As Israel found itself in the Desert of Sin, we watch them do something painfully familiar. God rained bread from the sky, gave simple instructions: gather what you need for today, don’t store it, and some of them still couldn’t do it. They hoarded anyway and woke up to rotting manna.

That response was a deeply human instinct. When life feels uncertain, we do three things almost automatically. We accumulate, gathering more than we need because abundance feels safer than dependence. We control, managing outcomes ourselves rather than trusting someone else, even God, to handle them. And we secure, working to establish safety on our own terms, independent of any promise we can’t physically hold in our hands.

Jesus told a story about a man who mastered all three. In Luke 12, a wealthy farmer has a record harvest and faces a choice. His response? Tear down the old barns, build bigger ones, store everything, and settle in for a long, comfortable life. Accumulate. Control. Secure. He had it figured out, except God called him a fool that very night. Not because planning is wrong, but because the man’s entire foundation was himself. God wasn’t in the equation at all.

We do this constantly. We stockpile. We strategize. We build backup plans for our backup plans. And underneath all of it is the same quiet fear that drove Israel to stuff their tents with rotting manna: What if God doesn’t show up tomorrow?

Jesus addressed this in Matthew 6. “Don’t worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink.” Not because our needs aren’t real, they are. But because the Father already knows what you need and is already moving toward you.

Paul pushes this even further in Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare his own Son, how will he not also give us all things?” That’s the argument that should stop us cold. If God gave the hardest thing, the most costly thing, why would He withhold the smaller things? The cross makes accumulating, controlling, and securing look not just unnecessary but a little absurd.

The manna came every morning. Every single morning. Israel just had trouble believing it would keep coming.

That’s still the invitation. Not a one-time decision to trust God, but a repeated, morning-by-morning choice to believe He’ll provide again today. When accumulating, controlling, and securing become the foundation we stand on, we’ve quietly moved God out of the center and replaced Him with ourselves.

The bread came yesterday. It’ll come again tomorrow.

Sometimes decline does not happen loudly. It happens gradually.

That was the case in Judah before Hezekiah became king. His father, Ahaz, had shut the doors of the Lord’s temple. Worship had been neglected. The altar was cold. The lamps had gone out. What once was central had been pushed aside.

2 Chronicles 29 says, They abandoned him and turned their faces away from the Lord’s dwelling place (v. 6).

Spiritual drift rarely announces itself. It just slowly shifts priorities. Then Hezekiah took the throne.

He started with what had been closed

In the first year of his reign, in the first month, Hezekiah reopened the doors of the temple and repaired them (2 Chronicles 29:3). See that he didn’t start with military reform or forming political alliances. He started with worship.

He called the priests and Levites together and said, Consecrate yourselves now and consecrate the temple of the Lord (v. 5). Before anything else, the house of God had to be cleansed.

Restoration begins with honesty

Hezekiah did not pretend things were fine. He acknowledged what had happened: Our fathers were unfaithful and did what was evil in the sight of the Lord (v. 6). Restoration never begins with denial. It begins with confession.

The priests went inside and carried out the impurities. The text says it took sixteen days to complete the cleansing (v. 17). It was not instant. It was deliberate work. Spiritual renewal often requires patient removal of what has quietly accumulated.

When worship returns, joy follows

Once the temple was restored, the sacrifices resumed. Songs were sung again. The instruments played. And something beautiful happened. Then Hezekiah and all the people rejoiced over how God had prepared the people, for the event took place suddenly (2 Chronicles 29:36).

Notice that phrase: God prepared the people.

Hezekiah reopened the doors. The priests cleansed the temple. But God prepared hearts. Real renewal is never manufactured. It is a work of God among people willing to return.

Why This Matters Now

Last night I watched parts of the State of the Union address. The division in our nation was not subtle, it was glaring. At one point, a young woman was recognized who had been pulled into the confusion of transgender ideology, exploited, trafficked, and deeply wounded. She has since been rescued, returned home, and is rebuilding her life, turning her focus back to the Lord.

That should not be controversial. A young woman rescued from exploitation should unite a room. Restoration should move us. Deliverance should draw gratitude.

And yet, the response revealed just how fractured we have become.

When a culture cannot clearly condemn exploitation, cannot clearly celebrate rescue, and cannot rejoice in a life being restored, we are not merely politically divided, we are spiritually disoriented. This is what moral confusion looks like. It blurs compassion. It distorts truth. It clouds what should be obvious.

And that confusion does not stay on a national stage. It filters down into homes. It shapes classrooms. It pressures churches. It weighs on parents. It leaves young people uncertain and vulnerable.

The noise is constant. The messaging is relentless. And the spiritual consequences are real. Isaiah warned that there are times when people “call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). When that happens, clarity fades and hearts grow tired. This is not simply a political problem. It is a spiritual one.

And spiritual problems require spiritual renewal. That is why Hezekiah’s story is so imporant. The answer was not louder rhetoric. It was not despair. It was not retreat. It was reopening the temple. Renewal began when what had been closed to God was opened again. And that is still where renewal begins.

A word for today

You may not control the culture. You may not control every circumstance. But you can open the doors of your own heart again.

• Consecrate yourself.

• Remove what does not belong.

• Return to worship.

Psalm 51:12 says, Restore the joy of your salvation to me.

God delights to answer that prayer. When the temple doors reopen, whether in a nation, a church, or a single heart, God meets His people there.

And what has grown cold can burn again.

This past weekend, I sat in a room with over 13,000 Christians.

Thirteen thousand. Christians from all over the country packed into the LeConte Center in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, for the Challenge Youth Conference, which many consider the largest single gathering of Christians in one location on the planet at any given time. Our congregation has made this trip for five years running now, and every single time, I leave different than I arrived.

This year’s theme was ChatCYC: Hearing God in a Digital Age. I think it is one of the best and most relevant themes they’ve done to date. It is so needed, not only for teens, but for all of us who are addicted to our phones. Sunday’s worship service was powerful as Dr. David Shannon preached one of the best lessons I’ve ever heard on guarding your heart.

The Machine That Learned to Think

Shannon opened with a history lesson. A brief one. But it took me down memory lane.

He took us back to 1995. That’s the year a computer beat the world’s best chess player for the first time. Most people shrugged it off. It’s just a game, right? Then came the Jeopardy episode — you probably remember it — where IBM’s Watson sat across from Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter, the two greatest contestants in the show’s history. Jennings held the longest winning streak ever — 74 consecutive wins. Rutter was the highest earner the show had ever produced. Between the two of them, they were the best human minds to ever sit behind that podium. But by the end of that episode, Watson didn’t just win. It wasn’t even close.

Something shifted in those moments. Machines started learning. And they haven’t stopped.

Fast forward to today. Every single minute of your life, something is watching. Your phone knows your sleep patterns. Your apps know your health habits. The ads that pop up on your screen? They’re not random. Somewhere, a machine has been quietly studying you — how long you pause on a post, what music you reach for when you’re sad, which shows you binge at 11 o’clock at night when nobody’s looking.

The algorithm knows you.

We Are Not Victims

Dr. Shannon said something that stuck in my mind the rest of the day. He said the algorithm isn’t something that happens to us. We’re not victims of it.

The algorithm is a reflection of us.

Think about that. The machine isn’t creating your appetites — it’s feeding them. It’s serving up exactly what your heart has been quietly asking for, one click at a time. Every choice you make online is a data point. And over time, all those data points paint a picture. A pretty accurate one.

Solomon said it this way: Guard your heart above all else, for everything you do flows from it (Proverbs 4:23). He wrote that three thousand years before the internet existed. But he already understood something we’re still struggling to accept — that what’s inside us eventually shows up on the outside. Your digital life isn’t separate from your spiritual life. It is your spiritual life, just with a screen on it.

And Proverbs 3:5 cuts even deeper: Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Here’s what I’ve been chewing on over the last 18 hours or so — many of us say we trust God, but our online behavior tells a different story. What we consume in secret reveals what we actually believe. Not what we say we believe. What we actually believe.

The Secret That Isn’t

I’ve counseled enough people over the years to know this: we almost always think our private choices stay private. The late-night scroll. The content we’d never want our spouse to see. The rabbit holes we go down when the house gets quiet.

But secrets have a way of surfacing. What starts as a private habit rarely stays contained. It spills into our marriages, our parenting, our friendships — sometimes in ways we never see coming. I’ve watched it happen more times than I can count. A man loses his family not because of one dramatic moment, but because of a thousand small compromises that nobody saw. Until everybody did.

God sees it all, of course. He always has. But increasingly, so does the machine.

A Challenge and a Hope

So here’s where I am this morning.

I’m not writing this to shame anybody. I know we’re all navigating this together. None of us grew up with a roadmap for the digital age, and the rules keep changing faster than we can keep up. But I do think it’s time for a gut-check.

Spend some time this week asking yourself an honest question: If someone could see everything I’ve looked at online this past month — every search, every video, every post I lingered on — would it reflect the heart of someone who trusts God?

That question isn’t meant to bury you. It’s meant to free you.

Because here’s the good news. The same God who sees every secret moment also offers fresh starts. He’s not waiting to catch you — He’s waiting to restore you. His mercies really are new every morning (Lamentations 3:23).

And Paul gives us the roadmap in Ephesians 4:22-24. He says to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.

I love that phrase — renewed in the spirit of your minds. That’s not a one-time moment. That’s a daily decision. Every morning you wake up, you get to choose what you feed your mind. You get to choose what you let in. The algorithm will keep doing what it does — watching, learning, serving up more of the same. But you don’t have to keep ordering off that menu.

The old self clicks without thinking. The new self pauses and asks — does this belong in the life I’m trying to live?

That’s the work. It’s not glamorous. But it’s the most important work any of us will do this week.

The algorithm reflects your heart. But the gospel can change your heart.

And that changes everything.

A lot has been pulling us apart lately — it seems in almost every aspect of life.

Opinions feel heavier than they used to. Disagreements feel sharper. Even small things seem to divide us into camps. Division should not surprise us, but it should still concern us. It can leave us wondering whether anything remains that truly holds us together.

There is.

Our unity has never rested on agreement about every issue. It rests on what God has already given us. There is one body and one Spirit… one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all (Ephesians 4:4–6). That foundation has not shifted, even when everything else feels unstable.

What unites us is not politics, preferences, personalities, or opinions about culture or current events. What unites us is Christ. Scripture says Christ is all and in all (Colossians 3:11). He is not a supporting piece of our identity. He is the center of it. When Christ is pushed to the edges, other loyalties rush in to take His place, and unity begins to fracture.

The early church understood this. They lived under pressure, suspicion, and political tension, yet they were reminded, Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20). That truth kept them grounded. It must do the same for us. We belong to a kingdom that is not shaken by every cultural moment.

This does not mean we all think the same. God has never demanded that. It means we remember how we treat one another. Accept one another, just as Christ accepted you, to the glory of God (Romans 15:7). Acceptance is not agreement. It is a shared life in Christ.

We are also reminded where our focus belongs. Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:1–2). When our eyes drift to lesser things, unity weakens. When our eyes return to Christ, perspective is restored.

The world will continue to divide. That is its nature. But the church is called to hold together. Above all, put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity (Colossians 3:14). Love does not erase differences. It keeps them from destroying fellowship. What still unites us has not been taken away. It has not been voted out. It has not been drowned out. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). Christ still reigns. Christ still calls us His own.

And that is more than enough to hold us together.

I am worn down by the division in our country.

This week, it is a halftime show.

Not a war. Not a crisis. A halftime show.

This morning, my feed is filled with virtue signaling, accusations, and arguments over which show people watched. Charges of hypocrisy are flying around. One show is being praised over the other. Judgments are being made.

Really?

I have my own thoughts about the halftime show. But they don’t matter. They are opinions. Now we know in part (1 Corinthians 13:9). People I love are coming down on different sides. I still love them. That should not be complicated.

I didn’t watch either halftime show. It has never been a big deal for me. And they always push the limits of decency and almost always sanction ungodly lifestyles and practices. So, I usually turn it off anyway.

What troubles me is not the show. It’s what we are becoming.

We now feel the need to plant our flag of identity over everything. Entertainment. News clips. Political posts. Cultural moments. Every opinion becomes a test. Every silence becomes suspicious. Every disagreement becomes personal.

Can we hear ourselves?

The same pattern showed up with a video the President posted on Friday. I have an opinion about it. But I also know this: posting it would not change a single mind. A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise person holds it in check (Proverbs 29:11). If I revealed my opinion, it would only make some people angry, and others applaud. And depending on who reads it and what media they consume, they would immediately decide who I am - even though they don’t know who I am.

We need to remember that most online arguments don’t persuade. They polarize. Avoid foolish and ignorant disputes, knowing that they breed quarrels (2 Timothy 2:23). They don’t clarify. They categorize. And in the church, this is especially dangerous.

What is this doing to us?

We are learning to speak like the world speaks. We are reacting instead of reflecting. We are assuming the worst instead of bearing with one another. Yet James says, Let every person be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger (James 1:19).

We are confusing conviction with combativeness. But the Lord’s servant must not quarrel, but must be gentle to everyone (2 Timothy 2:24).

God calls us to something better.

• Bear with one another and forgive one another… above all, put on love (Colossians 3:13–14).

• If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone (Romans 12:18).

• Maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:3).

We also need to acknowledge reality. There are forces much larger than us, with unlimited resources, shaping fear and outrage through every imaginable form of media. Scripture reminds us that our struggle is not against flesh and blood (Ephesians 6:12). Not every post is neutral. Not every outrage is organic. Not everything that demands a reaction deserves one.

And there are things we simply cannot change. “You do not know what tomorrow will bring (James 4:14). But we can choose how we respond.

So where do we go from here?

• We stop attaching our identity to politics and cultural battles. Our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20).

• We refuse to make every issue a loyalty test. Accept one another, just as Christ accepted you (Romans 15:7).

• We remember that silence can be wisdom, not weakness. Even a fool is considered wise when he keeps silent (Proverbs 17:28).

• And we choose faith over fear. God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and sound judgment (2 Timothy 1:7).

The church does not need to be louder right now. It needs to be steadier. Let your graciousness be known to everyone. The Lord is near (Philippians 4:5).

That’s how we move forward.

Ask someone how they’re doing, and the answer often comes quickly.

“I’m fine.”

Sometimes that’s true. But often, it’s a signal that something has gone quiet inside. “I’m fine” can mean:

• I’ve learned how to cope.

• I don’t want to talk about it.

• I’m tired of wrestling with this.

• I’ve accepted things the way they are.

Spiritually, that kind of answer can be dangerous. Not because it’s hostile to God, but because it can reflect settled resignation. A slow adjustment to conditions that are not healthy, not holy, and not what God desires.

Jeremiah confronted this kind of shallow reassurance head-on:

“They have treated my people’s brokenness superficially, claiming, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.”

(Jeremiah 6:14, CSB)

Calling something “fine” does not make it whole.

Comfort Can Hide Decay

The Bible repeatedly warns that comfort can mask serious spiritual problems. People don’t usually drift because they reject God outright. They drift because nothing feels urgent anymore. We must not forget what Jesus said to the church in Laodicea:

“Because you say, ‘I’m rich; I have become wealthy and need nothing,’ and you don’t know that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked.”

(Revelation 3:17, CSB)

These Christians weren’t hostile. They weren’t persecuted or panicked. They were comfortable. And that comfort blinded them. Feeling fine is not the same as being faithful.

When Sensitivity Fades

One of the clearest signs of spiritual trouble is not open rebellion, but dullness. Our conviction becomes quieter. Our prayers may become routine. Our bible reading informs the mind but no longer confronts the heart. A seared conscience doesn’t ache anymore. It feels… fine.

The psalmist describes a way of life lived without God in view:

“In all his thoughts, there is no room for God.”

(Psalm 10:4, CSB)

Not because God is denied, but because He is no longer consulted.

God Does Not Ask for Polite Answers

God never asks His people to manage appearances. The Psalms are filled with prayers that are raw, unsettled, and honest. Fear is admitted. Confusion is spoken. Weariness is not hidden.

David prayed,

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my concerns. See if there is any offensive way in me; lead me in the everlasting way.”

(Psalm 139:23–24, CSB)

That prayer leaves no room for “I’m fine.” We see the same encouragement in the New Testament. Here’s what the writer of Hebrews said:

“Encourage each other daily, while it is still called today, so that none of you is hardened by sin’s deception.”

(Hebrews 3:13, CSB)

Deception does not always feel dangerous. Often, it feels settled.

A Better Measure

Instead of asking whether we feel fine, Scripture pushes us to ask better questions:

• Am I still tender toward God’s word? (Psalm 119:36)

• Am I quick to repent when convicted? (2 Corinthians 7:10)

• Am I attentive to God’s presence, or merely religious in habit? (Isaiah 29:13)

“I’m fine” may preserve comfort. But honesty invites renewal. And God works powerfully with hearts that are open, even when they are tired, uncertain, or exposed. Especially then.

Hard seasons have a way of changing people.

Pressure exposes what’s underneath. Disappointment sharpens edges. Repeated conflict can make even faithful Christians guarded and suspicious. Over time, it becomes easier to grow defensive than gentle, cynical rather than hopeful.

God’s word warns us about this danger, not because our Father is harsh, but because He knows how easily the heart can harden.

Through Ezekiel, God promised, I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). A heart of flesh is tender, responsive, and alive. A heart of stone may feel protected, but it is also numb.

Hard seasons tempt us to choose stone.

The season we’re living in

We are living in a hard season for several reasons.

Political division has seeped into nearly every part of life. Right now, the country is tearing itself apart over illegal immigration, government spending, and the economy. Elections no longer just divide opinions; they fracture relationships. Fear, anger, and suspicion are constant companions, and many Christians feel pressured to choose sides rather than pursue Christlike wisdom and restraint.

Culture wars have added another layer of strain, not only because society is changing so quickly, but also because of how many of us are responding to those changes. Instead of patient conviction, we often see cynicism. Instead of thoughtful engagement, we see angry posts and sarcastic memes. Social media has become a place where many flame those they disagree with, mock rather than persuade, and score points rather than show Christ. Much of this is driven by fear—fear of losing influence, fear of being misunderstood, fear of being pushed aside. But these reactions rarely draw people toward the gospel. More often, they harden hearts on both sides and leave the church looking combative rather than compassionate.

Strife and conflict within the church have only added to the weight many are carrying. Ongoing public disagreements leave many discouraged. Scripture warns us that human anger does not produce the righteousness God desires (James 1:20). And there is always collateral damage. A war of words rarely stays contained. It wounds people who were never part of the dispute and discourages those who are simply trying to remain faithful. We must not forget what Paul wrote, If you bite and devour one another, watch out, or you will be consumed by one another (Galatians 5:15).

Layered on top of all this are personal struggles that haven’t paused: illness, grief, financial stress, mental health battles, and family strain. Many are carrying these burdens with fewer emotional and spiritual reserves than before.

All of this creates a climate where it is easy to grow guarded, cynical, or spiritually numb. The temptation is to harden the heart just to survive.

Why hardness feels safer

Hardness feels like self-protection. If we don’t care as much, we won’t hurt as much. If we keep people at arm’s length, they can’t disappoint us. If we stop hoping, we won’t feel let down.

But hardness should not be identified as a spiritual strength. Instead, the Bible presents it as a danger: Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts (Hebrews 3:15). A hardened heart doesn’t usually form overnight. It develops slowly through unaddressed hurt, unresolved anger, and fatigue that goes unattended.

Christ calls us to something different

Jesus does not call us to toughness. He calls us to Christlikeness.

The Holy Spirit urges each of us, therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience (Colossians 3:12). These qualities are difficult to practice when life is hardest. Gentleness is tested under pressure. Patience is refined through frustration. Compassion grows when wounds are real.

Staying soft does not mean being naïve. It means refusing to let pain determine who we become.

A soft heart requires God’s help

Left to ourselves, we harden. Staying tender requires God’s work in us.

David prayed, Create a clean heart for me, God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me (Psalm 51:10). A soft heart must be continually renewed. We do not maintain tenderness through willpower, but through daily dependence on God.

Jesus Himself was gentle and humble in heart (Matthew 11:29), even in suffering. His softness did not make Him weak. It made Him faithful.

A word for us

Hard seasons will come. The Word never promises otherwise. But hardness need not follow. Remember:

• God can keep your heart tender (Ezekiel 36:26).

• He can preserve compassion, even when mercy feels costly (Colossians 3:12).

• And He can grow gentleness where pain once lived, producing fruit that reflects Christ Himself (Galatians 5:22–23).

When He does, your life becomes a quiet witness that fear did not win … faith did.

As I write, 35 states are preparing for the winter storm of the decade, or, depending on who you listen to, the winter storm of the century. On my way into the office this morning, the local news was abuzz with details, potential road closures, school closures, and warming centers for the homeless. I’ve become pretty famous for loving the snow. And so, as you can imagine, the little kid in me is very excited for the possibility of a foot of snow this weekend. I enjoy it because it brightens what is usually a gray, dark, and dreary Ohio landscape this time of year.

So, if the storm comes in like they’re saying, this weekend is the perfect time for us all to slow down. Rest. Spend time with family and those you love the most. We’ll have some quiet time. Use this as an opportunity to meet with God and His Word, pray, and get yourself reset. Why is this so important? Well, just look around.

Many people are exhausted. Not just physically tired, but worn down on the inside. Minds won’t slow down. Hearts stay heavy. Even good responsibilities begin to feel crushing. And often, rest feels out of reach.

When Scripture talks about rest, it is not talking about vacations or time off. Those things can help, but they don’t reach the soul. What many Christians need is something deeper: rest that settles the heart and steadies the spirit.

Jesus knows all about this kind of weariness.

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
(Matthew 11:28)

That invitation is not vague. Jesus names the people He calls; those who are weary and weighed down. He does not tell them to fix themselves first. He does not tell them to work harder or push through. He simply says, “Come.”

Rest begins with coming to Jesus

Rest does not begin with escape. It begins with approach. Many people try to outrun their weariness. They distract themselves. They stay busy. They numb the pain. But Jesus invites us to bring our burdens to Him.

Coming to Jesus means trusting Him enough to stop carrying what we were never meant to carry alone. It means prayer that is honest. It means admitting weakness. It means believing that His presence is enough.

Jesus continues:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.”
(Matthew 11:29)

A yoke sounds like work, not rest. But Jesus is making a point. You are already yoked to something—expectations, guilt, fear, pressure, or self-reliance. Those yokes crush the soul. Jesus offers a different one.

Rest is found in learning from Christ

Jesus says rest comes as we learn from Him. That takes time. It means reshaping how we think about life, responsibility, success, and faith. It means letting Jesus define what matters most.

He describes Himself this way:

“For I am lowly and humble in heart.”
(Matthew 11:29)

We do not come to a harsh master or an impatient judge. We come to a Savior who understands weakness. His humility makes rest possible. His gentleness allows the soul to breathe again.

And then comes the promise:

“And you will find rest for your souls.”
(Matthew 11:29)

Soul rest is not the absence of responsibility. It is the presence of Christ in the middle of responsibility.

Rest grows as burdens are reordered

Jesus finishes with these words:

“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
(Matthew 11:30)

Jesus does not say there is no burden. He says His burden is light. Why? Because He carries it with us. When life is reordered around Christ, burdens no longer rest solely on our shoulders.

Paul wrote, Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God… will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:6–7).

Peace comes when we stop fighting for control and start trusting the One who is already in control.

A word for the weary

Learning to rest again is a process. It does not happen overnight. But it begins with one step: coming to Jesus.

Rest grows as we listen to His voice.
As we release burdens we were never meant to carry.
As we learn to walk at His pace instead of the world’s.

If you are tired today, hear this clearly: Jesus is not disappointed in your weariness. He is inviting you to rest.

Not escape.
Not avoidance.
But soul-deep rest that only He can give.

And when you learn to rest in Him, fear loosens its grip, and faith begins to breathe again.

Enjoy the snow this weekend, everyone!

Hatred does not announce itself all at once. It seeps in quietly.

It shows up in the words we choose. The tone we adopt. The way we talk about “them.” Over time, it becomes normal. Justified. Even celebrated. And before we realize it, anger feels like conviction and outrage feels like courage.

We are living in a moment where hatred is rewarded. It gets clicks. It builds platforms. It draws applause. But it is also hollowing us out. It is stealing our peace, distorting our witness, and hardening hearts that once knew tenderness.

Christians cannot pretend this is someone else’s problem.

Scripture never calls God’s people to mirror the age. It calls us to stand apart from it. Not with louder voices or sharper words, but with lives shaped by Christ. When hatred becomes the air we breathe, faithfulness requires intentional resistance.

We may not be able to change the culture overnight. But we can refuse to let it change us.

And Scripture shows us how.

Guard What You Allow to Shape Your Heart

Hatred is learned. It spreads through repetition and exposure. What we take in shapes what we carry.

“Guard your heart above all else, for it is the source of life” (Proverbs 4:23).

A steady diet of outrage trains the heart toward suspicion and anger. That does not mean Christians ignore the world. It means we refuse to let news cycles and social media become our primary teachers. Scripture and prayer must shape us more than headlines ever will (Psalm 1:1–2).

Slow Down Before You Speak

Hatred thrives on speed. Scripture calls for restraint.

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger, for human anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness” (James 1:19–20).

Christians should be the calmest voices in the room. Not because truth is fragile, but because God’s righteousness does not need to be defended with rage. Words spoken in haste often reveal what the heart has been feeding on (Proverbs 29:20).

Refuse to Dehumanize People

Hatred always turns people into categories, caricatures, and enemies. Scripture refuses that move.

“All people have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

That truth humbles us. Every person we disagree with is still made in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). When we forget that, hatred gains ground.

Practice Forgiveness Before It Feels Reasonable

Forgiveness is not natural. It is learned at the cross.

“Bearing with one another and forgiving one another… just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you are also to forgive” (Colossians 3:13).

Forgiveness does not excuse sin or deny justice. It releases the heart from carrying a burden it was never meant to bear. Bitterness, by contrast, poisons the one who holds it (Hebrews 12:15).

Love in Visible, Costly Ways

Love is not passive. It is active resistance to evil.

“Do not be conquered by evil, but conquer evil with good” (Romans 12:21).

This kind of love shows up in small, faithful choices. Kind speech. Measured responses. Prayer for those who oppose us (Matthew 5:44). These actions rarely trend, but they endure.

Keep Your Eyes on the King, Not the Chaos

Hatred grows when fear rules the heart. Scripture calls us to a different center.

“But in your hearts regard Christ the Lord as holy” (1 Peter 3:15).

When Christ reigns in the heart, anger loses its throne. We remember who we belong to. We remember where history is headed. And we remember that no cultural moment is more powerful than the Kingdom of God (Daniel 2:44).

Refuse to Become a Keyboard Warrior

There is something about a screen that lowers restraint. Behind a keyboard, people say things they would never say face to face. Courage feels cheaper. Words feel less costly. And hatred spreads faster.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).

Words typed in anger still wound. They still divide. And they still matter (James 3:5–6).

“No foul language should come from your mouth, but only what is good for building up someone in need, so that it gives grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29).

That command does not disappear when words are written instead of spoken.

“I tell you that on the day of judgment people will have to account for every careless word they speak” (Matthew 12:36).

If we were standing across the table from the person we disagree with, most of us would soften our tone. That instinct is worth honoring.

“Let your conversation be always gracious, seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6).

Not every thought needs to be posted. Not every disagreement needs to be broadcast. Silence can be wisdom (Proverbs 17:27).

A Final Word

Hatred is real. It is loud. And it is doing real damage.

But Christians were never meant to echo the worst instincts of the age. We were called to reflect Christ.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God” (Matthew 5:9).

Light still shines in the darkness (John 1:5). And it shines through people who choose restraint over rage, love over retaliation, and faith over fear.

That choice matters. Especially now.

I didn’t sleep well last night. And I know why.

I made the mistake of scrolling through my X feed before bed. It was filled with reactions to President Trump’s post about the murder of Rob Reiner and his wife. Most of the responses were swift and one-sided in condemnation. Others were more careful, attempting to explain or contextualize the President's writing. None of it brought peace.

My mind kept returning to what happened to the Reiners and the brutality of the crime itself. There is nothing abstract about being stabbed to death. It is violent. It is personal. And to imagine that the one holding the knife was their own son makes it even more horrifying. Those final moments must have been filled with terror and the deepest betrayal.

Then my thoughts turned to the President. I have voted for him three times. I have generally been pleased with his policies, especially during this term. But the man is deeply flawed. No honest observer can deny that. At the same time, it is also true that no modern president has endured the level of hostility he has faced. Years of relentless media attacks. Attempts to bankrupt him. Efforts to imprison him. False narratives that never seem to die. Two assassination attempts. That kind of pressure would crush most people. Somehow, he has remained standing.

And yet, something is clearly wrong.

The President identifies with Christianity, but he has openly acknowledged that hatred drives him. He has said so himself, even in places where such words should never be celebrated. Hatred is not something he hides. At times, it almost seems embraced. That should trouble every Christian, regardless of where they fall politically.

At the same time, Rob Reiner was no innocent bystander in the cultural war. His public record shows years of venomous rhetoric. He used his platform, influence, and resources to repeatedly attack and undermine the President. The hatred ran both directions.

And that is the larger problem.

We are living in a moment where hatred feels like the fuel of our world. Not disagreement. Not debate. Hatred. People are no longer content to differ. They want to divide, destroy, and erase. The news cycle is filled with rage. Mass shootings driven by ideology and grievance. Violence fueled by identity, religion, and political allegiance. As 2025 has unfolded, it is hard to even keep count.

Hatred is no longer hidden. It is celebrated. And it is killing us.

Scripture is not silent about this. In fact, the Bible treats hatred not as a personality flaw, but as a spiritual disease. Something corrosive. Something deadly. Something utterly incompatible with the life Christ calls us to live.

My heart hurts because of what I see happening to our nation, our leaders, and our neighbors. And more than anything, it hurts because I know what hatred does to the human soul.

The Bible has a lot to say about that.

What Scripture Teaches Us About Hatred

The Bible does not treat hatred as a minor flaw or a justified response to difficult people. It treats it as a serious spiritual danger.

John’s words are unsettling in their clarity:

“Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life residing in him” (1 John 3:15, CSB).

Hatred does not begin with violence. It begins in the heart. Long before a hand is raised, a heart has already decided that another person no longer deserves dignity, mercy, or love. That is why Scripture speaks so strongly. Hatred dehumanizes. It justifies evil. And if left unchecked, it eventually spills out in destructive ways.

Paul addresses this directly in Ephesians. He does not tell Christians to manage their anger or learn how to channel it more responsibly. He says to remove it.

“Let all bitterness, anger and wrath, shouting and slander be removed from you, along with all malice” (Ephesians 4:31, CSB).

Notice the progression. Bitterness takes root. Anger flares. Wrath follows. Words become weapons. And underneath it all is malice, settled hatred. Paul says it all must go. Not some of it. Not most of it. All of it.

Why? Because hatred is inconsistent with the gospel.

“And be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God also forgave you in Christ” (Ephesians 4:32, CSB).

The standard is not how others treat us. The standard is how God treated us in Christ. Christians cannot cling to hatred while claiming to live under grace.

Earlier in Ephesians, Paul reminds us of what Christ accomplished.

“For Christ is our peace, who made both groups one and tore down the dividing wall of hostility” (Ephesians 2:14, CSB).

Hatred rebuilds walls that Jesus died to tear down. That alone should stop us in our tracks.

Colossians reinforces the same truth. Paul again names hatred and its companions as part of the old life.

“But now, put away all the following: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and filthy language from your mouth” (Colossians 3:8, CSB).

Malice is hatred that has settled in and made itself at home. Paul says it does not belong in the renewed life. Christians have changed.

“You have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self” (Colossians 3:9–10, CSB).

And the new life must be clothed with something better.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience… Above all, put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity” (Colossians 3:12, 14, CSB).

Hatred is not just discouraged in Scripture. It is incompatible with life in Christ.

We are living in a time when hatred is loud, rewarded, and excused. But Christians were never called to mirror the age. We were called to expose it by living differently.

“Do not be conquered by evil, but conquer evil with good” (Romans 12:21, CSB).

That is not weakness. It is spiritual courage. Hatred is easy. Love costs more. And love requires trusting God’s justice rather than feeding our own anger.

If hatred is shaping our thoughts, our speech, or our rest, something is wrong. The answer is not disengagement from the world, but deeper allegiance to Christ.

Light still shines in the darkness. But it only shines through hearts that refuse to let hatred have the final word.

If you take a wide look at our world, you can see it: people are worn down. Many are anxious about the future. Even inside the church, you can feel the weight some are carrying. And if you’re honest, you probably feel some of it yourself.

So let me ask you a simple question:

How much pressure are you feeling right now?

Most of us would say the same thing. Stress comes at us from several sides at once. Family. Work. Health. The church. The constant tug of spiritual battles. Life can get heavy.

But here’s the good news: not all pressure is bad.

Some of it is actually a gift from God.

The Pressure That Helps You Grow

Scripture shows this kind of healthy pressure in Paul’s life. In 2 Corinthians 11:28-29, he speaks of his “daily pressure” on the churches. He felt the weight of their struggles. He cared when someone was drifting. He hurt when someone was weak. That kind of concern is not destructive. It comes from love.

There is also the pressure that helps us reflect and change. 2 Corinthians 13:5 calls us to examine ourselves. That kind of reflection can make you uncomfortable. But that discomfort can push you toward holiness. It can bring clarity. It can reveal where you need God’s help.

This is the kind of stress that strengthens you.

• It pushes you toward prayer.

• It keeps your heart soft.

• It stirs your desire to grow.

God Works Through Your Effort

Paul says in Philippians 2:12-13 that we “work out” our salvation while God works within us. That means your effort matters. Your choices matter. And the pressure you feel at times can be the very thing that keeps you moving forward.

So take a moment and think about your own life.

• Where do you sense God nudging you?

• What needs attention?

• What step is He calling you to take next?

Don’t be afraid of that feeling.

Let it move you toward Him.

Keep Growing

Peter closes his second letter with these words:

“But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18).

Growth is the goal. Not perfection. Not performance.

Growth.

And God gives you everything you need for it.

So if you’re feeling stretched today, take heart. Pressure can crush you, but it can also shape you. Let God use it to build your faith, deepen your commitment, and move you one step closer to the likeness of Christ.

You’re not walking through this alone. And the Lord who began His work in you will finish it.

Keep going.

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Jesus said, “For if you forgive others their offenses, your heavenly Father will forgive you as well. But if you don’t forgive others, your Father will not forgive your offenses.”

These words come right after the Lord’s Prayer. Jesus ties our relationship with the Father directly to our willingness to forgive. We cannot walk in the freedom of God’s grace while keeping others locked in our bitterness. Forgiveness may be one of the hardest commands in Scripture, but it is also one of the most freeing.

Unforgiveness Is a Prison

Bitterness tells us we’re in control. It whispers that if we hold on to the hurt, we’ll somehow regain power over what was lost. But unforgiveness doesn’t imprison the offender… it imprisons the offended. It keeps us tied to the pain of the past. Every time we replay the offense, the chain tightens a little more.

When we refuse to forgive, we close our hearts to the very mercy we need. We can’t ask God to pour out grace on us while we withhold it from others. Unforgiveness is like carrying a heavy stone everywhere you go. Forgiveness is the moment you finally set it down.

Can You Forgive Someone Who Hasn’t Asked for It?

Many people believe forgiveness can’t happen until the offender apologizes. “They haven’t asked, so I can’t forgive,” they say. But that view reduces forgiveness to a transaction: a deal between two parties.

Biblical forgiveness isn’t a transaction; it’s a transformation. It begins in the heart, not in the handshake. It’s not about waiting for someone to make the first move; it’s about living out the mercy God has already shown you.

Forgiveness Is First Vertical, Then Horizontal

Forgiveness begins with God, not the other person.

When Jesus taught us to pray, Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors (Matthew 6:12), He made forgiveness part of our worship and relationship with the Father. You can forgive someone privately before God, even if they never acknowledge their wrong. That’s because forgiveness, at its core, is about releasing your heart from bitterness and entrusting justice to God.

Romans 12:19 says, Friends, do not avenge yourselves; instead, leave room for God’s wrath, because it is written: Vengeance belongs to me; I will repay, says the Lord. Forgiveness says, “I’m no longer the judge. I’m giving this to God.”

Jesus Forgave Before Anyone Asked

At the cross, Jesus prayed, Father, forgive them, because they do not know what they are doing (Luke 23:34). No one was apologizing at that moment. No one was repenting. Yet Jesus extended forgiveness freely.

This doesn’t mean every sinner was immediately reconciled to God, but it shows that forgiveness can be offered unconditionally, even before it’s received. Jesus released the offense, even while the offenders remained unrepentant. That’s our model. We can forgive from the heart, even if reconciliation never happens.

Forgiveness and Reconciliation Are Related, but Different

Forgiveness means letting go of the debt someone owes you. Reconciliation means restoring the relationship. Forgiveness depends on one person: you. Reconciliation depends on two people: both willing to rebuild trust.

You can forgive and still set boundaries. You can forgive without putting yourself back into a harmful situation. Forgiveness removes the poison from your heart; reconciliation, when possible, rebuilds the bond.

Forgiving Frees You

If you wait for an apology before forgiving, you give the other person control over your peace. But Jesus calls us to freedom. Forgiveness sets you free even when the other person remains unchanged.

Ephesians 4:31-32 says, Let all bitterness, anger, and wrath, shouting and slander be removed from you, along with all malice. And be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God also forgave you in Christ.

Notice that no condition is attached. We forgive as God forgave us: freely, fully, from the heart.

Forgiveness Keeps You in Fellowship With God

When you hold on to bitterness, it clouds your prayer life and hardens your spirit. When you forgive, even privately, before the offender asks, you reopen the channel of grace between you and God. Mark 11:25 says, And whenever you stand praying, if you have anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven will also forgive you your wrongdoing.

Forgiveness isn’t waiting for a request; it’s something you do as part of your walk with God.

Erika Kirk’s Example: Forgiving Without Being Asked

A month ago, Erika Kirk stood before tens of thousands just days after her husband, Charlie Kirk, was tragically shot and killed. Through tears, she said:

“I forgive him… because it’s what Christ did, and it’s what Charlie would do.”

“The answer to hate is not hate. The answer we know from the gospel is love — love for our enemies and love for those who persecute us.”

Erika forgave before her husband’s killer ever apologized, before there was repentance or reconciliation. She modeled the mercy of Jesus. Her forgiveness didn’t erase pain or remove consequences. It didn’t mean she wanted the man spared from justice or accountability. It simply meant she released vengeance to God.

That’s what true forgiveness does: it refuses to let hatred rule the heart while still acknowledging that sin carries real consequences. Forgiving in advance does not mean excusing wrongdoing or protecting someone from the results of their actions. It means trusting God to judge rightly while choosing to walk in peace yourself.

In Summary

• Forgiveness can be given even when it’s not requested.

• Forgiveness releases you; reconciliation restores both.

• Jesus forgave before being asked, and He calls us to follow His example.

• Forgiveness doesn’t cancel justice; it simply transfers judgment to God.

Closing Thought

Forgiveness isn’t about the other person earning it. It’s not a transaction. It’s about your heart being healed by grace. You forgive because you’ve been forgiven. You release vengeance because you trust God with justice. You choose mercy because Jesus chose it first. And when you do, you’ll find that the weight you’ve been carrying isn’t yours to bear anymore.

Forgiveness begins with remembering who we are, and whose we are. Paul writes, “Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a grievance against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you are also to forgive” (Colossians 3:12-13).

Those first few words set the foundation: chosen, holy, and dearly loved. That’s who you are in Christ. And it’s why you forgive. We forgive because we belong to God. We forgive because His grace has set us apart. We forgive because he deeply loves us.

When that truth settles into your heart, forgiveness stops being about emotion and becomes an act of imitation. We forgive because it’s what our Father does.

Forgiveness Flows from Compassion and Kindness

Paul tells us to “put on” compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, like clothing that identifies us as Christ’s people. Forgiveness happens when those virtues work together.

Compassion sees the person behind the offense. Kindness softens the tone that could make things worse. Humility remembers that we, too, have failed. Gentleness chooses restoration over revenge. Patience gives time for healing. Forgiveness doesn’t mean pretending the wrong never happened. It means responding to it with the heart of Christ.

Forgiveness Imitates God’s Grace

Paul says, “Just as the Lord has forgiven you.” That phrase should stop us in our tracks. God didn’t forgive us because we earned it. He forgave us because of His mercy. Romans 5:8 reminds us, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” If God could forgive us at our worst, how can we withhold forgiveness from others at theirs?

Forgiveness is not about keeping score; it’s about keeping grace in motion. Every time we forgive, we continue the work God began in us. We become living reflections of His mercy. Think of a mirror. Its only job is to reflect what shines on it. When God’s grace shines on your heart, it’s meant to reflect that light outward. But when resentment or pride covers the surface, the reflection fades. Forgiveness wipes the surface clean so that God’s love can shine through you again.

Forgiveness Honors Our Identity in Christ

Forgiving others isn’t a burden; it’s a privilege. It’s the mark of someone who knows what it means to be forgiven much. The more aware we become of God’s mercy toward us, the more ready we are to extend mercy to others.

That’s why forgiveness isn’t optional. It is essential to discipleship. If I belong to Christ, I must reflect His character. That means I refuse to let bitterness define me. I choose to forgive, even when my emotions resist. I let grace have the final word.

When you forgive, you’re doing one of the most Godlike things a human being can do. Forgiveness is not weakness; it’s strength under control. It’s power wrapped in mercy.

Conclusion

Forgiveness doesn’t start with your feelings. It begins with your identity: chosen, holy, and loved. When you live out of that truth, forgiveness becomes not just possible, but natural.

Twenty years ago, a couple who were close friends of mine suddenly stopped speaking to me. I wasn’t sure why. At first, I assumed they were busy. But as time passed, I realized something was wrong. Eventually, I learned that something I said in a sermon had been misunderstood. By the time I found out, resentment had already taken hold.

For months, there was silence. I prayed about it and wrestled with what to do. I told myself that time would heal it. It didn’t. The longer the silence lasted, the heavier the burden became. One day, I finally reached out. We met, talked honestly, and cleared the air. They admitted their hurt, and I acknowledged my frustration. Then we prayed together. That day, a friendship was restored, and peace returned to my heart.

Forgiveness is one of the hardest things God asks us to do. It feels unnatural. Everything in us wants to hold on to the hurt, to make the other person pay, or at least understand how deeply we’ve been wounded. Yet Jesus calls us to a higher way—the way of mercy.

He said in Matthew 6:14-15, “For if you forgive others their offenses, your heavenly Father will forgive you as well. But if you don’t forgive others, your Father will not forgive your offenses.” Those are sobering words. Jesus connects our forgiveness of others directly to our relationship with the Father.

Paul echoes the same truth in Colossians 3:12-13: “Therefore, as God’s chosen ones, holy and dearly loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a grievance against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you are also to forgive.”

That last phrase, just as the Lord has forgiven you, changes everything. Forgiveness isn’t based on what someone else deserves; it’s based on what you’ve already received from God.

Think about it. If God had waited until we “deserved” forgiveness, none of us would ever be saved. Romans 5:8 says, “But God proves his own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” God forgave us at our worst. And when we forgive others, we’re simply passing along what we’ve already received.

Unforgiveness, on the other hand, is a prison. It traps both hearts inside. We think we’re punishing the one who hurt us, but we’re the ones who remain bound. Forgiveness doesn’t minimize sin; it releases its power over us.

When we forgive, we imitate the heart of God. We reflect His mercy. We open the door for peace and healing. It doesn’t mean the pain disappears overnight or that trust is instantly restored. But it means we’ve chosen to let grace have the final word.

Maybe someone has hurt you deeply. Perhaps the wound still stings every time you think about it. I understand. But Jesus’ words stand firm: forgiveness isn’t optional, it’s essential. It’s the only way forward.

When forgiveness feels impossible, remember this: you are never more like Christ than when you forgive. The cross was not convenient, painless, or deserved. Yet Jesus forgave anyway. And that same grace now lives in you.

Let go of the bitterness. Lay down the offense. Let God do what only He can do: heal your heart and set you free.

Matthew 5:14-16 (CSB) – “You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket, but rather on a lampstand, and it gives light for all who are in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Jesus didn’t say, “Try to be light.” He said, “You are the light of the world.” Light is part of who you are in Him. But light is only useful when it shines in the darkness.

Paul reminded the Ephesians: “For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light” (Ephesians 5:8). Your life is a testimony that God has delivered you out of darkness and into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9). To hide that is to miss your purpose.

In a world clouded by anger, fear, and despair, God calls His people to live differently. Paul told the Philippians: “Do everything without grumbling and arguing, so that you may be blameless and pure, children of God who are faultless in a crooked and perverted generation, among whom you shine like stars in the world” (Philippians 2:14-15). Stars shine brightest against the night sky.

What does shining your light look like? It looks like kindness when others are harsh (Colossians 3:12). Honesty when others lie (Ephesians 4:25). Integrity when others compromise (Proverbs 11:3). It’s choosing forgiveness instead of bitterness (Ephesians 4:32), courage instead of fear (2 Timothy 1:7), joy instead of despair (Romans 15:13). Jesus says that when people see these good works, they give glory to God. Your life becomes a living testimony to His grace.

But there’s a warning too. Light hidden is light wasted. Many people hide their faith out of fear of criticism or because they don’t want to stand out. Yet Jesus insists: “No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket.” The purpose of light is to shine. Paul echoed this: “Do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord” (2 Timothy 1:8).

How to Shine Your Light

• Encourage someone by name. A word of affirmation can brighten a weary soul (Proverbs 12:25; Hebrews 3:13).

• Refuse negativity. Instead of joining in grumbling, choose gratitude (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).

• Practice generosity. Share what you have with those in need (Acts 20:35; 2 Corinthians 9:7).

• Be quick to forgive. Release bitterness and show grace, just as God has forgiven you (Colossians 3:13).

• Live with integrity. Walk in the same way Jesus walked (1 John 2:6).

• Speak of your faith naturally. Always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in you, with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15).

• Choose joy. Rejoice in the Lord always (Philippians 4:4).

So, resist the temptation to blend in. Live your faith openly. Speak of Christ naturally. Let your works match your words. “For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).

The world doesn’t need more darkness; it needs the light of Jesus shining through His people.

Let your light shine, not for your recognition, but for God’s glory.

Last year, as I contemplated the possibility of a Harris/Walz administration, I could not have imagined what I witnessed yesterday as I heard the highest officials in our government proclaim, unashamedly and boldly, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I remember 2020–21 and the feeling many of us had that Christians were under attack and our influence in the nation was rapidly diminishing. Those years may have been our Elijah moment, when he cried out to God:

“I have been very zealous for the Lord God of Armies, but the Israelites have abandoned your covenant, torn down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are looking for me to take my life” (1 Kings 19:10).

It felt pretty lonely then—as if a cultural tsunami had overtaken us. Maybe those feelings were premature. Today, I am thankful for God’s incredible mercy on our nation and pray that a national revival will not only begin, but flourish.

Yesterday’s speeches by Dr. Frank Turek, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, and Vice President J.D. Vance were remarkable. The contrast between light and darkness could not have been greater on that stage in Phoenix. On one side, we see hatred, violence, and a culture unraveling. On the other, we see flashes of God’s Kingdom breaking through in ways the world cannot explain. “The light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5).

One of the most powerful examples of that light came from Erika Kirk. In an absolutely gripping speech, she declared her decision to forgive the young man who murdered her husband. Erika chose the way of Jesus—the way of grace. It was the strength of faith that believes in the cross, trusts in God’s justice, and embodies Christ’s command: “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).

When Erika Kirk chose to forgive her enemy, she displayed the very heart of Christianity. The strength to love one’s enemy is not something the world can produce or even comprehend—it comes only through following Christ. It is in His example that we find the power to say the nearly impossible words: “I forgive you.”

Forgiveness doesn’t erase the pain. It doesn’t pretend the wrong never happened. What it does is break the chains of bitterness and refuse to let darkness have the final word. “Do not be conquered by evil, but conquer evil with good” (Romans 12:21). Forgiveness is one of the clearest ways we show that the gospel is not just an idea to be admired, but a reality to be lived.

Erika’s example forces us all to wrestle with the question: Am I willing to walk in the radical light of Christ, even when it costs me everything? Am I willing to forgive, to love, to bless, even when wronged? Paul reminds us, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God also forgave you in Christ” (Ephesians 4:32). That is what our nation desperately needs—not just political revival, but spiritual transformation in the image of Jesus.

Light shines brightest in the darkest night. May we, like Erika Kirk, choose to be vessels of that light. May God raise up a people who live out the gospel with such courage that the watching world cannot help but see Christ. “You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14).

And while we have reason to be optimistic—because God is on our side—this does not mean that Satan will retreat. In fact, he will step up his attacks. This is a spiritual war, and the enemy will continue to lurk, plot, and seek to destroy those who uphold the light. Be vigilant. Stand tall. “Put on the full armor of God, so that you can stand against the schemes of the devil” (Ephesians 6:11). God’s got this, and He’s got you.

Ephesians 6:12 (CSB) – For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this darkness, against evil, spiritual forces in the heavens.

The tragedies and violence we’ve seen all over America this summer remind us that the real battle is not political, it is spiritual. Satan is working through the systems of this world to weaken faith, divide people, and turn hearts away from God.

We’ve seen three horrific incidents in recent days:

• The Minneapolis school shooting at a Catholic school. Two young children died and several were critically injured.

• The killing of Iryna Zarutska, a young Ukrainian refugee fatally stabbed by a chronic violent offender on a Charlotte train.

• The assassination of Charlie Kirk, shot by while speaking on a university campus.

The devil doesn’t care about parties or platforms, he cares about destroying souls. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10). And right now, there is an open war on Christians. Whether it’s pressure to compromise truth, ridicule for holding to God’s Word, or laws that make it harder to live out our faith, Satan is behind the assault.

And yet, in the middle of the darkness, something good is happening. These tragedies have stirred something powerful in our nation, especially among Gen Z. Rather than just scrolling past, many are stopped in their tracks. They’re asking hard questions: What does it mean when someone is attacked simply for being in the wrong place, or for speaking their convictions? Why is violence becoming a tool in public life with more frequency? How does one stay faithful under such pressure?

The Spiritual Opportunity Before Us

These are dark signs, but also moments of spiritual clarity. For Christians, they’re a call to:

1. Pray with clarity and urgency
   The Bible tells us to pray when we see injustice, when the weak suffer (Psalm 82:3–4). These moments call us not just to lament, but to ask God to move in hearts, legal systems, and culture.

2. Stand for truth even when it’s uncomfortable
   Following Jesus often means declaring what is right when culture is moving toward outrage, division, or fear. In John 15:18–20, Jesus warns us that the world will hate us if it first hated Him. He didn’t promise comfort—He promised faithfulness.

3. Offer compassion to the broken
   Many involved in these incidents are hurting, mentally ill, displaced, or marginalized. There’s an opportunity to reflect Christ’s love by caring for victims, for vulnerable people, and by pushing for justice tempered with mercy. “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

4. Bring hope in despair
   When Gen Z sees horror, they also see that many institutions are failing. Christians have the chance to point to a different Kingdom, a different King. “The government will be on His shoulders” and “His reign will be marked by peace and justice” (Isaiah 9:6–7). Jesus declares peace, even amid storms (John 14:27).

5. Be a voice for healing, not only outrage
   Outrage gets attention. Healing builds endurance. Many young people are spiritually open right now; they want answers, they want authentic responses, not soundbites. We can share God’s truth about sin, repentance, love, sacrifice, and redemption in ways that help wounds begin to heal.

How We Armor Up

So how do we stand? Paul says to “put on the full armor of God” (Ephesians 6:11). That means:

• Fasten the belt of truth — learn what Scripture actually says about justice, suffering, evil. Don’t let uninformed outrage define the Christian response.

• Wear the breastplate of righteousness — live rightly, even when others don’t. Let your life show the difference Christ makes.

• Walk in the gospel of peace — you can bring peace not by ignoring pain, but by bringing hope into brokenness.

• Raise the shield of faith — believe God is still good, even when the world looks different than we hoped.

• Put on the helmet of salvation — remember who you are in Christ; don’t let fear shift your identity.

• Take up the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God — Jesus taught in Luke 4:18–19 that He came “to proclaim good news … to bind up the brokenhearted.” God’s Word has power to heal, to expose darkness, to give wisdom in the battle.

• Pray without ceasing — for truth, for hearts, for brokenness, for justice (Ephesians 6:18).

Don’t Forget

Yes, there is a war against Christians. But don’t forget this: the victory is already won in Christ. “The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world” (1 John 4:4).

These moments of horror can also be moments of awakening. God is opening doors for truth, healing, and hope. The battle is real, but the opportunities are greater. Let’s not waste them. Let’s stand strong. Let’s shine.

Philippians 4:6-7 (CSB) – Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Are the pressures of the week already starting to pile up? For some, it may be a deadline at work. For others, it’s bills, family concerns, or worries about the future. And for many, the constant stream of troubling news in our world stirs fear and uncertainty.

Worry is powerful. It can steal sleep, weaken faith, and choke out joy. Jesus warned about this in Matthew 6:27: “Can any of you add one moment to his life span by worrying?” Worry changes nothing except our own strength. But prayer changes everything.

Paul gives us the alternative: “In everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Notice those words in everything. There is no burden too small or too large to bring before Him. And thanksgiving is part of it too, because remembering God’s faithfulness yesterday strengthens our trust today.

When we do this, God promises peace. Not a fragile calm that vanishes when circumstances shift, but “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.” This peace doesn’t always explain the “why” of our suffering, but it anchors us in the “Who,” i.e., the God who loves us and will not forsake us.

Jesus echoed this in John 14:27: “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Don’t let your heart be troubled or fearful.” The world’s peace is temporary: vacations end, distractions fade, circumstances change. But the peace of Christ endures even in the storm.

Isaiah described it this way: “You will keep the mind that is dependent on you in perfect peace, for it is trusting in you” (Isaiah 26:3). Peace is the fruit of a mind fixed on God. And Paul adds in Colossians 3:15: “Let the peace of Christ, to which you were also called in one body, rule your hearts.” Peace is not passive. Instead, it actively rules, like an umpire, deciding which thoughts and emotions get to stay.

Think of the disciples in the boat during the storm in Mark 4:39-40. Jesus stood and rebuked the wind and waves: “Silence! Be still!” The sea calmed instantly. But then He turned to His disciples and asked, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?” His point? Peace was already available, not because of calmer waters, but because He was in the boat.

So today, when anxiety rises:

• Stop and pray. Name your worry before God.

• Thank Him for His past faithfulness.

• Trust Him to guard your heart with His peace.

Remember: peace is not the absence of trouble. It is the presence of Christ. And He has promised never to leave you or abandon you (Hebrews 13:5).

There are days when life feels heavier than we can carry. The schedule is packed, the body is tired, the mind is restless. Even when we try to serve faithfully in our families, our work, or the church, exhaustion can creep in.

The Promise of Heaven

Yesterday, I taught the introductory class for a new quarter’s study on heaven. The key verse was Hebrews 13:14: “For we do not have an enduring city here; instead, we seek the one to come.” I challenged the class to commit that verse to memory. Heaven is not just our future home—it is the promise that shapes how we live today. For the Christian, heaven should never be an afterthought. It needs to influence how we live. When you’re tempted, remember where you belong. When you’re weary, remember the rest ahead. When you’re discouraged, remember the glory that’s coming.

This is especially true when life wears us down.

Weary Saints in Scripture

The Bible doesn’t ignore our weakness. David once said, “I am weary from my groaning; with my tears I dampen my bed and drench my couch every night” (Psalm 6:6). Elijah, after his great victory on Mount Carmel, collapsed under a broom tree and prayed that he might die (1 Kings 19:4). Even strong servants of God knew the weight of exhaustion.

The God Who Renews

But Scripture reminds us that God does not grow weary. “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the whole earth. He never becomes faint or weary; there is no limit to his understanding” (Isaiah 40:28). He is steady when we are shaky. He is strong when we are weak.

And He shares that strength with us. “He gives strength to the faint and strengthens the powerless” (Isaiah 40:29). That’s why Isaiah concludes: “Those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not become weary, they will walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:31). Renewal doesn’t come from pushing harder but from trusting deeper.

Strength in Weakness

Paul echoed this truth: “Even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). Outwardly, life wears us down. Inwardly, God builds us up.

And when Paul begged for his thorn in the flesh to be removed, the Lord replied: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Paul learned to see weakness not as defeat but as the doorway to God’s power: “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).

The Rest Ahead

So if you are weary, you are not alone. God’s people have felt this way before, and God has always carried them through. Jesus Himself gives the invitation: “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Rest in Him. Trust His timing. Keep walking by faith. He will give you the strength to rise again—and the promise of heaven will be worth it all.

“For we do not have an enduring city here; instead, we seek the one to come.”

On Wednesday, August 27, tragedy struck Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis. A gunman entered the building and opened fire. Within moments, two children were gone. Families are shattered. A school community is grieving. Parents across the nation shuddered as they imagined kissing their own children goodbye that morning, never dreaming it might be the last time.

This is not just another headline. These are not numbers. These are children: loved, cherished, and irreplaceable.

The Mayor’s Words

In the aftermath, Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey addressed the city. In his remarks, he said: “Don’t just say this is about thoughts and prayers right now. These kids were literally praying.”1

The intent was to call for more than words in response to violence. But the effect was something much deeper, and for Christians, deeply troubling. His words carried the implication that prayer failed. That in the moment those children prayed, heaven was silent. That prayer itself is powerless.

Why the Words Cut So Deep

Yes, those children were praying. And that is part of what makes this crime so unspeakable. The killer did not choose them at random—he targeted them because of their Christian faith. His manifesto, scrawled mockingly across a magazine, read, “Where is your God?”

To dismiss prayer in that moment is to echo the taunt of the murderer rather than to honor the faith of the victims. It adds insult to unbearable grief.

The Christian Response

For Christians, this is not just a misunderstanding. It is anti-Christian.

Prayer is not a slogan. It is not an excuse to avoid responsibility. Prayer is communion with the living God. Scripture reminds us again and again:

• “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and rescues them from all their troubles” (Psalm 34:17).

• “The prayer of a righteous person is very powerful in its effect” (James 5:16).

• “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4:6).

The Bible is full of examples of people who prayed and saw God act. Hannah prayed for a child, and God gave her Samuel (1 Samuel 1). Hezekiah prayed when Jerusalem was surrounded, and God delivered the city (2 Kings 19). The early church prayed for Peter’s release, and an angel opened the prison doors (Acts 12).

Most importantly, Jesus Himself prayed. Before choosing His apostles, “He went out to the mountain to pray and spent all night in prayer to God” (Luke 6:12). In Gethsemane, on the night before His crucifixion, He prayed with tears. If prayer were powerless, why would the Son of God Himself pray?

Prayer and Action

It’s true: prayer does not mean tragedy will never strike. God has never promised that His people would be spared from every evil. What He has promised is that He hears, that He cares, and that He will redeem. Prayer is not wasted breath; it is the very way we cling to the God who sustains us.

And prayer is not a substitute for action. Real prayer leads to action. Nehemiah prayed before rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls (Nehemiah 1–2). The early church prayed for boldness and then went out to preach (Acts 4). Prayer doesn’t paralyze … it mobilizes. It shapes our hearts, strengthens our resolve, and opens the door for God to work through us.

The Families Who Grieve

As Christians, we cannot ignore the reality of loss. Two families now face the unimaginable pain of burying their children. No parent should ever walk that road. To them, words will never feel like enough. What they need is compassion, presence, and the comfort only God can give.

So we grieve with them. We pray for them, not with empty phrases, but with confidence that God draws near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). We pray because only He can bind up wounds too deep for human hands.

Why We Will Keep Praying

So when voices say prayer is a waste of time, Christians must answer with faith. We will keep praying, because our hope is not in politicians or policies, but in the Lord who reigns. We will keep praying, because prayer is not powerless; it calls on the One who holds all power in His hands.

And we will keep praying, because Jesus told us to: “Ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you” (Matthew 7:7).

Prayer is not powerless. It is our lifeline. It is our greatest strength. And in the darkest of times, it is the light that cannot be extinguished.