his Bible, not dramatically—just naturally, like breathing. “Scripture actually separates caution from cynicism. Wisdom is watchful. Cynicism is corrosive.”
Elijah scrolled again. “The article quotes James 5:12—let your ‘yes’ be yes and your ‘no’ be no—and ties it to love from 1 Corinthians 13:7, that love bears, believes, hopes, and endures.”
Jeremiah nodded slowly. “That’s where men get uncomfortable. Because love that ‘believes’ sounds like being gullible.”
Elijah looked up. “The article is careful—it doesn’t call Christians to be naïve. It calls us to start with the best assumptions about our brethren instead of suspicion as a default setting.”
Barbara’s voice softened. “And that’s what’s missing in so many congregations—people can sit in the same room and still not feel safe.”
Jeremiah took a sip of coffee. “Because suspicion kills fellowship.”
Elijah set his phone down. “The author says bluntly: there’s no way to have loving relationships and fellowship if we aren’t willing to show trust—and that cynicism can turn us angry and bitter, and God doesn’t want that for us.”
Jeremiah sat still for a moment, like he was letting the sentence find its target. Then he said, “I’ve watched that happen. One person gets hurt, and instead of healing, they build a fortress. Then they live inside it and call it discernment.”
Barbara nodded. “And the fortress becomes a prison.”
A man at a nearby table—middle-aged, work-worn hands—cleared his throat. “What do you do when you’ve trusted someone before and it blew up?”
Jeremiah didn’t answer quickly. He respected the question. “First, you don’t pretend betrayal doesn’t hurt. Scripture never asks you to lie about pain. But it does warn you not to let pain remake you into something unrecognizable.”
Elijah added, “This is where we have to separate two things: trust in God—which must be absolute—and trust in people—which is real but measured.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Exactly. Proverbs says, ‘Do not trust in your own understanding’ (Proverbs 3:5), and it also says, ‘The prudent sees danger and hides himself’ (Proverbs 22:3). Wisdom notices patterns. But cynicism assumes guilt.”
Barbara leaned on the counter. “So what does healthy trust look like in a church family?”
Elijah lifted a finger, counting with quiet precision. “The article gives one clear standard: among Christians, our yes should mean yes and our no should mean no—and that should be sufficient.” “That only works if we are committed to honesty and if we stop treating each other like potential enemies.”
Jeremiah said, “And Scripture supports that whole culture: ‘Put away falsehood, speak truth each one of you with his neighbor’ (Ephesians 4:25). Trust collapses when truth becomes optional.”
Barbara added, “But trust also collapses when people punish honesty. If a brother admits weakness and gets gossiped about, you’re training the whole church to hide.”
Jeremiah’s eyes sharpened. “That’s why Proverbs warns that a trustworthy man keeps a matter concealed (Proverbs 11:13). There can be no fellowship where every confession becomes entertainment.”
Elijah looked around the cafe—at the quiet tables, the couples, the single patrons, the tired faces. “This isn’t just a church issue,” he said. “This is a culture issue. But the church is supposed to be different.”
Jeremiah nodded once. “Because the church is built on the gospel—people who know they’ve been forgiven. If you truly believe God has covered your sins, you should be the last person eager to suspect everyone else.”
Barbara spoke gently but firmly. “And when trust is healthy, people don’t just attend. They belong.”
The man at the table asked again, quieter now. “So how do you rebuild trust—practically?”
Jeremiah answered like an elder who has seen the long road. “Slowly. With clear commitments.”
Elijah followed with specifics—simple enough to do, strong enough to change a culture:
Start with truthful speech. Make your yes reliable and your no clean (James 5:12). Assume the best first, not last. Love doesn’t lead with suspicion; it leads with charity (1 Corinthians 13:7). Refuse gossip as a form of bonding. It trains mistrust. Keep confidences like you keep valuables. The church cannot be a safe place if secrets are treated like currency. Practice small trust before big trust. Consistency over time rebuilds what pain tore down. Correct when necessary—but don’t prosecute. Matthew 18 exists because Jesus expects real relationships to require real repairs.
Barbara nodded as if she was watching something invisible become solid. “That’s what people want,” she said. “Not perfection. A place where truth doesn’t get you harmed.”
Jeremiah closed his Bible gently. “The article is right: cynicism is ingrained in our culture.” “But the church can’t afford to inherit that spirit. If we do, we’ll still have doctrine, still have assemblies, still have programs—and no real fellowship.”
Elijah looked down at his phone one last time. “It ends with this: don’t be so suspicious of everyone. Trust makes you vulnerable, yes—and you might get hurt—but letting hurt poison every relationship will turn you into someone who no longer knows how to love. God does not want that for us.”
For a moment, the cafe fell quiet—not awkward quiet, but reflective quiet. The kind where you can tell people are thinking about names, faces, old wounds, and the choice in front of them.
Barbara broke the silence with a practical kindness. “If you want to rebuild trust,” she said, “start today. Pick one brother or sister and treat them like family again. Not like a threat.”
Jeremiah nodded. “That’s the work. And it’s worth it.”
Elijah lifted his mug. “Because fellowship isn’t a slogan,” he said. “It’s the fruit of truth, love, and trust—grown slowly, guarded carefully, and lived on purpose.”