Trust No One: What an X-Files Mug Is Teaching Me About Planting Again
I drank my coffee this morning from one of my favorite mugs.
On one side are the words The X-Files. On the other side is the warning that defined the show:
Trust No One.
Lisa and I watched The X-Files when it first aired in the 1990s. The series paired two FBI agents who approached unexplained cases from opposite directions.
Fox Mulder believed.
He believed in aliens, paranormal activity, and government conspiracies. His search was personal. When he was a child, his sister disappeared. That loss shaped the rest of his life. Every unexplained event became another possible clue. Every denial sounded like evidence of a cover-up.
Dana Scully doubted.
She was logical, careful, and disciplined. She looked for natural explanations. Mulder entered each investigation asking where the paranormal might be hiding. Scully entered asking what evidence could be tested.
His faith challenged her doubt. Her skepticism restrained his certainty.
That tension made the show work.
Years ago, when I owned an information technology company, I produced a television commercial built around an X-Files-style mystery. It featured a Mulder-like investigator entering after hours to uncover secret cells. Today, we would probably say that commercial went viral.
I still have the mug from that period of my life. After all these years, it remains one of my favorites. I am considering placing it where it can be seen during episodes of Echoes Through Eternity. I want to become more intentional about the objects in the background and the stories they tell.
But this morning, the words on the mug told a story I was not expecting.
Trust no one.
Planting With Old Scars
I am entering a new stage in planting The Refinery.
The early excitement brought energy. The vision felt fresh. Conversations opened doors. People responded. Approval seemed distant, but it was something I could work toward.
Now approval is becoming real.
That should increase my excitement. In some ways, it does. But approval also means the road ahead is becoming visible. I can see the work. I remember the potholes.
I have planted before.
I remember the people who promised to stay and then disappeared. I remember criticism, betrayal, exhaustion, and the weight leadership placed on my family. I remember trusting people who eventually used that trust against me.
Experience can produce wisdom. It can also build walls.
I know how easily I can withdraw behind those walls. I can share the vision without sharing myself. I can invite people to join the mission while keeping them at a safe emotional distance.
That may feel like wisdom, but it is no way to build a church around belonging, healing, and grace.
You cannot invite people into honest community while refusing to be known yourself.
The Problem With Trusting No One
Scripture never commands us to trust every person without question.
Jesus loved people completely, but he was not naïve about them. John tells us that Jesus did not entrust himself to everyone because he understood the human heart.
Love does not require unlimited access.
Forgiveness does not erase the need for boundaries.
Grace does not prohibit discernment.
Trust must often grow through honesty, consistency, and time. Some people should be loved from a distance. Some should be forgiven without being returned to their former place of influence. Reconciliation requires truth and participation from both sides.
Still, “trust no one” cannot become the rule by which a Christian lives.
When I say that I trust no one, what I often mean is that I trust only myself. I trust my judgment, my experience, my instincts, and my ability to recognize danger.
That is where Proverbs confronts me:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.”
My own understanding includes more than my confidence. It also includes my suspicion.
My past pain does not make me all-knowing. My scars may help me recognize danger, but they can also cause me to see threats where God is sending friends.
Jeremiah warns that “the heart is devious above all else.” That warning applies to the person who might betray me. It also applies to me. Fear can disguise itself as discernment. Isolation can disguise itself as wisdom. Control can disguise itself as responsible leadership.
I cannot trust my heart merely because it has been hurt.
The God Who Meets Us in Our Doubt
After the resurrection, Thomas could not accept the testimony of the other disciples.
His doubt did not emerge in a classroom. It came from grief. He had trusted Jesus. He had followed him. Then he watched the movement collapse and its leader be executed.
When the others claimed that Jesus was alive, Thomas demanded evidence.
Jesus met him there.
He did not abandon Thomas because he doubted. He showed Thomas his wounded hands and invited him to come closer. Jesus offered Thomas evidence of both his identity and his suffering.
The wounds mattered.
The risen Christ still carried the scars of betrayal, violence, and death. Resurrection did not pretend that the wounds had never happened. It revealed that the wounds would not have the final word.
Jesus also met Peter in the ruins of his self-confidence.
Peter had insisted that he would remain faithful even if everyone else abandoned Jesus. Within hours, he denied knowing Jesus three times. He even called down curses when people continued identifying him as a disciple.
After the resurrection, Peter was no longer the loud, confident man who believed he could never fail.
Jesus asked him three times, “Do you love me?”
Three denials were met by three opportunities to answer.
Yes, Lord. You know that I love you.
Jesus then placed responsibility into the hands of the man who had failed:
Feed my lambs.
Tend my sheep.
Feed my sheep.
Jesus could have asked, “Peter, do you trust me?”
Do you trust me enough to begin again?
Do you trust me more than you trust your failure?
Do you trust me enough to care for people even though people can hurt you?
Jesus did not restore Peter merely by making him feel forgiven. He restored Peter by returning him to relationship and responsibility.
Trusting Jesus With His People
I have training. I have experience. I have plans, proposals, strategies, and approval.
None of those things is God.
I have leaned on my own understanding before. I have believed that experience gave me the answers. I have confused preparation with dependence upon Christ.
I cannot do that again.
This time, I am trusting Jesus.
That does not mean I will trust every person immediately. It means I will trust Jesus enough to receive the people he sends. I will love them without pretending they are incapable of hurting me. I will practice discernment without treating everyone as a future enemy.
I will establish healthy boundaries. I will build accountability. I will pay attention when something is wrong. I will also remain open, honest, and willing to be known.
A shepherd cannot feed sheep from behind a wall.
The Refinery cannot become a place where every story belongs if I protect my own story from everyone. It cannot become a healing community if its leader refuses to acknowledge his wounds. It cannot teach people to rise if I remain trapped by what happened in the past.
Perhaps “trust no one” is good advice when you are chasing aliens and government conspiracies.
It is not sufficient for planting a church.
The better rule is this:
Trust Christ completely.
Love people faithfully.
Practice discernment carefully.
Build trust honestly.
Remain open to grace.
I know there will be potholes. I know people will disappoint me. Someone may even betray me again.
But I also believe Jesus is already preparing people whose gifts, faith, and friendship will help build The Refinery. If I allow yesterday’s wounds to close my heart, I may protect myself from betrayal. I may also shut out the very people for whom I have been praying.
So I will keep the mug.
I will let “trust no one” remind me of the danger of blind trust. I will also let it remind me of an even greater danger: trusting my fear more than I trust Jesus.
The truth is out there.
But grace is already here.