When Holding Space Becomes Holding Fire

By Rev. Dr. Justin Hurtado

Let me be real with you: I didn’t come here to rehash a Facebook thread. I came to talk about what it did to my spirit.

One post got 8,000 eyes on it. Another hit 86,000 views. People saw it. Shared it. Sat with it.

Then the trolls showed up like mildew in a baptismal font.

And yeah—I clapped back. With theology. With heat. With my collar on.

I meant every word.

And still—I regret it.

Not because it wasn’t true. But because I didn’t walk my talk all the way through.

Because while I was serving scripture with spice, I forgot that fire can burn the people who actually came to be warmed.

Confession time, collar on:

I love a theological throwdown.

I was raised with fire in my bones and ancestors who didn’t survive the South to be silent in a comment section.

You quote Leviticus at me, I will serve you Greek, Hebrew, history, and a side of “bless your heart” with apostolic succession to back it up.

But that doesn’t make it a ministry. That makes its performance.

And performance, my friends, is not pastoring.

So when a fellow priest slid into my inbox like a balm and said, “You sure that clapback was the move?”—I knew.

I knew I’d let my ego take the wheel.

I wasn’t holding space. I was holding court.

Let’s name the moment

We are living in a time when:

• Cruelty is monetized

• Rage is trending

• “Free speech” gets confused with spiritual malpractice

And if you speak love into that void, you’re gonna get dragged.

Especially if you’re queer. Or disabled. Or brown. Or ordained and unbothered.

But let me say this plainly:

Clapping back is not a spiritual gift.

Discernment is.

And that day? I had a word. But I lost the room.

Because I forgot the actual audience.

It wasn’t the troll. It was the people still trying to believe in a Gospel that hasn’t loved them back yet.

So let’s get to the spiritual meat

Here’s what I wish I had done:

• Breathed.

• Blocked.

• Logged off.

• Texted my therapist.

Because what I said may have been true, but it wasn’t kind. Not in the way I wanted it to be.

It didn’t make space for healing. It just made room for more war.

And I know better.

So this isn’t me doing penance. This is me keeping it real, so maybe the next time you’re staring down a comment section with a holy rage and a cracking voice, you choose something softer.

Not weaker.Softer.

Like Jesus writing in the dirt.Like Mary refusing to leave the tomb.Like queer love that refuses to die.

What I learned (again, the hard way)

• Every public space is sacred—until we turn it into a battlefield.

• Not every fight is yours to fight.

• Your calling doesn’t need to clap back. It just needs to be clear.

• Sometimes, walking away is the most anointed move in the room.

I know this, and I still forgot it.

Why? Because I’m tired.Because I’m human. Being faithful in public costs more than most people will ever understand.

But also, because sometimes I still need to win. And that’s not Jesus. That’s just me being petty in liturgical drag.

To my fellow pastors, prophets, and social justice saints

I know you're tired.I know the gaslighting is constant.I know the algorithm doesn’t reward nuance, compassion, or context.

But your people? They still need you, not as a drag queen of dogma or a meme-ready theologian but as someone who knows what it means to bleed love and call it faith.

So when you feel the heat rising, ask:

• Am I pastoring right now—or performing?

• Am I holding this space—or am I taking it over?

• Am I clapping back for me, or for the folks still healing?

If the answer isn’t clear, pause.

If you still need to write it out, fine. Put it in your Notes app. Text your mentor. Burn sage and scream into a pillow. But don’t burn down your sacred space for a dopamine hit.

The comments section will be there tomorrow. Your integrity? That needs you today.

One last thing (or three)

You don’t owe trolls your time. You don’t owe the internet your trauma. You don’t owe anyone a Gospel that entertains their bigotry.

What you do owe—to yourself, to your calling, to your community—is discernment.

You can be fire. Just don’t become the flame that blinds the people who came looking for light.

So yes, I’ll keep preaching.Yes, I’ll still clap back when the Spirit says move.But this week, I’m sitting in the discomfort of my own reflection.

Not out of shame.But out of respect for the work I claim to do.

So what’s the takeaway?

Let go.Let go of the myth that you have to fight every fool.Let go of the lie that rage is the only response to violence.Let go of the version of yourself that thinks being right is enough.

And hold onto this:

• The Gospel is not weak.

• Love is not silence.

• You are not a machine. You’re a soul.

And sometimes, letting go is the holiest thing you’ll do all week.

Queer and Called. Disabled. Ordained. Spicy with` a side of sacred. Holding space for the long haul.

Let the Gospel be your filter, not your ego.