Bloom Where You're Planted: A Faith Perspective on Living in a Secular World

What would you do if you woke up tomorrow in a foreign country, separated from your family, your church, your culture — and someone told you that you'd be staying for the next 70 years?
That was the reality facing the Israelites who were taken into Babylonian captivity around 597 BC. Ripped from their homeland by King Nebuchadnezzar, stripped of their temple, their traditions, and their community, they found themselves strangers in one of the most powerful — and godless — empires on earth.

And into that disorienting silence, a letter arrived.

Three Types of Exiles — Which One Are You?
Before Jeremiah's letter reached them, the exiles had already divided themselves into three groups — and if we're honest, we can probably recognize ourselves in at least one of them.

The first group were the refugees — people living in temporary shelters, refusing to plant roots, convinced that God was about to swoop in and deliver them back to Jerusalem at any moment. They were spiritually paralyzed by the belief that this season was too short to invest in. Why build a house when you're about to leave?

The second group were the mourners. They grieved the loss of Jerusalem, of the temple, of familiar food and customs. Psalm 137 captures their heartache poignantly: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion." These weren't bad people — they were brokenhearted people. But grief, left unchecked, can become its own kind of captivity.

The third group were what you might simply call the bums — people so overwhelmed and distraught that they simply checked out. They weren't grieving or hoping. They were just... waiting. Disengaged. Coasting through captivity.

Sound familiar? Because if we swap Babylon for our increasingly secular culture, these three responses are everywhere around us — and sometimes, within us.

The Letter Nobody Wanted — But Everyone Needed
The exiles were expecting a letter from Jeremiah that would read something like: "Good news! God is going to deliver you soon — just like Moses and the Exodus. Sit tight."

What they got instead was deeply practical, almost jarring in its bluntness. In Jeremiah 29:4-7, God's instructions through the prophet were simple and concrete:

"Build houses and live in them. Plant gardens and eat their produce. Find wives for yourselves and have sons and daughters... Pursue the well-being of the city I have deported you to. Pray to the Lord on its behalf. For when it thrives, you will thrive."

Notice the verbs: build, plant, find, pursue, pray. These are active, forward-looking, community-embedded words. God wasn't asking them to like Babylon. He wasn't asking them to forget Jerusalem. He was asking them to stop living like guests in a waiting room and start living like people with something to contribute.

In short, Jeremiah's message was this: You are not refugees anymore. You are residents.

Residents, Not Refugees: Mindset Shift #1
The first mindset shift Jeremiah demands is a move from the refugee mentality to a resident mentality. A refugee lives as if the current situation is temporary — why invest, why commit, why love something you're about to leave? But a resident plants. A resident builds. A resident shows up.

This applies to us more than we might realize. We live in an increasingly secular world — what some would call our own version of Babylon. And there's a real temptation for Christians to disengage from culture, to wait it out, to hold our breath until Jesus comes back. But that's not the model Jeremiah (or Jesus) gave us.

Jesus himself walked the tightrope: "in the world, but not of the world" (John 17). So did Daniel — he took a Babylonian name, a Babylonian education, and a Babylonian job. He was fully embedded in that culture. But when they asked him to compromise his convictions, he held the line. He was present without being consumed.

There's a subtle gift in living in a post-Christian culture. In places where cultural Christianity is the norm, faith becomes background noise — people assume they're Christians because they showed up at church once and know a few worship songs. But in a place like coastal Southern California, if you mention you're a Christ follower, people actually ask: "What's that?" And that question is an open door.

From Mourners to Missionaries: Mindset Shift #2
The second mindset shift is perhaps the most countercultural of all: praying for your city — especially when you feel like your city is the enemy.

Think about how shocking Jeremiah's instruction must have felt. These people had been forcibly removed from everything they loved. The Psalmist captured their raw prayers — prayers that weren't exactly gentle. Psalm 137 contains one of the most unsettling lines in all of Scripture, where the exiles essentially prayed for violent retribution against their Babylonian captors.

And yet Jeremiah tells them: pray for this city. Pray that it thrives. Because when it thrives, you thrive.

This is a profound reorientation. God isn't just the God of Jerusalem. He hears prayer from Babylon. He works in foreign lands, in enemy territory, in cities full of people who don't know His name. And He calls His people not to mourn what they've lost, but to become missionaries where they are.

This is the spirit behind 21 days of prayer — communities of believers choosing to pray not just for themselves but for the people around them, for the neighborhoods and cities where God has placed them. It's the spirit of Daniel 9:19, where Daniel pours his heart out: "Lord, hear. Lord, forgive. Lord, listen and act." Urgency. Humility. Expectation.

From Bums to Blessings: Mindset Shift #3
The third mindset shift is about action. Jeremiah says to "pursue" the well-being of the city. Pursue — not just vaguely wish for, not just occasionally think about, but actively, intentionally, cheetah-like pursue.

Being a blessing to your city looks like good works — food drives, school volunteering, neighborhood clean-ups. And all of that is good and necessary. But the church has something unique that no other organization on earth offers: the Great Commission. The Red Cross can meet physical needs. Only the church carries the message that can change a human heart.
So what does it look like practically? One helpful framework is the BLESS acronym (from David Ferguson's book B.L.E.S.S):

B – Begin with Prayer. Do you actually pray for your neighbors by name? That simple act changes not just circumstances — it changes you. It turns a stranger into someone you're emotionally invested in.

L – Listen with Care. In an age of distraction, genuine presence is countercultural. Sitting with someone, hearing them, and reflecting back "that sounds really hard" — that's a gift money can't buy. It's the foundation of real relationship.

E – Eat Together. Jesus did this constantly — and often with the wrong people, by the world's standards. Sharing a meal is one of the most powerful social acts we have. It signals: you belong here. You're worth my time and table.

S – Serve in Love. Once you've listened, you'll know how to help. People self-identify their needs when you give them space to talk. Walk their dog. Bring them a meal. Mow their lawn. Love is specific.

S – Share Your Story. After all of the above, you've earned a relational platform. And sometimes the most powerful thing you can share isn't a theology lecture — it's just 30 seconds of your own story. What was your life like before? What changed? What does Jesus mean to you now?

Notice that sharing comes last. Not because the gospel is an afterthought — but because love earns a hearing. The story lands differently when it's spoken by someone who has already shown up.

God Cares About Cities
One of the most moving moments in all of Scripture is the closing of the book of Jonah. Jonah, after reluctantly preaching repentance to the city of Nineveh, is furious that God chose to forgive them. He sits outside the city nursing his anger, and God gives him a shade plant — then takes it away.

Jonah is livid about the plant. And God says, in essence: you cared about a plant you didn't even grow. Should I not care about a great city of 120,000 people who don't know their left from their right?

God cares about cities. He cared about Nineveh. He cared about Babylon. He cares about your city — whatever it is. The 114,000 people in Carlsbad. The millions in San Diego. The neighbors on your street whose names you might not yet know.

This Is Not Your Permanent Home — But It Is Your Present One
Jeremiah's letter was not a letter of despair. It was a letter of reorientation. Yes, this is hard. Yes, you are far from home. Yes, the culture around you doesn't share your values. But God has placed you here, in this city, at this moment — and He has something for you to do while you're here.

Stop waiting for conditions to be more favorable before you engage. Stop mourning the state of culture as if there's nothing you can do about it. Stop coasting through life as though your presence doesn't matter.

Build. Plant. Pray. Pursue. Bless.

Because this isn't just where you're living. This is where you've been placed. And when your city thrives — you will thrive.

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