I’m learning that it’s actually neither.

“But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.” James 3:17 (NIV)

If ever I catch myself pretending or proving, I know I’m processing my hurt the wrong way.

The godly way is approaching this situation with soul integrity — responding in a way that’s honest but also peacemaking. James 3:17 says, “But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure [honest]; then peace-loving …” Yes, I want this kind of wisdom — this soul integrity. I want to be honest and peacemaking at the same time. But how?

Just realizing this can help me make progress. After all, hurt feelings don’t often want to cooperate with holy instructions.

Real Honesty

Not all honest expressions of my feelings can be categorized as “healthy.” You see, my honest feelings may not be truthful assessments of the situation. I can be honest with how I feel and still exaggerate or misinterpret what is factually true. I can feel justified in being blatant about my feelings and not holding anything back by thinking, “I’m just being true to myself.” But if I’m not being true to my most healed self, then I could compound everyone’s hurt.

Honesty that isn’t surrendered to truth isn’t honesty at all. It could just be emotional spewing. That’s why we need peacemaking honesty — honesty reined in by the Holy Spirit — if we’re going to have authentic soul integrity.

So, if I want real honesty, I have to ask the Holy Spirit to show me real truth. I need to see things from the other person’s perspective. I need to ask questions with the desire to better understand instead of throwing out statements of accusation. Ultimately, my goal should be to add peacemaking to my honesty.

Real Peacemaking

It must grieve God to see plastic versions of peacemaking that aren’t reined in by honesty. That’s what we do when we stuff our emotions and pretend everything is okay. The upside to stuffing is that we have the semblance of peacemakers. But when we do this at the expense of honesty, we harbor a corrosive bitterness that will eventually emerge. Either it will erode our health and later present itself in a host of emotional and physical anxiety-induced illnesses, or it will accumulate over time and surprise everyone when the peacemaker eventually erupts. Saying “I’m fine” to keep the peace when we’re really not fine builds walls and shuts down intimacy.

Sometimes, dishonesty comes in the form of saying things that aren’t true. But it’s also dishonest when we pretend to be okay but secretly simmer with resentment.

It may seem godly in the moment, but it’s false godliness. Truth and godliness always walk hand-in-hand. The minute we divorce one from the other, we stray from soul integrity and give a foothold to the instability that inevitably leads to coming unglued.

Yes, we’re after soul integrity — honesty that is also peacemaking that leads to godliness. This soul integrity brings balance to unglued reactions. It makes us true peacemakers — people who aren’t proving or pretending but rather, honestly demonstrating what they experience in a godly manner.

None of this is easy. None of this is tidy. But I’m convinced better reactions can lead to better relationships.

Dear Lord, it is only through You that I’m able to bring all my exploding and stuffing under Your authority and Truth. Thank You for Your Holy Spirit who gives me wisdom and helps me have better reactions. Help me lean on You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

If I’ve learned anything about myself over the years, it’s that I love control. One of the ways I gain this is through setting goals —and while this is a good thing in and of itself, I’ve also found that I tend to over-romanticize and idealize the reality of those goals.

If I’ve learned anything in the short time I learned about living at home for the summer, it’s that stillness exposes things.

Our lives are a never-ending cycle of intake and outtake, input and output. The word “bored” has become obsolete in our culture; entertainment is always within the click of a button or a swipe of a screen. The squares on our calendars struggle for breathing room, and in the hurry, we hardly recognize that the air’s become thin for us too.

Sometimes, it gets to the point where we do recognize the “bareness of our busy lives,” which Socrates so wisely warned us to beware of. Busyness is another conversation in and of itself, but what happens once we actually take the leap and hit the pause button?

At least for me, there is a certain undercurrent of electricity that accompanies my self-diagnosed busyness — and I love it. Having somewhere to be, something to do, or someone to help or talk to gives me a sense of accomplishment and purpose that — for the most part — I genuinely enjoy.

What happens when the semester ends, your people aren’t available, you’re transitioning between jobs, or even when the WiFi goes out?

We’re left alone. And we freak out. We’re strangers to space, and we’re unsure how to process “nothingness.” We turn to our to-do lists for comfort, and their emptiness — which we once longed for — fills us with a rising surge of discontent and discomfort.

I think that sometimes, we are so quick to fill the space and launch ourselves back into comfort that we forget to question why the presence of space bothered us in the first place.

Personally, what caught me off guard was how anxious and empty I felt the moment my “to-dos” and “to-sees” were removed. I thought rest was supposed to be rejuvenating and life-giving, not clouded by a sense of purposelessness. Was I doing rest wrong? Was I wasting my time?

The ugliness of my own heart began to reveal itself as I continued to process these things, and I was suddenly confronted with sin and struggle I hadn’t really taken the time to address in my hurry. So naturally, I took time to process and pray and all was well in the world again — right? Not quite. Instead of facing my fears and addressing what was being exposed, I tried to numb out the negative feelings I had by switching on the TV, scrolling through social media, and running around to coffee shops. If I just kept busy and filled my time with “stuff,” I’d feel better — and maybe then I would be able to finally achieve the rest I craved.

As I began to see my life with no filter, I struggled to regain the control I felt like I’d lost. I was becoming increasingly aware of the ways I wasn’t showing the love of Christ to others — especially to my own family. I was keeping count of all the ways I’d already failed this summer, and of all the ways I felt “stuck.” I wasn’t doubting God, but I wasn’t feeling his presence either — and this frustrated me, because I know from Scripture that “in His presence, there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16). My soul was thirsting to feel that presence and joy, like David in Psalm 42.

I was listening to a sermon by John Mark Comer on “The Dark Night of the Soul.” He talks about how when we are in a “dark night,” we are in a time of “refining and stripping down” – the end goal being “a heart posture of trust in God himself — not in our feelings or ideas about who God is.”

Whoa. What if my ideas and feelings about God were being confused with who God is? What if the Lord, in His sovereignty, was stripping away my ideology and my hurry to create space for knowing him more honestly and intimately? What if God, because of His mercy, was exposing my sin — not so I could count the ways I’ve failed, but so I could see my true emptiness apart from Him? What if God was trying to set me free from my “attachments and anxieties to live in joy and peace”?

I immediately started brainstorming all of the ways I could pass this season with flying colors, only to be stopped dead in my tracks when John Mark Comer noted that “the dark night isn’t something you do. It’s something God does TO you… rest is God’s work in your soul.”

Oh. I finally began to see that rest isn’t about what you do (or don’t do) while you’re “resting.” True rest is a posture of the heart, and sometimes, the Lord takes away so we can realize how empty we’ve become apart from Him.

In the stillness and the spaces — when everything in us wants to run—the Lord invites us in. He invites us to allow him to refine and re-work the desires of our hearts by showing us how desperately in need we are.

It makes sense that we struggle when faced with our emptiness and ugliness, because seeing those things proves our utter inability to save ourselves. Enter, the Gospel.

We have a Savior who died to set us free from the penalty of death and the weight of sin, and who delights in our hearts becoming more connected to His with the passing of each day. There is a future coming where sin is no longer a threat — but for now, we are purposed to live “worthy of the callings we’ve received” (Ephesians 4:1). “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).

I don’t know about you, but I want to become more like the righteousness of God — and the only way to do that is to let go of the illusion of control and allow God to tend to the spaces in my heart that are not like Him.

Comer reflects that “there’s something about losing control that does a great work of freedom in us.” Maybe rest is not discovered through feeling “in control” of the stillness and spaces I find myself in. My focus for this summer is no longer on what I need to “do” to reach rest.

My prayer for myself (and for you) is that we would be graced with the humility and courage to accept the merciful invitations of the Lord in every season, even if doing so means letting go of the things we hold too tightly.

Editor’s note: A version of this article originally appeared in 2019. 

John Mark Comer knows all about that. As an author and pastor, he’s spent years leading Bridgetown Church in Portland, Oregon, through a global pandemic, economic collapse, nation-wide uprisings for racial justice and rising political tension. He says he’s not inherently an optimist, but that’s OK. Comer is hopeful. To him, being hopeful is very different than being optimistic. It’s not a personality trait or even a way of looking at the world so much as it is a daily discipline that unites mind and heart. 

Comer sat down with RELEVANT to give his perspective on where the Church is heading and how to discipline yourself to become a hopeful person. 

Things are changing quickly out there, and there are a lot of studies that say religion is on the decline in the U.S. Does that concern you? 

I’m concerned in the sense that I’m sad. I’m sad over it. I grieve it. And remember, I’m in Portland, so I just long ago resigned myself to it. 

Think of it this way: I was reading this book on Victorian England a couple weeks ago, and it was about London as the first really major urban industrial city. This is the height of Christendom and they were talking about this bank and they had a daily schedule of the bank in there, and I was shocked that the bank started every morning at 8:30 a.m. with prayer for a half an hour. Everybody from the bank CEO down to the tellers all had to be there for prayer. I just can’t even fathom a world where Wells Fargo employees or Bank of America employees all had to be at work at 8:30, a half an hour before doors opened, to pray the Lord’s Prayer or whatever. 

Now, the upside to that is, man, it would be incredible to raise my children in a cultural ecosystem where the basic moral tenets were in line with Jesus’ vision of the human flourishing! If I could pick that, I would do it in a heartbeat. 

But the downside is, it’s just rife with compromise and complicity because the line is so fuzzy between what the New Testament calls the World and the Church, and so then you have imperialism and colonization and slavery and economic inequality all co-existing with this vaguely Christian moral ecosphere and social order. That turns off a lot of intellectuals to the faith, and then — in the case of Victorian England — comes the Enlightenment. 

So all that to say, I’m not concerned about it. I’m sad over it, but I’m resigned to it with the exception that nobody knows what’s going to happen. 

So you don’t think the fact that America seems to be going through a period of secularization right now necessarily means that’s here to stay?

I remember reading Rodney Stark’s The Churching of America. Blew my mind. In my mind, I think America 300 years ago or 250 years ago was super Christian, then every year it’s just gone down a little bit, and now it’s almost over. That is not what the data points say at all. Stark makes the case that the most post-Christian America ever was was during the Revolutionary war, and that it actually reached its zenith of cultural Christianity in the ’50s. And he just sees more of an ebb and flow and you have Great Awakenings and these different movements, and you have the ’60s counterculture. 

So who knows? With globalization, the Church of Jesus is exploding all around Asia right now, and with the internet, we have no idea what could happen. We could be on the verge of a massive third Great Awakening. It could be this huge influx of Christian Asian culture that is imported. We don’t know. In the near future, I think my city is crazy secular and will continue to go even more secular. But that will just, I think, make the Gospel more and more attractive for people. 

Is it hard to maintain an optimistic position for you or is that your natural disposition?

Oh, no. I am cynical and pessimistic by nature. The weird thing about being a leader is that you don’t get the luxury of optimism. I have to plan for the worst case scenario. 

For example, up through the election, I had to have a plan in case President Trump got re-elected. That’s not a political statement. That’s just a fact. I live in one of the most liberal cities in America. And so if he had been re-elected, my city likely would have been on fire. So I just have to plan pastorally for how to navigate through that.

Again, let’s say there was no vaccine til 2022. I was optimistic that we’d have a vaccine early on, but I couldn’t plan on that. I can hope for that as an American citizen, but I couldn’t plan on that as a leader. I had to imagine: “All right, what if this pandemic is two years long and social unrest doesn’t go away, and I have to live in that space so I can respond instead of react?” 

So no, I am not optimistic by nature at all. But with the 24/7, attention-based, anxiety-based for-profit news cycle, it’s almost impossible not to get sucked into this super anxious doomsday view of the world. I think the discipline for me is curating my digital news input, because I can walk around the city and it can be a beautiful day and I can feel good in my spirit and get a cup of takeout, to-go coffee or whatever and feel like, all right, there’s hope for Western civilization and the Church yet (and those are two separate things). 

And then I can go online for five minutes and just feel like, “It’s over. I’m going to immigrate to New Zealand or become Amish out in the country and bake bread or something.”

So how do we stay optimistic in these times of a lot of cynicism and uncertainty?

Well, I think optimism and hope start with acceptance of reality. Optimism and hope are not the same thing. Optimism is a self-help trick where you tell yourself things are going to get better. Hope is that God is with us and all will be made well.

The problem is, reality does not always align to optimism. You’ve got all the sociological and psychological surveys that basically say pessimists are more likely to be right about the future, and optimists are more likely to be wrong but they live happier, healthier lives. So pessimists actually have a closer view of reality, but optimists’ illusion of reality actually enables them to be literally — in their body and in their mind — healthier people.

Interesting.

That is interesting. It captures the complexity and the contradiction of the human condition and our need to hold things in tension and in paradox, hold reality in our body and hope for the future. 

That’s where hope is such a different concept. Hope is interesting. It’s about the future, but it’s energy for the present. In biblical theology, hope asks the question: What is our energy source in the present? It’s just belief in what my therapist calls “the gospel of upward mobility.” It’s not the linear view we have that things are always going to get better and better. Hope is that God is with us through whatever suffering we face, and good will come through it and in the end. But the end isn’t 2021 or 2022 or any sort of calendar date. End is the return of Jesus. It’s a very different metric system.

So hope is less focused on tomorrow than it is on the here and now.

So I think hope starts with accepting the pain of life. We’re mortal, we’re fragile, we’re living through a global pandemic, we could die, life is hard, we’re living through a political polarization that might get better but I would be shocked if it goes away. And the future of Western civilization itself is a little bit up in the air right now. Not like it’s going to devolve into the Dark Ages, but lots of people are saying this is what it felt like at the end of the Roman Empire. That’s over my pay grade. I don’t know. And what will come after this? I don’t know! And part of me is more and more excited to see, but only after I’ve done the work of grieving.

So where does discipline come into this? 

I think the discipline is curating your digital inputs, where your mind is. So I’m not a big fan of mental Ninja trick optimism. Optimism will make you a happier person, but it won’t necessarily make you a better person. 

Replace your optimism with biblical concepts of Jesus being with us, Jesus bringing good out of who we become through our suffering and Jesus’ return to make all things new.

Now listen, prayer is powerful and important. But as I got older, I realized I was misguided in my prayers. You see, when I “took everything to God in prayer,” what I really meant was I had something I wanted God to do, and I was asking Him to do it with the expectation that He would say yes. But, thankfully, that’s not how God operates. He doesn’t say yes to everything, even the things we really want from Him. Sometimes the door we’re begging Him to open is supposed to stay closed.

Coming to that realization was quite the journey. Learning that God sometimes (let’s be honest, oftentimes) says no to the things I was asking for was not an easy pill to swallow. It left me hurt, confused and angry most times. There was even a period when I was mad at God for denying my most desperate prayers. I wasn’t sure what to do with that anger, until a trusted mentor showed me that the best way to get past a hangup or negative feeling about God is to take off the gloves and get into it with Him.

Now listen, before someone gets called a Pharisee, I have come to my conclusion that we can battle with God because of the following two verses:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18)

“About three in the afternoon, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ (which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’)” (Matthew 27:46).

Here’s what I take from those, and about the zillion other Google-searchable verses on having less than positive feelings toward God:

1. God gets you.

2. He can handle your doubt.

Yes, He can. Yet, when we think about being that kind of honest with God, we often shy away. Some set of inherited values kicks in and it feels improper, impolite or disobedient. And to an extreme, it can be. But don’t let that value system override the larger truth: God wants to know you, all of you—the good, the bad, the shameful, the frustrated, the joyful, the sorrowful.

We may view God as some patriarchal boss, which is just not the character of God. He’s endlessly dimensional and wants you, where you’re at, right now. My pastor used to say, “We cannot meet God where we wish we were. We either cry out to Him from the place we find ourselves or we will not cry out at all.”

That’s it — be where you are and cry out to God from a real place of vulnerability and honesty. It helps, I know.

There was a moment in my life when I was in the middle of praying for the zillionth time that a difficult situation would be different and that God would just show up. And then, one day, I kind of snapped internally and said, “screw this.” I fell silent for a long time because I just couldn’t take the non-answer anymore. I couldn’t take the lack of bigger picture, and I couldn’t take the option of “no.” Like you, I just lost the steam to keep praying.

Enter, God.

Surprisingly, during my time of giving full vent to my anger and lashing out at God, my heart started to heal and soften. Things weren’t OK, but I calmed down, and eventually, I had enough energy to start praying, reading the Bible, talking to friends and hoping again. This was because God knew I had a broken heart and was out of my mind. What’s more, God cared for me even as I rejected Him.

Now listen, our situations are likely not a perfect parallel. I can’t imagine the sadness/stress/worry you feel. But I do get the idea of being so afraid that God will give another “no,” or another bout of silence, that you just stop asking.

I would fight against that as hard as you can, and I’d bring that before God. Seriously, give it to Him: “Where are you, God?” “Am I not asking the right thing?” “I am so mad at you!” “Why have you forsaken me?” God has heard these things before, and He’s able to hear them from you.

The dangerous part is, of course, that our anger and honesty can — when unchecked — turn into desertion. To guard against that, I’d make sure that even if your head and heart is in the wrong place, your body is doing the right things. Things like reading, community, mentorship, etc. Then, once you’ve fortified your life and are ready to do it, I’d give full vent to your anger and not treat God as though He can’t handle your disappointment in Him.

Like any relationship, the darkest and most honest times often lead to deeper levels of love and trust—because someone was willing to go there and be real when it wasn’t easy.

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:2-4).

Trial comes first. It has to. But the difficulty will produce deeper levels of trust and intimacy if you keep holding on and continue to let God into the pain.

I’ve studied biology and photosynthesis, and I know that plants live on light and water that soaks through the soil. It makes them independent. They’re producers. We’re consumers. If all the plants died, almost every other thing alive would starve. If we died, the plants would go on living off the sun, unfazed.

Fasting is like photosynthesis. You live on sun and rain. You drink water, and if it’s not warm outside, you’re drawn to every source of heat. But unlike photosynthesis, fasting will never make you independent; it’s not meant to. The point is not to prove how little we need, but how much—and how deeply.

The first time I fasted regularly was my sophomore year in college. I’d been reading about fasting, and the pastor of a church in town encouraged us to try it. So I did, one day a week. Nothing terrible happened. I didn’t faint or flunk any tests from lack of concentration. Nothing terribly wonderful happened either, but from the books I had been reading, I knew that was fairly normal. Fasting lets God change you, and change doesn’t always happen in fireworks with trumpet fanfares. Also, fasting is a way of connecting yourself to the spiritual world. The things that happen in the part of our world that’s not made up of flesh and bone aren’t always immediately visible.

The Process

My one-day-a-week fast happened on Mondays. Sunday I went to bed with an impending sense of doom. I don’t know what I dreaded, but it seemed to come back every week nonetheless. So I was surprised that when I decided to fast for a week or maybe more, I actually starting looking forward to it. It felt like an adventure; I couldn’t wait to start.

The books all said the first three days are the hardest. It was a Monday, and it felt a lot like normal Mondays—with a little extra adrenaline from knowing I probably wouldn’t eat for at least six days more. On Tuesday, I wasn’t hungry exactly; there was more of a dull ache in my stomach, and I felt a little weak. My heart seemed to beat faster from less exertion than it normally would. On Thursday, I had the same weak feeling and light flu symptoms, as the books had promised (author Richard Foster said the flu symptoms were my body getting rid of toxins). In the afternoon, I had a burst of energy. Friday was a lot like Thursday, but in the evening I had enough energy to go sledding. Climbing the hills took a while longer than normal, and in spite of my six layers, I only held out for an hour or so.

Things came into very sharp focus. Every step took concentration. When I climbed the stairs in the library with a backpack of books, I had no mental energy to waste on anything other than lifting the next foot. Putting it down. Sitting down was a gift, so was the pointed lace of winter trees. The smell of food, strangely, was not torture at all. Instead, I began to savor each aroma for its own sake. It was as though my very existence had been altered, and I was now some see-through creature, living on whiffs of goodness.

But at the same time, I was very aware that I was not a plant or some fairytale creature, independent of physical food. When I tried to read, I got sleepy more quickly. My tongue felt dry all the time, and I was constantly running (that is, walking slowly) to the bathroom from drinking water, even though water had taken a nasty taste. Every part of life seemed to weigh more. By the end of each day I crawled into my bed totally exhausted and used up. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I had made it through the day and that now I could lie still for an entire night.

The books said that after the ninth and 10th days, fasting starts to feel like soaring. Hunger, flu and aches are gone, and you feel as though you could go on without food forever. Sometime after the 10th day, Foster said, real hunger will return; this is the time to stop fasting.

I have a German friend whose mother fasts once a year, not for spiritual reasons, but because she likes what it does to her body; she enjoys the experience. And in the instant you break your fast, it will certainly seem that your first sip of something other than water was worth the whole experience. Once I broke a fast drinking watered-down white grape juice from a tall, narrow blue glass with white spirals. I started out with more water than grape juice; still it tasted like a stronger drink than anything I’d ever had before, like something divine, not meant for mortals.

Fasting and prayer are often mentioned together in the Bible. Prayer takes on new meaning when you’re weak enough that you sometimes feel the wind might blow you over. It is a physical manifestation of a spiritual reality: We are husks of nothingness without God.

While I was fasting, the lines between spiritual and physical realities blurred. The Hebrew word that’s translated “soul” in the Old Testament actually means “breath.” The ancient Israelites didn’t have the distinction between mind and matter (or spirit and body) that we do today. We got that from Greek philosophy.

We run into problems when we make the soul all-important and the body totally insignificant. When we forget that our bodies matter, we live lopsided lives. We forget to rest. We forget that our very cells are holy and that the clearest word God’s ever spoken came to us as a body with red blood and breakable bones. The spiritual intersects profoundly with the physical.

Our souls are all tangled up in our bodies, and when I fast, I know this. I become more aware of each small physical thing and each small spiritual thing, and that they are not so separate as I once believed.

Step one: Pick a time and a place to meet with God.

Before my wife, Taryn, and I moved to Washington D.C. to plant Metro Church, I felt drawn to this influential area for many years believing that if you can influence this area for Christ, you can influence the world. But the people here tend to have an obsession with schedules and appointments. On more than one occasion, I have heard someone say something to the effect of, “I have an opening three weeks from now for thirty minutes. Sorry, everything else is booked solid.”

I have heard these same people confess that they struggle to find time to meet with God. My thought in pastoring them has been simple, How is it that we prioritize meetings with people we don’t even like and neglect to meet with the God we love?

I don’t say this in a critical way, but rather as a wake-up call and a reminder that we prioritize what we value. I challenge you to pull out your smartphone out right now and schedule daily time with God.

This sounds simple, but it is so easy to let the appointment slip if you do not guard it. In my earlier years, I was more sporadic in my devotional times, but I found that missed appointments with God led to disappointments in life.

How can I expect to find the abundant life He offers if I am not seeking Him each day to guide me into His fullness?

The time:

I recommend that you choose the time when you are at your very best. I believe that God always gives us His very best, so I want to respond by spending time with Him when I am most alert and ready to receive. Some people like getting up early, like five a.m.—that’s great for them, but I am not at my best that early. I have found that God does not speak to me at that hour because, well, I am asleep (He can speak to me in my dreams if He wants to say anything to me before the sun rises). God is happy to meet with you any time of day, so what time works for you?

The place:

Next, find a place for you and God to meet. I recommend going somewhere that you love. When I take Taryn out on a date, I do not go to Burger King because I want it to be a place that we both love and enjoy going to together. My organic, gluten-free-loving wife’s love language is most certainly not super-sizing some greasy french fries or being in an environment with screaming kids and dirty booths. Instead, I try to choose a healthy restaurant that has an atmosphere where we are able to connect with each other. In a similar way, I recommend choosing a place for your time with God that you are excited to go to and a place that is conducive to connecting with Him.

There is a classic ‘80s flick called Field of Dreams. The movie is about an Iowa farmer that hears a voice telling him, “If you build it, he will come.” Although in the movie it is referring to building a baseball field for the Chicago Black Sox, I have found this same principle to be true in my relationship with God. If you prepare a place for Him and build in time to be with Him, He will show up. If you build it, He will come! Once you have picked a time and a place, what do you do next?

Step two: Be still and worship.

In Psalm 46:10, God instructs to “be still and know that I am God.”

Honestly, I am not always good at being still. I would definitely rather be moving, preferably at a very high speed. Fortunately, the Hebrew word is not necessarily reflective of a literal stillness but more of a stillness of the soul. Psalm 46:10 can be translated as, “Stop striving and know that I am God.”

The context of this passage was at a time when Israel was being threatened by other nations. In the midst of these threats, they could trust in the covenant that God made with them and know that He would be their very present help, refuge, and strength (see Psalm 46:1). There is something about being still before God that reminds us we are not in charge—He is.

Once we are still before Him, we can enter into true worship. I have found that when I worship, everything shifts. If my perspective was off, I see rightly once again. I am reminded of the bigness of God and of how much He loves me and how much I love Him. I am also reminded again of how much I need Him and how trustworthy He is.

I have not always begun my time with God in worship, but I highly recommend taking some time to worship before you jump into reading the Bible. Worship helps you release burdens you are carrying and shifts your perspective so you see rightly again. Sometimes I will put a song on repeat, so that the words wash over me again and again. Our hearts are tenderized in His presence.

Step three: Read and pray.

God has written down His opinions and wisdom regarding the most common problems we face, so I recommend spending time looking at what He says in His Word. There is an integral partnership between the Word and the Spirit when it comes to God speaking. As you open your Bible and read, you are hearing what God has already spoken and asking the Holy Spirit to make it come alive so you can discern what God is speaking to you.

I recommend you start by spending 10 to 15 minutes in study after you worship. As you get into the Word, that time will likely increase. Sometimes I study for hours looking up Greek and Hebrew words and cross-referencing passages in the Bible. Sometimes I default to a topical study, or even a character study. Other times I spend just a few minutes reading a few verses.

Sometimes I feel as though God is speaking directly to me through His Word, and I understand exactly what He is asking me to do next through something I read. Other times when I read, God feels abstract and I struggle to understand how the passage has any correlation to my life whatsoever. This is very normal. Keep reading. As you continue to read with your ears and heart open, He will speak to you.

After you finish reading, take a few minutes to respond in prayer to what you read. Pray about whatever is on your heart. This brings us to the next step in how we can practically position ourselves to hear the supernatural voice of God.

Step four: Listen and write.

I recently heard that the above average listener only listens for approximately 17 seconds without diverting the conversation back to themselves. It seems that we are just naturally egocentric unless we intentionally guard against it. To illustrate this point, when you see one of your group pictures, who is the person you look at first? Is it your friends?

I didn’t think so.

In our relationship with God and with others, most of us struggle with being good listeners, but we will miss many important promptings from God if we do not take the time to listen for “the still, small voice of God”1 (1 Kings 19:12). Do you pause to listen to God or do you spend most of your time rattling off prayer requests? Don’t worry I have problems with it, too.

The single most revolutionary step I have taken in the past several years to dramatically increase both the amount of time I spend listening and the frequency I hear from God is something I call two-way journaling.

This is where you get out a journal or notepad and write a letter to God by just telling Him how you feel, asking questions, etc. After pausing for a few moments and asking Him to speak to you, simply write back what you feel like God is saying to you through listening to His still small voice.

If this is a new exercise for you, as it was for me when I started, I believe you will enjoy this focused way of processing with the Lord and hearing what He says as you write! Just like anything else you download from God any other way, it is important to test the message and take it through the same filters of seeing if it lines up with Scripture, testing it through asking the godly counsel in your life if it resonates with them.

Step five: Share and obey.

Who can you share with what God spoke to you? If it is direction you received, it is wise to share this with the right people in your life. I am committed to always having these kinds of people in my life and have given them permission to speak into my life and hold me accountable. The people that hold this place in our lives should also have a role of accountability. As we agree to be authentic with them and give them permission to speak into our lives, they bring great affirmation for the road ahead. Those who play this role in my life are the ones I can openly share with when I am walking through a challenge.

Although sometimes a bit humbling and even embarrassing, I have found it to also be one of the most freeing disciplines in life and it gives me the confidence to move forward feeling affirmed in what God is saying to me. Colossians 3:15 reminds us to let God’s peace lead us when we feel challenged to obey or step out because His peace is a tangible reminder of Him being with us.

Just remember God wants to speak to you and these five steps are simply helping to position you to hear His Voice in your daily life.

David I. Stine is lead pastor of DC Metro Church in Washington. This article was adapted from Stine’s book, Hearing From God, Five Steps To Knowing His Will For Your Life (2017 Howard Books). 

You’re not alone in feeling this way — a Google search for “how to be disciplined” yields over 128,000,000 results. People everywhere are looking for guidance on how to stay disciplined.

In his book “Why I Do What I Don’t Want To Do?,” pastor and author Jonathan Pokluda explores this exact struggle. He explains that staying disciplined is a common topic in the Bible, and it’s not just about setting unattainable goals. Instead, it’s about God’s belief that his people can stay focused on him and the mission before them.

We spoke with Pokluda about how to stay disciplined (for real, this time) while managing realistic expectations for change.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

What are some key ways we can stay disciplined?

Yeah, so James 5:16 is a verse that I continually turn to. It says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayers of a righteous person are powerful and effective.” On the defense side of things, there’s confession, prayer, and repentance. We always say that repentance is like turning away from sin and turning to Christ. I believe that turning to Christ is where many people stumble.

If I’m stuck in pride and I find myself wondering what others think of me when I walk into a room or obsessing over the number of followers I have, seeking identity in external validation, or measuring myself by what I’m good at, then I need to ask myself, “What does it look like for me to live a humble life?” In Mark 10, Jesus says, “Those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them and exercise authority over them. But not so with you, my followers.” He goes on to say, “Whoever wants to be first must be last. For the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

As a Christian, which translates to “little Christ,” I am called to live as Christ lived. Philippians 2 tells us that even though Jesus was God, He did not consider equality with the Father something to be grasped. He humbled himself, making himself like a servant. That’s the example I follow. If I’m following Him, I can’t be prideful. Walking with Him leads me away from pride. Instead of merely trying to fight pride on the defensive, I need to play offense by striving to understand the humility that Christ calls me to.

We can apply the same approach to other areas of our lives, such as lust and self-control, entitlement and gratitude, and greed and generosity. The list goes on.

How do you balance grace with discipline?

Yeah, you know, you don’t want to be legalistic. Tozer once said, “The church will be at the height of her heresy when she labels obedience as legalism.” Scripture provides clear instructions that we must live by. There’s a generation — and I don’t intend to criticize generations; I’m passionate about the next generation. I’ve devoted my adult life to caring for, ministering to, and nurturing the next generation. I believe in them, and I believe that God has good plans for them. I hope they experience a revival, but currently, they are inclined towards self-care.

This generation is characterized by an emphasis on self-care. They face unprecedented levels of anxiety, depression, and suicidality, which makes focusing on self-care seem like a necessary course correction. However, this approach isn’t yielding the desired results.

Focusing solely on oneself is not the solution; it won’t lead us to where we need to be. While taking breaks, going to the gym, and attending to our needs are important, relying solely on these practices for long-term well-being is insufficient. It’s crucial to establish healthy habits and actively pursue a relationship with Jesus to find true fulfillment.

I believe that the self-care mindset has made us complacent and soft. If something is hard or challenging, we tend to shy away from it, assuming it’s wrong. However, the Scriptures encourage us to discipline ourselves for godliness, acknowledging that discipline can indeed be challenging. It requires effort and dedication, but it’s not just difficult; it’s necessary to foster godliness in our lives.

To hear more of our conversation with Jonathan Pokluda, check out The RELEVANT Podcast.

I had one recently. My friend, David, recently lost his grandma, and it brought up a lot of thoughts about death and what comes next. He and I are both Bible-believing Christians who have confidently spoken about what our future in Heaven will be like. But faced with actual death, Aaron admitted that he was holding on to some fear about dying.

“It honestly just sounds terrifying,” he admitted to me, “and that makes me feel like I don’t really believe what I say I believe.”

As I was listening to him, I found myself nodding and thinking, “Yep, I’m afraid too.” And I bet a lot of people like he and I hold on to this fear, while also wondering if that fear is in direct opposition to our relationship with Jesus. So, let’s talk about it…

I think the conversation around the fear of death has less to do with fear, but more to do with how we define death. As I see it, there are three different definitions of death that each carry their own theology and psychological profile:

Death (1) – A singular moment where body function ceases and your physical life on earth has ended. Put more beautifully, “and the dust returns to the ground it came from, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.” (Ecclesiastes 12:7)

Death (2) – When we talk about death, oftentimes we’re really talking about dying, or the manner of death. This can include old age, disease, accident, or any number of other not-fun-to-talk-about options.

Death (3) – There is a kind of death described in Scripture as a sort of death of the soul, that is, a succumbing to sin or turning away from God. This is often referred to as spiritual death and is the death that we see used in verses like:

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)

“When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins.” (Colossians 2:13)

So, when you talk about being afraid of death, what definition of death are you using? My guess is that many of us fear and think more about the first or second definition, but are hung up on the third one. Because the third definition (and the accompanying verses) aren’t just warnings concerning the consequences of unchecked and unrepentant sin, but they are also beacons of hope. A hope that is found in a relationship with Jesus, which we have. This kind of spiritual death is no longer ours to fear.

Some Christians would argue that a fear of death is a lack of trust in God. Here’s the problem with that though, being afraid of leaving earth or being afraid of dying in an unpleasant way doesn’t indicate a lack of faith, it indicates a presence of humanity. Now I will say, a fear of spiritual death is a little concerning for someone who’s a follower of Jesus. And if you find yourself fearing this, I’d pray fervently and read everything you can about God’s love and grace. But outside of that, death, dying and our time ending on earth IS scary, even to Jesus:

“They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them.“Stay here and keep watch.” Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” (Mark 14:32-35)

Now what was Jesus fearing here? Certaintly it was not His eternity, relationship with God, or purpose for dying. Jesus was afraid of the pain that was to come. He was afraid, like any human, of dying (definition No. 2). Additionally though — and I want to be cautious about reading too much into what Jesus is/isn’t thinking — but I wonder if there was a part of Him that was going to miss His friends, His family, and the community He had built? Maybe not, but that’s what makes me afraid of death.

We are put on this earth for a reason. If there was no reason, God wouldn’t have put us here. He doesn’t need us to hang out in this holding pen for 80+ years, there’s room in heaven. But God chose to put us here—and to live. Live abundantly, live gratefully, live justly, and live to accomplish the work of God. Am I afraid of the afterlife? No. But am I just human enough to not be able to fully comprehend heaven and, therefore, be afraid of saying goodbye to my sweet wife, daughters, friends, homebrewing, crisp fall air, laughing so hard I cry, happy little existence that I’ve eked out? Yes. Because this is the heaven I know — and I like getting to live in God’s creation.

I told myself that I didn’t need to give up alcohol, I just needed to change my relationship with it and set healthier boundaries. But like many unhealthy relationships, the boundaries kept being broken.

I have now officially broken up with alcohol, and I am so happy about it! I would have once thought it unfathomable to imagine life without alcohol in it. I truly couldn’t wrap my mind around it. No social lubricant at parties and events? No visiting wineries and breweries and going out for drinks with friends? No relaxing buzz to unwind at the end of the day? What kind of a life is that?

As it turns out, it’s a pretty great one. An even better life than I lived when I was in a relationship with alcohol (and I’ll share more on that later).

It may seem weird to talk about alcohol in relational terms, but it really was a relationship for me.  Because alcohol had been there for me through some of the hardest times of my life. Alcohol comforted me. It was how I coped. It was a reliable part of my daily routine.

I doubt anyone even realized I had a problem. For a long time, I didn’t even realize I had a problem. Because it kind of seemed normal. A drinking problem is very easy to hide in plain sight these days. It may be right there beneath the wine o’clock hashtags and the “mommy’s sippy cup” memes. And I didn’t really get drunk so how could I have a problem?

I honestly cannot pinpoint when exactly it happened – when my drinking came to be too much or when the dependence on alcohol began. I think it was a very slow and steady progression. What started as an occasional glass or two of wine at the end of the day or with friends eventually turned into a glass of wine every night. My “victory lap” I would call it, after a long day of parenting. That glass of wine eventually turned into two, eventually turned into three, and eventually transpired into four glasses – an entire bottle of wine each day. Sometimes I felt a little inkling that perhaps that was too much and I really needed to cut back. But my tolerance had gotten pretty high and I needed more wine to feel the buzz that I was looking for. That buzz was what I believed got me through this consuming season of having young children. It was what calmed my nerves and relieved my stress. I looked forward to it every single day and counted down the hours until I could feel the wine work its magic through my body.

But I started to find that drinking was taking up a lot of space in my thought life. I would wonder how early was too early to have a glass of wine. I would come home from work in the afternoon and pour a glass telling myself, “A lot of people do this. It’s been a hard day at work and the kids are coming home soon, I’m just going to unwind for a bit.” Except that it often wasn’t just one glass. I always want more. Often I would sort of sneak a second glass – but I would pour it before my first glass was gone so that I could tell myself it wasn’t really two glasses – it was one and a half. Then when it came time to start cooking dinner, I would pour another glass of wine because it’s relaxing to have a glass of wine while cooking, and that’s what a lot of normal people do.  But then it would come time for dinner, and I needed a glass of wine to pair with whatever meal I had crafted! That’s just a normal, regular person thing to do, right?  But then we would put the kids to bed, and well at that point it was time for TV and my “victory lap” glass (or two) of wine.

One of the things that stands out the most to me here was the constant conversation I was having with myself about this, to try and justify it and talk myself into believing there was no problem. I was always looking for excuses and opportunities to drink.

It was Memorial Day 2019 that ushered me to the point where I would finally confront this reality. We had friends over and I had a steady stream of drinks throughout the day. It was the best excuse I could hope for.  And I wasn’t hiding anything!

By the end of the night, I found myself sitting on the couch googling, “Am I an alcoholic?”  Several things that popped up said something along the lines of, “If you are asking if you are an alcoholic, then you probably are.” Same with “Do I have a drinking problem?” I found something that said “People who don’t have a drinking problem don’t wonder if they have a drinking problem.”  Hmm… makes sense.

The next day I talked to my husband about it. He admitted that there were times he felt like perhaps I was drinking a bit too frequently. But he had no idea it had gotten to the point that it had. Mostly because I had become great at hiding it. I was the master of pouring just a little more, and then just a little more, and then just a little more – whenever he wasn’t looking or was in the bathroom or had gone upstairs to get something.  And he doesn’t drink wine, so it’s not like he was paying close attention to what wine we had in the house and how much of it was missing. I had also become the master of hiding empty wine bottles in the bottom of the recycling bin.

These seemingly small behaviors started adding up and began sounding out a siren in my subconscious. But I had gotten into the habit of minimizing it in my mind and deceiving myself. I would tell myself that since Jordan isn’t a wine drinker, he just doesn’t understand my tolerance level being high. I thought, “I can’t let him see this because he doesn’t get it. I’m completely fine, but he might worry.” Again, I thought it was normal. Especially when I am surrounded by a world that laughs about this and just says, “cheers!”

After talking to my husband, I got into counseling. At first, we tried putting boundaries around alcohol for me. I could only have a couple of drinks a month, and only with other people. Well it didn’t take long for me to drop the “only a couple of drinks a month” part and decide that as long as I was drinking with other people, I would be fine. This introvert became very social that month! I found myself searching for and creating opportunities to get together with people where wine would be involved, as often as I could. And I would tell myself I would only have one glass, but then I would have two. Instead of seeing that as concerning, I felt celebratory because it was less than I used to drink, and I wasn’t drinking every day. “See! I don’t have a problem!” I thought. Until my therapist pointed out that it was problematic that I couldn’t stick to my original boundary of only two drinks per month.

So, not quite willing to say a full goodbye to wine yet, I set a new boundary. Only ONE glass of wine, ONCE a month.

We had friends over. I opened a bottle of rosé, “Only one glass. Only one glass. Only one glass.” It was like a quiet chant in my head as we sat outside at the dinner table. I was wrestling in my mind because I wanted another glass so badly but I wanted to prove to myself that I could stick to my boundary this time and that I didn’t have an alcohol addiction. At one point during the dinner, I got up to use the bathroom. When I had come back out, I realized (with absolute glee) that someone had refilled my glass while I was gone. Loophole!  If someone else poured more wine for me and it was not my choice and I didn’t ask for it, then wasn’t I off the hook? I was elated. Until I had to tell my therapist about it.

“My biggest concern,” my therapist said, “is what will happen when tragedy or trauma hit? If wine is what you turn to, how bad might your drinking get when that awful thing happens?”

It can be tricky to recognize addiction in the time we currently live in because the indicators that point to a problem are viewed as culturally acceptable. When you think of alcohol addiction, you may picture someone with a brown paper bag in their hands who misses work while they are passed out on the couch.  But the truth is that alcohol addiction may not look like that at all. It may look like functioning normally throughout the day and then pouring a drink, and then a little more, and then a little more, and then a little more in order to numb pain, cope with stress, and self-medicate.

I’ve started thinking about alcoholism as being like cancer, in a way. One person might be diagnosed with stage 4 cancer while another person is diagnosed with stage 1 cancer. What that cancer looks like is going to be different for each of those two people. But it’s still cancer.  Though it may not look like much of a big of a deal at stage 1, it is a progressive disease. So you treat it, immediately.

Alcoholism is a progressive disease. It only gets worse and it always gets worse. 

When I was finally willing to acknowledge the red flags in my life, I decided I needed to treat it, immediately.  I started feeling weighed down by the hold that drinking had on me and I wanted it gone. I didn’t want this to end up ruining my life one day. 

This new alcohol-free life can be tricky for me to navigate, especially because alcohol is a huge part of our culture, even in the Christian community. Much of my social life and many of the activities I participated in included alcohol. I don’t know yet quite how to navigate it.

What I do know is that I have been experiencing something amazing in this new dry life I am living, and it is way better than drinking alcohol. Though I struggled with the idea of losing wine at first, I’ve found something better on the other side. It feels like I am waking up!  It’s like I’ve been asleep for awhile. Asleep to fear and pain, but also asleep to my dreams and desires.  Alcohol does deliver when it comes to numbing the hard stuff in life, but it also numbs the good. It turns out I was missing out on a lot of good.

I’ve found that really feeling all of life – even the hard stuff – actually feels better than medicating it. I’ve found that pulling up that pain from my past and dealing with it is the only way to experience healing and freedom and move forward in a productive way. I’ve found that soaking up my time with my kids – even on the most chaotic of days – feels way better than just counting down to escaping the exhaustion of it. I’ve found strength. 

I don’t “need” alcohol in order to do the hard things I am called to in life – I can actually just do the hard things!  I’ve found that exploring more of who I am and what I want is fun and freeing, and alcohol was inhibiting that for me.  I’ve found that healthy ways of relaxing – a warm bath, lavender oil, a walk outside, an early bedtime, reading in blankets, siting by a fireplace, drinking warm tea – these things all feel so much better than drinking alcohol (especially the morning after). I sleep better. I feel better. I am a better wife and mother. I am happier. Sometimes I am sad, but I am no longer afraid of that sadness. I let myself feel it, ride it like a wave, and then I keep moving. And that movement suddenly feels lighter.

It turns out I really love not drinking!

I love this excerpt from “What Being Sober Has Meant to Me” by Brene Brown:

Ten years after I got sober, my spiritual awakening started. In addition to not drinking, I had just quit sugar and bread for the first time. I thought I was going to come out of my skin. I sat across from my therapist, Diana, and said, “You need to give me something for my anxiety. I can’t take it. There’s nothing to take the edge off anymore. I’m freaking out.”

Diana calmly replied, “What do you want me to give you?”

Infuriated by her calmness, I said, “I don’t know! Medicine. Something for the anxiety! I’m like a turtle without a shell. I have NO SHELL! No booze, no muffins, nothing! I’m a turtle without a shell in a briar patch. Everything in the briar patch is poking me and jabbing me. It hurts.”

She said, “Maybe we should talk about getting out of the briar patch?”

I was pissed. “Get out of the […] briar patch? That’s your advice? Instead of giving me a new shell, you want me to live somewhere less prickly? Seriously?”

Diana said, “You don’t need to find a different place to live. Maybe we could just think about a different way to live. One that doesn’t require that heavy shell.”

This idea of a turtle shell and a briar patch has been incredibly helpful for me. Wine was my shell shielding me from prickles and thorns, but I had never considered the fact that perhaps I could remove the thorns, or find a different way that doesn’t require the “heavy shell.”

Ultimately, I’ve surrendered my shell to God and have told Him that I trust Him with my life instead. I trust that He will remove the thorns that need to be removed — and for the ones He doesn’t? He will shield me through them. He provides a different way to live. I was looking to wine to serve the role in my life that only God can. And now that I’ve given that role back to God? I can honestly say that no wine tastes as good as sobriety feels.

I listened to a prayer recently that said, “God, restore my union with You. I was made for union with You. I love You. Restore my union with You.” I love that. It has become my primary prayer, every single day. When I experience a restored union with God, everything else seems to fall into its rightful place. I don’t need wine when I am restored in my union with my creator. What a poor substitution wine made for God! He is far sweeter and stronger than the finest wine in the world.

But in one extended passage from the Gospel of Mark, this comforting image goes off the rails. Starting in chapter 7, He proceeds to:

• Use an ethnic slur (7:24-30)
• Sigh under the weight of exasperation and stress — twice (7:34, 8:11-13)
• Go into a tirade over a misunderstanding (8:14-21)
• Ask a question that may indicate insecurity about His mission (8:27-30)

You don’t hear this perspective from the pulpit very often. It’s not the way I’ve read these passages in the past. But taken together as a narrative, they present a picture of Jesus considerably more unsettling than,“gentle Jesus, meek and mild.”

That picture, in turn, raises an equally unsettling question: If this is God become human, what does it say about God — or about us?

Jesus and the Price of Fame

Context first. The opening chapters of Mark deal a lot with the dynamics of celebrity. Jesus casts out one demon and heals Simon’s mother-in-law, and instantly crowds are pressing on Him. They seek Him so ardently that He can’t even enter towns. They pack His house so tightly that four people have to cut open a roof just to lower down their paralytic friend. He has a message for the ages, but communicating it is difficult in the constant crowds looking for healing and miracles. His fame draws the wrath of the Pharisees, who seek to destroy Him.

That’s enough to knock anyone off his game.

So it may explain the oddities in Mark 7:24. First, this Son of God, specifically called “only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Matthew 15:24), goes to …Tyre? A Gentile city? It makes no sense in terms of His mission. But maybe the next sentence provides the key: “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know He was there.” It sounds like a retreat, an effort to escape the maddening crowds so He can center Himself.

Then comes the ethnic slur. Despite His best attempts at solitude, a Syrophoenician woman begs Him to cast the demon out of her daughter. And He calls her a dog. “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (7:27).

Other signs of exasperation soon arise. The Pharisees ask Him for a sign from heaven, “and He sighed deeply in His spirit and said, ‘Why does this generation ask for a sign?’ ” (8:12). When His disciples realize they have forgotten to bring bread, He tells them to “beware of the yeast of the Pharisees and the Herodians” (8:15). They take Him literally, and He lets them have it: “Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not perceive or understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes, and fail to see? Do you have ears, and fail to hear?” (8:17-18)

Shortly thereafter, He asks His famous question: “Who do people say that I am?” (8:27). I have often heard this passage (like the story of the Syrophoenician woman) interpreted as Jesus testing the people before Him — gauging the depth of their faith and understanding. But the ruminations of author and editor Cullen Murphy in The Atlantic have always haunted me:

“This is one of the most resonant questions in the whole of the New Testament. It is the question, it seems, of a man who wishes to disturb but who is also Himself disturbed; of a man who has somehow found Himself in deeper waters than anticipated; of a man at once baffled and intrigued by a destiny that He may have begun to glimpse but of which He is not fully aware. And thus, seeking guidance, seeking perhaps to ken the range of possibilities, Jesus put the question to His followers. It is an affecting and very human moment.”

It’s easy to assume that Jesus, being God, knew His full destiny beforehand, right up to the empty tomb. But what if Jesus, being human, couldn’t see the whole future? Or what if, at this difficult point in His mission, He started questioning what He did know?

Disturbed by Whom?

If this Jesus makes you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. I would much rather deal with the healing, compassionate, truth-speaking Jesus who surrendered His life in the ultimate act of love and rose again to give us eternal life. Yes, it’s true that Jesus came not only to comfort but also to unsettle. But I expect His truth to unsettle, His penetrating words — not these accounts in which Jesus is all too, well, human.

Maybe, though, it’s not Jesus I’m uncomfortable with.

In this cranky Jesus, I see myself — the parts of myself I like less. Take the issue of bias and prejudice. As God, Jesus surely cherished the value of all people, Jew or Gentile; as human, He grew up immersed in a human culture, with all the built-in biases and prejudices and filters that human cultures transmit from one generation to the next. Often, people don’t even know they have a bias until some event brings it to light. So when I read the story of the Syrophoenician woman, it reminds me that, despite all my efforts to eradicate my biases, they still rise to the surface on occasion, and I realize how far I still have to go.

Similarly, the other parts of this Mark passage call my “less honorable parts” to mind. I have felt sigh-inducing exasperation in the face of stress and human stupidity. I’ve lost my temper more times than I care to count. I spend way too much energy questioning God’s call on my life. Did He really ask me to write articles like this one, or work with my current employer, or take on the other commitments that make up my life? Did I completely misunderstand him?

None of these behaviors is particularly praiseworthy. It is easy to call them sin, and often we do. But then how could the sinless Son of God act in these ways? That conflict leads me to wonder whether the line between sin and frail humanity is less clear than we sometimes think. Perhaps Mark is presenting these behaviors as residing in a gray area of our souls: less than the ideal, but quintessentially human.

Part of growing toward God, then, is working through attitudes and behaviors like those in the Mark passage. But even while doing that, I strangely take comfort in this cranky Jesus. When I see Jesus knocked off His game, I learn that getting knocked off one’s game is human. This gives me the freedom to be gracious with myself in difficult times, to receive God’s grace more fully. Jesus “learned obedience through what He suffered” (Hebrews 5:8). Why should I be any different?

They believe, along the lines of social networks, that love can be connected or disconnected at the whim of the consumer, and the relationship quickly “blocked.” I think too of the fears associated with permanent commitment, the obsession with free time, and those relationships that weigh costs and benefits for the sake of remedying loneliness, providing protection, or offering some service. We treat affective relationships the way we treat material objects and the environment: everything is disposable; everyone uses and throws away, takes and breaks, exploits and squeezes to the last drop. Then, goodbye.

Against this backdrop, the Church can be relevant and countercultural not by reinforcing unencumbered individualism, but rather by challenging people to connect and commit to the body of Christ.

Young people are typically commitment-averse. They (we) don’t like to be pinned down or locked into anything, whether a career or dwelling place or church. We are the FOMO (“fear of missing out”) generation, preferring to keep our options open rather than committing to something or someone and foreclosing other possibilities. We are the generation that has rendered RSVP-based party planning a futile endeavor.

The vast majority of us (91 percent) expect to stay in a job less than three years. We are less likely to be affiliated with a religion or a political party than previous generations were.

A youth pastor recently told me a story that illustrates how the FOMO mentality manifests itself in church. The youth group was going on a weekend camping retreat and students had signed up a couple weeks in advance. A few nights before they left, the youth pastor got a call from a parent. The parent simply said, “My daughter found out about another event happening this weekend at a church her friends go to. She wants to go to that one instead.”

The youth pastor challenged the parent. “But she is a member of our youth group and she committed to coming with us on our trip.” The parent continued to justify her daughter’s last-minute switch, citing her wishes to hang out with a group that was a better relational fit.

Comfort over covenant. But for followers of Jesus, it should be the other way around.

If the Church is going to thrive in the 21st century, she needs to be willing to demand more of her members. She needs to assert the importance of covenants over comfort, even if that is a message that will turn off some. She needs to speak prophetically against the perversions of cultural and consumer Christianity, seeker-unfriendly as that will be. She needs to call Christians away from an individualistic, “just me and Jesus” faith, challenging them to embrace the costliness of the cross and the challenge of life in a covenantal community.

Covenants are never easy and rarely comfortable. Every marriage testifies to this, as does the rollercoaster history of “prone to wander” Israel. Yet covenants do something that is far more constructive than anything comfort can do. Covenants challenge us to bear with and sacrifice for the sake of others, for the glory of God.

Covenants provide necessary checks on the freedoms we might think are liberating but are ultimately constrictive: to follow my heart wherever it leads; to engage or disengage from others whenever it’s convenient; to have no moral limits beyond what I establish for myself. Covenants free us from the prison of unlimited freedom.

I attended a Christian college (Wheaton) and have worked at one (Biola) for the last nine years. These schools have “community covenants” that students and staff agree to, conduct policies that preserve the distinctly Christian character of the campus community. Though often derided and unappreciated by students in the midst of them, these policies are undeniably crucial and countercultural.

In an age where applying uniform behavioral norms to a diverse group of people is anathema and “do no harm to others” is the only consensus moral imperative, asking 21-year-olds on a college campus not to drink alcohol or have sex is straight-up absurd. But it is an absurdity that provides an all-too-rare check on the idol of autonomy.

Speaking to a room full of Christian college presidents, The New York Times columnist David Brooks praised the character-shaping value of covenants:

For most of us, our inner nature is formed by that kind of covenant in which the good of the relationship takes place and precedence over the good of the individual. For all of us, religious or secular, life doesn’t come from how well you keep your options open but how well you close them off and realize a higher freedom. Hannah Arendt wrote, “Without being bound to the fulfillment of our promises, we would never be able to keep our identities. We would be condemned to wander helplessly and without direction in the darkness of each person’s lonely heart, caught in its contradictions and equivocalities.”

Covenants free us from the arbitrary confusion of our fickle hearts. Covenants bind us, in beautiful ways, to the hearts of others and the heart of Christ. And in that binding we discover more clearly the sort of being we were created to be.

Covenants teach us that keeping promises to others is more important than being true to yourself.

Covenants are not comfortable, but they are comforting.

In our age of isolation and ephemerality, to commit to a Christian community is to remove from ourselves the heavy burden of aimless purpose and amorphous identity.

This article is an excerpt from Uncomfortable: The Awkward and Essential Challenge of Christian Community (Crossway, September 2017). Used with permission.

Don’t despair. It’s a common conundrum, one I’ve heard over and over in my job as a Christian Education Director for many years: “I’d like to know more Scripture, but I don’t know where to start.”

Sound familiar? If you feel like you’re stuck in the same rut, here are some suggestions for making this the year you start to get to know the Bible:

1. Start with a Bible you can use.

Find a translation you feel comfortable with and have reference sources at the ready. Many people find a study Bible with a dictionary, concordance, maps and other supplemental materials to be very useful. Whether these extras are built-in or in separate volumes, have some tools at the ready for when you ask, “What the heck’s a cubit?”

2. Find out how you study best.

If you learn best in dialogue with others, investigate joining a Bible study group. Even if you can’t make an ongoing, weekly commitment, many churches and study groups offer short-term studies. Internet groups are available for those whose schedules can’t accommodate an in-person study. Over two thousand groups are listed on Facebook, and many churches offer similar online programs for their congregations.

If you are an independent learner, check out the various Bible study guides available for personal study. If you don’t have experience with regular daily or weekly study, try a short-term survey of a particular book or theme. Study guides can be found online, borrowed from many church libraries or purchased from Christian booksellers. These study guides will give you some direction and a study plan, as well as providing context and background material on the scripture readings.

3. Start with the familiar.

Whether you are selecting a group to join or a printed study for individual use, it is a good idea to start with what you know. Even if you feel you have an inadequate grasp of Scripture in general, you are somewhat familiar with some part of the Bible. A rudimentary knowledge of the life of Christ can start you into the Gospels; poets and musicians may feel particular resonance with the psalms or Song of Songs; just having seen the movies “The Prince of Egypt” or “The Ten Commandments” gives a basic entrée to the book of Exodus.

Studying passages with familiar stories and characters will allow you to recognize nuances and truths formerly unexplored, while allowing you to become more comfortable interacting with your Bible and study materials.

4. Don’t just read the Bible when you study the Bible.

Part of understanding the Bible and its relevance in our daily lives is appreciating the variety of contexts in which the books it contains were written.

No matter how complete, no one study Bible is going to be able to answer all your questions. Along with reference tools and a study guide, supplemental texts about the history of the Bible or contemporary scholarship provide insight into what the Bible means for contemporary Christians. Lee Strobel’s The Case for Christ is just one example of an examination of contemporary biblical scholarship that is accessible to a general audience. A&E has produced excellent documentary series on the history of Christianity and on “Who Wrote the Bible?” that require no previous knowledge to understand.

5. Judge not the text, or yourself

Try to keep an open mind when reading the text you are studying. Don’t assume that you know what a passage means, even if you have read it dozens of times in the past. Endeavor to understand its meaning in the circumstance in which it was written, and its importance for you.

Don’t beat yourself up if you get off track in regular study, or if you struggle repeatedly with a certain text to no avail. These impediments have been known frustrate a studier to the point of stand still. God forgives us our failures; forgive yourself and press on in your study.

6. Seek help from others, but rely on God.

Whether studying alone or with others, you will encounter teachers and authors giving input on the meaning of the Bible. These insights can be extremely valuable as you expand your own knowledge, but remember that only God has the final authority. God’s insight is the most important in revealing the importance of Scripture in your own life. Be prayerful, and keep your focus on seeking God’s will through your study of His Word.

There’s myriad ways we can get grace wrong. But we can’t just let those false teachings stay there. Grace is the foundation of our faith. We have to get it right.

That’s a message Philip Yancey has been teaching for 25 years. In 1997, Yancey published the first edition of What’s So Amazing About Grace? In it, he explores all the ways that grace changes our lives, on big and small scales. Now, two and a half decades later, Yancey has updated his book to address specific questions about how grace plays a role in our lives and our world in 2024. Yancey sat down with RELEVANT to discuss why grace has been and will forever be important to the Church.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

You first published What’s So Amazing About Grace? 25 years ago. Why did you want to do an updated version?

I wanted to do an updated version because some things have changed a lot and some things have not changed at all. The things that have changed include the fact that the world is a much more divided and dangerous place now than it was 25 years ago. Reflecting on the time when I wrote this book, the predominant news focused on Bill Clinton’s potential affair with a White House intern.

I mean, that was it. Now we’ve got Russia and Ukraine. We’ve got much deeper divisions between Republicans and Democrats in Congress. We’ve got a confused election scenario with a former president facing numerous criminal charges. You know, it’s a different world now. So, that has changed, but on the other hand, some things have not changed. The inherent hunger that people have for feeling loved and finding solutions beyond shouting and building walls remains unchanged. Grace is enduring. It is God’s expression of total love for us, and many people overlook this message. When I ask them today what a Christian or evangelical Christian is, they often provide harsh answers, with very few mentioning grace or its concept. They perceive us as divisive, maybe hostile, but not necessarily loving. Hence, that message requires updating.

Additionally, some of the stories I tell in the book have evolved over the years. Some reviewers may not be familiar with references like Yugoslavia. “Where did they come from? I’ve never heard of that,” they might say. However, it’s easy to find new illustrations of ungrace in the world. That’s not a problem at all. Our aim is to make it accessible to a whole new generation of readers who may not relate to some of the stories I initially wrote about. I diligently worked to ensure its contemporariness and relevance because the need for grace is enduring. It’s a message we can’t reiterate too often.

How has the idea of grace maybe changed or evolved, if at all, since you first wrote the book?

Yeah, that’s a great question. I’ve been speaking about it for many years, and people always raise this issue: Their guard goes up, and they think, “Well, you know, grace is kind of dangerous. If you let people know in advance that they can be forgiven, well, they might go out and do something wrong just to take advantage of it.” Or they’ll say Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the theologian in Germany, used this phrase, “cheap grace.” Aren’t you in danger of talking about cheap grace? And I say, “Well, I didn’t know grace had a price tag on it, you know. It’s not expensive, it’s not cheap, it’s free.” That’s the point of grace. There’s nothing we can do to earn it. There’s nothing we can do to get God to like us more. Our role, our job is just to accept what we couldn’t come up with on our own. It’s a free gift from God. And I try in this book to point out ways in which it can transform not only our lives but also our relationships with people around us.

What are some common misconceptions people have about grace?

We just have a hard time accepting something free like that. We are kind of independent, pull-ourselves-up-by-our-own-bootstraps people, especially in the United States, and you know, somebody gives you a Christmas gift worth $20 and you only give them one worth $10, then you feel bad and next Christmas you’ll be sure to have one worth $30, you know? That’s the kind of people we are. Grace is not about fairness; it’s not about equality; it’s about unfairness, actually. And I think people don’t understand that. I look at Jesus’ parables and when you read them, they very often make the wrong person the hero of the story. The most obvious example of that is the famous story that he told of the prodigal son. There’s one guy who’s obedient and respectful of his parents and does what he’s supposed to do. And then there’s the one guy who does everything wrong and kind of flaunts his life in front of his parents and takes his portion of their inheritance and spins it in immoral ways. Who’s the hero of that story?

You go all the way through so many of Jesus’ stories. He talked about a Pharisee. These are righteous people. These are good, moral people who work hard to keep all the different laws in the Old Testament. And over there, there’s a tax collector who was kind of a nobody and had nothing to commend himself on his resume. And all he says is, “God, help me, I’m a sinner.” And Jesus says, “Which prayer does God listen to? The prayer of the one who holds out his hands, who admits the need for grace.” And I think just by the nature of who we are, we like to earn our way. We like to get credit for what we do. And grace doesn’t work like that. It works by different rules. So we’re not getting the credit. We’re getting the benefit, but we’re not getting the credit because it’s a gift. It’s a gift that God holds out to us. And just by nature, we want to climb that ladder on our own. We want to show how we’re a little bit higher up the rung than the people just beneath us. And grace doesn’t work that way. It kind of turns that ladder upside down and the people you least expect it are almost the closest to God because they’re aware that they failed and they want to receive God’s forgiveness and grace. They know that there’s nothing good in them. It’s only the gift of grace from God.

You know, I remember a conversation. Well, it came out of a book. You know the rock star Bono of the band U2? He recently did his own memoir, but some years ago, he did a series of interviews with a French agnostic journalist who knew him well and had followed him around for years. And this agnostic can’t figure out why Bono calls himself a Christian.

And he keeps bringing up the topic and finally Bono says, “Well, you got two choices, karma or grace. And with karma, you get exactly what you deserve. And most of us aren’t gonna do very well on that measure. But with grace, you get the opposite of what you deserve. You get God’s love when you deserve God’s wrath.” And he said, “I’m gonna place my bets on grace, not karma.” And I think that’s a pretty good way to do it. And one of the misconceptions people have about…

Our faith, the Christian faith, is about doing good, being good. How do you get to where you’d be good? That is not the message of grace. The message of grace is just depending on what God is offering free of charge to us, not depending on our behavior. And we miss that. Once again, we fall back into the, “I’m on that ladder, but I’m a little better than the people below me.” And as soon as you do that, you forfeit grace.

Beyond grace, we also have to move toward reconciliation and forgiveness. Do you have any tips or steps for that?

One of the first things I learned about grace is that it doesn’t take much to be around people who are just like you. Someone who looks like you, smells like you, votes like you, thinks like you, shares your religion doesn’t take a lot of grace because you think, “Oh well, I’m right and they’re like me so they must be right too so we don’t have anything to work out.” Of course, when you get to know people you realize we all have some things to work out. But to really learn grace, to exercise it, it’s best to be with people who are a challenge to you, who are diverse communities, a different race, different cultural background. I learned being tested by grace when I started traveling to different countries because people do things in a very different way and see the world differently than I do. And then as a journalist, I also learned that it’s easy to start with the things that make you different and to kind of want to explore the hostility between people. We are in a divided society right now. A lot of people, even in their own families, I read the other day that one in six people has stopped a relationship with someone either close to them or someone they’re related to, like a cousin, because of political beliefs.

“Well, That’s not what we’re called to do as Christians. We’re called to actually love our enemies, not just love people who slightly disagree with us, but love people who are on the other side of whatever issue. And I learned as a journalist that it doesn’t help to go into an interview and say, ‘Well, I’ve been studying your comments on this issue and you’re completely wrong’ because instantly their guard goes off. I’m not gonna get anything worthwhile for my article is say this, you know, I don’t know where you are on some issues, I don’t even know where I am on some issues, but my job is to present you to an audience in the best way possible. So here’s an issue that I think we probably see differently, but I’d like to hear you express it in a way that makes sense to me. So, you know, I’m not arguing with you.

I’m interviewing you. So tell me on an issue like gender or abortion, a really hot-button issue, especially with a politician or pastor or theologian, explain that to me. Explain what your position is and why you think that is reasonable and convincing.” And they start talking and again if I interrupt and say, “Well, that couldn’t be true,” because then I’m not going to get what I need.

And I think first to start with people who are different than you are and then be a compassionate listener where your goal is not to win, your goal is not to argue, the goal is to give another person a chance to speak about something important in a way that can make sense to you. And if we start there so that our goal is to understand and communicate back and forth, that’s so much better than saying, “Well, this person is offensive to me, so I won’t have anything to do with them. If you go through the Gospels, frankly, everybody was offensive to Jesus, you know. Jesus was perfect, and he came representing God, he was God’s son, showing us what God is like, and showing us what we should be like. And how weird it was Jesus were the people who were least like Him. They were the prostitutes, the tax collectors, the sinners, you know, people gossiped about Him. Can you believe that guy he’s out there with partying with sinners right now instead of going to the synagogue? And it just struck me that the church doesn’t usually communicate that kind of welcoming spirit to people who aren’t like them. That’s one thing we really need to work on.

We’re okay with people that agree with us. That’s why there are so many different denominations. We search for one that reflects what we already believe. But grace is challenged when we’re around people who don’t believe at all. And we weren’t commissioned by Jesus to go out into the world and convince everybody to think like us.

We were commissioned to go out into the world and serve the needy and love the least likely, least desirable people to love. That’s our mission. And somewhere along the way we’ve lost that message. That’s not fair.

There are many churches who are doing that, with prison ministries, supporting missionaries, organizations like IJM, sexual trafficking and slavery around the world. There are many people doing that work.

But the reputation of the church tends to be, “Oh, those are people who have this kind of secret and they wouldn’t like me, they wouldn’t welcome my kind. I don’t belong, I don’t fit there.” And that’s different than Jesus because people didn’t say, “Oh, Jesus is a holy man, so I don’t want to be around him. He made me feel bad.” They said, “No, there’s something about that guy I want. He’s got what I want. I got what he wants.”

The church doesn’t always communicate that kind of Jesus spirit toward the unlovable.

“Many people have grown up assuming that is what the cross is all about,” says world-renowned theologian, scholar and author of The Day the Revolution Began, N.T. Wright. “And the awful thing is that this message about an angry God and an innocent victim has a lot more in common with ancient Pagan thought than with ancient Jewish or Christian thought.”

Wright thinks Christians are missing something important about their most holy day.

“When you start thinking about it, you realize that when people talk about the cross, usually they start by saying we were given this moral examination, and we all flunked it so now we all have to die,” Wright says. “And fortunately for us, someone else has died in our place. It’s better to believe that than to believe nothing. But it’s simply not the way that the Bible itself tells the story.”

We sat down with Wright to talk about what Christians often miss about the resurrection and why he thinks the real biblical picture is so much better.

If Christians are missing the point of the Easter story, where did the confusion set in?

It starts quite a way back, but is held in check until the Middle Ages when the Western church splits off from the Eastern church. The Western church retains the resurrection concept because it’s in the creed, but actually all the iconography and so on is all about “going to heaven.”

And when you get things like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel or Dante’s Inferno and Paradiso, then it’s clear that what we’re dealing with is something very different than what you find in the Bible.

The problem is that the last great scene in the Bible is not about saved souls going up to heaven as most of the medieval mystery plays would have it, but about the new Jerusalem coming down from heaven to earth so that heaven and earth are joined together.

What’s the better, biblical formulation?

I think the critical thing is this: Most Christian theories of atonement have not really taken the four Gospels seriously at all.

They’ve tended to go for Paul and Hebrews and have put them into a different scheme because the four Gospels don’t appear to be addressing questions of the meaning of the cross in the way we wish they had done.

But what the four Gospels are doing is talking about the coming of God’s Kingdom. Jesus says, “The Kingdom of God is at hand.” When you look at the crucifixion narratives in all four Gospels, it’s all about Jesus being enthroned as king.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John have very different angles on things, but they all converge on this: When Jesus is crucified something happens, and the result is the powers that have locked up the world in corruption, decay and death are overthrown. And Jesus is, from now on, running the show—even though it doesn’t look like it because we have the wrong idea of what power is and how it works.

If we take the New Testament seriously, we ought to see that the crucifixion of Jesus is the means by which God’s Kingdom is actually launched on earth as in heaven—because the powers are defeated, and this new world comes to birth.

You use the imagery of a revolution. That’s not commonly associated with the Easter story.

This goes back to the ancient Jewish expectation, which is rooted in Daniel and in the Psalms and Isaiah, that one day God Himself would come back and would overthrow the powers that have been running the world.

This is the great revolution, which like revolutions of our own day, is all about people who have been chafing under alien rule and feel their lives being squashed and crushed when they suddenly find that someone has done something to overthrow the tyrant.

It means that they—we—are now free to have the new life that they have always dreamed of.

That is precisely what happened when Jesus died on the cross. The “revolution” was secret for two and half days because it was only with Jesus’ resurrection that anyone could look back at His cross and say, “He’s defeated sin so the power of sin, the power of evil, has been overthrown.”

This is a genuinely revolutionary movement that happened.

What do you think that means for Christians today?

Learning to think historically and eschatologically is really difficult for people in our day and age because we tend to think that now that we live in the modern world, we’re it. But the Bible says, “No, sorry: World history turned its corner when Jesus died on the cross and then rose again three days later.”

Every generation has to go on asking itself the question, “How does that then play out in my world in my time?”

How do these ideas shape how we approach Good Friday and the Easter season?

If Jesus of Nazareth had stayed dead, then nobody would have given a second thought to giving His crucifixion any significance.

There were lots and lots of failed revolutionaries in Jesus’ day, often ending up on Roman crosses, and Jesus would have been just another one in that bunch.

The crucifixion means what it means because Jesus is raised from the dead after three days, and likewise, the resurrection means what it means because it is the resurrection of the crucified one.

This is part of the point of Easter that is very hard for us to think about: Easter commands us to think about a non-corruptible physicality, about a physical world that isn’t subject to decay and death anymore.

The resurrection pushes us back and says it’s all about the Kingdom of God. Go and read the story again and see throughout Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, Jesus is confronting the powers—the plotting pharisees, the demons shrieking at Him in the synagogues, the puzzled disciples.

He’s confronting evil in all its forms, and He goes into the darkness in order to take its full weight upon Himself.

This is a very deep mystery, and I suspect we’ll never fully understand it. But the Gospels make it clear that He goes into the darkness as our representative and, therefore, as our substitute. Both of those are important.

You paint a picture of the church shaped by the cross.

We in the modern West have been conned into believing that Christianity didn’t really make any big changes in the world—nothing much seems to have happened.

Of course Christians have often gotten it wrong—and had crusades and inquisitions and burnt witches and so on—but look at the thousands and thousands of things they’ve gotten right.

And the reason they’ve gotten those things right is that the Easter events really did happen and really are being implemented.

N.T. Wright is a world-renowned theologian and author of The Day the Revolution Began. You can actually study with him online at ntwrightonline.org.

One, at a Good Friday service, which is supposed to be a somber reflection on the death of Jesus, the minister instead figuratively winked at the congregation and ignored the pain and humiliation of the Cross, with a proclamation of, “Jesus died … but the story doesn’t end there!” before a choir burst into a giant chorus of “Up from the Ground He Arose.” The meaning was clear: Sure, the death of Jesus was important, but there’s no point dwelling on it. After all, He rose again!

Or two, the church emphasized the crucifixion and its meaning to the point where the resurrection became an afterthought. What Christ did on the Cross and how His sacrifice saves Christians from the wrath of God became the primary lens through which to understand faith. The resurrection becomes an almost forgotten, if pleasant, afterthought.

But neither of these is the Gospel. The full Gospel of Jesus Christ is an intertwined story of life, death and resurrection. Easter Sunday is meaningless without Good Friday, but Good Friday is equally as meaningless without Easter Sunday.

Perhaps one of the most befitting images for the Gospel story is that of a Celtic knot. In a Celtic knot, every strand is completely interlaced with every other strand. There is no beginning or ending.

Until we see the Gospel as a Celtic-like knot—completely interwoven with no definitive start or finish—we will always have an incomplete picture.

Reclaiming the Resurrection

In particular, today’s Christian has a tendency to reduce the Gospel to Good Friday. The result? Grace is also reduced to one theme: atonement—to Christ shouldering and then reversing the wrath of God.

But the Gospel knot must include Easter Sunday—there’s no Kingdom without resurrection. Jesus’ life leads to crucifixion, which leads to the resurrection, which leads to exaltation, which leads back to His life with a new view of the whole.

So central to Paul was the resurrection of Jesus he even says, without it, our preaching is a waste of time, our faith is useless, our message becomes false witness, our hope is disastrous and our sins are not forgiven! (1 Corinthians 15:13-17, NIV).

In a Good-Friday-only view of the Gospel, the Cross does everything. In that old Gospel, both forgiveness and justification are the result of Christ’s death only, and the resurrection (along with the other parts of Jesus’ life past and future) are just “extras.” But this is not what Paul says: “He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification” (Romans 4:25).

So redemption, too, is like the cord in a Celtic knot. Jesus’ life and then His death have brought forgiveness, but that death cord morphs into the resurrection cord, and it is the resurrection that brings “justification.” This term refers to God’s declaration that Christians are right with God, accepted, on good terms and reconciled to Him. But what creates the very possibility of a relationship with God is Jesus’ death that was overturned in the resurrection. You see, the problem is death—and the solution is life. Jesus entered death and came back to life, and Christians can climb on His back into a new life.

In a person’s union with Christ, dramatically enacted in the body at baptism, they enter into the death of Christ and into the resurrection of Christ and it brings them into a “new life.” The cord of resurrection means Christians begin a new life in the here-and-now.

A New Kind of Community

Now for perhaps the most astounding claim of all, one that ties the knot tighter: God made His people to rule over His creation, the point of Genesis 1. But they failed and God sent Christ to rule. Astoundingly, Paul says both that Christ now rules and that Christians have joined Him in that rule (Ephesians 1:20; 2:6).

What this means is so vital for life in this world: Christians do not see the president or prime minister as the one who rules for them. The Christian’s ruler is Jesus Christ, and their destiny is to rule with Him. That rule has entered into this world in the power of the Spirit, and Christians are called to name those powers and to speak victory over those powers by denouncing false rulers and establishing through the political Body of Christ a whole new way of ruling.

Pretty much every Christian today calls for “social justice.” But … why? Why is this so important (and it is)? The answer: the resurrection. Because Christ has been raised, His rule is now the only true rule. Because Christians have been raised with Him, they are summoned to live under that rule and to extend that rule to others in this world—to oppose injustice and fight for those without power.

The full “knot” of the Gospel connects the entire life of Jesus, from birth to teachings to miracles to death to resurrection to ascension to the second coming and to the End of Ends when God is All in All.

The Gospel has a goal: to create the Kingdom of God, and one element of that “good news” is that it begins now. With you and me. In the here and now. It is all tied into the Gospel knot of grace.

This article is adapted from “A Connected Gospel” from RELEVANT’s March/April 2012 edition.

Scot McKnight is an American New Testament scholar, historian of early Christianity, theologian, speaker, author and blogger. He is currently teaching at Northern Baptist Theological Seminary.

From a theological perspective, Jesus’ atoning death on the cross and subsequent resurrection show us what forgiveness looks like at a macro-level – we are told that our sins have been forgiven and we can be restored to a right relationship with God. And this has profound implications for us at the micro-level. Just as we have been forgiven, we are called to forgive those who have hurt us.

My favorite parable in Matthew 18:21-35 illustrates this well. In this parable, a servant is forgiven a massive debt by his king but then wrongfully refuses to forgive a much smaller debt that is owed to him. This is used to show that we, who have been forgiven much by God, should not withhold forgiveness to those who offend us.

We know the theological view of forgiveness is at the heart of Christianity, but what does scientific research say about this process?

The topic of forgiveness is a relatively recent area in the field of psychology. For many years, little research focused on this important topic. However, in recent decades, psychologists have begun to examine its benefits. Granting forgiveness has been shown to be associated with better health and well-being, increased relationship satisfaction, as well as increased trust, and commitment between the victim and the transgressor. Furthermore, research shows that granting forgiveness is associated with lower stress, anxiety, and depression.

Forgiveness-seeking has also been associated with lower levels of negative emotion and restored relationships. In all, the science of forgiveness has found many physiological and psychological benefits to both granting and seeking forgiveness. This scientific evidence can be coupled with a theological view to give us a fuller view of forgiveness.

Of course, there is a danger when we focus too much on the clinical benefits of forgiveness. As Christians, we are not called to seek and grant forgiveness because it makes us feel good. Instead, we are called to forgive because we have received forgiveness from God. However, it is noteworthy to point out that the process of forgiveness has positive emotional, mental, and psychological outcomes for us.

It seems that God has created us and our world in a way that encourages the forgiveness process – and that is something we should all celebrate.

In my own life, both personally and professionally, both the theology and psychology of forgiveness have significantly impacted me. While in graduate school I became much more invested and serious about my faith, and it was during that time that I began to appreciate the massive gift of grace that God extends to us. As I considered this, I found myself more capable of extending forgiveness to others, including my biological father. My parents divorced when I was young, but even before that experience my father did not have a positive impact on my life. These hurts were still with me into my early adulthood. Yet as I understood more about God’s forgiveness, I truly felt a release of this resentment and even felt prompted to write my father a letter to communicate that I had forgiven him. Beyond my personal life, this greater understanding of forgiveness contributed to my interest in researching the psychology of forgiveness and has even shaped the research questions I have investigated.

I think it’s beautiful that God ordered our world so intentionally that science can now complement what we already know Biblically. That’s why this Easter, as we contemplate God’s grace and forgiveness, our reflections ought to cause us to consider our own behavior. How might we seek forgiveness for our transgressions against others and how might we extend forgiveness to those who have hurt us? How might both psychology and theology assist us in embodying forgiveness more fully?

Let us rejoice this Easter – and all year long – that God has given us psychological tools as well as the theological guidance to maintain and strengthen our relationship with Him and each other. May we exemplify Colossians 3:13, which reminds us to, “Bear with each other and forgive one another… Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”

When life gives you zucchinis, you find out who your real friends are.

A whole afternoon spent stirring red lentils and zucchini, grating zucchini for chocolate bread, deep frying zucchini tempura and mixing up a mystery cheese-zucchini casserole feels just about impossible to find most days. Try this with a bunch of people bumping into each other in a kitchen and splattering grease on a lawn together, though, and you’ve got an amazing recipe for building community.

Community is revolutionary. When we bring it to a rolling boil, lives change and plans foment that ripple around the world. But it’s hard to cook up community from scratch in middle-class North America. Some days, just getting to know the neighbors on your street can feel like trying to get the wave going at a football game while everybody stares at you from their seats. Still, we go on believing that God made people—all of us, no matter your Myers-Briggs profile type—to need other people. So we need to figure out how to break our ruts of commuting, watching Hulu and consuming Hot Pockets alone.

Goofy parties help, and Zuke Fest was far from our first. Just after we got married, we lived in an apartment building where all the residents opened their doors and hosted events like “Fried Food Night,” “Dessert for Dinner” and “Vegetarians Eat Meat.” These were not Martha Stewart affairs with themed table decorations, mind you. They were more like a bunch of friends diving into minimal planning after saying, “Hey, what if we … ?” and then actually doing it.

Our attempts at feeding community often involve food—because, after all, everybody has to eat. When we lived overseas, we bonded with friends over attempts at Thanksgiving dinners in places without turkeys and cranberries. And we’ve been involved with what can only be called “The Whole Nicaraguan Village Is Eating Beef Because Somebody’s Cow Fell Down the Hill and Broke Her Neck.” But some of our connections with people don’t focus on food; we’ve also tried a square dance, a winter bonfire, a weekly sports night and a feat known to us as “Read the New Testament Straight Through in One Night.”

We’ve been charging this hill of community (and often falling back down it) for years because we know God made us and redeemed us for relationships. Here’s what we’ve been learning.

Give what you don’t want to give

If you’re serious about getting to know your neighbors, co-workers, churchmates, shopkeepers or other random people in your life, you can always start by giving them something. Think what might make somebody smile, and then figure out how to find or make it. It might be scones, a wood carving, a coupon booklet, an evening of babysitting, a lunch meeting to talk when you really want some down time, a ride to the doctor or even the tried-and-true casserole. Then stop by to give it to them and leave time to talk. Get each others’ info so you can reconnect soon. (And then do it.) Community often starts with asking how to help—and then actually helping.

Ask for stuff

On the flip side, ask people for help. Most people like feeling needed, as long as you’re not pounding on their door every morning asking for another splash of milk for your cereal. Think before you buy—maybe you could borrow what you need from someone instead. (And if nobody has the thing you’re looking for, maybe you could be the one who buys and then offers to share.)

Stick with your church

Sadly, this doesn’t go without saying. You need the Church, and the Church needs you. Get in. Stay in. Commit. It won’t be easy. But there’s no substitute for committing to a group of sinners (just like you and me) that Jesus is leading. We need to remind ourselves through this commitment that we can be weird in good ways and, through it, show love for a hurting world.

Get people to tell their stories

Don’t meet a new person and wonder, “How can this person be of use to me?” Instead, try to remember, “I get to share this right-here-and-now-moment with this person.” Treat people as people, not network threads. Ask questions that give them chances to share their stories, and as you listen, tell God thanks for the ways He’s working in their lives. There is no ordinary person on any continent. The person in front of you has a story worth hearing, opinions that will challenge yours, and maybe even some profound insights you need.

Take the bull by the horns

After complaining too many times that I (Chrissy) didn’t know anyone in the North American neighborhood we moved into a couple years ago, I finally figured out nobody but me was going to solve the problem. I got serious with God and started praying for one close friend and one tiny group of people I could have real conversations with at least once a month. It was a small start, but that’s where you’ve got to start. Then I took God seriously that He was going to answer that prayer and started making ways for it to happen. I brainstormed all the women I’d talked to in the last months about the lack of community in our lives and invited them all to the local Perkins restaurant. What started as sort of a “Lonely Ladies” support group is now, sure enough, a strong little community of friends a year later.

Be a quitter

Part of the reason community is hard to find is because people are so busy. Pick a couple favorite things, get fully involved in those, and quit the rest. Figure out the people you want to see more, and see them more—which, sad to say, probably means seeing some other people less. Most really close friendships don’t happen without seeing a person at least two times a week. Start with the people who live closest to you because that makes connecting with them easier. Don’t let your Facebook friends keep you from seeing the real faces of your friends.

Get to know people not like you

You might think it’s easiest to form community with those most similar to us, but if you happen to be busy, middle-class white people like us, you might also find that most people like us are lousy at community. That doesn’t mean people from different backgrounds than us are automatically good at community, but we do need people who are different from us in our lives. This means meeting families with kids if you don’t have kids and meeting singles if you do. It could mean pulling out your high school Spanish to strike up a conversation with a neighbor or helping an older woman carry her groceries across the street (seriously). Or, if you didn’t grow up in small town, Nordic, Midwest families where people greet each other by saying “Hey der” and make Tater Tot green bean casseroles for potlucks after church like we did, maybe the way to meet people not like you is just to make a casserole and invite them over.

And if all else fails, give us a shout and we’ll bring over a bucket of squash for your Zuke Fest. Seriously. We have way too much.

In my own life, I absolutely research someone before I believe in them enough to hire them to help run my company. I get inspections and look at the maintenance history of a house before I believe it’s safe enough for my family to live in. Makes sense, right? But there are some things I’ll never be able to adequately research, or see and touch and feel before I can believe in them. For those things, all I have to follow are little breadcrumbs of information, never seeing or knowing the big picture. Those things require faith.

For me, faith means going from crumb to crumb, letting them show you there is something or someone bigger than you out there. A light to guide you when everything around you is shrouded in darkness. An otherworldly feeling of love and care that you can’t prove, but that you certainly can’t ignore. A Higher Power.

Faith is much deeper than mere belief. It’s the bone-deep soul knowledge that there is something — someone — far greater who will guide you to your best path, guide you to your greatest purpose and love you no matter what. When I focus on faith, I want to draw closer to God and to remind myself that it’s okay if I feel out of control because I know that He’s got me. 

When Faith Falters

I know I’m not alone in struggling with my faith sometimes. Faith can be so challenging because it requires almost blind trust in what we cannot see, touch, taste, feel, or hear. Our senses provide safe, concrete evidence and certainty. It’s easy to have faith when life is going well, but it can become so much more difficult when we’re experiencing trouble or profoundly devastating circumstances.

I’m certainly no exception. There have been plenty of times when my faith has been tested by situations that took almost everything I had out of me. One time, the church I’d attended and loved for years went through dark betrayals and stopped being a safe space. After a scandal involving our youth leader rocked the congregation, our lead pastor lost his struggle with cancer and passed away. The new leadership brought about chaos and unhealthy, twisted, scary theology. Once I left, I felt completely lost. I had always felt that God was watching over me, but instead I felt confused.

I tried going to different churches, craving that connection and sense of fulfillment and belonging, but I couldn’t bring myself to trust an “institution” again. However, I just couldn’t let it all go completely. I started a Philosophy Night with friends once a week. We’d ask and debate the questions that none of us could answer, poring over philosophy books and trying to find anything that had a ring of truth.

There was a turning point when I visited with Franciscan friars at a monastery in the Bronx. I was in awe of how deeply they embraced God’s teachings, spending their entire lives serving, helping, and encouraging the poor. The friars had a humble, servant-hearted, peaceful reverence for God I had never seen before. It couldn’t have been further from the modern church I’d grown up in, with its smoke machines and rock concert worship. Spending time with the friars renewed my hope.

I realized I hadn’t actually been searching for a new church; I’d been searching for some proof that God was real after having my faith beaten and bruised. What I learned along the way was that I had to be okay with not having all the answers. I had to learn to live in the tension of uncertainty and the unknown. Life can be full of breathtaking beauty and love and deep kindness, but it can also have sharp edges and difficult situations and impossible choices. None of us are ever guaranteed a firm place to stand. That’s where faith comes in. Even in my greatest moments of doubting, I can’t freely live without a connection to and reliance on God. And that is real enough for me.

If your faith has faltered, I would encourage you to do your own searching and research. Look into the history and origins of your faith’s traditions and customs. Which teachings are specific to your community, and which are intrinsic to your faith? Look around at your faith community and take stock. We can all benefit from learning from others who share our faith, but if the people you have surrounded yourself with aren’t reflecting what you know your faith is really about, it may be time to find a new community. Look for people who have a faith that challenges and bolsters yours. Seek out people who allow you to ask questions and have doubts. Surround yourself with people whose authenticity, love, and passion set your faith on fire. Those are your people. Hold onto them. 

One of the simplest ways to deepen your faith is to simply talk to God and trust Him to answer in a way that only a Higher Power can. There are many ways to do this. You can pray formally, on your knees, journal your thoughts, talk out loud while you lie in bed, or contemplate while you fold laundry or drive your car. There really is no wrong way to reach out, and nothing is off-limits.

There is nothing you can say to God that He hasn’t heard before. Sometimes just admitting your worries, problems, issues and anxieties can give you a measure of peace — and that release can lead to a feeling of relief and serenity. But a huge part of faith is truly believing that God can answer those prayers.

Try writing out your prayers (or at least jot down what you prayed for). Keep a prayer tracker, a journal, or even a box filled with your prayers scribbled on paper. This can be a great tool to help you see your faith more clearly. After some time has passed, go back and review what you’ve written down. How have your prayers been answered? How many were answered in ways you never expected? How many were answered in a way that was better than you could have imagined? Over time you will see all of the wonderful ways God is working in your life.

Taken from Every Word Matters by Caitlin Crosby. Copyright © 2021 by Caitlin Crosby. Used by permission of Zondervan. www.zondervan.com.

I feel a little badly for picking on Matt, but he’s saying what most of the other students in the class are thinking. Though I’ve heard this argument dozens of times, I’m never quite sure how to dismantle it gently and effectively. In part, Matt is right, but I have a strong sense that focusing only on those kinds of ideas distracts us somehow.

After class, I debrief with my husband, Rob, who teaches another section of the same course. “The problem is that our students don’t know how to talk about discernment,” he says. “They only know how to talk about discretion. ”

Aha, that’s it, I think. Discretion versus discernment.

Along with about 45 others at the Christian college where I work, I teach a required one-credit course for first year college students. In the process of exploring the mission and vision of the college, we have a class on cultural discernment. As we attempt to learn what discernment is by listening to music and watching film clips, this particular class session tends to reveal the ways in which students have been absorbing language and ways of thinking from various spirits of our age.

One such spirit threatens to derail a cultural discernment discussion every time. I’m not quite sure what to name it, but it comes in the form of lots of tsk-ing and head shaking about how Hollywood is out to get us with its representation of sex, violence and bad words. Each class seems pre-scripted. “We can say we don’t listen to the words of the music, but they do affect us in subtle ways” or, “The more we expose ourselves to violence in films, the more we get desensitized.” There’s a bit of truth in what they say: Our environments can affect us deeply long before a recognizable cognitive or behavioral effect reveals itself. My concern, however, is that such a fear-based approach leads to perpetual spiritual immaturity and, ultimately, isn’t really discernment at all.

I think we’re right to consider how something—a film, a concert, etc.—will affect us in both obvious and subtle ways. Every piece of art contains assumptions about the big questions of life—who we are, why we’re here, where we’re going—and we need to be aware of that fact, both in a specifically moral sense and a bigger worldview sense.  However, I don’t think the personal effect of a film or concert is a good starting point for the Christian community when we’re talking about discernment, because such an approach is not “discernment,” it’s “discretion.”

For example, I would be using my discretion if I resisted watching the torture scene in Syriana. Other similar scenes have made me physically ill, burning an impression into my mind that haunts me. I also would be using discretion to stay away from Syriana if I had an obsessive crush on George Clooney (OK, that’s very hypothetical). Discretion requires individual assessment, making it very personal and, indeed, relative. What I can handle might not be the same as what my husband can handle. While I may count on a community to hold me accountable to the terms of my discretion, it’s ultimately a very individual process.

Discretion is a good and necessary thing, but it doesn’t fit the classical definition of spiritual discernment. The language of discretion too often becomes jargon designed to keep us afraid of the “big, bad world” and in a constant state of spiritual and intellectual infancy. Our call is to “test the spirits,” not to hide from them (1 John 4:1). In order to do that, we need to grow up—that is, recognize our personal limitations, but also learn how to be able to witness sinfulness without changing our minds about what’s good and pleasing to God. In doing so, “we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful scheming” (Ephesians 4:14). Just like we can read a passage of the Bible about incest without committing it ourselves, or be friends with someone who’s exceptionally greedy while being generous ourselves, we need to be able to witness sin in art and name it as such without being converted ourselves.

Discernment, in contrast to discretion, is communal, seeking not personal standards within ourselves, but seeking to tell the difference between light and darkness. Between big-G God and small-g god. Between the spirit of God and the spirits of the age. Between the truth and a lie. This is not a task to be taken lightly. In fact, it requires us to take off our blinders and expose ourselves to some incredibly deep human suffering in order to discover whether that very real suffering is being represented in a true or a false way. Consider the film Juno, which shows, even in a very quirky and funny way, the intense emotional and physical consequences of casual sex. Or The Last King of Scotland, which is one of the most violent films I’ve seen, but appropriately breaks my heart about the devastation of human pride. There’s a difference between lying about sin and telling the truth about sin. And because the people who make these movies are both made in God’s image and corrupted by sin, every film is a tightly wound mess of truth and lies. We are discerning when we seek the Holy Spirit’s help in sorting out the mess—not when we rely on the MPAA to tell us with a G or an R rating which films are “good” and which are not.

Since no one can watch every movie, listen to every album and watch every television show (as much as some of us might like to try), we have to depend on a community in the process of discernment. We also have to depend on a community because we’re all broken people and not one of us has perfect insight into the movement of the Holy Spirit or the mind of God. Like any serious, potentially dangerous adventure, we undertake discernment with preparation, prayer and people. We cultivate the “skill” of discernment by reading, studying and then practicing what we’ve learned. We pray for the Spirit’s illumination of truth. And we experience and discuss the world around us with others who can offer insights we may not have seen and serve as anchors when we’re adrift.

My impulse to run out and see the latest film just because it’s popular needs to be re-evaluated, but so does my impulse to avoid it simply because of its rating or because of something we heard about it. “Perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18). In loving the world as God loves it, we should seek to see ourselves without fear as we really are, sins and all, including within the art we create. Being able to see ourselves as we are is the beginning of identifying and naming both truth and lies about who we are, why we’re here and where we’re going.

If our problems are hearing problems, then the solution to those problems is a prescription that is as old as the psalms. It’s so critical to our spiritual vitality that it’s worth meditating on one word or phrase at a time: 

Be. 

Be still. 

Be still, and know. 

Be still, and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10).

Have you ever tried to quiet a loud room? Attempting to yell above the crowd usually doesn’t work, does it? It’s far more effective to shush the crowd with a shhh. That’s the method God employs. His whisper quiets us, calms us, stills us.

By definition, white noise is a sound that contains every frequency a human can hear. And because it contains every frequency, it’s very difficult to hear any specific frequency, especially the still small voice of God. As such, chronic noise may be the greatest impediment to our spiritual growth. 

When our lives get loud, with noise filling every frequency, we lose our sense of being. We run the risk of turning into human doings rather than human beings. And when our schedules get busy, we lose our sense of balance, which is a function of the inner ear. 

Can I go out on a limb? 

Your life is too loud. 

Your schedule is too busy. 

That’s how and why and when we forget that God is God. And it takes very little to distract us. “I neglect God and His angels, for the noise of a fly,” said the poet John Donne. The solution? Stillness. Or more specifically, His still, small voice. 

Silence is anything but passive waiting. It’s proactive listening. Noted author Henri Nouwen believed that silence was an act of war against the competing voices within us. And that war isn’t easily won because it’s a daily battle. But each day God’s voice gets a little louder in our lives until He’s all we can hear. He wrote, “Every time you listen with great attentiveness to the voice that calls you the Beloved, you will discover within you a desire to hear that voice longer and more deeply.” 

The quietest room in the world is the anechoic chamber at Orfield Laboratories in Minneapolis. One-foot-thick concrete walls and three-foot-thick fiberglass acoustic wedges absorb 99.99 percent of sound. Background noise measures −9.4 decibels. All you hear in an anechoic chamber is the sound of your heart beating, blood circulating and lungs breathing. That’s the sound of silence, and it reminds us that it’s in God that “we live and move and have our being”(Acts 17:28). 

If you want to hear the heart of God, silence is key. 

If you want the Spirit of God to fill you, be still. 

The psalmists didn’t have an anechoic chamber to retreat to, so they retreated to God. They referred to Him as their refuge, their fortress and their ever-present help in time of need. They spoke of the “shelter of the Most High” and the “shadow of the Almighty.” But my favorite descriptor might be the “hiding place.”

You are my hiding place;  you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance (Psalms 32:7).

Did you know that God is singing songs of deliverance all around you all the time? You can’t hear them because they’re outside your range of hearing, but you’re surrounded by a sonic shield. Those songs of deliverance are powerful enough to break any bondage, overcome any addiction and solve any problem. Those songs are the reason no weapon formed against you will prosper. (see Isaiah 54:17)

The voice can reproduce only what the ear can hear. I’m not sure what problem you need to solve or what issue you need to resolve, but my prayer is that you’ll learn to discern His voice. When you do, His songs of deliverance can set you free! 

Quit hiding from God. 

Hide yourself in Him.

You know what I’m talking about—churchy words like “the aisle” or “the body” and faithy phrases like “on fire for God” or “backslidden Christian.” These range from comical to nebulous, and they all share something in common: We take far too little time to define what these terms mean.

If you grew up in Christian circles, you’re probably familiar with the term “lukewarm Christian.” A common characterization of a lukewarm Christian goes something like this: The Bible says it’s better to be cold or hot than lukewarm, so in some way it’s better to be an unbeliever than a “lukewarm,” nominal Christian.

The idea is kind of the spiritual equivalent to Yoda’s “do or do not; there is no try.”

But that doesn’t line up with what Jesus actually says—which is both far better and more alarming to contemporary readers.

Jesus and the ‘Lukewarm’ Church

The book of Revelation opens with seven letters. Each of the seven letters addresses a different church in Asia Minor, one of which is to the Christians who live in a city called Laodicea. We get the idea of “lukewarm” Christians from John’s recounting of Jesus’ letter to these Christians.

Here’s what Jesus says to the church in the city of Laodicea (Revelation 3:14-22):

To the angel of the church in Laodicea write: These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.

You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.

Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. …

Think about this: Here is the same Jesus who calls little children to sit with Him, who teaches us to care for the poor and who offers rest to the spiritually and emotionally weary. And He says to this body of Christians, “I am about to spit you out of my mouth.” Jesus’ words are shocking.

‘Lukewarm’ and Laodicea

Historians tell us that the city of Laodicea, near what’s now the Turkish city of Denizli, received hot water from about five miles away. The water came through pipes, using a system pioneered by the Romans. But unlike our water-heating systems, the heat wasn’t localized—it started hot, but after five miles in a wooden pipe, very little heat remained. Still, their water wasn’t cold or fresh.

So this concept of lukewarm water isn’t a random. Not to Laodiceans. Rather Jesus makes his point to these Christians by drawing from their daily reality.

Laodicean water was lukewarm, and this presented a problem: Their water was useless.

New Testament scholar Thomas R. Schreiner explains it like this:

[The Laodicean Christians’] works are neither hot nor cold but lukewarm. It has often been pointed out that both cold and hot water are good. Cold water is refreshing when you are sweating and unbelievably thirsty. If you run five miles on a hot day or come in from working in the yard, cold water is a tonic to your system. In the same way, hot water in tea or coffee or for bathing is soothing and comforting. But lukewarm water is disgusting. It doesn’t refresh you nor does it soothe.

You’ve probably left a bottle of water all day in your hot car, or you’ve smelled a stagnant puddle lingering after a heavy rain. This kind of water is gross and—worse—good for nothing. And Jesus says the believers in Laodicea are like their water.

In the formulation many of us hear, “lukewarm” represents Christians halfway between full-on unbelief and a kind of sold-out, devout Christianity. But that doesn’t match what we read in Revelation. The “spectrum” Jesus presents only includes two points: those who follow Jesus and those who don’t.

Jesus isn’t calling the Laodicean church “less devout,” and encouraging those Christians to be more on fire for him. He’s calling them unbelievers. Jesus says, “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.”

He’s not calling them nominal. He’s calling them condemned.

The lukewarm Christian isn’t the guy who shows up on Sunday mornings, but can’t seem to make community group. The lukewarm Christian is the guy who leads in both settings, and his own activity convinces him he’s a Christian. But Jesus comes and says this guy is deceiving himself and He is about to spit him out.

How ‘Lukewarm’ Matters for Us

We don’t know a lot about the Laodicean Christians. According to Jesus, they thought highly of themselves, and they considered their wealth to make them self-sufficient. Of course we wouldn’t use these terms, but we don’t need to search far for examples of how wealth and a self-sufficient approach to faith characterize American Christianity, even if the particulars differ from our Laodicea.

“Lukewarm” describes water you can’t use for washing or drinking, for cooking or refreshment. Jesus uses the terms to describe a group of Christians who thought they were what Jesus knew they were not. The critical question, then, is: Would Jesus use “lukewarm” to describe our churches—or us?

So little Grant would go out and stand on the stump and preach whatever message he felt like God was speaking to him. Whether there were kids in the park next to it or I was just preaching to the trees, I preached. I was a weirdo. I spoke to God. There was a purity in my pursuit of God even at a young age. I remember the first time I heard God speak to me. The innocence of my child’s heart was tangible.

I can say, though, sitting here today that I do not know that child. I would say that’s a lot of us. We lose the purity and innocence, whether in physical age or spiritual age, where we once looked back and said, “I knew God. I saw God.” 

I saw Him heal my family. 

I saw Him change my world. 

I saw Him deliver me. 

I heard Him speak to me. 

I felt His presence in that one service. 

We see this place where God was working and moving where we felt connected, but somewhere along the line, we got disconnected from Him. So, we find ourselves lost, trying to reconnect with God over radio silence. We try to hear God amid the noise. We try to see God during the chaos and, more often than not, miss Him. 

Good part? You aren’t alone.

If you look at your Bible right now, there is only one, little sheet of paper between Malachi, the last book of the Old Testament, and Matthew, the first book of the New Testament. That one sheet of paper represents 400 years of silence.

The last time we hear God speak is in the book of Malachi. All I have to do is flip one page from Malachi to Matthew, and there is Jesus. Yet, for these people, it was a 400 year gap between the last time God spoke to the people of Israel, and Jesus enters the scene.  

400 years of silence. 

400 years of questions. 

400 years of darkness. 

400 years of being alone. 

You may feel like you are in the 400 years of disconnect from God. 400 years since the promise from God and the fulfillment. 400 years from the prayer and the answer. 400 years from the brokenness and the healing. 400 years from the loss to hope. 400 years wandering around, waiting to hear from God.

So, what do we do when we can’t hear God? When we feel disconnected?

Do the Last Thing He Told You to Do

A lot of times we get sidetracked looking for all of the things we are supposed to do. You may not be hearing anything new from God because He wants you to do the last thing He told you to do. 

One time, when I was a young boy, my dad gave me some simple instructions, “Wait here for me.” After about 5 minutes, I determined, in my 8-year old brain, my father was never coming back. So, I started looking around for him. I started searching for him and left the place he told me to stay at. I became frantic, and as a result, I was lost. I couldn’t find my father. After what felt like an eternity, I remember him tapping me on my shoulder and asked, “Why did you leave?”

“Because I couldn’t find you.”

“I asked you to stay right there and wait for me. I understand you were scared, but sometimes you have to trust the last thing I tell you to do. If you had done that, you never would have been lost.”

Sometimes, we are supposed to sit still and wait until we hear something further. You may not be as disconnected as you think. You just might not have gotten the next step for you to take yet.

Remember the Past

We all tend to have short term memory loss when it comes to God. Kind of like Dory from Finding Nemo. We always forget the last thing that God did. Which is normal; don’t feel weird. The Israelites had a nasty habit of forgetting what God had done for them. So much so that Moses tells the people, “be careful that you do not forget the LORD, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery” (Deuteronomy 6:12, NIV). Even Moses and the Israelites, the ones He split the Red Sea for, forgot what God had done.  

In Joshua 4:7, it talks about the Israelites, creating a memorial to remember what God had done. Sometimes, we have to go back and look at what God has done so we can remind ourselves that He is always faithful and will do it again. 

How do we do this practically? 

Start a journal and keep up with it. Write the promises God gives you and write the encounters you have with God; write down everything. Then, you can go back and see the promises He gave you that you may even have forgotten about, that have been fulfilled. You can read the times He has moved in your life. The time that bill was paid, and you had no idea how it was going to happen. The time you were healed. The time that the relationship was healed. You can look back at the past and see the track record of God. It will immediately calm your heart about the future.

Prepare for the Future

Just because God spoke one way in the past or moved in your life in a certain way, it doesn’t mean He will do it in the same way. It is imperative that we remember the past but also prepare for the future. Rarely does God work in the same way.

A lot of times, we miss God and feel like we can’t hear Him because He is working in a way that we never expected. More often than not, when Jesus comes in an unexpected way, we tend to go in the opposite direction.

Example?

Remember the Hebrew people and the 400 years of radio silence we talked about earlier? Yeah. So, God does speak and sends His son the people reject Him. It says this in John 1:11 (ESV), “He came to His own and they rejected Him.” He came to His people. The people who had called out for Him for 400 years, and they did not want Him in the way He came. They tried to cash in on a return policy for Salvation. 

We run in the direction of what we feel is comfortable because the unexpected isn’t always comfortable. The silence of God becomes more comfortable than the presence of God. The very thing the Hebrew people were praying for was not the thing they wanted because of the comfort they found in pain.  

God may just be speaking directly to you, and you are running in the opposite direction because the pain and the torment of yesterday feels more comfortable than the promise of freedom of tomorrow. We become more concerned with the scenario of the Salvation than our spirits. We focus more on the how and the what than the wholeness that He is trying to bring.

We must prepare for the future by opening our minds and hearts to what God could be trying to do while doing the last thing He told us to do and remembering the past. We cannot close ourselves off from the unexpected just because it is uncomfortable.

This is how this looks in practicality:

“Father,

I will stay right where I am until you tell me to move. I remember how you ________ and how you ___________. Thank you for working in my life. Thank you for always being here. I am prepared for the next step. Give me the wisdom and grace to see it when it comes. Help me look for you in unexpected places.

Amen.”

Let me encourage you in this. Just because you feel like you cannot see, feel, or hear God, it does not mean He is not there. I know, without hesitation, that He is faithful to complete what He starts.

Remember those Israelites waiting for 400 years? The ones that rejected Him when He came? Jesus still came. He still died. He still rose again on the third day. He is still the Salvation of the world. He still fulfills every promise. Even through our rejection, even through our running, even through our failures, the promise of God remains.  

Philippians 1:6 (NRSV) says, “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Christ Jesus.”

I am confident. I have certainty. There is not a doubt in my mind. No matter how far you run. No matter what you do. No matter where you go. Jesus will bring the work that He started, not just any work, but a good work. A work that is whole. A work that if fulfilling. A work that is healing. This work that is crafted by Heaven’s hands will be brought to completion in the day of Christ Jesus. 

If you are alive with air in your lungs and blood in your veins, it isn’t the end, because you are still here. The day of completion wasn’t yesterday. The day of completion wasn’t today, and you missed it. It wasn’t because you didn’t go to enough church services or prayed enough prayers in your “prayer closet.” The completion is going to come only because that is the character of God and who He is. He will complete the good thing that He started because He is good. So, if you haven’t seen the breakthrough yet, it might just be around the corner. 

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.”

Seems like God is always making us wait. Rarely does He make a promise then immediately fulfill it. Abraham and Sarah waited 25 years for a son. Joseph waited about 20 years to be king. So did David! And the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years.

Why? Why does God make us wait?

It’s easy for the eternal God to wait. He, after all, has all the time in the world. He could even make more time if He wanted. But for us mere mortals, the clock is ticking—our biological clocks, our financial clocks. We only have a few good years on this planet, and we don’t want to waste any of them. Why should we wait on God? We send up prayers to Him and wait expectantly. After a few hours, days, weeks, or years we shout “Get on with it!!!” like a Monty Python character.

We already spend most of our lives waiting. An average of six months of our lives is at traffic lights and another five years we’re waiting in lines. In fact, we’ve worked hard to eliminate as much waiting from our lives as possible. We stream music instantly, watch movies on demand, and use apps to order food before we even get to the restaurant. So a God who makes you wait adds an unappealing aspect to a religion that already has an antiquated reputation.

But maybe our struggle to eliminate waiting from our lives has had an unintended effect. Could we be breading out something beneficial?

What Patience Isn’t

Patience isn’t about being able to endure long periods of time. Patience is about self-control. It’s about keeping a level head, and being able to calmly and coolly perform a task … even if that task is just waiting.

Ask the father of a 5-year-old how it is to have their son help fix something. Chances are they are no help at all. But they will ask a lot of questions. “What does this do?” “Why are you doing that?” It takes a lot of patience to endure their curiosity while focusing on the task. But the outcome is much greater than just having the thing fixed. The son will have a closer relationship with his father, knowledge, confidence, trust, etc.

Called to Patience

God wants children who are patient.

Patience is love (1 Corinthians 13:4). Patience is a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22). When God makes us wait, He is building our patience. He is building our endurance.

This is a muscle not many possess and fewer use. But those on the receiving end of patience are immeasurably grateful. It takes patience for a surgeon to perform a complicated, life-saving surgery. It takes patience for an architect to design a safe structure. It takes patience for an artist to complete a flawless masterpiece.

Without patience we would be without beauty, shelter or our very lives. So when God gives us patience, He is preparing us to provide for someone else. He is giving us a great tool to teach, protect and lead the next generation.

Patience Is a Bridge

Patience is about spanning a distance. It is building a bridge. God is also about building bridges—bridges across time, generations, tax brackets and social barriers. If these expanses were easily traversable patience wouldn’t be necessary. In order to reach people, God needs workers who are patient—patient to complete it, overcomers, more than conquerors.

Is God making you wait for something? Hurts, doesn’t it? It always does when you start working a muscle you’ve never worked before, or let atrophy. But God is your trainer. He’s there cheering you on when you want to give up saying “Give me one more rep!” Stick with it and He will make sure that muscle gets properly built.

There’s no shortcuts. “Let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” (James 1:4). There is someone on the other side of your wait that God will reach through you.

God is love. And love is patient. So God is our example of perfect patience. He will never leave us nor forsake us. To paraphrase the late great Rich Mullins “Our God is a patient God. He reigns….

…wait for it…

…from Heaven above.”

Beginning in the woods and marshes on the edges of plantations across the deep south, enslaved Black Americans secretly gathered in worship, free from the censorship of white slave owners. Anti–literacy laws made Scripture readings rare. Singing was also limited because it risked discovery. As a result, these underground Christian gatherings beneath the stars were devoted to the only thing Black Americans could do–

Pray.

Prayers of the Antebellum

Though little is recorded of these underground prayer meetings, there are records of prayer events in the antebellum era. Like in 1813, when enslaved and free Black worshipers in Wilmington, Delaware defiantly gathered on French Street to publicly pray for freedom. Or in 1857, when Black and White Christians gathered to pray in Charleston, South Carolina, giving rise to a revival where more than 2,000 diverse people joined together daily for 8 weeks to cry out to God for freedom. Over time, prayers for the end of slavery could be heard from the wooden pews of Quaker meeting houses to the canvas tents of the Second Great Awakening, raising national tensions and speeding the country towards a Civil War.

The events of the Civil War cannot be told apart from the prayers of Black history makers who made it all possible.

Prayers of the Civil Rights

Prayer continued to define Black history in the Jim Crow era, because although emancipation had come, integration and equality had not. After being segregated from white congregations, Black Americans built thousands of new churches so they could continue to worship and pray. Inexorably, after every lynching, every riot, and every devious act of prejudice, Black history makers gathered to pray familiar prayers for freedom in their new churches. In doing so, the next generation of Black history makers learned to pray by watching their grandparents cry out to God with the same fervor they had prayed during slavery.

But as much as the Civil War generation prayed in private, the Civil Rights generation prayed so that the whole world could see.

During the Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1955, Congressman Adam Powell organized a National Deliverance Day of Prayer, bringing together 5,000 people in Manhattan and over 28,000 in Chicago to pray for the efforts in Montgomery. Soon after, Dr. King and the SCLC organized a Prayer Pilgrimage for Freedom, and 25,000 people crossed the country to gather in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial to pray that God would give them the ballot. In 1963, 4,000 Black Christians endured a cold Easter morning to kneel in prayer before armed police on the streets of Birmingham, Alabama.

But for every large-scale prayer event, there were hundreds of smaller, but equally dramatic, public prayers. Like students in McComb, Mississippi who methodically lined up in single file to kneel in prayer on the steps of city hall before being immediately arrested. Or the 600 people who knelt in prayer with Dr. King on the Edmund Pettis bridge outside of Selma, Alabama. Or the 50 people who knelt in the rain to pray outside of the jailhouse that held Dr. King in Bessemer, Alabama.

Like the Civil War, the events of the Civil Rights era cannot be told apart from the prayers of Black history makers that made it all possible.

Prayers of the 21st Century

This month, celebrate Black History by letting history repeat itself within you.

No matter your ethnicity, find a Black congregation in your community and worship with them this month. Either in person, or virtually. But do so with the intent to pray with them and add your voice to the centuries of prayers before you.

If Black history teaches us anything, it’s that tomorrow’s headlines will be written by today’s prayers of Black history makers.

The problem with being ghosted is it leaves you with so many unanswered questions. Was it me? Something I said? Something I did? You’re left with no recourse but to retreat into your own head to overanalyze and obsess. You play back every event, every detail to try and spot your mistake or a warning sign you may have missed, ignored or misinterpreted. Your friends reassure you that there’s nothing wrong with you and that the problem is with the other person (Jerk!). But you still can’t let it go.

Being ghosted hurts. So it’s extra painful when you feel like you’re being ghosted by God. Sometimes God is a “Chatty Cathy” and sometimes He’s more like “Silent Bob”. Maybe you thought you heard God tell you to do something. Maybe you thought God made you a promise. But now you don’t hear anything but static. Or maybe you’ve been praying for direction, confirmation or deliverance with no reply. Just silence.

*cricket*   *cricket*   *cricket*

If you feel like you’re being “ghosted” by God, you’re in good company. God has often been silent to some of his most faithful servants. Take Abraham. God promised to make him the father of many nations. But it was over 20 years before it came about. I often wonder if during all that time Abraham ever asked himself if he misheard God. Or questioned if it was even God he heard. He obviously had his doubts as he (and Sarah) tried to force the situation with a surrogate. Or what about Job who was allowed by God to be tested and practically tortured by the enemy? Surely he had some questions.

Unlike your unrequited dates, you can’t just move on from a silent God. So where do you go? What do you do?

Reread the Texts

We must remember that God communicates in more ways than one.

If God seems silent, ask yourself how much time you’re spending in His word. Even though it was written by many different authors, in many different formats, to many different audiences, the Bible still has a message for YOU! God always has something to say to you through it. And while you might not immediately find the answer to the specific question(s) you’re asking, God will take you on a roundabout journey that will teach you what you really need for your life.

It’s like a flashback scene in a movie that gives you pertinent information you’re going to need to know for the future. While you’re anxious to find out what’s next, you first have to be reminded of what’s happened before.

Go Back To Where You Last Heard From Him

Just as you would retrace your steps if you lost your keys or your phone, looking for a word from God can also be that simple. Where were you when you last heard from Him? What were you going through? What were you reading? What were you saying to Him? If God told you to do something, keep doing it.

I remember as a young child getting separated from my parents at a theme park. I was so scared. But luckily I was smart enough to go back to where I last saw them and wait. It seemed like forever (but was probably just a few minutes) before my parents showed up and we were reunited.

If you’re not sure what to do next, keep doing what you know God last told you to do. God will honor that. It’s not just busy work. It’s God working in you while he prepares that next thing.

Being (Holy) Ghosted

When the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples in the book of Acts, He caused them to preach in different languages so that the Gospel spread rapidly in the multi-cultural melting pot that was Jerusalem.

Today, we tend to define the Holy Spirit as just an inner voice that speaks only to us. I suppose the Holy Spirit does both – speaks to us and through us. But sometimes we’re also ghosted by the Holy Ghost. It’s not that your Holy Spirit is broken or has left you. It might be that you just can’t hear His still small voice clearly and objectively through the fog in your mind.

At times like that, it can be helpful to use someone else’s transmitter. It’s so important to surround yourself with spiritually mature believers. We need them to speak (for the Holy Spirit) into our lives. They can blow fresh air into our fog like an open window and clear out the uncertainty.

If God seems silent, maybe it’s because He’s already said all that you need to hear on the matter. Or maybe He’s just listening. Or maybe He’s already busy at work and needs you to trust Him.

I like to tell people that God is hard to see because He has no edges. He is infinite. He is immeasurable. The needle is pegged. He reaches outside the frame. Just because we can’t see Him or feel Him doesn’t mean He’s not there. God loves you. He pursues you. He’s not ghosting you. He just wants you to pursue Him too.

And then there’s Jamie. Ever since she was a kid, she knew she wanted to get a law degree at Harvard. (Legally Blonde clearly had an impact on her life choices.)

She spent her entire academic career studying for hours, spearheading student council meetings and volunteering at local shelters to boost her application. When she finally made it to Harvard, she couldn’t believe it. She experienced a different kind of disbelief on her graduation day when she felt empty while looking back on her accomplishments.

Years later, she still isn’t quite sure if the sacrifices were all worth it.

Maybe you can relate to these stories, or maybe you have a different story of trauma. The point is, whether it’s made a big or small impact on your life, you’ve likely dealt with some level of trauma. And if you think to yourself that you don’t have any trauma, think again.

“In this exact moment, so many different people are going through hard situations,” Mike Todd, pastor of Transformation Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, explains. “Especially since 2020, so many people have been discouraged in business, in parenting, in relationships, you name it.”

As Todd puts it, we all have our different versions of trauma. It’s not just tragic events. It can be anything that has a major impact on your life and alters your perspective.

For Todd, he’s been through a lot of trauma, but one of the biggest was the “trauma of success.” In this mindset, Todd couldn’t just let things be good; they had to be great. The pressure to do more and better constantly ate away at his joy and his confidence.

Eventually, Todd found he was stuck in a cycle of constantly questioning his life’s value. His trauma paralyzed him and kept him from walking into his true calling. And through prayer and community, he was able to break the cycle of trauma and experience true freedom in life.

Now, he’s helping others do the same. In his latest book, Damaged But Not Destroyed, Todd walks readers through a journey of healing and learning that there’s a whole new world to experience on the other side of trauma.

Where did the message in Damaged, But Not Destroyed come from?

I wanted people to know that value is still in you. I’m looking at so many different people right now who’ve gone through hard and disappointing situations — people whose faith has been disappointed or people have disappointed them — and it’s taken something from them. They feel like their worth has been challenged, their identity has been scarred and maimed. They’re wondering, “Do I still have value?”

But when I look through the Bible, it’s amazing to me how many people God uses who had damage in their life, whether it was jacked-up families or messed-up decisions. He chose to partner with people who are not perfect. He used their damage to be a gateway to their destiny.

In our culture, people try to make you feel ashamed by saying things like, “Man, you messed up. That’s who you are.”

But what you do is an event. Who you are is who God says you are.

I want people to know, no matter what has happened to you or how damaged you think you are, there’s value still in you. God has put value in you that nobody can take away. You have to believe it to start actually dealing with some of the trauma and that’s when you can turn all that trauma into triumph.

What you do is an event. Who you are is who God says you are.

In your book, you share how we can “turn our trauma into triumphs.” Why is that a message we need to hear today?

The message of the book is: The value is still in you, because every day people are trying to devalue you, like they’re trying to force their opinions on what you feel like you’re supporting. They do this in comments, emails and especially through  passive-aggressive communication.

Ever since 2020, a lot of people have become more pessimistic than positive, and they’re not really looking at the bright side. They say things like, “I’m just keeping it real,” and “This is 100% facts.” But, while yes, I believe we have to be real with where we are, that’s not where we have to stay.

I believe that faith begins where understanding ends. We need faith after it doesn’t make any sense. “Peace that passes all understanding” — that means in my understanding, this doesn’t make any sense. But now God’s peace works in, and things start clicking.

So many people, specifically since the pandemic, have been discouraged in business, parenting, and in what they believe they can have in relationships.

But I need people to understand that how you see it is not how God sees it. He sees past the valley. He sees the mountaintop. And sometimes He doesn’t deliver us from it. We have to go through it.

Many times, in my own life, I’ve had to go through trauma, but I didn’t stay there. That damage wasn’t against me. It was a gateway or an opportunity to go back to God and allow Him to take everything that was broken about me and turn it into something that he could use for his glory.

Before we go further, let’s define something: when you talk about “trauma,” what does that entail?

The Mike Todd definition of trauma is simply “anything that impacts you greatly.” A lot of times, people think trauma is just bad things. But in this book, I talk about the trauma of success, because that impacted me greatly.

I think that trauma can be anything from the coach not letting you play when you were in seventh grade on the basketball team to a brother and sister always telling you, “Stop touching my stuff,” to not being accepted into the college that you wanted to attend, to graduating the top of your class but not actually loving what you spent all that time doing.

On the other side of your greatest hurdle is a great victory.

Trauma can happen through anything. It reminds me when the Bible said, “In this life you will have trouble.” I like to say, “In this life you will have trauma.” Trauma, like the trouble, will cause trauma, but the truth of the matter is every trauma, every trouble, is actually an opportunity for you to learn something about yourself and learn something about God.

Unfortunately, a lot of times people use the trauma as an excuse to stay where they’re at instead of the platform to go to where God has them to go.

I can think in my own life how many times my greatest problems in one season became my greatest victories in another. For example, I used to have an addiction to pornography. I remember being so deep in that valley of perversion and thinking, “Will I ever be free from this?”

And actually, saying something about it, confessing to the community I was around, letting the people who actually cared about me know — that was the hardest battle for years. But once that dam broke and I was able to release that, help started coming. Now it’s been a decade and a half that I’ve been away from that addiction.

So I can relate to people now who are still in it. It became my platform. And that’s what I’m just trying to tell everybody: If you face the pain, face the trauma, face the hurt with God’s help, it actually turns your pain into your platform. On the other side of your greatest hurdle is a great victory. Every fail has the potential to turn into something in your favor.

What’s a practical first step for someone who wants to start their healing journey?

The truth of the matter is, most people are so aware of everybody else’s problems that they won’t admit their own. But we’re all damaged. We live in a fallen world. We are surrounded by sin every day. My flesh wants to do the wrong thing every day that I wake up. If you don’t acknowledge something, you’ll never change it.

Many times, acknowledgment is the first step to actually getting healing. So I would just encourage people to look at your life. Look at why you hold on to things. Look at why you don’t answer phone calls when people are trying to get close to you. Look at the things in your life that are normal for you and just trace it back and see, is there any reason why this is happening, and could this be a result or the fruit of something that I haven’t really dealt with?

In the church, we’ve done a bad job of just telling people to pray about it. I do believe prayer is a catalyst and it is the ointment around all of the hard work that we have to do. But I don’t think it’s a cure-all fix-all one time thing. It’s not, “I prayed at the altar or I prayed with my small group person and now I’m done.”

I can’t tell you when I was in youth ministry, how many people were like, “Oh, I feel different now.” And I was like, “Yes, you feel different now, so do a different step now. Go to counseling, go to therapy.” Like now that you feel different, cut those people off. But a lot of people try to walk into the same lifestyle after a moment or an encounter with God.

It took a journey to get where we are, and it’ll be the journey out of it.

What are ways the Church can help other believers on their healing journey?

We’ve got to listen better. When we get people to actually open up to us and tell us that they’re struggling with lustful thoughts or infidelity or abuse as a kid, we don’t have to solve it. We’re not the savior. Most people feel intimidated by people’s problems because they think they have to fix it. You don’t have to fix anybody’s problem. You just have to point you to the One who can fix the problem.

Next, I think that all of us have to do a better job at doing our own work. I’ve found the more that I’m doing my own work — go to counseling, participate in small group, talking and processing things with my wife — it’s easier for me to be there for people who are going through the same thing.

Whether it’s loss, transitions or minor changes, I think that helping somebody means helping yourself. If you start there, that will be so helpful for everyone.

I can’t tell you how many people I’ve been able to help with counseling because my wife and I have been in four years of intensive counseling. I know language now, I can refer books to them, I can do those different things.

The third thing is, point them to the hope that Jesus can change your situation. We have literally tons of examples in the Bible of people being demon-possessed, of people being literally stoned and cast out of communities, and Jesus still touched them. He still went to their situation to heal them.

We know in situations that look dead, things that we have thought there’s nothing that can be done about it, we can have hope that Jesus he can perform a resurrection.

Hope is the fuel for faith. We’re called to encourage people to hope, and not just for a moment. It’s supposed to be sustainable. If you want sustainable healing, it has to come from a place of being accepted and loved and dealing with your issues and being able to be comfortable to keep walking through it. Because we know that our journey with Christ is about progression, not perfection.

For someone who has to take a big step, like leaving a relationship behind, how can they do that in a healthy way?

The first thing I would say is that considering yourself is a great first step, because many people live their lives only considering what others think of them and what others will do. But it is hard to do. The Bible says you can only love your neighbor at the level that you love yourself, and sometimes the greatest thing you could do for everybody around you is to get yourself in a healthy place.

Something that’s important to remember is that what’s not transformed is transferred. If you don’t deal with your trauma, it’s going to someone else.

The Bible talks a lot about the sins of your fathers and the things that are passed down. A lot of times because it was not transformed in you, it’s transferred to another generation. If you can’t figure out how to deal with your issues for yourself, consider the ones you love and actually deal with it for them because There are people on the other side of your healing, as well as on the other side of your damage.

You’ve clearly gone through a lot of healing on your own. What’s it been like on the other side of that journey?

The one thing that I can say at 36 years old is I feel like I’m really living now. I’ve gotten to see how beautiful life is, and I’ve gotten to be more grateful. I’ve gotten to slow down and notice how full of favor my life is because I’m not trying to white-knuckle my way through everything anymore. If something hurts, I acknowledge that it hurt.

It’s almost like you’re watching something in black and white, and then the color comes in. That’s what life is on the other side of healing.

Then you’re able to see other people on the journey and think, “Oh, I know where they’re at. I know they’re in denial right now. They don’t think nothing’s wrong with them, and so I’m not going to tell them nothing’s wrong yet, but I’m going to love them until they trust me.”

Then I could throw a seed and somebody else can water and then it’s God who adds the increase. Basically, and I know it’s cliche, but the journey is better because there’s joy on the other side of it. And it’s a joy that is unspeakable.

Here’s the real secret: You can fulfill the commands of the Bible better by falling in love with God than by trying to obey everything.

It’s not that our obedience to God isn’t significant or relevant; it’s simply not the center of the wheel. No, the hub of our lives is our relationship with God. Our behavior and obedience radiate like spokes from the center of our lives and allow us to roll forward. When we put our external behavior as the turning point, we get stuck. Forward motion must be fueled by love.

Some people are trying to be good people by doing godly things—reading their Bible, praying and serving those in need. But they’re doing it out of a sense of religious duty and obligation, not because they’re in love with God and want to know Him and offer up their lives to Him. Then they wonder why their spiritual lives are so dry. Aren’t they doing everything a good Christian should do? Well, then, why isn’t God coming through with His end of the deal—answering their prayers and giving them the abundant life of peace and joy that Jesus said He brought to us?

The Christian faith is not a business transaction. It’s not an arranged marriage with an exchange of compliance for a dowry of riches. Christianity only works if you’re in love. All relationships are enjoyable when you’re in love.

Some of you are fighting temptations by working on self-control. You’re working on the wrong thing. I’m all for living a disciplined life, but there’s a better way. Temptation is a test of your relationship, not your self-control. Whether you pray or not is not about self-control, either; it reveals your relationship. Do you really want to talk to God? And better still, do you want to listen and hear what He wants to say to you?

It’s time to stop trying to please God and simply love Him. Stop doing things out of obligation. Only do the things that enhance your relationship with Him, the things that please you because they delight Him.

It’s funny, the things we do for love. I hate cleaning out the garage—the time, the effort, the trouble. Sure, the outcome is nice, but is that really how I want to spend a weekend? However, my wife feels like the most loved woman in the world when I help her clean out the garage or tackle a big project that needs doing. It’s better than sending her a dozen roses—well, almost. The point is, I don’t mind cleaning out the garage or buying her roses; I do both because I love her so much that it brings me joy to do something I know she loves.

What we do for God is the same way.

Jesus said, “If you love me, you will obey what I command” (John 14:15, emphasis mine). For years I read that verse this way: “If you love me, you will obey me and prove how much you love me.” But what He’s really saying is that when we love Him, our obedience to Him will flow out of that relationship.

I’m afraid that most of us don’t grasp the enormous extravagance of our Father’s love and the lengths to which He’s willing to go to show His love. That’s why the Apostle Paul prayed that we might know and understand it more and more (Ephesians 3).

One of my greatest revelations of God’s love came when my firstborn son, Michael, was about two years old. My wife was attending a friend’s baby shower and had taken Michael with her. She was sitting in a metal folding chair and didn’t realize he was hanging on the back of her chair. When she got up, he fell backward and pulled the chair right on top of him. The metal chair hit him right on the bridge of his nose and cut it wide open. Minutes later, I got the call that my wife and son were on their way to the emergency room.

As the plastic surgeon began to sew up Michael’s nose, my son screamed: “Daddy, please—help me, Daddy!”

All I could do was watch as the surgeon finished his work. I would have done anything to take my son’s place on that table.

On the way home from the hospital, while Michael slept in the car seat, I cried uncontrollably. And in that moment, God spoke to me: “That’s the way it felt for Me when My Son was on the cross—but I let it happen because I love you, Chris.”

I realized then how great the Father’s love is for me. To allow His Son to go through such pain for me—and for you—is overwhelming. I can’t help but love Him in return. I wish the same for you.

This article is an excerpt from Fresh Air: Trading Stale Spiritual Obligation for a Life-Altering, Energizing, Experience-It-Everyday Relationship With God (Tyndale, 2012).

When I first read that, I remember thinking to myself, “Huh? Why wouldn’t he want to get well?” After all, this man is unable to walk. He is spending time by a fountain that people would go to in order to get healed. Yet, rather than just reaching out to heal this man’s body, Jesus first asks if he wants that to happen.

After years of being a counselor and also observing my own struggles, I am beginning to understand why Jesus may have asked that question. The truth is, as crazy as it seems, we don’t always actually want to get better. We don’t always want to be free from that familiar habit that’s holding us back from growth. And this is the even crazier thing: We don’t always know that we’re resisting at all.

You can hate a bad habit, or be sick and tired of a situation in your life, while there is a part of you that still wants it. You may even be praying earnestly for something to change, but deep down you’re holding on because of a core belief.

For example: Someone plagued with worry may not want to let go because if he does, he wouldn’t be “safe” or “prepared” for what could happen. He may hate the anxiety it causes him, he may even logically understand that his thoughts are unfounded, but if part of him believes he will be in danger without them, well, he’s not going to choose to put them down.

A woman who wants to forgive herself but is still struggling to do so may believe she has to be punished in some way. Part of her knows about the grace of the cross, but another part of her believes God wants her to experience guilt for a while. So no matter how much she wants peace from her inner torment, she can’t allow herself to let it go.

God won’t force even a good thing upon us if we ask for it in one moment, and then put up our hands against it in the next. They key is to uproot those false core beliefs in order to get the whole of ourselves (or the majority) to want to move forward.

Sometimes, this starts with letting ourselves hear that core belief inside that’s causing us to hold on, and then bringing it into the light to see if it’s true.

Perhaps that man by the fountain had lived paralyzed for so long, he had gotten accustomed and comfortable with it. Maybe he was scared of the uncertainties of a new life, or maybe he was unsure about losing the attention of his family—anything is possible. But if he prioritized this “comfort” over seeking a new beginning, he would have refused Jesus’ invitation for healing.

What to Do With Your Core Belief

One way to identify core beliefs that could be hindering you, is by filling in this statement: “The problem with letting this go is ______.” Or “If I let this go then ______.”

It’s important to let any thought come up without judging or analyzing it. Let it pop up to the surface automatically, without overthinking it. Then you can see what’s really there.

It is vital that we not only become aware of the false beliefs we have, but also that we meet them with compassion. Ironically, we won’t be able to let them go if we keep them bottled up because we think it’s wrong to have such thoughts. The pain and fear that fuels those thoughts will not be healed by condemnation, but by love. Only when we are gentle with ourselves will we hear ourselves honestly.

Once we do, we can start to redirect that core belief. Look for evidence that proves it false—like the goodness you deserve as a child of God, or the hope and protection He keeps on your future. Ask for God’s influence to help you feel it and seek it. Look for appropriate Scripture verses to meditate on or a book on the topic.

Spend focused time in prayer asking God’s healing presence to come into that place inside you that created that false belief. Invite Him into the memories of your past experiences and the messages you took from them. Ask the Holy Spirit to bring “truth into your inmost being.”

And you don’t have to do this alone. You need others speaking into your life, reminding you of what is true.

The great news is, our minds can, in fact, be renewed, just as Scripture says. Neuroscientist and author Dr. Carolyn Leaf states that research shows biological changes in the brain when thoughts are changed. She explains that negative thoughts look like dark branches in brain scans, and positive ones look like light-colored branches. Every time a thought rises from our subconscious into our awareness, we have the choice to continue supporting it or to challenge it—we have the ability to change it altogether. At this point, the dark branches can actually vanish, and the new healthy branches will appear. Amazing, right?

Treat your inner change with priority and excitement, because even the decision to renew your mind is a beautiful and hopeful thing. But also understand that this is a process—it can take time for us to release ingrained thoughts and absorb new, truthful ones. Celebrate every step forward—when you get an insight, believe truth more deeply or act in a healthier way. Continue to seek God and remind yourself of what you’ve learned. And if you have the desire, seek out a counselor to walk alongside you.

Lastly, tell yourself that you are able to peacefully let go of what hinders you. You see, no matter what part of us resists it, God’s perfect will for us—His freedom and abundant life—is best for us. And it’s always available for us.

However, since that time, many myths have been added to the greatest story ever told.

Here are nine common myths Christians believe at Christmas:

The Bible Says That Jesus Was Born On December 25th

It’s the age-old question, “Is December 25th Jesus’ birthday?” The answer is that we really don’t know when His actual birthday was. The Bible doesn’t tell us an exact date. So, it begs the question, “How did Christmas land on December 25th”? Some historians believe that it was a Christian reaction to a Roman pagan holiday, while others believe the date is a response to the traditional date of Jesus’ crucifixion in March. Honestly, we don’t really know when Jesus was born, however, two things are certain – Jesus was born of a virgin, and the Bible doesn’t give us an exact date.

The Bible Says Mary Rode into Bethlehem on a Donkey

An extremely pregnant Mary riding into town on a donkey is definitely a common myth most Christians believe is in the Bible. Now, she very well could have made the 65-mile trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem on a donkey. Nevertheless, the account of this story, in Luke 2:1 – 6, does not specifically teach this. Nevertheless, we all should consider how tough Mary was to make this trip while being pregnant, because most of us men can’t get out of bed if we have the common cold.

The Bible Says There Were 3 Wisemen

One of the most popular Christmas carols, “We Three Kings,” shows the commonality of this particular myth. The Gospel of Matthew describes these men as magi or wise men. People commonly think there were three in number, because the Bible details the fact that they brought three gifts – gold, frankincense and myrrh. But, this doesn’t mean there were three magi; there could just as easily have been four, eight, or 10. Also, one could ascertain that these guys were the very first Essential Oils dealers.

The Bible Says a Star Hovered Over the Manger

You’d be hard-pressed to find a nativity scene that doesn’t include a bright shining star hovering above it. It’s definitely a nice sentiment and symbol. The problem is there’s no reference to this in Gospels. The magi were given a star that first lead them to Jerusalem (Matthew 2:1 – 2), then on to Bethlehem (v. 9 -10) where they found the child. In jealousy, King Herod gave a command that all babies in the region younger than 2-years-old to be killed (v. 16). This suggests that Jesus had been in Bethlehem for some time at this point, so neither the wise men nor the star, were hovering over the manger the night Jesus was born.

The Bible Says Jesus Was Born In a Barn or Stable

Just about every nativity set places the baby Jesus in a barn, surrounded by animals. Once again, this is an assumption because the Bible does not specify this. The Scriptures actually say, “And she gave birth… and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn (Luke 2:7).” It’s easy to assume that Jesus was born in a barn or stable, because of the manger mention. A manger is a feeding trough for animals. However, these feeding troughs were also commonly used inside homes, because families would sleep upstairs while small animals were kept downstairs on cold nights.

The Bible Says There Was A Little Drummer Boy

A little drummer boy playing his drum – pum pum pum pum. That’s what all first-time parents want, right? Mary and Joseph haven’t had any sleep. The birthing arrangements and location haven’t been ideal, but yes, please come play your drum for my newborn baby boy. Just make sure you play it as loud as humanly possible. It doesn’t make much sense, and there is no account of this ever happening.

The Bible Says Jesus Was Born In 0 A.D.

“B. C.” stands for “before Christ”, and “A. D.” stands for a Latin phrase anno domini; which means “in the year of the Lord.” However, according to Matthew 2:1, Jesus was born during the days of Herod the king. Most historians place Herod’s death at 4 B. C. With Herod ordering all boys 2-years old and younger in the area to be killed before his on own death. It seems as though a more proper estimate of Jesus birth would have sometime between 4 B. C. and 6 B. C.

Saying Merry X-mas Is “Taking Christ Out Of Christmas”

Over the last decade or so, many Christians have felt like there is a “War on Christmas.” Some believers see the phrase, “Merry Xmas”, as an attempt to remove Christ from Christmas. Although, some people may be deliberate in their attempts, the statement by itself is not offensive. The first letter in the Greek word for “Christ” is chi. In the Roman alphabet, chi is represented by the symbol – X. Therefore, Xians don’t have to be flustered by hearing or seeing, “Merry Xmas!”

Saying Happy Holidays Is “Taking Christ Out Of Christmas”

This statement may be an attempt at being “politically correct.” However, holiday literally means, “holy day”. Celebrating the birth of Jesus definitely makes it a holy day. Thankfully, because of the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus; everyday can be a happy holy-day. To the believer, Christmas shouldn’t be a one-day celebration, but rather, a lifestyle of celebrating the truth that Jesus is Immanuel – God with us.

Find out more about my new book, 9 Common Lies Christians Believe: And Why God’s Truth is Infinitely Better.

The truth is, everyone who claims Christ as their savior should be using this phrase daily. And I don’t mean ironically while you’re in line and you can’t decide between the White Chocolate Mocha or the Pumpkin Spice latte.

I like to think of this saying as a reminder for us to show love when love is hard to show. To be kind when kindness doesn’t even cross your mind. To be forgiving in a situation when forgiveness seems impossible. To remain humble in circumstances where humility doesn’t seem like an option.

The Father sent Jesus to earth to die on our behalf, to make eternity with our Creator a reality. He also experienced the pain and hardships of life we face every day; He knows just what we encounter. He provides us with numerous examples in the Bible as to how to respond to any situation that we face.

We are called to be imitators of Jesus in everything we do, in every encounter we face, and to every person we are acquainted with. This “what would Jesus do” idea is not just for good Instagram captions, it’s good for when you’re feeling lost and alone.

It’s “usable” for situations God has placed in your life that you are unsure how to approach. For example, it works for people who are trickier to deal with than others. The apostle Paul says it best in Philippians 2:5: “In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus.” He is saying to be like Jesus.

Being imitators requires digging into God’s Word and seeking His ways. Think about the problems you face. I realize that my problems usually weren’t actually the problem. Rather, my real problem was the way I was responding to situations apart from engaging what Jesus would do (or did) in my situation. Jesus’ life constantly exhibits how His followers should act and react.

My mind immediately goes to Jesus carrying His cross toward Golgotha. Any insult anyone could think of, any physical pain anyone could experience was thrown upon Him all at once. I think about if He would have ended it all right there—how much easier for Him it would have been. But He lived out his mission in obedience to God the Father. That’s my ideal representation of the way I should strive to be like Jesus.

One chapter over, in Philippians 3:17, Paul says, “Brothers, join in imitating me, and walk according to the example you have in us.” It’s impossible, Paul seemed to be saying, to be a follower of Christ and not an imitator of Christ. It’s almost like he’s saying, “Ask yourself, What would Jesus do during every situation you face?”

I am a pastor’s daughter, raised in the Bible Belt of the U.S., a region that spans from Central and West Texas to the East Coast, as far north as West Virginia. These boundaries, of course, are debatable, but it certainly felt like I’ve lived in the Bible Belt growing up in Texas. And it certainly felt like this when I arrived in Oxford, England, in 2008, wide-eyed and with absolutely no clue what I had just gotten myself into.

Back home in Texas, I attended a Christian university.

In Oxford, I wondered if I might be the only Christian at my university.

Back home, I volunteered at Christian youth gatherings like Young Life.

In Oxford, I one time found myself at a gathering for college students called the Atheist Society.

Back home, I had quiet times every morning.

In Oxford, I had quiet times, but they felt eerily quiet, as if nobody was listening.

When it came to my faith, Oxford shook me up and out and everywhere. That’s what happens when you are plucked out of everything familiar and comfortable and dropped into a world that is much bigger than Texas, much bigger than the faith of your childhood.

Seeing faith through the eyes of my atheist and agnostic friends in class revealed to me how absolutely insane Christianity appears to the non-believer. A guy, who is “God’s Son,” died on a cross for our sins? You can’t just go around saying that kind of stuff in Oxford. It sounds nuts.

Maybe, I wondered, it is nuts.

Maybe you’re wondering that too. Maybe it’s been a long time since your conversion, and you’re really not sure about all this God and Jesus stuff anymore. Maybe you’re a logical and reasonable person, and faith isn’t making sense right now. Maybe you’re an emotionally driven person, and you can’t remember that last time you felt the presence of God.

No matter where on the journey of doubt you find yourself, you may find it helpful to keep these three things in mine:

1. Don’t deny or fear your doubt.

Doubt is not the absence of faith; it is a critical and necessary step on the path toward faith, however crooked that path may be. I doubt the faith of people who haven’t doubted much more than those who have a longtime relationship with doubt. I am skeptical of the non-skeptical.

Oswald Chambers says it best: “Always make a practice to stir your own mind thoroughly to think through what you have easily believed. Your position is not really yours until you make it yours through suffering and study.”

Sometimes faith comes very naturally, and sometimes everything we’ve ever believed is suddenly thrust under a microscope and we are forced to examine it. It’s okay to look. In fact, please look. Because if you don’t, what are you looking at instead?

I have found in my life that the times I experience the most growth in my beliefs came after a time of wrestling, a time of sitting in the uncomfortable unknown and asking God about it. I once heard someone call this “going to the mat with God.” It’s that idea of Jacob wrestling the angel in Genesis 32. In light of that story, God certainly doesn’t mind your questions. You can ask them all night.

Addie Zierman wrote recently: “Wrestle. Rage. Blow the whole thing up. This is not how you lose faith. This is how you claim it.”

2. Talk to the people who talk to God.

I once heard author and pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber speak. During the question and answer session at the end, a guy stood up and said, “I had faith and it was strong, but now I’m doubting. I feel weak in my faith. What should I do?”

Bolz-Weber’s suggestion? “You can take a break now. Let someone else on the pew be strong for you.”

I like this idea of giving each other permission to take a break from trying and let the others on the pew be strong for us for a little while. A friend did this for me in Oxford. Though, I don’t think he knew he was doing this. In fact, neither did I, not until I looked at my Oxford story in hindsight.

I talked to this friend more than I talked to God that year. It’s not that he and I had deep conversations about apologetics or that we read the Bible together or prayed. We didn’t do those things. We were just friends who hung out and talked like normal people, but something about his presence, something about his nearness brought the exact amount of encouragement I needed at that exact time.

When I couldn’t, I knew he talked to God. I didn’t know this because he told me. I knew because in his spirit was a quietness and a steadiness.

When you can’t talk to God, talk to someone who can.

3. Something is happening.

Christian Wiman wrote in his book My Bright Abyss, “Doubt is painful…but its pain is active rather than passive, purifying rather than stultifying. Far beneath it, no matter how severe its drought, how thoroughly your skepticism seems to have salted the ground of your soul, faith, durable faith, is steadily taking root.”

One of the most difficult things about doubt is it can feel like nothing is happening. God has gone silent. Scripture sounds empty. The nothingness can be hard to bear. But let me tell you, as your friend who is talking to God right now, that God doesn’t do nothingness. That’s not really the business he is in.

Isaiah 55:10-11 says, “As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish…so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”

To echo Wiman, could it be that something is happening beneath the surface? Something you will not see during the wrestling and during the nothing, but that you will see so brightly and clearly after?

It’s not an idea you have to cling to right now, but toss it around. See how it feels. Perhaps a little hope will squeeze through the crack.

Andrea Lucado is a freelance writer based in Austin, Texas. She is the author of English Lessons: The Crooked Path of Growing Toward Faith and blogs regularly at AndreaLucado.com. Follow her on Instagram or Twitter: @andrealucado.

Editor’s note: This article was originally published in 2019. 

My day started out innocently enough. I puttered around the kitchen hovering in front of my espresso machine. There was no flight to catch. No early morning meeting to shower for. There was perfect stillness.

Which is the very reason I should have paused to bask in God’s goodness to me. I should have known better than to turn on my phone. Believe me. I know now. I see social media as an opportunity to connect with my friends. Flipping through posts would be kind of like having coffee with confidants. Longing for connection with others is great if it’s the right time and place. This wasn’t either. 

As I scanned my Twitter feed, I began to recognize my stream of friends acknowledging a list. This wasn’t just any list. This was the list—one I very much wanted to be part of.

Scanning the names, it wasn’t long before I realized I had not made the list. Just about everyone else I knew was on it. People I had mentored made the list. Someone who translates my books into Spanish had made the list.

You may be wondering what this list was and why was it so important to me.

It was a list of the top 100 female ministers in America.

Ridiculous questions and comparisons flew through my mind. I read the postscript that trailed the list. Apparently, the author admitted that there might be room for oversight and some women who should have been added to her list didn’t make it. To rectify this, she had provided room for additions.

I scrolled down.

Would it be wrong to add my own name?

Was I serious? Of course it would be!

Maybe I could have my assistant add my name. Realizing I was teetering ridiculously close to the brink of junior high insanity, I went looking for my husband. 

A fluffy whirlwind of pajamas, I stormed into his office bewailing, “John, I’m not on the list!”

My Bible-reading babe was confused. With my arms flailing about, I shared who was on the list and my obvious frustration of not being on it. When my rant was done, he calmly suggested a few Bible passages for me to review. 

This was not the response I was looking for. I wanted him to say, “Lisa, I am so sorry. I agree there has been an awful mistake. Bring me my phone. I will add you to the list.” But he didn’t.

No sympathy was going to be found in the company of my husband. I stormed out of his office yelling, “I don’t need to read those Bible verses to know I’m wrong! I know I’m wrong! But knowing I’m wrong doesn’t make this feel right!”

Now I was mad at the concept of the list and frustrated with the author. Have you ever had one of those moments when you feel as though you are on the outside of yourself watching a crazy woman? That’s the moment I was having. 

I put down my phone, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it go. As I exhaled, I heard the Holy Spirit gently ask, “Lisa, would you be this upset about the list if you were on it?”

Truth time. I would not have. I would’ve used my social media platform as a way of pointing others to the list.

Busted.

I am the wife of one, the mother of four and a grandmother, and yet when I disconnect from my true identity I can still struggle with the cruelty of comparison. 

When we look to others for our affirmation, we will always feel as though we are on the outside looking in. To be quite honest, there is no single person who can completely fill the void of affirmation in your life. (Sorry—even if your husband is perfect, it is not going to happen.) There is no lifetime achievement list or award that can ever write with assurance the words God alone can scribe on your heart: Loved, beautiful, valued, intimately known, mine.

No matter what it looks like from the outside, God understands what causes the quaking of a woman’s heart, and God knows how to calm the frenzy of women in pajamas who forget to still their souls before comparison comes to steal their peace. 

As Theodore Roosevelt so aptly wrote, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

Comparison has a pull to it. If allowed to, it will always move you away from your truest center. Comparison will attempt to puff you up through the insidious vehicle of pride, or it will push you down through the tyranny of insecurity. Either way it will not be long until you feel as though you are off-kilter and on the outside looking in.

I hate seeing anyone intentionally left out. Yet there are times when feeling on the outside is the only thing that causes us to look within. In that way, the list was a gift because it located me.

So how about those Scriptures, the ones John suggested, the ones I knew? First, there is 2 Corinthians 10:12: 

Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding. (ESV)

Learn from me. Don’t you dare classify, compare or commend yourself. Why? It is an action of pride, even if the comparison you make is unfavorable. Pride imbalances one end of the spectrum, while insecurity cripples the other. There is but one true measure, the immeasurable Christ.

Here’s another one of the Scriptures I could have turned to: John 5:44:

How do you expect to get anywhere with God when you spend all your time jockeying for position with each other, ranking your rivals and ignoring God? (The Message)

Why would we waste our time ranking our rivals when we have been invited into the presence of the unrivaled God? Whenever I allow my life to be defined by people, I find my connection with my heavenly Father slipping. Soon my vantage is distorted by what I see and hear people say about who I am, and I forget God’s declaration of who I am becoming. 

I hope you can laugh at my ridiculous morning and arrest any of your own tendencies toward comparison. The opportunity to know Jesus is our highest privilege. When I reached for my phone rather than choosing to know Him more, I chose the lesser thing.

Let’s not be satisfied with human lists and comparisons. When we notice the pangs of inadequacy that rivalry inflicts, let’s hit our knees and ask for a revelation of the One who is without rival.

Sometimes, that mystery is so daunting that it scares us away from praying at all. Or, more likely, we only really pray when we need something we don’t know how to get. A new job. Healing for sickness. Enough money to make rent.

Those sorts of prayers are valid but author and pastor Dr. Derwin Gray says they’re a small part of the full picture of prayer. He talked to us about his book God, Do You Hear Me? and what it might look for us to enter into a fuller picture of a life of prayer.

This conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

So your book is all about prayer. Of all the many things you could focus on, why choose prayer?

I wrote God, Do You Hear Me? Discovering the Power of a Prayer God Always Answers because number one, I have a passion for Jesus and his Kingdom. And number two, I have a passion for people to discover Jesus and his kingdom. Prayer is the front door that opens up this beautiful home with all of these rooms. And in each room is an attribute of God, the ways of God, the passion of God. And we begin to walk in and we kind of say, “OK, this is what I need.”

But what you find is prayer is so much more than asking for what we need because Matthew 6:8 says: “God already knows what we need.” And then Jesus says it again in Matthew 6:32, “God already knows that we need.” We spend so much time asking God for things that we don’t ask God for God.

Prayer is not primarily about getting stuff. Prayer is intimacy with a Father that loves us. One of the beautiful things that Jesus did because in the Old Testament, God has various names that reveal his various actions. When Moses is being used by God to deliver the children of Israel, God gives him His sacred name: Yahweh. I Am that I Am. It means a self in eternal or mighty one. And throughout Scripture, we see that God is the Father of Israel and that Israel is called His son. And then when we see Jesus, He is the eternal son of God in human flesh. And He says for us to call him father, the aramaic, which Jesus used was, was Abba.

The closest that we can get in English is the word pappa, a term of endearment. It’s a term of intimacy. It’s a term of tenderness. We serve a God who has all power and all tenderness. We serve a God who is just and who is gracious. These attributes are not in competition, but they overflow out of God’s divine love. God is love. So therefore He is father. Therefore He is tender. Therefore He is just. Therefore He is holy.

So prayer is God saying, “I want you to see me. And I want you to learn from me. I want you to experience my power because you’re my image bearer and you will bear my image into the world.” That’s called worship.

When we deduce prayer to be a mantra or a spiritual ATM or superstition, we’re really not praying. We’re actually using God and God doesn’t want to be used. God wants to be worshipped. Because when we worship, we become who we were created to be.

These misconceptions you’re talking about — prayer as a mantra, a superstition, an ATM — how have they become so prevalent in our ideas of prayer?

It’s important for all of us to understand that we are a localized people. So as people in the West, we are what’s called children of the Enlightenment. During the Enlightenment, Rene Descartes was a Christian philosopher who was combating atheism and came up with a philosophical thought that he thought would prevent atheism, but actually brought in a secular/sacred divide. And what he said is, “I think, therefore I am.” Before Descartes launched that into to the world. It was because there is a God. You didn’t define who you were. Your higher being did. I am because of the great I am. He’s the one in whom we live and move and have our being.

But once the Enlightenment project began to sweep through Europe and eventually through America, it made us hyper-individualized. When we read the Lord’s prayer, it says “our father,” but we read it is “my father.” And so we have a culture that is very individualized. Then we’ve taken a culture that is very consumer based. So we live in a culture that says this “it’s about you and get as much as you can.”

The Gospel, the Good News of Jesus is saying “No, it’s actually about God.” And when you lose your life in God Christ Jesus, you actually discover your life. And it looks more like Philippians 2:3, which says, “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but consider others better than yourselves.”

So because of our individualism and because of our consumerism, we approach God like he’s a product at Target. “Hey, I’m sick. So let me go to Target and pray down some healing.” “Hey, I don’t have a job. So let me go down and pray for a job.”  “I need this to happen. So let me pray.

Even before I was a Christian — I didn’t become a Christian till I was 25 — I would find myself praying prayers, but they really wasn’t prayers Tyler. There was no desire to align myself to God’s will. Prayer does not change God’s mind. Prayer changes us so that we can understand the mind of God. Philippians 2:5 says “We have the mind of Christ.” And the mind of Christ is one of saying, not my will be done, but thine will be done.

So what I’ve tried to do from over two decades of ministry is I want to help people see that that the prayers we’re praying is like splashing in mud puddles compared to what God wants us to do.

What, in your mind, is a better way to think about prayer?

Let’s go back 2000 years in Luke 11 and in Matthew 6:9-13. Jesus’ disciples are like, “Hey Jesus, we see John’s disciples learned to pray. Will you, will you teach us to pray?” So Jesus enrolls them into the school of prayer. He wants to enroll us into the school of prayer too.

Here’s, what’s beautiful about the Lord’s prayer.  Number one, the Lord’s prayer is a mini-catechism of the life of Jesus. If someone doesn’t know who Jesus is, you can use the Lord’s Prayer to show them.

Think about it. “Our Father.” No one had a closer relationship to the Father than Jesus. “Your name is holy.” In other words, all other false gods, move to the side. “And I’m the love you with all my heart, mind, soul  and strength to love neighbors as I love myself.”

Let’s just pause there. Imagine for just 20 seconds if we could live with this upward, inward, outward love. That we are overwhelmed with the love of God that we love Him so much. Self-hatred, shame and guilt is eradicated because God sees me as He sees his son. Then that moves me into the world to love people with no strings attached. That’s a beautiful day. That’s what it means to say “Your name is holy, Jesus.

What is the kingdom of God? You want to know? Jesus is the kingdom of God. When he healed, he’s the kingdom of God. When he met a Samaritan woman, that’s the kingdom of God. Everything that Jesus did is an embodiment of the Kingdom. And Jesus is saying “when you trust me, I want to invite you into a whole new way of being.” He’s the bread of life. He’s the one who forgives. He’s the one who defeated dark powers of sin, death and evil.

So number one, the Lord’s prayer. Reorients us towards Jesus and who he is. God doesn’t want to be used. He wants to be worshipped. We’re so accustomed to using people that we even want to use God. We pray more for things to go our way. So often we pray very self-centric prayers. I have a daughter that’s 25 and I got a son that’s 21. And when they were younger, they would ask for things that were not in their best interest. And because I love them, I didn’t give it to them. Well, the Lord’s Prayer is God saying, I’m showing you what’s in your best interest. Join me in this prayer become who’ve are created you to be

This sort of gets at why so many of us often feel like our prayers aren’t really being heard. In this context, by your definition, we’re not even really praying.

I think it’s important for us to have humility and empathy, to understand that most people have not had a prayer life model to them. Most of us have been taught that prayer is basically Blab and Grab: “If I say this the right way, I can change God’s mind.”

What I want to do is I want to be a part of a movement where a generation of people actually listen to Jesus’s words and say, “Lord align my heart to it.”

I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate here, but as I’m sure you know, there are times when Christians long for physical healing, don’t know where the next rent check is coming from or can’t afford groceries. How should they go about praying for the things they need?

I’m with you. It’s legitimate. One of the things that I do in the book is I walk people through the section on “Jesus is the bread of life.” As I walk people through Matthew chapter 6, verses 21 all the way through 34 where Jesus is saying, “Hey, don’t worry about what you’re going to eat. Don’t worry about what you’re going to drink. Don’t worry about what you’re going to wear. Hey, I clothed the lilies of the field, the birds.”

He’s saying all these things, and here’s where worry turns to worship. We can either worry or we can worship. Jesus says this in Matthew 6 32: “You don’t think your Father knows that you need these things?” And in verse 33 says, “but seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all of these things will be provided to you.”

So the Lord’s Prayer really gets us back to the heart of the issue. These six or seven lines show God’s heartbeat for you and for me. He’s inviting us to say, “Hey, come in and sit down with me.”

You can order Dr. Derwin Gray’s God, Do You Hear Me? Discovering the Power of a Prayer God Always Answers right here.

I spent a good portion of my early life in church. My mother tells me I attended my first service when I was no more than two-weeks-old. After that, I was there for Sunday School, Sunday morning worship, and Sunday evening worship as well. I was right back in the pew on Wednesday for our mid-week “prayer meeting.” During at least one week each year, I attended church every night of the week during our annual revival services. If I went to camp, it was church camp, where mid-morning chapel and evening services were daily requirements during the week.

So much church… 

And yet, I somehow missed the message that God loved me. Instead, I became convinced that God was a harsh task master who was ready to punish me at a moment’s notice. God, I suspected, was disappointed in me even in my best moments and filled with burning wrath for me in my worst. 

Just as the hobbits Frodo and Sam hid from the Eye of Mordor in J.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, I spent my childhood hiding from a terrifying, angry God.

As a teenager, I sank into the depths of despair. I thought about taking my life… a lot. One Sunday afternoon I could face my perceived worthlessness no longer. I dug through the bottom of the bathroom linen closet and found an old hard plastic box of razor blades. Then, I turned out the bathroom light and crawled into the shower to end my life. 

But God foiled my plans.

No matter what I did, the box of razor blades would not open. Sobbing in fury, I stumbled from the shower and over to the toilet where I slammed the box down onto the porcelain top of the tank over and over again in an attempt to break it open. It barely sustained a scratch. 

Exhausted and utterly defeated, I threw the box into the bottom of the linen closet in disgust. I remember looking down at it as it lay in a tumble of old sheets and worn out bath towels and thinking that I couldn’t do anything right, not even take my own life.

Then I looked down at my watch, wiped my tears, splashed some water on my face, and took a deep breath. 

It was time for church. If I was late, I would pay for it.

After all, my father was the pastor.

Twenty years later, I found myself sitting on a hillside in Israel. An ancient stone wall was beneath me, a pale blue sky above me, and a lifetime of condemnation and shame was wrapped around my soul. A valley stretched out below me, soft and beautiful under the rays of the setting sun, as my guide and teacher, Dr. James Martin, read from a verse of scripture that had always haunted me like no other.

“About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”) Matthew 27:46 niv.

Even as a small child, I just couldn’t understand it- How could God turn away from His only Son as was suffering and dying on a Roman cross? If God could reject Jesus in a moment like that because He was too defiled with the sins of the world, what hope was there for me?

But Dr. Martin explained there was something else happening in that moment, something that was readily apparent to Jesus’s followers when they heard Jesus’s cry from the cross. There was a deeper truth at play that I, removed from the moment by infinite differences in culture and time, could not have imagined.

Dr. Martin explained that Jesus was using a well-known Semitic teaching device called a remez. A “remez” is a hint, a cue to look back and remember something one has already learned. In this case, Jesus was pointing his followers back to Psalm 22 by quoting the first verse of the Psalm.

Psalm 22 begins in despair, but it doesn’t end there. After the Psalmist initial cry of, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he begins to remember that God has cared tenderly for him from the moment of his birth. Finally, in verse 24, he realizes his initial belief that God had forsaken him wasn’t true at all-

“For he has not despised or scorned
    the suffering of the afflicted one;
he has not hidden his face from him
    but has listened to his cry for help 

(Psalm 22: 24 NIV)”

This is what Jesus was telling his disciples as He used a “remez” to point them to Psalm 22. In essence, He was saying, “Look, I know this looks bad. I know that as you watch me suffer and die it must seem like God has stepped out of the picture, but that isn’t true! Remember Psalm 22? My God is right here with me. He hasn’t left me in my suffering, not for one minute. He is so very near. So, my friends, have hope. This is not the end.”

When Dr. Martin explained this, I thought- Maybe I have had it all wrong. Maybe God does love me after all…

This is what I hope you find in the pages of my book, Advent: The Story of Christmas (Dayspring 2019). In the years since I returned from Israel, I have eagerly researched the history, culture, and geography of the Bible. Through ancient Egyptian reliefs depicting Semitic people arriving in Egypt to buy grain during times of famine, I learned what Joseph’s brother’s clothes, hair, and weapons like. The archeological discovery of tiny, beautifully preserved dioramas in the tomb of an Egyptian nobleman revealed what day to day life was like for the Israelites during the long years they suffered under the yoke of Egyptian slavery. 

As I studied the migration of Abram and Sarai, I traced their most likely routes along maps of ancient roadways in Palestine and in the Fertile Crescent. 

Sometimes, the things I discovered shocked me. Imagine my surprise when I realized that much of the information in the Christmas Pageants of my childhood was drawn not from scripture, but from a Christian novel. The Protoevangelium of James was written by an anonymous author around 200 A.D. who most likely had never even been to Palestine and therefore, did not understand the culture or geographical background essential to the story!

There were days I spent wrestling with the stories I had always heard as they conflicted not only with cultural background, but sometimes the scriptures themselves. For instance, I was told that Jesus was a two-year-old toddler when the wise men came to visit, but we know Mary and Joseph were far from their home in Nazareth, and Joseph’s livelihood, when Jesus was born in Bethlehem. It would have been impractical and unreasonable for them to linger in Bethlehem for two years.

Additionally, Luke 2:39 clearly tells us that once Joseph and Mary had done everything required of them by Levitical law following Jesus’s birth, they returned home to Nazareth. Mary and Jesus’s time of purification would have been completed in weeks, not years. Even if we allow some additional time for Mary to fully recover from childbirth before making the long journey back to Nazareth, Jesus would have still been a baby when the Wise Men arrived.

The hours spent in research have been sweet ones for me, but I understand that not everyone enjoys reading archeological reports, or books on the culture and history of the Bible. This is why I have taken all I have learned and turned it into narrative. It is my hope that by wrapping these truths in the power of story that my readers will discover that God loves them more than you ever imagined. This Advent season, we will journey together from Eden to Jerusalem, following the scarlet ribbon of God’s great redemptive plan as it is drawn throughout the annals of history by ordinary men and women.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel. Our hearts long for You…

Adapted from Advent: The Story of Christmas by Sherri Gragg (Dayspring 2019). Sherri Gragg is the author of five books including her latest, Advent: The Story of Christmas. 

Thanks to Amazon and Apple, we can walk around our homes like we’re straight out of The Crown, the rightful Queens and Kings of our own — and highly personalized — digital dominion.

Every TV show, movie and song in history? On demand.

Your 17 Social Media accounts? Up in 0.5 seconds.

Food delivered to your doorstep? There’s an app for that.

Clothes? Home Goods? Books? Gifts? And any other thing you could ever want or need in this life? Amazon.

This digital world has gotten us accustomed to a click lifestyle, a lifestyle in which nearly every human need or urge — however healthy or destructive — can be immediately fulfilled with almost no effort or wait on our part.

Click, Thai Food. Click, porn. Click, new clothes. Click Marijuana. Click, new Nikes. Click, Jack Daniels. Click, new car.

In a world of 5G and fiber optic — a world that literarily didn’t exist 30 years ago — waiting, it seems, is quickly becoming non-essential.

Every Wednesday night, some buddies from college and I log in to Zoom, drink whiskey, talk about life and challenge each other to be better men.

A few weeks ago, one of the guys offered up a thought to the group that has been banging around my brain since.

“We all have habits,” he said. “The question we need to ask is what are these habits doing to us?

“Habits move us in a specific direction,” he continued. “Where are yours moving you?”

He finished talking and there was a pause.

“Shoot,” I thought. “I’m gonna need another drink.”

Habits are powerful. We’re responsible for creating them and yet they deeply shape us.

One dictionary defines these forces of nature as “an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary.” A fine line exists between free will and involuntary behavior, it seems. Let me give you an example.

If you binge Netflix every night for a specific length of time, eventually, you will find you cannot stop binging Netflix every night. When you began watching, you were making a choice to engage in this activity. A year later, your involuntary habit has become so engrained in your life that it feels like you have little choice in the matter. You now bing as if on auto drive.

If we engage in a repetitive and specific action long enough, we will find that this action has morphed into something more powerful, more entrenched, more influential in our daily lives.

Now, habits can be a powerful force for good.

Waking up early. Eating a healthy breakfast. Exercising regularly. Spending time with people you love. Limiting your screen time. Reading. Working hard at what makes you come alive. Going to bed early. These are just a few examples of habits that pay enormous dividends once they become a regular pattern in your life.

Habits are like accruing interest. The longer you engage in positive behavior, the greater the impact will be on your life and the lives of those around you. Just ask Oprah, Bill Gates, Barak and Michelle Obama, Lebron James, Tom Brady or any other human being who excels. The personal habits they chose to foster have become so powerful, impactful and entrenched in their lives that their actions move millions of people towards the greater good.

While habits can be a powerful force for the good, they can also be utterly and completely destructive.

I work for a homeless service agency in South L.A. Everyday, our staff works on behalf of people facing a housing crisis. Many of the people we advocate for have experienced trauma and pain and have lost their housing as a result. They are not responsible for their housing insecurity. However, there are some people we work with who have lost everything due to the habits they’ve created.

Substance use evolved into substance abuse. A physical altercation morphed into an appetite for violence. Unwise financial choices transformed into habitual bankruptcy. Isolation from friends and family resurfaced as debilitating depression. Simple and seemingly harmless choices were repeated again and again. These choices have now taken on a life of their own and are running the show, auto drive fully engaged.

Habits move us in a specific direction. They guide us towards the light or plunge us into darkness. They lead to love and inclusive plurality or they drag us deeper into selfishness and singularity.

The question we must be willing to ask ourselves is this: where are my habits moving me?

Every year, millions of people around the world observe a period of time called Advent. Simply translated, Advent means waiting.

One of the purposes of Advent is to create or reestablish a new habit — a habit of expectation, of patience for something better, something promised that hasn’t yet happened.

The events of this past few years have applied enormous pressure to our click lifestyle. The cracks that formed early on are now gaping canyons. It would seem the real world didn’t get the memo: if we were Kings and Queens of some digital dominion, Alexa is the only one listening.

Habits that had proven so effective and convenient in this alternate universe were no match for reality. Click, Vaccine? Click, brotherly love? Click, peaceful transition of power? Never before had we been so misguided or misdirected by our collective habits. The one virtue we needed most this year is the one virtue our clicks nearly destroyed.

Yes, the year has asked much of us. But at the heart of this complex request is something quite simple:

Have patience.

Pause.

Wait.

Breath.

Learn to have greater expectation for something — or someone — better.

If you find yourself — as I have — lacking that one, essential virtue, below are simple and practical steps you can take to move closer to patience and closer to peace.

1. Get Stuck in Traffic. Practice makes perfect. What better way to foster patience than to wait aimlessly in a sea of cars when you clearly have somewhere better to be? While you’re stuck though, look around you. Are there people you love in the car? Is there a good song on the radio? Breath deep and ask yourself how can I enjoy this moment? You might be surprised by the answer.
2. Limit Over Exposure to Technology. We know Alexa thinks you’re the best and Netflix doesn’t make you wait for the next Office episode, but the real world doesn’t work the way. The perennial adage rings true: old habits die hard which means you have a long road ahead of you. Instead of listening to music on Spotify, try listening to a record. Instead of scrolling endlessly through Netflix, play a dvd (yes, they still exist). The simple act of flipping the record to listen to the other side or inserting the dvd into the player are monumental acts that, over time, slowly dismantle the click lifestyle and all her habits.
3. Buy Coffee for the Homeless Person on the Corner. You know who I’m talking about. We all know one. While you’re at it, ask them how they’re doing today. I bet you’ll be blown away by the answer — and you’ll probably find yourself losing track of time as well.
4. Wait for the Right One. COVID has made the dating scene iffy at best. But while you’re waiting for Mr. or Mrs. Right to magically appear at your door like Jude Law in The Holiday, think about the kind of person you want to be. What are you passionate about? What makes you come alive? What are your values? If you do the hard work of asking these types of questions and honestly searching out the answers, you may find a whole different type of person now finds you compelling.
5. Participate in Advent this Year. Advent begins the Sunday after Thanksgiving and goes until Christmas. During one of the most chaotic years we’ve lived through, take time to pause and practice the art of expectation. While Advent is a spiritual holiday observed by Christians, the concept of Holding Out for a Hero is a longing not far from each of our hearts.

This list is not exhaustive, nor is it meant to be. But it represents a start — the first steps towards fostering deeper habits of patience, of expectation for what could be, of longing for the promise yet to be fulfilled.

True, technology has changed the waiting game. But if the recent years have revealed anything, it’s shown me that while waiting has never been more difficult, no virtue is more essential.

There is no denying that our world today tends to want easy access to blessing — without having to endure the harsh lessons of a wilderness. Therefore, it may profit us to discover what a desert experience can offer. 

Deserts inspire worship

My first encounter with the enormity of the Sinai desert left a deep impact on me. Standing in the desert, I felt vulnerable and small. Rock and sand stretched for miles around me, and the dry heat was draining and relentless. The barren mountains towered above, prompting me to lift my gaze. 

It is no wonder many think monotheism was birthed in the desert. Idolatry flourishes amongst fruitfulness and abundance, as the gods of Canaan demonstrate. Rivers and their creatures provide a natural focus for our adoration. But in the emptiness of the wilderness, there is only one God. 

The philosopher, Alain de Botton, describes deserts as ‘sublime places’ that engender awe and teach us our place in the world. He concludes that in the desert, ‘The sense of awe may even shade into a desire to worship’. 

Perhaps that’s the reason God led Israel through the desert on the way to the Promised Land. It played a significant role in His overall plan, which is revealed in Moses’ challenge to Pharaoh: ‘”Let my people go, so that they may worship me in the wilderness”’. 

So, why did the Spirit of God lead Jesus Christ into the wilderness before His public ministry began? And why did an angel of the Lord tell Philip to travel the desert road? Deserts inspire worship. 

Deserts test hearts

Not only was I overwhelmed by the shocking beauty of the Sinai desert, but I was also impacted by its severity. A desert is not an easy place to remain for a lengthy period of time. As we entered, we were instructed to drink plenty of water, stay together as a group and follow the guide’s directions. These may seem like simple requirements, but some members of the group immediately ignored them—and they paid the price for doing so. Many of them soon became dehydrated. 

After that, it became clear that this desert was not a casual tourist spot; breaking the guide’s instructions could lead to serious consequences. He told us, ‘If you don’t do what you are told, we all must return.’ 

Thankfully, the guide allowed us to continue. But it was obvious we had failed a simple test. 

Think about how much greater the consequences were for Israel when they entered the same desert! They, too, failed their test and were not permitted to continue. Deserts test hearts. 

Deserts remove distractions

Even though deserts are places of testing, they also play other roles. Let’s take a look at when God led Israel into the desert during the time of Hosea. His purpose for doing this was twofold. 

First, God wanted to reignite Israel’s love for Him and remove the idols in her life. The prophet writes, ‘“In that day,” declares the Lord, “you will call me ‘my husband’; you will no longer call me ‘my master.’ I will remove the names of the Baals from her lips; no longer will their names be invoked.”’ 

For Israel, the desert became a place of both intimacy and surgery. It was a clean and sacred space. A sanctuary. 

I found St. Catherine’s monastery at the foot of Mount Sinai to be a ‘thin place’. This is the term that the monastic community uses to describe the Island of Iona, which is located on the west coast of Scotland. As Ian Adams explains, a ‘thin place’ is a place where the separation ‘between earth and Mystery, between us and Other, between now and Always is somehow diminished.’ 

While my companions climbed the mountain in the early hours, I was left alone with my thoughts. I had time to reflect on the discovery of the Codex Sinaiticus, which was the priceless document that had been found in the monastery in the middle of the nineteenth century. This document forms the basis for modern translations of the Bible. In the midst of this place of worship, I was challenged to discard the unimportant and re-examine the urgent. Deserts remove distractions. 

Deserts reveal identity

The reason we tend to have these reflections in deserts isn’t just because of the geography, but because of the time we spend in them. 

Jesus, for example, spent forty days in the wilderness. Moses had to endure forty years. The significance of the different timeframes is difficult to ascertain—but in both cases, time played a necessary role in the test. 

To use Rabbi Heschel’s description of the Sabbath, Israel’s season in the wilderness was a ‘sanctuary in time’.  In our increasingly busy world, where the pace is unyielding, we need a similar sanctuary. Deserts provide us with a place of timelessness; city lights are dimmed, and the lights of the heavens become magnified. It is here that truth is somehow revealed—and challenged. 

Before Jesus Christ was led by the Spirit into the wilderness for His examination, God announced His identity during His baptism. This was the truth Satan seized on at the end of Jesus’ forty days in the desert. He started his temptations with the words: ‘If you are the Son of God…’. It was an attempt to undermine Jesus’ trust in God as His Father; after all, what father would fail to protect a son or provide food in a time of need? 

Despite these temptations, Jesus passed the test of identity. He knew who He was. And because of that, Jesus had the security and humility that was needed to wash the disciples’ feet later in His ministry. Identity is the precursor to effective ministry. 

After forty years in the wilderness, Moses had an encounter with God at the burning bush. It was both a revelation of God’s Name and a revelation of his own identity. This prepared Moses for the task ahead, which was the liberation of a nation. In both of these cases, their times in the wilderness had exposed their inner worlds. Deserts reveal identity.

Whatever the foundation for our search of a pristine resume complete with shelves full of accolades, we all have that numbing ache to do well with and be excellent in each and every endeavor we take on.

In our addiction to success, we shy away from any activity or long-term discipline where the chance of failure is greater than that of a spotless performance. With hyper-vigilance, we monitor the discrepancies that lie between joy-filled reward and heartache-laden risk. After all, the feelings of success are warm and sweet while the feelings of failure are cold and bitter.

When it comes to each of our spiritual journeys, this potent aversion to failure can keep us from dedicated time with God, ingesting His Word and communing with Him to avoid the all-consuming waves of disgust that batter us when we miss one, 10 or 68 days of Bible reading.

We develop a consistent inconsistency, frequent infrequency and firm commitment to being noncommittal for fear of being labeled “fake” or “disingenuous.” After all, if we know we’re going to fail, why even start?

Each year when March arrives, we look at the calendar and all we see is another year of incomplete goals and short-lived promises. Of course we know we need to pray more. We know we need to spend more time feeding on God’s Word. But in our shame, the weight from our lack of discipline breeds sorrow instead of perseverance, insecurity and shame instead of assurance and comfort.

When we’re alone with God we seem to hear more shouts of condemnation than shouts of deliverance (Psalm 32). We feel distant. We feel disgusted. And, in the end, we’re disinterested.

Yet, when we actually open God’s Word, we find good news.

God Does Not Condemn His People

Despite what you might believe, God isn’t waiting to berate you and put your frailties, faults and failures on display for all to witness. When you approach Him each day, His Word replenishes you and brings strength. It doesn’t steal and dismantle.

Instead, God’s Word revives our hearts (Psalm 19:7). John Piper makes this point in Desiring God when he explains the Scripture is clear that we go through a repeated process of restoration and renewal day-in and day-out. Every day will not be the same, much less dripping with palpable feelings of elation.

Piper says, “When Satan huffs and puffs and tries to blow out the flame of our joy, we have an endless supply of kindling in the Word of God.”

Let God’s Word do what it has the power to do: Bring new life and a wealth of encouragement to you; daily nourishment to a dry and weary soul, no matter how long it’s been since you unfurled its pages.

Instead of pointing His finger at you first thing in the morning to show where you’ve gone wrong and where you’ve fallen (Psalm 130:3-7), God sees that Christ has been perfect in your place and risen from the grave (Psalm 103:10; 2 Cor. 5:21; Galatians 5:1; Ephesians 2:4-5).

Grace Is New Every Day

God’s grace isn’t like your local Redbox; it doesn’t go out of stock and isn’t available for only 24 hours. His Word promises that He starts fresh with you and with me every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).

Our account of mercy and grace are just as full on the morning after we didn’t get up to read as it was the year before when we were spending two hours a day in Scripture. As Jerry Bridges once said, the moment grace is given out on the basis of merit it ceases to be grace.

Let us not make the mistake of believing that God sets out to treat us the same way the enemy does; His aim isn’t to destroy us but rather to save us. Our gracious God welcomes us each morning with fresh eyes and a clean, swept welcome mat.

Don’t let your sporadic nature and lack of discipline keep you from God’s presence. We can go confidently to Him and rest in His presence, secure in who we are in the Son (Hebrews 4:16).

God Waits Expectantly

Aware of his mistakes, the prodigal son in Luke 15 returns home to confess his selfishness, disrespect and pride to the father he abandoned. He had an entire speech prepared for when he stood before his father to convey his genuine remorse. But before he could even get to the front porch, his father darted down the road to meet his beloved son, greeting him with the warm embrace that only a longing father can give.

His father waited in anticipation for his boy to come back home. No matter how long his son had been gone, no matter what his son had done before, all his mistakes were swallowed up in the loving, forgiving arms of his dad.

It would do our souls a great and glorious good to meditate on this parable when we’re overcome with fear and shame, too nervous to return to God after a season of being gone. Rest in knowing your Heavenly Father is waiting each and every day to embrace you with joy, not burden you with guilt and condemnation.

It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away. Because of Jesus, feel the freedom to return home without fear and shame.

God will do big things like they’re little things.

Sakichi Toyoda was born on February 14, 1867, in a remote farming community in rural Japan. The son of a carpenter, Sakichi grew up in a sawdust-covered workshop. Like his father, he loved tinkering with anything. His passion for innovation would eventually earn him the moniker King of Japanese Inventors.

As a young man, Sakichi got his hands on Self-Help, a book first published in England in 1859. Profiling some of history’s greatest inventors, author Samuel Smiles championed the merits of self-help. How? By paying attention to absolutely everything.

One day, while watching the way his mother and grandmother labored on their manual looms, Sakichi was inspired to design a power-driven loom. Thus began Toyoda Automatic Loom Works. The driving force behind Sakichi’s innovation was a trial-and-error tactic he called genchi genbutsu—“go and see.” A hands-on approach to problem-solving, it was the heart and soul of what would become known as the Toyota Way.

After World War II, the Japanese economy was devastated and the automobile company started by Sakichi’s son was on the brink of bankruptcy. Its debt was eight times its capital value! Fast-forward seventy-five years, and Toyota’s net worth is $236 billion. What happened? The short answer is kaizen, an uncompromising commitment to continuous improvement. But the catalyst was a “go and see” field trip.

In 1950, Sakichi’s nephew Eiji Toyoda took a team of engineers on a twelve-week tour of automobile plants in America. The Toyota team expected to be amazed. Instead, they were surprised by the inefficiencies they found in American assembly lines. With a bit of brazen—and a lot of kaizen—they believed they could beat America at the automobile game. Considering Toyota is now the largest automobile manufacturer in the world, it could be argued that they did just that.

No matter what you do, kaizen is key. It starts with a growth mindset. You’ve got to stay humble, stay hungry. You benchmark your progress, but you never really arrive. In fact, there is no finish line.

Little by Little

There is a three-word phrase buried in the book of Exodus that produces mixed emotions for me: “Little by little.” Let me set the scene, then I’ll explain the mixed emotions. The Israelites are getting ready to possess the Promised Land, but God throws a little monkey wrench in the plan. “I will not drive them out in a single year.” This is where mixed emotions enter the equation.

I like nonstop flights—economy plus, if possible! Are you picking up what I’m throwing down? I want to get where I want to go without any connections. Of course, it rarely works that way. This fact is evidenced by the Israelites’ wilderness wanderings. The journey from Mount Sinai to the Promised Land was supposed to take eleven days, but it turned into a forty-year flight with forty-two stops.

I’ve had a few flights that have turned into—shall we say—adventures! After one of those travel debacles, which ended with me renting a car and driving through the night to get where I needed to go, I had a little revelation. No matter how many detours and delays we experience as modern-day travelers, it still beats a covered wagon! Am I right? That’s the way I flip the script on frustrating flights!

The stations of the Exodus numbered forty-two! When the Israelites finally entered the Promised Land, I bet they wanted it to be a one-stop shop! Not so fast.

Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land.

God delivers us little by little.

God promotes us little by little.

God grows us little by little.

The question, of course, is, Why? In this instance, the reason was more ecological than theological. “Because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you.” Let’s be honest—our ability to anticipate consequences is unreliable at best. God has reasons that are beyond human reason. That’s hard for us to accept, but we resist at our own risk.

We hate playing the waiting game, especially if it’s the dating game. We want God to deliver on His promises yesterday! We plant on Monday and want to harvest on Tuesday. News flash to nonfarmers: it takes a little longer than that. “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap,” said Robert Louis Stevenson, “but by the seeds that you plant.” 

Excerpted from Win the Day: 7 Daily Habits to Help You Stress Less & Accomplish More Copyright © 2020 by Mark Batterson. Used by permission of Multnomah, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC.

We could probably sit down together and figure out the thousands of reasons why this behavior was my go-to for four decades, starting with the fact that I’m the youngest child in my family by ten years and wrapping up our analysis with where I land on the various and sundry personality profiles (INFP, Enneagram 9, Sanguine/Phlegmatic and Bingo was his name-o). Regardless of the reasons, however, there’s no denying that I spent decades of my life doing my level best to leave most boats unrocked and most pots unstirred. There was still rebellion and dissension, of course, but people pleasers become experts at burying that stuff where no one can see it. So in situations where I could easily skate on the surface, I was committed to keeping the people happy, my friends.

However, believing that you have to keep people happy in order to stay in their good graces is exhausting, and by the time I was in junior high, I had learned all sorts of people-pleasing quick-tricks to eliminate disagreements and tensions and conflicts. I knew how to ask questions that my teachers would like, how to add to or subtract from my personality to make social situations easier, how to be a non-confrontational listener, and how to smile politely even when I thought what someone was saying was a pile of hot garbage. I rarely challenged anyone, rarely called anyone out and rarely said what I was actually thinking.

For the record, when I’m around people who do challenge and call out and say what’s on their minds?

I am drawn to them like a magnet.

I see you, David Hudson.

If there had been some way you could have examined my younger self’s people-pleasing skills under a microscope, you would have also discovered a deep fear of being misunderstood. If someone didn’t agree with me, I needed for them to understand all the reasons why I did what I did, and if that meant I needed to share seventy-five bullet points that led me to my decision, then I was happy to oblige. Sure, someone being mad at me was awful, but it was equally terrible if someone misread my motives or didn’t understand the backstory.

This is why a people pleaser’s favorite accomplice is oftentimes the fine art of overexplaining.

Case in point.

I’ve never been more aware of how much I wanted to keep everybody happy—and keep everybody happy with me—than when my son Alex was about five months old and I was getting ready to go back to work. If people began to broach the question of why I was still going to teach as opposed to staying home, I couldn’t just have a normal conversation about it; I was way too fearful of disapproval. So what I would do instead was to start talking really fast about how it was going to be the best of both worlds because David worked from home and we were going to arrange our schedules so that David did most of his work in the afternoon or at night and that way Alex wouldn’t have to go to daycare and actually it was going to be such a great thing for all of us because I’m actually more productive when I’m working and I love the interaction with my students and David was going to do such a good job taking care of Alex and I wasn’t worried about leaving him at all because remember this is going to be the best of both worlds I think I already told you about that earlier but it’s worth repeating because best of both worlds best of both worlds best of both worlds.

Raise your hand if you’re now too tired to live.

Here’s what I wish I had said: “I’m going back to work because I want to go back to work. Thank you for your interest and concern.”

Back then, though, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t rest in the short and sweet. Plus, I thought my super please-y pattern of behavior was serving me well, when the reality was that it required an insane amount of mental energy, overthinking, plate-spinning and accommodation. What I know now is that over time, that kind of living will wear you right on down. It becomes difficult to assert what you really believe because you’re not all that sure anymore; you’ve buried the core of who you are in an endless pile of polite head nods, soft smiles, overly enthusiastic reactions and countless stifled opinions. 

Or, in our current day and age, it might look more like an onslaught of emojis that communicate oh my word that is the most hilarious thing I have ever heard and I totally agree with you and you are the very best person who has ever person’d! 

This irrational urge to keep everybody happy is especially strong in women, I think, mainly because many of us—especially Baby Boomers and Gen Xers, particularly in the South—were conditioned from an early age to ignore our actual feelings and pretend like everything was fine. We earned honorary PhDs in keeping the peace, smoothing over tension, appeasing the people around us and minimizing our expectations—or even our whole dadgum selves—so we wouldn’t ruffle someone else’s feathers.

To be clear: this is a different deal than being “servant hearted” or “service oriented” or “consistently gracious.”

Because you can be all of those things and still tell the truth.

But the people-pleasing — oh, let me tell you what — it often requires some big fat lies, and that, my friends, is what I like to call a no bueno situation. Instead of speaking the truth in love, we cower. We aim to please, after all. And if we feel like it’s necessary, we will flat-out fake it.

 Yes, I would love to hear what you think about how I’m super-focused on my career right now and not prioritizing the “right” “life-giving” things.

 Sure, I’ll be glad to lead that Bible study that conflicts with my middle kid’s voice lessons and completely robs our family of the possibility of having dinner together on Tuesday nights.

 No, I don’t mind sharing my study guide with you at all; I totally understand why you haven’t been able to make it to class all semester.

And on top of that, here’s the real kicker: sometimes saying nothing at all is even worse — because silence that keeps us short-term comfortable can make us long-term complicit. So we don’t confront a family member’s racist comments, or we don’t speak up when a friend’s husband makes degrading remarks about women, or we don’t challenge a co-worker who’s manipulating us to get what he wants.

We just go along to get along. We do our best to lay low and keep quiet and pray we don’t rock the proverbial boat.

When you stand back and think about it, it’s pretty cowardly.

Over the last ten or so years, thankfully, I’ve depended less on my people-pleasing powers and have been much better about setting and keeping boundaries. Maybe it’s my age, or maybe it’s that taking care of my family and my work / writing responsibilities leaves me little time to manage (much less coddle) other people’s opinions and perceptions. Gradually—and I would say mercifully — I’ve become much more of a straight shooter. I can honestly say that at this stage of my life, I want my “yes” to be “yes,” I want my “no” to be “no,” and I don’t care to labor under a lot of false guilt that makes me feel like I owe someone an explanation for either one of those answers.

Don’t get me wrong: I want to be sacrificial and sensitive to the places where God is telling me to say yes when I want to say no. I want to be kind, too. Absolutely. But I’m learning the distinction between kindness and people-pleasing. Genuine kindness flows from love, while people-pleasing flows from fear, selfishness and self-preservation.

I’ve lived that people-pleasing life. It doesn’t hold nearly as much appeal as it used to.

Even still, old habits die hard. Every so often I’ll be so afraid that I’ve disappointed someone—or that they’ve misunderstood me—that I almost feel like I can’t breathe. It’s ridiculous.

It’s also a terrible way to live.

And I’ve had enough of it.

I really have.

Excerpted with permission from Stand All the Way Up by Sophie Hudson. Copyright 2020, B&H Publishing Group.

These are all questions most people spend their entire lives thinking about. But what they’re really asking is much more complex: what is my purpose?

Finding your true purpose in life is one of the most important journeys you will ever take. Oftentimes, it’s a journey of self-discovery, exploration and growth — one that will lead you to a life that is hopefully filled with meaning and joy. But what is your true purpose? How do you find it? There is no one-size-fits-all answer to these questions. Your true purpose is unique to you. It is something that you must discover for yourself. And it’s something that Tim Tebow wants to help others discover.

In Mission Possible, the NFL star writes 365 devotionals to help you discover your purpose — wherever and whatever that looks like. Tebow sat down with RELEVANT to discuss why he’s so passionate about purpose, how to discover it and how to protect it from anything life throws at it.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. 

RELEVANT: Why do you think it’s important to talk about purpose?

TIM TEBOW: I think it’s a question most people are asking: What is my purpose in life? It’s a question most people are wondering about, trying to figure out. They want to know how to do it, whether they can do it, and even if they have a purpose at all. These are the bigger questions we ask: Why am I here? What am I supposed to do while I’m here? Can I actually make a difference?

I want to be able to help bring people to God’s Word so that they can see Scripture answering these questions. Yes, you have a purpose. Your life is important. Your life is valuable. Your life has meaning, and there are good works for you to do.

I think this devotional helps shape your mindset, your mindset that you have a mission, a purpose, an understanding of your identity, and an understanding of God’s love and character for you. It also challenges you to get uncomfortable, to live intentionally, to say yes to helping hurting people, and to go out of your way. Don’t just say yes to praise, promotion, platform, and status—all the stuff that life throws at us. Say yes to the things that are going to last so much longer.

The third big area that this devotional touches on is encouragement. It encourages you, me, and everyone to trust God’s plan and to give it to the Lord. It’s also encouraging to read the stories of 31 other people who share a piece of their story in here. Some of them are parents who have lost their children. Some of them are young boys and girls who are fighting life-threatening illnesses. One of the stories shared is from a survivor of human trafficking.

These different stories, mixed in with God’s Word, give us encouragement because we all need it. Life can be hard. So, although we want to challenge people, we also really want to encourage them. When they pick up this devotional every day, we want them to know that they can set their minds on things above, be challenged to go live it out, and be encouraged to light that fire a little bit more.

How do you define purpose?

I think it’s what you’re created for, what we’re all created for, I think in the macro, is the same purpose: to love God and to love people. In the micro, I think your specific purpose is a little bit different than mine. And all of us along the way are going to have little unique paths to our purpose.

One way to encourage people to seek their purpose or mission is to ask them: What has God opened your eyes to? What has he pricked your heart for?

One of the stories that impacted my life is when I was 15 and I got to meet a boy who was born in the jungles of the Philippines with his feet on backwards. His village viewed him as less than, as insignificant, as a throwaway. That day I just felt so compelled in my heart. God was just pricking my heart. That is not a throwaway to God and he better not be a throwaway to me. And that day my heart was pricked, my eyes were opened, and I didn’t know how to articulate that. I didn’t know what exactly that meant, but I just knew I’m supposed to fight for boys and girls like this boy. And I still believe that that was a big part of God opening my eyes and calling me and pricking my heart, saying, this is what I want you to do. This is a big part of your micro purpose.

So I encourage a lot of different people: What are the things that God’s really opened your eyes to and He’s pricked your heart for? Is it encouragement? Is it inspiration? Is it teaching? Is it discipleship? Is it a people group? Is it a hurting person? Is it a family? What are the different things that have been stirred up in your life? Maybe that’s not ultimately your purpose, but maybe that can also help lead you to your purpose by saying yes to that and continuing to go down that road.

Once someone identifies their purpose, how can they walk into it?

I think there are a lot of different steps, but maybe even before that is to understand that you do have a purpose and that you really do like it. Ephesians 2:10 tells us that “we are his masterpiece created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand for us to walk in.” So when you understand that in Christ Jesus, you know that you’re a masterpiece, and then you also know that you have good works that were prepared for you long ago. And so it’s knowing, “Okay, I might not know what my purpose is, but I know I have one.” And then when you feel like, “Hey, maybe this is what I’m supposed to do,” I would encourage people to dive into it and try it out. It might not be your final destination, but it might continue to lead you on your journey, right? And you might learn from that, and you know, I have so many friends and family members and loved ones and different people that I’ve been able to walk with along the way that they’ve been impacted by something I stepped into, and maybe that’s not where they ended up, but it was such a piece of their journey that was teaching them or developing them or guiding them along the way to where they might not have got to ultimately if they wouldn’t have started to take those steps.

One of the other things that I encourage people to do is to take steps because I believe that God can do anything at any moment, but I also believe that when we take those steps, a lot of times I just see him use those steps in our lives to teach us. And I also very rarely, you know, ever hear testimonies or see friends that get impacted when they just go home and turn on Netflix. I mean, God can do it. I just don’t see him do it a lot. Yeah, I mean, I just, I don’t see when you get into the fifth season of your next show, you know, a lot of impact or a lot of profound thoughts or changes.

And so, and you know, we all get caught up in that. I’ll get caught up in that, and so my favorite shows too, and it’s not that those are wrong. Sometimes it’s nice to have something where you don’t have to think. But I would encourage people, you know, like maybe if you, if you, if we gave up one of those, or maybe if especially for young people, that you know, one study just indicated that young people right now spend more time on devices than they do asleep, right? That’s a lot of different voices and that’s a lot of things that aren’t necessarily going to always be positive. So maybe if there was one show we put down, one device we put down for a little bit, and that thing that stirred our heart we stepped into that a little bit more.

How do we overcome hurdles that keep us from our purpose?

That’s such a good question because when you’re trying to live out your mission, it’s not always easy. I would even say at times might not even feel fun. But I would also say that I believe that it’s totally worth it. It really is. And so I think the encouragement is really important because encouragement means to give support, confidence, or hope to. And we need those things. We need support. We need confidence and we need hope. And those are things that I feel like it’s why it’s so important that we start our day in God’s words, or why we start our day being able to dive in things that are also going to give us hope and hat are going to spark that hope in us. Things that hat are going to give us confidence and are going to support us.

Because life’s not always easy and it’s hard. But I think when we understand that going in, we know there’s going to be obstacles. We know there’s going to be adversity. But we also know when we say yes to it, at the end of the day, it’s also going to be worth it. Right? And so it’s that encouragement with the mindset of, hey, it doesn’t mean it’s going to be fun at all times. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. I do believe that it’s going to be fulfilling. But that fulfilling is also different than fun.

There’s going to be obstacles and there’s going to be naysayers. And there’s even going to be disappointing times. And one of the things that I like to encourage people with is, one of my oldest sisters, who was a missionary for a really long time in some really hard places, would always say to me, “Timmy, God will never waste your pain when you give it to Him. God will never waste it.” And so a lot of times, in going through the missions that God has for us and the purpose that God has for us, there are periods and moments of pain. But I also believe when we give it to Him, God’s not going to waste it. He’s going to use it in our lives and through our lives.

I think that’s also a piece that we like to touch on because it brings purpose to the pain. It brings meaning in those moments. And that’s something that we can also hold on to because adversity is here, it’s coming, or it’s just past us. But it’s a cycle. And while we’re here, it’s going to happen. I don’t encourage people to shy away from it or hope it doesn’t happen. We can be prepared for it. We can know it’s coming, but we can also be ready to brace ourselves.

The fire of insecurity, doubt and mistrust that was ignited could have consumed my life. But when my mother told me I was adopted, my response was, “Before I was formed in my mother’s womb—whosever womb that was—God knew me. He knitted together my innermost parts. I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” 

Because I know the Word of God, His truth, His promises and His character, I was able to extinguish that fire before it became a roaring blaze. 

For you, maybe it’s the betrayal of a dear friend, maybe you’ve found yourself in financial turmoil or perhaps your physical world has been turned upside down by a hurricane or a flood. 

Whatever it is, you can be unshakable by building the foundation of your life on the truth of the Word of God and not on the facts of your circumstances. Your circumstances can change, but our God never changes. He who promised is faithful. 

But with all of the turmoil swirling around us in the world today, you may not feel very unshakable. It can be easy to be swayed by the pain and struggle we face or be thrown off course by the obstacles we encounter. 

So how can we become unshakable and develop a faith that cannot be moved? 

Keep Your Focus

If we want a faith that is unshakable, we have to feed our minds with truth and starve our doubts. And there is no better way to do that than by daily reading God’s Word. 

Instead of starting each day scrolling through Facebook or Instagram reading about the chaos of the world, start your day in God’s presence. This daily habit will help you focus on Him when uncertainty, fear or pain come knocking at your door. 

Be Grateful

We are living life faster than we ever have before. Our on-demand culture that says “more is better” can distract us from remembering what God has already done for us. We can forget that life in Him is enough.

His love is enough. His healing is enough. His grace is enough. His power is enough. 

The next time you are feeling shaken, remember the ways God has shown up for you in the past and thank Him. This simple practice will realign your perspective to His perfect peace. 

Lean on Him

The truth is the world around us will always be changing. It will always have turmoil. But, in all of that, there is one thing that never changes: our God. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. The next time circumstances threaten to shake you up, choose to remember that you can lean on God. 

Remember that He is bigger than anything staring you down. There’s no question He cannot answer. There’s no enemy He cannot defeat. There’s no difficulty He cannot overcome. There’s nothing our God cannot do. Impossible is where He starts. 

Jesus’ promise to His disciples in John 16:33 is also a promise for you and I. He said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” There is nothing that can take down Jesus or the Spirit of the living God inside each of us. We can take heart, we can be unshakable, we can have complete peace because we are more than overcomers through Jesus who has already overcome the world.

At 20 years old, I decided to start drinking alcohol because I wanted to be loved and accepted by the people around me. I thought drinking would make me cooler and less of the goody two-shoes everyone thought I was. Essentially, I believed drinking would make me more valuable.

And then something happened: I got rejected. Suddenly, my sense of worth was lost, and I became apathetic toward my drinking habits. Drinking hadn’t added value to me, so I continued drinking because I felt like it didn’t make a difference anyway.

My attitude toward drinking stayed the same for many years: I just didn’t care. I drank sporadically, innocently, responsibly (for the most part), without ever giving it much thought. Eventually I learned my limits and refined my tastes, and drinking simply morphed into something I did for fun at social gatherings.

I am not superhuman.

A year ago, I found myself in a class full of people courageously standing at the front of the room to share story after story of how alcohol played a part in their lives. Before that day, if someone had asked me: “Does alcohol have the potential to destroy lives?” I probably would have said: “Yeah, sure,” without any real knowledge to back that up. But that day, I listened to firsthand experiences of so many of my peers who opened up about how alcohol had devastated their lives, their families and their past.

Those stories made me look around and realize I am not any better than any of these people. What made me think I was so smart, so holy, so careful that what happened to them could never happen to me? I realized I am just as susceptible to the devastation of alcohol as they were. Those stories swirled around in the back of my mind every time I ordered a drink.

I have a responsibility.

Anyone who knows my story knows that my life drastically changed a few years back (and I wrote about that moment here). The main thing that changed was my rekindled love for God and my deep desire to know Him more. In late December, as I wrote down my goals for the new year, the words “Know God More” were in bold at the very top of my list.

One night as I was falling asleep, a thought suddenly dropped in my heart:

If I say my greatest desire is to know God, to develop my personal and intimate relationship with Him, and fine-tune my ability to hear His still, small voice, then how can I willingly participate in an activity that physically dulls my senses? Wouldn’t that just render my ability to hear and know Him all but useless? If I truly believe that knowing God is at the top of my priority list, then drinking alcohol can’t be part of who I am.

I was convicted.

Strangely, conviction alone wasn’t enough to keep me from the desire to drink. It wasn’t like this newfound revelation made me hate the taste of drinks I’d grown to like, nor did it cause me to have disdain for the social atmospheres I participated in.

One morning soon thereafter, I read Ecclesiastes 10:1: “Dead flies putrefy the perfumer’s ointment, and cause it to give off a foul odor; so does a little folly to one respected for wisdom and honor.”

In his commentary, Matthew Henry had this to say:

True wisdom is true honor, and will gain a man a reputation, which is like a box of precious ointment, pleasing and very valuable … the reputation that is got with difficulty, and by a great deal of wisdom, may be easily lost, and by a little folly.

…
Those who make a great profession of religion have need to walk very circumspectly, to abstain from all appearances of evil, and approaches towards it, because many eyes are upon them, that watch for their halting; their character is soon sullied (defiled, tainted), and they have a great deal of reputation to lose.

Immediately, I was more than convicted. I was convinced.

Why I Quit Drinking

In that moment, I realized the incredible responsibility I have, as Henry said, “… to walk circumspectly, to abstain from all appearances and approaches towards evil …” because there is a great deal to be lost should I make the wrong move, and there is a great deal to be gained should I make much of my call. I’m convinced I am to lay drinking down because I am convinced of what God has placed on my heart and life to do.

As a Christian, I have a responsibility to people. I feel the weight of that—not as a burden, but as a joy—that God trusts me enough to put people across my path to share the good news of the gospel.

Knowing the destructive capabilities of alcohol, knowing that I am not a superhuman who is immune to the potential of falling into that destruction and knowing the command of God on my life to share the gospel, these were enough to compel me to a final answer.

The Big Picture

Wherever we are, whatever we’re doing, God has given each of us a platform, a people and a purpose. No matter how big, small or non-existent we think our platform is, we all have people come across our path who are hungry, lost and broken. We all have to decide what we’re willing to risk and what we’re willing to lose for the cause of Christ.

I decided that my platform wasn’t going to be one where I could have Jesus on my heart and a drink in my hand. I don’t believe it is a sin to drink alcohol. I don’t even believe every Christian needs to come to the same conclusion I did. But I do believe we all need to take a look at our lives, and understand the responsibility we have: to use well the gifts God gave us, to step in to the call he commanded us and to reach the people He entrusted us.

The same cannot be said for many evangelicals, especially in our relations with non-Christians. 

Recent polls from Pew Research Center and the Barna Group confirm that American evangelicalism is polarizing to outsiders, and this was before the chaos of 2020. Now we are associated with prominent anti-maskers, we are viewed as hostile or indifferent to the Black Lives Matter movement and we largely supported a very unpopular President.

It is true that we are to be ‘in the world, but not of it’, yet the evangelical church seems to be wearing noise-cancelling headphones as we roam the streets of America, preaching and shouting.

For example, last summer the megachurch pastor John MacArthur defied public health orders and re-opened his church at full capacity. MacArthur could have been compliant in the name of loving one’s neighbor—which both Christians and non-Christians could understand. Instead, his actions suggested to the secular media that he “doesn’t care about…[people’s] wellbeing.” 

Then, in one of the biggest evangelical stories of 2020, a friend of Jerry Falwell Jr.—President of Liberty University at that time—claimed he had an affair with Becki Falwell and Jerry liked to watch. Falwell Jr. denied any involvement, but instead of recognizing how this could reflect poorly on a University with a strict moral code, he confirmed Becki’s affair and stressed how painful this was for him. One journalist detected the strategy: “Blame the wife.”

With stories like these, you could say that 2020 did more damage to evangelicalism’s public credibility than any year in recent memory. Some evangelicals blame the media, but prudence tells us to point the finger at ourselves first. Whatever we gain by stirring controversy or saving face, it comes at the cost of the church’s witness. This is not limited to our leaders, either. Many Christians talk on social media as if the world is blind. We have only ourselves to blame.

What is most concerning about our failures is that they represent not merely a lack of wisdom, but a disregard for God’s Word. The New Testament urges us to select elders who are “reputable to outsiders” (1 Tim. 3:7), to speak in a manner that is “intelligible” to non-Christians (1 Cor. 14:9) and to live “such good lives” that even our detractors see our virtues (1 Pt. 2:12). 

If American evangelicalism is to improve its witness in the 2020s, we need to cultivate a special kind of listening, where we do not simply endure the opinions of non-Christians to be polite. We listen to learn how to embody Jesus to our world. This interaction, what some scholars call ‘outsider concern’, was crucial to early Christianity’s growth. It is essential for us too. Our Lord can use non-Christians to improve our witness, and to make us more like himself.

The Irony of Grace 

The roots of early Christianity’s ‘outsider concern’ are found in the Old Testament. Many of the first Christians were Jews who were raised on stories of foreign kings calling Abraham to a higher standard (Gen. 12:18, 20:9) or Moses benefitting from the counsel of his Midianite father in-law (Ex. 18:17-18). The earliest Christians developed this theme in the Gospel of Mark, which depicts a confused group of disciples trying to solve the riddle of Jesus’s identity. Eventually the centurion supervising the crucifixion provides the answer: “Surely this is the Son of God!” (Mk. 15:39). This event reminds us that God’s grace is an irony. It favors the unfavorable and works in unexpected places. While God promises that his people will grow, this does not guarantee that we are imminently wise or good. We should always be listening to others, including those beyond the Christian bubble, because they are often more virtuous or perceptive than us.

I was recently reminded of this lesson while watching The Social Dilemma, a Netflix documentary about the ills of social media. It was striking to hear elite entrepreneurs—most of whom are far from being ideologically aligned with Christianity—discuss how phone addictions can ruin family life and how they take steps to protect their children online. Some of these folks had even done what I could never imagine myself or my Christian friends doing: they had the self-control to crush their addiction to social media by deleting their accounts altogether.

The First Benefit of Listening

If the irony of God’s grace allows us to listen to outsiders, what are the benefits of doing this?

At the very least, listening to outsiders keeps us accountable. 

Paul calls us to “not return evil for evil but consider what is good in the sight of all people” (Rom. 12:17). Notice that he allows the world’s perception to play a role in what Christians do. Our lives should be understood by all people—as much as possible—as good and beneficial. The presence of outsiders forces us to be intentional about being the light of the world. Similarly, Peter wants believers to speak well before outsiders so that they maintain a “clear conscience” (1 Pt. 3:15-16). This is pertinent today when, according to the Barna Group, the greatest objections to Christianity are not intellectual, but behavioral: Christians are viewed as hypocrites. 

A charge of hypocrisy is not surprising to me. I recall watching in horror as a pastor trended on social media for his conclusion that Breonna Taylor—who was recklessly killed by police in Louisville—would not have died if she had not been sleeping with her boyfriend. This statement is simply incorrect on a factual level. It is also loveless, and possibly racist. I can only imagine the impression that this statement left among non-Christians who saw it on their news feed. 

Beyond growing in love and integrity, a solution to our hypocrisy is to be more aware of how outsiders perceive our words or actions. When preparing to speak or write, I was told to place several chairs in front of me and imagine different audience members sitting in them. The goal is to develop arguments that are persuasive for as many people as possible. Too many Christians speak to one audience member: another believer who already agrees with them.

Partners with a Cause

Another possibility created by increasing our ‘outsider concern’ is Christians and non-Christians working together for the common good. Long before Christians advocated for various “pro-life” causes, some Stoic philosophers championed the same things, including the end of the gladiatorial games. As the church grew, Christian voices joined the Stoics in describing gladiator battles—usually forced upon slaves and prisoners—as inhumane and grotesque. These voices were few, but over the centuries, so many Christians began to reject the games that if a person were to stop going to them, they were immediately suspected of being a new convert.

It may be tempting to think that Christianity’s successful bid to ban gladiator contests was simply the result of applying principles of mercy and love. However, early Christians were strategic about their public witness. In one of the most famous treatises against the games, Tertullian’s The Shows, he switches between addressing “heathens” and “Christians” with arguments tailored to each audience. According to Rodney Stark, this is the key to early Christianity’s growth: open networks. The early Christians spoke, wrote and lived in ways that were accessible to outsiders. 

Being the Church, Being Human 

In contrast to the open networks of the first Christians, many of us think our witness is strongest when it is strangest: go to church and flee the world. We are forgetting our common humanity.

In the second-century letter known as the Epistle to Diognetus, the author describes Christians as a “third race”—after Jews and Romans. Many people use this to defend the idea that early Christians were the original Jesus freaks, a group so odd that they were destined to rock the mores of society. What we miss is the conclusion that this race is the ‘soul of the world’ which champions love and decency. 

Christians will live differently from other people, but we should never act like another species entirely. We must develop our humanity. Early Christians did this when they listened to the world and responded to its atrocities, like the gladiatorial games. Their work echoed Jesus’s own ministry, where he showed that he was God, but also the model human being (1 Pt. 2:21). Jesus was different if only because he was so perfectly human: showing love, speaking truth, following God.

This may be the final irony of grace, that to be Jesus’s church in the 2020s—like the church in its first centuries—we have to pay more attention to the world and more often be its loving advocate rather than its sworn enemy.

Erwin McManus wants to change that perspective. As the founder of MOSAIC, a faith community in LA, he has spent most of his life inspiring people to live up to their full creative potential—in whatever form it takes.

We talked to McManus about his book, The Artisan Soul, why everyone is creative and how to make your life a work of art.

Q: In your book, The Artisan Soul, you argue that there is a broader definition of artist than we think. Can you talk about that?

A: The book isn’t written to “artisans” and “creatives” in the classic sense. It’s really a new anthropology advocating for this view of humanity: All of us are artists and creatives. God has given us an imagination, and our imagination is really the principle tool from which all creativity and artistry comes from. I think we are at a point in history where we need a creative revolution—a manifesto for human creativity that moves us out of industrial revolution view of humanity to really an artisan view of the human species.

When I first started writing the book … [I told my wife], “It’s going to be called The Artisan Soul,” and her immediate response was, “Great, I’m glad you’re writing a book for people like you, but what about people like me?”

And honestly, it made me really mad because my wife is incredibly creative, incredibly gifted, very talented and even an artist in the purest sense of the word. I told her, “This is the problem, this is why I’ve written this book, because somewhere in the past someone told you that you were less and you believed that lie.”

This book is to tell everyone that they’re more, so they can actually believe the truth. It’s so important for me for people to understand that even though it’s called The Artisan Soul, it’s not written to a thin audience. This, to me, is a human narrative. It’s the story of all of us, and even more so it’s the story of where all of humanity must go, where we will go and where God created us to be.

I think we’ve overstated that God is the God who wants us to obey. Obedience is not the end game. Obedience is only our calling so that we can step into our freedom. He calls us to freedom so that we can create. I think that somewhere in the past, we lost this uniqueness of what it means to be human, and I am just determined that before I die we will reclaim our understanding of who we are.

Q: What’s at stake if we don’t tap into this?

A: If you look at it from just a pure economic basis, technology is replacing all of the jobs robots can do and machinery is replacing the jobs that humans once held. If we don’t train our children to imagine, to create, they’re going to be unemployable.

If you look at it from a spiritual perspective, if we don’t step into the space at the intersection of creativity and spirituality, we’re going to become irrelevant in the human conversation. It’s astonishing to me that we have allowed people to take the Bible and turn it into a manuscript of conformity when it’s really a manifesto of creativity.

Q: What does this look like as we flesh it out in everyday life?

A: I would say first of all, you should bring your creativity to every job. Bring your imagination, your inspiration. Bring compassion and kindness. To me, every job is an opportunity for us to create a better world.

The book basically advocates that our life is supposed to be our greatest work of art. I love what Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh and Jesus all said—that love is really the driving principle of the creative act. In fact, they would say that great art is always inspired by love.

If you have a mundane job, what you can do is live your life as a life of love. If you begin to engage every relationship and every moment in your life as an expression of creating something that’s beautiful and good and true, you will make your life a work of art.

The third thing I would say is stop living your lesser story. If your job is unfulfilling, then use your job to pay the bills, but use it as a platform from which to build a life. Start asking yourself, “What are the dreams that are still haunting me?” “What are the dreams that are still latent?” “What are the things that no one will pay me for, but I need to bring to the world because this is really my greatest contribution?”

I think it all does begin with love. It begins by realizing the material inside of our soul is the only material we actually have to create a better world. If we don’t change what’s inside of us—if we don’t allow God to transform bitterness and envy and pride and unforgiveness into hope and joy and kindness and compassion—then we’re not going to have the material in which to create the world that God longs for us to step into.

Q: Where is this intersecting with your personal story?

A: Well, I think for me, this has been my narrative for the 30 years that I’ve been a follower of Christ, and really specifically for the 20 years that I’ve been in Los Angeles. I honestly just got tired of having what I felt were meaningless conflicts and battles over theological and philosophical issues when what the world needs is for us to live our most extraordinary lives.

The world desperately needs us to imagine a different kind of world and a different kind of future and have the courage to create it. I felt like God was just saying to me, “You can either go hide in your imagination or you can find the courage to go make that imagination a reality.” I feel like this is what I was created to do.

I feel like before I die, we will never think about human beings the same. The Church will never think of itself as an institution that is there to preserve traditions of the past, but as a creative agency that is literally designed by God to usher in His future. I think this is our moment to redefine who we are, what our faith is, what the Church is supposed to be about, and I think it’s going to be magnetic to the world, that people are going to be drawn to Christ all over the world.

Nonetheless, many of the things I anticipated most left me with the feeling that they could have been better.

The handful that lived up to expectations?

1. Becoming a Christian
2. Marrying Veronica and having children

(These were both more enjoyable and more challenging than I ever imagined.)

Beyond that, the list is pretty short:

1. Visiting Kauai, Hawaii
2. Skydiving

And… well, that’s it.

I’ll bet that a few more experiences would make the list if I ever get a chance to do them. Hiking the Inca trail. Climbing Mt. Everest. Hang-gliding. Flying to the moon.

Experiences like these often get put on a “bucket list.” The term “bucket list” became public parlance in 2007 because of a movie by the same name. Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson play two unlikely and hilarious friends bonding over their terminal diagnoses, and they make a list of all sorts of crazy adventures they want to go on before they “kick the bucket.” They call it their “bucket list.”

More recently, the bucket list has been supplanted by YOLO, a 4-letter acronym you use to justify some rash and crazy decision. You Only Live Once, so live every moment to the fullest! Take advantage of every opportunity. You’ll never get a chance to experience this life again, so make sure you get everything out of it that you can.

I will admit, saying YOLO to myself when considering whether to go sky-diving felt motivating, and making a bucket list of things I’d like to get to before I die was a fun exercise. But does a bucket list even make sense for a Christian?

How could it?

 YOLO is not true.

YALF is. (You actually live forever).  

Bucket lists are inappropriate for Christians not because good Christians stay at home, and settle for a safe, boring life. It’s just that we know that life on earth is not our only chance (or even our best chance) to experience what the world has to offer.

Scripture gives every indication that the “new heavens and new earth” (Rev 21:1, 4) will contain better versions of anything in God’s good creation that we enjoyed down here.

Many people wrongly think of heaven as some ethereal life of leisure where saints sit around in diapers on colorless clouds with nerf bows-and-arrows, strumming their harps and sipping non-alcoholic piña coladas. We gather at least twice daily for choir practice, but that’s our only real activity.

The Bible describes heaven much differently. Though it leaves a lot unsaid, what it does say indicates that heaven is a reality that is more than, not less than, anything we experience on earth.

Scholars say “new heavens and new earth” is better read “renewed heavens and earth.” In other words, the new earth is not a replacement of the old, but a renewed and restored version of it, freed from the curse of sin, supercharged with the glory of God. As New Testament scholar N. T. Wright puts it, “God’s plan is not to abandon this world, the world which he said was ‘very good.’ Rather, he intends to remake it. And when he does he will raise all his people to new bodily life to live in it. That is the promise of the Christian gospel.”

That all the mountains, rivers, oceans, animals, culture, arts, music, architecture, solar systems and even extreme sports that I never got to experience here are waiting for me there, in glorified form.

Furthermore, the Apostle John goes on to say that God will “… bring into heaven the glory and honor of the nations” (Rev 21:26). That means the best of culture—the best of Italian food, the best of Arabian and Colonial architecture, the best art, Mardi Gras (without the debauchery), Disneyworld (without the lines), the Jersey Shore (without, you know, the Jersey).

(By the way—I can’t prove this, but I’m pretty sure that in heaven all the foods that are bad for you here are good for you there, and vice versa. There, ice cream and chocolate are good for the waistline, while cauliflower makes you gain weight. Like I said, I can’t prove that, but these things are spiritually discerned. Let the wise reader understand.)

We don’t know all that we’ll be capable of physically in the resurrection, but Jesus’ resurrection is supposed to give us some hints. And, in his resurrected body, Jesus could apparently fly and walk through walls.

I’ve always wanted to climb Mt. Everest. My wife tells me it’s off the table until my kids at least graduate college. And by that time, I may not be physically able, and so I may never get the chance. But that’s okay, because in heaven, I’m confident I’ll get to climb the renewed one, which will be a lot better anyway. And when I get to the top, I’ll fly over to the heavenly Tuscany for dinner.

 In cryptic-yet-enticing terms, Paul tells us,

“What no eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no human heart has conceived—God has prepared these things for those who love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).

In plain speak, that means that if you can think it, it’s not awesome enough. That’s pretty fantastic, because I can think of some pretty cool things. Heaven likely will have all of them, plus a bunch of other stuff I can’t even conceive of yet.

And, of course, this is not even to mention the joy of doing all these things under the watchful and approving eye of an eternally good Heavenly Father. 

CS. Lewis depicts that breathtaking moment when believers are translated from this corrupted world to the renewed and restored one with Aslan saying to his children, “Come further up, come further in!”

And they respond:

I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this.

Lewis concludes:

All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before. 

So, remind me—why do I need a bucket list?

There’s not anything I’ll miss out on down here that I won’t be able to make up in spades up there.

Except.

There is one thing we can’t do there that we can do here.

Tell people about Jesus.

So, if you want to put something on a bucket list, make it that.

We only have this incredibly short span of our lives to tell our friends, family, and the generation of souls alive on earth right now about Jesus. As the late Keith Green (hippie-turned-Christian-songwriter) used to say, “This generation of Christians is responsible for this generation of souls, all over the world.” We are their only chance to hear.

When I was thirteen, I was introduced to pornography by a couple of my friends in middle school. I remember what it made me feel, what it did to my body, and the warped picture of sex and relationships it instilled in me. For many months after that, I battled with the temptation of pornography.

I didn’t think pornography was something girls were supposed to struggle with, and I assumed lust was only a man’s struggle. I wrestled with self-hatred and shame because of this, thinking I was the only girl in the world fighting the temptation to watch pornography. And for years, I carried this shame, feeling dirty, as if I’d permanently damaged my purity.

One day a friend shared with me how much she regretted giving herself to a random guy she met in college. After that, she began exploring her sexuality through pornography. It became such an intense addiction that she couldn’t go a day without it, and she craved it. She didn’t tell anyone, and this secret addiction consumed her life and thoughts and hindered her joy,
confidence, and relationships. She couldn’t find contentment in anything else because the high that virtual sex brought her in the moment dulled everything in real life. One day she hit rock bottom when she realized she had completely lost herself and isolated herself because of her addiction and the shame that came with it. She didn’t know what else to do, so she went to
church. While there, she met and connected with other people in her stage of life. She started meeting a particular girl for coffee. Over time, my friend confessed her secret addiction. She hadn’t told anyone before. But when she shared it, she felt the shackles fall off. Of course, her addiction didn’t go away at that moment, but through accountability and with the help of God’s Spirit, she overcame it and now shares her story with so many people.

When my friend shared this story with me, I immediately felt comforted. I wasn’t alone. I shared with her my struggles and my past with pornography, and I began to weep. I had never told anyone. And in that moment, saying it out loud to someone who understood and wasn’t judging me, I felt hope for the first time. After confessing it, I, too, felt the soul ties break. I felt the label of lust and shame disappear. I felt hopeful again. I felt myself again.

If this is your struggle, too, I hope you know that you are not alone, and I want you to understand that you don’t have to let this label or dependence rob you anymore. Find someone trustworthy—someone who loves God and loves you—and confess. Healing and freedom and accountability are found in confession. You were made to love and to be loved.

You were made to live and to live to the fullest. You weren’t made to find satisfaction from a computer or phone screen.

The good news is that God’s grace covers all your sins and shortcomings. He can redeem the most broken and messy parts of your heart and life. I don’t care what you have done or what has been done to you—God can redeem it, restore it, and use it to help and free others and if you are in a relationship and you have failed and failed again, don’t give up hope and throw in the towel. God isn’t mad at you or disappointed. In fact, Romans 5:8 says, “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

God loves you so much, right now, just as you are. He loves you so much that he wants purity for you from this point forward because he wants you free, healed, whole, joyful, peaceful, and innocent again! Picture yourself as a little kid, running around with bliss, joy, and innocence. That is what pursuing purity brings.

Purity is protection. Purity guards our hearts and our bodies. Purity has made it easier for me to make decisions and use discernment. Purity is a gift we’re given, not a list of requirements to get to heaven. I think for so long our culture has painted purity as a list of what you can’t have. That’s not been my experience at all. Purity has given me far more than it’s taken away.

Too often when the topic of purity is brought up, it’s within the context of rules or reprimands. We walk away feeling hopeless, like the rules are impossible to follow and we’ve already failed. I’m here to tell you, even if no one else has, God didn’t encourage you in the way of purity to set you up for failure and rob you of fun or pleasure. Rather, as the creator of pleasure itself, he challenges you and me to pursue purity to preserve our future—to preserve our future intimacy, our hearts’ health, our discernment. God wants to give us something, not withhold it. The idea of purity has become a joke to many, yet those same individuals wonder why their lives are so full of anxiety, anger, hopelessness, and relational disappointment. I can assure you, following God’s way is always in your best interest, for your own protection and future pleasure!

Fighting for purity is not popular, and it’s not easy. None of the movies that make it onto the big screen are presenting this message. I would guess that most of your friends aren’t either. Social media definitely isn’t. Don’t let the pressure to compromise, cave, and conform keep you from living a life of conviction and clarity. I believe that for you and me to find the love we want, a commitment to purity is essential.

Excerpted from The Love Everybody Wants by Madison Prewett Troutt. Copyright © 2023 by Madison Prewett Troutt. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

It’s a wonderful value and a beautiful aspect of our relationship with Christ—that we can, actually, have a personal and meaningful relationship with the King of the Universe. When you think about it, it’s fairly unfathomable that the biggest power in the world has time for each of us, especially if, like me, you’re not a foreign dignitary, a millionaire or a superstar. It’s pretty incredible that God wants to have an intentional relationship with each of us.

And as with anyone we want to get to know, we need to actually spend time with that person in order to grow in friendship. Thus the idea of regular time with God. Often, this time is spent reading the Bible, praying, perhaps journaling or singing. But do our quiet times actually need to be, ahem, quiet? I don’t think so.

Here are a few ways, other than Scripture reading, we can get to know God in unexpected avenues.

The Arts

If you’re a creative at heart, consider adding in an artistic element to your devotional time. Paint your prayers, doodle your thoughts, pen a poem to God. As you participate in the creative process, consider God’s creativity in the world, and ask Him how you can partner with His creativity at work.

Music

If you’re musical, consider writing songs that focus on what you love about God. Put Scripture to song, or sing to Jesus about whatever bubbles up out of your heart. God, who sings over us (Zephaniah 3:17), welcomes our songs of praise and thanksgiving back to Him.

Nature

If being outside makes your soul come alive, set aside intentional time to connect with God in the great outdoors. The One who called the earth into existence is the same God who died on the crossbars of a tree to save us. The whole earth is full of God’s glory (Isaiah 6:3)—so go and encounter Him there. Sit by a river and meditate on Scripture. Go on a hike and let the beauty of the earth remind you of God’s beauty.

Friends

There is a long and biblical history of God’s people gathering together to worship Him—and weekly church is a wonderful thing. But what about spending “quiet time” together with a friend or two? You can pray for and with one another; you can read Scripture to and with one another. You can eat together and share your hearts over a shared meal. The early church was meeting together daily (Acts 2:42-47); we can too.

Dance or Exercise

If you love working out and feel alive when you’re running, or swimming or playing basketball—do those things and praise God for the opportunity to move a functioning body. If you are a dancer and you feel great pleasure in dancing, dance as a form of worship to God. He is the one who has formed us (Psalm 139) and given us life; let our whole being praise him!

Cooking and Eating

If you love flavors and colors and the process of turning food into meals, then seek God in that place. Contemplate the beauty and taste of every different type of food you are cooking and let it point you to God’s abundance in creation. The Old Testament is full of various feasts that the Israelites had to commemorate God’s goodness, provision and presence in their midst. What might it look like to host a feast celebrating God’s goodness with your friends?

Consider mixing up your quiet times and seeing how He might surprise you with his goodness and presence in new ways.

For a good part of the last 12 years that I have been a follower of Christ, I have struggled to feel peace about what being a “Christian” is supposed to look like. Since I was an adult when I accepted the Lord, I felt like I had a lot to catch up on.

I started to have conversations with friends—quietly and nervously at first—about whether they ever wrestled with the sense that when it came to living out their faith, they weren’t sure they were “doing it right.” But about a year and a half ago, the Lord really started to challenge me in the way I was approaching my faith. He revealed a perspective I hadn’t ever been able to verbalize for myself, and it changed the entire way I now live out my faith.

In essence, I realized that I wasn’t really “following” God or “walking with Him” so much as I was chasing Him.

When you are chasing the object of your affection, there is a keen sense of the possibility that you might not ever reach it. More than that, when we see ourselves as the pursuers instead of the pursued, we live out of the desperation that comes from feeling that it’s our effort that leads to relationship.

The problem is, I think many people are chasing God without even realizing it, and I want to challenge believers to dig into basic questions about their view of who God is—who I am in light of Him? What are my “responsibilities” as a Christian?—and some much more difficult questions, as well: What if I sometimes doubt this is real? Does that mean I’ve missed the boat on how to live out my faith well?

The bottom line is this: When we try to fill the gaps of our faith with religion, we are chasing God. We place upon ourselves and others more rules, more stacks of what’s required and the driving realization that we might never experience Him the way we long to.

It’s easy to measure with the wrong ruler and feel you’ve come up short, and it’s equally easy to spend our efforts pursuing things the Lord hasn’t asked us to pursue.

If you’ve ever created false expectations from the Lord or if you’ve lived with a nagging sense of, “Will I ever really catch up with Him?” I have wonderful news: You, friend, were never meant to chase God. He pursues you relentlessly, offers you everything and declares you His in every sense of the word.

And yet, a good portion of us insist on chasing despite the truth. We say to ourselves,”How could a God so good come for me? How could He love me? There must be something I can do to make it feel more fair.”

But that isn’t the way He designed it, and the more of our days we spend searching, the fewer we will have at the end of it all to say we genuinely walked with Him.

The goal is, and has always been, true communion with a God who desires it, not a fumbling, desperate, disappointing attempt to “do the right thing” and hope it leads to at least a glimpse of Him.

Following someone indicates that you identify them as being ahead of you and you have committed to stay on the path being carved in front of you. On the other hand, chasing after someone leaves you out of breath, searching every chance you get for a sign that you’re heading toward the goal.

Following instead of chasing is simple, but not easy. So what do you say? Are you ready to stop chasing God?

Of course, anyone can face the threat of losing it all, but I’m specifically talking to those who are doing what it takes to bear fruit for the gospel and paying the price. I’m talking to those who are in this Jesus-serving thing up to their necks, whether in secular or religious spaces.

Unless we’re bitten by rabid self-ambition, our contribution doesn’t have to be big. All our meaning-craved souls really need is for it to be fulfilling, to feel like we’re actually working with God instead of trying to coax Him into working with us.

But this coming-of-age isn’t typically marked by a personal sense of thriving. Rather, it’s marked by a harrowing suspicion that somebody out there hates you. Somebody . . .

big

and powerful

and vicious

and patient

and deceptive

and mean

and alluring

and beautiful

and terrifying

and knowledgeable.

Somebody who knows your secrets. Your effective fruit bearing imposes the biggest threat to his agenda. His primary interest in your secrets is in leveraging them most effectively to stifle, smear, or stop your successes.

If the devil is doing his best work, you will think the somebody in question is God. There will be times you’re convinced to your bones that God Himself is opposing the very thing He called you to do. Rather than believing that the One who called you is faithful to perform it (1 Thessalonians 5:24), you may feel like the One who called you is systematically, frustratingly keeping you from performing it.

You might be tempted to think that God tricked you into something and then refused to support you. Or that He talked you into something beyond your natural abilities and then abandoned you, leaving you to fend for yourself.

When the devil is doing a superb job, you may feel like God called you and then changed His mind about you, as if He didn’t know who He was getting when He chose you.

If this reads like your present season, it’s likely you are awakening to the war. Your eyes just haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet. See if any of these statements have a familiar ring to them:

You didn’t know serving God would be like this.

When you surrendered to Jesus, you had no idea what you were stepping into.

You figure you must have done something wrong for it to be this hard. It wasn’t like this when you started.

You must have been too prideful. Maybe you enjoyed serving too much.

Your previous fruit must have all been a fluke. You’re a one-work wonder.

You’re too embarrassed to tell anyone about the battle you’re in. They’ll think you brought it all on yourself.

If you’re single, the challenges you’ve navigated with minimal effort before now loom over you like a tidal wave. Methods you’ve sworn by and shared with others no longer seem to be working. If you’re married, your marriage, which you’ve boasted about publicly, now looks like it’s about to go up in smoke. If you’re a parent, your kids, who up until now have been obediently fulfilling your own dreams and making you tremendously proud, look like they’re coming unhinged. The remarkable blessings of God on your job, your serving life, or your ministry now seem bafflingly absent. Your rising star feels like a sinking stone.

Half the time, you may think you’re losing your mind, and you hope nobody has noticed. You’re getting criticized. You’re attracting a lot of opposition. You daydream about quitting and moving to a remote island, wearing loincloths, drinking milk out of coconuts, and swimming with dolphins. At night, you have nightmares that you hung in there in your calling and it slaughtered you.

Congratulations. You have come of age.

What you’re going through is how it goes for nearly everyone who’s serious about serving Jesus. Now that you’ve come of age and had the faith and the audacity to bear much fruit, you have come of notice to the devil. Simultaneously, your unstoppably faithful God, who loves you immeasurably, has made a covenant at the Cross not only to save you but to conform you to the image of His Son.

Out of His exquisite grace, His obligation is to grow you up. And there is anguish in growing up. Among other things, growing up forces us to face the deceiver and pretender in our own mirror.

If this is the season you find yourself in, I can fairly confidently assure you it won’t always be this brutal. It will always be hard. At times it will be horrific. But this season of eye-bulging, nobody-ever-said-it-would-be-like-this pestilence won’t last forever. 

Much of the war against the devil is about whether you’ll quit. Or whether you’ll get sloppy. Or whether you’ll hang on to what drove you in the beginning:

Jesus.

Scripture.

Godly passion.

Holiness.

And it’s not just about hanging on to these things but about pressing further into them, with fresh faith. Questions like these have particular relevance in the culture surrounding us: Will we resolve to do what it takes to become a bona fide, tested-and-tried disciple of Jesus Christ—bearing what we have to bear, learning what we have to learn, denying what we need to deny, and embracing all there is to embrace? Or will we slip into the seductive black hole of busyness and business, platform and position, notoriety and name making, marketing, carnality, self-importance, celebrity, and branding?

After the fiercest battle of your life, when you are no longer naive, what will you do? Will you just go with the current and figure degeneration naturally follows regeneration? Or will you fight to get a pure heart back? Will you delegate to someone else the fight for the ground God entrusted to you? Or will you fight with everything you’ve got until you’re bloody and bruised?

Coming of age is the most critical intersection of your calling. It’s the place of Spirit and slaughter. It’s the corner where you take one of two turns: either your fruitfulness will be devoured by the devil or your own flesh, or you will allow God to crucify your ego, fear, and lethargy and raise you to be immensely fruitful for His gospel.

If you’re in a season of pestilence, fight it out. If you’ve gotten sloppy, tighten it up. If you’re neck deep in sin, repent. Go back on your face before God. Open a Bible and plant your nose in it. Memorize Scripture. Learn how to fast and pray. Quit talking about Jesus more than you talk to Him. Quit letting your mouth overshoot your character. Become that person you’ve made fun of for taking Jesus too seriously. Live and love valiantly. Give generously. Help the poor.

You’ll come out on the other side of every well-fought fight with something far better than an immense quantity of quality fruit. You’ll come out knowing Jesus in a way you formerly believed He couldn’t be known.

Taken from Chasing Vines: Finding Your Way to an Immensely Fruitful Life by Beth Moore. Copyright © 2020. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries.  All rights reserved.

Unconcerned about what others might think, I logged reflections, took note of new dreams that began to emerge. Second, I was sleeping better than ever. My full night’s sleep routine kicked back in almost immediately. I stopped scrolling through my social media apps before bed, so my body and brain were better prepared for sleep. If I woke for a moment in the middle of the night, I refrained from checking my phone, knowing it might keep me awake.

Third, I pursued learning again. Every choice to peruse social media was a choice not to do something productive with my time, and in that extra time garnered by fasting from it, I read more books, and listened to more podcasts and talks. Years of consuming the media, opinions and experiences of others had created a deficit. Now, without all those inputs, my brain was hungry for growth.

Far too many of us race through life full throttle from photo to photo, achievement to achievement. No wonder we are stressed!

A month into this experiment, this rest from social media, I was driving home at sunset through the rolling hills of Franklin, Tennessee, where we had moved from New York. My eyes welled up at the beauty. Normally, I would have pulled over to the side of the road and angled for the perfect shot to share on Instagram. Even before I reached for my phone, I realized I didn’t have it with me—and I didn’t care.

I drove on, reflecting on this change of heart, mind and soul for a few more minutes. That’s when God reminded me of the truth I needed to hear: You are worthy to receive something beautiful, and you don’t have to share it. That’s when I pulled over to the side of that country road. I stared across the amber sky and started to ponder, Why do I feel so compelled to share everything? Whose validation am I seeking?

Somewhere along the way, I’d decided that anything I did just for me felt indulgent, and I didn’t believe I was worthy of indulgence. What began as a break from the constant churn of social media became a fundamental lesson in worthiness. I came to see that my worth is not found in approval “out there.” It is found in the loving gifts God gives to me, in the intimate invitation of a sunset.

Far too many of us race through life full throttle from photo to photo, achievement to achievement. No wonder we are anxious and stressed!

Resting from technology slows us down, makes space for us to examine our blind spots and gives us greater capacity to be present to the moment right in front of us.

At least, it did for me.