Rural churches 3 crosses
Three crosses stand above the cemetery at Israel United Methodist Church near Montrose, W. Va., in 2015. (File photo by Mike DuBose, UM News.)
Oklahoma Conference | Nov. 12, 2025
In small towns across Oklahoma and beyond, it’s not uncommon to see towering crosses rise above the horizon—metal, wood, or neon declarations of Christian identity. Some communities even brand themselves as “Christian towns,” with signage, slogans, and symbols meant to proclaim faith. But I’ve come to believe that these displays, however well-meaning, often do more to close doors than open hearts.
Let me be clear: I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. I have given my life to ministry, to public witness, and to the sacred work of making every person feel beloved. But I do not believe that plastering a cross on every corner makes a town more Christlike. In fact, it may do the opposite.
When a community marks itself with religious symbols so prominently, it sends a message—not just of faith, but of exclusion. Those who do not identify as Christian may feel unwelcome, unsafe, or simply unseen. And if our goal is to live the life of Jesus, that should trouble us deeply.
Jesus did not build monuments. He built relationships. He did not demand belief before offering healing. He did not require conformity before sharing a meal. He crossed boundaries, sat with the outcast, and made space for the doubter, the wounded, and the stranger. If we claim to follow him, we must do the same.
A cross that towers over a town but refuses to bend toward the hurting is not a symbol of salvation—it’s a monument to control. And when communities use Christian branding to gatekeep grace, they risk becoming exactly what Jesus warned against: whitewashed tombs, beautiful on the outside but hollow within.
I say this not to condemn, but to call us back. Back to the messy, vulnerable, radical hospitality of the gospel. Back to the kind of discipleship that welcomes difference, wrestles with discomfort, and refuses to trade authenticity for approval.
If you are unwilling to engage people who are not like you—if your version of Christianity requires insulation from the world—then I must shake the dust from my feet and walk away. Not in anger, but in clarity. Because that is not the life of Jesus. That is the life of a Pharisee.
Let our towns be known not by the size of our crosses, but by the depth of our welcome. Let our witness be measured not in symbols, but in service. And let us remember that the gospel was never meant to be a brand. It was meant to be a blessing.
The Rev. Sharon Kay Cochran is a licensed local pastor in the United Methodist Church, living in Watonga, Oklahoma and serving the Canton, Fay and Watonga UMCs. Her ministry is rooted in radical hospitality, public testimony, and communal restoration.
