Tag: Christianity

Wasting Away

Carl Pollard

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day…as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.” 2 Cor. 4:16-18

That opening line says a lot, “we do not lose heart.” Paul isn’t writing from an easy place. Earlier in the chapter he talks about being afflicted, perplexed, persecuted, struck down. He has suffered constantly for Christ. 

Then he says something honest: “our outer self is wasting away.” That’s real life. Bodies wear down. Energy fades. Life gets heavy. Ministry gets exhausting. We don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. 

But he doesn’t stop there: “our inner self is being renewed day by day.” While one part of you is declining, another part can be growing stronger. But this renewal isn’t automatic, it’s tied to where your focus is and who you’re trusting. You can be physically worn out and spiritually stable at the same time.

Paul calls his suffering “light momentary affliction.” That sounds almost out of place until you remember what he went through, beatings, prison, constant pressure. So why call it “light”? Because he’s comparing it to “an eternal weight of glory.” When eternity is in view, even heavy things take on a different scale.

Then he explains the key, “as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.” That’s a shift in perspective. Most people live anchored to what they can see, their circumstances, problems, and outcomes. Paul says you’ve got to train your focus somewhere else.

The seen things are temporary. That job stress, that health issue, that tension at home, it’s real, but it’s not lasting. The unseen things, God’s promises, His presence, eternity, those are what endure! 

That’s what keeps us from losing heart. Not pretending life’s easy, but remembering it’s not ultimate.

And so, we don’t quit just because it’s heavy. You don’t measure everything by what’s right in front of you. You keep going because you know there’s more than what you can see. The question is simply what we are fixing our eyes on. Because whatever we focus on will shape whether we give up or keep going.


Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

Esther: The Divine Play of Providence

Brent Pollard

The Spirit of God, who breathed out Scripture, did not confine Himself to one literary mode. He gave us the measured march of Kings and Chronicles, the soaring verse of Psalms, the pointed brevity of Proverbs, the prophetic thunder of Isaiah, and apostolic letters from a Roman prison. So perhaps we should not be surprised—though we so often are—when we open Esther. There, we find something that reads like a stage play.

Consider Esther 7.7–8. The king storms from the banquet hall into the palace garden. Rage bleeds out of him with every step. Meanwhile, Haman, sensing the ground give way beneath his feet, throws himself upon the couch where Esther is reclining to beg for his life. At that precise moment—not a second earlier, not a second later—the king returns. No narrator interrupts to explain the irony; instead, the characters’ movement tells the whole story. This is not formal stagecraft, but it functions as such. The invisible Hand that arranges such timing is no less present for being unnamed.

A Drama Without a Divine Speaking Role

Here is why Esther is such a curious book among Scripture: God’s name never appears. No “Thus says the Lord.” No smoking altar. No prayer naming the Almighty. And yet, no other book shows providence more plainly.

Think of it this way. When a small child walks through a field at noon, he sees his shadow and pays it little mind. But let him step into a cathedral at dusk, where light filters through colored glass and falls in long slanting columns across the stone floor. Suddenly, he understands that there is a sun. Esther is the cathedral at dusk. God’s name is not shouted from the walls. It is seen in shafts of light falling across every coincidence, every sleepless night, every delayed decree, every gallows built a little too tall for the wrong man.

This is providence working, as it so often does in our own lives, through the timing of ordinary events. Proverbs 16.33 tells us plainly, “The lot is cast into the lap, But its every decision is from the LORD” (NASB95). Again, Proverbs 21.1 says, “The king’s heart is like channels of water in the hand of the LORD; He turns it wherever He wishes.” The book of Esther is the working out of those two proverbs across ten chapters of court intrigue.

Purim: The Feast the Book Was Written to Explain

We must remember that Esther’s ultimate purpose is to account for the origin of Purim, the annual celebration commemorating the providential deliverance of the Jewish people during the Persian Empire. Esther 9.20–32 records how the book’s events became an annual observance. By the intertestamental period, a “Mordecai Day” is mentioned in the non-canonical 2 Maccabees 15.36. Some translations place the reference in the following verse. Purim was therefore an established observance long before Jesus walked the dusty roads of Galilee.

Purim was never one of the three pilgrimage feasts required under the Law (Deuteronomy 16.16). It was a voluntary celebration—what Paul might have called a day one man esteems above another (Romans 14.5–6a). The New Testament itself acknowledges that Jewish feasts existed beyond the three required by Moses. John 5.1 speaks generically of “a feast of the Jews” (NASB95) without naming which one. John 10.22 places Jesus in Jerusalem during the Feast of the Dedication (Hanukkah), which is likewise not a Mosaic requirement. Purim fits within this broader Jewish religious calendar of observances commemorating great acts of divine deliverance.

The public reading of Esther on Purim is attested in the Mishnah around A.D. 200. The verbal cursing of Haman—and here cursing means the expression of ill-will, not profanity—is attested in early rabbinic sources from roughly the third and fourth centuries. An interesting custom crept into the practice during the Middle Ages: audience participation. Every time the reader arrived at Haman’s name, the congregation would boo, hiss, stomp their feet, or employ noisemakers to blot out his name as it was spoken. This practice is well documented in medieval Europe—from France, Provence, Germany, and Italy—beginning in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. It continues in public Megillah readings today. All of which only serves to demonstrate that Esther is not your typical book of the Bible.

The Three Marks of the Drama

If one approaches Esther with a trained literary eye, three features stand out, marking it as something like inspired theater. The events are no less historical for being dramatically presented; this is not fiction dressed up as fact. The Spirit who moved the writer permitted him to employ his considerable storytelling gifts. The result is unmistakable.

Dramatic Irony and Reversal. The plot hinges on reversals a playwright would admire. Most famously, Haman is hanged on the very gallows he built for Mordecai (Esther 7.9–10). It is the oldest dramatic device—and the oldest law of the moral universe. The Psalmist captured it before Haman ever drew a blueprint: “He has dug a pit…and has fallen into the hole which he made. His mischief will return…upon his own head” (Psalm 7.15–16, NASB95). The man who builds a gallows for the righteous measures his own neck.

Symmetry and Scene Design. The text follows a chiastic or concentric structure, in which events in the first half of the book are mirrored and undone in the second half. Banquets answer banquets. Decrees answer decrees. Honors intended for Haman fall instead upon Mordecai. This is not an accidental arrangement. The same chiastic structure appears in the inspired poetry of the Psalms. Psalm 1, for instance, pivots on a central contrast between the way of the righteous and the way of the wicked. What Hebrew poetry accomplishes in a few lines, Esther accomplishes across ten chapters.

Caricatured Characters. The cast of Esther behaves like figures drawn from classical theater. Ahasuerus is the buffoon king, easily swayed by whichever counselor happens to be nearest his ear. Haman is the villain. His pride is painted in strokes so broad that we almost laugh at him before we shudder at him. Esther and Mordecai are the heroic underdogs—Jewish exiles whose courage and wisdom topple an empire’s most powerful man. These are not flat portraits but intentionally strong ones. A story meant to be performed year after year needs characters that an audience can recognize at a glance.

A Liturgical Architect, Not Merely a Historian

Traditional Jewish sources suggest that the original author—likely Mordecai himself—had his work finalized under the direction of figures such as Ezra and Nehemiah. If that is so, then the unique literary shape of the book is not incidental but purposeful. The author was not merely a historian. He was a liturgical architect. He composed a narrative that could be “acted out” by every generation. In this way, the origin of Purim would never be forgotten, and the Jewish people would never fail to remember the God whose name the writer seems almost too reverent to put to ink.

And here we reach perhaps the strangest and most wonderful feature of the book. Esther does not name God, but trains us to see Him. It urges us to seek the Divine Hand in places where the Divine Name is unwritten. It prompts us to notice the king’s sleepless night, the delayed sentence of a queen, the long memory of a royal chronicle, and the villain’s fall at precisely the wrong moment. These are heaven’s brushstrokes on the canvas of human history.

The Book We Are Living In

We live, most of us, in books whose pages resemble Esther more than Exodus. No burning bush blazes in our backyard. No pillar of cloud guides us to work. No voice thunders from Sinai over our Mondays. God’s name is not written across the sky above our cubicles or over the nursery where we rock a sleepless child. Decisions go against us. Promotions reward the undeserving. Haman of our age seems, for a season, to prosper. Faith—if we are honest—is often the harder task of trusting an unseen Hand to arrange a plot we cannot follow. Yet the God who arranged the king’s return to a banquet hall in Susa orders each moment of our lives with the same quiet care. The God who toppled Haman has not lost the ability to overturn the proud. Esther is not just an ancient drama preserved by chance. It is a script the Spirit wrote to teach us to read our lives. When the curtain finally falls, and every hidden thing is revealed (Luke 8.17), we will not be surprised to find that the unnamed God of Esther was the Author all along.

Learning A Lesson From A Lantern

Gary Pollard

I’m a big fan of old fashioned lighting, especially old kerosene lanterns because they’re simple. I went to light one of my lanterns and the flame wouldn’t stay alive for more than a few seconds. I thought, “Maybe the vent is covered in carbon and there isn’t enough oxygen for the flame.” So, I took it apart, cleaned it out, and put it back together. I was sure it was the vent.

To my chagrin, the flame died within seconds even after the lantern was cleaned. Next I trimmed the wick because it seemed too dark; perhaps having a fresh wick would allow the flame to stay alive. It wasn’t a stopped vent, so it had to be the wick. Sure enough, the flame died even with a fresh wick. At this point I was stumped. 

The next day it occurred to me while putting gas in my car: the lantern was just out of kerosene! It was obvious to the extreme. I knew Chelsea would never let that one go. When I got home I put the kerosene into the lantern which, of course, was the solution to a simple problem that I overcomplicated.

This is a mundane example of a profound truth: we make mistakes as humans. Worse yet, some people put words in God’s mouth that He never used. “My God is a God of love – He wouldn’t condemn me just for this one little sin.” “God doesn’t care if we live the way we want.” Some use phrases like this with great confidence while overlooking an obvious truth: God has told us what He does and does not care about in His word.

If we aren’t in the word listening to God and allowing Him to change us, our solutions will end in failure. There was only one solution to keep that flame going in my lantern. There is only one right way to follow God, and He’s told us how to do that! Life will be so much easier for those who look to God for answers before relying on their own wisdom.

 

A King Like The Nations

Dale Pollard

A King Like the Nations — The Warning 1 Samuel 8:20

In the First Book of Samuel, the people of Israel approached Samuel with a mighty bold demand— they wanted a king. Their exact words were, “Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles” (1 Samuel 8:20).

Up to that point, Israel was led directly under God through the judges and prophets. But the people craved something a little more familiar. You know the classics— political power, military leadership, and a visible human ruler. God warned them through Samuel that earthly kings would tax them, take their boys to war, and rule over them in ways they’d regret. Still, they insisted.

Israel’s monarchy began with Saul, followed by the famous (mostly awesome) reign of David and then the wisdom of Solomon. After this, things really fall apart. Literally. The kingdom didn’t remain united. After Solomon, the nation split into two rival kingdoms—the Kingdom of Israel and the Kingdom of Judah. Sadly, what follows are even more of the “classics.” Corruption, idolatry, and political struggles would all eventually lead to their downfall.

The rise, division, and fall of Israel’s kings leaves us with this humbling truth— human rulers are flawed and temporary. No king, no government, and no political system can fully deliver the justice and peace that people ultimately long for.

The story of Israel’s kings points to the big need of a perfectly righteous and eternal king. We aren’t going to get that from anybody in the (oval-shaped) office— but heaven? Name a higher seat of power than the one Jesus sits on. We’ve got our perfect King and we can’t forget that. 


Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

Watching A Model Giver

Neal Pollard

There he sat on the pew, then on the floor, then back on the pew again. One of our grandsons and his parents were seated next to us in worship yesterday. After the Lord’s Supper, I watched him. He had some change in the coin pocket of his pants, and I could tell they were meant for the collection plate. He taught me some good lessons about giving in those few moments.

Anticipation. Jude was fingering that money, checking and rechecking to make sure he had his hands on it. I watched him watching for the man who would be handing the tray down the row. His expressive eyes spoke volumes. “Will it ever get here?” “Am I going to miss out on giving?”

Emotion. There was feeling which accompanied this act. You could truly read the joy on his face. When the tray got to him and he suddenly struggled to get everything out of the coin pocket, I witnessed a different emotion. He was visibly disappointed that he didn’t give all of what he intended. Adulation turned to agitation. You could tell this was not a heartless exercise for him.

Conviction. With the aid of his father, he made things right. Within a minute, Dale was carrying Jude back to catch up with the men who had served on the table. However, the collection had already been put into the safe. When Dale explained why they were there, it was explained to them that it was no problem to open it back up so the “young man” could give. In his heart, Jude knew he needed to do this to make right his intentions. He had not accomplished his mission until he gave what he intended.

I was reminded of the children who praised Jesus as He entered Jerusalem in Matthew 21. Jesus quotes Psalm 8 to defend their worship of Him: “Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise for yourself” (21:16; Ps. 8:2). Jude reminded me of some important aspects of giving which the Bible outlines. Giving should be planned and deliberate (1 Cor. 16:1-2; 2 Cor. 9:2). It should involve our best emotions (2 Cor. 9:7). We should not be content to do less than the best we can (2 Cor. 8:3-5; 9:6).

Jude was such a good example to me regarding my own giving. Putting a check into the plate takes a mere moment, but it should be preceded by and participated in with the same exemplary characteristics displayed by that eager toddler. How he must have made God smile. That’s what I want my giving to do!

Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

“Staying Faithful Through The Storm”

Eli Watson

A few years ago, a ship was caught in a violent storm at sea.  Waves crashed over the sides, the wind howled, and the crew fought just to stay afloat.  Passengers were panicking—some crying, others praying—convinced they weren’t going to make it.  But in the middle of all that chaos… there was one little boy.  He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t crying.  He just sat there—completely calm. Someone finally asked him,   “Why aren’t you afraid? Don’t you see what’s happening?”  The boy looked at them and said,  “My dad is the captain… and he’s not worried.”  

The truth is, every one of us will face storms—moments when life feels out of control, when fear creeps in, and when we don’t understand what God is doing.  The real question isn’t if storms will come.  The question is: Will we have faith when they do?

Peter faced this exact moment when his faith was tested (Matthew 14:22–33). In the middle of raging water, Jesus called him out, and Peter stepped onto the water.   But when he shifted his focus to the storm, he began to sink.  Faith doesn’t mean having no fear—  it means stepping out despite fear.  

Most people don’t abandon their faith all at once.  It usually happens slowly—  when discouragement builds, prayers seem unanswered, and doing the right thing feels unnoticed.  So what keeps a Christian faithful when life gets cloudy?  The storm reveals where your focus is.

Paul gives us a powerful example of endurance.  In Acts 27, he was shipwrecked, surrounded by people who had lost hope.  But Paul stayed grounded in faith.  

Galatians 6:9 reminds us:  “Do not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”  Even the faithful get tired.  Doing the right thing can feel unnoticed or unrewarded—but God sees it.  “In due season” means in His timing—not ours.  

And God has never failed to come through.  The problem usually isn’t that we don’t know what’s right—  it’s that we grow impatient or tired of doing it.

Hebrews 12:1–2 gives us two key ideas:  “Run with endurance” —  The Christian life isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon.  Trying to rely on your own strength leads to burnout.  

“Looking to Jesus” —  

Endurance comes from focusing on Christ, not circumstances.  When we rely on ourselves, we run out of strength.  But God never runs out.  Mark 4:35–41 shows another storm.  Jesus was in the boat, asleep, while the disciples panicked.  They woke Him in fear, and He responded:  “Why are you so afraid? How is it that you have no faith?”  

The storm didn’t mean God wasn’t with them—  it meant they were focused on the what instead of the who.  Because when the who is God, the what doesn’t matter.  Storms don’t mean God is absent.  True faith is trusting Him—even when He seems silent.

When storms feel overwhelming, ask yourself three questions:

1. Am I praying like I used to?  

   Am I using the connection I have with the Father, or trying to handle everything alone?

2. Am I serving fully?  

   Am I allowing God to use the gifts He’s given me—or taking them for granted?

3. Am I pursuing holiness with urgency?  

   Am I living like my faith truly matters?

Because most of the time, faith doesn’t fail in a dramatic moment—  

it fades through quiet neglect.

But we can continue with hope.   1 Corinthians 15:58 reminds us that our labor is not in vain.  God sees quiet faithfulness.  He sees your unseen sacrifices.  He sees when you keep going, even when you’re tired.  And He gives strength to those who keep their eyes on Him.  The Christian life isn’t about never getting tired—  it’s about refusing to quit.

(We’re grateful to Eli for a great, heartfelt lesson on staying faithful even in our storms.)

Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

When The Earth Was Divided: Understanding Peleg And Genesis 10:25

Brent Pollard

Within Genesis’ genealogies—a section we often skim—one verse has sparked debate for two millennia. Genesis 10.25 (NASB 1995) mentions Peleg: “for in his days the earth was divided.” Five words. No explanation. No footnote from Moses. Just a cryptic remark tucked between a father’s name and a son’s. Peleg’s father was Eber—the ancestor from whom the Hebrews take their name (Genesis 10.21; 11.16–19). The name Peleg comes from the Hebrew palag, meaning “to split” or “to divide.” The parallel account in 1 Chronicles 1.19 repeats the same statement, and Luke 3.35 places Peleg in the lineage of Jesus Christ.

So what was divided? The question matters—not because our salvation hinges on the answer, but because the Bible never wastes words.

The Oldest and Most Widely Accepted Interpretation

The most enduring interpretation—and the one with the deepest roots in Jewish and Christian scholarship—is that the “earth” in Genesis 10.25 refers to its people, not its geology. The pseudepigraphical book of Jubilees (second century B.C.) and the Biblical Antiquities of Philo (circa A.D. 70) both understand the division as a scattering of peoples rather than a fracturing of landmasses. The first-century Jewish historian Josephus agreed, as did the Seder Olam Rabbah, a rabbinical chronology dating to the second century A.D. Among Christian commentators, Keil and Delitzsch argue that erets (“earth”) here functions as a metonym for the world’s population, much as we might say “the whole world watched” when we mean its inhabitants.

Under this reading, the division is the aftermath of the Tower of Babel. God confused the languages of humanity (Genesis 11.1–9), and humans responded by fracturing into distinct linguistic, ethnic, and political groups. The Table of Nations in Genesis 10 catalogs exactly this kind of division: the descendants of Shem, Ham, and Japheth spreading across the ancient world, each “according to their languages, by their lands, by their nations” (Genesis 10.31, NASB 1995). Peleg’s name memorializes the era in which that scattering occurred.

A More Recent Theory: The Splitting of Continents

In the nineteenth century, commentator Adam Clarke proposed that Genesis 10.25 refers to a physical separation—the breakup of continents and islands from a single landmass. In 1858, French geographer Antonio Snider-Pellegrini cited this very verse to argue that the continents once fit together, decades before Alfred Wegener formalized the hypothesis in 1912. The sixteenth-century commentator Seforno suggested an environmental shift in Peleg’s generation that halved human lifespans, implying a cataclysm of enormous scale.

More recently, some creationist scholars, like Dr. Bernard Northrup, have argued from Hebrew philology that palag almost always denotes division by water—canals, channels, or ocean-spanning rifts. They point to Psalm 1.3, where the same root describes “streams of water,” and Job 38.25, where it describes a “channel for the flood.” If palag inherently conveys the sense of water-based division, then Genesis 10.25 may describe a literal geological event—perhaps the breakup of a supercontinent or catastrophic post-Flood sea-level changes.

However, even some young-earth creationists have expressed caution. A rapid breakup of the earth’s lithosphere would have produced geological violence rivaling the Global Flood itself. Within our own fellowship, Dr. Dave Miller of Apologetics Press has written that Moses’ comment about Peleg “most likely does not refer to the Earth’s continental division.”

A Third Possibility: Irrigation and Infrastructure

A less prominent interpretation attributes Peleg’s name to the digging of irrigation canals in Mesopotamia. Cyril Graham, a nineteenth-century English diplomat who traveled extensively in the Transjordan, argued that Peleg’s naming commemorated the first cutting of canals between the Tigris and Euphrates. While this reading aligns with the water-related sense of palag, it lacks meaningful biblical support and reduces a significant genealogical marker to a footnote on civil engineering.

So Which Interpretation Should We Accept?

Because the central question concerns what exactly Genesis 10.25 means by ‘the earth was divided,’ it is important to weigh the evidence for each interpretation. The principle taught by Fee and Stuart in How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth applies here: novel interpretations are usually wrong. With the majority of ancient Jewish and Christian scholarship pointing toward the division of peoples—not continents—and Genesis 10.25 appearing so close to the Tower of Babel account, the best-supported argument is that the division in Peleg’s day refers to the scattering of humanity. The text presents division as a pivotal event, tying Peleg’s era directly to Babel and making this interpretation central to understanding the passage’s significance.

Still, an honest reader senses a tension. On the third day of creation, God divided the dry land (erets) from the waters (Genesis 1.9–10). There, earth isn’t a metaphor for humanity; it’s literal ground. Reading erets as “people” in Genesis 10.25 requires accepting a shift in meaning that the text doesn’t explicitly signal. The metaphorical reading is plausible, but consistency may favor a literal sense.

A Name Worth Remembering

This question is a matter of opinion, not doctrine. Nothing in Genesis 10.25 affects the plan of salvation or the gospel’s terms. Where Scripture is clear, so should we be. Where it invites wonder, we can wonder—and should not impose our conclusions. What we can say confidently is: God, who names the stars (Psalm 147.4) and counts our hairs (Matthew 10.30), placed a man named “Division” in Jesus’s genealogy. However, the earth was divided in Peleg’s day; it was not random. It was Providence. Every division God allows, He intends to heal. In Christ, there is “neither Jew nor Greek” (Galatians 3.28, NASB 1995); one day, “every tongue will confess” Jesus is Lord (Philippians 2.10–11, NASB 1995). Peleg’s divisions are temporary. God’s Kingdom is not.

Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

Waiting For Heaven’s Arrows

Gary Pollard

The status quo on this earth (including here in the USA) is deeply flawed. It can seem like most people are stuck in their own bubble and lack anything approaching self-awareness. Most people seem to be incapable of reason. It seems like all of our leaders are starving for war. The economy is not great, despite what some wish-casters would have us believe. It’s near-impossible to find a decent job. Most corporations are evil beyond comprehension. We have to doubt everything we see, hear, and read because AI has made sophistry available to the masses. The average person is burnt out, hopeless, oscillating between apathetic and angry, agnostic in all things, and overall done with reality. 

Christianity acknowledges that evil controls this world. It outright prohibits violence as a means to rectify this evil, preferring instead to wait for Jesus to return bringing rescue to us and justice to them. This is especially hard to do when greed and corruption affect us personally, but Christianity calls its followers to focus on personal moral growth and altruism. We can only control what we do individually, though never perfectly and with often-herculean effort. Our responsibility toward other people is to meet their needs to the best of our ability. 

Everything is scarier now as a parent. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to be patient with other peoples’ lack of self-awareness. I don’t want to pray for the powerful whose self-serving decisions make life harder and the future bleaker for my son. To list all of the things I don’t want to do would take up several paragraphs. None of us want to do those things if we’re honest with ourselves. This may be why Jesus had to suffer as much as he did. Unlike us, he didn’t deserve any of what he went through — so he has the right to tell us to love other people, and to do all of those things we don’t want to do. 

I’m not holding my breath for conditions to improve on this earth. The cat’s out of the bag and nothing short of Jesus’ return will fix it. He promised that people who believe in him and who follow his teachings will enjoy immortality on a perfect place (whatever that looks like) when he returns. This earth and its abuses (and those who do the abusing) won’t even be a memory in the paradise he’s prepared. Since our consciousness will be expanded (cf. I Jn 3.1-3; I Cor 13.12), I’d assume our capacity to explore (and the limits of exploration) will also be expanded. We won’t be capable of doing wrong, we won’t live in fear of judgment, we won’t have to work to survive, and we won’t have to worry about anything at all. There will be nothing but genuine, unforced, natural positivity. If there was ever a time to start taking our faith seriously, it’s now. Our greatest and only hope is in the Creator of this world, the visible image of God, the one who paid our existential debt, and the one who will rescue his global family when this earth burns. 

Books by the Pollards

A Tiny Spark Snail Mail Club (Kathy Pollard)

Be Fearlessly Fervent

Dale Pollard


It takes a special individual of both breed and brand to truly impact the world. The fact is, many will live their lives comfortable and content to never break any molds or “step outside the box,” as they say. Most believers understand that God has called us out of this world to be lights and to be different, but that means being uncomfortable (James 1:2-4). We don’t like that aspect of faithful walking and at times the fire inside us and the will to go on is at the verge of being snuffed out. On every side we are surrounded by a raging current of mainstream ideologies and beliefs that drown the masses sweeping them closer towards eternity—unprepared. That familiar and depressing reality can discourage and frustrate us to the point of tears. Preachers, elders, and leaders are constantly fighting these feelings as they huff and puff under the weight of it all.

Christian fathers and mothers anxiously worry about that painfully uncertain future their children will battle. Young people are plagued with convincing thoughts that a faithful life is all but impossible today. How can we make an impact? You may wonder what difference you could possibly make as you observe such a powerful and evil force.

Here is the bad news, it’s hard. But here is the wonderful news, it’s worth it! God has given us an instruction manual on how to become mighty misfits in a culture that rejects righteousness. There are permanent footprints left by the feet of godly men throughout history, and their tracks lead to victory for those that choose to follow them.

For example, there is the trail blazer and zealous disciple, Paul. He serves as an inspiring nonconformist when he abandons his previous life of riches, respect, and comfort. His courage, faith, and determination can produce a powerful stirring in our spirits. If that man with the thorn can overcome fear and defeat the devil’s endeavors, despite his own weakness, then by the grace of God we can too. Our lives can leave an impact and they can serve as beacon of light for generations to come.

Notice how Jabez demonstrates this point in 1 Chronicles 4:9-10. Within a lengthy list of family lines that make up the sons of Judah, Jabez breaks the mold. While numerous names are given, there is something more to be said of Jabez. He stands out as one who was “more honorable” than those who were before him in verse nine. Though his name means “son of my sorrow,” a label associated with affliction, he refuses to let this name define his future. The key to his success is given in the following verse which says, “Jabez called upon the Lord saying, ‘oh that you would bless me, your hand be with me, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not give me pain!’ And God granted what he asked.” That verse is loaded with valuable lessons for this age and every age to follow.

Lesson one, don’t interpret your future by looking at your past. It doesn’t matter what family you were born into or how you were raised. We all have been given at least three common blessings. If you are made in the image of God, and you are, then that means you have talent, opportunity, and a life. The amount of talent, number of opportunities, and quality of that life is irrelevant. You have everything you need to succeed which is precisely what our Father desires.

Lesson number two, only God can grant you gainful glory. Jabez established his lasting legacy and was victorious because he understood one thing. God is the God of impartiality. He offers a heavenly hand to help the stereotypically weak and sinful human break the stereotype. The cards of life you hold in your hand mean little to the God who owns the deck. Jabez, Paul, and many faithful others understood the weakness of humanity. Their lives are a statement and a confession— God can help anyone rise above the crowd. He can help you achieve the only recognition that counts and give you the precious gift of a future with certainty.

The path to victory is a narrow one according to Matthew 7:14. Few have found it and few have finished it, but with the right Guide it can definitely be done. Are you unsure of your current location? Look down at the tracks you are following, and the guide walking with you. If you are holding the hand of the Savior— you can be sure you’re going in the right direction. Allow that comfort to strengthen you and break out of whatever mold you are in. Let God use your weakness and failures to leave an eternal mark on a world that needs it. There is no congregation that can’t grow, no Christian that can’t improve, and no unsaved person that doesn’t deserve the chance to hear that life changing message of the cross. There’s a great day coming, and that should provoke some excitement as well as motivate us all to diligently and fearlessly work until then.

When the Heart Cries “Real” but the Word Says “No”

Brent Pollard

A young man recently walked away from the church. He was troubled—genuinely so—convinced that demons from his past involvement with the occult were hounding him. He came seeking baptism, and we believe he hoped the gift of the Holy Spirit would arm him with miraculous power to fight what he feared. When Scripture did not tell him what he wished to hear, he turned to YouTube “prophets” who did. He found individuals who offered “deliverance prayers” and validated every feeling he carried. In the end, it did not matter what God’s word said, because it did not match what he felt.

His story grieves us. But it also instructs us, for it lays bare a danger that threatens every soul in every generation: the temptation to enthrone experience over revelation.

The Question of “That Which Is Perfect”

This young man, like many sincere believers, points to 1 Corinthians 13.10 and argues that “the perfect” refers to the second coming of Christ—meaning miraculous gifts continue until He returns. It is not a novel interpretation; many good-hearted people hold it. But the text itself resists it. Paul chose a neuter Greek word, rendered “that” in English. Had he meant the Lord Jesus, he would have used the masculine—”He.” The members of the Godhead are never called “that.” This is not a trivial grammatical point. It is the Holy Spirit’s own precision, and we tamper with it at our peril.

What, then, is “that which is perfect”? It is the completed, fully revealed word of God—the faith once for all delivered to the saints (Jude 3). When the last apostolic pen was laid down, revelation was finished, and the scaffolding of miraculous gifts, having served its glorious purpose, was taken away.

Witnesses from the Ancient Church

We do not stand alone in this conviction. The testimony of early Christian writers confirms what Scripture teaches. John Chrysostom, writing in the fourth century, observed plainly that the miraculous gifts Paul described had ceased. Those baptized in his day, he noted, no longer spoke in the tongues of all nations as believers had in the first century. Augustine of Hippo agreed, writing that such miracles “were no longer permitted to continue in our time,” lest they become commonplace and lose their power to produce faith. Cyril of Alexandria taught that the miraculous gift of languages at Pentecost was a temporary sign intended for the Jews—kept for life by those who first received it, but not passed beyond their generation.

These men were not skeptics. They were devoted servants of Christ who recognized what the New Testament itself describes: miraculous gifts were conferred exclusively through the laying on of the apostles’ hands (Acts 8.14–17), and an apostle had to meet the requirements of Acts 1.21–22. Since no one alive today meets those requirements, the chain of miraculous conferral has been broken—not by human failure, but by divine design.

We might also note a striking practical detail. Paul, who possessed the gift of healing, left his fellow minister Trophimus sick at Miletus (2 Timothy 4.20) and advised Timothy to treat his stomach ailments with a little wine rather than a miracle (1 Timothy 5.23). Even the apostle did not wield miraculous power as a tool of personal convenience. The gifts served God’s purposes, not man’s preferences.

What, Then, Are These Experiences?

If the miraculous gifts have ceased, what are we to make of the experiences people report? What of the young man who felt delivered? What of those who speak in ecstatic utterances and weep with the certainty that God has touched them?

We need not question their sincerity to question the source. The human mind is a remarkable instrument. When people pray or worship with deep intensity, the brain can enter a focused state in which the speech-filtering centers quiet down, allowing sounds and syllables to flow without conscious direction. It feels powerful precisely because it is unforced. But unforced is not the same as supernatural.

These experiences are also learned. In communities where speaking in tongues is practiced, people observe it, absorb its patterns, and are taught—directly or by imitation—how to interpret inner stirrings as the Spirit’s movement. Over time, the brain begins responding on cue. If everyone around you treats something as real, your mind learns to experience it accordingly.

Moreover, these moments often bring genuine emotional relief—a sense of belonging, closeness to God, even catharsis. A sudden thought becomes “God spoke to me.” A warm sensation becomes “the Spirit moved.” Ecstatic syllables become “tongues.” The brain, emotions, and social environment conspire together to produce something that feels deeply true. But feeling deeply true and being true are not the same thing.

Truth Is Not a Feeling

Here we must plant our feet on the bedrock of Scripture. Jesus Himself defined the matter with crystalline clarity: “Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (John 17.17). Truth is not discovered through sensation. It is revealed through God’s word.

Scripture warns us repeatedly against trusting the heart’s verdict. Solomon writes, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Proverbs 14.12). Jeremiah is blunter still: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17.9). Sincerity, however passionate, does not guarantee truth. A man may be sincerely wrong, and his sincerity will not cushion the consequences.

Test Everything

God has never asked us to accept spiritual experiences without scrutiny. John commands, “Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4.1). Paul echoes, “Test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5.21). The question is never merely “Did something happen?” but always “Does this align with what God has revealed?”

Consider what biblical tongues actually were. At Pentecost, the apostles spoke recognizable human languages. Listeners understood them in their native tongues. The purpose was communication—the delivery of God’s message to real people in real words. That bears no resemblance to unintelligible sounds requiring no translation, only the interpretation of feelings.

And let us remember: God is not the author of confusion (1 Corinthians 14.33). Even when miraculous gifts operated in the first century, they were orderly, controlled, and intelligible. If an experience bypasses understanding entirely, that alone should give us pause.

The Spirit and the Word Are Never at Odds

The Holy Spirit does not operate independently from the word He revealed (John 16.13). He will not contradict what He has already spoken. If an experience cannot be verified by Scripture, it must not be attributed to the Spirit, no matter how vivid, how comforting, or how tearfully sincere the one who claims it.

God never asks us to choose between truth and experience. If something is truly from Him, it will stand in perfect agreement with His word. Where the two appear to conflict, it is not the word that must yield.

Let us, then, be a people who love truth more than feeling, who treasure revelation above sensation, and who test all things—not because we lack faith, but because we possess it. For the God who gave us His word did not give it so we might set it aside when something more exciting comes along. He gave it because it was enough. It has always been enough. And by His grace, it will carry us all the way home.

Cut Flowers Die

Carl Pollard

There is something beautiful about cut flowers. For a little while, they still look alive. Their color remains, and their shape stays intact. But everyone knows the same thing about cut flowers, they are dying. Why? Because they have been separated from their source of life.

Isn’t that a fitting picture of morality without God? A person can cut off the flower and still admire it for a while. And in the same way, a society can cut itself off from God and still hold on to certain moral values for a time. People may continue speaking about honesty, kindness, fidelity, justice, compassion, and decency. Outwardly, the flower is still there, but cut flowers die.

If morality is the flower, then God is the root. If righteous living is the fruit, then God’s word is the seed. Once people sever morality from the authority of Scripture, they may preserve the appearance of goodness for a generation or two, but it will not last! Morality can’t survive long when it’s disconnected from the One who defines what is good.

God Is The Source Of What Is Good

The Bible doesn’t present morality as something man invented. Goodness doesn’t begin with culture, education, public opinion, or human consensus. It begins with God! 

Psalm 119:68 says, “You are good and do good; teach me Your statutes.” Good is rooted in God’s character. He is the standard.

James 1:17 says, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights.” If every truly good gift comes from above, then moral truth does too. Man doesn’t discover morality by looking within himself. He learns morality by reading the Word of God. Micah 6:8 says, “He has shown you, O man, what is good.” Micah doesn’t say man figured out what is good, he says God has shown him. Moral truth is revealed truth! 

Morality Without God Cannot Stand

Many people want the flower without the root. They want the benefits of biblical morality without submission to biblical authority. They want strong families without God’s design for the family. They want justice without acknowledging the Judge of all the earth. They want dignity, value, love, sacrifice, and truth, but they don’t want the God who gives those words meaning.

But once morality is detached from God, it becomes unstable. Why is honesty good? Why is murder wrong? Why is sexual purity honorable? Why should someone sacrifice for another person? Why should the strong protect the weak? Why should truth matter more than desire?

If theres no God, then those questions have no fixed answer. Morality becomes preference, tradition, social convenience, or majority opinion. And what one generation calls virtue, the next generation may call oppression. What one culture honors, another may reject. Without God, morality becomes negotiable! 

Judges 21:25 describes the chaos that results when God’s rule is cast aside,

“Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” That is the natural end of morality cut loose from God. When man becomes his own standard, he doesn’t gain freedom, he finds confusion. 

Proverbs 14:12, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.” What “seems right” isn’t enough. Human instinct isnt a trustworthy moral compass. Feelings change, cultures drift, and hearts deceive.

Jeremiah 10:23 says, “O Lord, I know the way of man is not in himself; it is not in man who walks to direct his own steps.” Man can’t author a lasting morality because he was never meant to be his own god.

Cut flowers are beautiful, but eventually they whither and die. Moral decency without God is doomed to fail. 

Sorry, Chase! (Part 4)

Gary Pollard

The second universal observation, as posited in the otherwise excellent research presented by Chase Hughes (The ancients decoded reality), is mostly spot-on! “Fear is an illusion, and love is the truth.” And, “Fear is the greatest lie ever told. Love is the only thing that’s real.” He cites the bible first, and it is in this citation where (as far as I can tell) his only error, from a Christian’s perspective, is.  

He says, “The most quoted phrase in the entire bible is ‘be not afraid.’” Some variation of this command, according to the infallible internet, is indeed one of the most quoted in the entire bible. But then he says, “A quote from Jesus, ‘Perfect love casts out fear.’” Most of you have already spotted it! The error is a minor one, and he more than likely misspoke. I point it out only because it’s a well-known passage written by John, spoken by John (I Jn 4.18). If God’s love is fully matured in us, we can be without fear on the day when God judges the world. We will be without fear, because in this world we are like Jesus. No fear exists with love. None, because matured love throws fear away. This fear is of punishment! Anyone who is always afraid has not been made mature in their love.

So his overall point stands, if misattributed. In this case, though, that fear helps us know where our love is in the maturing process. If we’re still afraid (of death or of judgment), our love has not matured enough. So in the passage he cited, fear definitely means that something is wrong! 

From a Christian perspective, one kind of fear is critical to maintain: of the power, presence, and holiness of God. Better words for this kind of fear may be sublime (delightful horror) and awe (admiration and fear, reducing feelings of self-entitlement). Our motivation to follow God transitions from fear to love as we mature. It’s impossible to see something large and powerful (like a tornado or hurricane or comet) and not feel at least a little something in the pit of your stomach. Those are tiny manifestations of his power — a healthy fear/awe of the power behind those phenomena is not a bad thing. It keeps our view of self properly calibrated. Some variation of “fear God” is found about 300 times in scripture, which is as much or more than “be not afraid”. 

It is interesting that love is so powerful a discipline that every culture in antiquity praised it. Chase cites the following: 

  1. Buddhism:  “Hatred does not cease by hatred. By love alone is hatred healed.”
  2. Bhagavad Gita: “The path of devotion, love, leads to liberation. The path of ignorance, fear, leads to suffering.” Yoda apparently read the Bhagavad Gita. 
  3. Tao Te Ching: “Courage comes from love. Paralysis comes from fear.” 
  4. Dhammapada: “The mind is everything.” (This is explained further in his video)
  5. Sufi: “Your job is not to seek for love, but to find and remove the barriers you built against it.” 

Finally, “Fear is an illusion that keeps us asleep. Love is the frequency or the thing that wakes us up. Fear shrinks the self, love expands the self. Fear breeds ego, and love dissolves it. Fear isolates you, and love reminds you [who] you actually are. Fear makes you chase approval, validation, money, control; it makes us compare ourself to everybody else. Fear makes us live like something is missing — love, in the ancient sense, isn’t romantic. It’s oneness, alignment, essentially the recognition that we’re made of the same stuff… That’s why fear feels bad, because it’s biologically incompatible with what you actually are. Every mistake you’ve ever made, every relationship that blew up, every regret you carry, every time you sabotage your own potential, that’s all fear. Every ancient teacher: you’re suffering because you believe a lie. The moment you drop fear, you don’t just…find love. You don’t find love, you return to it. It’s why you’re born with it.” 

As you can see, his observations are mostly excellent! But if the observations imply universal compatibility between faiths, we have a problem. What videos like this do for us, though, is encourage us to return to a healthy interest in the esoteric aspects of scripture. Paul, John, Clement, and Origen (and many others) were no strangers to the esoteric. We have long abandoned its pursuit, perhaps because it was hijacked early on by Gnostics and other odd groups. Armed with only reaction, we’ll always be two steps behind. The difficulty lies in approaching the esoteric with a proper framework. There’s no shortage of esoterism and symbolism in scripture, we just tend to gloss over it or dilute it with reductionistic literalism. We are left, then, with only secular (often pagan) resources to tackle biblical esoterism. This is obviously dangerous! Whether we like it or not, it’s in the Zeitgeist. And because we’ve largely abandoned it, Gnosticism is now touted as being the earliest form of Christianity. What’s a seeker or curious believer to do in the face of these complex, often-convincing arguments without a mature framework to bring to the study of esoterism? Building such a framework would be an invaluable project for a group of Christian scholars to tackle! 

DYING OF FRIGHT WOULD BE HORRIFYING 

Dale Pollard

Charles Walton was a guy who lived in rural England back in the day (1890s). His death was a mysterious one and over the years the details have become a little blurry. Here’s the quick and skinny version.

Walton reportedly believed he had been cursed by a local witch after a dispute in his village. According to accounts recorded by local investigators and later writers of English folklore— he became increasingly terrified that supernatural forces were after him. One night he was found dead in bed with no obvious physical cause of death. The local doctor reportedly suggested that extreme fright and stress may have caused heart failure.

Cases like this are sometimes explained medically through what modern doctors recognize as “stress-triggered cardiac events,” such as Takotsubo cardiomyopathy or sudden cardiac arrest brought on by intense fear. The author admits his inability to pronounce any of that correctly or with confidence. 

PAGANS & JEWS & ROMANS— OH MY!

The Bible gives the perfect case study on the negative effects that fear has on us spiritually by providing insight into Timothy’s mind. 

On the outside he faces pagan people, jealous Jews, and the sword swinging soldiers of Rome. On the inside, the Christians who make up this young congregation are being led and taught by a young man— Timothy. He battles self doubt and a lack of confidence in his own abilities. To top it off, his mentor is in prison. 

Paul perfectly pens the inspired words that would lift young Timothy’s spirit by reminding him that the human spirit was designed to handle and persevere under such daunting circumstances. Paul writes (from a cell), 

“God did not give us a spirit of fear but of power, love, and a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1.7

The spirit (πνεῦμα) referred to here is not the Holy Spirit, but it’s the “disposition or influence which fills and governs the soul of any one” (Strong, G4154). 

God did not give us the spirit of skittishness so that we’d cower under confrontation or burn out under prospects of suffering.

Holiness amidst hostility is an ability that comes standard on the base model human spirit. It’s not a possibility, it’s a guarantee. So if we weren’t originally given a spirit of fear, what do we have? 

THREE GOOD WORDS 

Each key word in the verse gives the reader a little more when they’re dissected— check them out. 

Power

We’re equipped with power (δύναμις) that is, “inherent power, power residing in a thing by virtue of its nature” (Strongs, G1410). 

Love 

That aggressive strength is powerfully combined with love (ἀγάπη). In this case the word refers to an affection or good will towards others. The God given spirit is not heartless. We have the power to show affection yet some chose to pretend as if their personalities are simply not capable of showing this attribute. 

Self-control 

A sound mind (σωφρονισμός) is simply the ability to control yourself (Strong, G4995). 

WE’RE PROGRAMMED TO WIN 

We share a commonality with Paul’s protégé — (the reader would be shocked at the many attempts made trying to spell pro-toe-Shay). 

Like Timothy, we’ve been fashioned in the image of an eternal Being and our spirits drive an immortal soul. We aren’t designed to live in a constant state of timidity, we’re creations of courage. 

Courage is not the absence of a fearful feeling but it’s the ability to face that fear— and move forward.  

The Tongue, The Truth, And The Tangled Web:

Why Honesty Is Not Just A Policy But A Posture Of The Soul

Brent Pollard

Sir Walter Scott warned us well: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” There is a reason this line has endured for two centuries. It endures because it is true, and truth has a way of outlasting the cleverest fabrication. A lie is not a single act; it is a seed that demands constant tending. The deceiver must water it with more lies, fertilize it with half-truths, and build an ever-expanding greenhouse of falsehood to keep the fragile plant alive. And yet, for all this labor, the harvest is always the same—exposure, shame, and broken trust. The liar works harder than the honest man, and his wages are ruin.

The Anatomy of Deception

We must be honest about dishonesty. People lie for different reasons, and those reasons matter—not because they excuse the lie, but because understanding the disease helps us apply the remedy. Some lies are born of cowardice. Others spring from vanity. Still others are calculated instruments of plunder.

Consider the pathological liar—a person so enslaved to falsehood that he fabricates elaborate stories without any discernible motive. Clinically, this pattern must persist for more than six months to warrant the label, though we are tempted to apply it more liberally. The pathological liar is not scheming for profit; he is performing for an audience that exists largely in his own mind. He seeks to appear grander, more interesting, more worthy of attention than reality permits. His is a pitiable bondage—chained not to external gain but to an internal compulsion that even he may not fully understand.

The scammer, by contrast, is coldly deliberate. While the pathological liar deceives from compulsion, the scammer deceives from calculation. His target is your wallet, your identity, your trust—anything of value he can extract and exploit. He is the wolf who has studied the sheep’s gait and practiced the sheep’s bleat. One thinks of the elaborate call-center operations where criminals masquerade as computer technicians, preying on the elderly and the trusting. The scammer’s lie is a tool, sharpened and wielded with precision, and it is wielded without conscience.

The Colors We Give Our Lies

It is a curious thing that our culture has developed an entire color wheel for deception, as though assigning a shade to a lie could soften its edges. The “white lie” lubricates the gears of social interaction—a small, supposedly harmless falsehood meant to spare another’s feelings. The “black lie” is its dark counterpart: intentional, exploitative, and universally condemned. Between these poles lie “gray lies,” told for mixed motives—partly to help another and partly to help oneself. These are said to be the most common variety, and perhaps the most insidious, because their ambiguity allows us to excuse them.

Then there is the “blue lie,” told to benefit a group—covering a colleague’s mistake, protecting the team’s reputation. And the “red lie,” which is deception as a weapon, driven by spite so consuming that the liar will injure himself if it means injuring his enemy. This last variety reveals the darkest truth about lying: it is not merely a moral failure but a spiritual sickness. A man so enslaved to vengeance that he will set fire to his own house to burn his neighbor’s—that is a soul in desperate need of deliverance.

But here is the point we must not miss: this spectrum of color is a human invention. God does not grade our lies on a curve.

What God Says About Lying

Scripture treats deception with an unsparing directness that should arrest every honest reader. Solomon declares that “lying lips are an abomination to the Lord” (Proverbs 12.22, ESV). That word—abomination—is not casual disapproval. It is visceral revulsion. It is the word used for the most grievous offenses against the holy character of God. And John, writing from Patmos, places liars in the company of the cowardly, the faithless, the murderers, and the sexually immoral, all of whom face the lake of fire (Revelation 21.8). There is no footnote exempting the “white” variety.

The reason is not arbitrary. Lying is an assault on the very nature of God. He is truth (John 14.6). He cannot lie (Titus 1.2). And the devil, that ancient serpent, is identified as the “father of lies” (John 8.44)—the original architect of deception whose native tongue is falsehood. Every lie, however small, however well-intentioned, speaks a word in the devil’s language. Every lie, to some degree, allies itself with the one who deceived Eve in the garden and who continues to deceive the nations.

And yet Scripture does not categorize lies by color. It categorizes them by function. Bearing false witness perverts justice and destroys the innocent (Exodus 20.16). Hypocrisy dons a mask of righteousness to conceal a rotting interior (Matthew 23.28). Flattery deploys smooth words as instruments of manipulation (Psalm 12.2). And self-deception—perhaps the most dangerous of all—convinces us that we have no sin, thus cutting us off from the very grace that could heal us (1 John 1.8).

When Survival Demands the Impossible

We would be dishonest ourselves if we did not acknowledge the hard cases. Rahab lied to protect the Israelite spies at Jericho (Joshua 2.4ff), and James commends her for her actions (James 2.25). Certain Germans during the Second World War—Oskar Schindler, Karl Plagge, and others—lied to the SS to rescue Jews from the gas chambers. These are the extreme edges of moral experience, where the preservation of innocent life collided with the command to speak truth.

But we must be careful not to build a theology of exceptions from a handful of extraordinary moments. Most of us will never face the Gestapo at our door. Most of our lies arise only to spare someone’s feelings or shield us from inconvenience. When survival is genuinely at stake, we may find ourselves trusting in God’s grace to cover what necessity demands. But we must never mistake that trust for permission, nor should we pretend that a lie ceases to be a lie simply because the motive was noble. Even in the direst circumstance, we are speaking a falsehood—and we do so in the sober awareness that we need mercy, not congratulations.

Practical Disciplines for Truthful Living

Practice the discipline of silence. The simplest way to reduce the frequency of our lies is to reduce the frequency of our words. Solomon understood this. Even a fool, he observed, can pass for wise if he keeps his mouth shut (Proverbs 17.28). And again: “When words are many, transgression is not lacking” (Proverbs 10.19, ESV). James echoes this counsel with an urgency that suggests the early church needed the reminder as badly as we do: “Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak” (James 1.19, ESV). When Elijah stood on Horeb, God was not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire—He was in the still, small voice (1 Kings 19.12). There is something about silence that makes room for God to speak. Words are powerful, and power must be handled with care. The man who speaks less has fewer opportunities to sin—and more opportunities to listen, which is where wisdom begins.

Cultivate a radical simplicity of speech. Elaborate explanations are the breeding ground of exaggeration. Complex oaths are the refuge of the uncommitted. Jesus cut through all of it with surgical precision: “Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’” (Matthew 5.37, ESV). In His day, men would swear by the temple if they wanted an escape clause, but swear by the gold of the temple if they actually intended to keep their word (Matthew 23.16–22). Jesus condemned the entire charade. Our speech should be so plain, so dependable, that oaths become unnecessary. Solomon warned that there is more hope for a fool than for a man who is hasty in his words (Proverbs 29.20). Let us, then, be deliberate. Let our yes mean yes and our no mean no, and let us leave the embellishments to novelists.

Guard the heart from which your words flow. Jesus warned that the mouth speaks from the overflow of the heart (Matthew 12.34). If the well is poisoned, it does not matter how fine the cup—the water will still be toxic. Truthful speech begins not with technique but with character. It begins with the prayer of the psalmist: “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Psalm 139.23–24, ESV). It continues with the daily plea: “Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!” (Psalm 141.3, ESV). The man who invites God to search his motives will find that honesty becomes less of a discipline and more of a disposition.

Establish a practice of immediate confession. When a lie escapes—and it will, for we are fallen creatures—the remedy is swift confession. Confess to God, who is faithful and just, to be forgiven (1 John 1.9). Confess to the person wronged, for healing comes through the honesty we should have practiced in the first place (James 5.16). Immediate confession prevents a pattern from forming. It breaks the cycle before the web can be woven. And it must be paired with the commitment to speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4.15)—for honesty without love is cruelty, and love without honesty is sentimentality. Neither one honors the God who is both perfectly true and perfectly kind.

A Posture of the Soul

Honesty is not merely a policy. Policies can be revised, suspended, or abandoned when they become inconvenient. Honesty is a posture of the soul before a God who cannot lie and who will not be mocked. It is the daily, deliberate alignment of our words with reality, which is to say, the alignment of our words with the character of the One who created reality and sustains it by the word of His power.

In a world that grades deception by color and excuses it by circumstance, we are called to a higher standard—one rooted not in social convention but in the very nature of our Creator. Let us, then, be people whose words need no footnotes, whose promises require no collateral, and whose speech reflects the One in whom there is no shadow of turning. For when we commit ourselves to truth, we do more than avoid sin—we bear witness to the Father of lights in a world darkened by the father of lies.

Sorry, Chase! (Part 3)

Gary Pollard

At long last, we’re going to look at the five pillars — the main observations of Hughes in his video The ancients decoded reality. In case this is the first article you’re reading in the series, a brief explanation is in order. This content creator clearly spent a great deal of time and effort in studying all of these ancient texts and looking for similarities between them (over 180 sources spanning multiple cultures, epochs, languages, and religions). Most of his observations are excellent and intellectually stimulating! Some of his conclusions, where Christianity is concerned at least, are erroneous. Because (reference the first article) he posits cross-compatibility between all religions, this would make Christianity just another in an ocean of faiths. Jesus, in this framework, would be just another wise man, no different from Siddhartha Gautama or Lao Tze or Solon. The problem, from a Christian’s perspective, is that this denies Jesus’s status as God-man. No message is from God if it doesn’t acknowledge Jesus as coming from God. It comes from the enemies of Christ, the ones you heard were coming and are in the world right now (I Jn 4.1-3). 

I don’t for a second believe that Mr. Hughes is intentionally leading the Christians in his audience away from truth. He seems to be wholly genuine and has provided helpful (even life-changing) material for millions of people. But if the foundation isn’t solid, the message will be flawed. Whether with intent or as a result of ignorance, the potential for damage to a Christian’s faith is the same. Ironically, he quotes a passage from I John in the video in the same short chapter as the verse quoted above. 

Anyway, the first main observation is this: “You are not separate. You never were, you never could be.” He cites: 

  1. Upanishads: “You are that” (not connected to it, not loved by it, you are the thing itself.  Jesus said, “The entire kingdom of God is within you, not in a building or a book, in you”)
  2. Sufi texts: “You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop.” 
  3. Hermetic texts: “All is one” 
  4. Taoism: “Everything is the Dao, expressing itself in ten thousand forms” 
  5. Popul Vuh: “Heart of sky, heart of earth” 
  6. Buddhism: “There is no separate self” 
  7. Kabbala: “Creation is one emanation divided only in appearance” 

On the face of things, this argument is not a bad one — and it certainly contains elements of truth. Jesus very often quoted from the ancient texts of the Jews, and used the ίερα γράμματα to establish eternal principles. Yes, the kingdom of God isn’t in any building or exclusively contained within any book. But his kingdom is also not comprised of all people allowing reality to experience itself through their eyes. Multiple times in the gospels he clearly taught that some will inherit that kingdom, and some will not. He told one teacher of the law, “You are close to God’s kingdom” (Mk 12.34). 

According to Mt 3.2 and 4.17, personal changes have to be made to be accepted in God’s kingdom. 

In Mt 5.3, that kingdom belongs to certain people (poor in spirit, persecuted because of faith). 

In 5.20, anyone who isn’t morally better than the Pharisees is barred from God’s kingdom. 

In 7.21, not everyone who claims to serve him will enter the kingdom. 

Multiple times, he says that God’s kingdom is “almost here” (3.2, 4.17, 10.7), and instructed his followers to pray that God’s kingdom would come (6.10, 33). If it existed exclusively within them (and/or within all people), how would some be excluded and some not? Why pray for and anticipate its arrival if it was already within them? We know it was something tangible because he said, “Some of you will still be alive when they see the Son of Man come with his kingdom” (Mt 16.28). 

God’s kingdom ≠ The Universe expressing itself in ten thousand forms. It is the new, someday-perfected, ideal form of personal and cultural identity. This is an identity that won’t be realized fully until Jesus returns (and is today made up of his followers). It transcends national borders, cultures, languages, and any other barrier that historically has prevented people separated by these things from playing nice with each other. It’s a return to the relationship we had with each other and with him before humanity fell. 

Besides this (critical!) aspect, the rest is good general advice — isolation is not fundamentally real, obsession with self leads to unethical behavior, etc. We are not, however, one field of consciousness expressing itself through billions of different viewpoints. The extreme emphasis in the New Testament on others-above-self calls for more concrete distinction between individuals than this worldview allows. We are truly, though, one. Not by our very nature, but because Jesus made it possible for everyone to be unified through his name, by his power. This means that there are, unfortunately, people who will not be one with him. Our hope is that by doing for others what we want them to do for us, we can lead them to the Source who is Truth and who will unify all of creation in himself when earth’s number is up. 

The Invitation

Carl Pollard

Revelation 3:20, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

This verse is one of the most well known invitations in Scripture, but it is often misunderstood. Many assume Jesus is speaking to unbelievers about initial salvation. While the principle certainly applies, the context shows that Jesus is actually speaking to Christians who have grown spiritually indifferent.

Revelation 3:20 is part of Jesus’ message to the church in Laodicea (Revelation 3:14–22). The Laodiceans believed they were spiritually healthy. They said, “I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing” (Revelation 3:17). Yet Jesus exposed their reality they were, “wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked.”

Their problem was lukewarm faith (Revelation 3:16). They were not openly hostile to Christ, but they were not passionately devoted either. They had allowed comfort and self sufficiency to push Jesus to the margins of their lives.

Jesus uses a powerful image, He is standing outside the door knocking. The church belonged to Him, and yet He was outside.

This idea is one of patient persistence. Jesus isn’t breaking the door down. He’s knocking and calling. The responsibility rests on the individual, “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door.” Faith is personal. Each person must respond.

Jesus promises something beautiful, “I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” In the first century, sharing a meal represented fellowship, acceptance, and relationship. Jesus is offering restored intimacy.

The Laodiceans had religion without love. Christ was offering them the very thing they lacked, true communion with Him!

This verse forces an uncomfortable question, Is Jesus really at the center of our lives, or have we pushed Him outside? It’s possible to attend church, know the Bible, and still live spiritually distant from Christ. Like the Laodiceans, we may feel self sufficient while our relationship with Him grows cold.

But the good news is that Jesus still knocks. He calls us back through His Word, through conviction, and through moments that soften our hearts. When we respond, He doesn’t reject us, He restores us.

Christ doesn’t want our attendance or routine. He wants our fellowship! The door only has one handle, and it’s on the inside. The question is simple, Will we open it?

The Power Of A Name

Dale Pollard

An angel appeared to Gideon while he was threshing wheat in winepress to hide from the Midianites, calling him a “mighty warrior” (Judges 6:12).

Gideon initially doubted his ability, noting how his clan was the weakest in Manasseh and he was the least in his family.

God instructed Gideon to reduce his army from 32,000 to only 300 men to ensure the glory was given to God, not human strength.

So, using only trumpets, jars, and torches, Gideon’s small force caused the Midianite army to panic and flee.

To this day he’s remembered as the judge who brought 40 years of peace to Israel, overcoming his own fear to act with God’s strength. 

Rachel was dying during childbirth on the way to Ephrath (A.K.A. Bethlehem).

Before she dies, she names her son Ben-oni, which means “son of my sorrow” or “son of my pain.” A boy would struggle in many ways if he was forced to grow with a name that marked him as a bringer of pain and served as a constant reminder of grief.

Thankfully, his father, Jacob, changes his name to Benjamin; meaning “son of my right hand.” A name change that no doubt shaped his life growing up for the better.

It’s interesting how names or nicknames can shape our identities from a young age. When children are trying to find out who they are or what their place is in the world, they often internalize observations about themselves given by those they’re closest to. 

God has allowed us to wear the Name of Christ (Romans 13.14)– an unbelievable honor. Anybody carrying His name has a future brighter than the rest. 

When Good Things Become God

Carl Pollard

Tradition is not the enemy. In fact, Scripture speaks positively about certain traditions. Paul wrote, “Stand firm and hold to the traditions that you were taught by us” (2 Thess. 2:15). The early church passed down apostolic teaching, patterns of worship, and faithful practices. In that sense, tradition can be a gift, a guardrail that keeps us rooted in truth. Tradition in this sense was truth handed down by Christ to the apostles (John 16:13).

But there is a difference between biblical tradition and traditionalism. I once heard it described as, “tradition is the living faith of the dead. Traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.”

The clearest warning comes from Jesus Himself. In Mark 7:8–9, He rebuked the religious leaders: “You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.” They weren’t condemned for having traditions but for elevating them above God’s Word.

The Pharisees believed they were preserving holiness. In reality, they were nullifying Scripture. Their traditions became filters that distorted God’s intent. Whenever our customs carry more authority than the Bible, we step into dangerous territory.

Traditionalism says, “We’ve always done it this way.” “That’s just how church is supposed to be.” And, “If it changes, it must be wrong.” Scripture tells us, “Test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thess. 5:21).

Traditionalism often confuses preference with principle. Worship location, order of service, dress expectations, building designs may be wise or meaningful. But when we bind them where Scripture does not, we risk adding to God’s Word.

In Colossians 2:23, Paul warned about man-made regulations that “have indeed an appearance of wisdom” but lack true spiritual power. Human systems can look holy while missing the heart. Traditionalism tends to resist biblical correction. It fears cultural engagement. It can prioritize comfort over mission. Ironically, many traditions that feel “ancient” are only decades old.

Traditionalism becomes especially harmful when it alienates younger Christians. When faith is presented as a rigid preservation of forms rather than a relationship with Christ, it breeds either rebellion or apathy.

The church is called to guard the gospel, not freeze cultural expressions in time. The message must not change. The methods often must.

At the same time, we should guard against the opposite end of the spectrum, novelty for novelty’s sake. Not all change is healthy. Scripture calls us to contend for “the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3). Stability matters. The accumulated wisdom of the church matters.

The solution isn’t to abandon tradition but to submit every tradition to Scripture. Does this practice clearly flow from the Bible? Does it help us glorify God and reach people? Or are we defending it simply because it’s familiar?

Traditionalism becomes sin when it binds where God has not bound. It divides over matters of preference (or conscience). It replaces obedience with ritual. It protects comfort over Gods mission.

Jesus didn’t die to preserve our customs. He died to redeem people. Faithfulness isn’t measured by how tightly we cling to the past, but by how fully we submit to Christ in the present. May we cherish biblical tradition, reject human traditionalism, and build churches shaped not by nostalgia, but by the Word of God.

“Absolute Truth”

Gary Pollard

This week we’ll look at the problem of Language, continuing our criticism of aspects of the video The ancients decoded reality by Chase Hughes. I want to reiterate here that Mr. Hughes is an excellent researcher and has provided valuable information in his work. I believe his conclusions are flawed where Christianity is concerned, however. Similarities between writings and observations do not constitute universal compatibility, as will hopefully be demonstrated in this series. 

After positing that Truth exists in every tribe myth and scripture (04:12), he says, “We got lost in the arguments, differences, translations, rituals, politics, and fear. We started defending our favorite books, rather than noticing what they were all trying to say.” 

To some extent this is true. “Die for Christ, die for Allah, die for Jerusalem, die for Torah; father and son, marching in rhythm, firing bullets through the skulls of the children. Holy war, mortars and martyrs; holy war, unholy followers.”1 Religion weaponized is a potent plague, always leaving millions dead in its wake. The brilliance and beauty of Jesus’s teachings — when they’re actually followed without human interference — is their non-compulsion and self-sacrificing love. There is only one way to truth: Christ. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life — no one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). But it was never to be forced upon anyone, and personal death was always demanded over the use any kind of violence. “To me, the only important thing about living is Christ. And even death would be for my benefit” (Php 1.21). 

Since Chase says, “…rather than noticing what they were all trying to say,” we have to point out that many of these religions are mutually exclusive — at least in their current form. Most of the ones predating Christianity seem to have been based on genuine, profound observations of reality in their original forms. But these were corrupted over time, with personified forces of nature eventually venerated as gods and goddesses. The original meaning of their symbolic language devolved into rituals and often-dysfunctional forms of worship. Jesus came to earth at “just the right time” to bring Truth back to the world for good (Gal. 4:4). But in their current forms they are not compatible. 

Where Christianity will most fundamentally disagree with Mr. Hughes: Truth (with a capital T) is not fully knowable in this body; at least, not the kind of Truth he’s talking about (universal knowledge and enlightenment). I Corinthians 13 says, “Now we see God as if we are looking at a reflection in a mirror. But then, in the future, we will see him right before our eyes.” Chase correctly points out the severe limitations of our ability to capture and delineate the infinite using human language. This is the core of today’s look at his video. 

He correctly and eloquently describes language as “a net with holes too large to capture the infinite.” He cites Lao Tzu, “The dao that can be spoken is not the eternal dao.” Then he says, “The moment you try to describe ultimate truth, you’ve already distorted it, filtered it, and tried to contain it.” This is precisely why Truth is personified in Christianity. Truth is Jesus, and Jesus is Truth. We won’t be able to digest what that means until he returns (I Jn 3.1-3), but we can at least understand that he is the embodiment of universal Truth, an exact reflection of the nature of God. 

Chase says, “Knowledge was hidden, but not the way we think and not for the reasons we think. It was hidden because they were trying to describe the indescribable, and the human brain was not designed to handle these truths. Language is the core problem” (05:40-06:15). I’m writing this series in large part because of these next lines: “Jesus understood this [problem of language’s limitations]. He told his disciples, ‘I speak to them in parables because most people aren’t ready to comprehend the Truth directly.’ They didn’t have language for quantum physics or non-duality or consciousness models like we have today, in our still-infantile language. They had to compress the infinite into words” (07:02-07:14). There are a few problems with this. 

  1. Jesus wasn’t talking about quantum physics or non-duality. Even through a modern lens, this interpretation stretches the text beyonds its limits. Jesus spoke in parables to filter out true seekers. He even spoke in parables to his own followers because they weren’t spiritually mature enough to understand why he was there. He gave them the job of spreading everything — his parables AND his plain, uncoded teachings — to the world through their writings after his ascension. His teachings give us the path to enlightenment, but make it clear that that is something only fully realized in the expanded consciousness of our resurrected bodies. That path is selfless love, self discipline, loving God and helping people as often (and covertly) as we can. 
  2. The ancients’ view of consciousness is one that resonates even today. Origen argued in favor of non-local consciousness in Peri archon, and suggested the possibility that genetics influenced this in some way (Traducianism). The concept of soul in the New Testament has more in common with a consciousness model than we might think (or teach). We still use the transliterated form of this word today: psyche. The ancient Egyptians expressed this through concepts like ka and ba. It was understood that our bodies are powered by a life force (spirit/breath) that came from God, and returns to the Source after death. They understood that our consciousness is what makes us the “image of God”. They knew that death only expands this consciousness and its capabilities, and those who follow God will enjoy the benefits of this in an upgraded, indestructible body of some kind. We’re the ones lagging behind the ancient understanding of consciousness, not the other way around. 
  3. Few, if any, modern languages are improvements on their ancient ancestors. English is one of many well into its declining stage. West, Schwaller, and others like them convincingly demonstrated the superiority of ancient symbolism over modern scientific jargon, which is often used to obfuscate ignorance. Look at the opening lines of John’s gospel (“in the beginning was the Word…”), and compare that to how we might express the same in modern language.2 Our ability to grasp the infinite has degraded over the centuries, not improved. 

Finally (for today), Chase says, “All ancients hit the same wall. How do you describe an experience bigger than thought itself, using a language that’s built out of thought? How do you describe God, Unity, Infinity, Consciousness with a vocabulary built for farming and weather and trading spices and chickens with each other? How do you tell someone the universe is One before they understand atoms or galaxies or even their own mind? You can’t. So [the ancients] spoke in metaphors and symbols and myths and stories and poetry and parables and riddles — and sometimes silence. They didn’t do this to hide the Truth; the Truth was just too large to fit through the doorway of our primitive little language” (07:23). 

He makes several good points! Language is wholly inadequate to express the infinite, and symbolism is the best way to express the “eternity written on our hearts.” But symbolism is not accessible to the masses, and still falls short of actually capturing the infinite. Jesus presented Truth (or the path to it) to the masses using those stories and parables and mysteries. The early church recognized the multi-layered nature of Christ’s teachings — accessible to the masses on its surface level, while giving the esoterically-minded something to really chew on at its deeper levels of meaning. We do the text disservice to stop at a literal reading (derived through exegesis) to the neglect of any symbolic, allegorical, or spiritual teachings that may also be present. 

So while I think we would generally agree with his statement, there are some problems as well: 

  1. Knowledge of atoms, galaxies, etc. does not impact anyone’s capacity for spiritual understanding.3 Much of that is intuitive anyways, which he would likely agree with! Anyone with physical senses mostly intact can understand that reality is composed of parts and wholes, ascending to an ultimate unity, the one God and Father of all who is above all, through all, and in all things (Eph 4.6). 
  2. As stated earlier, it is not the purpose of this life to fully understand Truth (all there is at the universal scale). Our potential for understanding Truth will only be realized in our new bodies. 
  3. Language does not seem to have been originally designed for “trading spices and chickens”. The ancient Aymara language (still spoken today, but dates to pre-Incan times), for example, is so computer-program-like that it was used as the bridge language for translation software for decades. My point in nitpicking this is that our modern understanding of the world and our cosmic environment — and the ancients’ different understanding of the world and our cosmic environment — have little bearing in the grand scheme on our capacity for spirituality. Civilizations rise and fall, and we are very likely not the most advanced to have existed on this earth. 

As for the last statement (“they didn’t do this to hide the truth”), I would point to the ancient Egyptian practice of guarding secret knowledge. In the Old Kingdom, it was accessible only to kings. In the Middle Kingdom, non-royal elites (also Moses, cf. Acts 7.22) were included. The later Pythagoreans (who got everything from Egypt) were said to have guarded aspects of their knowledge with deadly force. Secret societies have existed in some form for all of human civilization. Jesus differs from the ancient esoteric traditions in that he made it available to everyone with eyes to see and ears to hear. Truly complete knowledge isn’t possible in this life, but we will enjoy that benefit in our new bodies. 

1 Holy War, Thy Art is Murder

2 ”Today, in modern terminology, we can say: at the incomprehensible and, by human faculties, unimaginable but nevertheless expressible and logically necessary instant of the Primordial Scission, the absolute being conscious of itself, created the manifest universe, whose fundamental formative aspect is vibration, a wave phenomenon characterized by movement of variable frequency and intensity between oppositely charged poles. This movement is not to be considered as separate or distinct from the poles but rather as that which by its existence produces or compels the significance of the respective poles, since negativity and positivity require an underlying concept of opposition/affinity in order to render them meaningful; the three aspects or forces thereby are assumed as inherent within the original Unity, which is the Absolute or Transcendent cause. This may not be an improvement upon St. John.” — West, J. (1979). Serpent in the sky. The Julian Press, Inc.p. 81

3 Atoms were posited by Democritus in the fifth century BC; inside Sepi III’s coffin (1900 BC) is the Vignette of Re, likely a depiction of a heliocentric solar system — with its planets — long before modern rediscoveries of this fact. These observations don’t seem to have impacted their ability to discern truth in positive or negative ways. 

What The World Needs Now: The “Unnatural” Love Jesus Commands

Brent Pollard

Why Jesus Commanding Love Strikes Us as Odd

There is something that stops us cold when we first read John 15.17. Jesus commands us to love. We instinctively resist this. Love, we have been told since childhood, is something that happens to us—a feeling that comes unbidden or not at all. And yet there it stands in the plain Greek of the New Testament: a command. An imperative. Not a suggestion, not an aspiration—a command.

The love Jesus commands does not bubble up from the wellspring of natural affection. It does not depend on the worthiness of its object. It is a love that originates not in the heart but in the will. This is what makes it unnatural—not aberrant or disordered, but swimming against the powerful current of a fallen nature that has always reserved its warmth for those who return it.

What Made Jesus’ New Commandment Truly New

The Jews of Jesus’ day already had a command to love their neighbors (Leviticus 19.18). But centuries of theological trimming had quietly reduced the definition of “neighbor” to a comfortable radius of like-minded, like-blooded individuals. This is precisely why Jesus told the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10.25–37)—a story so deliberately unsettling that it practically demanded a verdict.

Then, in the upper room on the night of His betrayal, Jesus issued a new commandment: “Love one another, even as I have loved you” (John 13.34, NASB95). The newness lay in its standard and scope. The measure of this love was no longer the mirror of self—it was the cross. And the cross looks like a man hanging between criminals, praying, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 22.34, NASB95). That is the standard.

Agapē Love: What the Greek New Testament Reveals About Loving Like Christ

Koine Greek—the common tongue of the first-century world—distinguished at least four varieties of what we flatten into one English word. Phileō was friendly affection. Storgē was a family bond. Erōs was romantic desire. And rising above them all stood agapē—sacrificial, unconditional, self-emptying love. Kindness is extended when kindness is not deserved. Forgiveness is given when the wound is still fresh. Service rendered without expectation of return.

You do not feel your way into agapē. You choose your way into it. The natural loves are genuine goods, gifts from God’s hand—but left unchecked, they curl inward. The love of family becomes contempt for the stranger. The tribe’s love becomes hatred of the outsider. Agapē redeems and elevates these natural loves, rightly orienting them. It is not human morality at its finest—it is participation in the divine nature, the love of God shed abroad in human hearts by the Holy Spirit (Romans 5.5). You cannot manufacture it. You receive it, and then choose to deploy it.

Agapē, in its fullest sense, is the deliberate choice—empowered by God—to seek another’s genuine good at personal cost, because that is precisely how God in Christ has loved us.

“Othering” in Modern Culture and the Ancient Problem It Represents

Hal David, moved by the turmoil of the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War, wrote words that Jackie DeShannon made famous: “What the world needs now is love, sweet love.” Were David writing today, surveying our present moment, the pen would move with the same urgency.

We live in a time of othering—the process by which human beings made in God’s image are reduced to caricatures and assigned to an outgroup whose humanity can be safely disregarded. The Nazis did not begin with gas chambers. They began with names, with the slow rhetorical work of placing people outside the boundaries of moral concern. Today, the preferred weapons are different—”Nazi,” “fascist,” “bootlicker,” “communist”—but the intent is identical: to frame opponents as a them against whom any response is justified. The summer of 2020 saw politically motivated murders amid the George Floyd protests. January 2026 has already recorded two deaths connected to ICE enforcement protests. Solomon was right—there is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1.9). Human fallenness finds new costumes for old sins.

How the Cross Teaches Christians to Love Their Enemies

The command of Jesus is not an antiquarian curiosity. It is addressed to this fractured, furious moment. The temptation—and we should name it honestly as a temptation—is to reserve our warmth for the in-group and feel entirely justified in our contempt for ideological enemies. But the One commanding our love is the same One who prayed forgiveness over the men who drove the nails.

The decision to love precedes the feeling of love. We choose to pray for those who despise us. We choose to speak with dignity about those whose politics make our blood simmer. And grace, practiced in genuine submission to God’s Spirit, reshapes not just our behavior but our hearts.

Jesus said the watching world would know His disciples not by their doctrinal precision or political affiliations, but by their love for one another (John 13.35). The church, in an age of othering and outrage, is called to be a visible demonstration that another way is possible—that the love of God in Christ is not a theological abstraction but a living reality.

The command is given.

The standard is the cross.

The power is the Spirit.

And the world is watching.