A Truth Far Older
There is a truth that sits underneath everything we believe about human dignity, even if we do not always notice it or know where it came from. Long before there were governments or nations, before laws were written or systems were built, there was a statement made about what it means to be human. It is found in the book of Genesis: “Then God said, ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness…’ So God created mankind in his own image.” Genesis 1:26–27. That one idea has shaped more of human history than most people realize. It means that every person—every race, every background, every nationality, every personality, every story—carries worth not because of what they do, but because of who they are. Value is not assigned by governments or earned through success. It is given by God simply because He created us.
That belief becomes the quiet foundation for everything that comes later in history, even when people don’t fully live it out. Centuries later, thinkers like John Locke helped put language to this idea by saying that human beings have natural rights—life, liberty, and dignity—that do not come from kings or governments. Governments do not create those rights. They recognize them and are supposed to protect them. That idea eventually made its way into the founding of the United States, where a group of men in 1776 tried to explain why a people might separate themselves from a powerful empire. In the United States Declaration of Independence, they wrote that all people “are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,” including “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
That sentence is worth slowing down for. It does not say the government gives you rights. It does not say society votes on your worth. It says your rights are already there because they come from your Creator. That is a massive shift in thinking for the world at that time, and honestly, it still is today. It places human dignity outside of politics. It places it above governments, above systems, above public opinion, and above power itself. It says that if you are human, you already matter before anything else is said about you.
And yet, the same people who wrote those words were not fully living them. That tension is part of our story, and it is important to be honest about it. At the time of the founding, slavery still existed in the American colonies. That reality sits in painful contrast with the words “all men are created equal.” It is one of the deepest contradictions in American history. Even more than that, in the early draft of the Declaration, there was a paragraph that directly condemned slavery and the slave trade. It called it cruel. It described it as a violation of human nature itself. It was not soft language. It was strong, clear, and direct. It named the injustice without hesitation.
But that paragraph did not make it into the final version. As the colonies debated and tried to stay united, that section was removed. Some delegates objected. Some came from regions where slavery was deeply connected to the economy. Some were not ready to face what it would require if they fully applied that truth to every situation. And so, in order to preserve unity at a fragile moment in history, the paragraph was left out.
One of the main writers of the Declaration, Thomas Jefferson, also lived inside this same tension. He wrote powerful words about freedom and equality that still shape the world today. And yet, in his personal life, he owned enslaved people. That contradiction is hard to hold, and it should be. It reminds us that people can sometimes see a truth before they are willing or able to fully live it. We can write what is right before we have the courage to fully become what we have written.
That is not just a historical observation. It is a human one. We do this more often than we want to admit. We understand love before we consistently practice it. We believe in fairness before we fully apply it. We recognize injustice before we always know how to correct it. And sometimes we speak better than we live. Jefferson and others like him were not exceptions to humanity in that way—they were examples of it.
But here is something important that often gets missed. Even though the anti-slavery paragraph was removed from the Declaration, the idea behind it did not disappear. Truth has a way of surviving even when it is delayed. The belief that every person has value because they are created in God’s image kept working its way through history. It did not stay locked in 1776. It kept pressing forward, shaping conversations, challenging systems, and slowly changing the moral imagination of a nation.
America’s story, when you step back and look at it honestly, is not the story of a perfect beginning. It is the story of an ongoing struggle to live up to what was said at the beginning. It is a nation learning, sometimes painfully, what it actually means to believe that every person carries God-given worth. That learning process has not been smooth. It has included deep division, civil war, injustice, and long seasons where the gap between belief and behavior was wide. The American Civil War is one of the clearest examples of that fracture coming to a breaking point.
And yet, even through that breaking, something else was happening. The nation was being forced—slowly, unevenly, and sometimes unwillingly—back toward its own stated truth. If every person truly has dignity because they are made in the image of God, then that truth cannot stay contained in words alone. It has to eventually shape laws, relationships, and society itself. Over time, it has pushed America forward, not in a straight line, but in a real one. Sometimes forward, sometimes backward, but always circling back to the same question: do we really believe what we said we believed?
That question is still alive today. It shows up in how we see each other. It shows up in how we talk about people who are different from us. It shows up in whether we see others as individuals with stories or as categories to be sorted. It shows up in whether we believe dignity is something that must be earned or something that must be recognized.
This is where the words of Jesus speak so clearly into the middle of our world. When asked what matters most, He said to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself. And when people tried to limit that idea by asking, “Who exactly is my neighbor?” He responded with a story that broke down every boundary people tried to draw. His teaching consistently pointed in one direction: every human being matters more than the systems that divide them.
That is why this idea from Genesis matters so much. It is not just ancient theology. It is a claim about reality. If every person is made in the image of God, then every person carries value that cannot be taken away by government, culture, or circumstance. That truth existed before America. It existed before any modern nation. And it will exist long after every nation has changed or passed away.
So when we look at America today, the most honest thing we can say is this: we are still becoming what we said we believed. Not because the original idea was wrong, but because it is bigger than any one generation can fully live out. America has not always gotten it right. But it has often returned to the right question. And that matters.
There is something hopeful in that. It means failure is not the end of the story. It means contradiction does not cancel truth. It means progress is possible, not because people are perfect, but because truth is persistent. And if history tells us anything, it is that the idea of human dignity rooted in the image of God does not fade—it keeps calling us forward.
That is why, even with all of our complexity as a nation, there is still reason for gratitude. Not blind pride. Not denial of history. But gratitude that we live in a place where these questions can still be asked openly. Where disagreement can still happen in public. Where change can still be pursued. And where the idea that every person matters can still be spoken without fear.
At its best, America has never been about claiming perfection. It has been about trying to live closer to a truth that was already bigger than us. And that truth is simple, but not easy: every person you meet today is made in the image of God. Every person carries worth. Every person carries dignity. Every person matters.
Not because a nation said so, but because God did.
Some of the Hardest Words Jesus Ever Asked Me to Live
Some of the Hardest Words Jesus Ever Asked Me to Live
I want you to think back to the playground—say, first grade. Have you got that mental picture? The monkey bars. The swings. The squeak of the merry-go-round. The smell of fresh-cut grass. The excitement of recess after sitting in a classroom all morning.
Now imagine someone pushes you off the monkey bars.
How do you react? What’s your first thought?
If you’re anything like most of us, it probably isn’t, I hope they’re having a good day.
Last weekend I drove past an older playground, and suddenly a memory came rushing back. I remembered a fall I took at school. I remembered the feel of a hand on my back. I remembered hearing the laughter as I fell. I remembered the sharp pain as my back hit the ground, followed by my head. Then I remembered the rage as I climbed back to my feet and looked up.
Before I could react, an adult hurried over to check on me. My side hurt, and my head was beginning to throb as a goose egg slowly appeared. I answered their questions and let them make sure I was okay, but if I’m being honest, my mind wasn’t on my injuries.
In my heart, I was already plotting revenge.
I suspect there isn’t one of us who hasn’t experienced something similar. Maybe it happened on a playground, in your backyard, or on the neighborhood street while an intense game of kickball was underway. Somewhere along the way, someone treated us unfairly.
As children, we instinctively believed everyone should play fair. Everyone should be kind. Everyone should follow the rules.
But if they didn’t? Then we would play by their rules. We’d be just as mean.
Just as hurtful. Just as willing to get even. The funny thing is, we grow older, but we don’t always grow out of the playground. The playground simply gets bigger.
Instead of monkey bars, we have offices. Instead of kickball games, we have board meetings. Instead of classmates spreading rumors, we have coworkers, neighbors, family members, or strangers on the internet. The faces change. The settings change. But the temptation remains exactly the same.
Someone hurts us. Someone betrays us. Someone lies about us.
Someone takes something from us. Someone wounds us in ways that don’t heal nearly as quickly as a scraped knee. And our first instinct is often the same as it was in first grade.
Get even. That’s why Jesus’ words in Luke 6:27-36 are so startling. They don’t simply challenge our behavior; they challenge our instincts.
In this passage—often referred to as Jesus’ teaching on loving our enemies—we find some of the most difficult instructions He ever gave His followers. Here we encounter the Golden Rule: Treat others as you want them to treat you. We also hear His command to turn the other cheek rather than retaliate.
Beautiful words. Inspiring words, until someone actually hurts you. Then they become some of the hardest words Jesus ever asked us to live. Perhaps no sentence is more challenging than this:
“Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.” (Luke 6:28, NLT)
Really, Jesus? Let me make sure I understand. I’m supposed to bless the boss who fired me without cause? Pray for the person who abused me physically or emotionally? Wish God’s best for the friend who spread rumors about me? Pray for the individual whose actions forever changed my family?
Those words don’t merely sound difficult. They seem impossible.
If we’re honest, every part of us cries out for fairness. We want justice. We want wrongs to be made right. Sometimes, if we’re honest enough to admit it, we want the people who hurt us to experience a little of the pain they’ve caused.
Jesus doesn’t ignore those feelings. He simply refuses to let them have the final word.
I often think about the observations of Matthew Henry, the eighteenth-century theologian, as he reflected on this passage. He reminds us that followers of Christ are not called to live according to the standards of this world but according to the values of heaven.
That’s easier to admire than it is to practice, because if we’re honest, many of us still resemble that child standing beneath the monkey bars, fists clenched, hearts racing, convinced revenge will somehow make things right.
Yet history—and our own lives—tell a different story. Revenge rarely heals.
Bitterness rarely comforts. Anger will not restores what was lost. If anything, they tend to deepen the wound.
We don’t have to look very far to see what happens when forgiveness disappears.
We see it in neighborhoods where lifelong friendships dissolve over a disagreement.
We see it in families divided by words that were spoken years ago but never released.
We see it in workplaces where resentment quietly poisons relationships.
We see it online, where outrage often spreads faster than compassion and where extending grace is sometimes mistaken for weakness. Sadly, we even see it in our churches.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve begun to believe that strength belongs to the person who wins the argument, gets the last word, or settles the score.
Jesus tells a different story. According to Him, true strength isn’t found in revenge. It’s found in mercy. Not because mercy denies justice, but because mercy refuses to let someone else’s wrongdoing determine the condition of our own hearts.
Forgiveness is often misunderstood. It isn’t pretending evil never happened.
It isn’t excusing abuse. It isn’t saying justice no longer matters. Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences. Rather, forgiveness is choosing to release our right to personal vengeance while entrusting justice to God.
That may sound simple, but it isn’t! In fact, it may be one of the hardest acts of courage a person will ever choose.
During a high-profile criminal case that began in 2025 and concluded in 2026, the father of the victim publicly shared that he forgave the person convicted of causing his child’s death.
His words caught my attention because he later clarified something important.
His forgiveness was not an attempt to excuse the crime.
Nor was it intended to remove accountability. Instead, forgiveness became the beginning of his own healing. He refused to allow hatred to become another victim. That is the heart of Jesus’ teaching.
Radical. Unexpected. Undeserved grace. The same grace God has poured out through Jesus.
I sometimes wonder if, from God’s perspective, we still look like children on a playground.
Not because we’re childish, but because we so often cling to the things that hurt us while overlooking the freedom He offers us. C. S. Lewis once wrote,
“We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us… We are far too easily pleased.”
That phrase has stayed with me for years.Far too easily pleased. I don’t believe Lewis wasn’t suggesting that we settle for small pleasures. He was saying that we settle for far less than God desires for us. We cling to resentment because it feels justified. We rehearse conversations we’ll never have. We replay old wounds as though doing so somehow gives us control over them. In reality, all we’re doing is allowing those moments to continue shaping our hearts. God desires something better.
That doesn’t mean life will suddenly become easy. Following Jesus has never been a promise of comfort or a guarantee that we’ll avoid suffering. We will still experience betrayal. We will still grieve. We will still carry scars from words spoken and actions taken against us.
The difference is that we do not carry those burdens alone.
Through His Holy Spirit, God walks with us. He comforts us in our grief, strengthens us in our weakness, and slowly reshapes our hearts to look more like His. The obstacles don’t always disappear, but they no longer have the power to define us. As we learn to love, forgive, and extend grace as God has done for us, those obstacles begin to lose their grip.
That doesn’t happen overnight.
Forgiveness is rarely a single moment. More often, it’s a journey.
Sometimes the deepest wounds require us to forgive the same person more than once—not because our first forgiveness wasn’t genuine, but because the pain resurfaces. Old memories have a way of finding us when we least expect them. A familiar place. A song on the radio. An anniversary on the calendar. Suddenly, emotions we thought we’d left behind come rushing back.
When that happens, it doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve failed.
It may simply mean we’re being invited, once again, to place that hurt into God’s hands.
So how do we begin? Jesus gives us a place to start, even when our emotions haven’t caught up with our intentions.
First, forgive the person—or the people—who have hurt you. Write it down if you need to.
Say it out loud if that helps. There is something surprisingly powerful about giving words to a decision you’ve made in your heart. It doesn’t have to sound eloquent. It doesn’t have to be perfect or polished. Simply say, “I forgive Joe for what he did to me.”
Be as specific as you can or need to be. God already knows the details. You’re not informing Him of anything He doesn’t already know. What you’re doing is choosing, by an act of your will, to release your grip on the offense. You may not feel different immediately.
That’s okay. Forgiveness is a choice before it becomes a feeling.
Then take a second step. Pray for them, not because they’ve earned it. Not because what they did was acceptable, but because Jesus asked us to.
Think about something you would genuinely ask God to do in your own life and pray that for theirs.
“Lord, let them know how close You are.”
“Father, bring healing where there is brokenness.”
“Grant them wisdom.”
“Lead them to Your peace.”
At first, those prayers may feel awkward. They may even feel unnatural. Don’t be discouraged by that. Our hearts often need time to catch up with the decisions we’ve made. Keep bringing that person before God. Keep choosing forgiveness. Keep praying.
Little by little, you’ll begin to notice something remarkable.
The prayer that once felt forced begins to become sincere. The bitterness that once occupied so much space in your heart begins to loosen its grip. The anger doesn’t disappear because you’ve ignored it. It begins to fade because you’ve surrendered it.
I’ve often heard bitterness compared to drinking poison and expecting someone else to become sick. It’s a vivid image because it’s true. The person we refuse to forgive may never know the battle taking place inside us. Yet every day we hold on to resentment, it quietly shapes our thoughts, our relationships, and even our capacity to experience joy.
Jesus offers another way.
He invites us to lay down what we’ve been carrying for far too long. When I think back to that first-grade playground, I still remember the sting of the fall. I remember the laughter. I remember wanting nothing more than to push back. Looking back now, I realize the greatest victory wouldn’t have been getting even. It would have been becoming the kind of person who no longer needed to. That’s the invitation Jesus extends to every one of us.
Not to pretend we haven’t been hurt.
Not to deny injustice.
Not to excuse evil.
But to refuse to let someone else’s worst moment become the defining moment of our own lives.
That kind of forgiveness isn’t weakness.
It’s freedom.
It frees us from carrying burdens we were never meant to bear. It frees us from allowing bitterness to write the next chapter of our story. Most importantly, it frees us to become the people God created us to be—people who reflect His mercy, His compassion, and His grace in a world that desperately needs all three.
Maybe that’s why Jesus spoke these difficult words in the first place. He wasn’t simply teaching us how to treat our enemies. He was showing us how to become more like Him, and that’s a lesson I’m still learning. Perhaps you are too.
Prayer: Heavenly Father, the standards of this world often feel more natural than the way of Christ. Give me the courage to live differently. When I’m tempted to hold on to hurt, teach me to forgive. When anger rises within me, remind me of the mercy You have shown me. Help me to bless those who have wounded me, pray for those who have hurt me, and trust You with the justice that belongs in Your hands alone. Shape my heart until it reflects Yours. Amen.
Scripture: “Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.”
Luke 6:28 (NLT)
I want you to think back to the playground—say, first grade. Have you got that mental picture? The monkey bars. The swings. The squeak of the merry-go-round. The smell of fresh-cut grass. The excitement of recess after sitting in a classroom all morning.
Now imagine someone pushes you off the monkey bars.
How do you react? What’s your first thought?
If you’re anything like most of us, it probably isn’t, I hope they’re having a good day.
Last weekend I drove past an older playground, and suddenly a memory came rushing back. I remembered a fall I took at school. I remembered the feel of a hand on my back. I remembered hearing the laughter as I fell. I remembered the sharp pain as my back hit the ground, followed by my head. Then I remembered the rage as I climbed back to my feet and looked up.
Before I could react, an adult hurried over to check on me. My side hurt, and my head was beginning to throb as a goose egg slowly appeared. I answered their questions and let them make sure I was okay, but if I’m being honest, my mind wasn’t on my injuries.
In my heart, I was already plotting revenge.
I suspect there isn’t one of us who hasn’t experienced something similar. Maybe it happened on a playground, in your backyard, or on the neighborhood street while an intense game of kickball was underway. Somewhere along the way, someone treated us unfairly.
As children, we instinctively believed everyone should play fair. Everyone should be kind. Everyone should follow the rules.
But if they didn’t? Then we would play by their rules. We’d be just as mean.
Just as hurtful. Just as willing to get even. The funny thing is, we grow older, but we don’t always grow out of the playground. The playground simply gets bigger.
Instead of monkey bars, we have offices. Instead of kickball games, we have board meetings. Instead of classmates spreading rumors, we have coworkers, neighbors, family members, or strangers on the internet. The faces change. The settings change. But the temptation remains exactly the same.
Someone hurts us. Someone betrays us. Someone lies about us.
Someone takes something from us. Someone wounds us in ways that don’t heal nearly as quickly as a scraped knee. And our first instinct is often the same as it was in first grade.
Get even. That’s why Jesus’ words in Luke 6:27-36 are so startling. They don’t simply challenge our behavior; they challenge our instincts.
In this passage—often referred to as Jesus’ teaching on loving our enemies—we find some of the most difficult instructions He ever gave His followers. Here we encounter the Golden Rule: Treat others as you want them to treat you. We also hear His command to turn the other cheek rather than retaliate.
Beautiful words. Inspiring words, until someone actually hurts you. Then they become some of the hardest words Jesus ever asked us to live. Perhaps no sentence is more challenging than this:
“Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.” (Luke 6:28, NLT)
Really, Jesus? Let me make sure I understand. I’m supposed to bless the boss who fired me without cause? Pray for the person who abused me physically or emotionally? Wish God’s best for the friend who spread rumors about me? Pray for the individual whose actions forever changed my family?
Those words don’t merely sound difficult. They seem impossible.
If we’re honest, every part of us cries out for fairness. We want justice. We want wrongs to be made right. Sometimes, if we’re honest enough to admit it, we want the people who hurt us to experience a little of the pain they’ve caused.
Jesus doesn’t ignore those feelings. He simply refuses to let them have the final word.
I often think about the observations of Matthew Henry, the eighteenth-century theologian, as he reflected on this passage. He reminds us that followers of Christ are not called to live according to the standards of this world but according to the values of heaven.
That’s easier to admire than it is to practice, because if we’re honest, many of us still resemble that child standing beneath the monkey bars, fists clenched, hearts racing, convinced revenge will somehow make things right.
Yet history—and our own lives—tell a different story. Revenge rarely heals.
Bitterness rarely comforts. Anger will not restores what was lost. If anything, they tend to deepen the wound.
We don’t have to look very far to see what happens when forgiveness disappears.
We see it in neighborhoods where lifelong friendships dissolve over a disagreement.
We see it in families divided by words that were spoken years ago but never released.
We see it in workplaces where resentment quietly poisons relationships.
We see it online, where outrage often spreads faster than compassion and where extending grace is sometimes mistaken for weakness. Sadly, we even see it in our churches.
Somewhere along the way, we’ve begun to believe that strength belongs to the person who wins the argument, gets the last word, or settles the score.
Jesus tells a different story. According to Him, true strength isn’t found in revenge. It’s found in mercy. Not because mercy denies justice, but because mercy refuses to let someone else’s wrongdoing determine the condition of our own hearts.
Forgiveness is often misunderstood. It isn’t pretending evil never happened.
It isn’t excusing abuse. It isn’t saying justice no longer matters. Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences. Rather, forgiveness is choosing to release our right to personal vengeance while entrusting justice to God.
That may sound simple, but it isn’t! In fact, it may be one of the hardest acts of courage a person will ever choose.
During a high-profile criminal case that began in 2025 and concluded in 2026, the father of the victim publicly shared that he forgave the person convicted of causing his child’s death.
His words caught my attention because he later clarified something important.
His forgiveness was not an attempt to excuse the crime.
Nor was it intended to remove accountability. Instead, forgiveness became the beginning of his own healing. He refused to allow hatred to become another victim. That is the heart of Jesus’ teaching.
Radical. Unexpected. Undeserved grace. The same grace God has poured out through Jesus.
I sometimes wonder if, from God’s perspective, we still look like children on a playground.
Not because we’re childish, but because we so often cling to the things that hurt us while overlooking the freedom He offers us. C. S. Lewis once wrote,
“We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us… We are far too easily pleased.”
That phrase has stayed with me for years.Far too easily pleased. I don’t believe Lewis wasn’t suggesting that we settle for small pleasures. He was saying that we settle for far less than God desires for us. We cling to resentment because it feels justified. We rehearse conversations we’ll never have. We replay old wounds as though doing so somehow gives us control over them. In reality, all we’re doing is allowing those moments to continue shaping our hearts. God desires something better.
That doesn’t mean life will suddenly become easy. Following Jesus has never been a promise of comfort or a guarantee that we’ll avoid suffering. We will still experience betrayal. We will still grieve. We will still carry scars from words spoken and actions taken against us.
The difference is that we do not carry those burdens alone.
Through His Holy Spirit, God walks with us. He comforts us in our grief, strengthens us in our weakness, and slowly reshapes our hearts to look more like His. The obstacles don’t always disappear, but they no longer have the power to define us. As we learn to love, forgive, and extend grace as God has done for us, those obstacles begin to lose their grip.
That doesn’t happen overnight.
Forgiveness is rarely a single moment. More often, it’s a journey.
Sometimes the deepest wounds require us to forgive the same person more than once—not because our first forgiveness wasn’t genuine, but because the pain resurfaces. Old memories have a way of finding us when we least expect them. A familiar place. A song on the radio. An anniversary on the calendar. Suddenly, emotions we thought we’d left behind come rushing back.
When that happens, it doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve failed.
It may simply mean we’re being invited, once again, to place that hurt into God’s hands.
So how do we begin? Jesus gives us a place to start, even when our emotions haven’t caught up with our intentions.
First, forgive the person—or the people—who have hurt you. Write it down if you need to.
Say it out loud if that helps. There is something surprisingly powerful about giving words to a decision you’ve made in your heart. It doesn’t have to sound eloquent. It doesn’t have to be perfect or polished. Simply say, “I forgive Joe for what he did to me.”
Be as specific as you can or need to be. God already knows the details. You’re not informing Him of anything He doesn’t already know. What you’re doing is choosing, by an act of your will, to release your grip on the offense. You may not feel different immediately.
That’s okay. Forgiveness is a choice before it becomes a feeling.
Then take a second step. Pray for them, not because they’ve earned it. Not because what they did was acceptable, but because Jesus asked us to.
Think about something you would genuinely ask God to do in your own life and pray that for theirs.
“Lord, let them know how close You are.”
“Father, bring healing where there is brokenness.”
“Grant them wisdom.”
“Lead them to Your peace.”
At first, those prayers may feel awkward. They may even feel unnatural. Don’t be discouraged by that. Our hearts often need time to catch up with the decisions we’ve made. Keep bringing that person before God. Keep choosing forgiveness. Keep praying.
Little by little, you’ll begin to notice something remarkable.
The prayer that once felt forced begins to become sincere. The bitterness that once occupied so much space in your heart begins to loosen its grip. The anger doesn’t disappear because you’ve ignored it. It begins to fade because you’ve surrendered it.
I’ve often heard bitterness compared to drinking poison and expecting someone else to become sick. It’s a vivid image because it’s true. The person we refuse to forgive may never know the battle taking place inside us. Yet every day we hold on to resentment, it quietly shapes our thoughts, our relationships, and even our capacity to experience joy.
Jesus offers another way.
He invites us to lay down what we’ve been carrying for far too long. When I think back to that first-grade playground, I still remember the sting of the fall. I remember the laughter. I remember wanting nothing more than to push back. Looking back now, I realize the greatest victory wouldn’t have been getting even. It would have been becoming the kind of person who no longer needed to. That’s the invitation Jesus extends to every one of us.
Not to pretend we haven’t been hurt.
Not to deny injustice.
Not to excuse evil.
But to refuse to let someone else’s worst moment become the defining moment of our own lives.
That kind of forgiveness isn’t weakness.
It’s freedom.
It frees us from carrying burdens we were never meant to bear. It frees us from allowing bitterness to write the next chapter of our story. Most importantly, it frees us to become the people God created us to be—people who reflect His mercy, His compassion, and His grace in a world that desperately needs all three.
Maybe that’s why Jesus spoke these difficult words in the first place. He wasn’t simply teaching us how to treat our enemies. He was showing us how to become more like Him, and that’s a lesson I’m still learning. Perhaps you are too.
Prayer: Heavenly Father, the standards of this world often feel more natural than the way of Christ. Give me the courage to live differently. When I’m tempted to hold on to hurt, teach me to forgive. When anger rises within me, remind me of the mercy You have shown me. Help me to bless those who have wounded me, pray for those who have hurt me, and trust You with the justice that belongs in Your hands alone. Shape my heart until it reflects Yours. Amen.
Scripture: “Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.”
Luke 6:28 (NLT)
A Foundation For True Revival
A Foundation For True Revival?
Have you ever watched a building being constructed? Long before the walls go up, workers spend weeks digging deep into the dirt. They pour heavy concrete into the ground. No one sees this part when the building is finished; it is completely hidden. But if that hidden foundation is cracked, the whole building will eventually come crashing down.
I believe that in the modern church world, we have a foundation problem. Today, many churches are struggling. Attendance is shrinking. People are walking away, especially young people. Experts call this the decline of the church, and we often wonder why this is happening. We blame the culture, or technology, or a busy world. But the real problem might be much closer to home. It might be a problem with how we lead.
There is a quiet crisis happening behind closed doors. It happens when church goals and the institutions they serve become so big that personal integrity and honest relationships get tossed aside. It happens when leaders care more about the success of an organization than the spiritual health or character of the people inside it. When the external sheen of a ministry becomes more valuable than the internal health of its flock, the foundation begins to splinter under the weight of the pressure.
The Trap of the “Greater Goal”
Imagine a leader sitting in front of a group of people, staff member or a volunteer. The leader has a massive plan. Maybe it is a new building, a giant program, or a major goal that will make the church look successful. But there is a hurdle in the way. To make this big plan work, someone has worry more about the inage rather than the true calling of the church. It has to break the commitment made to God and the community.
The leader smiles and says, “I know we made a promise. But look at the big picture. Our new goal is much greater than that small promise. I’m sure impact we will make for the kingdom is worth it.”
It sounds very inspiring. It sounds deeply spiritual. But it is a dangerous trap. When a leaders asks us to drop our integrity, to dismiss the real call of the church, for the sake of a “greater vision,” to ensure that the institution looks good, they are making a profound mistake.
I believe they are declaring that the end result justifies the bad choices made along the way. They are treating people like disposable tools to get a job done, to keep the institution alive instead of recognizing that the individuals, small groups and the community are precious partners in ministry. True kingdom work is never built on the wreckage of broken trust. If we have to break our word to build something, we are no longer building God’s kingdom. We are just building our own modern towers of Babel. We are creating institutional idols to lift up and worship.
Learning from an Old Story
This is not a new problem. The Bible warns us about this exact dynamic in a story found in 1 Kings 13.
In this chapter, a young follower of God is given a clear task. God tells him to deliver a message and then go straight home. He is explicitly told not to stop to eat bread or drink water with anyone in that town. His commitment to God is tied directly to keeping this simple promise.
But then, an older, well-known leader arrives. He is an established, respected prophet in the area. This older leader wants the young man to come to his house. The young man initially says no because of his promise to God.
Then, the older leader uses a trick. He claims he has a new, “greater” message. He says an angel told him it was okay to change the rules. The Bible looks right into the heart of the situation and says something chilling: (But he lied to him).
The young man believes the trusted leader. He breaks his original promise and goes to the house to eat. Because he listened to a charismatic leader instead of guarding his own integrity, the story ends in tragedy.
I believe the lesson we learn is that we are to listen to the guidance of God rather than the trappings of humanity. It is easy to succumb to the call of comfort, come, eat and rest may be appealing but God called the young prophet and is calling us into different living.
I do wonder if this is the reason the next generation is walking away?
For a couple of decade we have talked about authentic living. Yet in the life of the church, this top-down, corporate leadership style, the institution must survive does more than just hurt individual people. It is actively driving the next generation away from the church entirely.
I have actively embraced this ideology for more than a decade, claiming “I will be a name of x denomination pastor, so long as the x denomination does not leave me.” But, what I have witnessed is the institution has left. Leaving my family hurt by accusations and deceipt, my wife and even me. I still love God with all my heart soul and the very breath that keeps me alive, but…
I believe most of us will agree that young people today have an incredibly strong radar for fake things. They can spot a lack of honesty from a mile away. They are tired of slick marketing, big corporate church structures, and leaders who act like wealthy CEOs instead of humble shepherds. They see countless stories of church hurt in one version or another and they do not want to be a part of that. In reality. I reality, when young people look at the church, they do not want to see a well-oiled business machine. They want to see something real. They want to see the authentic love of Jesus.
If they see a church leadership culture that values numbers over honesty, they will walk out the door. If they see staff members being treated as disposable objects to reach an organizational goal, they will lose respect for the message itself. When the community they live in is betrayed by the institution, they will stay away. They are not looking for perfection, but they are looking for transparency. They are searching for a community of faith where truth matters, where a person’s word is gold, and where people are loved for who they are, not for what they can achieve or produce for a program.
The current decline of the church is a grace-filled wake-up call. It is telling us that the high-pressure, metric-driven way of doing ministry is breaking down. We cannot fix a broken foundation by just painting the walls, upgrading the light show, or making the production bigger. We have to change the way we live and lead from the inside out.
Is the Way Forward a Quiet Revolution?
So, how do we fix this? How do we find our way back to true health and experience a genuine revival? I don’t believe that the answer is found in creating a more sophisticated strategy or a flashier weekly program. True revival always starts with a quiet movement of the Holy Ghost and a revolution of the heart. It starts when we intentionally move away from heavy, top-down structures and return to the simple, beautiful way of Jesus.
Think about how Jesus started his ministry. He did not build a giant organization. He did not ask his followers to compromise their values to achieve a quick public victory. Instead, he walked along the dusty roads with a small, intimate group of people. He loved them. He washed their feet. He taught them to be completely honest, to love their neighbors, and to keep their hearts pure.
Jesus showed us that the kingdom of God grows organically from the inside out, like a tiny mustard seed planted in the dirt. It does not grow by forcing people to serve a massive institutional machine. To begin a true revival today, I believe that we must find the courage to do church differently.
The Challenge for Today
We need a philosophical transformation of the heart brought about entirely by the Spirit. I believe this starts when we stop viewing the church as a weekly destination to attend or an institution to maintain. It requires shifting our core definition from a noun (a place) to a verb (a way of being together in the world).
To step into this future, we need to embrace several foundational paradigm shifts that will fundamentally change our underlying philosophy:
• From Consumerism to Co-creation: We must stop treating people as an audience consuming a produced spiritual product, and instead view every person as an active, vital, Spirit-gifted participant in the community.
• From Destination to Incarnation: The focus must shift from gathering people into a sacred building to scattering a sacred people out into the everyday spaces where they already live, love, and work.
• From Programs to Relationships: We need to prioritize organic, deep-seated communal life and mutual care over structured organizational metrics, performance, and specialized programming.
• From Success to Faithfulness: We must replace the cultural drive for constant numerical growth with a hunger for spiritual depth, honoring our commitments even when it costs us institutional momentum.
Essentially, doing church differently begins when we completely deconstruct the idea that church is something we go to, and triumphantly reclaim the reality that it is who we are.
But I wonder: are we going to be a people who listen to the mature prophet moving us toward what the world wants, or are we going to hear God’s timeless call to come together, seek to live as Jesus lived, and to, “love each other, just as I have loved you” (John 13:34)?
There is freedom waiting for us if we choose the path of integrity.
Reflection and Community
So let me ask you these questions, and I encourage you to respond in the comments below or in the comment section of the social media post. Let’s start an honest, life-giving conversation together:
1. What institutional tradition do you continue to grasp onto?
2. What would doing “church” differently look like for you in your daily life?
3. Would you consider a church that didn’t necessarily look like what you are used to?
Prayer: Almighty God, give us the courage to embrace your model of church. Strip away our desire for empty success and replace it with a hunger for true integrity. Bring us together, heal our foundations, and revive us by your Spirit. In the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.
Have you ever watched a building being constructed? Long before the walls go up, workers spend weeks digging deep into the dirt. They pour heavy concrete into the ground. No one sees this part when the building is finished; it is completely hidden. But if that hidden foundation is cracked, the whole building will eventually come crashing down.
I believe that in the modern church world, we have a foundation problem. Today, many churches are struggling. Attendance is shrinking. People are walking away, especially young people. Experts call this the decline of the church, and we often wonder why this is happening. We blame the culture, or technology, or a busy world. But the real problem might be much closer to home. It might be a problem with how we lead.
There is a quiet crisis happening behind closed doors. It happens when church goals and the institutions they serve become so big that personal integrity and honest relationships get tossed aside. It happens when leaders care more about the success of an organization than the spiritual health or character of the people inside it. When the external sheen of a ministry becomes more valuable than the internal health of its flock, the foundation begins to splinter under the weight of the pressure.
The Trap of the “Greater Goal”
Imagine a leader sitting in front of a group of people, staff member or a volunteer. The leader has a massive plan. Maybe it is a new building, a giant program, or a major goal that will make the church look successful. But there is a hurdle in the way. To make this big plan work, someone has worry more about the inage rather than the true calling of the church. It has to break the commitment made to God and the community.
The leader smiles and says, “I know we made a promise. But look at the big picture. Our new goal is much greater than that small promise. I’m sure impact we will make for the kingdom is worth it.”
It sounds very inspiring. It sounds deeply spiritual. But it is a dangerous trap. When a leaders asks us to drop our integrity, to dismiss the real call of the church, for the sake of a “greater vision,” to ensure that the institution looks good, they are making a profound mistake.
I believe they are declaring that the end result justifies the bad choices made along the way. They are treating people like disposable tools to get a job done, to keep the institution alive instead of recognizing that the individuals, small groups and the community are precious partners in ministry. True kingdom work is never built on the wreckage of broken trust. If we have to break our word to build something, we are no longer building God’s kingdom. We are just building our own modern towers of Babel. We are creating institutional idols to lift up and worship.
Learning from an Old Story
This is not a new problem. The Bible warns us about this exact dynamic in a story found in 1 Kings 13.
In this chapter, a young follower of God is given a clear task. God tells him to deliver a message and then go straight home. He is explicitly told not to stop to eat bread or drink water with anyone in that town. His commitment to God is tied directly to keeping this simple promise.
But then, an older, well-known leader arrives. He is an established, respected prophet in the area. This older leader wants the young man to come to his house. The young man initially says no because of his promise to God.
Then, the older leader uses a trick. He claims he has a new, “greater” message. He says an angel told him it was okay to change the rules. The Bible looks right into the heart of the situation and says something chilling: (But he lied to him).
The young man believes the trusted leader. He breaks his original promise and goes to the house to eat. Because he listened to a charismatic leader instead of guarding his own integrity, the story ends in tragedy.
I believe the lesson we learn is that we are to listen to the guidance of God rather than the trappings of humanity. It is easy to succumb to the call of comfort, come, eat and rest may be appealing but God called the young prophet and is calling us into different living.
I do wonder if this is the reason the next generation is walking away?
For a couple of decade we have talked about authentic living. Yet in the life of the church, this top-down, corporate leadership style, the institution must survive does more than just hurt individual people. It is actively driving the next generation away from the church entirely.
I have actively embraced this ideology for more than a decade, claiming “I will be a name of x denomination pastor, so long as the x denomination does not leave me.” But, what I have witnessed is the institution has left. Leaving my family hurt by accusations and deceipt, my wife and even me. I still love God with all my heart soul and the very breath that keeps me alive, but…
I believe most of us will agree that young people today have an incredibly strong radar for fake things. They can spot a lack of honesty from a mile away. They are tired of slick marketing, big corporate church structures, and leaders who act like wealthy CEOs instead of humble shepherds. They see countless stories of church hurt in one version or another and they do not want to be a part of that. In reality. I reality, when young people look at the church, they do not want to see a well-oiled business machine. They want to see something real. They want to see the authentic love of Jesus.
If they see a church leadership culture that values numbers over honesty, they will walk out the door. If they see staff members being treated as disposable objects to reach an organizational goal, they will lose respect for the message itself. When the community they live in is betrayed by the institution, they will stay away. They are not looking for perfection, but they are looking for transparency. They are searching for a community of faith where truth matters, where a person’s word is gold, and where people are loved for who they are, not for what they can achieve or produce for a program.
The current decline of the church is a grace-filled wake-up call. It is telling us that the high-pressure, metric-driven way of doing ministry is breaking down. We cannot fix a broken foundation by just painting the walls, upgrading the light show, or making the production bigger. We have to change the way we live and lead from the inside out.
Is the Way Forward a Quiet Revolution?
So, how do we fix this? How do we find our way back to true health and experience a genuine revival? I don’t believe that the answer is found in creating a more sophisticated strategy or a flashier weekly program. True revival always starts with a quiet movement of the Holy Ghost and a revolution of the heart. It starts when we intentionally move away from heavy, top-down structures and return to the simple, beautiful way of Jesus.
Think about how Jesus started his ministry. He did not build a giant organization. He did not ask his followers to compromise their values to achieve a quick public victory. Instead, he walked along the dusty roads with a small, intimate group of people. He loved them. He washed their feet. He taught them to be completely honest, to love their neighbors, and to keep their hearts pure.
Jesus showed us that the kingdom of God grows organically from the inside out, like a tiny mustard seed planted in the dirt. It does not grow by forcing people to serve a massive institutional machine. To begin a true revival today, I believe that we must find the courage to do church differently.
The Challenge for Today
We need a philosophical transformation of the heart brought about entirely by the Spirit. I believe this starts when we stop viewing the church as a weekly destination to attend or an institution to maintain. It requires shifting our core definition from a noun (a place) to a verb (a way of being together in the world).
To step into this future, we need to embrace several foundational paradigm shifts that will fundamentally change our underlying philosophy:
• From Consumerism to Co-creation: We must stop treating people as an audience consuming a produced spiritual product, and instead view every person as an active, vital, Spirit-gifted participant in the community.
• From Destination to Incarnation: The focus must shift from gathering people into a sacred building to scattering a sacred people out into the everyday spaces where they already live, love, and work.
• From Programs to Relationships: We need to prioritize organic, deep-seated communal life and mutual care over structured organizational metrics, performance, and specialized programming.
• From Success to Faithfulness: We must replace the cultural drive for constant numerical growth with a hunger for spiritual depth, honoring our commitments even when it costs us institutional momentum.
Essentially, doing church differently begins when we completely deconstruct the idea that church is something we go to, and triumphantly reclaim the reality that it is who we are.
But I wonder: are we going to be a people who listen to the mature prophet moving us toward what the world wants, or are we going to hear God’s timeless call to come together, seek to live as Jesus lived, and to, “love each other, just as I have loved you” (John 13:34)?
There is freedom waiting for us if we choose the path of integrity.
Reflection and Community
So let me ask you these questions, and I encourage you to respond in the comments below or in the comment section of the social media post. Let’s start an honest, life-giving conversation together:
1. What institutional tradition do you continue to grasp onto?
2. What would doing “church” differently look like for you in your daily life?
3. Would you consider a church that didn’t necessarily look like what you are used to?
Prayer: Almighty God, give us the courage to embrace your model of church. Strip away our desire for empty success and replace it with a hunger for true integrity. Bring us together, heal our foundations, and revive us by your Spirit. In the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.
Not One Is Forgotten
In my daily reading, I found a moment of laughter. It was the part where it says every hair on your head is numbered. For those of you who know me, you will understand why I had to laugh. For those of you who don’t know me, let me explain. I have been going bald since I was about 18 or 19. After an accident in my mid-20s, I simply started taking a razor to those numbered follicles. My motto became, “If they’re going to leave me, I’m going to decide when.”
In this part of Matthew, Jesus is talking to His disciples. He is preparing them for the mission He is sending them on. They are about to go out and share the Gospel, which means the Good News. Now, you would think this would be an easy job, but it was not. I think about the hard times Paul went through during his work. He was jailed, stoned, and whipped. A little further on in Matthew, we find the story of Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptist, being beheaded by King Herod. The dangers faced by the disciples were very real. Jesus wanted to make sure they were prepared and encouraged so they could share that Good News without fear.
In some parts of our world today, followers of Christ still face those same kinds of dangers. Yet, we hear about the courage of modern-day believers. Some carry a single page of the Bible from one person to another. Others attend worship services in buildings built upon the very same dirt Jesus walked on. These words from Jesus encouraged His earliest followers. They have continued to comfort generation after generation, all the way down to us today.
You might be facing a job loss right now, just like I am. You might be waiting for test results from the doctor. A loved one may have walked away in anger, or perhaps they are laying quietly in hospice care. The fear we carry as humans is very real. But through these words from Jesus, we can find true comfort.
In ancient times, a sparrow was worth almost nothing. Yet, God still cared about every single one that fell. If He has numbered the hairs on our heads, we know we are worth much more than a whole flock of sparrows.
When we feel overwhelmed by these heavy seasons of life, it helps to remember that God’s love isn’t based on our strength, but on His faithfulness. As the Christian poet and author Morgan Harper Nichols once wrote, “God does not love us because we are good; He loves us because He is good, and His care is the steady rhythm of grace we could never earn.”
No matter what tomorrow brings, we can rest in that steady rhythm. We do not have to carry our fears alone, because the Creator of the universe is personally watching over every detail of our lives. We are safe in His hands, and His grace is always enough for today.
Scripture Reading
Matthew 10:29-31 (NLT)
“What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”
A Prayer of Encouragement
May you feel the overwhelming peace of God’s presence today, knowing that the One who numbers the hairs on your head is lovingly holding you through every storm.
In this part of Matthew, Jesus is talking to His disciples. He is preparing them for the mission He is sending them on. They are about to go out and share the Gospel, which means the Good News. Now, you would think this would be an easy job, but it was not. I think about the hard times Paul went through during his work. He was jailed, stoned, and whipped. A little further on in Matthew, we find the story of Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptist, being beheaded by King Herod. The dangers faced by the disciples were very real. Jesus wanted to make sure they were prepared and encouraged so they could share that Good News without fear.
In some parts of our world today, followers of Christ still face those same kinds of dangers. Yet, we hear about the courage of modern-day believers. Some carry a single page of the Bible from one person to another. Others attend worship services in buildings built upon the very same dirt Jesus walked on. These words from Jesus encouraged His earliest followers. They have continued to comfort generation after generation, all the way down to us today.
You might be facing a job loss right now, just like I am. You might be waiting for test results from the doctor. A loved one may have walked away in anger, or perhaps they are laying quietly in hospice care. The fear we carry as humans is very real. But through these words from Jesus, we can find true comfort.
In ancient times, a sparrow was worth almost nothing. Yet, God still cared about every single one that fell. If He has numbered the hairs on our heads, we know we are worth much more than a whole flock of sparrows.
When we feel overwhelmed by these heavy seasons of life, it helps to remember that God’s love isn’t based on our strength, but on His faithfulness. As the Christian poet and author Morgan Harper Nichols once wrote, “God does not love us because we are good; He loves us because He is good, and His care is the steady rhythm of grace we could never earn.”
No matter what tomorrow brings, we can rest in that steady rhythm. We do not have to carry our fears alone, because the Creator of the universe is personally watching over every detail of our lives. We are safe in His hands, and His grace is always enough for today.
Scripture Reading
Matthew 10:29-31 (NLT)
“What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.”
A Prayer of Encouragement
May you feel the overwhelming peace of God’s presence today, knowing that the One who numbers the hairs on your head is lovingly holding you through every storm.
If I Had Faith Like Yours
If I Had Faith Like Yours
If I had faith like yours each day,
I’d fear tomorrow just a bit less.
I’d find new hope when skies turn gray,
And trust that life can still be blessed.
If I had faith like yours to share,
I’d see the good in every face.
I’d choose kind words instead of fear,
And fill hard moments full of grace.
If I had faith like yours to hold,
I’d stand when others walked away.
I’d learn that courage is not loud;
It quietly grows from day to day.
If I had faith like yours to give,
I’d lift the hearts that bend with care.
I’d shine a light where shadows live,
And leave more joy than sorrow there.
If I had faith like yours inside,
I’d climb each hill with steady feet.
I’d keep believing through the storm,
Until the dawn and daylight meet.
If I had faith like yours at last,
I’d know no dream is ever lost.
I’d walk ahead with hope in hand,
And love no matter what the cost.
I believe we all have someone like this in our life and I hope that today, you will call them, text them, tell them what their faith means to you in your life.
A Voice I Still Here
Over the last week, since the United States took military action in Iran, I have seen many people disagreeing with it. People are afraid. They worry that the fighting will last a long time or that other countries will get involved. They fear that friends, family, or innocent people will be hurt or killed. Some also feel the money spent on war would be better used to buy food for the hungry or build homes for the homeless.
As a follower of Jesus, I truly believe we should try to find peaceful ways to solve our problems. This is especially on my mind right now. It is the season of Lent, and I am preaching a sermon series based on the book Love Your Enemies by Arthur C. Brooks.
I don’t just see those arguments for peace; I really feel them. I wrestle with them myself. I do not like violence or the suffering that comes with war. It makes me sad to think about the scars—both on the body and the mind—that men and women will carry for the rest of their lives.
However, there is another voice that stays with me. It is a voice I first heard 40 years ago when I was a young man. (I know that the number 40 is very important in the Bible, and that isn’t lost on me.)
A Story from the Grocery Store
That voice belongs to a man named Darius. He was from Iran but had moved to the United States to study at a university. We worked together at a local grocery store while his wife finished her degree. As we moved heavy pallets and put food on the shelves, we talked about our lives and our children.
He told me stories about life in Iran. He described how extremists would come into his village. They even taught children how to make homemade bombs out of glass bottles and gasoline. He told me how these men would bully the village and force young men to join them. Darius was so thankful he escaped to America, where he had freedom and opportunity.
Darius was always worried. Every few months, he felt he had to go back to Iran to check on his elderly parents. They needed the money he sent to survive and to pay off the “thugs” who bothered them. He was terrified that if he went back, the Iranian government wouldn’t let him leave again. He feared he would never see his wife or his life in America again. But if he didn’t go, he felt like he was abandoning his parents and siblings.
One day, he told me something I will never forget: “When the United States didn’t come to help after the hostages were taken in 1979, we as a people felt abandoned.”
The Reality of the Situation
Since that revolution in 1979, we have seen many terrible things. People have been killed for being Christians. Even though they are allowed to worship, “Sharia Law” makes it very dangerous for them. This danger isn’t just for Christians. People in the LGBTQIA+ community have been killed just for who they love. Women are often treated like they are less important; they are kept from going to school and don’t have a full voice in their communities.
The leaders of Iran have also called for the destruction of the Jewish people and the nation of Israel. They are working to build powerful weapons to do exactly that. And recently, we have seen people killed in the streets just for demanding the basic human rights that God gives to everyone.
Seeking the Truth
I do not love war. I don’t think it should be our first choice, or even our fifth choice. But sometimes, it might be necessary. I think about what King Solomon wrote in the book of
Ecclesiastes:
“For everything there is a season… A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time for war and a time for peace.”
I still hear Darius’s voice saying, “We were abandoned.” When I see people suffering and being treated unfairly, I wonder if this is one of those times Solomon wrote about. One day, history will show us the truth about this season and whether our actions were right.
If we are a people who pray let us pray but if we are a people who do not, let us lift up our hopes and our for this time and those most affected.
As a follower of Jesus, I truly believe we should try to find peaceful ways to solve our problems. This is especially on my mind right now. It is the season of Lent, and I am preaching a sermon series based on the book Love Your Enemies by Arthur C. Brooks.
I don’t just see those arguments for peace; I really feel them. I wrestle with them myself. I do not like violence or the suffering that comes with war. It makes me sad to think about the scars—both on the body and the mind—that men and women will carry for the rest of their lives.
However, there is another voice that stays with me. It is a voice I first heard 40 years ago when I was a young man. (I know that the number 40 is very important in the Bible, and that isn’t lost on me.)
A Story from the Grocery Store
That voice belongs to a man named Darius. He was from Iran but had moved to the United States to study at a university. We worked together at a local grocery store while his wife finished her degree. As we moved heavy pallets and put food on the shelves, we talked about our lives and our children.
He told me stories about life in Iran. He described how extremists would come into his village. They even taught children how to make homemade bombs out of glass bottles and gasoline. He told me how these men would bully the village and force young men to join them. Darius was so thankful he escaped to America, where he had freedom and opportunity.
Darius was always worried. Every few months, he felt he had to go back to Iran to check on his elderly parents. They needed the money he sent to survive and to pay off the “thugs” who bothered them. He was terrified that if he went back, the Iranian government wouldn’t let him leave again. He feared he would never see his wife or his life in America again. But if he didn’t go, he felt like he was abandoning his parents and siblings.
One day, he told me something I will never forget: “When the United States didn’t come to help after the hostages were taken in 1979, we as a people felt abandoned.”
The Reality of the Situation
Since that revolution in 1979, we have seen many terrible things. People have been killed for being Christians. Even though they are allowed to worship, “Sharia Law” makes it very dangerous for them. This danger isn’t just for Christians. People in the LGBTQIA+ community have been killed just for who they love. Women are often treated like they are less important; they are kept from going to school and don’t have a full voice in their communities.
The leaders of Iran have also called for the destruction of the Jewish people and the nation of Israel. They are working to build powerful weapons to do exactly that. And recently, we have seen people killed in the streets just for demanding the basic human rights that God gives to everyone.
Seeking the Truth
I do not love war. I don’t think it should be our first choice, or even our fifth choice. But sometimes, it might be necessary. I think about what King Solomon wrote in the book of
Ecclesiastes:
“For everything there is a season… A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time for war and a time for peace.”
I still hear Darius’s voice saying, “We were abandoned.” When I see people suffering and being treated unfairly, I wonder if this is one of those times Solomon wrote about. One day, history will show us the truth about this season and whether our actions were right.
If we are a people who pray let us pray but if we are a people who do not, let us lift up our hopes and our for this time and those most affected.
Pepper vs. Heifer
I was doing my daily Bible reading recently, just like I do every morning. Right now, I am reading through the book of Numbers. To be honest, I usually struggle a bit when I get to this part of the Bible. There are a lot of rules and lists, and it can be hard to stay focused. But today, something happened that made me laugh and taught me a great lesson!
I have a habit of listening to the Bible on an app rather than just reading the words on a page. I like doing this because it’s how people in Jesus’ time would have learned about God—by hearing the stories out loud.
I was listening to Numbers 19:1. In that verse, the Lord tells Moses and Aaron to have the people of Israel bring them a “red heifer.” A heifer is just a young female cow. But as I was walking along, that is not what I heard.
My brain heard: “Bring Aaron a red pepper.”
I was so confused! The verses kept going, giving very specific instructions on what to do with this “pepper.” The Bible said the “pepper” should be taken outside the camp and slaughtered. It said the blood should be sprinkled and the whole thing—the skin and everything else—should be burned.
I stopped in my tracks. I thought to myself, “Wait a minute. I don’t remember ever hearing about a vegetable sacrifice in the Old Testament!” I started to argue with the app in my head. How do you slaughter a pepper? Why would you sprinkle pepper juice? I decided to hit the “back” button and listen again. I listened a second time, and I still heard “red pepper.” I was even more confused now. Finally, on the third try, I slowed down and really focused. That is when I realized the Lord was asking for a red heifer (a cow), not a snack from the garden!
It is pretty funny that this happened right after our sermon on Sunday. We have been talking about how we need to be “quick to listen.” In the book of James, it tells us that we should be fast to listen but slow to speak. King Solomon says the same thing in Proverbs: wise people are good listeners.
Even outside of the Bible, people like Stephen Covey have said we should “seek first to understand.” There is a big difference between just hearing a noise and actually listening to understand what is being said.
This mistake was a great reminder for me. In our world today, it is so easy to half-listen to people. We hear a few words, assume we know what they mean, and then we start planning what we want to say next. But if we don’t take the time to truly understand, we might miss the point entirely.
If we don’t learn to listen with our hearts, we might show up to our next “spiritual backyard BBQ” with a tiny red pepper when God was actually asking for something much bigger! This week, let’s all try to slow down. Let’s make sure we are really hearing the people around us—and the voice of God—so we don’t get our peppers and our heifers mixed up.
I have a habit of listening to the Bible on an app rather than just reading the words on a page. I like doing this because it’s how people in Jesus’ time would have learned about God—by hearing the stories out loud.
I was listening to Numbers 19:1. In that verse, the Lord tells Moses and Aaron to have the people of Israel bring them a “red heifer.” A heifer is just a young female cow. But as I was walking along, that is not what I heard.
My brain heard: “Bring Aaron a red pepper.”
I was so confused! The verses kept going, giving very specific instructions on what to do with this “pepper.” The Bible said the “pepper” should be taken outside the camp and slaughtered. It said the blood should be sprinkled and the whole thing—the skin and everything else—should be burned.
I stopped in my tracks. I thought to myself, “Wait a minute. I don’t remember ever hearing about a vegetable sacrifice in the Old Testament!” I started to argue with the app in my head. How do you slaughter a pepper? Why would you sprinkle pepper juice? I decided to hit the “back” button and listen again. I listened a second time, and I still heard “red pepper.” I was even more confused now. Finally, on the third try, I slowed down and really focused. That is when I realized the Lord was asking for a red heifer (a cow), not a snack from the garden!
It is pretty funny that this happened right after our sermon on Sunday. We have been talking about how we need to be “quick to listen.” In the book of James, it tells us that we should be fast to listen but slow to speak. King Solomon says the same thing in Proverbs: wise people are good listeners.
Even outside of the Bible, people like Stephen Covey have said we should “seek first to understand.” There is a big difference between just hearing a noise and actually listening to understand what is being said.
This mistake was a great reminder for me. In our world today, it is so easy to half-listen to people. We hear a few words, assume we know what they mean, and then we start planning what we want to say next. But if we don’t take the time to truly understand, we might miss the point entirely.
If we don’t learn to listen with our hearts, we might show up to our next “spiritual backyard BBQ” with a tiny red pepper when God was actually asking for something much bigger! This week, let’s all try to slow down. Let’s make sure we are really hearing the people around us—and the voice of God—so we don’t get our peppers and our heifers mixed up.
We Must Do Better
We Must Do Better
“We must do better.”
These words have been spoken often as we look at the tension, pain, and confusion in our world. They are not meant to place blame. They are an invitation to pause and reflect on who we are and how we treat one another.
Long before our time, wisdom was offered for moments just like this. King Solomon wrote, “A gentle answer deflects anger, but harsh words make tempers flare” (Proverbs 15:1, NLT). His words remind us that how we speak matters. When emotions run high, sharp words usually make things worse. Gentle words, spoken with care, can calm a situation instead of fueling it.
Jesus spoke with the same heart when He said, “God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God” (Matthew 5:9, NLT). Jesus did not ignore conflict, but He always pointed people toward peace. He understood that real strength is shown not through force or shouting, but through compassion, patience, and love for others.
James, writing to early believers facing pressure and disagreement, offered practical wisdom: “Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry” (James 1:19, NLT). These words feel especially important today. Listening before reacting can change the tone of a conversation. Slowing down can keep a hard moment from becoming a harmful one.
When tensions rise, leaders at every level face difficult choices. Their words and actions carry great weight. Calm leadership, careful speech, and a desire for peace can help steady a shaken community. Change that lasts rarely comes through anger alone, but through thoughtful work and respectful dialogue.
We also share responsibility as neighbors and community members. Each of us has the power to ease tension or increase it. We can choose not to harm others, not to destroy, and not to make daily life harder for people who are simply trying to live and work. Peaceful expression matters, but peace itself must remain at the center.
This reflection is personal for me. I am the child of an immigrant. My mother came to this country after World War II hoping for a better life. She waited patiently, followed the rules, and lived with gratitude for the opportunities she was given. Her story reminds me that behind every issue are real people with real hopes.
“We must do better” is not a demand. It is a reminder. A reminder that gentle words matter, listening matters, and peace is worth seeking. Wisdom—whether from Solomon, James, or Jesus—still points us toward a better way of living together.
“We must do better.”
These words have been spoken often as we look at the tension, pain, and confusion in our world. They are not meant to place blame. They are an invitation to pause and reflect on who we are and how we treat one another.
Long before our time, wisdom was offered for moments just like this. King Solomon wrote, “A gentle answer deflects anger, but harsh words make tempers flare” (Proverbs 15:1, NLT). His words remind us that how we speak matters. When emotions run high, sharp words usually make things worse. Gentle words, spoken with care, can calm a situation instead of fueling it.
Jesus spoke with the same heart when He said, “God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God” (Matthew 5:9, NLT). Jesus did not ignore conflict, but He always pointed people toward peace. He understood that real strength is shown not through force or shouting, but through compassion, patience, and love for others.
James, writing to early believers facing pressure and disagreement, offered practical wisdom: “Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry” (James 1:19, NLT). These words feel especially important today. Listening before reacting can change the tone of a conversation. Slowing down can keep a hard moment from becoming a harmful one.
When tensions rise, leaders at every level face difficult choices. Their words and actions carry great weight. Calm leadership, careful speech, and a desire for peace can help steady a shaken community. Change that lasts rarely comes through anger alone, but through thoughtful work and respectful dialogue.
We also share responsibility as neighbors and community members. Each of us has the power to ease tension or increase it. We can choose not to harm others, not to destroy, and not to make daily life harder for people who are simply trying to live and work. Peaceful expression matters, but peace itself must remain at the center.
This reflection is personal for me. I am the child of an immigrant. My mother came to this country after World War II hoping for a better life. She waited patiently, followed the rules, and lived with gratitude for the opportunities she was given. Her story reminds me that behind every issue are real people with real hopes.
“We must do better” is not a demand. It is a reminder. A reminder that gentle words matter, listening matters, and peace is worth seeking. Wisdom—whether from Solomon, James, or Jesus—still points us toward a better way of living together.
The Wisdom of Silence
Scripture for Reflection: Proverbs 10:19 (NLT): “Too much talk leads to sin. Be sensible and keep your mouth shut.”
If you’ve ever tried to catch a fish—a really good fish, the kind of fish worthy of a photo and a respectful release—you know the absolute, non-negotiable value of stillness. You understand the importance of quiet. A careless twitch of the rod, a loud clearing of the throat, or a sudden, unnecessary splash can send a prize fish darting away before it ever considers your bait.
And yet, in our day-to-day lives, we seem to have collectively forgotten this essential, quiet wisdom. We live in a world that doesn’t just tolerate noise; it rewards it. Our phones ping, our social feeds scroll, and every single person is encouraged to have—and loudly share—an opinion on everything, all the time. Our culture acts as if silence is a vacuum that must be instantly filled with ourselves.
But the timeless wisdom of the Scriptures, captured perfectly in today’s proverb, whispers a profound warning against this tendency: “Too much talk leads to sin. Be sensible and keep your mouth shut.”
The Bible doesn’t hate speech; it hates the sin that too often rides in on the back of careless, constant, or uncontrolled speech. Think of all the ways our words can go wrong: the gossip that starts as a “need to share,” the snap judgment that burns a bridge, the quick, cutting joke, or the unnecessary defense that turns a simple disagreement into a full-blown war.
And this brings us to a phrase worth meditating on as we navigate this noisy world: It is often more wise to remain silent than it is to exercise a freedom of speech.
This isn’t about surrendering your right to speak; it’s about elevating your wisdom above your immediate, often defensive, impulse. It’s about recognizing that not every thought needs to be a declaration, and not every comment needs to be heard.
I once knew a wonderful soul named Silas who fished the quietest coves along the coast. He was a master of his craft, not because he had the latest, greatest gear, but because he had the greatest patience.
Silas used to say, “Son, fishing is just like a good marriage—it’s 90 percent listening and 10 percent knowing when to gently tug.”
One blustery morning, a young, eager fisherman pulled his boat up beside Silas. The young man, bursting with energy and frustration, immediately started complaining to Silas: about the choppy water, about his faulty depth-finder, and especially about his lack of catch. He just kept talking—loudly—about all the mistakes everyone else was making and how he would fix them.
Silas, who was just settling his line, simply smiled, dipped his hand in the water, and held up a finger to his lips. “Easy, friend,” he whispered. “The fish are listening.”
The young man scoffed. “Fish don’t have ears, old man! I know they don’t.”
Silas chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “Ah, but they feel the vibration. They feel the commotion. Every time you get loud and thrashy, you tell the whole water you’re desperate, you’re reckless, and you’re no good to be around. The good fish—the ones with true wisdom—they swim away to find a quiet place.”
Silas wasn’t just talking about bass and trout; he was talking about peace, opportunity, and the richness of relationship—with God and with others.
Our spiritual lives, and the friendships we cherish, are like that quiet cove. When we fill them with continuous, reckless chatter, we create spiritual commotion that pushes away the good “catch”—the peace of God, the clarity of thought, and the patience needed for true wisdom.
When we keep our mouths shut, we are creating a place of stillness where the Holy Spirit can move and where true blessings can gently settle. The sensible person that Proverbs describes understands that silence is not weakness; it is a profound act of spiritual control. It is choosing to hear the still, small voice of God over the immediate, loud demands of our own ego or the crowd.
As you go through your day, ask yourself: Am I speaking to help, or am I speaking simply to make noise?
Let the warm wisdom of the old fisherman settle deep in your heart. Seek to be quick to listen and slow to speak. In doing so, you will not only avoid the sin that so easily trips up the careless talker, but you will also create the quiet, calm waters where the greatest spiritual catches can be made.
Reflection Step: Before engaging in a significant conversation today, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Pray a two-second silent prayer: “Lord, help me be sensible.” Then, actively listen twice as much as you speak.
If you’ve ever tried to catch a fish—a really good fish, the kind of fish worthy of a photo and a respectful release—you know the absolute, non-negotiable value of stillness. You understand the importance of quiet. A careless twitch of the rod, a loud clearing of the throat, or a sudden, unnecessary splash can send a prize fish darting away before it ever considers your bait.
And yet, in our day-to-day lives, we seem to have collectively forgotten this essential, quiet wisdom. We live in a world that doesn’t just tolerate noise; it rewards it. Our phones ping, our social feeds scroll, and every single person is encouraged to have—and loudly share—an opinion on everything, all the time. Our culture acts as if silence is a vacuum that must be instantly filled with ourselves.
But the timeless wisdom of the Scriptures, captured perfectly in today’s proverb, whispers a profound warning against this tendency: “Too much talk leads to sin. Be sensible and keep your mouth shut.”
The Bible doesn’t hate speech; it hates the sin that too often rides in on the back of careless, constant, or uncontrolled speech. Think of all the ways our words can go wrong: the gossip that starts as a “need to share,” the snap judgment that burns a bridge, the quick, cutting joke, or the unnecessary defense that turns a simple disagreement into a full-blown war.
And this brings us to a phrase worth meditating on as we navigate this noisy world: It is often more wise to remain silent than it is to exercise a freedom of speech.
This isn’t about surrendering your right to speak; it’s about elevating your wisdom above your immediate, often defensive, impulse. It’s about recognizing that not every thought needs to be a declaration, and not every comment needs to be heard.
I once knew a wonderful soul named Silas who fished the quietest coves along the coast. He was a master of his craft, not because he had the latest, greatest gear, but because he had the greatest patience.
Silas used to say, “Son, fishing is just like a good marriage—it’s 90 percent listening and 10 percent knowing when to gently tug.”
One blustery morning, a young, eager fisherman pulled his boat up beside Silas. The young man, bursting with energy and frustration, immediately started complaining to Silas: about the choppy water, about his faulty depth-finder, and especially about his lack of catch. He just kept talking—loudly—about all the mistakes everyone else was making and how he would fix them.
Silas, who was just settling his line, simply smiled, dipped his hand in the water, and held up a finger to his lips. “Easy, friend,” he whispered. “The fish are listening.”
The young man scoffed. “Fish don’t have ears, old man! I know they don’t.”
Silas chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “Ah, but they feel the vibration. They feel the commotion. Every time you get loud and thrashy, you tell the whole water you’re desperate, you’re reckless, and you’re no good to be around. The good fish—the ones with true wisdom—they swim away to find a quiet place.”
Silas wasn’t just talking about bass and trout; he was talking about peace, opportunity, and the richness of relationship—with God and with others.
Our spiritual lives, and the friendships we cherish, are like that quiet cove. When we fill them with continuous, reckless chatter, we create spiritual commotion that pushes away the good “catch”—the peace of God, the clarity of thought, and the patience needed for true wisdom.
When we keep our mouths shut, we are creating a place of stillness where the Holy Spirit can move and where true blessings can gently settle. The sensible person that Proverbs describes understands that silence is not weakness; it is a profound act of spiritual control. It is choosing to hear the still, small voice of God over the immediate, loud demands of our own ego or the crowd.
As you go through your day, ask yourself: Am I speaking to help, or am I speaking simply to make noise?
Let the warm wisdom of the old fisherman settle deep in your heart. Seek to be quick to listen and slow to speak. In doing so, you will not only avoid the sin that so easily trips up the careless talker, but you will also create the quiet, calm waters where the greatest spiritual catches can be made.
Reflection Step: Before engaging in a significant conversation today, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Pray a two-second silent prayer: “Lord, help me be sensible.” Then, actively listen twice as much as you speak.
The Price of Free
Galatians 5:13 (NLT) — “For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.”
There’s a saying that’s been rolling around in my head this week: “The price of free is always paid for by another.”
That line hits differently on Veterans Day. Freedom has a price tag—always has. Some paid it with years away from home, others with scars seen and unseen, and some paid it with their very lives. Every time we breathe the air of liberty, we inhale a gift someone else fought to preserve.
When I was younger, I used to think freedom just was—like sunshine or gravity—something that existed naturally and belonged to everyone equally. But as I’ve grown (and hopefully gotten a little wiser), I’ve realized freedom doesn’t just happen. Someone carries it on their back, through the mud, through the fear, through the fire. Freedom is never free—it’s borrowed from the brave.
And that’s where the Gospel comes crashing in, doesn’t it? Jesus, too, paid the price for our freedom. The cross wasn’t a moment of convenience; it was the ultimate act of courage and love. In His suffering, He took on the weight of sin, fear, and death so that you and I could live forgiven, unchained, and fully alive.
In Wesleyan theology, we often talk about grace as God’s love freely given to us. But even “free grace” came at a cost—just not one we could ever afford. Christ’s death and resurrection bought our pardon, opened our prison doors, and whispered into our weary hearts, “You’re free to go—and free to serve.”
Veterans embody a glimpse of that divine story. Their service reflects the heart of sacrificial love. When John Wesley wrote about holiness, he said it wasn’t about rules or perfection—it was about “love excluding sin and filling the heart.” In other words, holiness looks like love in motion. And that’s what we see in every person who has put on a uniform and chosen service over self.
I remember talking once with a veteran who told me, half-jokingly, “I didn’t sign up for the pay.” Then he grinned and added, “I just wanted to make sure my kids could grow up in a country that let them chase their dreams.” There was humor in his words, but also deep truth. Service motivated by love always costs something—but it’s the kind of cost that transforms us.
So today, let’s be thankful—not with passive gratitude that nods politely and moves on, but with the kind that stirs us to action. Let’s honor veterans by living with purpose, compassion, and courage. Let’s honor Christ by using our spiritual freedom not for comfort, but for service.
Because here’s the thing: gratitude that never gets its hands dirty isn’t gratitude at all—it’s sentiment. True thankfulness looks like helping a neighbor, forgiving someone who doesn’t deserve it, or showing up when it would be easier to stay home.
Veterans remind us that freedom worth having is freedom worth sharing. Jesus reminds us that freedom worth sharing is freedom worth dying for.
So, this Veterans Day, as we pause to remember and to give thanks, let’s also recommit ourselves to the holy work of love—the kind that costs something but gives everything. The price of free was paid once and for all on a hill called Calvary. Our response is simple: live free, love deeply, and serve faithfully.
Prayer:
Lord, thank You for the men and women who have served our country and for Your Son, who served humanity. Teach us to live in gratitude—not just in words, but in the way we love and serve others. Help us honor the gift of freedom by walking in grace and sharing it freely. Amen.
There’s a saying that’s been rolling around in my head this week: “The price of free is always paid for by another.”
That line hits differently on Veterans Day. Freedom has a price tag—always has. Some paid it with years away from home, others with scars seen and unseen, and some paid it with their very lives. Every time we breathe the air of liberty, we inhale a gift someone else fought to preserve.
When I was younger, I used to think freedom just was—like sunshine or gravity—something that existed naturally and belonged to everyone equally. But as I’ve grown (and hopefully gotten a little wiser), I’ve realized freedom doesn’t just happen. Someone carries it on their back, through the mud, through the fear, through the fire. Freedom is never free—it’s borrowed from the brave.
And that’s where the Gospel comes crashing in, doesn’t it? Jesus, too, paid the price for our freedom. The cross wasn’t a moment of convenience; it was the ultimate act of courage and love. In His suffering, He took on the weight of sin, fear, and death so that you and I could live forgiven, unchained, and fully alive.
In Wesleyan theology, we often talk about grace as God’s love freely given to us. But even “free grace” came at a cost—just not one we could ever afford. Christ’s death and resurrection bought our pardon, opened our prison doors, and whispered into our weary hearts, “You’re free to go—and free to serve.”
Veterans embody a glimpse of that divine story. Their service reflects the heart of sacrificial love. When John Wesley wrote about holiness, he said it wasn’t about rules or perfection—it was about “love excluding sin and filling the heart.” In other words, holiness looks like love in motion. And that’s what we see in every person who has put on a uniform and chosen service over self.
I remember talking once with a veteran who told me, half-jokingly, “I didn’t sign up for the pay.” Then he grinned and added, “I just wanted to make sure my kids could grow up in a country that let them chase their dreams.” There was humor in his words, but also deep truth. Service motivated by love always costs something—but it’s the kind of cost that transforms us.
So today, let’s be thankful—not with passive gratitude that nods politely and moves on, but with the kind that stirs us to action. Let’s honor veterans by living with purpose, compassion, and courage. Let’s honor Christ by using our spiritual freedom not for comfort, but for service.
Because here’s the thing: gratitude that never gets its hands dirty isn’t gratitude at all—it’s sentiment. True thankfulness looks like helping a neighbor, forgiving someone who doesn’t deserve it, or showing up when it would be easier to stay home.
Veterans remind us that freedom worth having is freedom worth sharing. Jesus reminds us that freedom worth sharing is freedom worth dying for.
So, this Veterans Day, as we pause to remember and to give thanks, let’s also recommit ourselves to the holy work of love—the kind that costs something but gives everything. The price of free was paid once and for all on a hill called Calvary. Our response is simple: live free, love deeply, and serve faithfully.
Prayer:
Lord, thank You for the men and women who have served our country and for Your Son, who served humanity. Teach us to live in gratitude—not just in words, but in the way we love and serve others. Help us honor the gift of freedom by walking in grace and sharing it freely. Amen.
The Ant and A Steering Wheel
It seems like every few years, a new movement rises up to shout, “No kings!” It’s an old sentiment wearing a fresh coat of paint — this time around, protesters marched with banners declaring their independence from any authority that dares to tell them how to live, think, or believe.
I watched some of the coverage this past Saturday, and I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of understanding and sadness. On one hand, who among us hasn’t felt the pull to push back against control? We love our freedom — it’s part of our national DNA. But on the other hand, this “No Kings” cry reveals something deeper, something that runs to the very heart of the human condition: we want to be our own rulers.
And that’s not new at all. It’s as old as Eden.
The First “No Kings” Protest
When Adam and Eve bit into that forbidden fruit, it wasn’t about hunger — it was about autonomy. They didn’t want to live under God’s rule anymore. They wanted to call their own shots. “No kings,” they said, though not with words but with a bite.
The book of Judges ends with a haunting line:
“In those days Israel had no king; all the people did whatever seemed right in their own eyes.” — Judges 21:25 (NLT)
That verse could easily headline our news today. We’ve traded monarchs for algorithms, prophets for influencers, and the idea of divine order for personal preference. Everyone is their own authority, their own truth, their own moral compass.
Yet that kind of freedom isn’t freedom at all — it’s a slow unraveling. When everyone is their own king, we end up in conflict. When everyone defines truth, truth itself loses its meaning.
A Fisherman’s Reflection
As a fisherman I am always tryting to outsmart some particularly uncooperative fish. As I cast and reeled in my line, I’ve noticed how often I get impatient. I want the fish to bite now, the weather to stay perfect, and the line to land exactly where I planned. In other words, I wanted to be in control.
And as any fisherman knows, that’s not how it works. You can’t force nature into submission. You can prepare, you can learn, you can cast — but at the end of the day, you’re at the mercy of something beyond you.
I think that’s why Jesus chose fishermen. We understand dependency. We know what it’s like to wait, to trust, to not be in control. That’s also what it means to follow one King — to lay down the illusion that we can captain our own ship.
The Only King Worth Following
Jesus didn’t come to establish an earthly kingdom with borders and palaces. He came to reclaim hearts that had wandered off in search of their own thrones.
“My Kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus said. — John 18:36 (NLT)
His crown was made of thorns, not gold. His throne was a cross. His power came through humility, and His rule through love. In a world shouting, “No kings!” Jesus quietly whispers, “Follow Me.”
And that’s where it gets uncomfortable. Because following Jesus means giving up the right to rule ourselves. It means surrendering our favorite excuses, our private ambitions, our moral shortcuts, and our insistence that we know best.
It’s not an easy message — but it’s a freeing one.
The Ant and the Steering Wheel
I once heard a story about an ant who decided to drive a car. The ant climbed up to the steering wheel, gripped it tight, and started shouting orders: “Go left! Go right!” The car, of course, didn’t move an inch.
After a while, the ant began to pray. “Lord, give me strength!”
Suddenly, the engine roared to life, the car began to move, and the ant proudly yelled, “Look at me go!”
It’s funny — and painfully familiar. We humans love to believe we’re steering. But maybe we’re more like that little ant: tiny, limited, and invited to trust the One who’s actually in control.
Freedom Under the King
Real freedom isn’t found in rejecting authority — it’s found in submitting to the right one.
When we follow Jesus, we aren’t losing ourselves; we’re finally discovering who we were created to be. The Apostle Paul put it this way:
“For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” — 2 Corinthians 3:17 (NLT)
Freedom in Christ isn’t anarchy; it’s alignment. It’s not the absence of rules; it’s the presence of grace. It’s not about “no kings” — it’s about one King who knows us, loves us, and leads us toward life.
No Kings… or One Worth Serving?
We can look at the “No Kings” protests and shake our heads, but if we’re honest, there’s a “no kings” protest inside each of us. Every time we say, “I’ll do it my way,” or “I don’t need help,” or “God, I’ve got this,” we’re marching in our own little rebellion.
And yet, even in our defiance, Christ calls us back. He doesn’t demand submission through force — He invites surrender through love.
Maybe that’s the real difference between the world’s kings and Christ. The world’s kings demand power; Jesus lays His down. The world’s kings rule through fear; Jesus rules through forgiveness. The world’s kings come to be served; Jesus came to serve.
A Closing Thought
When we live with “no kings,” life becomes a contest of wills — mine versus yours, truth versus opinion, noise versus noise. But when we live with one King, we find peace in the midst of chaos, purpose in the midst of confusion, and grace in the midst of our imperfections.
So maybe the real question isn’t whether there should be kings at all — but whether the One who already reigns has been given rule over your heart.
“For this reason, God elevated Him to the place of highest honor and gave Him the name above all other names, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.” — Philippians 2:9–10 (NLT)
So I wonder, where in your life have you been gripping the steering wheel like that little ant — and what might happen if you finally let the true King drive?
________________________________________
National Forgiveness Day – Setting the Prisoner Free
Forgiveness: Setting the Prisoner Free (Especially Today)
Today is National Forgiveness Day — a moment set aside, however informally, for us to pause and consider what it means to forgive, how hard it is, and how much freedom it offers. In a world sharply divided — politically, socially, even within our families — forgiveness is often the last thing we want to talk about. But perhaps today is the perfect day.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”
Lewis B. Smedes
That quote never loses its weight. At first glance, we imagine that forgiveness is for the other person — that we’re doing them a favor. But the deeper truth is that holding grudges, nursing wounds, keeping the ledger of hurts — those chains bind us. Bitterness, resentment, anger — they imprison the soul. And often, the keys to freedom lie within our hands.
The Bible directs us gently — sometimes sternly — toward that freedom. In Ephesians 4:32, Paul instructs:
“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”
Pause on that: forgiving one another just as God through Christ has forgiven you. It’s not a pragmatic suggestion; it’s a spiritual posture. We are invited — actually commanded — to live as people set free.
Why Forgiveness Matters (Especially in Our Time)
It is healing, not forgetting. Sometimes people think that forgiveness means we erase the past or pretend the harm didn’t happen. That’s not Christian forgiveness. True forgiveness is an act of the will: we let go of our bitterness and resentment, but remembering the wrong may remain. We don’t erase memory — we release the charge.
It restores dignity to ourselves. When we extend forgiveness, we reverse the narrative that says, “They control me.” We reclaim our dignity. We say, “I will no longer live in bondage to what happened.”
It offers a witness to a hurting world. In our day, politics is tribal. When the moral temperature rises and every disagreement can feel like a battle, forgiveness is a countercultural act. It says: even when we disagree strongly — even when we feel wounded — we can choose to extend grace.
It frees us to move forward. Grudges quieten our souls into shadows — they whisper that we cannot heal unless the other person changes first. But God’s grace invites us forward now, not later. Forgiveness accelerates our healing.
The Difficulty of Forgiveness
It’s not easy. Sometimes it feels unfair. Sometimes the wound is too deep. We ask: “Why me?” “Why so and so?” That’s valid. Healing is rarely instantaneous. To begin forgiving doesn’t mean erasing all pain immediately — it means starting the journey.
In today’s culture, we see open wounds everywhere: families divided over politics, communities fractured by ideology, people demonizing each other over worldview differences. The temptation is to double down, hone in, dig in. But forgiveness invites us to break the cycle.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean ignoring injustice. It doesn’t mean excusing abuse or saying someone’s behavior was okay. It means refusing to let the perpetrator’s actions permanently steal your peace. It means holding your ground but letting the resentment go.
What Might Forgiveness Look Like in Practice?
• Self-forgiveness. Maybe the hardest part: extend grace to your own mistakes. Recognize that God’s forgiveness toward us is the model, and that we too can release guilt and shame.
• Small steps. You don’t have to start with sweeping gestures. A prayer: “Lord, help me forgive X.” Or a private journal entry.
• Honest conversation (if safe). When trust is possible, initiate a dialogue. Apologize, or offer forgiveness — even if reconciliation isn’t immediate.
• Prayer and surrender. Ask God to carry what you cannot. Sometimes our anger is too thick — and we need divine help to release it.
• Boundaries where necessary. Forgiveness does not always mean you re-enter a relationship the way it was before. Boundaries may protect both you and the other.
A Word for the Divided Times
We live in polarized times: left vs. right, progressive vs. conservative, red state vs. blue state. In churches, neighborhoods, families — politics has crept into our worship, our dinners, our group chats. As a pastor, I see that wounds over belief are real wounds.
On National Forgiveness Day, I don’t mean we abandon convictions or dodge accountability. But I do believe that forgiveness is a bridge — not a surrender. When we forgive across differences, we show the world that holiness is stronger than hostility.
We might say in our hearts: “He (or she) is wrong.” — and theologically, we might believe that. But that does not give us permission to hate. Loving our neighbor deeply sometimes means forgiving them even when we believe they’re in error. It may feel counterintuitive, but that’s the gospel rhythm.
When someone Tweets or says something that wounds — when a post divides — let’s remember: every one of those people is a child of God, loved and wounded. We might not agree, but we can forgive. We might need to disagree later, but we can forgive now.
How we can celebrating National Forgiveness day (and Tomorrow)
• Begin with your own heart. As you read this post, pause and ask: Is there someone I need to forgive — myself or another?
• Write it out. Grab a piece of paper or journal. Begin with the simple words: “I forgive you, for…” or “God, help me forgive…”
• If safe, say it aloud. Speak it in prayer or in a gentle conversation.
• Share the journey. Maybe in your small group or with a trusted friend, share a hurt and how you’re letting go. That vulnerability builds community.
• Repeat. Forgiveness is not a one-and-done event. New offenses, old wounds — things surface. So we ask again: “Lord, help me forgive.”
Why We Need This Today
Because bitterness spreads faster than light. Resentment breeds division, distrust, cynicism. Because wounds left unchecked silence faith. Our spiritual life grows when we are free inside. Because God forgave us while we were still sinners. That’s our model (Romans 5). Because in a world screaming for peace, forgiveness whispers: “You don’t have to stay angry.”
To forgive may feel risky. It may feel like yielding. But the paradox is: when we forgive, we gain strength. We gain freedom. We gain a lighter heart. And we no longer carry the prisoner.
So today — on National Forgiveness Day — let us set a table of grace. Let us begin again. Let us forgive — because when the prisoner is you, that release is worth everything.
Today is National Forgiveness Day — a moment set aside, however informally, for us to pause and consider what it means to forgive, how hard it is, and how much freedom it offers. In a world sharply divided — politically, socially, even within our families — forgiveness is often the last thing we want to talk about. But perhaps today is the perfect day.
“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.”
Lewis B. Smedes
That quote never loses its weight. At first glance, we imagine that forgiveness is for the other person — that we’re doing them a favor. But the deeper truth is that holding grudges, nursing wounds, keeping the ledger of hurts — those chains bind us. Bitterness, resentment, anger — they imprison the soul. And often, the keys to freedom lie within our hands.
The Bible directs us gently — sometimes sternly — toward that freedom. In Ephesians 4:32, Paul instructs:
“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.”
Pause on that: forgiving one another just as God through Christ has forgiven you. It’s not a pragmatic suggestion; it’s a spiritual posture. We are invited — actually commanded — to live as people set free.
Why Forgiveness Matters (Especially in Our Time)
It is healing, not forgetting. Sometimes people think that forgiveness means we erase the past or pretend the harm didn’t happen. That’s not Christian forgiveness. True forgiveness is an act of the will: we let go of our bitterness and resentment, but remembering the wrong may remain. We don’t erase memory — we release the charge.
It restores dignity to ourselves. When we extend forgiveness, we reverse the narrative that says, “They control me.” We reclaim our dignity. We say, “I will no longer live in bondage to what happened.”
It offers a witness to a hurting world. In our day, politics is tribal. When the moral temperature rises and every disagreement can feel like a battle, forgiveness is a countercultural act. It says: even when we disagree strongly — even when we feel wounded — we can choose to extend grace.
It frees us to move forward. Grudges quieten our souls into shadows — they whisper that we cannot heal unless the other person changes first. But God’s grace invites us forward now, not later. Forgiveness accelerates our healing.
The Difficulty of Forgiveness
It’s not easy. Sometimes it feels unfair. Sometimes the wound is too deep. We ask: “Why me?” “Why so and so?” That’s valid. Healing is rarely instantaneous. To begin forgiving doesn’t mean erasing all pain immediately — it means starting the journey.
In today’s culture, we see open wounds everywhere: families divided over politics, communities fractured by ideology, people demonizing each other over worldview differences. The temptation is to double down, hone in, dig in. But forgiveness invites us to break the cycle.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean ignoring injustice. It doesn’t mean excusing abuse or saying someone’s behavior was okay. It means refusing to let the perpetrator’s actions permanently steal your peace. It means holding your ground but letting the resentment go.
What Might Forgiveness Look Like in Practice?
• Self-forgiveness. Maybe the hardest part: extend grace to your own mistakes. Recognize that God’s forgiveness toward us is the model, and that we too can release guilt and shame.
• Small steps. You don’t have to start with sweeping gestures. A prayer: “Lord, help me forgive X.” Or a private journal entry.
• Honest conversation (if safe). When trust is possible, initiate a dialogue. Apologize, or offer forgiveness — even if reconciliation isn’t immediate.
• Prayer and surrender. Ask God to carry what you cannot. Sometimes our anger is too thick — and we need divine help to release it.
• Boundaries where necessary. Forgiveness does not always mean you re-enter a relationship the way it was before. Boundaries may protect both you and the other.
A Word for the Divided Times
We live in polarized times: left vs. right, progressive vs. conservative, red state vs. blue state. In churches, neighborhoods, families — politics has crept into our worship, our dinners, our group chats. As a pastor, I see that wounds over belief are real wounds.
On National Forgiveness Day, I don’t mean we abandon convictions or dodge accountability. But I do believe that forgiveness is a bridge — not a surrender. When we forgive across differences, we show the world that holiness is stronger than hostility.
We might say in our hearts: “He (or she) is wrong.” — and theologically, we might believe that. But that does not give us permission to hate. Loving our neighbor deeply sometimes means forgiving them even when we believe they’re in error. It may feel counterintuitive, but that’s the gospel rhythm.
When someone Tweets or says something that wounds — when a post divides — let’s remember: every one of those people is a child of God, loved and wounded. We might not agree, but we can forgive. We might need to disagree later, but we can forgive now.
How we can celebrating National Forgiveness day (and Tomorrow)
• Begin with your own heart. As you read this post, pause and ask: Is there someone I need to forgive — myself or another?
• Write it out. Grab a piece of paper or journal. Begin with the simple words: “I forgive you, for…” or “God, help me forgive…”
• If safe, say it aloud. Speak it in prayer or in a gentle conversation.
• Share the journey. Maybe in your small group or with a trusted friend, share a hurt and how you’re letting go. That vulnerability builds community.
• Repeat. Forgiveness is not a one-and-done event. New offenses, old wounds — things surface. So we ask again: “Lord, help me forgive.”
Why We Need This Today
Because bitterness spreads faster than light. Resentment breeds division, distrust, cynicism. Because wounds left unchecked silence faith. Our spiritual life grows when we are free inside. Because God forgave us while we were still sinners. That’s our model (Romans 5). Because in a world screaming for peace, forgiveness whispers: “You don’t have to stay angry.”
To forgive may feel risky. It may feel like yielding. But the paradox is: when we forgive, we gain strength. We gain freedom. We gain a lighter heart. And we no longer carry the prisoner.
So today — on National Forgiveness Day — let us set a table of grace. Let us begin again. Let us forgive — because when the prisoner is you, that release is worth everything.
Love That Doesn’t Look Away
The other night I was cleaning up after dinner, and I noticed something funny. We had spaghetti, and no matter how careful we were, somehow the sauce ended up splattered across the counter, the table, and even a little on the wall. Love is a lot like that—messy, hard to contain, and usually showing up in places you don’t expect. It makes us laugh, but it also makes us think: if love is this messy at the dinner table, how much messier is it when we’re called to love people in a broken world?
Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 13 that love is patient and kind. It isn’t jealous, boastful, proud, or rude. It doesn’t insist on its own way, and it doesn’t keep a running tally of wrongs. Real love sticks with people through the highs and lows—it never gives up, never loses faith, and never stops hoping. That’s a beautiful picture, but it’s also a difficult one, because it challenges us to move beyond how society often defines love.
In today’s world, love is frequently confused with agreement. If you don’t affirm every choice someone makes, you’re labeled as unloving or even hateful. I get it—no one wants to feel judged or excluded. But somewhere along the way, we started equating approval with compassion. That’s not biblical love. Charlie Kirk, in his cultural commentary, has often pointed out that our society has lost the ability to disagree without division. While I may not agree with him on everything, I think he’s right about this: when we make agreement the price of love, we shrink love down to something shallow and fragile.
Biblical love, on the other hand, is sturdy. John Wesley described love as the holy temper of the Christian life—the choice to love God with all our heart and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It’s not a mushy feeling or blind acceptance; it’s an active decision to will the very best for another person. And the best for any of us, friend or enemy, is reconciliation with God through Jesus Christ. That’s what love longs for: not just that people feel good in the moment, but that they are drawn into a relationship that changes eternity.
But here’s where it gets tricky. Loving people in this way doesn’t mean approving of everything they do. In fact, Jude 1:22–23 makes it clear: “Show mercy to those whose faith is wavering. Rescue others by pulling them from the fire. Show mercy, but do so with caution, hating the sin that contaminates their lives.” That’s strong language—mercy and hatred of sin in the same breath. It tells me that love doesn’t look away from sin, but it doesn’t turn away from people either.
Bob Goff once wrote, “Love difficult people. You’re one of them.” That line makes me smile every time because I recognize I am one of them. I mean—we’re all messy, all stumbling, all in need of grace. We all make mistakes, I know I do, I often comment “If I’m breathing, I’m probably screwing up something.” And, if God waited to love us until we got everything right, none of us would stand a chance. But God doesn’t confuse our sins with our worth. He sent Jesus to rescue us precisely because His love is stronger than our failures.
So how do we live this out? It starts small. It means praying for the coworker whose choices you don’t agree with but whose value in God’s eyes is infinite. It means offering kindness to a neighbor even when their lifestyle doesn’t reflect your own values. It means teaching our children that love is not flimsy tolerance, but fierce compassion that wants what’s truly best for others. And yes, it means being brave enough to say, “I love you, but I can’t celebrate this choice,” without walking away from the person.
Our culture may tell us that love without approval is hate, but Scripture tells a different story. Love is patient, kind, truthful, and enduring. Love rescues. Love points people back to God. Love makes us willing to get spaghetti sauce on the walls and to step into the messiness of people’s lives, not because it’s easy but because Jesus did it for us first.
So, here’s the question I want to leave with you: What would it look like in your life this week to love someone fully without affirming everything they do? What would it look like to reflect Christ’s love—truthful, merciful, and sacrificial—in a way that makes people curious about the God you serve?
Because at the end of the day, love that never looks away is the love that changes the world.
Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 13 that love is patient and kind. It isn’t jealous, boastful, proud, or rude. It doesn’t insist on its own way, and it doesn’t keep a running tally of wrongs. Real love sticks with people through the highs and lows—it never gives up, never loses faith, and never stops hoping. That’s a beautiful picture, but it’s also a difficult one, because it challenges us to move beyond how society often defines love.
In today’s world, love is frequently confused with agreement. If you don’t affirm every choice someone makes, you’re labeled as unloving or even hateful. I get it—no one wants to feel judged or excluded. But somewhere along the way, we started equating approval with compassion. That’s not biblical love. Charlie Kirk, in his cultural commentary, has often pointed out that our society has lost the ability to disagree without division. While I may not agree with him on everything, I think he’s right about this: when we make agreement the price of love, we shrink love down to something shallow and fragile.
Biblical love, on the other hand, is sturdy. John Wesley described love as the holy temper of the Christian life—the choice to love God with all our heart and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It’s not a mushy feeling or blind acceptance; it’s an active decision to will the very best for another person. And the best for any of us, friend or enemy, is reconciliation with God through Jesus Christ. That’s what love longs for: not just that people feel good in the moment, but that they are drawn into a relationship that changes eternity.
But here’s where it gets tricky. Loving people in this way doesn’t mean approving of everything they do. In fact, Jude 1:22–23 makes it clear: “Show mercy to those whose faith is wavering. Rescue others by pulling them from the fire. Show mercy, but do so with caution, hating the sin that contaminates their lives.” That’s strong language—mercy and hatred of sin in the same breath. It tells me that love doesn’t look away from sin, but it doesn’t turn away from people either.
Bob Goff once wrote, “Love difficult people. You’re one of them.” That line makes me smile every time because I recognize I am one of them. I mean—we’re all messy, all stumbling, all in need of grace. We all make mistakes, I know I do, I often comment “If I’m breathing, I’m probably screwing up something.” And, if God waited to love us until we got everything right, none of us would stand a chance. But God doesn’t confuse our sins with our worth. He sent Jesus to rescue us precisely because His love is stronger than our failures.
So how do we live this out? It starts small. It means praying for the coworker whose choices you don’t agree with but whose value in God’s eyes is infinite. It means offering kindness to a neighbor even when their lifestyle doesn’t reflect your own values. It means teaching our children that love is not flimsy tolerance, but fierce compassion that wants what’s truly best for others. And yes, it means being brave enough to say, “I love you, but I can’t celebrate this choice,” without walking away from the person.
Our culture may tell us that love without approval is hate, but Scripture tells a different story. Love is patient, kind, truthful, and enduring. Love rescues. Love points people back to God. Love makes us willing to get spaghetti sauce on the walls and to step into the messiness of people’s lives, not because it’s easy but because Jesus did it for us first.
So, here’s the question I want to leave with you: What would it look like in your life this week to love someone fully without affirming everything they do? What would it look like to reflect Christ’s love—truthful, merciful, and sacrificial—in a way that makes people curious about the God you serve?
Because at the end of the day, love that never looks away is the love that changes the world.
The URL Bomb
The URL Bomb
Have you ever sent a URL bomb? In case you didn’t know, a URL is the address of a particular website—it’s an acronym that stands for “Uniform Resource Locator.” Now, before you get nervous, let me explain. By “URL bomb,” I don’t mean anything destructive or dangerous. What I mean is the action of sending your spouse or a friend a link with hopes that they’ll try to listen to your text on their vehicle’s text-to-voice system. And what comes out is something like: “h-t-t-p-slash-slash-w-w-w-dot-facebook-dot…” You get the picture, right?
On occasion, I’ll try this with my spouse. Bless her heart for putting up with me. As the true professional wife she is, she rarely admits when I’ve gotten her. But the other day, I sent her a funny video from Instagram while she was driving to work. As is our habit, I called her about 20 minutes into her commute so we could go over our day and then pray together once she pulled into the parking lot. After the “amen,” I encouraged her to watch the video and keep it handy for whenever our dog decided to be more puppy than her age should allow.
To which my wife retorted, “Yeah, that video—I listened to your text. ‘http…’” We both got a laugh—myself a little heartier than her—and after a moment of Scripture that morning, without even thinking, I looked up and thanked God for that laugh.
And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? God has a wonderful sense of humor. We are created in His image, which means He gave us the gift of laughter, the ability to find joy even in the small and silly things. Life is often heavy enough, but joy breaks through like sunlight. The writer of Proverbs put it this way: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength” (Proverbs 17:22, NLT). Maybe that’s part of God’s design: that even in the midst of routine or hardship, a shared laugh reminds us that He is near, that He is good, and that joy—like His mercy—is new every morning.
So, the next time you find yourself chuckling at something small (even a URL bomb), don’t be afraid to thank God for it. He gave us laughter for a reason.
Have you ever sent a URL bomb? In case you didn’t know, a URL is the address of a particular website—it’s an acronym that stands for “Uniform Resource Locator.” Now, before you get nervous, let me explain. By “URL bomb,” I don’t mean anything destructive or dangerous. What I mean is the action of sending your spouse or a friend a link with hopes that they’ll try to listen to your text on their vehicle’s text-to-voice system. And what comes out is something like: “h-t-t-p-slash-slash-w-w-w-dot-facebook-dot…” You get the picture, right?
On occasion, I’ll try this with my spouse. Bless her heart for putting up with me. As the true professional wife she is, she rarely admits when I’ve gotten her. But the other day, I sent her a funny video from Instagram while she was driving to work. As is our habit, I called her about 20 minutes into her commute so we could go over our day and then pray together once she pulled into the parking lot. After the “amen,” I encouraged her to watch the video and keep it handy for whenever our dog decided to be more puppy than her age should allow.
To which my wife retorted, “Yeah, that video—I listened to your text. ‘http…’” We both got a laugh—myself a little heartier than her—and after a moment of Scripture that morning, without even thinking, I looked up and thanked God for that laugh.
And that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? God has a wonderful sense of humor. We are created in His image, which means He gave us the gift of laughter, the ability to find joy even in the small and silly things. Life is often heavy enough, but joy breaks through like sunlight. The writer of Proverbs put it this way: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength” (Proverbs 17:22, NLT). Maybe that’s part of God’s design: that even in the midst of routine or hardship, a shared laugh reminds us that He is near, that He is good, and that joy—like His mercy—is new every morning.
So, the next time you find yourself chuckling at something small (even a URL bomb), don’t be afraid to thank God for it. He gave us laughter for a reason.
Gentle in Nature-Strong in Deed-Courageous in Love
For whatever reason—whether by happenstance or, as I believe, divine intervention—the books placed in my hands over the last six months have all centered around leaders of this nation. Women and men who have been placed in positions to shape the course of humanity’s future. A future filled with diverse perspectives, complex challenges, and so many unknowns.
What’s struck me most in these stories is this: the greatest among these leaders didn’t cling tightly to power. Instead, they understood that real strength is found in using influence for the good of others—and in trusting that the work done in faith and love will outlast them. In 1797, when John Adams was sworn in as the second President of the United States, the world witnessed something unprecedented: a peaceful transfer of power. No war, no bloodshed—just the commitment to a shared vision for the common good. That moment was more than political; it was moral, even spiritual.
Today, we often find ourselves entrenched in arguments over details, acting as if we’re on opposing teams. We forget we are one team—one people—called to seek the greater good of our communities and our nation. What’s disheartening is how this combative spirit has crept into our churches. Too many of us speak with absolute certainty, as if God Himself etched our opinions into stone and handed them down on a mountaintop behind our church. But God’s truth is far more complex, revealed not through a single voice, but through the lives of countless people across history, culture, and circumstance.
I’ll be honest: I’ve fallen into the trap of certainty too. I’ve clung to my own answers, forgetting that Joey down the street, or Connie Sue across the pew, don’t have the full picture either. But together—together—we begin to fill in the numbers of the divine paint-by-number that God has placed before us. And when we listen to each other’s stories, when we honor each other’s perspectives, we start to see the shape of God’s direction: love.
It always comes back to love, doesn’t it? We lost paradise, but God gave us the tools to survive. We found ourselves in chains—some placed by others, some of our own making—but God broke them. Over and over, we took wrong turns, spoke wrong words, committed wrong deeds, and still, God sent Jesus—an act of ultimate love—to set us free. And yet, somehow, in today’s world, if someone disagrees with us, votes differently, or belongs to another community, we’re ready to cast them out. Yeah, I said it.
Love doesn’t mean agreeing with everything. And it definitely doesn’t mean condemning everything we disagree with—unless an action brings real harm to another person, regardless of their stage of life or identity. Love, as it was once described to me, is wanting God’s very best for every person. And that best, I believe, is found in a life anchored in Jesus Christ.
That’s the direction God points us toward when Jesus says the two greatest commandments are to love God and love our neighbors. Not because God needs our love—but because when we seek Him, we align ourselves with His heart. And when we love our neighbors, we should want for them what we want for ourselves: a deep, sustaining relationship with the living God.
When that becomes our focus—loving God and loving people—we begin to catch a glimpse of heaven on earth. We begin to live into a vision where voices are heard, where differences make us stronger, where unity is more than a slogan. Yes, it may seem idealistic—but it’s the very prayer Jesus taught us to pray: “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” It’s the call of Micah 6:8: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
It’s a vision of lions and lambs, of strength and gentleness woven together. A vision captured in the words engraved on General Dwight Eisenhower’s desk: “Gentle in manner, great in deed.”
So let’s begin speaking words that draw us closer, not push us apart. Let our manner be gentle like the lamb, but may our love—our courageous, Jesus-shaped love—be mighty like the lion.
What’s struck me most in these stories is this: the greatest among these leaders didn’t cling tightly to power. Instead, they understood that real strength is found in using influence for the good of others—and in trusting that the work done in faith and love will outlast them. In 1797, when John Adams was sworn in as the second President of the United States, the world witnessed something unprecedented: a peaceful transfer of power. No war, no bloodshed—just the commitment to a shared vision for the common good. That moment was more than political; it was moral, even spiritual.
Today, we often find ourselves entrenched in arguments over details, acting as if we’re on opposing teams. We forget we are one team—one people—called to seek the greater good of our communities and our nation. What’s disheartening is how this combative spirit has crept into our churches. Too many of us speak with absolute certainty, as if God Himself etched our opinions into stone and handed them down on a mountaintop behind our church. But God’s truth is far more complex, revealed not through a single voice, but through the lives of countless people across history, culture, and circumstance.
I’ll be honest: I’ve fallen into the trap of certainty too. I’ve clung to my own answers, forgetting that Joey down the street, or Connie Sue across the pew, don’t have the full picture either. But together—together—we begin to fill in the numbers of the divine paint-by-number that God has placed before us. And when we listen to each other’s stories, when we honor each other’s perspectives, we start to see the shape of God’s direction: love.
It always comes back to love, doesn’t it? We lost paradise, but God gave us the tools to survive. We found ourselves in chains—some placed by others, some of our own making—but God broke them. Over and over, we took wrong turns, spoke wrong words, committed wrong deeds, and still, God sent Jesus—an act of ultimate love—to set us free. And yet, somehow, in today’s world, if someone disagrees with us, votes differently, or belongs to another community, we’re ready to cast them out. Yeah, I said it.
Love doesn’t mean agreeing with everything. And it definitely doesn’t mean condemning everything we disagree with—unless an action brings real harm to another person, regardless of their stage of life or identity. Love, as it was once described to me, is wanting God’s very best for every person. And that best, I believe, is found in a life anchored in Jesus Christ.
That’s the direction God points us toward when Jesus says the two greatest commandments are to love God and love our neighbors. Not because God needs our love—but because when we seek Him, we align ourselves with His heart. And when we love our neighbors, we should want for them what we want for ourselves: a deep, sustaining relationship with the living God.
When that becomes our focus—loving God and loving people—we begin to catch a glimpse of heaven on earth. We begin to live into a vision where voices are heard, where differences make us stronger, where unity is more than a slogan. Yes, it may seem idealistic—but it’s the very prayer Jesus taught us to pray: “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” It’s the call of Micah 6:8: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
It’s a vision of lions and lambs, of strength and gentleness woven together. A vision captured in the words engraved on General Dwight Eisenhower’s desk: “Gentle in manner, great in deed.”
So let’s begin speaking words that draw us closer, not push us apart. Let our manner be gentle like the lamb, but may our love—our courageous, Jesus-shaped love—be mighty like the lion.
It’s Time to Step Inside the Circle
Over the past week, I’ve found myself feeling a mix of curiosity, frustration, and if I’m honest, a little disappointment — not at any one person, but just in watching how things unfold around us. This isn’t a new feeling. For years, I’ve seen folks stand just outside the circle — close enough to care, close enough to comment, even close enough to offer suggestions — but not quite stepping in.
Earlier this week, a question hit me—What’s keeping us from stepping back in?
Maybe it’s the benevolent organization your father’s father was a member and today you proudly claim membership in. Maybe it’s your church — the one you were baptized in, the one your grandparents helped build, the one you still refer to as “ours.” But if it’s ours, what’s keeping us from putting our hands, our feet, and our hearts back into the work?
Sure, we say we don’t have time. But most of us still choose what matters most.
We say we forgot. But our phones rarely forget when it’s something we prioritize.
Whatever the reason, I believe most of them can be answered with a little honest reflection.
Here’s a belief I’ve held tightly to—Membership is more than a name on a roll — it’s presence and participation, especially when it’s inconvenient. It’s standing in the circle, even when the work is hard and the rewards aren’t immediate.
Romans 12:4–5 reminds us that the Church is a body — not one part, but many, all working together. Every piece matters. Every person matters. Not just in name, but in purpose.
I recently heard a pastor describe the Church like this:
“We’re part of a global organization with branches all over the world. We run hospitals and homeless shelters, schools and food banks. We care for people from birth to death and all the moments in between.”
Now sure, that lodge or church may not be doing all those things — but if you look closely, we are doing some of them.
They’re feed.
We comfort.
We welcome.
We serve.
And maybe that’s why you joined. Or came once. Or stayed for a while. Or told yourself, I’ll go back someday. But for one reason or another, you stepped back. Maybe it was busyness. Maybe it was a hurt — and if it was, that pain is real, and I want you to know it matters.
But if we all stand outside the circle offering commentary while the circle shrinks, the work fades. The legacy slips. The church, the lodge, the mission — none of it survives on memory alone.
The mind dreams. The mouth speaks. The hands serve. The heart beats. And if any part holds back, the body falters.
It’s time to do more than say we belong. It’s time to put effort behind the we.
Not for obligation’s sake — but because we believe this church this lodge, this community is better when we work together still matters.
And we believe that you do too.
The Golden Rule
Have you noticed what’s been happening in the news lately? A civilian was mistakenly included in a conversation that likely contained classified information. Thankfully, this error didn’t disrupt the mission being discussed, but it was still a mistake.
Once it came to light, the administration acknowledged the error, promised to investigate, and put safeguards in place to prevent it from happening again. But here’s where things get tricky—they downplayed the mistake, choosing instead to highlight the success of the mission. And that’s a problem. The mistake and the success are two separate stories. Both deserve to be acknowledged.
At the same time, those on the other side refuse to recognize any success at all. They focus only on the mistake. There’s no room for, “We messed up,” or “We’re taking a closer look,” or “We’re going to fix it.” Just like a few years ago, during the troop withdrawal, when mistakes were admitted, but the opposing side refused to hear it.
Now, this may not be an exact apples-to-apples comparison, but it’s close enough to remind us of something important: We tend to hold others to a different standard than we hold ourselves.
The truth is, everyone makes mistakes. Politicians, athletes, pastors, church leaders, parents, kids—all of us. The real question isn’t whether we’ll mess up (because we will), but whether we will rise to the occasion, learn from it, grow, and commit to doing better.
Jesus said:
“Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. This is the essence of all that is taught in the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 7:12, NLT)
Who knew Mom was quoting Jesus when she told us to treat others the way we want to be treated? But maybe it’s time we actually start listening—not just to her, but to Jesus. To listen to our neighbor. To forgive our neighbor. To love our neighbor the way we would want to be listened to, forgiven, and loved.
We can say, “Yeah, but they…”—or we can say, “Yeah, because Jesus did, I will.”
May our words and actions look more like Jesus every day. Amen.
Once it came to light, the administration acknowledged the error, promised to investigate, and put safeguards in place to prevent it from happening again. But here’s where things get tricky—they downplayed the mistake, choosing instead to highlight the success of the mission. And that’s a problem. The mistake and the success are two separate stories. Both deserve to be acknowledged.
At the same time, those on the other side refuse to recognize any success at all. They focus only on the mistake. There’s no room for, “We messed up,” or “We’re taking a closer look,” or “We’re going to fix it.” Just like a few years ago, during the troop withdrawal, when mistakes were admitted, but the opposing side refused to hear it.
Now, this may not be an exact apples-to-apples comparison, but it’s close enough to remind us of something important: We tend to hold others to a different standard than we hold ourselves.
The truth is, everyone makes mistakes. Politicians, athletes, pastors, church leaders, parents, kids—all of us. The real question isn’t whether we’ll mess up (because we will), but whether we will rise to the occasion, learn from it, grow, and commit to doing better.
Jesus said:
“Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. This is the essence of all that is taught in the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 7:12, NLT)
Who knew Mom was quoting Jesus when she told us to treat others the way we want to be treated? But maybe it’s time we actually start listening—not just to her, but to Jesus. To listen to our neighbor. To forgive our neighbor. To love our neighbor the way we would want to be listened to, forgiven, and loved.
We can say, “Yeah, but they…”—or we can say, “Yeah, because Jesus did, I will.”
May our words and actions look more like Jesus every day. Amen.
The Fear of the Lord: Striving with Hope
There are moments in life when we feel as though we’re walking on a tightrope, trying to balance our faith and our flaws. We long to live up to the expectations of a God who is both all-powerful and loving, yet we know deep down that, as human beings, we will stumble. We will fall. We will miss the mark. This creates a tension between striving to live according to God’s will and the fear of disappointing Him—of letting Him down in ways that feel beyond repair.
But the fear of the Lord, as we often hear it described, is not the kind of fear that paralyzes us in terror or dread. It’s not the fear we experience when facing danger, pain, or harm. Instead, it is the kind of fear that arises from a deep reverence and awe for God’s holiness, majesty, and purpose for our lives. It’s the recognition that He is God, and we are not. And in that realization, we feel a sense of responsibility—not just to follow His commands but to honor Him with the lives we live.
Take a moment to reflect on the life of a father, a man who strives to provide, protect, and care for his family. He loves his children with all his heart and desires nothing more than to see them succeed and flourish. But, as every parent knows, there are times when their child misses the mark—when they disappoint or make mistakes. As a parent, the love doesn’t fade in those moments. The fear that arises is not of anger or punishment but a deep sorrow that comes from knowing their child didn’t live up to their potential, that they’ve veered from the path that leads to flourishing.
This is the fear I speak of when it comes to God. It’s not the fear of retribution but a fear rooted in love—a desire to live in a way that reflects the goodness of the one who created us. The Psalmist reflects this beautifully in Psalm 112:1, “Praise the Lord! How joyful are those who fear the Lord and delight in obeying His commands!” There is joy in honoring God, in seeking to live according to His will, and in pursuing the life He’s called us to.
Yet, we know that we will make mistakes. No one is perfect. We are all flawed. The Apostle Paul himself writes in Romans 7:18-19, “And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.” Even Paul, the apostle, struggled with sin. This is part of the human condition. We strive to honor God, but we fail. And in our failures, we may feel the weight of disappointment—both ours and God’s.
But here’s the beautiful truth: God’s grace is always greater than our failures. In fact, it is in our imperfection that His grace shines brightest. Grace is the hope that anchors us in the midst of our struggles. It’s the unwavering truth that no matter how many times we fall short, God is there to pick us up, dust us off, and invite us to try again. The fear we feel in striving to live a life pleasing to God is not meant to break us down but to draw us closer to His grace.
When we fear the Lord in this way, it’s not a fear that drives us away from God but one that draws us nearer, understanding that His expectations for us are rooted in love, not in condemnation. As the Apostle John writes, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” (1 John 4:18, NLT). God’s perfect love casts out fear because His love is not about punishment but about restoration, forgiveness, and transformation.
This is where our hope lies—knowing that, while we may stumble, God is ever-present with grace to lift us up. He calls us to live in awe of His holiness, to strive to honor Him in all we do, and to accept His forgiveness when we fall short. And through it all, His grace continues to hold us in the tension between striving and failing, between fear and hope.
As you reflect on this, ask yourself: What is the fear of the Lord that calls you to live better, to love more fully, and to serve others? And in those moments when you stumble, how can you rest in the grace that is always there, offering you the strength to rise again?
Let us pray:
Heavenly Father, thank You for Your loving grace that meets us in our imperfections. Help us to fear You in the way that leads us closer to You, to honor You in all we do, and to rest in the assurance of Your forgiveness when we fall short. Strengthen us by Your Spirit, and guide us in Your truth, that we may live lives that reflect Your love and Your holiness. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
But the fear of the Lord, as we often hear it described, is not the kind of fear that paralyzes us in terror or dread. It’s not the fear we experience when facing danger, pain, or harm. Instead, it is the kind of fear that arises from a deep reverence and awe for God’s holiness, majesty, and purpose for our lives. It’s the recognition that He is God, and we are not. And in that realization, we feel a sense of responsibility—not just to follow His commands but to honor Him with the lives we live.
Take a moment to reflect on the life of a father, a man who strives to provide, protect, and care for his family. He loves his children with all his heart and desires nothing more than to see them succeed and flourish. But, as every parent knows, there are times when their child misses the mark—when they disappoint or make mistakes. As a parent, the love doesn’t fade in those moments. The fear that arises is not of anger or punishment but a deep sorrow that comes from knowing their child didn’t live up to their potential, that they’ve veered from the path that leads to flourishing.
This is the fear I speak of when it comes to God. It’s not the fear of retribution but a fear rooted in love—a desire to live in a way that reflects the goodness of the one who created us. The Psalmist reflects this beautifully in Psalm 112:1, “Praise the Lord! How joyful are those who fear the Lord and delight in obeying His commands!” There is joy in honoring God, in seeking to live according to His will, and in pursuing the life He’s called us to.
Yet, we know that we will make mistakes. No one is perfect. We are all flawed. The Apostle Paul himself writes in Romans 7:18-19, “And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.” Even Paul, the apostle, struggled with sin. This is part of the human condition. We strive to honor God, but we fail. And in our failures, we may feel the weight of disappointment—both ours and God’s.
But here’s the beautiful truth: God’s grace is always greater than our failures. In fact, it is in our imperfection that His grace shines brightest. Grace is the hope that anchors us in the midst of our struggles. It’s the unwavering truth that no matter how many times we fall short, God is there to pick us up, dust us off, and invite us to try again. The fear we feel in striving to live a life pleasing to God is not meant to break us down but to draw us closer to His grace.
When we fear the Lord in this way, it’s not a fear that drives us away from God but one that draws us nearer, understanding that His expectations for us are rooted in love, not in condemnation. As the Apostle John writes, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” (1 John 4:18, NLT). God’s perfect love casts out fear because His love is not about punishment but about restoration, forgiveness, and transformation.
This is where our hope lies—knowing that, while we may stumble, God is ever-present with grace to lift us up. He calls us to live in awe of His holiness, to strive to honor Him in all we do, and to accept His forgiveness when we fall short. And through it all, His grace continues to hold us in the tension between striving and failing, between fear and hope.
As you reflect on this, ask yourself: What is the fear of the Lord that calls you to live better, to love more fully, and to serve others? And in those moments when you stumble, how can you rest in the grace that is always there, offering you the strength to rise again?
Let us pray:
Heavenly Father, thank You for Your loving grace that meets us in our imperfections. Help us to fear You in the way that leads us closer to You, to honor You in all we do, and to rest in the assurance of Your forgiveness when we fall short. Strengthen us by Your Spirit, and guide us in Your truth, that we may live lives that reflect Your love and Your holiness. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Speaking Truth With Courage and Integrity
Speaking Truth with Courage and Integrity
There’s a difference between speaking truth and throwing stones. It’s tempting to address difficult situations from a distance—be it from a pulpit, behind a keyboard, or even within a group. But true courage often requires stepping out of the crowd and speaking directly to someone with love and integrity. This one-on-one approach is not only more challenging but also reflects the heart of God’s desire for reconciliation and restoration.
The story of Nathan confronting King David in 2 Samuel 12:1-7 offers a powerful biblical example. After David’s sin with Bathsheba, Nathan could have rebuked the king publicly or in front of his court. Instead, he approached David privately, using a parable to reveal the gravity of his actions. By speaking to David directly, Nathan not only delivered God’s truth but also provided David an opportunity to repent without humiliation. This kind of confrontation is not about shaming—it’s about guiding someone back to the path of righteousness.
In contrast, consider the story in John 8:3-11, where a crowd brought a woman caught in adultery to Jesus, ready to stone her. The crowd acted in self-righteousness, hiding behind their numbers. But Jesus diffused the situation by calling for personal accountability, saying, “Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone.” He then spoke to the woman privately, showing her grace and urging her to change her life. This highlights the importance of avoiding mob mentality when addressing sin or wrongdoing.
A more modern example comes from Abraham Lincoln. During his presidency, Lincoln often faced criticism, even from members of his own cabinet. Yet, Lincoln was known for his ability to confront disagreements directly and thoughtfully. One famous instance occurred with Edwin Stanton, his Secretary of War, who initially insulted and opposed Lincoln. Rather than respond publicly or angrily, Lincoln approached Stanton with patience and grace. Over time, their working relationship transformed into one of mutual respect, and Stanton became one of Lincoln’s greatest supporters. Lincoln’s example reminds us that speaking truth directly, with humility, can bring about reconciliation and even strengthen relationships.
On the other hand, we’ve all seen situations where someone criticizes another person from afar—be it in a sermon, on social media, or in gossip. While the words may contain truth, the method often undermines the message. It’s easier to address someone indirectly, but it’s far less effective in bringing about change. As Proverbs 27:6 reminds us, “Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy.” A private, honest conversation carries far more weight than a public rebuke that feels impersonal or self-serving.
Practically speaking, approaching someone directly can be uncomfortable. It requires humility, empathy, and a willingness to listen. But it’s also an opportunity to model Christ’s love. Imagine the difference it would make if, instead of criticizing someone in a sermon, a pastor or leader met with them privately to discuss their concerns. That act of courage could open the door to healing, understanding, and transformation.
Jesus modeled this one-on-one approach consistently. He didn’t just preach to crowds; He also engaged individuals like Zacchaeus, Nicodemus, and the Samaritan woman at the well. Each of these encounters was deeply personal, and because of that, they were profoundly impactful. Speaking truth directly to someone, rather than at someone, is an act of love that mirrors Christ’s ministry.
In today’s world, where it’s easy to throw “stones” from behind a pulpit, keyboard, or group of like-minded people, we’re called to a higher standard. Speaking truth to power is not about shaming or overpowering—it’s about seeking reconciliation, restoration, and justice in a way that honors God. So, let’s ask ourselves: Are we speaking truth with courage and integrity, or are we simply throwing stones from a distance?
There’s a difference between speaking truth and throwing stones. It’s tempting to address difficult situations from a distance—be it from a pulpit, behind a keyboard, or even within a group. But true courage often requires stepping out of the crowd and speaking directly to someone with love and integrity. This one-on-one approach is not only more challenging but also reflects the heart of God’s desire for reconciliation and restoration.
The story of Nathan confronting King David in 2 Samuel 12:1-7 offers a powerful biblical example. After David’s sin with Bathsheba, Nathan could have rebuked the king publicly or in front of his court. Instead, he approached David privately, using a parable to reveal the gravity of his actions. By speaking to David directly, Nathan not only delivered God’s truth but also provided David an opportunity to repent without humiliation. This kind of confrontation is not about shaming—it’s about guiding someone back to the path of righteousness.
In contrast, consider the story in John 8:3-11, where a crowd brought a woman caught in adultery to Jesus, ready to stone her. The crowd acted in self-righteousness, hiding behind their numbers. But Jesus diffused the situation by calling for personal accountability, saying, “Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone.” He then spoke to the woman privately, showing her grace and urging her to change her life. This highlights the importance of avoiding mob mentality when addressing sin or wrongdoing.
A more modern example comes from Abraham Lincoln. During his presidency, Lincoln often faced criticism, even from members of his own cabinet. Yet, Lincoln was known for his ability to confront disagreements directly and thoughtfully. One famous instance occurred with Edwin Stanton, his Secretary of War, who initially insulted and opposed Lincoln. Rather than respond publicly or angrily, Lincoln approached Stanton with patience and grace. Over time, their working relationship transformed into one of mutual respect, and Stanton became one of Lincoln’s greatest supporters. Lincoln’s example reminds us that speaking truth directly, with humility, can bring about reconciliation and even strengthen relationships.
On the other hand, we’ve all seen situations where someone criticizes another person from afar—be it in a sermon, on social media, or in gossip. While the words may contain truth, the method often undermines the message. It’s easier to address someone indirectly, but it’s far less effective in bringing about change. As Proverbs 27:6 reminds us, “Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy.” A private, honest conversation carries far more weight than a public rebuke that feels impersonal or self-serving.
Practically speaking, approaching someone directly can be uncomfortable. It requires humility, empathy, and a willingness to listen. But it’s also an opportunity to model Christ’s love. Imagine the difference it would make if, instead of criticizing someone in a sermon, a pastor or leader met with them privately to discuss their concerns. That act of courage could open the door to healing, understanding, and transformation.
Jesus modeled this one-on-one approach consistently. He didn’t just preach to crowds; He also engaged individuals like Zacchaeus, Nicodemus, and the Samaritan woman at the well. Each of these encounters was deeply personal, and because of that, they were profoundly impactful. Speaking truth directly to someone, rather than at someone, is an act of love that mirrors Christ’s ministry.
In today’s world, where it’s easy to throw “stones” from behind a pulpit, keyboard, or group of like-minded people, we’re called to a higher standard. Speaking truth to power is not about shaming or overpowering—it’s about seeking reconciliation, restoration, and justice in a way that honors God. So, let’s ask ourselves: Are we speaking truth with courage and integrity, or are we simply throwing stones from a distance?
The Cost of Free
In the last couple of weeks, I had a conversation with a friend. Thankfully, we are both relatively mature adults. As we often do, we covered a wide range of topics—family, work, church, sports, theological understandings, and even politics. Remarkably, as the conversation concluded, neither of us felt bruised. Instead, we left smiling, laughing, and even hugging as we went our separate ways.
One topic we touched on was the perennial debate about socialized healthcare, often referred to as “free healthcare.” We quickly agreed that it could never truly be free. Someone would have to bear the cost—ultimately, the taxpayers. The idea of “free” healthcare is, in reality, an illusion.
This led us to discuss free secondary education. Surely, as the “richest” nation on earth, we could afford to educate future generations. We talked about the billions of dollars held in endowments by many colleges and agreed that the cost of attending these institutions could and should be dramatically reduced. But what about those who have already graduated and are burdened with crushing student loan debt?
“Those debts should be forgiven!” one of us proposed. “Forgiven? Like waving a magic wand to make the debt disappear? How does that work?” was the response. Our back-and-forth revealed a reality: student loan forgiveness often transfers the burden of repayment from the borrower to taxpayers who never received the loan’s benefit.
As our conversation wore on, we concluded with a simple truth: “Nothing is free.”
As pastors, this realization seems at odds with the core message of the Gospel: “God’s grace is free to all who believe.” But even God’s saving grace came with a cost. Over 2,000 years ago, the deposit for that grace was laid in a manger—a response to a promise foretold by Isaiah: “To us a child is born, to us a son is given” (Isaiah 9:6, NET).
In this Christmas season, we celebrate that child in the manger—the Son of Man—who taught us to live, love, and give. He bore the price of humanity’s sin so that you and I could be restored to God and one day know eternal life.
Remember, nothing is truly free, especially the gift we celebrate this season. May God’s love overflow in your life today and always.
— The Daily Fisherman
One topic we touched on was the perennial debate about socialized healthcare, often referred to as “free healthcare.” We quickly agreed that it could never truly be free. Someone would have to bear the cost—ultimately, the taxpayers. The idea of “free” healthcare is, in reality, an illusion.
This led us to discuss free secondary education. Surely, as the “richest” nation on earth, we could afford to educate future generations. We talked about the billions of dollars held in endowments by many colleges and agreed that the cost of attending these institutions could and should be dramatically reduced. But what about those who have already graduated and are burdened with crushing student loan debt?
“Those debts should be forgiven!” one of us proposed. “Forgiven? Like waving a magic wand to make the debt disappear? How does that work?” was the response. Our back-and-forth revealed a reality: student loan forgiveness often transfers the burden of repayment from the borrower to taxpayers who never received the loan’s benefit.
As our conversation wore on, we concluded with a simple truth: “Nothing is free.”
As pastors, this realization seems at odds with the core message of the Gospel: “God’s grace is free to all who believe.” But even God’s saving grace came with a cost. Over 2,000 years ago, the deposit for that grace was laid in a manger—a response to a promise foretold by Isaiah: “To us a child is born, to us a son is given” (Isaiah 9:6, NET).
In this Christmas season, we celebrate that child in the manger—the Son of Man—who taught us to live, love, and give. He bore the price of humanity’s sin so that you and I could be restored to God and one day know eternal life.
Remember, nothing is truly free, especially the gift we celebrate this season. May God’s love overflow in your life today and always.
— The Daily Fisherman
Celebrating Joy
“We Speak Different Languages but Often Say the Same Thing”
C. S. Lewis – “That Hideous Strength”
I was struck by this quote as I read it this morning, especially in light of the climate we find ourselves in today. Whether it’s a disagreement within the Church or differences in political ideology, we seem to be more focused on being right than on being righteous.
Think about this: we cannot even get through what is supposed to be one of the most joy-filled seasons of the year without arguing over words. If I offer you a cheerful “Merry Christmas,” it’s not an attempt to impose my Judeo-Christian values on you. Instead, it’s my way of offering a blessing, wishing you joy during this sacred season. Similarly, if you say “Happy Hanukkah” to me, I should be ecstatic that you’ve chosen to invite me into a celebration of light and illumination that holds deep meaning in your life. In a sense, your greeting is a gift—a desire for me to experience the joy that this season brings to you.
We can continue with other greetings, like “Happy Kwanzaa,” which is a celebration of culture through feasting, family, and community, or “Happy Holidays,” a broader acknowledgment of the various festivities and time spent with loved ones. Each of these greetings, though spoken differently, carries a shared intention: to spread goodwill, joy, and a sense of connection.
The apostle Paul reminds us in Romans 12:10 (NLT): “Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other.” What better way to embody this than by receiving each other’s greetings with grace and gratitude? Instead of focusing on what separates us, we can choose to celebrate the love and joy that unite us.
So, in this season—whatever it is you are celebrating—I encourage you to look beyond the words and recognize that we are often speaking the same things, only in different languages. When someone offers you a greeting, they are extending a piece of their heart and their joy to you. Let us enter each day with joy, prepared to love and embrace one another.
May we be people who focus less on being right and more on being righteous, reflecting God’s love and peace in all we do.
C. S. Lewis – “That Hideous Strength”
I was struck by this quote as I read it this morning, especially in light of the climate we find ourselves in today. Whether it’s a disagreement within the Church or differences in political ideology, we seem to be more focused on being right than on being righteous.
Think about this: we cannot even get through what is supposed to be one of the most joy-filled seasons of the year without arguing over words. If I offer you a cheerful “Merry Christmas,” it’s not an attempt to impose my Judeo-Christian values on you. Instead, it’s my way of offering a blessing, wishing you joy during this sacred season. Similarly, if you say “Happy Hanukkah” to me, I should be ecstatic that you’ve chosen to invite me into a celebration of light and illumination that holds deep meaning in your life. In a sense, your greeting is a gift—a desire for me to experience the joy that this season brings to you.
We can continue with other greetings, like “Happy Kwanzaa,” which is a celebration of culture through feasting, family, and community, or “Happy Holidays,” a broader acknowledgment of the various festivities and time spent with loved ones. Each of these greetings, though spoken differently, carries a shared intention: to spread goodwill, joy, and a sense of connection.
The apostle Paul reminds us in Romans 12:10 (NLT): “Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other.” What better way to embody this than by receiving each other’s greetings with grace and gratitude? Instead of focusing on what separates us, we can choose to celebrate the love and joy that unite us.
So, in this season—whatever it is you are celebrating—I encourage you to look beyond the words and recognize that we are often speaking the same things, only in different languages. When someone offers you a greeting, they are extending a piece of their heart and their joy to you. Let us enter each day with joy, prepared to love and embrace one another.
May we be people who focus less on being right and more on being righteous, reflecting God’s love and peace in all we do.
Listening
“The first duty of love is to listen.” – Paul Tillich
In the contentious nature of today’s society, it seems that few of us desire to live out this first duty—to truly listen. We are often eager to have our points heard, but reluctant to take even a moment to consider a different perspective. Instead, we rush to articulate our limited understanding, drop the proverbial mic, and move on.
Alan Alda once said, “Listening is being open to change through the other person.” That is a remarkable idea. As I grow older (and, I hope, wiser), this truth resonates more deeply with me. Yet, I must admit that I often approach conversations with a set of beliefs I am confident are correct. They may indeed be right for me and my current context, but for my neighbor, they might not fit. Even now, in writing this, I find myself tempted to speak in absolutes rather than embracing the need to be more fluid, like water.
The truth is, I believe each of us can learn from others—their successes, their failures—but only if we are more willing to listen than to speak, to learn rather than to teach, and even to admit when we are wrong. This doesn’t mean blind agreement; listening is about understanding, broadening our perspectives, and cultivating a willingness to grow.
James, the servant of the Lord and earthly brother of Jesus, offers this wisdom:
“Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry” (James 1:19, NLT).
As followers of Jesus, we would be wise to heed this advice. While I know I will continue to struggle, imagine how different our communities could be if we were even half as eager to listen as we are to share our opinions or make demands. Imagine if our first step in loving our neighbor was to listen.
Holy God, open my ears and hold my tongue. Help me to hear my siblings in Christ and love them as You love us. Amen.
In the contentious nature of today’s society, it seems that few of us desire to live out this first duty—to truly listen. We are often eager to have our points heard, but reluctant to take even a moment to consider a different perspective. Instead, we rush to articulate our limited understanding, drop the proverbial mic, and move on.
Alan Alda once said, “Listening is being open to change through the other person.” That is a remarkable idea. As I grow older (and, I hope, wiser), this truth resonates more deeply with me. Yet, I must admit that I often approach conversations with a set of beliefs I am confident are correct. They may indeed be right for me and my current context, but for my neighbor, they might not fit. Even now, in writing this, I find myself tempted to speak in absolutes rather than embracing the need to be more fluid, like water.
The truth is, I believe each of us can learn from others—their successes, their failures—but only if we are more willing to listen than to speak, to learn rather than to teach, and even to admit when we are wrong. This doesn’t mean blind agreement; listening is about understanding, broadening our perspectives, and cultivating a willingness to grow.
James, the servant of the Lord and earthly brother of Jesus, offers this wisdom:
“Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry” (James 1:19, NLT).
As followers of Jesus, we would be wise to heed this advice. While I know I will continue to struggle, imagine how different our communities could be if we were even half as eager to listen as we are to share our opinions or make demands. Imagine if our first step in loving our neighbor was to listen.
Holy God, open my ears and hold my tongue. Help me to hear my siblings in Christ and love them as You love us. Amen.
Trust In God
Psalm 4
1Answer me when I call to you,
O God who declares me innocent.
Free me from my troubles.
Have mercy on me and hear my prayer.
2How long will you people ruin my reputation?
How long will you make groundless accusations?
How long will you continue your lies?
3You can be sure of this:
The Lord set apart the godly for himself.
The Lord will answer when I call to him.
4Don’t sin by letting anger control you.
Think about it overnight and remain silent.
5Offer sacrifices in the right spirit,
and trust the Lord.
6Many people say, “Who will show us better times?”
Let your face smile on us, Lord.
7You have given me greater joy
than those who have abundant harvests of grain and new wine.
8In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.
Psalm 4 offers profound insights into navigating life’s challenges with faith and courage, making it particularly relevant for men facing various struggles. Like King David, who openly cried out to God in his distress, men are encouraged to acknowledge their difficulties and turn to God for help. In a world often characterized by pressure to appear strong and self-reliant, Psalm 4 reminds us of the power of vulnerability before our Creator. Through honest dialogue with God, men can find strength in admitting their struggles and seeking His guidance. This psalm serves as a beacon of hope, affirming that even in the darkest moments, God’s presence offers solace and direction. As we delve into the depths of Psalm 4, may men find courage to lean on God amidst adversity, trusting in His unfailing love and provision.”
In the opening verses of Psalm 4, we witness King David’s raw honesty as he pours out his heart to God in the midst of adversity. David’s example challenges men to embrace vulnerability and transparency in their relationship with God, recognizing that true strength is found in acknowledging struggles rather than concealing them. As men navigate the complexities of life, whether it be career pressures, family conflicts, or personal insecurities, Psalm 4 encourages them to follow David’s lead by lifting their burdens before God’s throne. By acknowledging their struggles and seeking God’s help, men can experience a profound sense of liberation and peace, knowing that they are not alone in their journey.
The power of Psalm 4 lies in its invitation for men to cultivate a deeper intimacy with God through authentic prayer and dependence. Instead of relying solely on their own abilities or seeking fulfillment in temporary pleasures, men are called to trust in God’s unwavering faithfulness and provision. David’s confidence in God’s favor serves as a beacon of hope, reminding men that their worth and security ultimately come from their relationship with their Heavenly Father. By turning to God with open hearts and humble spirits, men can find strength to face life’s challenges with courage and resilience, knowing that they are upheld by the Almighty who never fails to hear their cries.
In the subsequent verses of Psalm 4, we delve into David’s unwavering trust in God’s faithfulness and provision. His steadfast confidence in God’s favor stands as a powerful reminder for men to prioritize their trust in God over worldly pursuits. David contrasts the fleeting pleasures of material wealth with the enduring peace that comes from trusting in God. This resonates deeply with men who often face the pressures of societal expectations and the allure of success. Psalm 4 calls men to reevaluate their priorities and find true contentment in their relationship with God rather than in external achievements or possessions.
Furthermore, Psalm 4 underscores the importance of finding solace in God’s presence, particularly during times of adversity. David’s acknowledgment of God’s blessings and protection serves as an inspiration for men to seek refuge in the Almighty. Amidst life’s storms, men are encouraged to draw near to God through prayer, meditation, and the study of His Word. By fostering a deeper relationship with God, men can cultivate a sense of peace that surpasses understanding, enabling them to navigate life’s challenges with confidence and resilience. Psalm 4 offers a profound invitation for men to find their strength, security, and peace in the loving embrace of their Heavenly Father.
In conclusion, Psalm 4 serves as a timeless guide for men, inviting them to embrace vulnerability, trust in God’s provision, and find solace in His presence. Through the honest lament of King David, men are encouraged to lay bare their struggles before God, knowing that He hears and cares for them deeply. This psalm challenges men to redefine strength not as self-reliance or worldly success, but as a humble dependence on the unfailing love and guidance of their Creator.
As men journey through life’s trials and triumphs, may Psalm 4 echo in their hearts as a source of courage and assurance. Let them take refuge in the promises of God, knowing that He is their rock and their redeemer. May they find peace in His presence, strength in His provision, and joy in His unfailing love. As men live out the principles of Psalm 4, may they inspire others to seek after God wholeheartedly, trusting in Him as their ultimate source of strength and security.
1Answer me when I call to you,
O God who declares me innocent.
Free me from my troubles.
Have mercy on me and hear my prayer.
2How long will you people ruin my reputation?
How long will you make groundless accusations?
How long will you continue your lies?
3You can be sure of this:
The Lord set apart the godly for himself.
The Lord will answer when I call to him.
4Don’t sin by letting anger control you.
Think about it overnight and remain silent.
5Offer sacrifices in the right spirit,
and trust the Lord.
6Many people say, “Who will show us better times?”
Let your face smile on us, Lord.
7You have given me greater joy
than those who have abundant harvests of grain and new wine.
8In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, O Lord, will keep me safe.
Psalm 4 offers profound insights into navigating life’s challenges with faith and courage, making it particularly relevant for men facing various struggles. Like King David, who openly cried out to God in his distress, men are encouraged to acknowledge their difficulties and turn to God for help. In a world often characterized by pressure to appear strong and self-reliant, Psalm 4 reminds us of the power of vulnerability before our Creator. Through honest dialogue with God, men can find strength in admitting their struggles and seeking His guidance. This psalm serves as a beacon of hope, affirming that even in the darkest moments, God’s presence offers solace and direction. As we delve into the depths of Psalm 4, may men find courage to lean on God amidst adversity, trusting in His unfailing love and provision.”
In the opening verses of Psalm 4, we witness King David’s raw honesty as he pours out his heart to God in the midst of adversity. David’s example challenges men to embrace vulnerability and transparency in their relationship with God, recognizing that true strength is found in acknowledging struggles rather than concealing them. As men navigate the complexities of life, whether it be career pressures, family conflicts, or personal insecurities, Psalm 4 encourages them to follow David’s lead by lifting their burdens before God’s throne. By acknowledging their struggles and seeking God’s help, men can experience a profound sense of liberation and peace, knowing that they are not alone in their journey.
The power of Psalm 4 lies in its invitation for men to cultivate a deeper intimacy with God through authentic prayer and dependence. Instead of relying solely on their own abilities or seeking fulfillment in temporary pleasures, men are called to trust in God’s unwavering faithfulness and provision. David’s confidence in God’s favor serves as a beacon of hope, reminding men that their worth and security ultimately come from their relationship with their Heavenly Father. By turning to God with open hearts and humble spirits, men can find strength to face life’s challenges with courage and resilience, knowing that they are upheld by the Almighty who never fails to hear their cries.
In the subsequent verses of Psalm 4, we delve into David’s unwavering trust in God’s faithfulness and provision. His steadfast confidence in God’s favor stands as a powerful reminder for men to prioritize their trust in God over worldly pursuits. David contrasts the fleeting pleasures of material wealth with the enduring peace that comes from trusting in God. This resonates deeply with men who often face the pressures of societal expectations and the allure of success. Psalm 4 calls men to reevaluate their priorities and find true contentment in their relationship with God rather than in external achievements or possessions.
Furthermore, Psalm 4 underscores the importance of finding solace in God’s presence, particularly during times of adversity. David’s acknowledgment of God’s blessings and protection serves as an inspiration for men to seek refuge in the Almighty. Amidst life’s storms, men are encouraged to draw near to God through prayer, meditation, and the study of His Word. By fostering a deeper relationship with God, men can cultivate a sense of peace that surpasses understanding, enabling them to navigate life’s challenges with confidence and resilience. Psalm 4 offers a profound invitation for men to find their strength, security, and peace in the loving embrace of their Heavenly Father.
In conclusion, Psalm 4 serves as a timeless guide for men, inviting them to embrace vulnerability, trust in God’s provision, and find solace in His presence. Through the honest lament of King David, men are encouraged to lay bare their struggles before God, knowing that He hears and cares for them deeply. This psalm challenges men to redefine strength not as self-reliance or worldly success, but as a humble dependence on the unfailing love and guidance of their Creator.
As men journey through life’s trials and triumphs, may Psalm 4 echo in their hearts as a source of courage and assurance. Let them take refuge in the promises of God, knowing that He is their rock and their redeemer. May they find peace in His presence, strength in His provision, and joy in His unfailing love. As men live out the principles of Psalm 4, may they inspire others to seek after God wholeheartedly, trusting in Him as their ultimate source of strength and security.
Take Heart
Been a crazy week, not bad, but filled, busy, stressful to say the least. You see my wife and I are trying to get ready for vacation, a blessed and much anticipated respite from work. If you have ever taken some time off, you understand what I mean by stressful. Meetings, completion of paperwork due while I’m away, tying up loose ends and then one last, unexpected pandemic issue. Talk about a chaotic time, but then I read these words offered by Jesus in the Gospel of John,
” And everything I’ve taught you is so that the peace which is in me will be in you and will give you great confidence as you rest in me. For in this unbelieving world, you will experience trouble and sorrow, but you must take heart for I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
Take heart, that is be encouraged I, [Jesus], have overcome the world. Reading these words, I realized that Jesus was about to be arrested, to be crucified, to die and be resurrected. Jesus was telling the disciples then and each of us as followers today, trouble is around, difficult times will find us. We may be confused or even overwhelmed. That knowing this it may be easier to pull back or turn away but rather we must be encouraged, that we are in relationship with One that is greater. That through our relationship with Jesus, in our acceptance of the Holy Spirit as our companion, God is present in our lives. Jesus says, take heart.
When this world feels as though it will wash over you, overwhelm you I encourage you to take heart, remembering your relationship with Jesus, remembering these things, that our pain is not wasted, that God can use the difficult season each of us experience and that we find peace knowing that Jesus has overcome, has conquered the world. Take heart in that.
Prayer: “Lord, I know that you are present in my life and when that vision waivers open my eyes wider, help me to reach a bit higher, make my ears more sensitive to your word, that I might be encouraged, that I take heart in the peace you offer. Hold me firmly and guide me gently in your will and in your ways. Amen”
Give It Up
“Bless the Lord! The God of our salvation supports us day after day!” Psalms 68:19
This selection is written from the experiences of David himself. Each of us know burdens, anxieties, and struggles, am I right? David, someone we say is chasing after God was no exception. He knew the worries and burdens and struggles of life. David was seen by his father and siblings as unimportant and neglected. Saul, the king persecuted him, and his own son betrayed him, so he knew what each of us experience in our lives, in sharing this lesson.
The first thing he does is divert our attention, reminding us of who is in our lives. He says, “Blessed be the Lord! God of our salvation…” Even when we are faced with questions about our future, worry about our family and/or our relationship, even when we may face anxieties about the world that surround us, we are to praise God, the Lord is our salvation, the one who will protect us, look out for us save us! The one, who as the scripture tells us will “…support us day after day!”
God is there next to us in every battle that we face, every struggle we encounter, with each fear that we have, but we must give them over to God. The Apostle Peter tells us, “Cast, throw all your cares, your worries, your burdens your anxieties onto the Lord because He cares about you.” (1 Peter 5:7 CEB)
You see for this to work, we must learn to trust that God is there, that God cares about us, that God is much more capable of dealing with our struggles and worries than any of us. When we begin to trust God turning over our burdens, with our worries, with our anxieties, we finally begin to realize the peace that comes from trusting and resting in the arms of God.
I encourage you to take a moment to lift up that which is laying heavily upon you. Give praise to the Lord. The God of our salvation is here to care for us, to support us and to carry the struggles, the burdens, and the worries in our life.
Prayer: “Lord, I trust that you are here. I give to you the things that I am struggling with and trust in you to carry that weight. Let me know the peace of your presence. Hold me firmly and guide me gently in your will and in your ways. Amen”