Dear Brother or Sister,

I heard you set the book down.

I get it.

The language was too much. The tone was too raw. Maybe it felt like mockery—of the church, of tradition, of you. And you’ve been walking with God long enough to know that discernment matters. That holiness matters. That we’re called to be set apart.

So when a so-called “Christian” book starts dropping profanity like sermon points, it’s easy to assume it’s poison. Or pride. Or worse—blasphemy.

But before you walk away for good, can I ask you a hard question?

What if the discomfort you felt wasn’t a sign to leave, but a sign to listen?

Not because profanity is holy. But because sometimes a prophet shouts when the people have grown deaf to a whisper.

You know your Bible. So you know that God used all kinds of voices—bawling prophets, angry poets, naked weirdos, suicidal kings, and fishermen with filthy mouths. Sometimes He used the polished. More often, He used the pissed-off. Not because rage is righteous, but because truth is heavy, and not everyone’s willing to carry it.

So what is F Bombs From Heaven really doing?

It’s not just being edgy. It’s trying to expose the cancer beneath our clean shirts and hand-raising smiles. It’s not mocking the Body of Christ. It’s calling out the prosthetic limbs we’ve duct-taped onto it in the name of decency, comfort, and performance faith.

Jesus didn’t die to make us polite. He died to make us loyal—even when it costs everything.

And let’s be honest: modern evangelicalism, for all its sincere love of Scripture, has often traded grit for programs, obedience for opinions, and sacrifice for safety. Many of our churches are full of people doing the right thing—while slowly becoming the wrong kind of people. The kind who would rather be respected than real. The kind who can smell a swear word from a mile away, but not the slow death of going through the motions.

If you walked away because the words were too rough, I respect your sensitivity. But I challenge you to consider this: is it possible God is offended by different things than you are?

Offended by a religious machine that teaches people to smile while they drift?

Offended by churches that wouldn’t stand when the world demanded compliance?

Offended by clean Sunday shows while no one’s willing to bleed?

I don’t write this to shame you, but to wake you.

Maybe it’s time to finish the book. Not because it’s perfect—it’s not. But because we need voices in this age willing to offend our egos before it’s too late to defend our souls. If you find yourself offended again, pause. Pray. Then ask: what is this wounding in me, and do I want it healed or hidden?

God doesn’t need more polished saints. He needs more holy rebels. He needs sons and daughters who are willing to get real, get loyal, and get loud.

If you're willing to press back in, so am I. Let’s finish what was started.

With urgency and hope,

A Fellow Shitbag-in-Process

(aka someone trying to be honest before God)

Scott