By Teasi Cannon.
Controversies and conspiracy theories aren’t new. Throughout history, groups convinced they’ve uncovered hidden truths — things they believe others have overlooked — have worked to bring them into the light.
What is new is the sheer volume of these claims and how quickly they spread. Scroll through a news feed today, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by a constant stream of shock-and-awe narratives.
Across platforms, influential voices have built massive followings around exposing hidden corruption. Their claims resonate because people know that leaders can indeed be corrupt and truth can be obscured. The apostle Paul recognized this and told the early church to expose the works of darkness (Ephesians 5:11). There’s undoubtedly a place for truth-telling — for calling out what’s false and harmful. In some cases, it’s necessary.
But there’s a critical difference between exposing darkness and being shaped by it, and that demands an honest answer: is this a calling or an appetite? The distinction matters because the two don’t produce the same result.
Yes, there are people God specifically calls to investigate and expose corruption — journalists, lawyers, advocates, whistleblowers. If God has called you to that work, do it boldly and faithfully. But most of us aren’t called to it; we’re drawn to it.
None of this is a call to ignore evil. It’s a call to refuse to be formed by it. Because what we repeatedly dwell on doesn’t simply inform us — it shapes us.
The apostle Paul spoke to this, as well. His test for what Christians should give their attention to goes beyond factual accuracy (Philippians 4:8). It asks whether what we’re focused on is honorable, just, pure, lovely, and commendable — and when it consistently produces anxiety, suspicion, and outrage rather than righteousness and peace, something has gone wrong. Somewhere along the way, many of us have drifted from discernment to consumption. We’re not merely identifying what’s wrong — we’re dwelling on it, replaying, analyzing, and building divisive allegiances around it. It’s not just catching our interest; it’s become a toxin-laden diet of speculation, outrage, and even slander.
Modern neuroscience confirms that the brain continually rewires itself based on repeated thoughts and inputs. What we pay attention to strengthens neural pathways over time, making certain patterns of thinking more automatic. As psychologist Donald Hebb observed, “Cells that fire together, wire together.” Over time, those patterns don’t just influence what we think, they influence who we become.
That should lead us to ask a simple but honest question. What is shaping my mind today? Is this drawing me closer to Christ — or pulling my attention away from Him? Is this producing more of the fruit of the Spirit — or something else (Galatians 5:22-23)? And honestly, can I really imagine Jesus spending His time consumed with this?
These questions aren’t meant to spiritually bypass reality or abandon truth-telling. They’re meant to guard our hearts and get honest about what our consumption is doing to us.
If we consistently immerse ourselves in content that’s suspicious, inflammatory, or speculative — even when it contains truth — we shouldn’t be surprised when we become more critical than discerning, more agitated than peaceful, and more suspicious than genuinely discerning.
Suspicion thrives in ambiguity. It fills in gaps with conjecture and often produces a false sense of certainty that exceeds what we can actually know. Over time, that posture can begin to feel like wisdom or even courage. But when suspicion becomes our default, it doesn’t just distort how we see the world — it reshapes how we relate to people, institutions, and one another in the Body of Christ.
Some will ask — and rightly so — “didn’t Jesus expose corruption?”
Yes. Boldly and without mincing words. He confronted religious leaders who misrepresented God and oppressed people, but He didn’t center His ministry on tracking corruption. He didn’t build a platform on suspicion, fear, and skepticism. He addressed identifiable sin with clarity and purpose — and then consistently redirected people to the Kingdom of God.
He exposed corruption as a path to restoration. We often expose corruption as an end in itself.
A steady intake of inflammatory content can form us into people who are constantly scanning for what’s wrong, and sometimes we’re right. But God doesn’t measure faithfulness by accuracy alone — but by the condition of our heart (1 Corinthians 13), the fruit of our lives (Galatians 5:22-23), and the transformation of our minds into the likeness of Christ (Romans 12:2).
The prophet Jeremiah offers a picture of faithful engagement with darkness. Surrounded by corrupt leaders and false prophets, he saw clearly what was wrong — and God called him to name it. But Jeremiah didn’t fixate on darkness. He meditated on the Word of God, which shaped both his message and his courage. He built his ministry not on tracking what was wrong, but on proclaiming God’s truth.
What if we purposely redirected our attention toward things that form Christ in us — clear, faithful teaching of Scripture, thoughtful theology, and faith-building apologetics? Voices that don’t just reveal what’s broken but help build what’s true. I can’t help but think we’d have more joy — and be far better equipped for a time such as this.
We’re not called to be curators of outrage. We’re called to be ministers of reconciliation. Yes, sometimes God reveals darkness so we can confront it — and when He does, we need to be bold and obedient. But sometimes He reveals evil simply so we won’t be deceived by it. And it’s not more information that helps us know the difference — it’s wisdom. Thankfully, God invites us to ask for it and promises to give it generously (James 1:5).
In a world increasingly defined by division and outrage, we can’t forget what we’re here to display: truth, grace, wisdom, mercy, hope, and above all, love.
When our pursuit of exposing darkness isn’t anchored in love for Christ, our intentions don’t matter.
It won’t change the world.
But it will change us — and not into His image.
Controversies and conspiracy theories aren’t new. Throughout history, groups convinced they’ve uncovered hidden truths — things they believe others have overlooked — have worked to bring them into the light.
What is new is the sheer volume of these claims and how quickly they spread. Scroll through a news feed today, and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by a constant stream of shock-and-awe narratives.
Across platforms, influential voices have built massive followings around exposing hidden corruption. Their claims resonate because people know that leaders can indeed be corrupt and truth can be obscured. The apostle Paul recognized this and told the early church to expose the works of darkness (Ephesians 5:11). There’s undoubtedly a place for truth-telling — for calling out what’s false and harmful. In some cases, it’s necessary.
But there’s a critical difference between exposing darkness and being shaped by it, and that demands an honest answer: is this a calling or an appetite? The distinction matters because the two don’t produce the same result.
Yes, there are people God specifically calls to investigate and expose corruption — journalists, lawyers, advocates, whistleblowers. If God has called you to that work, do it boldly and faithfully. But most of us aren’t called to it; we’re drawn to it.
None of this is a call to ignore evil. It’s a call to refuse to be formed by it. Because what we repeatedly dwell on doesn’t simply inform us — it shapes us.
The apostle Paul spoke to this, as well. His test for what Christians should give their attention to goes beyond factual accuracy (Philippians 4:8). It asks whether what we’re focused on is honorable, just, pure, lovely, and commendable — and when it consistently produces anxiety, suspicion, and outrage rather than righteousness and peace, something has gone wrong. Somewhere along the way, many of us have drifted from discernment to consumption. We’re not merely identifying what’s wrong — we’re dwelling on it, replaying, analyzing, and building divisive allegiances around it. It’s not just catching our interest; it’s become a toxin-laden diet of speculation, outrage, and even slander.
Modern neuroscience confirms that the brain continually rewires itself based on repeated thoughts and inputs. What we pay attention to strengthens neural pathways over time, making certain patterns of thinking more automatic. As psychologist Donald Hebb observed, “Cells that fire together, wire together.” Over time, those patterns don’t just influence what we think, they influence who we become.
That should lead us to ask a simple but honest question. What is shaping my mind today? Is this drawing me closer to Christ — or pulling my attention away from Him? Is this producing more of the fruit of the Spirit — or something else (Galatians 5:22-23)? And honestly, can I really imagine Jesus spending His time consumed with this?
These questions aren’t meant to spiritually bypass reality or abandon truth-telling. They’re meant to guard our hearts and get honest about what our consumption is doing to us.
If we consistently immerse ourselves in content that’s suspicious, inflammatory, or speculative — even when it contains truth — we shouldn’t be surprised when we become more critical than discerning, more agitated than peaceful, and more suspicious than genuinely discerning.
Suspicion thrives in ambiguity. It fills in gaps with conjecture and often produces a false sense of certainty that exceeds what we can actually know. Over time, that posture can begin to feel like wisdom or even courage. But when suspicion becomes our default, it doesn’t just distort how we see the world — it reshapes how we relate to people, institutions, and one another in the Body of Christ.
Some will ask — and rightly so — “didn’t Jesus expose corruption?”
Yes. Boldly and without mincing words. He confronted religious leaders who misrepresented God and oppressed people, but He didn’t center His ministry on tracking corruption. He didn’t build a platform on suspicion, fear, and skepticism. He addressed identifiable sin with clarity and purpose — and then consistently redirected people to the Kingdom of God.
He exposed corruption as a path to restoration. We often expose corruption as an end in itself.
A steady intake of inflammatory content can form us into people who are constantly scanning for what’s wrong, and sometimes we’re right. But God doesn’t measure faithfulness by accuracy alone — but by the condition of our heart (1 Corinthians 13), the fruit of our lives (Galatians 5:22-23), and the transformation of our minds into the likeness of Christ (Romans 12:2).
The prophet Jeremiah offers a picture of faithful engagement with darkness. Surrounded by corrupt leaders and false prophets, he saw clearly what was wrong — and God called him to name it. But Jeremiah didn’t fixate on darkness. He meditated on the Word of God, which shaped both his message and his courage. He built his ministry not on tracking what was wrong, but on proclaiming God’s truth.
What if we purposely redirected our attention toward things that form Christ in us — clear, faithful teaching of Scripture, thoughtful theology, and faith-building apologetics? Voices that don’t just reveal what’s broken but help build what’s true. I can’t help but think we’d have more joy — and be far better equipped for a time such as this.
We’re not called to be curators of outrage. We’re called to be ministers of reconciliation. Yes, sometimes God reveals darkness so we can confront it — and when He does, we need to be bold and obedient. But sometimes He reveals evil simply so we won’t be deceived by it. And it’s not more information that helps us know the difference — it’s wisdom. Thankfully, God invites us to ask for it and promises to give it generously (James 1:5).
In a world increasingly defined by division and outrage, we can’t forget what we’re here to display: truth, grace, wisdom, mercy, hope, and above all, love.
When our pursuit of exposing darkness isn’t anchored in love for Christ, our intentions don’t matter.
It won’t change the world.
But it will change us — and not into His image.
