Most of us learned the rule somewhere along the way, usually without anyone ever saying it out loud. If you want a gathering to stay pleasant, there are two subjects you leave alone. Religion and politics. Keep those off the table and the evening goes smoothly. Bring them up and you can feel the room change.
Now, if you are reading this, you probably have already made your peace with the first half of that rule. We talk about religion on purpose. But the second half has only gotten harder. I should say at the start that I am not writing as a man who has it all worked out. A good deal of what follows comes from me trying to think it through myself, the same way many of you have been.
Politics used to be one subject among many, something a person had opinions about the way they had opinions about hockey, and you could set it aside for an afternoon. That is no longer the case. Politics has become a lens, and it is now the thing people are sorted by. In a survey released by the Angus Reid Institute in the spring of 2025, 87 per cent of Conservative voters said the Liberal Party is a threat to the country, and 84 per cent of Liberal voters said the same about the Conservatives. That is not a disagreement about policy. That is each side saying the other is dangerous.
Our society is on edge. There is less trust in leaders, less trust in institutions, and less trust in one another, and we have watched it spill over into acts of violence.
It is tempting to avoid all of it and hope it passes. But Scripture never gives us that option. God calls His people to live faithfully in the middle of the world, and as it happens, our Lord was handed this very question.
The Pharisees had been looking for a way to trap Jesus, and they believed they had found it. They sent their own disciples to Him, and with them the Herodians. “Tell us then, what do You think? Is it lawful to give a poll-tax to Caesar, or not?” (Matthew 22:17).
On the surface that sounds like a question about taxes. It was not. It was a political landmine, and you can see that as soon as you notice who was asking.
The Pharisees were religious and fiercely nationalistic, and they wanted nothing to do with Rome. To them the poll-tax was not just a financial burden. It was a betrayal of their faith. The coin required to pay it carried Caesar’s image, and around its edge ran the words TI CAESAR DIVI AVG F AVGVSTVS, which means “Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus.” So that little coin was not just money. It was Rome announcing that Caesar was divine, and that Caesar was the one who was owed. Handing it over felt like idolatry.
The Herodians had no such concerns. Their loyalty was to Herod’s dynasty, which existed only because Rome permitted it, so for them the tax was simply the cost of doing business.
One group was ultra religious and the other was ultra political. Under normal circumstances, these two groups could not stand each other, yet here they were working side by side, because they both wanted Jesus gone. If He said do not pay, He was a rebel against Rome. If He said pay, He was a traitor to His own people.
This question was never really about money. It was about allegiance. Whose side are you on? That is the same question at the root of most of the political tension in our culture today. People want to know, “who you are with?”.
Jesus asked for the coin. “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” They said to Him, “Caesar’s.” Then He said to them, “Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21).
In one sentence He escaped the trap and lifted the whole conversation to a higher plane. They wanted Him to pick a side inside their categories, Pharisee or Herodian, Rome or Israel, but Jesus refuses to be boxed in. He does grant that Caesar has a legitimate place. Pay your taxes. Respect authority. Live within the laws of the land. But He also draws a line, and He draws it with an image. The coin carries Caesar’s image. The more important question is whose image is carried by the man holding it.
God created man in His own image, male and female He created them (Genesis 1:27). Your life, your heart, your worship and your allegiance were never Caesar’s to claim. They do not belong to a party, a leader, or a system. Caesar can have his coin. God must have you.
Now, that principle cuts in two directions. It keeps us from dismissing politics, and it keeps us from worshiping it. Christians should care and should take part. But the moment politics becomes ultimate, we have crossed a line that Jesus draws clearly. Politics cannot save anyone.
If we are going to render to God the things that are God’s, we need to be clear about what those things actually are. He wants our whole lives. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). But the things that belong to Him do not all come to us in the same form. Some of them are truths about the way things are. He determines what it means to be human. He designed marriage. He is the Author of life, knitting each person together in the womb. No legislature can amend those, and no election settles them.
But other things that belong to God are assignments, and they were handed to me. Care for the widow and the orphan. Showing compassion to the weak. Welcoming the stranger at my own door. Those are not policy positions. They are my obedience, and no government can carry it out for me.
Now, I am not saying laws do not matter, or that a Christian should be indifferent to them. Scripture has a great deal to say to kings and governments, and very little of it is gentle. “Woe to those who enact evil statutes and to those who constantly record unjust decisions” (Isaiah 10:1). Nations are held accountable for how they treat the weak. But God holding a government accountable has never once lifted a command off an individual believer. Both are true at the same time.
That second category is where we get into trouble, because the political grid offers us a way to feel faithful without actually being faithful. I can vote for a program and consider the poor looked after. I can vote the right way on marriage and on life and consider myself obedient. But a ballot has never fed anyone. It has never sat with a widow in times of distress. Whatever a government does or fails to do, the command still has my name on it Monday morning.
So when the labels come, and they will, the question is not which one fits. Conservative and liberal are Caesar’s categories, our version of Pharisee or Herodian, and we have grown very comfortable letting them sort us. Scripture takes precident over every platform, and there are times when it will put a Christian squarely against one. A believer who weighs a platform against the Word of God and concludes he cannot support it has not failed at being fair-minded. He has done what his conscience requires. That is not tribalism, for the scriptures will not let a platform own us, and it will not let a vote take the place of a life.
How we hold these convictions matters as much as the convictions themselves.
Now, Jesus was not soft with these men. He called them hypocrites to their faces, and elsewhere He called them blind guides and whitewashed tombs. But notice what was never true of Him. Jesus was never protecting Himself. He never spoke in order to win. Every hard word was for the good of the people who heard it, even when they hated Him for it. And He knew exactly what was in them, which is more than we can say about anyone with whom we disagree.
That is where most of us come apart. Our sharpest words are usually about us, about being right, and about not being made to look foolish. Even when we are right, if we handle ourselves the wrong way, we fail to render to God that which is God’s. He commands us to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44), and to “let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6).
So here is a fair question. Can I sit down with someone who sees politics very differently than I do and still listen? If I can’t, then politics may have hold of my heart more than I realize. People may never agree with our politics, but they will notice when we behave in a Christlike way.
It helps to remember how temporary all of this really is. Empires rise and fall. Leaders come and go. Through all of it God remains on His throne. “It is He who changes the times and the epochs; He removes kings and establishes kings” (Daniel 2:21). Caesar may sit in the palace, but God rules from heaven.
So give Caesar his coin. Pay your taxes, obey the law, vote thoughtfully, and listen to people who see things differently. But do not give Caesar your hope, your joy, or your worship. Those belong to God alone. And if the day ever comes when the two loyalties collide, we follow the apostles: “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29).
Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20), and our King is Jesus. So let us keep politics in it place and serve the Lord with our whole being. Caesar can have his coin. God must have you.
Many years ago, when I was working in kitchens and studying cooking, I became fascinated by truffles. Not the chocolate kind, but the rare fungi that grow underground and are prized by chefs around the world. I’ve never had the opportunity to try a fresh truffle myself, but I have read enough and watched enough chefs talk about them to know that they are considered something special. They are rare, difficult to find, and highly valued because of their unique flavour.
Whenever something becomes valuable, however, people inevitably try to find a shortcut. That is where truffle oil comes in.
Most truffle oil is marketed as a luxury product. It comes in elegant bottles with labels that make it sound sophisticated and authentic. The surprising reality, however, is that much of it contains little or no actual truffle. Instead, it relies on synthetic flavour compounds created in a laboratory to imitate the aroma of the real thing.
Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with truffle oil. But those who have experienced real truffles will tell you there is a significant difference between the imitation and the genuine article.
As I was thinking about that, it occurred to me that there is a version of Christianity that can be a lot like truffle oil.
It looks right. It sounds right. It carries the aroma of faith. Yet beneath the surface there is little substance. It is a faith that knows the language of Christianity without embracing the life of discipleship. It wants the benefits of following Christ without the surrender that follows Him.
The apostle John addresses that very issue in 1 John 3:1-3. He begins with these remarkable words: “See how great a love the Father has bestowed on us, that we would be called children of God; and such we are” (1 John 3:1).
John is inviting us to stop and marvel. The phrase translated “how great a love” comes from a single Greek word, potapēn, which literally means “of what kind” or “from what country.” It carries the idea of something so foreign, so unlike anything we naturally encounter, that it shocks the system. It is as if John is saying, “This love is from somewhere else entirely. What kind of love is this?”
God’s love is unlike anything we naturally encounter in this world. It is a love that moved Him to send His Son (John 3:16). It is a love that pursued us when we were lost (Romans 5:8). It is a love that makes sinners into children of God.
That is where authentic Christianity begins. It does not begin with behaviour. It begins with identity.
Many people think Christianity is primarily about following rules, attending church, or trying to be a better person. While obedience certainly matters, those things are not what make someone a Christian.
A Christian is someone who has been transformed by the love of God. John says that believers are children of God (1 John 3:1). That is not merely a title. It is a new reality. Through Christ, we become part of God’s family (Galatians 4:4-7). That identity changes everything.
Authentic faith is not simply about acting differently. It is about becoming someone new (2 Corinthians 5:17).
John then takes our attention from the present to the future: “Beloved, now we are children of God, and it has not appeared as yet what we will be” (1 John 3:2).
What an encouraging statement. Christians are already God’s children, but God is not finished with us yet. We are still growing. We are still being shaped. We are still becoming what God intends us to be.
John continues: “We know that when He appears, we will be like Him, because we will see Him just as He is” (1 John 3:2).
That is the great Christian hope. The goal of the Christian life is not merely self-improvement. It is transformation. One day, when Christ returns, His people will be fully conformed to His likeness (Romans 8:29). That future hope matters because what we believe about the future shapes how we live in the present.
Christian apologist John Lennox has observed that people often focus almost entirely on the present moment. Even Christians can fall into the habit of thinking about faith primarily in terms of what it does for them right now. Yet the New Testament constantly points us forward.
The Christian life is lived in anticipation of something greater. We are moving toward a day when we will see Christ face to face (Revelation 22:4). When we lose sight of that hope, our faith becomes shallow. We begin living as though this world is all there is.
But when our eyes are fixed on Christ, our lives begin moving in a different direction. That is exactly where John takes us next: “And everyone who has this hope fixed on Him purifies himself, just as He is pure” (1 John 3:3).
Notice the connection. Hope produces change. John does not say that genuine hope should lead to transformation. He says it does. Those who truly long to be like Christ will begin pursuing Christ-likeness now. Their lives will increasingly reflect the One they love. Not perfectly. Not instantly. But genuinely.
This is where the difference between authentic Christianity and “truffle oil Christianity” becomes visible. Imitation faith is content with appearances. It wants to look spiritual without being transformed. It knows the right words. It attends the right services. It may even maintain a respectable image.
But real faith produces real change. It creates a desire for holiness. It creates a growing love for God and others. It creates a willingness to repent, to grow, and to be corrected. That does not mean Christians never stumble. Every believer continues to battle weakness and sin. The issue is not perfection. The issue is direction. Are we moving toward Christ? Are we becoming more like Him? Is our hope producing transformation?
Those are important questions because authentic faith always leaves evidence.
John continues throughout his letter by pointing to things such as obedience (1 John 2:3-6), love for fellow believers (1 John 3:14-18), and a growing rejection of sin (1 John 3:6-10). These things do not earn salvation, but they do reveal that God’s work is taking place within us. That is why self-examination is so important.
It is possible to settle for a version of Christianity that looks convincing on the surface while lacking depth underneath. It is possible to know Christian language without cultivating a Christian life. It is possible to enjoy the aroma of faith without embracing the reality of discipleship. But God is not interested in appearances alone. He desires reality.
Perhaps that means spending more time in God’s Word, not simply to gain information but to be changed by it (James 1:22-25). Perhaps it means developing a deeper prayer life. Perhaps it means building genuine relationships with other believers who can encourage us and help us grow (Hebrews 10:24-25).
Real discipleship is rarely convenient. It requires surrender, humility, and perseverance. But it is worth it. Because all of this is heading somewhere.
One day we will see Christ as He is (1 John 3:2). One day faith will become sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). One day everything artificial will fall away. One day only what is genuine will remain. So let us not settle for imitation faith. Let us not be content with merely looking the part. Instead, let us keep our eyes fixed on Christ and continue moving in the direction of our hope. That is where authentic faith grows.
It was the famous Canadian communication theorist Marshall McLuhan who once observed, “We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us.”
McLuhan made that statement long before the invention of smartphones, social media, and streaming platforms, yet his insight seems remarkably relevant today. He understood that technology does more than simply deliver information. It shapes how we think, how we relate to others, and even how we perceive reality itself.
We live in a world that is more connected than any previous generation could have imagined. Millions of people spend hours each day online, scrolling through social media feeds, consuming news, watching videos, and interacting with others through digital platforms. Technology has brought many benefits. We can communicate instantly across great distances, access vast amounts of information, and stay connected with family and friends.
Yet Christians must ask an important question: What kind of people are we becoming? Are our digital habits helping us become more loving, patient, wise, and Christlike? Or are they fostering distraction, anxiety, anger, and spiritual complacency?
Jesus made this clear when He said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15). That is a call to whole-life obedience, not partial or selective faithfulness. As followers of Jesus, we are called to evaluate every area of life through the lens of discipleship, including our use of technology.
In Ephesians 5:8–16, the apostle Paul provides principles that are surprisingly relevant to life in the digital age. Although Paul never imagined smartphones or social media, the truths he teaches about living faithfully in a dark world speak directly to the challenges Christians face today.
Remember Who You Are
Paul begins with these words: “For you were formerly darkness, but now you are Light in the Lord; walk as children of Light” (Ephesians 5:8).
Notice that Paul does not merely say believers once lived in darkness. He says they were darkness. Before Christ, darkness defined their identity. But through the saving work of Jesus, they have been transformed. Now they are light in the Lord. Those who are in Christ have become a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). This change of identity should shape every aspect of life.
Too often Christians treat their online activity as if it exists in a separate category from their spiritual lives. We may carefully guard our conduct at church, in our homes, or in public, yet fail to apply the same standards when sitting behind a screen. But discipleship does not stop when we log onto a website or open a social media app.
If we are children of light, then we are called to walk in that light everywhere. Our posts, comments, messages, and online interactions should reflect the character of Christ. The question is not simply, “Can I do this?” but “Does this reflect who I am in Christ?” Our digital lives should be consistent with our spiritual identity.
Practice Intentional Discernment
Paul continues by describing believers as those who are “trying to learn what is pleasing to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:10).
That phrase reveals an active pursuit. Christians are not called to drift through life on autopilot. We are called to think carefully about what honors God. This is especially important in a digital culture that constantly competes for our attention.
Every day we are exposed to countless voices telling us what to value, what to fear, what to desire, and how to interpret the world. Social media influencers, news outlets, entertainment platforms, advertisers, and online personalities all seek to shape our thinking.
The danger is that we can absorb these messages without ever examining them through the lens of Scripture. Paul addresses this concern elsewhere when he writes: “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2).
The renewing of the mind does not happen accidentally. It occurs when God’s Word becomes the primary influence shaping our thoughts and values.
Every Christian should honestly ask: Am I spending more time being shaped by Scripture or by social media? Am I allowing God’s truth to direct my thinking, or am I simply absorbing the assumptions of the surrounding culture? Spiritual formation is always happening. The only question is what is forming us.
Faithful digital discipleship requires intentional discernment. We must continually evaluate the messages we consume and ensure that our minds are being shaped more by God’s Word than by the endless stream of content flowing through our screens.
Stand Against the Darkness
Paul then issues a stronger challenge: “Do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them” (Ephesians 5:11). Christians are not merely called to avoid darkness. We are called to shine light into it.
In our current culture, many ideas and behaviours that Scripture identifies as sinful are not only tolerated but celebrated. The pressure to remain silent can be intense. Speaking truth often invites criticism or misunderstanding. Yet Paul reminds believers that faithfulness sometimes requires courage.
This does not mean Christians should become argumentative, harsh, or self-righteous. Light exposes darkness simply by being what it is. In the same way, believers are called to speak truth with humility, conviction, and love.
When culture normalizes sexual immorality, whether adultery, fornication, or homosexuality, we lovingly but clearly say that is not God’s design. When pornography is treated as harmless, when abortion is defended as a right, when greed, drunkenness, and gossip are celebrated or excused, we do not pretend otherwise. We speak the truth because we know it leads to life, and because we love people enough to point them toward it.
The digital world often rewards outrage, hostility, and division. Followers of Christ must resist that temptation. We can stand for truth without sacrificing grace. We can disagree without becoming hateful. We can confront darkness while still reflecting the character of Jesus. Faithful discipleship requires both conviction and compassion.
Wake Up and Walk Wisely
Perhaps the most urgent words in the passage are found in verses 14–16: “Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you… Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:14–16).
Paul warns against spiritual sleepiness. This warning is particularly relevant in the digital age because technology often distracts us not through obvious rebellion, but through constant entertainment and endless distraction. We can spend hours scrolling, watching, and consuming content without ever reflecting on where our time has gone.
The greatest danger is not always outright sin. Sometimes it is spiritual drift. We become so occupied with digital noise that we neglect prayer, Scripture, fellowship, service, and meaningful relationships (Hebrews 10:24–25). We may remain busy while becoming spiritually stagnant.
Paul’s solution is simple: wake up. Live intentionally. Pay attention to how you are spending your time. Be wise rather than careless. The word Paul uses for “making the most of your time” literally means to redeem it, to buy it back. Time spent in drift is time surrendered. God calls us to reclaim it.
Every moment is a gift entrusted to us by God. The question is whether we are investing those moments in ways that advance His purposes or merely allowing them to disappear into endless distraction.
Technology itself is not the enemy. Our devices can be used for great good. They can help us learn, communicate, encourage others, spread the gospel, and deepen our understanding of God’s Word. But they are tools, and tools always shape those who use them.
That brings us back to McLuhan’s observation: “We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us.” The issue is not whether digital technology is shaping us. It certainly is. The real question is whether it is shaping us more than Christ is.
As believers, we have been called to something greater than passive consumption and endless distraction. We have been called to walk as children of light. That means remembering our identity in Christ, practising discernment, standing against darkness, and living wisely with the time God has given us.
The digital world does not have the final say over who we become. Jesus does. And through His Word, His Spirit, and His people, He continues to call us to a wiser, brighter, and more faithful way of life.
I still remember the day I discovered smelling salts. I was a kid, wandering through my grandfather’s garage. He had run a junk yard for years, and it takes a certain kind of person to do that. You don’t throw much away. You hang on to things because they might be useful someday. You learn to see potential where other people just see scrap. And over time, that way of thinking fills your space.
His garage was packed full. Tools, parts, old boxes, things I couldn’t even identify, all kept for one reason or another. It wasn’t organized, and it definitely wasn’t safe. But for a curious kid, it was a great place to explore.
One day I came across an old medical kit. It looked like it had been sitting there for years. Inside were bandages, small bottles, and these little glass vials wrapped in gauze. I had no idea what they were, but that didn’t stop me. I picked one up and gave it a squeeze. It snapped. The gauze got damp, so I brought it up to my nose to see what it smelled like. One deep breath and I’ve never forgotten what happened next.
It hit me instantly. My sinuses burned, my eyes started watering, and my whole body jolted awake. It was sharp, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. For a moment, nothing else existed. Every sense I had was suddenly wide open. Later I found out it was an ammonia inhalant. Something used to wake someone up. And that’s exactly what it did.
The more I’ve thought about that over the years, the more I’ve realized how fitting that picture is. Because there are some things in life that don’t just gently settle in. They hit you. They wake you up. They force you to see what’s really there.
The Gospel is like that. We tend to think of the Gospel as something comforting, and it certainly is. But if that’s all we see, we haven’t really understood it. The Gospel doesn’t just comfort. It confronts. It wakes us up.
That’s what’s happening in that familiar scene in Luke 2. The shepherds are out in the field, just doing what they always do. It’s an ordinary night with nothing unusual going on. And then suddenly, everything changes. “An angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened” (Luke 2:9).
Heaven breaks through this ordinary night in a dramatic way. And then the message comes: “Do not be afraid… I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; for today… there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10–11).
That’s the Gospel. And like that moment in the garage, it’s meant to wake us up. One of the first ways it does that is by forcing us to see something we don’t naturally want to look at. It wakes us up to the reality of our condition.
We have a way of going through life without really dealing with that. We stay busy and try, almost endlessly, to distract ourselves from it. We fill our lives with enough noise that we don’t have to think too deeply about anything.
But underneath all of that, there’s something there. You see it in people who seem to have everything. Success, comfort, recognition. And yet there’s still something unsettled. Still something missing. The reason for that, according to Scripture, is because: “There is none righteous, not even one” (Romans 3:10). And “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).
That’s God’s indictment on all humanity. The problem isn’t just out there somewhere. It’s in us. We don’t just live in a broken world. We’re part of the brokenness. That’s not an easy thing to face. And most of the time, we’d rather not. But the Gospel doesn’t let us stay comfortable. It cuts through it and brings clarity. It jolts us awake.
If it ended there, it would be hopeless. But thankfully, the same message that exposes the problem also reveals what God has done about it. When the angel says, “today… a Savior has been born,” this isn’t theoretical or abstract. This is something that happened in real time, in history.
From the very beginning, God had promised that He would deal with sin. “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” (Genesis 3:15).
That promise runs all the way through Scripture. Through Abraham, through David, through the prophets. And then, at just the right time, it happens. Not the way that people expected. Not through power or force, but through a child, and ultimately through a cross.
God didn’t stand at a distance and tell us to fix ourselves. He came near. “For what the Law could not do, weak as it was through the flesh, God did: sending His own Son” (Romans 8:3). That’s the Gospel. Not what we can do to reach God, but what God has done to reach us. And when this supreme reality really sinks in, it changes things. You don’t see yourself the same way. You don’t see your life the same way. You don’t see your need the same way.
But even that isn’t the end. Because the Gospel doesn’t just deal with the past. It doesn’t just address the present. It points forward. We still live in a world where things are not right. We still deal with loss, pain, and all the effects of sin. That hasn’t gone away. But it’s also not the end of the story.
“And He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there will no longer be any death… or mourning, or crying, or pain” (Revelation 21:4). That’s where this is going.
There’s a line from Fyodor Dostoevsky in The Brothers Karamazov that really captures this. In a painful conversation about evil and suffering, he writes: “I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for…” And he goes on to describe a day when everything will be brought into such perfect harmony that even the deepest pain will be answered and reconciled. He’s pointing us to this great truth that in the end suffering will not have the final word.
That’s what the Gospel promises. And when you take all of that in; when you breathe it deeply, it does something to you. It’s not mild. It’s not something you just nod at and move on from. It’s like that moment in the garage. Everything suddenly comes into focus, and you can’t ignore it. The Gospel does that. It wakes us up to what’s real. It shows us who we are. It shows us what God has done. And it points us to what’s coming. The angel called it “good news of great joy… for all the people” (Luke 2:10). That’s still true.
The question is whether we’ve really let it reach us. Whether we’ve just heard it… or whether it has actually awakened us.
Thessalon, ON
Few books capture the darkness of the human heart as starkly as William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. For many of us, it was required reading in high school English class, one of those books almost everyone was assigned at some point. The novel tells the story of a group of British schoolboys stranded on an uninhabited island after a plane crash. At first, things seem hopeful. They organize themselves, establish rules, and try to build a little civilization of their own. A conch shell becomes their symbol of authority, calling meetings and enforcing civility.
But as time passes, that structure begins to collapse. Fear replaces reason. The imagined threat of a lurking beast stirs paranoia. What begins as rivalry turns into cruelty, and eventually into violence. The rules lose their power, the conch is shattered, and the boys descend into chaos. When they are finally rescued, they are horrified by what they have become.
Golding’s conclusion is bleak. He is offering an evaluation of the human condition. Strip away external restraints, and humanity cannot sustain goodness. No matter how hard we try, no matter what structures we put in place, there is something deeply broken within us. Given enough time and freedom, our darker impulses rise to the surface. The struggle for goodness over evil inside the human heart seems endless and, ultimately, unwinnable.
That conclusion resonates because it feels honest. Most people, whether religious or not, recognize the conflict within themselves. There is the person we want to be and the person we actually are. There is a desire for goodness alongside of a pull toward selfishness. There is a longing to do what is right and a stubborn tendency to do what we know is wrong.
Scripture acknowledges this struggle, but it does not leave us where Golding does. Romans 7 goes deeper into that inner struggle and then points us to the only true source of hope.
In Romans 7:14–25, the apostle Paul describes an intense inner battle. He speaks of the struggle in very candid terms: “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). Anyone who has sincerely tried to live faithfully before God can recognize themselves in those words.
Paul describes a war within. He wants to do good, yet finds himself doing evil. He agrees with God’s law, yet feels the pull of sin. He says, “For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out” (Romans 7:18), and he sees “another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin” (Romans 7:23). All of this gives way to a desperate question: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24).
At first glance, Paul’s words sound very much like Golding’s conclusion. A never-ending struggle. A divided self. A sense of futility. But Paul is not writing a novel, and he is not offering a philosophical reflection. He is addressing the reality of sin and the limits of human effort.
Christians have long wrestled with this passage. Some understand Romans 7 as describing Paul’s life before conversion under the law. Others see it as the experience of Israel under the law. Still others understand it – describing the ongoing struggle believers experience while living in the flesh. However one understands the details, the reality of the inner conflict is undeniable. The question is not whether the struggle exists, but how it is resolved.
Now, the struggle itself is not unique to Christians. Every human being wrestles with conflicting desires. We all experience tension between what we know is right and what we are tempted to do. But there is a profound difference between the struggle of someone who belongs to Christ and the person who does not.
Before Paul became a Christian, he does not present himself as a man crushed by moral defeat. In Galatians, he speaks of his former life in Judaism with confidence: “I was persecuting the church of God violently and trying to destroy it… I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my own age” (Galatians 1:13–14). In Philippians, he even calls himself “blameless” with respect to “righteousness under the law” (Philippians 3:6).
That is not the voice of a man who feels defeated. That is the voice of someone convinced he was doing well. What changed was not Paul’s personality or his moral seriousness. What changed was his relationship to Christ.
When Paul encountered the risen Lord and later submitted to Him in obedient faith, his life was transformed. Scripture describes this transformation: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). When we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection, our sins are forgiven and we begin a new life (Romans 6:3–4). Becoming a Christian does not remove the presence of temptation, but it does change our allegiance and direction.
This is why Paul can say: “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh” (Romans 7:18). This is not self-deprecation but a sober self-assessment. Paul now sees himself honestly before a holy God. He recognizes that he has nothing to commend himself apart from Christ. His confidence has shifted away from his own righteousness and toward the grace made available through Jesus. This awareness brings anguish, but it also opens the door to hope.
Paul makes a crucial distinction in Romans 7:20: “Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me” (Romans 7:20). He is not excusing sin or removing responsibility. He is highlighting the internal conflict between the desire to do right and the persistent power of sin. Whether describing life under the law or the ongoing tension believers feel in the flesh, Paul’s point is clear: human strength alone cannot win this battle. Deliverance must come from outside of us.
This is where Golding’s assessment reaches its limits. Lord of the Flies exposes the battle within the human heart, but it offers no Deliverer. Without Christ, the struggle between good and evil is hopeless. There is no final resolution. The best one can do is manage it, suppress it, or resign oneself to it. But Scripture does not end with despair.
Paul’s cry of anguish is immediately followed by a declaration of gratitude: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25). The question “Who will deliver me?” is not left unanswered. Deliverance comes through Jesus.
The Christian life is not without struggle. It is a life in which the struggle is met with grace and strength from God. Victory does not mean sinless perfection, but it does mean that sin no longer has to reign. Through Christ, we are freed from sin’s dominion and called to walk in newness of life (Romans 6:6–7).
This changes how believers view their ongoing battle. The presence of struggle is not evidence that faith is empty. In many cases, it is evidence that the conscience has been awakened and the heart desires righteousness. The discomfort we feel toward sin is not a sign that something has gone wrong, but just the opposite. We are being reshaped by the truth of God’s Word and His Spirit within.
The Christian mourns sin and rejoices in grace at the same time. Like Paul, we cry out in honesty and then lift our eyes in hope. Without Jesus, we cannot win the battle. But, with Him, as we walk faithfully in His light, the struggle will not have the final word. That is the hope of the gospel. And it is the hope that every Christian needs to hear.
Thessalon, ON
When it comes to our personal reading of the Bible, most of us have parts we find harder to get through. Certain prophecies can be challenging. Levitical laws can be confusing. But for a lot of people, the hardest parts of Scripture are the genealogies.
Long lists of names rarely feel compelling. Name follows name, and before long our eyes glaze over. And yet we know those genealogies are not there by accident. God does not waste ink. Every name and every generation is part of the story He has been telling from the beginning, a story of faithfulness and redemption that has never gone off track.
That is especially true of the genealogy that opens the New Testament. Matthew begins his Gospel this way: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1).
That opening line is deliberate. Before Matthew tells us what Jesus did, he wants us to understand who Jesus is and how He fits into the story God has been working out since the very beginning. So the question we need to ask is a simple one: What does a list of names reveal about God’s plan?
One of the first things this genealogy makes clear is that the Gospel is grounded in real history. Matthew is not dealing in symbols or abstractions. He is anchoring the story of Jesus in real people, real places, and real events. The Christian faith is not built on inspiring ideas or carefully crafted myths. It is built on what God has actually done in history.
Matthew traces Jesus’ lineage from Abraham through David, through the kings of Judah, through the exile, and finally to Joseph, “the husband of Mary, by whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah” (Matthew 1:16). These names represent real people who lived, struggled through real circumstances, and died.
What makes this especially striking is that many of these figures are not only known from Scripture, but also confirmed by archaeology. For example, a small clay seal impression, known as a bulla, has been discovered bearing the inscription, “Belonging to Hezekiah, son of Ahaz, king of Judah.” Those very names appear in Matthew’s genealogy: “Uzziah was the father of Jotham, Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah” (Matthew 1:9).
Over the years, archaeologists have uncovered inscriptions, seals, city walls, and artifacts connected to people and places mentioned in the Bible. All of this reinforces Matthew’s point. He is not crafting a legend. He is presenting a record. He is saying that this actually happened.
That matters, especially in a culture that often treats faith as merely personal or subjective. People frequently say things like, “That may be true for you, but not for me.” Matthew’s genealogy challenges that way of thinking. It does not invite us to believe a comforting story. It confronts us with historical reality. God entered time and space. Jesus was born into a traceable family line, under real kings, in a world we can study and verify.
But this genealogy does more than ground the Gospel in history. It also shows us that God has been faithfully at work through that history across generations. When you look closely at Matthew 1, what you see is not just a record of births. You see a record of promises kept.
The genealogy begins with Abraham because that is where the promise takes on a clear covenant form. In Genesis 12, the Lord told Abram, “In you all the families of the earth will be blessed” (Genesis 12:3). That promise did not unfold quickly or easily. It stretched across centuries and generations.
That is why Matthew introduces Jesus as “the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1). He is drawing a straight line from the covenant God made with Abraham, through the kingship of David, and ultimately to Christ.
Nearly two thousand years passed between God’s promise to Abraham and the birth of Jesus. During that time, God’s people experienced slavery in Egypt, exile in Babylon, and oppression under foreign powers. There were long stretches when it looked like God’s plan had stalled or failed. But it never did.
The genealogy in Matthew 1 is a living timeline of God’s faithfulness. Each name is another marker showing that God kept His word, step by step and generation after generation. Scripture reminds us, “For the Lord is good; His steadfast love endures forever, and His faithfulness to all generations” (Psalm 100:5). Even when God’s people were unfaithful, He remained faithful. Even when circumstances seemed to contradict His promises, God continued to move history forward according to His design.
As we continue through this genealogy, something else becomes clear. It is not only a record of God’s faithfulness, but also a window into the kind of people God chooses to work through. Matthew includes names that would not normally appear in a formal Jewish genealogy. He names several women, and not just any women, but women whose stories include pain, scandal, and brokenness.
He mentions Tamar, whose story involved injustice and desperate action (Matthew 1:3). He names Rahab, a Canaanite woman with a notorious past who trusted in the God of Israel (Matthew 1:5). He includes Ruth, a Moabite widow from a pagan nation who clung to Naomi and to the Lord (Matthew 1:5). And he refers to Bathsheba as “the wife of Uriah,” deliberately reminding us of David’s sin (Matthew 1:6).
Matthew did not have to include these names. The genealogy would have been legitimate without them. But he chose to include them because they make a point. The Messiah’s family tree is filled with outsiders, sinners, and broken people.
From the very beginning, God’s redemptive plan made room for grace. Jesus did not come from a flawless lineage. He came through real lives marked by failure and redemption. The Savior who would welcome sinners came from a line that already reflected that mission.
That is good news for all of us. Every one of us carries stories we would rather not see written down. And yet Matthew shows us that Jesus did not come in spite of those stories. He came through them. God’s grace transforms shame into redemption.
As Matthew brings the genealogy to a close, he draws our attention to its structure. He writes, “So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations” (Matthew 1:17).
This structure is intentional. In the Hebrew way of thinking, numbers carried symbolic meaning. Fourteen is two sevens, and seven represents completeness and God’s finished work. Three sets of fourteen equal six sevens. That means when Jesus is born, He inaugurates the seventh seven. This is an astonishing claim!
In the Old Testament, the Year of Jubilee was meant to be a time when things were set right again. Debts were to be forgiven. Slaves were to be released. Land was to be returned. It was God’s way of reminding His people that everything ultimately belonged to Him and that He was the One who restores what has been broken (Leviticus 25:10). And yet, Israel never truly lived out the Jubilee as God intended. It remained an unfulfilled picture, a promise waiting for completion.
Matthew is telling us that in Jesus, that long-awaited fulfillment finally arrives. Jesus does not merely announce rest. He embodies it. He is the seventh seven! He is the true Sabbath and the ultimate Jubilee. In Him, debts are forgiven, captives are freed, and what was lost is restored.
That is why Jesus could stand in the synagogue and read, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me…to proclaim release to the captives…and to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord” (Luke 4:18–19). Then He closed the scroll and said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21).
In Him, rest is no longer something we wait for. It is something we receive. When Jesus says, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28), He is not offering a pause or a temporary relief. He is offering Himself.
So when we read this list of names, we are not just reading history. We are hearing an invitation. What began with Abraham and reached its fulfillment in Jesus now comes to us. Will we trust the God who has proven Himself faithful? Will we receive the grace He offers and find our rest in Him?
It was July 30, 1945, near the end of the Second World War, when the American battle cruiser USS Indianapolis was struck by a Japanese torpedo and sank within twelve minutes. About 1,200 men had been on board. Around 300 went down with the ship, and roughly 900 were left floating in the waters of the Pacific. For four days they drifted under the burning sun with no food, no water, and very little hope. When rescuers finally arrived, only 316 were still alive.
One of them, the ship’s senior medical officer, Captain Lewis Haynes, later described what he saw. “There was nothing I could do but try to keep the men from drinking the water. The sun was so hot and the ocean so clear, it looked good enough to drink. But when the young ones lost hope, they would drink the salt water, and they would go fast.”
Those who gave in and drank the salt water became delirious, then violent, and finally died. They thought it would satisfy them, but it only made their thirst worse.
It is hard to imagine that kind of thirst. Everywhere they looked there was water, but not a drop that could help them. And yet, in a very real way, that is what happens to countless souls in our world today. People are drinking deeply of everything this world offers, but they are still thirsty.
We are surrounded by abundance. Clean water flows from our taps. Food is easy to find. Life seems full of things that should satisfy us. But beneath the surface there is another kind of thirst that no amount of comfort or success can quench. God has placed in every human heart a longing meant to draw us to Him. It is a thirst of the soul, and if we ignore it, it will eventually destroy us.
That is the lesson we see in John 4, when Jesus meets a woman beside a well in Samaria.
Tired from His journey, Jesus sat down by a well around noon (John 4:6). A woman from the city came to draw water. It was unusual for someone to come alone at the hottest part of the day, but this woman was an outcast even among her own people. She had been married five times and was now living with a man who was not her husband. She came to the well at a time when no one else would be there. And yet that day she met the Savior.
When Jesus asked her for a drink, she was surprised: “How is it that You, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a Samaritan woman?” (John 4:9). Jesus used that moment to reveal her deeper need. He told her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water” (John 4:10).
At first she misunderstood. She thought He was talking about the water in the well. But Jesus made it clear: “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give will become in him a fountain of water springing up to eternal life” (John 4:13–14).
Jesus was speaking about the life that only He can give: the life that satisfies the soul.
Just as the sailors thought salt water would quench their thirst, this woman had been drinking spiritual salt water all her life. She had been trying to satisfy her heart through relationships, but none of them could fill the emptiness inside. When Jesus told her, “Go call your husband,” He was not trying to shame her. He was showing her the truth. She had been looking in the wrong places for what only God could give.
That is what sin does to all of us. It convinces us that the things of this world, can meet the deepest needs of our hearts. But no matter how much we drink from those sources, they only leave us thirstier than before.
People today still drink from the same salt water. Some turn to money and possessions. Others to entertainment, approval, or pleasure. Some try to fill the void with work, with image, or endless distraction. All of it promises refreshment, but none of it truly satisfies. It looks clear and inviting, but it cannot give life.
Jesus said, “Whoever drinks the water I give will never thirst.” The living water He offers is not temporary satisfaction. It is eternal life. It is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the presence of God that renews and sustains the soul. When we come to Christ in faith, He places within us “a well of water springing up to eternal life” (John 4:14).
To drink that water is to receive what only He can give. It means admitting that our own wells have run dry and that our best efforts to fill the void have failed. It means believing that Jesus is the Son of God and that only in Him can we find life. The gospel of John was written for that very reason, “so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in His name” (John 20:31). This is the greatest truth in the universe. Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through Him we can have life.
Another thing that makes this account in John 4 so remarkable is who He chose to reveal this truth to. He did not first make this declaration to a ruler, a scholar, or a religious leader. He spoke it to a Samaritan woman, a person others had written off, someone the world would have overlooked.
That is what grace looks like. Jesus meets people where they are. He met her at the well, and He still meets people the same way. He still offers living water to anyone who will ask. He still calls us to turn away from the salt water of this world and come to Him for true life.
In John 7:37–38, Jesus said, “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. The one who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, ‘From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”
That is the invitation of the gospel. The world offers many things that seem to bring life, but they cannot. Only Jesus gives the living water that truly satisfies. Only He can quench the thirst of the human soul.
What He said to the woman at the well, He says to us, “If you knew the gift of God, you would have asked, and He would have given you living water.” The gift is still being offered. The fountain is still open. Each of us must decide what water we will drink. The salt water of the world, or the living water of Christ which gives life forever.
With the Thanksgiving holiday just around the corner, many of us will gather with family and friends to share a meal and reflect on the good things in our lives. It is a simple holiday compared to others. It does not come with a lot of baggage, marketing campaigns, or pressure to spend inordinate amounts of money. It just sets aside a day to remember what we have and to be thankful.
But here is a question: why do we need a holiday to remind us to be thankful? If thankfulness is so basic and so obvious, why do we so often forget it? The truth is, we live in a world that is very often thankless, and if we are honest, we all know this struggle within ourselves. We need to work at giving thanks. We need reminders. And the Bible gives them to us over and over again.
The Apostle Paul describes the heart of the problem in Romans 1:21: “For although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God or give thanks to Him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.” That is the indictment. Humanity has turned away from God, refusing to honor Him or give Him thanks. Without Christ, our hearts are darkened and we do not give the thanks that we should.
Without God, people are left to make sense of life in other ways. Some will say it is just luck or chance, and so there is no one to ultimately thank. Others believe everything is fixed by fate, but again there is no personal God behind it. And many simply give themselves the credit, convinced their success is the result of their own strength and skill. But none of that produces genuine thankfulness. It either becomes a shallow expression that does not last, or it turns into bitterness when life does not go as planned.
That is the reality of life apart from Christ. But for the Christian, things are different. We know who God is, and we know where our thanks belong. We are given a clear picture of this in Luke 7:36–50.
Jesus was invited to dinner by Simon the Pharisee (Luke 7:36). As they ate, a woman known in the city for her sinful life came in. Overcome with emotion, she wept at His feet, washing them with her tears, wiping them with her hair, kissing them, and pouring out costly perfume (Luke 7:37–38). It was an uncomfortable scene, even offensive to some who were present.
Simon’s reaction tells us a lot. He silently questioned Jesus. If He were truly a prophet, surely He would know what kind of woman this was. Surely He would not let her touch Him (Luke 7:39). But Jesus knew Simon’s thoughts and told him a parable. Two men owed money. One owed five hundred denarii, the other fifty. Neither could pay, and both were forgiven. Which of them will love him more? Simon answered, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven” (Luke 7:41–43). Jesus told him he was right. Then He pointed to the woman’s actions as the proof of a heart overflowing with love because she knew she had been forgiven much (Luke 7:44–47).
This is a striking contrast. Simon had invited Jesus into his home but offered no water for His feet, no kiss of greeting, no oil for His head (Luke 7:44–46). His heart was proud and unthankful. He did not see his debt and he did not see the Savior. Outwardly religious, but inwardly cold.
The woman, on the other hand, saw her sin clearly. She knew her need, and she saw that Jesus was the answer. She held nothing back in her gratitude. Her tears, her perfume, her affection were all poured out freely. She was not calculating what others thought of her. She was moved by grace and responded with thankfulness that overflowed into worship.
This is what true thanksgiving looks like. It is not a polite word at the dinner table or a general feeling that things have gone well. It is not thanking fate or luck or ourselves. True thanksgiving comes when we realize the depth of our sin and the greatness of God’s mercy in Christ. When we see who Jesus is and what He has done for us, our response is love and gratitude that cannot be contained.
That is why Paul can command believers in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 to “give thanks in everything, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Paul is not telling us to pretend that everything that happens to us is good. He is reminding us that in every circumstance God is present, faithful, and working for our ultimate good in Christ. That is why we can give thanks. In Ephesians 5:20, Paul calls us to be “always giving thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20). Thanksgiving is not meant to be seasonal, but to be a way of life.
Of course, this does not come naturally. We still live in a fallen world. We still wrestle with sin and distraction. That is why we need reminders. That is why we return again and again to passages like Luke 7. We need to see ourselves in that woman. We need to remember that our debt was real, and it was greater than we could ever repay. We also need to remember that Jesus is the one who has cancelled that debt and given us peace with God (Luke 7:48–50).
As we come to this Thanksgiving season, enjoy the meal and the gathering of family. Take time to remember the blessings of this past year. But let your gratitude go deeper than the holiday. Let it flow from the cross. Like the woman who fell at Jesus’ feet, may our lives be marked by thankfulness that holds nothing back.
Because for the Christian, thanksgiving is not just a holiday. It is the overflow of a heart that knows it has been forgiven.
Thessalon ON
No Practice Runs in Life
In 2017, climber Alex Honnold achieved something few believed possible. He scaled the 3,000-foot vertical rock face of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park with no ropes, no harnesses, and no safety gear. Just for reference, that wall of granite is nearly twice the height of the CN Tower. Every inch of that climb was sheer, unforgiving rock. One mistake would have meant death.
What makes his accomplishment even more incredible is that he did it alone. No one climbing beside him. Nothing to catch him if he fell. It was just Alex, relying entirely on his own strength, skill, and focus. The documentary Free Solo captures the intensity of it all, showing the physical and mental toll of preparing for such a high-stakes climb. What many viewers learn through that film is that before the final, death-defying ascent, Alex practiced the entire route over and over with ropes and safety gear. He trained for years. He memorized every foothold and every hand-grip before he ever attempted it without protection.
And that’s where our lives are very different. We don’t get practice runs. We don’t get to rehearse our responses to hardship before the pressure is real. Life doesn’t give us a harness and a do-over if we slip. But here’s the good news. We have something even better. We have a God who holds us. The Christian life is not a free solo. We are not climbing alone, and we’re not relying on our own strength to make it to the top.
Not Climbing Alone
That’s the heart of what Jesus is teaching in Luke 18. The chapter opens with this: “Now He was telling them a parable to show that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart” (Luke 18:1, NASB95). That’s the point. Don’t give up. Don’t let discouragement wear you down. Keep going, and keep praying.
Jesus then tells the story of a widow who comes again and again to a judge, asking for justice. The judge doesn’t fear God and doesn’t care about people. He’s the last person you’d want deciding your case. But eventually, he gives in. Not because it’s right, but because he’s tired of her persistence.
The Judge Who Can Be Trusted
The point of the parable is not to suggest that God is not a judge. Scripture makes it clear that He is. But unlike the judge in the story, who is corrupt, indifferent, and self-serving, God is completely just, entirely good, and deeply compassionate. The contrast is in character, not in role.
If even a man like that, who lacks all concern for justice, can be moved by persistent requests, how much more can we trust the righteous Judge of all the earth to hear the cries of His people? God is not reluctant. He is not indifferent. He is not burdened by our prayers. He is just. He is merciful. And He delights to act on behalf of those who belong to Him.
Jesus is not telling us to wear God down (as if that were even possible). He is reminding us that God is already near, already listening, and already ready to act. He is saying, don’t lose heart. Keep praying. You’re not alone in this climb.
When the Climb Gets Hard
Now this isn’t just about prayer in general. If you look at the context, this parable follows Jesus’ teaching in Luke 17 about His second coming. He had just been talking about the day when He will return in power and judgment. On that day, those who are ready will be gathered to Him, and those who are not will be left behind. So when Jesus tells this parable about perseverance, it’s not just about getting through life’s difficulties. It’s about staying faithful until the end. It’s about holding on and keeping your eyes on Him until the day He comes again.
He ends the parable with a question. “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8). In other words, will He find people still climbing? Still trusting? Still crying out in prayer?
That’s a hard question. Because the truth is, there are a lot of things in this life that make us want to let go. Suffering. Disappointment. Unanswered prayers. Fatigue. It all adds up. But it’s not just hardship that wears us down. Sometimes it’s comfort. Sometimes it’s the temptation to love this world more than we should. Sometimes it’s distraction, the appeal of sin, or the drift of a heart that stops longing for Christ’s return. There are all kinds of ways we can lose focus and lose heart.
And in those moments, we’re tempted to think that perseverance means muscling through on our own, just holding on tighter.
But that’s not what Jesus is asking. He’s not telling us to be spiritual daredevils, relying on our own strength. He’s calling us to trust the One who climbs with us. To believe that God hears our cries. To know that even when we feel like we’re barely hanging on, He is the one holding us up.
Fixing Our Eyes on Jesus
Hebrews 12 gives us the same encouragement. It says, “Let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith” (Hebrews 12:1–2). He’s the one who has gone ahead of us. He endured the cross. He faced down shame. He finished the climb. And now He’s at the right hand of God, interceding for us.
The next verse continues, “Consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart” (Hebrews 12:3). That’s it. Don’t lose heart. Don’t give up. Keep climbing. Not because you’re strong enough, but because Jesus is. He is the one who keeps you. Even when your grip slips, His never does.
You Are Held
Maybe today you feel like you’re near the edge. Maybe the mountain is too high, the climb too hard. Maybe you’ve prayed and nothing seems to change. Maybe you’ve stumbled. But if that’s you, don’t walk away from this without hearing what Jesus is saying. Keep crying out to God. Don’t stop praying. Don’t lose heart. You are not climbing alone.
You don’t get practice runs in life. But you do have safety. You have a Savior. And He will not let go.
So keep climbing. Keep praying. Keep trusting. Because the One who calls you upward is the One who will never let go of you.
A Distorted View of God
A few years ago, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina did a study on the spiritual beliefs of American teens. Many of them identified as Christians. They had grown up going to church services, hearing Bible stories, and claiming they believed in God. But the researcher noticed a troubling pattern: their beliefs didn’t line up with what the Bible actually teaches.
Instead, he coined a term to describe what they really believed: Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. It’s the idea that God is out there somewhere, generally nice, and mostly wants people to be good (moralistic), to feel better when life is hard (therapeutic), but otherwise stays distant and uninvolved (deistic). And the ultimate goal of life? Just to be happy.
This view is widespread and deceptive. It uses the language of faith, but at its core, it’s a different religion. One where God exists to serve us, instead of us living to serve Him.
Returning to the True God
The danger of Moralistic Therapeutic Deism shows why it’s so important to stay anchored to the Word of God. Without regular grounding in Scripture, even sincere believers can slowly absorb distorted ideas about who God is and what He expects. We can end up creating a god of our own imagination, one who demands little, costs little, and changes nothing.
That’s why it’s so important to come back to the foundational things that God has revealed. Though we are no longer under the Old Testament Law, the Ten Commandments are still deeply significant. They show us God’s unchanging character and help us see what it means to live in a right relationship with Him.
How the Law Points Us to Christ
Another vital reason why the Ten Commandments still matter is that they show us our need for grace. As Paul said, “through the Law comes the knowledge of sin” (Romans 3:20). God’s commands act like a mirror, revealing things about ourselves that we might not want to see. They don’t save us. They show us how badly we need saving, and they point us to Christ.
When we read God’s law honestly, we realize that we fall short. But the purpose of that realization isn’t to drive us into despair. It is meant to lead us to the Savior who offers forgiveness, hope, and new life.
Salvation Calls for a Response
Even at Mount Sinai, God’s saving work called for a response. Before giving Israel the commandments, He reminded them: “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery” (Exodus 20:2). Their obedience wasn’t about earning salvation. It was about living faithfully in response to the rescue God had already given.
It’s still the same for us today. Salvation is a gift of God’s grace, but it calls for a real response of trust, repentance, and obedience. We don’t obey to earn His favor. We obey because we trust Him and we belong to Him.
Keeping God at the Center
The first commandment lays the foundation for everything else: “You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:3). God must not simply be first on a long list of priorities. He must be the center that everything else in our lives revolves around. Our greatest trust, love, and devotion belong to Him alone.
We see this truth so clearly in Jesus’ encounter with the rich young ruler. The young man claimed to have kept all of the commandments since he was a boy. But Jesus exposed his divided heart when He said: “Go, sell all that you have… then come, follow me” (Mark 10:21). The man went away sad because he wasn’t willing to let go of his wealth. His real god had been revealed.
We face the same temptation today. Our idols may not be carved statues, but they are no less real. Career success, relationships, comfort, and even good things can quietly slip into God’s rightful place.
Abraham faced a similar test when God asked him to sacrifice Isaac. After waiting a lifetime for a son, Abraham was asked to trust God with what was most precious to him. It was a staggering command, but Abraham obeyed. He showed that no gift had replaced the Giver at the center of his life. Abraham passed the test the rich young ruler failed.
Trusting God Above Everything
The real question for all of us is this: Is God truly at the center of my life? Not just at the top of a priority list, but truly the center, the One everything else flows from.
When we stumble, and we all do, the answer isn’t despair. It is deeper dependence on Christ. The commandments show us where we fall short. The Gospel reminds us that grace meets us there. In Christ, we find both forgiveness for our failures and the strength to keep walking with God at the center of our lives.
In a world filled with distorted images of God, we must keep coming back to the God. who truly is not the god we imagine, but the God who has revealed Himself in Scripture. Knowing Him, trusting Him, and putting Him at the very center is the only way our lives will hold together. Everything else begins to fall into place when we start with the God who is.
Thessalon ON
When we think about worship, many of us picture the familiar elements of our Sunday gatherings: singing hymns, reading Scripture, praying and hearing a sermon. These practices are rich and meaningful, and they help form the rhythm of our spiritual lives. But they are meant to express something even deeper. The danger is, that if our understanding of worship stops with these visible acts, we reduce it to routine. Many believers faithfully attend church yet feel distant from God throughout the week. Why? Because they have equated worship with outward activity rather than inner devotion, missing the heart of what worship truly is.
Worship Begins in the Heart
Worship has always been a matter of the heart. Deuteronomy 6:5 tells us, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” True worship is not just about actions. It is about affection, devotion, and our delight in God. It is about being captivated by His presence and finding our deepest joy in Him.
This is the purpose for which we were created. The greatest fulfillment we can experience as human beings comes when our hearts are fully engaged in worship, when we are basking in the reality of who God is and delighting in the presence He shares with those who love Him. Worship is not confined to a time or place. It is the ongoing reality of a heart that treasures God above all else.
The Danger of an Empty Ritual
The problem is not with ritual itself, but with ritual that becomes disconnected from the heart. We can sing the songs, attend the services, and seem to check every spiritual box, yet remain spiritually empty. Scripture warns us of the danger of replacing a real relationship with God with empty substitutes. One example is found in Exodus 33. After the Israelites turned to idolatry and worshipped a golden calf, God told them He would still bring them into the Promised Land – but He would not go with them. They would have the blessings, but not His presence.
Imagine having God’s protection, provision, and promises, yet lacking His presence. That is a sobering thought. It is like a marriage in which a husband provides for his wife financially but chooses to live in a separate house, refusing to share life with her. The essence of the relationship is lost. The Israelites realized this and mourned at the idea of moving forward without God.
Three Barriers to True Worship
If we feel distant from God, if worship has grown dry or lifeless, it is worth pausing to examine our hearts. Three common attitudes can stand in the way of experiencing true worship and closeness with God:
Pursuing the Presence of God
Worship is not less than ritual, but it is always more. It is about relationship. A heart that truly worships doesn’t settle for going through the motions – it longs to walk closely with God. It is not content with mere activity but seeks communion.
So we must ask ourselves: Are we merely going through the motions, or are we truly worshiping? Are we seeking God’s presence, or settling for His blessings alone? True worshippers cannot settle for a life without God. They long for Him above all else.
May we be people who delight in the presence of God, who live in wholehearted devotion, and who worship in spirit and truth. “He who has My commandments and keeps them is the one who loves Me.” Let us be those who love Him deeply, seeking His presence above all else.
Thessalon ON
Every year, thousands of people across the globe push their physical and mental limits in a 26-mile test of endurance that we call the marathon race. Cities worldwide host these events, giving participants the opportunity to combine their love for running with—let’s be honest—some very questionable decision-making. At least, that’s my humble opinion.
But behind this dramatic test of endurance lies the story of an ancient messenger named Pheidippides.
Pheidippides was an Athenian herald who, according to legend, ran non-stop from the city of Marathon to Athens—about 26 miles—to deliver a crucial message. As the story goes, he burst into the city, delivered his news, and collapsed from exhaustion, never to rise again. This fabled journey gives the modern marathon its distance and iconic name.
Today we might struggle to imagine a world where such extreme efforts were necessary for communication. The marathon serves as a reminder of the lengths to which people once had to go to ensure important messages were delivered. In the modern world, we have the luxury of instant messaging, video calls, and emails. But in the past, messengers like Pheidippides had no such conveniences.
Imagine the scene: The year is 490 BC, and you are a citizen of ancient Athens. The air is thick with worry and anticipation. A great force has risen against your people—the mighty Persian Empire is on the march, and the fate of your city hangs in the balance. You don’t know if your countrymen will be victorious. You don’t know if your home, your family, everything you hold dear, will be safe. All that you know is that your fellow Athenians have gone out to try and stop this formidable foe on the plains of Marathon. The entire city waits with bated breath for any news from the battlefield.
Suddenly, from the distance, a lone figure emerges—a dust-covered, sweat-soaked messenger sprinting with all his might. The city gathers, hearts pounding, desperate to hear the news that will reveal the fate of the city. The messenger bursts through the crowd, and with his final breath, he exclaims, “We have won!” Can you imagine the relief? The joy that sweeps across the city? Where there was fear and despair, there is now hope and courage. The atmosphere is completely transformed.
The ancient Greeks had a word for this kind of life-changing message: euangelion. It means “good message” or “good news.” The Latin translation, Evangelium, eventually became the English word Gospel. This is why Christians gather, preach, and live out their faith—because of the euangelion, the Good News of Jesus Christ. Just as Pheidippides delivered news of victory that transformed a city in crisis, the Gospel announces the greatest victory of all: Christ’s triumph over sin and death, offering salvation, freedom, and eternal life to a world in desperate need.
In Romans 10:13-15, the apostle Paul evokes this ancient theme of a messenger running across rough terrain to bring good news to those anxiously waiting:
“For ‘Whoever will call on the name of the Lord will be saved.’ How then will they call on Him in whom they have not believed? How will they believe in Him whom they have not heard? And how will they hear without a preacher? How will they preach unless they are sent? Just as it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news of good things!’”
We all understand the power of good news. Maybe you’ve anxiously awaited the results of a medical test, news from a loved one far away, or the outcome of an important job interview. When the good news finally arrives, everything changes. The weight is lifted, and a surge of relief and joy floods your heart. That is the power of euangelion.
Just as the people of Athens rejoiced at the news of victory from Pheidippides, we rejoice in the ultimate Good News of the Gospel—the message of Jesus Christ. When this Good News reaches us, it changes everything. Where there was once fear and despair, there is now hope, joy, and peace in Him. Sin is forgiven, death is defeated, and new life is available to all who believe. It’s the good news that lifts the burden of our guilt. It’s the good news that gives us courage to face whatever comes our way. It’s the good news that speaks to life’s deepest questions and solves our greatest problem.
In every generation, this message is carried forward by those willing to go the distance, just like Pheidippides. And today, we are called to be those messengers, bringing the Gospel to a world waiting for good news. After all, how beautiful are the feet of those who bring euangelion.
Thessalon ON
