Tag: Jesus

To War With The Waves

Dale Pollard

One of the strangest moments in Roman history probably belongs to crazy Caligula. Why? Well, he’s the emperor who  declared war on the sea. 

This wasn’t a battle on the sea, this was a battle with the sea.  

According to the Roman historian Suetonius in The Twelve Caesars, Caligula marched his legions to the coast of Gaul around A.D. 40 and he formed his soldiers in battle lines facing the water.

Then he gives a command— attack! 

The troops were ordered to stab the waves and hurl javelins into the surf. Afterward, Caligula reportedly instructed them to gather seashells as “spoils of war”—from Neptune (Rome’s god of the sea). 

Was the story exaggerated? It’s possible. Even if the only truth to the tale was that a man waged war against the ocean it still provides the perfect illustration for many things in life. The illusion of human power, being one of them. An emperor who ruled millions could command armies, raise your taxes, and build monuments — but he couldn’t slay the sea. The ocean didn’t retreat and the waves did not surrender.

The Bible tells us who has sovereignty over the waters:

“Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb… when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt” (Job 38:8–11)? 

God reminds humanity that only He sets boundaries for the ocean. Kings may flex, and armies might rage, but the tide answers to no one but Him.

Caligula’s strange spectacle at the beach becomes sort of a  parable doesn’t it? When humans attempt to assert divine authority over creation, they expose their limits. A lesson nobody ever wants to learn is that power without humility turns into absurdity. Or, to put it another way; authority without submission is self-parody.

The sea still keeps its boundaries, not because an emperor commanded it— but because God did.

Making A Way When There Was No Way

Neal Pollard

Recently, I read the 2005 book by Candice Millard entitled The River Of Doubt. It chronicles Theodore Roosevelt’s exploration of the interior of Brazil, along with Candido Rondon. Their work literally put a major tributary of the Amazon River on the map. Rondon had come across the river in a 1909 expedition to lay telegraph wire and he longed to explore it. When Roosevelt was yearning for an adventure following his unsuccessful bid for a third term as president, this appeared to be the answer. It was called The River Of Doubt (Rio da Dúvida) because no one knew how long it was, what kind of terrain it passed through, or where it ended. The journey was dangerous and deadly, very nearly killing Roosevelt himself. But the risk resulted in geographical and scientific advancement that benefits the world even today.

I have always been fascinated to read about the works of pioneers. Gutenberg and the printing press, Jenner and vaccinations, the Wright brothers and flying. Whether travel and exploration or inventions, people who went first or paved the way for us are people we may never think about but we owe so much to them. Even our highway systems, with paved roads that go through tall mountains, took people to make a way when there was no way.

In Hebrews 6:20, the writer uses a term that’s only found in that verse–forerunner. The word had a very diverse usage. It was used in athletics of one who runs forward at top speed. It was used of one who went in advance of others, like horsemen ahead of the army or guides. The ancient Macedonian army had a special corp known as forerunners. In Alexandria, Roman ships heavily loaded with grain, were led out by a small guide ship. It was used in botany of the first green shoot, tree or flower of Spring. It was used metaphorically of a precursor, like John the Baptist.

The idea is that Jesus has gone behind the curtain before us into God’s presence. We can join Him there because His death made it possible for us (Heb. 5:8-9). But we also have unrestricted access to God’s presence now because He prepared the way. The writer tells us this is our sure and steadfast anchor of hope that allows us to take refuge.

It is beautiful to think that Jesus has gone before us and paved a way for us. It is a theme the writer of Hebrews addresses throughout the book as He shows us how Jesus has done that in the past, is doing it now, and will do it in the future:

  • Our forerunner went before us in the creation (1:1-3)
  • Our forerunner went before us in salvation (2:10)
  • Our forerunner has gone before us for our eternal destination (12:1-2).

One of our songs says, “Each step I take, my savior goes before me, and with His loving hand He leads the way. And with each step, He whispers I adore thee, Oh, what joy to walk with Him each day.” He’s gone before us! The question is, “Are we following Him?”

The Truest Valentine: Love Written in Blood

Brent Pollard

The Forgotten Man Behind the Holiday

Saturday brings us once more to Valentine’s Day, that peculiar fixture of the modern calendar in which chocolate and sentiment have almost entirely buried the bones of a third-century martyr. The holiday bears the name of a man who bled for Christ, yet we have dressed his memorial in pink and red and made it an occasion for romance. One suspects that if Valentine himself could survey what has become of his feast day, he would be bewildered—and perhaps grieved.

Who was this man? The historical record is thin. Multiple martyrs bore the name Valentine in the second and third centuries. Still, tradition has settled on a Roman priest—sometimes identified as a bishop of Terni—who was executed under Emperor Claudius II around 269 AD. The legends are familiar: that he secretly performed Christian marriages, that he penned a farewell note signed “From your Valentine.” These details are charming, but the earliest sources contain none of them. What we do know is this: Valentine was a minister of the Gospel. He was martyred for his allegiance to Christ. The early church honored him as a witness—a martyr in the original Greek sense of the word—to the lordship of Jesus. Everything else was embroidered into the story during the Middle Ages, much as the legends of Christmas accrued around a manger that, in its original hour, was far more stark and dangerous than any Nativity scene suggests.

In 496 AD, the Catholic Church established the Feast of Saint Valentine on February 14th as a liturgical commemoration—not of romance, but of Christian fidelity under persecution. If love was to be associated with the day at all, it was the love described in John 15:13: “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” The connection to romantic love did not emerge until after 1382, when Geoffrey Chaucer wrote in his Parliament of Fowls: “For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, when every bird comes there to choose his mate.” From that poetic seed grew a cultural vine that, over the next several centuries, would entirely obscure the root.

By the 1500s, European nobles were exchanging Valentine’s notes. Romantic pairings became the dominant association with February 14th. What was forgotten—quietly, gradually, and almost completely—was that a man had forfeited his life for his faith in Christ. What follows is a pattern we observe repeatedly in history: a religious observance is absorbed by commerce, reshaped by local culture, and re-exported globally in its modified form.

A Holiday Remade by Commerce and Culture

Consider Japan. There, Valentine’s Day has become a Sadie Hawkins affair. Women give honmei-choco (“true feeling chocolate”) to romantic interests and giri-choco (“obligation chocolate”) to coworkers and superiors. Japanese confectioners, not content with a single commercial holiday, invented “White Day” on March 14th, when men reciprocate with gifts worth two to three times what they received. As Japan grows more progressive, a growing pushback among women seeks to eliminate giri-choco, which may eventually nudge Japan toward the Western model of Valentine’s Day as a lover’s holiday.

Korea adds an even more inventive wrinkle. Koreans observe both Valentine’s Day and White Day in the Japanese fashion, but they have appended a third occasion: “Black Day” on April 14th. On Black Day, those who received nothing on either holiday gather to eat jajangmyeon (black bean noodles) and commiserate over their single status. One cannot help but note the irony—that a day once consecrated to the memory of a man who died for the highest love has been culturally refracted until it produces a holiday devoted to lamenting the absence of the lowest.

This trajectory is instructive. It reveals something about the nature of human culture: left to its own devices, the world will always trade the costly for the comfortable, the cruciform for the commercial, the eternal for the ephemeral. It has done so with Valentine’s Day. It has done so with Christmas. It will do so with any truth that demands something of us, unless we are vigilant to remember what the truth actually requires.

Love Detached from Sacrifice

Here we must make a spiritual observation, for our purpose is devotional rather than merely cultural. When love is detached from sacrifice, it becomes fragile. This is not a sentimental claim. It is a theological one, rooted in the very nature of God and the pattern of His self-revelation.

Examine every major New Testament articulation of love, and you will find that love is never defined primarily by emotion. It is demonstrated through surrender, not sentiment. God did not merely feel affection for the world; He gave:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3.16, ESV)

“Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” (Ephesians 5.25, ESV)

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15.13, ESV)

Do you see the verb that anchors each of these texts? It is not “felt.” It is not “enjoyed.” It is “gave.” Love, as Scripture reveals it, is not the warm feeling that overtakes us when conditions are pleasant; it is the deliberate act of self-expenditure when conditions are agonizing. The cross was not a gesture of sentiment. It was the ultimate act of will, the most purposeful decision in the history of the cosmos—the Son of God choosing, in full possession of His faculties and full awareness of the cost, to absorb the wrath His people deserved.

Strip sacrifice from love, and what remains? Affection. Enjoyment. Personal fulfillment. Preference. These are not worthless; however, they are not durable. A love built on enjoyment will fracture the moment enjoyment fades—and enjoyment always fades. A love sustained by emotion will collapse the moment emotion shifts—and emotion always shifts. Only a love anchored in the deliberate, costly, daily decision to give of oneself can endure the pressures that this fallen world relentlessly applies.

The Architecture of Love

Perhaps an analogy will help. Think of love as a building. Sacrifice is the foundation and the structural steel. Romantic attraction is like paint—it beautifies, but it bears no weight. Shared interests are the furnishings—they make the space enjoyable, but remove them, and the building still stands. Emotional chemistry is like lightning—it illuminates brilliantly for a moment, but you cannot wire a house with it.

Without sacrifice, marriage collapses under duress. Friendships dissolve under inconvenience. Church unity disintegrates under disagreement. Why? Because sacrifice is the only form of love that says, “I will stay when it costs me.” And make no mistake—it will cost you. The question is never whether love will be tested, but whether your love is the kind that can survive the test.

Consider Paul’s inspired description in 1 Corinthians 13. Love is patient. It bears all things. It endures all things. It does not seek its own. It never fails. We must remember the context: Paul was not composing a wedding homily. He was addressing a fractured congregation riven by pride, division, and the competitive misuse of spiritual gifts. When he wrote that love “does not seek its own” (1 Corinthians 13:5, NASB95), he was describing cruciform love—love shaped like the cross. This is not the love of Hallmark cards. This is the love of Gethsemane and Golgotha.

If Love Is What We Feel, It Will Fail

Here is the great dividing line: if love is what we feel, it will fail; if love is what we choose, it will endure.

Paul could describe this perfect love in 1 Corinthians 13 because he had seen it incarnate in Christ. Jesus did not withdraw when obedience brought the hematidrosis of Gethsemane—that dreadful sweating of blood that Luke, the physician, records with clinical precision (Luke 22.44). Jesus did not retreat when loyalty to the Father brought Him the agony of Calvary. He stayed. He chose to stay. And His staying was not passive endurance but active, purposeful self-giving for the glory of the Father and the redemption of His people.

This means that 1 Corinthians 13 is not idealism. It is not the wistful poetry of a romantic who has never suffered. It is the testimony of a man who watched his Lord die and who understood that the pattern of that death was now the pattern for all Christian love. It is imitation, not imagination.

And that is our call. The love Paul describes is not reserved for poets or newlyweds, for the spiritually elite or the naturally affectionate. It is the daily decision of the disciple. It is patience when irritation would be easier. It is kindness when pride demands recognition. It is endurance when quitting would bring immediate relief. It is the quiet, unglamorous, often unnoticed choice to remain faithful when faithfulness is expensive.

The World’s Love and Christ’s Love

The world celebrates love that dazzles. Christ commands love that remains. The world measures love by its intensity of feeling. Christ measures love by its faithfulness under fire. The world asks, “How deeply do you feel?” Christ asks, “How faithfully will you stay?”

We must not be confused about this. The world’s version of love is not entirely wrong—it is merely insufficient. Romantic feeling is a good gift of God. Emotional connection is part of His design. Enjoyment of one another is woven into the fabric of human relationships. But these things are the blossoms, not the root. And when we mistake the blossom for the root, we are devastated when winter comes, and the blossoms fall. The root of love is sacrifice. The root of sacrifice is the will. And the will is strengthened not by feeling, but by faith—faith in the God who first loved us in precisely this way.

John writes: “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3.16–18, ESV). Notice the movement of the text. John does not allow love to remain in the stratosphere of theology. He brings it immediately to earth: Do you see your brother in need? Then act. Love is not what you say. Love is what you do when doing is costly.

A Valentine Written in Blood

As the world exchanges cards and chocolates this Saturday, let us remember what Valentine’s Day was intended to commemorate. Not romance. Not sentiment. Not the fluttering heart of a new attraction. It was meant to honor a man who loved Christ more than he loved his own life—and who proved it by dying.

And behind that man stands the One whose love makes all other loves possible: Jesus Christ, who on a Roman cross authored the truest Valentine ever written—not in ink, but in blood. That is the love we are called to imitate. Not merely to admire, not merely to theologize about, but to embody—in our marriages, our friendships, our congregations, and our daily encounters with a world that desperately needs to see love that does not quit.

The measure of our love is not how deeply we feel, but how faithfully we stay. May God grant us the grace to love as Christ loved—with a love that gives, that stays, that sacrifices, and that endures. For that is the love that never fails.

The Sin No One Talks About

Carl Pollard

We are living in the most hurried generation in history, and we celebrate it. Being too busy is so normal that there is even a medical term for it: hurry sickness. We eat while driving, walking, or working. We answer emails during phone calls. We listen to podcasts on double speed. Many people check their phones close to 100 times a day. According to the American Psychological Association, more than 77 percent of Americans report chronic stress, and nearly one in three say it severely affects their mental health. Still, when someone asks how we are doing, we say, “Busy,” almost with pride. Exhaustion has become a status symbol.

Our culture treats hurry like a virtue. Scripture doesn’t. In Psalm 46:10, God says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The word “still” means to loosen your grip, to stop striving. God isn’t asking for more frantic effort.

In the Old Testament, God built rest into the life of His people. The Sabbath forced them to stop working and remember that their survival didn’t depend on constant productivity. It depended on Him. Today, everything is optimized for speed. Faster shipping. Shorter videos. Quicker results. Even in worship we feel it. Prayers get shorter. Attention spans shrink. Worship competes with notifications.

Jesus lived differently. In Luke 10, Martha was busy serving, doing what her culture valued. Mary sat at Jesus’ feet and listened. Jesus gently pointed out that Martha was anxious and troubled. In Mark 1:35, Jesus woke up early to pray before the crowds found Him. He refused to be controlled by urgency. In John 11, when Lazarus was sick, Jesus delayed. His timing wasn’t careless. It was purposeful.

Hurry produces impatience and weak judgment. It drains joy and weakens discernment. You can be active in the kingdom and still grow resentful if you never slow down to be with God. Patience is listed as fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5, and fruit doesn’t grow overnight.

Hurry isn’t harmless. It shortens our prayers, strains our relationships, and makes it harder to obey God. The answer is simple but not easy. We must slow down! We need unhurried prayer, focused time in Scripture, and real conversations without distraction.

The world may be frantic, but God’s people don’t have to be. Those who walk closely with Him aren’t the ones moving the fastest. They are the ones who take time to listen and obey.

Part Two: The Fortress and the River – God Our Satisfaction

Brent Pollard

In our earlier reflection on Psalm 46, we faced a challenging truth: the mountains will quiver, the oceans will roar, and the earth’s very foundations will shake. Nonetheless, amid this universal turmoil, God stays our steadfast refuge. We learned that He comes close during storms rather than in moments of peace, and that what we need most isn’t answers but His presence.

But God provides more than just survival; He not only shelters us from the storm but also sustains us through it. The psalm’s imagery transitions from chaotic turbulence to peaceful abundance, highlighting a deep truth about God’s presence with His people.

The River That Satisfies: God’s Presence as Our True Resource

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved.”

The imagery transitions from chaos to serenity, moving from turbulent seas to a peaceful river. This creates a beautiful paradox in the psalm because Jerusalem, unlike Babylon or Egypt, lacked a natural river. Water was scarce, precious, and meticulously collected from cisterns and springs. In Hezekiah’s time, an ingenious tunnel channeled water from the Gihon Spring into the city, serving as a crucial lifeline during the siege.

Yet the psalmist mentions a river that brings joy to the city. It’s not just safe—it’s joyful. Not just protected—but filled with happiness. This is more than simple water. It represents God’s life-giving presence.

As suggested, God is most glorified in us when we find our greatest satisfaction in Him. The river in Psalm 46 symbolizes delight, not utility. Though enemy nations rage like floodwaters threatening to overwhelm, God resides among His people as a calm, sustaining stream of peace. He is both our source of satisfaction and our security.

Jesus later identified Himself as the source of this river: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water” (John 7.37-38). The promise isn’t that life will be trouble-free, but that God offers sustenance beyond circumstances during difficult times.

This assurance is highly practical. God’s presence isn’t just an abstract theological idea; it changes how we approach Monday mornings. Knowing God is with us turns panic into peace. Recognizing that He is our source, we cease striving to create our own limited water sources, like cisterns that contain no water (Jeremiah 2.13).

However, Jerusalem’s security was never reliant on its religious infrastructure. The temple alone did not guarantee safety for a rebellious people. The city’s walls offered no protection if hearts were distant from God. It was repentance and prayer, not military tactics, that saved Jerusalem from Assyria’s formidable army. Hezekiah presented Sennacherib’s threatening letter before the Lord and called for deliverance, emphasizing God’s glory over Israel’s safety (2 Kings 19.14-19).

And God responded. At dawn, 185,000 Assyrian soldiers were dead, slain by the Lord’s angel. The enemy retreated without a single arrow being fired from Jerusalem’s defenses. God simply declared, and kingdoms fell.

The Call to Stillness: Surrender as the Path to Strength

“Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

This passage is among Scripture’s most quoted—and often misunderstood—verses. We tend to see it as a calming meditation or a spiritual breath of relief. However, in its original context, it carries a much more challenging message.

The Hebrew phrase literally translates to: “Let go. Cease striving. Stop.” It serves as a divine directive to relinquish our need for control, abandon our frantic attempts to manage outcomes, and surrender the illusion of self-sufficiency.

Modern Christianity often portrays God as a helpful guide for our personal plans. We prefer His blessing on our initiatives instead of surrendering to His greater purposes. We tend to use God rather than worship Him. However, Psalm 46 dispels this arrogance. God will be exalted, regardless of our involvement. The real question is whether we will align with His divine plan or waste our energy resisting it.

“Be still” does not mean passive resignation. Instead, it signifies active trust—opting for dependence rather than independence, faith rather than fear, worship over worry. For fallen humanity, this is the hardest act because it demands that we admit we are not God.

Consider Hezekiah’s prayer again: “Now therefore, O Lord our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You are the Lord God, even You only” (2 Kings 19.19, KJV). Notice the ultimate concern—not Israel’s comfort, but God’s glory. Not merely deliverance, but a demonstration of divine supremacy.

Remember that humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less. Being still means shifting our focus from our troubles to God’s nature, from our frailty to His strength, and from our fears to His unwavering faithfulness.

The psalm concludes by calling God “the God of Jacob,” which should fill us with great hope. Jacob was a cunning and manipulative man, often trying to control events through his own cleverness. Despite this, God stayed faithful to him, changed him, and made him a patriarch. We often act similarly—rushing ahead of God’s timing, trying to grasp what to trust, and strategizing instead of surrendering.

And yet—wonder of wonders—God remains our refuge.

Living in the Fortress

Psalm 46 does not guarantee that mountains won’t shake in our lives if we have enough faith. Instead, it reassures us that God stays unshaken when those shakes happen—and they will. He allows us to face difficult situations, not to harm us, but to show Himself more clearly and to strengthen our faith.

The world takes pride in its chariots, horses, stock portfolios, military strength, technological achievements, and political influence. However, Scripture teaches us that “some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God” (Psalm 20.7). Ultimately, there will be a day when “the Lord alone shall be exalted” (Isaiah 2.11).

Until then, our lives exist between the “already” and the “not yet.” We feel God’s presence as both a fortress and a river—offering protection in times of danger and fulfillment in seasons of dryness. We recognize His strength even as we admit our weakness. Peace comes not from having control over circumstances but from knowing Who is truly in control.

When the earth shakes…  

When nations rage… 

When fear rises within us…

God remains our refuge.  

God remains our strength.  

God remains Immanuel—with us.

And because He is, we can—we must—be still.

In that stillness, we find what frantic activity can never achieve: the actual value of knowing God personally. It’s not just about learning about Him but experiencing Him intimately through dependence, feeling secure in His presence, and delighting in His flowing grace, even during the driest seasons of our lives.

This is not escapism; it is the most practical wisdom for humans. We were created for God, and our hearts stay restless until they find rest in Him.

The fortress remains, the river continues to flow, and God beckons us to come in.

Freedom From Mortality

Gary Pollard

I recently read something very powerful and felt it was worth sharing. It is a fitting reminder that materialism and a pursuit of physical wealth do our soul no favors — in fact, they sabotage our pursuit of God’s wisdom. It further illustrates God’s statement that the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil (1 Tim. 6:10). 

An obligatory disclaimer: I don’t agree with everything this author wrote. This should not be seen as an across-the-board endorsement of his writings on spiritual topics, though his works on Egyptian history are invaluable. But we’ve likely all heard quotations in the pulpit that were taken from Einstein, Reagan, Eisenhower, and other secular figures — consider this a quotation in the same spirit. 

“May the people of our time, who by reason of the alleged comforts derived from their scientific technology are falling more and more deeply into matter, come to understand that if the end of bodily life is death, the end of what constitutes the body’s life is to survive and liberate itself from what is mortal. The means of attaining this end is no more difficult than it is to live. Yet this is precisely what few people know how to do. Most are solely concerned with distracting themselves, passing the time that separates them from the hour of death they so greatly fear. 

To live is not to work. If we are condemned to work in order to maintain our life, this sentence constitutes the suffering through which we must acquire the intelligence-of-the-heart that is, in itself, our life’s spiritual aim. To base existence on work is as unwise as to found society on economic principles. Love of the task makes work joyful, and a good economic order is a secondary result. Mechanicalness, the emanation of a warped consciousness, as well as valueless money, these have been the cause and means of action for ambitious leaders to drag our world into the depths of misery. Out of this comes a reaction which will betray the expectations of these misguiding masters. The divine spark ever slumbers within man, and when animated by a new breath is irresistible.” 

— R. A. S. de Lubicz (1985)

Loving The Elders

Dale Pollard

Though Scripture doesn’t say, you can be sure
David’s sheep had no idea how lucky they were to have a
shepherd like him. They were just sheep after all. How could
they fully appreciate the extent that David went to in order to
keep them safe? Before this begins to sound ridiculous, let’s
remember that at least two of David’s sheep were carried off
in the jaws of a lion and a bear. When the terrified bleating
of an unfortunate sheep is heard by the shepherd, he sprints
after the wild animal knowing all the while — it’s just a sheep.
It’s just one sheep! Nevertheless, David strikes the predator
and saves the sheep (1 Sam. 17:34-35).

What made David a good shepherd? It certainly
wasn’t his stature. The average male of his day stood around
five feet tall. He was also the youngest of his family, and often
unappreciated (1 Sam. 16:11; 17:29, 33). It was David’s heart,
not his height, that made him exceptional. He was a natural
shepherd of sheep, and of people.

David is sent by his father, Jesse, to deliver bread for
his brothers, who are among Saul’s army. When he arrives on
scene, everyone is afraid and unwilling to take a stand against
the arrogant Goliath. But before the giant warrior from Gath
meets the shepherd boy from Bethlehem, a few more giants
will be faced.

The first giant was the giant of degradation.
David’s own brother, Eliab, would greet him with
two belittling questions that would make a lesser man feel
sheepish, but not this shepherd. Eliab asks, “why have you
come down here?” and, “who is watching the few sheep?”
David’s brother doesn’t think he belongs among warriors and
that he is only capable of handling a small number of simple
animals.

The second giant was that of accusation.
In the same breath, Eliab would accuse and insult
David three different times. He claims, “I know how
conceited you are and how wicked your heart is. You’ve only
come to watch the battle.” How wrong he was and how dare
he insult such a godly man! It’s interesting to note that David
had an answer to each of these questions and accusations, but
never attempts to defend himself. His father sent him, that’s
why he was there. He was there to deliver nourishment for
this dear brother who had, no doubt, worked up an appetite
doing absolutely nothing. No retaliation or snarky remark
would escape from the shepherd’s mouth because nothing like
that was in his heart (Matt. 12.34).

The third giant David would conquer would be the towering
giant of indignity. He didn’t shame his brother and he didn’t let his
brother’s shaming keep him from shining.

Shepherds put up with a lot, don’t they? Good
shepherds really put up with a lot. Faithful God-fearing elders
within the Lord’s church all over the world are faced with
giants more often than they should be. Sometimes, the giants
they face are their own sheep. How easy it is to make
confident accusations against them and to question their
intentions, hearts, and capabilities. That unpaid servant of
God is more often than not the first one to come running
when the bleating of a wayward member is heard. When we
find ourselves in clutches of our various trials, they attempt to
pry us out. At times they earnestly pray over and take on
burdens that aren’t theirs to carry. Faithful elders will find
themselves in a position in which they could make the sheep
feel ashamed, but choose to save the feelings of others
because that’s what a good shepherd does. It’s not their
height, it’s their heart. The sheep need to love their
shepherds because the shepherds love their sheep.

Part One: The Fortress and the River – God Our Refuge

Brent Pollard

Throughout history, some moments feel like the barrier between heaven and earth is unusually thin. These instances cause the eternal to pierce through the temporary so powerfully that even centuries later, their impact is still felt. Psalm 46 is one such moment—born not from theological musings but from a time of national crisis. Martin Luther heard its profound message and responded with “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Long before the Reformation hymns echoed through European cathedrals, this psalm carried a people through their fear as Assyrian campfires threatened their city walls.

It’s important to remember that Scripture isn’t just a compilation of spiritual rules — it documents God’s interaction with real people in genuine desperation. The message God shared with ancient Jerusalem remains true today: our most profound human need isn’t for solutions, but for His presence.

When Mountains Crumble: The Problem of Cosmic Insecurity

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.”

Note that the psalm does not say, “We should not fear” or “We ought not fear.” Instead, it confidently states: “We will not fear.” This is not just hope; it’s a firm belief rooted in understanding who God is.

The psalmist depicts a scene of complete chaos. Mountains, symbols of stability, melt away like sandcastles at the tide. The seas angrily roar and foam. The very foundations of creation tremble. These vivid images are not just poetic devices; they symbolize natural disasters and political turmoil. In biblical symbolism, raging waters frequently represent hostile nations in chaos (Daniel 7.2-3; Revelation 17.15).

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: our world was never meant to be our final refuge. Because our desires can’t be fully satisfied here, it suggests we were created for another world. We long for stability in a creation that is inherently unstable. We pursue security in systems designed to dissolve. In His mercy, God permits the mountains to shake, guiding us to discover what cannot be shaken.

God draws near to us during storms rather than calm moments. Israel frequently learned this the hard way: in times of peace, they forgot the Lord and turned to idols. When trouble arose, they sought Egyptian alliances instead of divine assistance (Isaiah 30.1-2). They sought rescue and deliverance without a relationship or devotion.

But here is the marvel: God is depicted as an ever-present help—never hesitant, never distant, nor waiting for us to do enough religious acts to gain His notice. He is already present—our refuge, fortress, and shield. The real question is never His availability but our readiness to trust.

We have seen that God engages with us during storms rather than waiting for calm. We’ve recognized that our world was never intended as our ultimate refuge, and that the upheaval of mountains has a compassionate purpose—guiding us toward eternal stability. However, understanding that God is our refuge prompts another question: what does His presence truly offer? Is He only a fortress shielding us from harm, or does He provide something more?

The psalmist’s answer shifts us from merely surviving to finding satisfaction, from simple protection to deep joy. In our next reflection, we’ll see that God’s presence isn’t just about safety—it’s about our greatest delight.

Trust In Trials

Carl Pollard

Daniel was a faithful servant of God. No matter the circumstances, he would put his trust in God. Let us look at how Daniel was faithful to God in all times.

We see Daniel being faithful to God in trials. The other wise men in the kingdom were jealous of Daniel and wanted to have him killed. So they went to the king and asked for a decree to be made that only the king could be prayed to. Daniel trusted in God even though he could have faced dire consequences if he prayed to God. “When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, he went to his house where he had windows in his upper chamber open toward Jerusalem. He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously. Then these men came by agreement and found Daniel making petition and plea before his God. Then the king commanded, and Daniel was brought and cast into the den of lions. The king declared to Daniel, “May your God, whom you serve continually, deliver you!” And a stone was brought and laid on the mouth of the den, and the king sealed it with his own signet and with the signet of his lords, that nothing might be changed concerning Daniel.” Daniel 6:10-11, 16-17 shows us that even though the king banned prayer to God, Daniel still put his trust in God. 

In our lives today do we show this kind of faith and trust in God? Do we understand the consequences, but stick with God? Many today have a faith that is dependent on the circumstances. But we must be like Daniel. Have a full trust in God to deliver us in our trials and understand that He is in control. 

The Integrity Test

Gary Pollard

[Note: Gary, as well as Dale and Carl, attended the Future Preachers Training Camp in Denver, CO, for several years. The following is Gary’s sermon from June, 2007, when he was 13 years old]

A farmer called on a wealthy Englishman to inform him that a pack of his hunting dogs had destroyed a part of his crop. The gentleman asked how much that part of the crop was worth. The farmer thought $100 would do it (quite a sum in those days). The gentleman wrote him a check immediately. As harvest approached, he noticed that the trampled part produced better than the rest. He went straight to the wealthy Englishmen, intending to return the check. The Englishman was extremely pleased and said, while writing him a check for twice the amount, “Hang on to this. And when your son is come of age, give him this and tell him the occasion that promoted it.”

Integrity Prevails.

An example is my illustration. He could have kept the generous check and put it toward an extra good crop. But, instead, he was honest and tried to return the money and got twice as much. In Psalm one, it mentions the ungodly as a number of things. All point to no integrity. Some warring tribes believed that in battle a warrior inherited the spirit of the one killed. What kind of spirit would the victor inherit? The same principle applies in Christianity. What would you leave behind? Would that person be honest? Would you leave integrity?

The Man Of Integrity

Psalm 1:1 is about what the man of integrity doesn’t do, who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly. Who does not stand in the path of sinners. Psalm 1:2 states what the man of integrity does do. His delight is in the law of the Lord. In His law he meditates day and night.

The Ungodly Have No Integrity

“The ungodly are not so, but are like the chaff which the wind drives away.” We have seen in the first three verses about the godly man and his reward. In verse four and five, we see the ungodly and their punishment.

The Rewards Of Integrity

Proverbs 20:7 says, “The righteous who walks in his integrity—blessed are his children after him!” You could be tested for anything in life. In Vacation Bible School, Dean Murphy was talking about how Satan tempts you by what you want most, but might not be good or you might not need. Another good tool for fighting temptation would be integrity.

The story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife is a good example of integrity. He was put to the test (Gen. 39:7-12). He could have given in any time she asked. He used integrity and was able to withstand the temptation to commit sin. If Joseph had given in to this temptation, he would have been condemned.

Even as Christians, we can have a lack of integrity. Say you go to Walmart and you get a bag of Almond Joy Minis. It happens to fall to the very bottom of your cart. After you get to your car, you look at your receipt. They didn’t ring up the Almond Joy. You have two choices. You can go back and pay for it or you can take it home. If you take it home, the devil has won and your integrity has suffered. If you go back and pay for it, the devil has lost. Your integrity remains intact. In many cases, it will be much harder to have integrity.

We are all going to have our integrity tested. Some tips to strengthen your integrity include reading your Bible, praying often, and being honest. Let us be people of integrity.

The Seven “I AM” Declarations: Jesus Reveals Himself (Part 2 of 2)

Brent Pollard

In Part 1, we examined the first four “I AM” declarations: Jesus as the Bread of Life who satisfies our deepest hunger, the Light of the World who dispels our darkness, the Door through whom we enter salvation, and the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep. Now we turn to the final three declarations, where Jesus addresses our mortality, our confusion about reaching God, and our need for spiritual vitality.

The Resurrection and the Life (John 11.25)

“I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies.”

Standing before Lazarus’s tomb, Jesus did not say, “I will give you resurrection” or “I believe in resurrection.” He said, “I AM the resurrection and the life.” He is not merely its provider, but its embodiment.

Death seems so final. It is the great enemy that takes everyone we love and awaits us all. But Jesus declares that death has met its match. For those who believe in Him, physical death becomes a doorway, not a dead end. The body may sleep, but the person lives. One day, even the body will be raised.

This is not wishful thinking. John saw Lazarus leave the tomb. The early church witnessed Jesus’ rise. This hope transforms how we face mortality. Death is real, but Christ is ultimate.

The Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14.6)

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through Me.”

In an age of religious pluralism and moral relativism, this verse stands as either supreme arrogance or saving truth. There is no middle ground. Jesus does not claim to show us a way—He claims to be the way. He does not point us toward truth—He is truth incarnate. He does not offer us a program for better living—He is life itself.

The claim is total. He is the Way to God. He is the Truth—God’s final revelation. He is the Life—now and always. Not one of many. Not one voice among teachers. Jesus is the only bridge to God.

This exclusivity may offend modern sensibilities, but it should thrill our seeking souls. For it means salvation is not a maze of a thousand dead ends. It is a straight path. It is Jesus Christ.

The True Vine (John 15.1, 5)

“I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.”

Throughout the Old Testament, Israel was depicted as God’s vine—a recurring metaphor found in passages such as Isaiah 5.1-7 and Psalm 80.8-16, where the nation is described as a vineyard planted and tended by God, intended to produce righteousness and justice as its fruit. However, the prophets repeatedly lamented that Israel failed in this calling, becoming like a wild or unproductive vine and thus disappointing its divine caretaker. Against this rich literary and historical background, Jesus now declares Himself to be the true Vine in John 15; He positions Himself as the faithful and fruitful source of spiritual life that Israel, despite its privileged status, could never fully realize. The “Vine” metaphor here thus carries deeper theological significance: Jesus alone enables true spiritual growth and fruitfulness, succeeding where Israel, as God’s original vine, fell short.

This image teaches us a vital truth: Christianity is an organic connection to Jesus Himself, not simply a matter of performing religious works. The branch does not strain and sweat to produce grapes; it simply remains attached to the vine, which supplies everything needed. Our job is not to manufacture spiritual fruit through sheer willpower, but to abide—to stay connected, remain in fellowship, and continually draw life from Him. The “branch and vine” metaphor shows our dependence on Christ for spiritual growth.

Apart from Him, we can do nothing of eternal value. Connected to Him, we become channels of His life and love to the world around us. This is the secret of the Christian life: not self-improvement, but abiding in Christ.

The Pattern of Grace

Do you see the pattern woven through these seven declarations? Jesus meets us at every point of our deepest need.

We hunger—He is the Bread of Life.

We stumble in darkness—He is the Light of the World.

We need safety—He is the Door.

We are lost and scattered—He is the Good Shepherd.

We face death—He is the Resurrection and the Life.

We are confused about the path to God—He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

We are weak and fruitless—He is the Vine from whom all fruit flows.

But notice something more profound: In every statement, Jesus does not merely give something—He is something. He does not distribute bread; He is Bread. He does not shine a light; He is Light. He does not offer life; He is Life.

This is the great truth that transforms everything: The Christian faith is not primarily about principles to follow or rules to keep. It is about a Person to know. That Person is Christ Himself, offered freely to all who will come, believe, and receive.

The great “I AM” who spoke from the burning bush has spoken again—this time from Galilee, from Golgotha, and from the empty tomb. And He still speaks today to every soul who will listen:

“Come to Me. Follow Me. Enter through Me. Trust Me. Believe in Me. Abide in Me. For I AM.”

The Seven “I AM” Declarations: Jesus Reveals Himself (Part 1 of 2)

Brent Pollard

When Jesus said “I AM,” He opened a door into divinity. God had told Moses His name: “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3.14). That name—stark, eternal—declared self-existence and sovereign being. Centuries later, a carpenter from Nazareth used the same formula seven times in John’s Gospel.

John recorded these statements with a clear and deliberate purpose: to demonstrate that each “I AM” declaration is a signpost affirming both the divine identity and mission of Christ. Rather than serving as random metaphors, these statements specifically articulate how Jesus meets fundamental human needs and discloses what He offers to believers. Together, they form the thesis of John’s Gospel by answering the central question about Jesus’ true identity.

Let us walk through these seven declarations, not as scholars cataloguing data but as souls hungry for the Bread of Life, stumbling in darkness and desperate for Light.

The Bread of Life (John 6.35, 48, 51)

“I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.”

The multitudes had just eaten their fill of fish and barley loaves. They wanted Jesus as a permanent meal ticket, another Moses who would give daily manna. But Jesus refused to be seen as a mere provider of bread that perishes. He called Himself the true bread from heaven—the source that fills not the stomach but the soul, meeting our deepest need.

We are born hungry for purpose, acceptance, and to fill a God-shaped void. We try to satisfy this hunger with achievements and pleasures. Yet earthly bread leaves us hungry again. Christ alone satisfies because He is life. To come to Him ends our soul’s restlessness.

The Light of the World (John 8.12; 9.5)

“I am the light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life.”

Picture Jerusalem during the Feast of Tabernacles, its massive golden lamps blazing in the temple courts, commemorating the pillar of fire that led Israel through the wilderness. Against that backdrop, Jesus makes His audacious claim: I am the true Light.

Darkness in Scripture is never neutral. It represents sin’s blindness, ignorance’s confusion, and the deep despair that comes from separation from God. To walk in darkness means to lack moral direction, to be unable to see or know God, and to experience the guilt and shame that result from this separation.

But Jesus does not merely illuminate the path—He is the path. He does not simply reveal truth—He is truth embodied. When we follow Him, we step out of the shadow of death into the light of life. We see clearly, perhaps for the first time, who God is, who we are, and what life is meant to be.

The Door (John 10.7, 9)

“I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.”

In the ancient world, a shepherd led his flock into a walled enclosure each night. There was a single opening—no gate, just an entrance. The shepherd would lie across it, making his body the door, a living barrier. No wolf could enter without facing him, and no sheep could slip out unseen. The shepherd as “door” meant protection and the only path to safety.

Jesus claims to be the only true entrance into God’s safety. No one climbs over by achievement. No one sneaks in with rituals. There is no other entrance called “good intentions” or “sincere beliefs.”

The exclusivity of the Door troubles our pluralistic age, but it ought to comfort our souls. For if Jesus is the Door, we know exactly where to enter. We are not left to guess which of a thousand paths might lead to God. We need not wonder whether our efforts are enough. The Door stands open. The Shepherd calls. When we enter through Him, we are saved.

The Good Shepherd (John 10.11, 14)

“I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep.”

Israel had sung of the Lord as their Shepherd in Psalm 23. The prophets had condemned Israel’s leaders as faithless shepherds who scattered the flock. Now Jesus claims the title for Himself—and defines it by the cross.

A hired hand flees danger. A false shepherd uses sheep. The Good Shepherd knows His sheep, calls them by name, and lays down His life. The cross was not a tragedy; it was the Shepherd’s choice for His flock.

This is love without parallel. This is commitment beyond measure. And this is why we can trust Him even as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Our Shepherd has already been there—and He has conquered it.

In our next article, we will explore the final three “I AM” declarations, where Jesus reveals Himself as the answer to our deepest fears, our greatest confusion, and our spiritual fruitlessness.

ONE GOSPEL, MANY RESPONSES

Neal Pollard

The killing of Stephen was the grim harbinger of a new era for the early church, spawned by the actions of the young man introduced to us in Act 7:58. Saul inadvertently helped the church to further its move to do as Jesus foretold, going from Jerusalem to Judea and Samaria (Acts 1:8). Ironically, it would be this man Saul who would help Christianity and the Lord’s church go to “the remotest part of the earth” (Acts 1:8; 13:1ff; Rom. 10:18; Col. 1:23). For now, Saul stands opposed to Christ and His people.

Acts 8 gives us the specifics. He “was in hearty agreement with putting [Stephen] to death” (1). That very day a “great persecution began against the church in Jerusalem” (1), scattering it. While they took time to bury Stephen, Saul “began ravaging the church” (3). This was invasive, violent, and life-altering for Christians, but they responded by “preaching the word” (4).

One of the seven men selected to help the church feed the Grecian widows in Acts 6, Philip, “went down to the city of Samaria and began proclaiming Christ to them” (5). They paid attention to what he said as they saw the signs he performed (6). His deeds were so remarkable that it brought great joy to the city (8), even a renowned magician, Simon, was among the many believers who believed Philip’s preaching and submitted to baptism (9-13). With so many new disciples in the city, word reached the apostles who sent Peter and John to Samaria to lay hands on them so that they would receive the Holy Spirit (14-17). This caught Simon’s eye, as one widely proclaimed in the city as “the Great Power of God” (10), and he sought to buy this gift (18-19). Peter rebukes Simon, urging him to repent of such wickedness so that he might be forgiven (22). Simon was poisoned and enslaved by his unrighteous desire to have the gift possessed by the apostles to cause faith in the gospel (23-24). 

There is only one message being shared by Philip and the other Christians. It is called “the word” (4), “proclaiming Christ” (5), and “preaching the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ” (12). Yet, there are three distinct responses to that singular gospel. Saul represents one response–hatred, opposition, and violence. Simon represents another–an opportunity to enrich and exalt self. The Samaritans represent yet another–faith, obedience, and rejoicing. It is incredible that this one message could elicit such diverse reactions from different people, but it still happens that way today.

Some are totally turned off by the message, others want to use it for personal means, and still others are deeply convicted by its truth and desire to follow it. Our job is not to judge who is or isn’t worthy recipients; instead, as they did in Acts 8, we are to spread it. It is still God’s power to save believers (Rom. 1:16). We leave that part to Him. Our part is to preach and proclaim it. 

Romans 13: Respect Caesar, Surrender to Christ

Brent Pollard

Christians often experience an inner tension when considering their relationship with civil government. We belong to a heavenly kingdom whose values frequently stand in sharp contrast to the world around us, yet we remain citizens of earthly nations—subject to laws, rulers, and civic obligations that demand our attention and participation. Scripture does not ignore this tension. Instead, God’s Word provides principles that help believers navigate their dual citizenship with clarity, humility, and unwavering faith.

The apostle Paul reminds us that entering the brotherhood of Christ does not sever our connection to the broader human community. While the church thrives on humility and sacrificial love, the civil sphere requires submission to authority and the pursuit of justice toward our fellow citizens. Far from being contradictory, these obligations are complementary expressions of Christian discipleship lived out in the real world.

Why Christians Should Submit to Government: The Practical Case (Romans 13.1-4)

Paul opens his instruction with a command that echoes through the centuries: “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities” (Romans 13.1). This is not blind compliance but thoughtful, conscientious obedience rooted in practical wisdom.

At the most basic level, civil government exists to accomplish specific purposes: promoting order, restraining wrongdoing, and encouraging what is beneficial to society. “For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad,” Paul writes. “Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval” (Romans 13.3). Laws—when rightly administered—serve the common good, providing the stability and protection necessary for human flourishing.

Think of it this way: A ship requires a captain, a household requires order, and a society requires governance. Without structure, chaos reigns. Roads crumble, courts fail, emergency services disappear, and defense collapses. These necessities do not materialize from thin air—they require resources, planning, and the coordinated effort that only organized government can provide.

It is reasonable, then, for Christians to obey the law in their general conduct. Lawful behavior benefits both the individual and the community. Similarly, paying taxes and other civic dues is not merely a burden imposed by the state but a contribution toward maintaining public order and security (Romans 13.6-7).

Yet Scripture presses us beyond mere outward compliance. Paul speaks of rendering “to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed, respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed” (Romans 13.7). Even in civil matters, the heart must be engaged. Respect for authority is not simply about avoiding penalties; it reflects an inner disposition shaped by reverence and integrity. Mechanical obedience—though better than rebellion—falls short of what God expects from His children.

The Higher Foundation: God’s Sovereignty Over All Authority (Romans 13.1-2)

While practical reasoning can justify civic obedience—the desire to avoid fines and penalties—the Christian’s motivation runs far deeper. Submitting to governing authorities is not just sensible; it is divinely commanded. Paul declares the foundation plainly: “For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment” (Romans 13.1-2).

This is the bedrock truth that transforms civic duty from pragmatic necessity into spiritual worship: God Himself stands behind human authority. The Old Testament confirms this reality throughout its pages. Job declares that God “makes nations great, and destroys them; He enlarges nations, and leads them away” (Job 12.23). Daniel proclaims that “the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will” (Daniel 4.25; see also Daniel 2:21). Even pagan rulers exercise power only because God, in His inscrutable wisdom, has permitted it.

Nebuchadnezzar learned this lesson the hard way. This mighty king was humbled—literally driven to eat grass like an animal—until he acknowledged that “the Most High rules in the kingdom of men and gives it to whom He will” (Daniel 4.32). Jesus Himself reminded Pontius Pilate, “You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above” (John 19.11).

These passages confront us with a stunning reality: No government rises or falls apart from God’s providence. Authority is not a purely human invention or the result of social contracts alone. It exists because God, in His sovereign wisdom, has ordained the structures necessary to maintain order in a fallen world. To resist lawful authority without biblical cause, therefore, is not merely to defy human institutions but to rebel against the divine order God has established.

This does not mean that every action of every ruler is morally right or that Christians owe absolute obedience to human commands. Scripture itself records moments when obedience to God required civil disobedience—when Peter declared, “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5.29), or when Hebrew midwives defied Pharaoh’s infanticide (Exodus 1.17). But these are exceptions that prove the rule. The default posture of the believer is submission, not suspicion; respect, not rebellion; honor, not contempt.

How to Honor Imperfect Rulers: Seeing God’s Hand in Human Government (Romans 13.4)

Perhaps the most challenging aspect of Paul’s teaching is learning to see God’s hand at work in imperfect—even deeply flawed—human institutions. This requires spiritual vision that penetrates beyond the visible to the invisible.

Rulers are fallible. Governments make unjust decisions. Leaders disappoint us. Yet Paul wrote these very words to Christians living under Nero, one of history’s most despicable tyrants, a man who would soon ignite the first great persecution of the church. Still, Paul calls him “God’s servant for your good” and “the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer” (Romans 13.4).

How can this be? Because God’s purposes transcend human wickedness. He uses even unjust rulers to accomplish His sovereign will—sometimes through their good actions, sometimes despite their evil ones. Joseph understood this when he told his brothers, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50.20). God’s ability to work all things together for His glory does not excuse human sin, but it does mean that no human ruler operates outside the boundaries of divine providence.

This perspective transforms how we engage with civil authority. When Christians obey the law, pay their taxes, and show honor to those in positions of leadership, they do so not merely for pragmatic reasons or from servile fear, but as an act of reasonable service. Paul emphasizes this: “Therefore one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God’s wrath but also for the sake of conscience” (Romans 13.5). Civic responsibility becomes a spiritual discipline. The ordinary duties of citizenship are transformed into opportunities to glorify God.

This biblical vision guards us against two opposite errors. On one side, we avoid the idolatry of placing ultimate hope in governments, political parties, or charismatic leaders. On the other side, we reject the cynicism that treats all authority with contempt and every civic obligation with resentment. Instead, we acknowledge government’s limited but real role under God’s greater rule, participating faithfully while keeping our ultimate citizenship in heaven (Philippians 3.20).

Living as Citizens of Two Kingdoms: Practical Steps for Today

The Christian life does not retreat from the public square—it redeems it. Just as Paul instructs us to do everything “to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10.31), our civic engagement is part of our Christian walk. Here are practical ways to live out Romans 13 in our daily lives:

First, cultivate a posture of respect. Even when you disagree with policies or disapprove of leaders, maintain respectful speech and behavior. Remember that God has placed them in authority, however temporarily (1 Timothy 2.1-2).

Second, fulfill your civic duties faithfully. Pay your taxes honestly and completely. Obey traffic laws. Serve on juries when called. Vote thoughtfully and prayerfully. These mundane acts become sacred when done “as to the Lord” (Colossians 3.23).

Third, pray consistently for those in authority. Paul commands us to pray “for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Timothy 2.2). Prayer acknowledges God’s sovereignty while interceding for His purposes in government.

Fourth, know when to say no. While submission is the rule, obedience to God takes precedence when human laws directly contradict divine commands. But let this be a last resort, exercised with wisdom, humility, and willingness to accept the consequences (Acts 5.29; Daniel 3.16-18).

Finally, maintain your eternal perspective. Governments will rise and fall. Political parties will gain and lose power. Leaders will come and go. But the throne of heaven remains unshaken. Our hope rests not in Washington, London, or any earthly capital, but in the New Jerusalem where Christ reigns eternally.

The Christian Difference in a Polarized Age

In an era of bitter political polarization, pervasive mistrust of institutions, and constant outrage, Christians have a unique opportunity to model a radically different spirit—one marked by humility, respect, and unshakable confidence in God’s sovereignty.

We can disagree without demonizing. We can advocate without idolizing. We can submit without compromising our ultimate allegiance to Christ. This is not weakness but strength—the strength that comes from knowing that “the king’s heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD; he turns it wherever he will” (Proverbs 21.1).

Paul’s words in Romans 13 invite us into this paradox: We submit to earthly authority precisely because we belong to a heavenly kingdom. We honor human rulers precisely because we worship the King of Kings. We engage politically precisely because our citizenship is ultimately elsewhere.

And because God reigns—truly reigns, not as a distant concept but as the living Lord who governs nations and guides history—His people can submit without fear, obey without resentment, and honor without compromise, trusting that the Most High still rules in the kingdom of men.

This is how Christians navigate the tension between heaven and earth: not by escaping the world, but by bringing the kingdom’s values into it; not by grasping for power, but by wielding influence through faithful presence; not by placing ultimate hope in any government, but by honoring all governments under the Government of God Himself.

In this way, even our relationship with earthly authorities becomes a testimony to the reign of our heavenly King.

Be Reconciled

Carl Pollard

Some things are hard to put back together once they’re broken. A cracked phone screen never feels the same. A bent fishing hook won’t hold like it once did. And a fractured relationship, especially one hurt by betrayal or deep pain, can feel impossible to restore. We live in a world where “cutting people off” is often celebrated as self-care. But Scripture introduces us to a word that runs against our instincts: reconciliation.

Reconciliation is not the same as avoidance, denial, or pretending nothing happened. Biblically, reconciliation is the restoration of what was broken. And like many things in life, reconciliation only works when the right elements are brought together. Mix pride with reconciliation, and it fails. Mix bitterness with reconciliation, and it becomes poisonous. But when reconciliation is mixed with humility, repentance, and grace, something powerful happens.

Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:18–19 that “all things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ.” Notice the direction. We did not reconcile ourselves to God; God took the initiative. While we were still sinners (Romans 5:10), Christ died for us. That truth sets the standard for how reconciliation works among people. It always begins with grace, not merit.

In the first century, reconciliation was not theoretical for Christians, it was costly. Jews and Gentiles, divided by centuries of hostility, were now being called “one body” in Christ (Ephesians 2:14–16). Paul says that Christ “destroyed the barrier” and made peace through the cross. The cross didn’t ignore sin; it dealt with it fully. True reconciliation never minimizes wrong, it addresses it through truth and sacrifice. 

This is where we often struggle. We want peace without repentance, unity without humility, and forgiveness without discomfort. But biblical reconciliation requires a change of heart. Jesus teaches that if your brother sins, there must be confrontation (Matthew 18:15). Reconciliation doesn’t mean enabling sin; it means pursuing restoration God’s way.

As Christians, we are not only reconciled people, we are entrusted with the “ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18). That means our words, attitudes, and actions should reflect the God who restored us. Harboring resentment while claiming fellowship with God is a contradiction (1 John 4:20).

Reconciliation is not easy. It costs pride. It demands forgiveness. Sometimes it requires patience and boundaries. But it is always worth it, because it mirrors the gospel itself. Let us be careful to practice reconciliation the way God designed it, rooted in truth, powered by grace, and aimed at restoration.

Origen’s “On First Principles” (Book II, Ch. 5.2)

Gary Pollard

[This is a continuing translation of Origen’s systematic theology in modern language]

First of all, they should be required—by their own definitions—to show, if they can, that the Creator is just in punishing people strictly according to what they deserve: those who perished in the flood, the inhabitants of Sodom, or those who left Egypt. We often see crimes committed today that are more wicked and horrible than those attributed to these earlier people, but we don’t see every sinner immediately punished. 

Will they say, then, that the Creator, who was once just, later became good? Or will they claim instead that he’s still justice-oriented now, but is patient with human sinfulness. At that earlier time, though, was he was not even justice-oriented, since he killed innocent infants along with the violent and ungodly adults? Such conclusions arise because they do not know how to understand scripture beyond the literal level. Otherwise they would be able to explain how it is literally morally right for punishments to be “inflicted on your children to the third and fourth generation.” We do not understand such statements in a crude, literal way. Following the example of Ezekiel and his parables, we seek the deeper meaning contained within them.

They must also explain how God can be justice-oriented (rewarding each according to what they deserve) if he punishes earthly-minded people or even the devil himself, when (according to their theory) these beings weren’t capable of any action other than evil. For if they were created with a corrupt and ruined nature, as they claim, then they were incapable of doing good. In that case, God would appear to judge natures, not actions. But if a bad nature cannot do good, and a good nature cannot do evil, then reward and punishment become meaningless.

Next, if the God whom they call good is truly good to everyone, then he must also be good to those who are said to perish. Why, then, does he not save them? If he has no desire to save them, he is no longer good. If he wants to save them but cannot, then he’s not all-powerful. Why don’t they listen instead to the Father of our master Jesus Christ in the Gospels, who prepares fire for the devil and his angels? How, according to their view, can such a severe and sorrowful judgment be attributed to the good God?

Even the savior Himself—the Son of this so-called good God—declares that if miracles had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. But when he comes near their territory, he deliberately does not enter those cities or perform those signs for them. Why not, if it were certain that they would repent? By refraining from doing so, he leaves them to destruction—even though the Gospel itself testifies that they were capable of repentance, and therefore not irredeemably corrupt by nature. Consider also the parable in which the king enters to inspect the guests at the wedding feast and finds one man without proper wedding garments. He says to him, “Friend, how did you come in here without a wedding garment?” and then orders his servants, “Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into outer darkness; there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Let them tell us: who is this king? Is he the same God whom they call just? If so, why did he first command that both good and bad alike be invited, without having the servants examine their worthiness? Such behavior reflects not a God who judges strictly according to deserts, but one who extends generosity indiscriminately. If this parable must be understood as referring to the good God—whether Christ himself or the Father of Christ—what further objection can they raise against divine justice? Indeed, what judgment do they accuse the God of the law of rendering that is more severe than ordering a man—invited freely along with others—to be bound hand and foot and cast into outer darkness because he was found unprepared?

IRONY IN JOB

Dale Pollard

In Job you find all kinds of interesting things like references to the earth’s rotation (Job 38.14), ocean floor vents (38.16), and even the movement of star clusters like the Pleiades (38.31).

But, there are a couple of powerful verses that also include a heavy dose of irony.

“Oh, that my words were recorded, that they were written on a scroll, that they were inscribed with an iron tool on lead, or engraved in rock forever!”

Job 19.23-24

A moment in the middle of Job’s pain and agony he seems to cry out those words, but they’re buried under many other laments and arguments concerning his terrible situation. The reader, though, already knows all of this because later in life Job wrote down his pain, questions, and his defense– on a scroll and engraved them forever. Just like he wanted!

Well, he desired to be remembered accurately. Job isn’t just venting. He wants future readers to know that his suffering was real and that his struggle with God came from a good place of honesty, not rebellion. An eternal scroll was proof that his story mattered to God, but also a reminder that God could in fact hear every word at a time when he felt like God couldn’t.

At the same time, this moment shows Job’s faith wrestling out in the open for all of us to benefit from. He believed that truth ultimately matters, even if it is not recognized right away. Ironically, Job’s wish is fulfilled. His words are preserved and read thousands of years later. What felt like a desperate plea is turned into his story of suffering before God that wasn’t wasted. God hears it all and answers every cry of confusion, and He can turn it into a lasting story of faith.

What Are You Waiting For?

Neal Pollard

Betty Kellenberger of Carson City, Michigan, has become something of an instant celebrity. Google her name and you’ll find endless articles devoted to this remarkable woman’s unprecedented achievement. On September 12, 2025, Betty did what only 1 in 4 people (out of around 3000) do every year. She completed the Appalachian Trail, all 2200 miles of it. She averaged about ten miles per day on the trail. Did I mention she did it alone? And that she’s 80 years old? She became the oldest woman to complete this feat!

The dream to do this was sparked for Betty when she was 14 years old, reading about the trail in her Weekly Reader magazine at school. She always wanted to do it, but never seemed to get around to it. After retiring as a teacher, she began to talk to herself and reason that if she was going to do it she needed to get started. Once she made up her mind, she had to overcome health problems, knee replacement surgery, and Hurricane Helene.

Betty gave some advice for people who may be contemplating some dream or aspiration, but hesitate to try.

  • Start sensibly.
  • Study (learn as much as you can about the goal you want to accomplish).
  • Find a buddy.
  • Stay active and stay involved.

(information and picture via Rachel Nania, AARP.org).

Have you been putting off something you know you should do for Christ? It’s easy to talk ourselves out of things, especially hard things. When challenged, we trot out our excuses–our intellect, our resources, our fears, even our age. Yet, we carry our regrets with us through life knowing we should be aiming higher. The Bible is full of people who dared greatly for God despite their limitations.

  • Moses led an entire nation on a 40 year hike through the wilderness at the age of 80, and that was only one of his limitations (Exodus 4:10).
  • Caleb was 85 when he conquered his mountain in Canaan (Joshua 14:6-14).
  • Ruth was a poor, foreign widow.
  • David was just a youth (1 Samuel 17:33).
  • The woman who gave all she had to live on was a poor widow (Mark 12:41-44).
  • Mephibosheth was handicapped (2 Samuel 9).
  • Paul had a thorn in his flesh (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).
  • Joseph, Jeremiah, and Timothy had much asked of them when they were only youths.
  • Rahab had the stigma of being a prostitute (Joshua 2; Hebrews 11:31).
  • John Mark had abandoned his coworkers (Acts 13).

What good thing for God are you avoiding or procrastinating? Take Betty’s advice. Start sensibly, but get going! Study about it, but then act on it. Find a buddy, and get them to do it with you. Resolve to stay active and involved, and never quit until you cannot go on! You’ll never regret it!

Beyond Doomscrolling: How God Equips Us to Slay Giants

Brent Pollard

The Temptation to Feed on Fear

In this high-stakes election year, with our nation more tribalized than perhaps any time in recent memory, the core issue we face is a widespread habit: “doomscrolling.” This compulsive, endless consumption of negative news and distressing online content feeds anxiety, nurtures fear, and starves the soul of hope. First popularized during the COVID-19 pandemic, doomscrolling amounts to voluntary imprisonment in a cell of manufactured despair. To resist fear and reclaim perspective, we must rely on faith, deliberate thought, and God’s Word—tools that equip us for the challenges and Goliaths of our time.

The Christian response to such darkness must be light. We must make Philippians 4.6-8 not merely familiar, but our constant companion. Through prayer, we banish anxiety; through deliberate focus on what is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and excellent, we reclaim our thoughts from the enemy’s propaganda machine. Where the world offers an endless stream of catastrophe, God offers peace that surpasses understanding (Philippians 4.7).

Light-Scrolling and Ancient Warfare

It was through such positive scrolling—what we might call “light-scrolling”—that I encountered a video by someone calling himself “The Nerdy Christian.” His observation about David and Goliath arrested my attention and challenged assumptions I had carried for years. Like many, I had viewed this famous contest as ending in David’s victory solely through God’s direct intervention. Yet history reveals a more nuanced truth, making the story even richer.

The sling was no child’s toy. It was among the most fearsome weapons of the ancient world—a fact the Romans learned to their horror. When Hannibal crossed the Alps with his war elephants and stood at Rome’s gates, he brought 2,000 slingers whose skill was legendary. At the Battle of Cannae, one of Rome’s most devastating defeats, a slinger’s stone struck the consul Lucius Aemilius Paullus, inflicting wounds that led to his death. The mighty Republic that would eventually rule the Mediterranean nearly fell before the whirring death delivered by stones and leather straps.

The Insult Was Not in the Weapon

When Goliath taunted David, his words dripped with contempt—but not contempt for the sling itself. “Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?” (1 Samuel 17.43 NASB). The sting lay not in dismissing the weapon, but in the absurdity of a shepherd boy, dressed in farm clothes and carrying pastoral tools, presuming to face a champion warrior. A proper opponent would bear the armor and weapons Saul had attempted to strap onto David’s young frame (1 Samuel 17.38-39). To Goliath, it was as if someone had sent a farmhand with a crook to chase off a trained predator.

But what the giant in his arrogance failed to perceive, David understood with crystalline clarity: God had been preparing him for this moment through every ordinary day he had spent in the fields.

The Physics of Faith

Slingers were crucial to the armies of the ancient Near East, Greece, and Rome. Their effectiveness was rooted in simple physics—the high kinetic energy produced by rotational motion and release velocity. When 1 Samuel 17.49 describes the stone sinking into Goliath’s forehead, it aligns perfectly with natural laws. The stone would have fractured the giant’s skull, perhaps punching clear through to lodge itself in the wound. This created the impression of “sinking” into the flesh.

What the armored Goliath seems to have overlooked was the relative thinness of skin and bone protecting the brain. The practiced David, who had spent years perfecting his aim against predators, knew precisely where to deliver the lethal blow. He didn’t need God to bend the laws of nature. God had already woven into creation the very physics that would bring down the blasphemer.

Does this rob the story of its wonder? Far from it. This understanding actually deepens our appreciation for how God works.

Providence in the Pasture

Though God did not need to perform a supernatural miracle at the moment of combat, His providence had followed David throughout his youth like a shepherd follows his flock. That providence established a pattern, a precedent upon which faith could firmly stand. As David himself declared before the king, God had given him strength to defeat lions and bears that threatened his sheep (1 Samuel 17.34-37). The same covenant-keeping God who delivered him from those fierce beasts would deliver him from this uncircumcised Philistine who dared mock the living God and His people.

Here we glimpse a profound truth about divine preparation: God uses the mundane to equip us for the momentous. David’s years in obscurity, mastering a weapon most would consider beneath a warrior’s dignity, became the very foundation for his greatest victory. His faithfulness in small things—protecting defenseless sheep from predators—prepared him for great things. He protected defenseless Israel from the champion of Gath.

More Than the Mundane

The Nerdy Christian rightly observed that God will use the ordinary experiences of our lives to equip us for extraordinary callings. Yet we must not stop there. Otherwise, we truncate the full counsel of Scripture. God has not limited Himself to using only the mundane to prepare His people for battle.

Consider Paul’s instruction to Timothy: “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3.16-17 NASB). God has given us His very words—not merely as historical record or moral guideline, but as comprehensive equipment for “every good work.” Peter echoes this truth when he reminds us that God’s divine power “has granted to us everything pertaining to life and godliness, through the true knowledge of Him” (2 Peter 1.3 NASB). The context reveals that this knowledge comes through the Gospel itself.

And what is this Gospel? Paul declares it to be “the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes” (Romans 1.16 NASB). The Greek word translated “power” isdunamis (δύναμις)—the very word from which Alfred Nobel derived the name for his explosive invention: dynamite.

Yes, the Gospel is God’s dynamite.

Weapons Divinely Powerful

Listen to how Paul describes this explosive power that God places in our hands: “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. We are destroying speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and we are taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ” (2 Corinthians 10.3-5 NASB).

Scripture itself is the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6.17), sharper than any two-edged blade. It pierces to the division of soul and spirit, discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Hebrews 4.12). Where David carried five smooth stones from the brook, we carry the eternal Word that spoke worlds into existence. Where David’s sling could fell one giant, God’s Word can topple every fortress of falsehood that exalts itself against truth.

Equipped for Every Giant

The giants we face today seldom wear bronze armor or carry spears like weaver’s beams. They come disguised as anxiety scrolling through our feeds. They come in the form of speculations that undermine faith, as lofty arguments against the knowledge of God. They appear in the culture’s contempt for biblical truth, in our own wavering doubts, in the thousand small compromises that would diminish our devotion.

But God has equipped us to face them all. Through the mundane experiences of life, He builds practical skills in us. He builds tested faith. Through the profound truth of His Word, He arms us with weapons divinely powerful. Through the Gospel’s explosive force, He gives us everything pertaining to life and godliness.

The question is never whether God has equipped us. The question is whether we will, like David, step forward in faith with the tools He has provided. Refuse the ill-fitting armor of human wisdom. Trust instead in the name of the Lord of hosts whom we serve (1 Samuel 17.45).

The Witness of Preparation

When we immerse ourselves in Scripture daily, its truth shapes our thoughts and guides our steps. Something remarkable happens. We discover we can indeed slay every evil giant we face. As we grow deeper in a relationship with our Savior, others will take note—just as the religious leaders noticed about the apostles—that we have been with Jesus (Acts 4.13).

This is God’s way: to prepare us through providence, equip us through His Word, and empower us through His Spirit. He takes shepherd boys and makes them giant-slayers. He takes fishermen and makes them fishers of men. He takes ordinary believers and uses them to turn the world upside down (Acts 17.6).

The giants still taunt. The enemy still rages. But we need not doomscroll through catalogs of catastrophe, rehearsing reasons for despair. Instead, let us take up the weapons God has forged for us—both the practical skills refined through faithful living and the spiritual sword that is His eternal Word. Let us step forward, not in our own strength, but in the name of the God who has covenanted with His people. And let us remember: the battle belongs to the Lord (1 Samuel 17.47). He uses the weak things of this world to shame the strong, that no flesh should glory in His presence (1 Corinthians 1.27-29).

In Christ, we are more than conquerors (Romans 8.37). Every giant will fall. When we resist the culture of fear and trust in the practical skills God builds in us and the explosive power of His Word, we are equipped for every challenge. In this way, the world will know that there is a God in spiritual Israel (1 Samuel 17.46; Romans 9.6-8).

Origen’s “On First Principles” (Book II, Ch. 5.1)

Gary Pollard

Since some people give weight to the claim made by the leaders of the heresy we are discussing (i.e. they established a division between justice and goodness, and have even applied this division to divine things) we have to respond to them as briefly as possible.

They argue that the Father of our master Jesus Christ is a good God but not a just one, while the God of the law and the prophets is just but not good. According to them, goodness consists in granting benefits to everyone indiscriminately, even those who are unworthy and undeserving of kindness. But in my judgment, they misapply this definition because they assume that suffering and hardship aren’t beneficial at all. 

Justice, on the other hand, they define as the quality that assigns to each person what he deserves. Yet here too they misunderstand their own definition. They assume that justice means sending evils upon the wicked and benefits upon the righteous. The just God appears to not care about the good of the wicked at all, but to act toward them with something like hostility.

To support this view they collect examples from the Old Testament where divine judgment is described: the punishment of the flood and the destruction of those who perished in it; the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah by fire and brimstone; and the deaths of the people in the wilderness because of their sins, so that none who came out of Egypt entered the promised land except Joshua and Caleb. By contrast, from the New Testament they assemble sayings marked by mercy and compassion, which Jesus used to train his disciples. They appeal especially to the statement that “no one is good except God alone,” and on this basis they dare to call the Father of Jesus Christ the good God, while asserting that the God who made the world is another deity altogether—whom they describe as just, but not good.