Some years ago I was serving on the staff of a local church. One of my responsibilities was to oversee the budget and give some direction to the finance committee. I should have known better.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but there was one fateful evening when I was meeting with said committee. The group was going over the Visa receipts, and one individual on the committee took issue with an item with my signature on it. Never mind that the item was in the budget and there was plenty in that particular line item … and that I was acting at the direction of the pastor.

I’ll call that individual Joe. He was so upset his hands were literally shaking.

That dude lit into me. His spittle-flecked rant was along the lines of “Who okayed this? Why did you need to spend this money in the first place? Why was it used that way?” And so forth. His tirade lasted a good five minutes. I sat there, gritting my teeth. The other six members of the committee just sat there with their heads down. I thought maybe the chairman would intervene. It didn’t happen that way.

When Joe stopped long enough to get a breath, I dredged up enough gumption to ask, “Joe, do you love me?”

Joe turned purple, spluttered, and replied, “What do you mean, do I love you? What’s that got to do with it?”

I said, “Because … if you loved me, you wouldn’t treat me this way. You’d want to help me.”

I wanted him to cry. Instead, my appeal to reason and compassion fell flat. He just got madder and resumed his attack.

Look. If I’m wrong, I need to know it so I can make corrections. But don’t devalue me in the process. It’s not right, and it hurts.

I guess we resolved it. I have selective amnesia when it comes to things like this. The bottom line is that Joe simply didn’t like me, for whatever reason. Maybe I reminded him of a kid that beat him up in the 5^th grade. Who knows? Mostly, though, he had an obscenely critical spirit, and it showed up in other areas of his church life, too.

It’s easy to find fault in others, isn’t it? Almost a reflex, some might say. We’ve all been on both ends of criticism, and I think it’s safe to say, it doesn’t feel great being on the receiving end. Especially, when the criticism is less about helping us improve and more about knocking us down a peg. This brings us to an essential thought: “Anyone can criticize another, but it takes a special person to build others up.”

Why Do People Criticize?

Criticism is often the easiest route to take when we feel threatened, insecure, or jealous. It can be a defensive mechanism, shielding us from facing our own shortcomings. And sometimes, people criticize because it gives them a sense of superiority. It’s an unfortunate truth that putting others down can sometimes make us feel better about our own situations.

Criticizing Christians

Criticism from the world towards Christians often feels particularly pointed and persistent. Perhaps it’s because of the high standards that Christianity sets. People expect Christians to live up to Christ-like ideals, and when they fall short, it becomes easy fodder for criticism. Additionally, Christianity, by its nature, challenges the moral and ethical norms of society, which can lead to pushback from those who feel indicted or judged by Christian teachings.

Christians Criticizing Each Other

You’d think Christians would be the most supportive of one another, right? Yet, often we are the first to criticize our brothers and sisters in faith. This could stem from differing interpretations of Scripture or varying degrees of adherence to Christian doctrines. More often — especially in the local church — it’s just evidence of pure meanness. It shows up with squabbles about who is elected deacon, or the colors of the new mop handles. Sometimes, it’s easier to spot a splinter in our brother’s eye than a plank in our own. It’s a human flaw, one that we must be vigilant against.

Responding to Criticism

In moments of criticism, it’s crucial to remember the words of Jesus in John 8:7, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” This reminds us that we all fall short and should approach each other with grace rather than judgment.

Moreover, it’s essential to distinguish between constructive and destructive criticism. Constructive criticism comes from a place of love and aims to help us grow. It’s based on truth and delivered with kindness. Proverbs 12:17 says, “Whoever speaks the truth gives honest evidence, but a false witness utters deceit.” This highlights the importance of truthfulness in our critiques of others.

Destructive criticism, on the other hand, seeks to harm. It’s often rooted in falsehood and serves no purpose other than to discourage.

When You’re the Critic

It’s worth examining our hearts to see if a critical spirit resides there. A few signs could be constant negativity, joy in others’ failures, and a habit of gossip or slander. Recognizing these traits is the first step towards repentance.

To repent from a critical spirit, start with prayer. Ask God to transform your heart and to help you see others as He sees them — with love and mercy. Practice replacing critical thoughts with compassionate ones. And, when you do need to offer correction, ensure it’s constructive, coming from a place of genuine concern and spoken with gentleness.

Building others up doesn’t just change them — it changes us. As we make a conscious effort to encourage rather than criticize, we align closer with the teachings of Christ. We create a more loving, supportive community where everyone can grow. After all, it takes a special person to build others up, and that person, with God’s help, can be each of us.

Let’s be those special people, the builders in a world that’s too often busy tearing down.

We were in Laurel last week, visiting with the grandkids, Katherine and Levi, and their expendable parents. (If you’re a grandparent, I don’t need to explain. Katherine and Levi’s parents just tend to get in the way of our fun.)

Katherine and Levi would rather eat at Waffle House than any other restaurant in the Western Hemisphere. I get that. It’s one of our all-time guilty pleasures. Waffle House is one of the great levelers of society — where else will you see neurosurgeons and sod layers eating together and know that everyone will be treated the same? Scattered, smothered, and covered — that’s my hash brown preference, in case you’re taking notes.

When we have the grandkids at our house, we serve them what I call a “syrup-based breakfast.” That means either pancakes or waffles, with about a pound of bacon for each kid. That’s pretty much what they’ll opt for at Waffle House too, anytime of the day, although Levi has branched out into hash browns. I’m trying to teach him to appreciate the finer things in life. “Papa,” he said, “you’re the best cook in the galaxy.” That’s pretty high praise, but I aspire to the “best cook in the universe.” I guess that gives me room to grow.

At the Laurel Waffle House — which was as cold as a morgue — we all opted to sit at the counter (aka the “high bar”), which looks into the kitchen. We all enjoy watching the grill jockeys at work — it’s like redneck hibachi.

Sitting at the counter next to us was an older gentleman (actually, he may have been younger than me, but he sure looked old.) He had on a weathered camo jacket covered with patriotic patches — flags, eagles, all that. He had on a ball cap with a political slogan on it. He was unshaved, clean, but still sort of disheveled. He was wearing Eisenhower-era hearing aids.

Our server was very cheerful, attractive, and had this multi-megawatt smile. She was also chatty, which is probably a prerequisite for working at Waffle House.

I obliquely noticed that the other gentleman was paying her more-than-casual attention. There was some low-level flirting going on as he sipped his coffee, which is all he’d ordered.

I wasn’t eavesdropping, at least not intentionally. At one point, our server asked him, “Do you enjoy watching me work?” He just beamed — I think he enjoyed the attention.

A bit later, he asked, “What time do you get off work?

Our server rolled with it. “At 6, but why do you want to know?” She was cordial, and smiling, but there was no question that he’d trespassed a bit too far.

He seemed to know that he’d crossed a line. “Uh, well, I was just wondering.” He began studying the last of his coffee.

That was pretty much it. He soon paid for his coffee and left. Our server watched him as he walked out the door. He was limping a little.

I couldn’t help myself. “That was a bit uncomfortable, wasn’t it?” I asked my server. Not that I would ever judge, but he sure didn’t seem her type.

She smiled wanly. “Not really,” she said. “He’s in here a lot. He’s just a lonely old man.”

I don’t know why that struck me. Everyone has a story. I didn’t know his. I may have been judgmental. Maybe I assumed he was a creep.

Since then I’ve been thinking about loneliness. Being alone isn’t a bad thing necessarily, but being lonely isn’t necessarily good.

As followers of Christ, we’re called to “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2), yet in doing so, it’s vital to understand the nuance between being alone and being lonely, as they’re not always the same thing.

Being Alone vs. Being Lonely

Firstly, being alone is a physical state, where a person may not have others around them. It’s a solitude that can be sought after for peace, prayer, and reflection. Jesus Himself sought solitude to pray (Luke 5:16), showing that being alone can be a positive, rejuvenating experience.

On the flip side, being lonely is an emotional state — a feeling of being disconnected, unseen, or unloved, regardless of how many people are around. Loneliness can be more daunting to navigate because it’s not about the physical absence of people but the perceived absence of meaningful connections. So if we feel led, how do we address this when we see this in other people? And do we sometimes need to mind our own business? It’s complicated.

Reaching Out from a Christian Worldview

Pray First: Before you do anything, pray. Ask God for guidance, sensitivity, and the right words. Your outreach should be a reflection of God’s love, and what better way to ensure this than to start with Him?

Be Present: Sometimes, the best way to reach out is simply to be there. Presence can speak louder than words. Offer your time and attention. Whether it’s sitting quietly with someone, listening to them, or engaging in an activity together, your presence can remind them that they’re valued and loved.

Listen with Love: Often, people who are lonely just need someone to listen — really listen — to them. Listening is a form of love that validates someone’s feelings and experiences. When you listen, do so with the intention of understanding, not fixing. Remember, Job’s friends sat with him in silence for seven days before speaking (Job 2:13), showing the power of presence over words.

Share God’s Word in a Gentle Way: The Bible is full of verses about God’s love, presence, and care for us. Sharing a scripture can be incredibly comforting. However, be sensitive to timing and receptivity. Sometimes, it’s more about living out God’s Word through your actions than quoting it.

Invite, Don’t Impose: Invite them to activities, church events, or even just for coffee. However, respect their decision if they’re not ready to engage. Loneliness can make it hard for some to step out, so be patient and keep extending the invitation without pressure.

Encourage Connections: Sometimes, helping someone out of loneliness means helping them connect with others. Introduce them to groups, clubs, or gatherings where they might find like-minded individuals. Encourage involvement in community or church activities where they can form meaningful relationships.

Follow Up: Reaching out once can make a difference, but ongoing support can change a life. Check in regularly. A simple text, call, or note can remind them that they are not forgotten. Consistency shows genuine care.

Reaching out to someone who’s lonely is a call to embody Christ’s love in the most practical of ways. It’s about being a friend, a listener, and a beacon of God’s love. Remember, loneliness doesn’t resolve overnight. It’s in the persistent, gentle reaching out that hearts are touched and lives are changed.

Through such acts of love and kindness, we not only address the loneliness in others but also reflect the love of Christ, who promised never to leave us nor forsake us. In doing so, we fulfill one of the most beautiful aspects of our faith: sharing God’s unconditional love with those who feel most disconnected from it. Let’s not underestimate the power of reaching out, for in the tapestry of humanity, every thread is essential, and every connection matters.

After Daddy died, I had another 12 years with my mamma. Even though I didn’t live close, we kept up with each other, and I’d make it home when I could.

One thing that bugged me, though, is that anytime I was at her house, the television would be tuned to one of the 24-hour news channels. Maybe Fox, maybe CNN, but always something.

Mamma would comment on what she’d seen and heard. Mamma was a rock-solid Christian, a strong woman, but I could tell that a lot of what she was seeing was scaring her. She was genuinely afraid of what was happening in the world.

I said, “Mamma, don’t be watching this stuff all the time. You’re just seeing the same thing over and over. You don’t need to do that to yourself.”

I’d like to tell you that she took her only child’s counsel, but her viewing habits never changed. The world outside her house was dark and threatening.

I’m a journalist. I want to give you some thoughts on how to manage your information intake. Don’t be like Mamma.

Navigating the stormy seas of today’s news cycle without capsizing into the ocean of despair is quite the task. Let me offer some beacons of hope.

1. Most Stories Don’t Matter

In the grand tapestry of life, it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture when we’re fixated on every little thread, especially the frayed ones. The truth is, much of the news is like fast food for our brains: quickly consumed, rarely satisfying, and often leaving us with regret. The trick is to differentiate between the news that truly impacts our lives and the noise that clutters it. Remember, just because it’s loud doesn’t mean it’s important. Prioritize what genuinely affects you and your community, and let the rest fade into the background noise where it belongs.

2. Challenge Yourself to Love Easy-to-Dislike People

This one’s tough, but oh, so rewarding! Loving people we don’t like, especially those who seem to embody everything we stand against, is a radical act of kindness. It’s not about agreeing with them or condoning their actions; it’s about recognizing their humanity beneath the layers of differences. When we see someone vilified in the news, it’s a golden opportunity to practice empathy and remember that everyone has a story, fears, and dreams. Love doesn’t mean approval; it means understanding and compassion.

3. News Shouldn’t Be 24/7

Our minds were not designed to be bombarded with a constant stream of information, much of it distressing. It’s like trying to drink from a firehose; eventually, you’ll drown. Setting boundaries around news consumption can be incredibly freeing. Allocate a specific, limited time each day to catch up on the news, and then move on to activities that replenish your spirit and joy. This minimal intake ensures you’re informed without being overwhelmed. It’s about being a responsible citizen of the world without being a hostage to it.

4. Guard Your Mind. Guard Your Heart

The news can be a battlefield, and your peace of mind is the territory at stake. Be vigilant about protecting it. If you find your spirit getting dragged down, it’s time to step back. This doesn’t mean ignorance; it means wisdom. It’s recognizing when exposure is turning into poison and choosing to detox. Fill your heart and mind with things that uplift and inspire you, and disengage from sources that drain your joy. Your mental and emotional well-being is precious — treat it with the care it deserves.

5. God’s Got This

In the whirlwind of global events, it’s easy to feel like we’re in a boat about to be swallowed by waves. But here’s the thing: God is the master of the sea and the storm. The belief that “God’s got this” doesn’t imply passivity; it’s a call to faith. It means trusting that even in the chaos, there’s a plan, and goodness prevails. It’s about finding peace in the knowledge that we’re not alone, and that every storm runs out of rain. So, take a deep breath, and relax. Focus on what you can control, and leave the rest in His capable hands.

Navigating the news without losing our peace of mind is about selective engagement, empathy, setting boundaries, self-care, and faith. Each of these strategies not only helps us to maintain our sanity but also transforms us into beacons of hope and love in a world that desperately needs it. We’re all in this boat together, steering towards a horizon of hope.

Scoot your chairs in close, kids. I have a story for you. This will help someone.

Several years ago I was working for a ministry that trained and equipped student ministers. It was a dream job in so many ways.

I’ll spare you the details, but I went through an awful season while serving in that role. Compounding it was a knowledge that I needed some answers from God Himself — it was one of those “crisis of belief” times that Henry Blackaby so eloquently talked about in “Experiencing God.”

So I prayed, and sought, and waited. Nothing, Nada.

Ultimately, I did hear from God in what was a solid, sweet fashion. God spoke in the most amazing fashion during a personal retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit near Conyers, Georgia. One unique feature of this place is that you were expected to follow a discipline of silence — you didn’t speak to anyone, and no one was to speak to you. And no, I’m not Roman Catholic, nor am I any sort of a mystic. Don’t worry. I’m resolutely Southern Baptist! It wasn’t about the monks and me, but about God and me, one on one. I’ll save that story for another time (or you can contact me personally — it’s a story I love to tell.)

Years later, I’m still unpacking what God taught me during that season. Let me share with you seven takeaways. I hope these resonate with you because, if you haven’t already, you can anticipate a time in your life when the heavens are silent and hearing from God just isn’t happening,

I’d add, too, that there are plenty of stories in scripture when God didn’t speak. For years. You’re in good company.

Here are my seven:

1. Don’t Ignore the Silence

Silence can be unnerving, especially when we’re used to constant communication. But when God seems silent, it’s not an invitation to panic; it’s a call to pause. Silence can be a sacred space for reflection and growth. Think of it as God’s way of saying, “Let’s sit with this for a moment.” It’s in these quiet times we often find the deepest insights and grow in patience and perseverance.

2. Confront Sin in Your Life

Silence from God can sometimes act as a gentle nudge to examine our hearts and lives. It’s a call to introspection, asking us to confront any sin or barriers that may be disrupting our relationship with Him. This isn’t about wallowing in guilt but about clearing the air. Just as a bit of dust can cloud a lens, even small sins can cloud our spiritual vision.

3. Go Back to What You Know for Sure

In times of silence, anchor yourself in the truths you know about God and His character. Remember His promises and the ways He has been faithful in the past. This is not about ignoring your doubts or fears but about remembering that, even when the path ahead seems unclear, the foundation of your faith is solid.

4. Make a Decision and Choose Sides

When God seems silent, it’s a pivotal moment to decide where your loyalty lies. Will you follow God, trusting in His unseen guidance, or lean on your own understanding? This decision is about commitment, a declaration that, regardless of how you feel, your trust in God’s character and promises is unwavering.

5. Trust God More, Not Less

It might seem counterintuitive, but God’s silence is often the best time to deepen your trust in Him. Trusting more, not less, means leaning into faith, even when you don’t have all the answers. It’s about believing that God is at work in your life, even in the silence, shaping you for purposes beyond your current understanding.

6. Listen and Watch Closely

God’s silence doesn’t mean His absence. Sometimes, God speaks in whispers or through the actions and words of others. Pay attention to the world around you, the “coincidences,” the advice of friends, the serenity of nature. God is often at work in the subtle, teaching us to tune our senses to His gentle guidance.

7. Get Ready to Receive from Him

Finally, prepare your heart to receive from God. This isn’t about passively waiting but actively preparing—like tilling the soil for the seeds yet to be sown. It’s about making space in your life for what God is about to do, trusting that His silence is often the precursor to growth, blessing, and deeper understanding.

I hope this encourages you. Talk later!

I should know better when on social media. I’ll read a post from someone I know and care for, and think, “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re a believer. And if I were to take what you’re sharing at face value, I’d say you’re moving close to despair. How cynical can you get?”  

It’s like a drowning man who not only won’t reach for a lifesaver but isn’t content until they drown someone else along with them.

In a world that often seems overwhelmed by negativity and cynicism, it’s easy to wonder where we, as Christians, fit into the grand scheme of things. We’re bombarded with news that paints a less-than-hopeful picture of humanity and the future. It’s in these moments, however, that our faith is not just a belief but a beacon—a source of perpetual hope and unwavering trust in God’s sovereignty.

The idea that “you can’t be cynical and a Christian” might seem bold at first glance. After all, isn’t it human to feel disheartened by the seemingly endless cycle of bad news? Yet, this statement isn’t about denying our emotions or ignoring reality. It’s about recognizing that, as Christians, we are called to view the world differently. We are called to hope.

Hope, in the Christian sense, is not blind optimism. It’s a confident expectation based on the character and promises of God. Despite the chaos, despite the brokenness, we stand firm in the belief that God is always glorified in all things. This isn’t a passive hope; it’s active and alive, compelling us to engage with the world in a way that reflects God’s love and redemption.

Don’t let your familiarity with Romans 8:28 dilute its truthfulness. Paul reminds us, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” This verse isn’t a platitude; it’s a cornerstone of our faith. It assures us that, no matter the circumstances, God is at work. He’s weaving every thread, even those tarnished by sin and sorrow, into a tapestry that glorifies Him and fulfills His divine plan.

When we look at others or the world around us, it’s crucial to remember that there’s no person or situation beyond God’s redemption. To think otherwise is to limit the infinite power of our Creator, the one who spoke the universe into existence. How, then, can we doubt His ability to transform lives and circumstances?

Embracing this perspective shifts our focus from despair to action. It challenges us to be agents of hope and vessels of God’s love. Instead of being overwhelmed by the darkness, we’re inspired to shine our light brighter, to reach out with compassion, and to partake in God’s redemptive work in the world.

“God’s got this” might sound like a casual affirmation, but it’s a profound declaration of faith. It’s an acknowledgment of God’s omnipotence and a commitment to trust Him, even when the path ahead seems uncertain. This trust isn’t naive; it’s rooted in a deep understanding of who God is and His promises to us.

So, as we navigate through life, let’s challenge ourselves to shed any cynicism that dims our light. Let’s replace it with a hope that is as unshakeable as it is contagious. Let’s be so filled with God’s love and trust in His plan that others can’t help but be drawn to the hope that lives within us.

As you reflect on these words, I encourage you to evaluate your own heart. Are there areas of your life where cynicism has taken root? How can you actively replace that cynicism with hope? Remember, it’s a journey we’re all on together, supporting one another, as we strive to live out our faith in a world that desperately needs the hope only God can give.

Let’s not just be hearers of this message but doers. Let’s live out our hope in such a way that it provokes others to seek the source of our hope, the very heart of God. Because, in the end, hope is not just what we have; it’s what we are called to share.

Some of you folks might remember the Y2K frenzy and all the hysteria that came with it. The world was on the edge of its seat, prepping for a technological apocalypse. Churches held seminars, and many of my friends filled their garages with enough emergency supplies to last a lifetime.

In the midst of that chaos, I found myself trying hard not to be disrespectful to their concerns, yet I couldn’t help but feel skeptical. My skepticism wasn’t born out of a claim to superior knowledge or insight. Rather, the situation simply didn’t make reasonable sense to me. Between the conflicting “expert” opinions (and there were plenty of folks who made beaucoup money peddling books, supplies, etc. – follow the money, right?)  and the smell test it failed, I found myself turning not to the ATM for extra cash, but to scripture for reassurance. Isaiah 41:10 reminds us, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

A friend of mine was particularly invested, planning to stay up all night on December 31, 1999, to track the anticipated chaos via shortwave radio. Yet, as the clock struck midnight, the world remained unchanged. The anticipated global shutdown was nowhere to be seen.

I called later on the morning of January 1, 2000, just to see how he was doing.

“We haven’t heard anything from the Philippines,” he said. “That’s sort of concerning.”

As I recall, the Philippines managed just fine.

This was a stark reminder that amidst the noise and fear, God’s peace transcends all understanding, guarding our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, as Philippians 4:7 assures us.

This memory resurfaces today as I see ads for survival kits cluttering my Facebook feed, promising safety in the face of unspecified threats. It reminds me of the fallout shelter building boom during the very real tensions of the era – as time goes by, we’re aware of just what a legitimate threat the Cuban Missile Crisis was. Yet, as Christians, we are called to live not in fear but in faith. Proverbs 3:21-23 encourages us to keep sound wisdom and discretion always before us, guiding us to respond to fear not with panic but with prudence and discernment.

So, why share these reflections on a serene morning? It’s a gentle reminder that, as believers, we’re called to a different standard. Our trust in God’s sovereignty means we approach life’s uncertainties not with fear but with faith. We are stewards of God’s creation, called to care for our neighbors and ourselves with wisdom and love, echoing Luke 12:33-34’s call to focus on treasures in heaven, not on earth.

Living in fear is easy in a world that often seems designed to scare us. But as followers of Christ, we are reminded that “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” (Matthew 10:29). God’s got this. All of it. Our role is to live out our faith boldly, trusting in His plan, and to spread peace rather than panic.

Let’s be lights in the darkness, voices of reason and hope in a world often gripped by fear. Let’s choose to live not in the shadow of what might happen but in the light of what we know to be true: God is in control, and His love and protection encompass us every day.

We can fight for our beliefs without demonizing each other.

Not everyone knows this, apparently.

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I love being able to reconnect with friends that I haven’t heard from in years. It’s pretty wonderful to find a former student from one of the youth groups I led 30 years ago and hear how they’re doing Kingdom work and loving Jesus.

That’s the love side of things. What I hate, though, is when I run across some political or social screed and just shake my head. Or, worse, when I let myself get suckered and drawn into a no-win discussion, i.e., argument. It devalues my soul.

In a world bursting with diverse opinions and beliefs, it’s easy to find ourselves at odds with others. Do we live in a divided country or what? But as Christians, we’re called to a different standard — one of love, understanding, and peace.

The Apostle Paul reminds us inRomans 12:18, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” This isn’t just a lofty ideal; it’s a practical guide for navigating our interactions, even when we disagree.

Understanding Over Judgment

One of the first steps in bridging differences is striving to understand rather than rush to judgment. Remember James 1:19, which encourages us to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Understanding doesn’t mean we have to agree with every point of view, but it does mean acknowledging the sincerity and humanity in others’ perspectives.

That’s hard. I’ll read something from a friend or acquaintance and think, “Dude, you must be possessed. How can you believe such nonsense? Who are you listening to? What are you reading? What are your sources?”

Then I remember: Everyone has a story. Their story isn’t my story. They came to their beliefs based on their worldview, their upbringing, their environment, and a whole host of other factors. Just like you and I did.

I’d like to think I work hard at this. I once found myself in a heated debate with a friend over a social issue. As we talked, I made a conscious effort to listen, not just to respond but to understand. It didn’t change my viewpoint, but it certainly softened my heart towards my friend’s experience and reasoning.

Love as Our Guiding Principle

In every interaction, love should be our guiding principle. Jesus couldn’t have been clearer when he said, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34). This love isn’t just a warm feeling; it’s patient, kind, and self-controlled, as detailed in1 Corinthians 13:4-7. It’s choosing to respond with gentleness even when we’re tempted to be harsh, showing kindness when it’s easier to be indifferent.

Just be kind.

The Strength in Diversity

Our differences can be a source of strength, not division. Proverbs 27:17 tells us, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Engaging with diverse viewpoints can challenge us to think deeper, understand more broadly, and grow stronger in our own beliefs. It’s like a community garden with a variety of plants; each contributes something unique to the overall beauty and health of the garden.

When I talk about diversity, I’m simply saying that we aren’t all alike. I’m not talking about a union of light and darkness, of sin and holiness. What I am saying is that just listening to others, even if you find their stances repellant and even wicked, can’t hurt. Just make sure you are secure in you own beliefs, and stand firm on biblical truths.

Bridging the Gap with Grace

Finally, grace is the bridge that spans the gap between differing viewpoints. Ephesians 4:2-3 encourages us to “be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” Grace involves listening, forgiving, and sometimes agreeing to disagree, all while maintaining respect and dignity. It’s recognizing that we’re all works in progress, journeying together towards understanding and truth.

As followers of Christ, we’re called to stand firm in our beliefs while also extending love and respect to those who differ from us. This balance isn’t just a nice idea; it’s a scriptural mandate and a practical pathway to peace and unity in a diverse world.

Let’s embrace our differences, not as barriers, but as opportunities to demonstrate the love, understanding, and grace that are at the heart of our faith.

I’m preaching to myself this morning, and thought I’d let you be part of my one-person congregation.

Here’s what is true. You are carrying a burden that gnaws at your mind and heart. It’s heavy, isn’t it? That feeling of something being not quite right, of decisions left unmade or actions not taken. This burden? You know it well because, truth be told, it’s self-inflicted. You know what to do but won’t do it. It’s like knowing the path but refusing to walk it. And I get it. We’ve all been there.

But here’s the thing about this burden – it’s corrupting your life, your relationships, everything. It’s like a little bit of rust that, left unchecked, weakens the strongest metal. It’s not just about you anymore; it’s about how this burden spills over into every interaction, every relationship. It might start small, but it has a way of growing, doesn’t it?

Now, let’s pause for a second. I know this sounds serious but hold on. Here comes the good part. Listen closely. In Christ, you have nothing to hide. You see, those things we bury deep inside, those mistakes or regrets we’re afraid to face, in Christ, they’re out in the open – and yet, we’re safe. There’s no need to put on a mask, to pretend to be someone you’re not.

Nothing to prove. That relentless drive to show the world how capable, how successful, or how unbothered we are? In Christ, that pressure is off. You’re already valued, loved, more than you know. It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are in Him.

Nothing to fear. This is a big one. Fear can be paralyzing – fear of failure, of rejection, of the unknown. But in Christ, fear loses its grip. It’s like stepping out into a storm and realizing you’re not alone, and the one who’s with you can calm the wind and the waves.

And finally, nothing to lose. In a world where we’re constantly told to protect our assets, our status, our egos, it’s liberating to know that in Christ, what truly matters can’t be taken away. It’s a security that isn’t based on the shifting sands of circumstance but on the solid rock of His love and grace.

So, what’s the solution to this burden you’re carrying? It’s simple, yet profound. Repent. Obey. Repentance isn’t just about saying sorry; it’s about turning around, going a different way. It’s about choosing a path that leads to healing and wholeness. And obeying? It’s about aligning your steps, your heart, your life with His. It’s about taking those steps, even when they’re hard.

I just gave you and me the solution to basically every problem we have. He wants to make you whole again. It’s not just a nice thought; it’s a promise. A promise of a life filled with purpose, peace, and joy. A promise that no matter how far you’ve strayed, you’re never too far from His reach.

So, take a deep breath. Let go of that burden. Step into the light of His love. You’ve got this, not because of who you are, but because of who He is in you. And remember, in Christ, you truly have nothing to hide, nothing to prove, nothing to fear, and absolutely nothing to lose.

“The Gate of the Year” is the popular name of a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins. She titled it “God Knows.” I’ll share its best-known stanza in a moment.

A quick history lesson.

According to Wikipedia, the poem was written in 1908 and privately published in 1912. King George VI quoted it in his 1939 Christmas broadcast to the British empire. It was thought that his wife, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Consort, shared it with him. Now it’s believed that Princess Elizabeth, aged 13, gave the poem to her father.

The Gate of the Year gave comfort to the Queen Mother all her days, and was a real inspiration to Brits in the Second World War. She had its words engraved on stone plaques and mounted on the gates of the King George VI Memorial Chapel at Windsor Castle.

These are some powerful words:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

I wish I’d written this.

So why this current fascination on my part? Let me parse it.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

Here are two fundamental wishes. These are especially meaningful when you have some hard questions and answers aren’t forthcoming (hello, 2024!)

The desire for light is self-evident. You want to be able to see where you’re going.

“Tread safely into the unknown.” If light is available, then the unknown isn’t quite as scary. In these dark days, if you knew what lay ahead, wouldn’t you be comforted by knowing? (Or not; if what lay ahead is disastrous, you might not want to know.)

There have been times in my life – and, in all likelihood, yours too – when you took a leap of faith and hit the ground with a sickening thud. Your faith was misplaced. You let the clamor of the world drown out that still, small voice. Or, worse, you “followed your heart.” Ancient script teaches that the heart is deceitful above all things. Following your heart sounds noble, but it’s not a good idea.

And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

Yes yes yes.

You’ve probably said things like:

I thought God wanted me to marry him.

I thought I was supposed to take that job.

Moving to a new house felt right, somehow.

Here’s the lesson here:

• It’s not a matter of removing the darkness. It’s a matter of accepting the darkness and prevailing in it.
• God’s hand is big, protective, and firm. He doesn’t let go of you. People might. He won’t.
• If it’s safety you crave, then the most perfectly safe place in the universe is in the hand of God, and it doesn’t matter how dark it is.

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.

Here’s a subtle nuance. The picture is of someone (you? me?) moving first and then finding the hand of God. It’s knowing that He’s already there, whether you have reached Him or not. The poet draws the picture of taking God’s hand and trodding gladly into the night. No fear, no apprehension. Just the simple joy of knowing God’s got you.

It doesn’t matter the circumstances of what brought on the darkness. They might not change.  The mandate is to be glad in those circumstances. Crazy, I know. But it all is centered in God holding your hand.

And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

Sweet.

Get this picture.

• God leads, and the journey begins in darkness.
• He leads toward the hills. Hills conceal, but there is the promise of something else beyond what can be seen.
• The day breaks in the East. There is the certainty of sunrise, and, blessedly, visual confirmation that it is indeed dawn. A new day with new possibilities and new hope.

The Gate of the Year

So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.^[3]

What does it look like to be whole?

I want to be whole. I’ve been on this kick of moving from brokenness to wholeness. You probably have recognized this.

I’ve figured this out – not because I’m all that brilliant, but just because it’s self-evident. The thought is to be complete in Christ. That’s what it means to be whole. Without Him, there are simply missing pieces.

The implications are huge. It means that you thrive spiritually. It means that you live strong. It means that you are whole and complete.

So what does that look like? Let me share some good stuff from scripture. That’s my authority.

7 thoughts.

1 – It means that you aren’t looking for wholeness in places apart from God.

2 Corinthians 12:9 reads, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

It means that no one but God Himself can return you to wholeness. This is about grace, and the yearning of your heart. There are quick fixes out there, but they don’t last because they’re based in something that has no foundation.

Psalm 73:26 reads, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

2 – You can’t realistically expect other people to meet the needs only Jesus Christ can.

John 15:11 reads, “I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”

Relying on God is the only way you can be healed and fulfilled. This is a companion thought to #1. This one, though, has more to do with what you think people can do to make you whole.

I had a student tell me once, when referring to her boyfriend, “He completes me.” I get that; we need others, and we especially need others in relationships that help us with our shortcomings. Still, we’re still talking about completeness in the flesh here. Aim for eternal completion. Jesus does that.

Psalms 107:20 reads, “He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave.”

3 – You realize your worth is not defined by your appearance, job performance, human relationships, or anything apart from your relationship with God as His child.

2 Corinthians 5:7 reads, “We live by faith, not by sight.”

This is tricky. We don’t think we’re whole because we aren’t measuring up to some standard out there. Truth is, though, that the relationship with God I’ve been speaking of is the only flawless source of your sense of worth. It’s not how you “look,” or how you think you’re perceived. How does God see you? He is what makes you whole, not some self- or society-imposed standard.

4 – Don’t say “It’s impossible.” God gives freedom. You are forgiven and loved no matter what. You show God gratitude by living in His light and making wise choices.

1 Peter 5:7 reads, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

You aren’t stuck. You are not broken forever. You can be whole. This casting anxiety thing? It’s a promise, because He does indeed care for you.

5 – You don’t live your life to please other people. Instead, you strive to please God by discovering your purpose in Him and living that to the max.

Psalm 94:19 reads, “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”

Can I just ‘fess up here and tell you that I want people to like me? I mean, the alternative is for people to dislike me, and that’s not especially appealing. You can’t please everyone, right? So, the obvious tactic is to please God. He’s got you here for a reason. He isn’t hiding that from you. Work that reason. Be joyful.

6 – Stop yourself immediately when an unhealthy thought enters your mind, and challenge it with “Does this thought line up with the word of God?”

Psalm 42:5 reads, “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my savior and my God.”

What takes up headspace in your life? Here’s an absolute, incontrovertible truth: you are what you think about. Man, I could riff on that all day. I don’t need to, because you know exactly what I’m saying. It’s true.

7 – The battlefield is your mind, first and foremost.

2 Corinthians 10:5 reads, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

Again, I’m piggybacking on a previous thought. But your mind, y’all! That’s where it goes down.

Here’s the cool thing. You have this superpower that distinguishes you and separates you from all the rest of creation:

You can choose. You can make choices. You can even make good choices.

That’s a big deal. By God’s grace and empowered by the indwelling Holy Spirit, you can choose the quality of your life. You can’t control the outcome of things – God does that – but in aligning yourself with Him and acting in obedience, things work out. Every time. Maybe not in the way you wanted or planned, but in a way that honors God and leads to your ultimate success.

I think that’s amazing. That’s being made whole.

Thoughts that lead to brokenness are the devil’s way of blocking what God wants you to know about who you are in Christ. You have to take those thoughts about yourself and lock them up. Make your mind listen to what God has to say about you. If you do, you will find wholeness.

Comments welcome. Talk soon!

I’ll start with a confessional. Sometimes, Christmas music gets on my nerves. But before you call the grinch squad on me, I’ll explain. And I will use The Little Drummer Boy as a jumping off place.

I love Christmas carols. Love ‘em. I might listen to them year round. But some of the secular stuff can really wear thin. White Christmas? Good with that. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day? Check – I like it.

But Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree? Santa Baby? Mariah Carey? The whole Bob Dylan Christmas album, which is like some sort of surreal fever dream? No thanks.

Then there’s The Little Drummer Boy. More carol than secular. And for some reason I’ve done a deep dive with this one recently.

Don’t look for him in scripture. You won’t find him. If you look for the little drummer boy in the context of the lyrics (aside from the pa-rum-pa-pum-pums), you can piece together enough clues to tell you that he showed up at the same time as the wise men. (And for a special treat, listen to this song as performed by Pentatonix.)

Check this out.

Our finest gifts we bring … to lay before the king … so to honor Him … when we come.

Here are the wise men. Traditionally, there were three of them, based on the three gifts.

They brought good things. Expensive, even priceless things.

And then there’s the little drummer boy.

Little baby … I am a poor boy too. I have no gift to bring that’s fit to give our King. Shall I play for you on my drum?

The wise men brought their finest gifts. The little drummer boy had nothing of material value. He just played his drum.

I played my best for Him. Then He smiled at me … me and my drum.

I wonder how the little drummer boy felt?

I hope he didn’t feel unworthy. Because what he gave Jesus was sufficient because he gave with a pure heart.

This raises a couple of questions:

• What are you afraid to give God because you don’t think it’s good enough?
• What do you do when you see other do things for Jesus? What’s your response?

File those away. We’ll come back.

Let me take you somewhere else – specifically, Mark 12:41-44.

⁴¹ Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. ⁴² But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

⁴³ Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. ⁴⁴ They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” (NIV)

Can you see any parallels to the widow and the little drummer boy?

Maybe the widow thought what she gave wasn’t fit for God, but she gave anyway. It was all she could do.

The rich people threw plenty into the treasury. Jesus and His disciples were watching this, and then the little widow hobbles up to the treasury and drops those two coins in.

If you were there, what would you think? How would you feel?

I’d feel humbled at best, and unworthy at worst.

Giving doesn’t come naturally to me. I can be a stingy, self-centered, worldly old dude. I like stuff, and I don’t part with it easily.

God help me.

Both the widow and the little drummer boy had so little to give, but they both had hearts that longed to worship with all they have.

Let’s break this down, in conclusion. Actually, I’ll just ask that you and I answer these questions:

1. What are you afraid to give because you don’t think it’s good enough? Are you so mired in your sense of unworthiness that you don’t think you have anything to offer?
2. Have you been holding back anything from God? I’m not just talking about the things. I’m talking about your heart, your will, your whole life.
3. What are some ways you can give to God?
4. Have you ever seen God multiply something you thought was very small?
5. What’s something you’ve been thinking specifically about to give Jesus for His use? Want to be encouraged? Want to be a hope-giver? That’s my thoughts.

Where is your heart today?

I play my best for you.

I give you all I have.

God bless the little drummer boy. God bless us.

When I was a little guy, Sundays were as much about wardrobe as they were about God. My mama, bless her heart, would dress me up like a miniature Southern gentleman. I’m talking about shiny shoes so bright they’d make the sun jealous, a starched shirt, and a bow tie so snappy it could’ve done a tap dance all on its own. If she’d been given free reign, she would’ve dressed me like Little Lord Fauntleroy in the pursuit of me looking “adorable.” Thank goodness Daddy put some restraints on her.

Those shoes weren’t just shiny; they were a hazard. Slipping and sliding across the church floor, I was a polished disaster waiting to happen. Mama put masking tape on the soles to give some friction. And that bow tie? It was a clip-on, invariably red plaid. It used the same kind of clips women used to hold their permanent waves in place.

Back in those days, everyone dressed to the nines for church. It was like a fashion show where the runway was the church aisle, and the prize was the approving nods from the elders. Men in suits sharp enough to cut through Sunday morning fog, women in hats grand enough to host their own ecosystem – it was a sight to behold.

As the song says, the times, they are a-changing. These days, you’re as likely to see jeans and a t-shirt in the pews as you are a Sunday dress. Some folks say it’s the decline of respect, but I suppose it’s something else.

You see, over the years, I’ve learned something crucial: God’s not up there with a scorecard tallying up our fashion choices. He’s not looking for the brightest shoes or the snappiest ties. No, sir. He’s looking straight past the cotton and polyester, peering into our hearts.

It dawned on me, somewhere between those Sunday mornings of my shiny-shoed youth and the more casual Sundays of today, that what we wear to church matters far less than what we carry in our hearts. The Bible tells us the Lord looks at the heart – and last time I checked, it doesn’t say anything about requiring a bow tie for entry into the kingdom of Heaven.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I think there’s something special about putting on your Sunday best, showing respect and honor in your own way. But I believe the Lord’s more concerned with what we’re best at: loving our neighbors, offering a helping hand, and carrying kindness in our hearts.

So, whether you’re in wingtips or flip-flops, a hat grand enough to need its own zip code, or just your trusty old baseball cap, remember this: It’s not the outfit that counts in the grand scheme of things. It’s the love, the compassion, and the kindness we wear on the inside that truly matters.

And who knows? Maybe up in Heaven, there’s a place where all those shiny shoes and snappy bow ties get to hang out, free of judgment, just basking in the glow of the good we’ve done down here, dressed in our Sunday best or our Tuesday regular.

Talk soon!