Doulos Theo

I remember a story Paul Harvey told on one of his radio broadcasts. It’s a tale that never grows old.

“One raw winter night, a man heard an irregular thumping sound against the kitchen storm door. He went to a window and watched as tiny, shivering sparrows, attracted to the evident warmth inside, beat in vain against the glass.

Touched, the farmer bundled up and trudged through fresh snow to open the barn door for the struggling birds. He turned on the lights, tossed some hay in a corner, and sprinkled a trail of saltine crackers to direct them to the barn. But the sparrows, which had scattered in all directions when he emerged from the house, still hid in the darkness, afraid of him.

He tried various tactics: circling behind the birds to drive them toward the barn, tossing crumbs in the air toward them, retreating to his house to see if they would flutter into the barn on their own. Nothing worked. He, a huge, alien creature, had terrified them; the birds could not understand that he actually desired to help.

He withdrew to his house and watched the doomed sparrows through a window. As he stared, a thought hit him like lightning from a clear blue sky: if only I could become a bird—one of them—just for a moment. Then I wouldn’t frighten them so. I could show them the way to warmth and safety.

At the same moment, another thought dawned on him. He had grasped the whole principle of the incarnation. A man becoming a bird is nothing compared to God becoming a man.”

Humanity is like those sparrows—shivering in the cold, lost, and struggling to find warmth and safety. God, like the farmer, knows our desperate need. He loves us and longs to bring us into His “barn” of safety and eternal life, wants us to know the way. But in our brokenness, and fallen state we don’t understand Him. We are afraid, and sometimes angry and turn away.

God did the unthinkable. He became one of us. He stepped down from the glory of heaven and became a man—Jesus Christ. He lived among us, not as a distant, incomprehendable and terrifying presence, but as someone we could see, hear, and understand. Through His life, He showed us the way to warmth and safety—love and eternal life with God.

But the story doesn’t stop there, and if we push the analogy further…Just as the sparrows resisted the farmer, many would resist the man who becomes a bird, and so also humanity resisted Jesus. Despite His love and perfect life, He was rejected, mocked, and crucified. And yet, this was all part of God’s plan. Jesus didn’t just come to live among us—He came to die for us. On the cross, He took the punishment for our sins, sacrificing Himself so that we might live.

Imagine if, in his love for the sparrows, the farmer had to die to save them. That’s exactly what Jesus did for us. His death opened the door to eternal life, and three days later, He rose from the dead, proving He had defeated sin and death forever.

Now, like the barn door standing open with the light on, the way to eternal life is clear. Jesus invites us to trust Him and follow Him. When we do, we find not just safety, but love, joy, and peace with God forever.

This is the Good News of the Gospel: God became one of us, died for us, and rose again so that we might live forever with Him. Will you trust Him today and step into the warmth of His love?

“Woe to those who decree iniquitous decrees, and the writers who keep writing oppression, to turn aside the needy from justice and to rob the poor of their right…” —Isaiah 10:1-2

Iran is bleeding. Besides the fact that Iranian leadership has been the money and evil behind the misery and death by the useful murders of Hamas and Hezbollah, the people of Iran cry out under the crushing weight of a regime that rules not with justice but with tyranny. Yet amid the darkness of executions, torture, and oppression, a remarkable light is growing. The underground Christian church in Iran is exploding, defying all odds and spreading the hope of the gospel across the nation.

This growth of faith, coupled with the staggering atrocities committed by the regime, reveals the stark contrast between Iran’s oppressive rulers and the resilient spirit of its people. In 2024, Iran executed over 1,000 people—women, ethnic minorities, political prisoners, and even juveniles who had just turned 18. These numbers, horrifying as they are, stand in stark contrast to the United States, where 25 executions were carried out in a population nearly four times larger.

In Iran, there is one execution every four hours. In America, one execution might take place every two weeks. This is not just a difference in scale but in spirit. Where the United States reserves capital punishment for the gravest crimes, Iran wields it as a weapon of terror and control. It uses drug charges as a pretext to silence political dissent, amputates limbs for petty theft, and stages public hangings to instill fear in its people.

Yet, despite this reign of terror, the underground church in Iran is flourishing. According to reports, the number of Christians in Iran is growing faster than in any other country! Ministries like Iran Alive, headquartered in Texas, are playing a vital role in this spiritual awakening. Through satellite television broadcasts, online outreach, and discipleship programs, Iran Alive is reaching millions of Iranians with the gospel of Jesus Christ. These ministries equip new believers, train leaders, and encourage underground house churches, bringing the message of hope to a nation desperate for freedom.

What the regime cannot understand is that no amount of executions, fear, or oppression can stop the kingdom of God. “I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18).

The mullahs’ brutal grip on Iran has created a prison of fear for its citizens. Over half of the 2024 executions were for alleged “drug-related offenses,” often used as a cover for silencing dissidents. Ethnic minorities, such as the Baluchis, are disproportionately targeted, with 119 of them executed last year alone.

But even as the regime tightens its noose, Iranians are finding freedom in Christ. Entire families are coming to faith, forming underground house churches that meet in secret. According to Iran Alive and other ministries, the Christian population in Iran, once estimated at just a few thousand, is now believed to be in the millions! This explosive growth is happening despite the fact that converting from Islam to Christianity is punishable by death.

The underground church has become a beacon of hope, offering a counter-narrative to the lies and cruelty of the regime. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

Iran’s prisons are a reflection of its broken legal system. Overcrowded, filthy, and rife with abuse, they are places where human dignity is stripped away. Torture is routine, and prisoners are often denied medical care, even during outbreaks of disease. Political prisoners are frequently executed on fabricated charges, while others are subjected to barbaric punishments like amputations or floggings.

Yet even in these places of despair, faith flourishes. Saeed Masouri, a political prisoner for 25 years, smuggled out a letter describing the unspeakable suffering inside Iran’s prisons. He wrote of lost cellmates, the psychological torment of awaiting execution, and the constant threat of death. But he also shared hope. His courage echoes the words of the Apostle Paul: “We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair” (2 Corinthians 4:8).

To the people of Iran: You are not forgotten. Your cries rise to the heavens, and God hears them. Your oppressors may seem invincible, but their time is short. “The Lord works righteousness and justice for all who are oppressed” (Psalm 103:6). The underground church, strengthened by ministries like Iran Alive, stands as a testament to the power of faith over fear, and your courage inspires the world.

To the global community: How much longer will you remain silent? Iran almost executes more people in a single week than the United States does in an entire year, and its prisons overflow with innocent victims. Yet the West continues to negotiate and appease, turning a blind eye to the suffering of millions. “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute” (Proverbs 31:8).

The rulers of Iran may execute one person every four hours, but they cannot kill the spirit of a people longing for freedom. They cannot extinguish the light of Christ, which burns even in the darkest corners of the nation. The underground church is proof that hope cannot be crushed, that truth cannot be silenced, and that the gospel will triumph over tyranny. Ministries like Iran Alive amplify this hope, showing that even in the face of unimaginable suffering, God’s kingdom is advancing.

Let us pray for Iran. Let us speak for Iran. Let us act for Iran. For as Jesus said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40). Iran’s people are our brothers and sisters, and their struggle is ours. Let us not rest until the chains of tyranny are broken, and Iran’s people are free to live in justice, peace, and the glorious light of the gospel.

Ctrl+Alt+Human

The AI Renaissance: How I think machines will make us Human Again. By the power of the Messy, Magical Arts and humanities.

As someone working at an art school (and not an artist) within a university, I am surrounded by a vibrant community of artists and educators who are deeply invested in the value of creativity. Yet, there is a palpable concern that the arts are losing their place in society. Funding for arts programs is dwindling, creative careers are increasingly viewed as impractical, and within academic institutions, the arts often struggle to justify their relevance against more “practical” disciplines. However, in an unexpected twist, the rapid rise of artificial intelligence (AI) may be the savior the arts need. While AI is poised to disrupt and devalue many credentialed professions, it simultaneously highlights the irreplaceable value of human creativity, originality, and emotional depth. AI’s rise may mark a turning point, where the qualities inherent in the arts not only regain significance but become the defining measure of human value.

For much of modern history, professional success has been tied to academic credentials. Fields like law, medicine, finance, and academia have depended on years of education and validation from elite institutions to confer status, power, and wealth. Systems of preference, designed to ensure broader access to these opportunities, have prioritized immutable physical characteristics in an attempt to address historical inequities. Yet the rise of AI fundamentally threatens this model by automating many of the tasks once performed exclusively by credentialed professionals.

AI is already reshaping these professions. In law, AI can analyze case law, draft contracts, and predict legal outcomes with greater accuracy than human attorneys. In medicine, diagnostic tools powered by AI outperform even the best-trained doctors in detecting diseases like cancer. Financial advisors are being supplanted by algorithms that assess risk, manage portfolios, and identify market opportunities faster and more reliably than humans. Academic research, once a hallmark of PhD programs, is also being revolutionized. AI systems can analyze vast datasets, synthesize complex ideas, and produce written material in multiple languages at speeds no human can match. Language studies, once critical to mastering global communication and accessing foreign knowledge, are quickly becoming obsolete. With AI translating, interpreting, and analyzing texts across languages instantaneously, the human effort invested in language mastery loses its value in the professional world.

In this context, the traditional credentialing process begins to unravel. If AI can outperform humans in these technical and analytical tasks, the competition to access elite academic institutions, and the systems of preference tied to that competition, lose relevance. The credentials themselves become less meaningful, and the professions they once safeguarded become unrecognizable.

This transformation forces a reevaluation of what society values in human effort. As AI takes over technical expertise, success will no longer be tied to credentials or even access to AI tools. Instead, it will hinge on uniquely human traits—creativity, ethical reasoning, emotional intelligence, and the ability to innovate in ways machines cannot. The arts, which have long been undervalued, are uniquely positioned to thrive in this new paradigm. AI may generate art, compose music, or write stories, but it cannot replicate the originality or emotional resonance that only humans can produce. These qualities will become central to human identity and societal value.

At the same time, this shift presents another challenge: the need for personal ethics. As AI becomes a more powerful tool in human hands, the decisions about how it is used will rest on the moral framework of the individuals wielding it. History has shown that technology is neither inherently good nor bad—it simply amplifies human intentions. Without a strong ethical foundation, AI could just as easily exploit vulnerabilities, and serve harmful ends as it could uplift society.

This calls also for an ethical and moral foundation, which must be grounded in either religion, good philosophy, or both. Religion has long provided a moral compass rooted in principles of compassion, justice, and humility. These principles, when internalized, become the foundation of true wisdom. The Bible, for example, offers numerous insights into the nature of good and evil, urging us to “love thy neighbor as thyself” (Leviticus 19:18) and to seek wisdom above all else (Proverbs 4:7).

Good philosophy, on the other hand, offers a rational framework for evaluating the implications of human actions and technological advancements.  Philosophers like Aristotle emphasized the importance of developing practical wisdom (phronesis), the ability to navigate complex situations with good judgment and moral integrity. This wisdom, cultivated through reflection and experience, allows us to understand and apply ethical principles in a nuanced and meaningful way. Together, these disciplines can guide individuals and societies in using AI responsibly, increasing the human input into ways that its benefits are distributed fairly and its harms are minimized. As the value of credentials diminishes, the importance of character, integrity, and wisdom will grow. Education systems must therefore prioritize not only the cultivation of creativity but also the development of ethical reasoning and moral clarity.

This shift will transform academia. Fields like law, business, and medicine, once the pinnacle of academic achievement, will likely lose their dominance as AI takes over their core functions. Language studies, as mentioned earlier, will no longer hold the same relevance in a world where AI can instantly translate and interpret. Instead, universities will need to focus on fostering the uniquely human skills that AI cannot replicate. Creativity, empathy, critical thinking, and ethical and moral judgment will become the cornerstones of education. Art schools, religious, and humanities departments, long overshadowed by the hard sciences and professional programs, may find themselves at the forefront of this new educational paradigm.

The arts, in particular, stand to benefit enormously. As AI automates the technical and analytical tasks that once defined professional success, society will increasingly turn to the arts for inspiration, meaning, and connection. Creativity, long dismissed as a luxury, will become a necessity in education. Artists, writers, musicians, and performers will be valued not just for their ability to entertain but for their capacity to articulate the human experience in ways that machines cannot. This renaissance of creativity will not only elevate the arts but also redefine the role of humanity in an AI-driven world.

Ultimately, the rise of AI challenges us to reconsider what it means to be human. While it disrupts the credentialed professions and the systems of preference tied to them, it also creates an opportunity to elevate qualities like creativity, originality, and ethical reasoning. The arts, long marginalized in academia and society, may emerge as the guiding light of this new era, demonstrating that the most valuable human contributions cannot be measured in credentials or replicated by machines.

Far from rendering humans obsolete, AI may push us to embrace what actually makes us “human” and truly unique. In doing so, it offers a chance for a cultural and creative renaissance, one where the arts reclaim their rightful place as the ultimate expression of human value and purpose, as in the first renaissance. For those of us working in the arts, what once seemed like a threat may turn out to be our greatest ally—a knight in shining armor, after all.

Let’s imagine for a moment that someone asked you, “Does medicine do more harm than good?” How would you answer? Your immediate response might be to question the premise. After all, “medicine” is not a single, unified entity. There are antibiotics that save lives, and there are harmful substances that poison. The word “medicine” is only meaningful when we define the specifics—what kind of medicine, used by whom, and for what purpose?

This analogy works just as well with other broad terms like “education” or “religion.” These are not monoliths; they are categories filled with diversity, shaped by human hands and minds. So, when people ask, “Does religion cause more harm than good?” they’re often missing the complexity of what they’re truly asking. Just as the question about “medicine” requires us to focus on specifics, so does the question about religion.

Take, for example, Shamsud-Din Jabbar, the New Orleans attacker reportedly “100 percent inspired by ISIS.” News outlets noted that Jabbar was “visited by IS in his dreams” and claimed divine guidance for his violent actions. This event leads many to declare religion harmful, but such a sweeping statement flattens the discussion. What Jabbar embraced wasn’t some abstract concept of “religion,” but a specific, distorted interpretation of Islam.

To condemn all religion for Jabbar’s actions would be akin to dismissing all of medicine because someone misused a drug. The Qur’an, which Jabbar claimed inspired him, contains passages emphasizing peace and justice (Qur’an 5:32). Likewise, the Bible teaches that God is “not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33). When religion becomes a tool for violence, it’s not because religion is inherently violent but because humans twist it to fit their agendas.

History offers examples of religion’s misuse—just as it offers examples of medicine or education gone awry. Consider the Crusades, where Christianity was weaponized for political conquest, or the clerical abuse scandals that have caused immense harm. On the other hand, the same Christian faith that inspired the Crusades also inspired the abolition of slavery, the civil rights movement, and countless acts of compassion. As historian Tom Holland notes, the Christian ideal of valuing individuals above institutions reshaped Western society.

Similarly, education has been used both to liberate and to oppress. Just as colonial powers used schools to erase indigenous cultures, educational reformers like Booker T. Washington and Malala Yousafzai have used learning to empower. Medicine, too, has a mixed record: while penicillin saves lives, unethical medical experiments have caused immense suffering. The problem lies not in the concept but in its application.

The same is true of religion. It is not an abstract force; it is a lot of things, among them it is people, texts, traditions, and interpretations. When asked if “religion” does more harm than good, we must first specify what we mean. Christianity, for instance, has undeniably contributed to human flourishing. The university system, public education, and modern hospitals were all shaped by Christian principles. As John S. Dickerson notes in Jesus Skeptic, the fight for women’s rights, racial reconciliation, and justice in countless arenas was driven by believers.

Jesus taught his followers to love their enemies and pray for their persecutors (Matthew 5:44), a radical ethic of forgiveness and reconciliation. He modeled this on the cross, praying for those who crucified him (Luke 23:34). When Christians live out this calling, the world is transformed. As C.S. Lewis observed, “If you read history, you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next.”

And yet, Christianity, like medicine, can be misapplied. When it is, the fault lies not with the faith itself but with its practitioners. As James 1:27 reminds us, “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.” Anything less than this misses the mark.

Just as medicine has the power to heal or harm depending on how it’s used, so does religion. The star that guided the Magi to Bethlehem (Matthew 2:1–12) reminds us that religion, at its best, points us toward something greater—toward truth, love, and redemption. The question is not whether religion is harmful or beneficial, but whether we are using it to bring light into the world or darkness.

Imagine a world where everyone’s prayers were answered exactly as they asked—just like in the movie Bruce Almighty. You know, the scene where Bruce, suddenly endowed with the power of God, hears the prayers of everyone around him. At first, he thinks he’s doing a good job by granting everyone’s requests, but chaos quickly ensues. People’s selfish prayers, all about their own desires—“I want a million dollars!” “I want a Ferrari!” “I want my ex back!”—create a mess, as everyone gets exactly what they want but at the expense of others. It’s a hilarious and chaotic scenario, but it also highlights a deeper truth: when everyone’s prayer is about me and my needs, it leads to confusion, imbalance, and destruction, not harmony or blessing.

In the same way, when our prayer life is centered solely on our individual desires, it can quickly become spiritually messy. This brings us to an important point in Jesus’ teaching: prayer was never meant to be selfish. While we might laugh at the absurdity of a world where everyone’s individual, self-centered prayers were answered, we need to reflect on how often we, too, fall into the trap of focusing only on our needs, without considering the larger picture of God’s kingdom and the community of believers.

This brings us to the difference between the “Selfish Cliff Version” (SCV) of prayer and the actual Lord’s Prayer as given by Jesus. The SCV prayer, as I call it, might sound like this:

The Selfish Cliff Version (SCV)

1.   “My Father, who is in heaven…”

•  This begins with a self-centered focus on my relationship with God, isolating the individual. Contrast that with the Lord’s Prayer, which opens with “Our Father,” indicating a collective identity within the family of God.

2.   “Give me this day my daily bread.”

•  The SCV request focuses only on my needs, without any regard for others. In contrast, the Lord’s Prayer asks for “our” daily bread, recognizing that we are all in need and that God provides for the community.

3.   “And forgive me my debts, as I also have forgiven my debtors.”

•  Here, forgiveness is sought for the individual alone, leaving out the larger communal aspect. The Lord’s Prayer, however, requests forgiveness on behalf of the whole body, saying “forgive us our debts,” indicating a shared need for reconciliation and restoration.

4.   “And do not lead me into temptation, but deliver me from evil.”

•  Again, this request is solely for the individual. The Lord’s Prayer, however, pleads for protection for all believers, “lead us not into temptation,” reflecting our shared struggle against evil.

5.   “For if I forgive me my trespasses, my heavenly Father will also forgive me, but if I do not forgive myself my trespasses, neither will my Father forgive my trespasses.”

•  This line is the most distorted, turning forgiveness inward and putting the responsibility for salvation on the individual. It elevates self-reliance to an unhealthy extreme. The reality, however, is that forgiveness comes from God, and it flows to others through us, not through our own self-reflection.

The Corporate Nature of Jesus’ Model

When Jesus gave the Lord’s Prayer, He did so with a specific intention: to focus on the communal and collective nature of our faith. “Our Father,” not “my Father.” “Give us,” not “give me.” This is a prayer for the body of Christ, a prayer that reflects our interconnectedness as believers. The needs we express in this prayer are not just our own—they are the needs of the Church, the global community of believers.

This corporate nature of prayer is often overlooked in modern Western Christianity, which tends to emphasize individual salvation and personal blessing. In fact, much of the culture around us encourages an individualistic approach to faith, where the focus is on how God will meet my needs, answer my prayers, and bless my life. But Jesus’ model calls us to a different posture, one that seeks the welfare of the whole Church and the advancement of God’s kingdom, not just the fulfillment of personal desires.

Modern Western Christianity and Self-Centeredness

If we’re honest, much of modern American Christianity has become a little too focused on me. Church services, teachings, and even prayer often center on how God can improve our individual lives—helping us achieve personal goals, find success, or get through tough times. While these are valid concerns, they can easily shift the focus away from the bigger picture—the community of believers and the mission of God in the world.

This is where the “Selfish Cliff Version” of prayer comes in. It reflects the default tendency in our culture to prioritize the individual over the collective. It’s easy to fall into the trap of praying for what’s immediate and personal, instead of aligning our hearts with God’s greater purpose for the world. Jesus, however, modeled a prayer that points us toward unity, shared need, and the glory of God above all.

Why Prayer is a Struggle

The struggle with prayer, as the passage points out, is that we naturally lean toward selfishness. Our society, with its emphasis on individualism, trains us to think primarily about ourselves—our comfort, our success, our happiness. But the Lord’s Prayer challenges that instinct by calling us to pray not just for our own needs but for the needs of the global family of believers.

It’s easy to get caught up in the routine of prayer and ask for me—my daily bread, my forgiveness, my protection. The hard part is disciplining ourselves to pray as Jesus taught—lifting up God’s kingdom and His will first, interceding for others, and remembering that we are part of a larger body of believers.

The Lord’s Prayer is a reminder that prayer is not about us—it’s about God’s will and His kingdom. Jesus’ model of prayer teaches us to focus not on our individual desires but on the collective needs of the body of Christ. The SCV (Selfish Cliff Version) exposes the dangers of turning prayer into a selfish exercise, one that reflects the individualism and consumerism so common in Western culture.

When we pray as Jesus taught, we are invited into a global family, a community that prays together for God’s kingdom to come, for His will to be done, and for provision, forgiveness, and protection for all believers. We are called to transcend our own immediate desires and align our hearts with the purposes of God. This is what it means to pray as part of a larger body—the Church.

Grace, Bruce, and God

I started this with a reverence to the movie Bruce Almighty. Although there is a lot of jumbled theology in the movie, and it probably will not be used or taught in any seminary soon. However, there is some gold in it for our topic of selfish prayer.

Bruce’s girlfriend is Grace. Her name is very crucial. And it is also the central theological concept in Christianity…Grace. It is what Jesus brings to us from heaven and what Jennifer Anistons character brings to Bruce who optimizes a person who is literally their own God. Grace means that God loves us selflessly and unconditionally. Grace (Jesus) loves Bruce and wants to spend the rest of her life with him but she sees the truth of his selfishness and prays that God would help him find his way.  Jesus prays for us constantly before the Father (1 Jn 2:1), and prays that those that do not know God will find their way to him as well (Jn 17:3). Given God’s powers, at one point in the movie Bruce can actually tap into Grace’s prayers and hears her pray, and what she prays floors him… “Please God, help Bruce find his way to you…” and “God, Bruce has lost his way, and is despondent about his job. Please help him.”

The conversion moment in Bruce Almighty happens where it often does with Bruce (and all of us) face to face with God. In the movie, he has been hit by a truck and for a brief moment finds himself in heaven. Face to face with God, God eventually asks Bruce, “Grace. You want her back?” Bruce’s response is the key to receiving Christ, unselfish prayer, as well as all good marriages, “No. I want her to be happy, no matter what that means. I want her to find someone who will treat her with all the love she deserved from me. I want her to meet someone who will see her always as I do now, through Your eyes.” God answers, “Now THAT’S a prayer,”

Here is a link to the scene: https://youtu.be/Tg5Ihkw3vZw?si=eBeAkJ0TMW7T9kjk

In the end, true prayer is not about getting everything we want. It’s about aligning our hearts with God’s greater plan, His glory, and seeking the good of others, for we are not alone in this journey. We are part of something much bigger, a family that spans the globe, bound together in Christ. I want to pray like that, or I should say…Let’s pray like that.

As we look forward into 2025, I’m filled with hope—not just a fleeting optimism, but a deep, abiding belief that this year could be a turning point for us all. The year behind us, 2024, will likely be remembered as a time when we began to shake off the fog of smartphone addiction, social media obsession, and the crushing mental health crisis engulfing our youth.

For years, it felt like we were trapped in a relentless spiral, powerless to stop the spread of these technologies that were stealing our children’s childhoods. But now, the tide is turning. Parents, educators, and young people themselves are waking up to what has been lost—and how it can be regained. It feels as though the darkness has lifted.

From “Dark Days” to Great Days

Winston Churchill, speaking to a group of students during Britain’s darkest hours in 1941, famously corrected their use of the phrase “darker days.” He urged them instead to call them “sterner days,” great days in which they had the opportunity to rise to the occasion.

Likewise, 2024 will not be remembered as a time of despair, but as a time of awakening—a stern season in which we began to see clearly. Rabbi Meir Soloveichik’s retelling of Churchill’s story reminds us that it is often in moments of trial that we regain the clarity to act. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

Huxley’s Warning, Our Response

Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World painted a chilling picture of a society pacified by pleasure, distraction, and triviality—a people controlled not by oppression, but by their own unthinking indulgence. Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death echoed that warning, describing a culture so consumed by entertainment that it drowned in irrelevance.

For years, our collective obsession with screens and social media seemed to validate their fears. But 2024 marked a shift: the moment we recognized the price of our indulgence and began to reclaim what Huxley feared we might lose forever—our freedom to choose meaning over distraction, depth over superficiality, and love over performance.

Reclaiming Childhood

This past year, communities began to undo two major mistakes of the digital age:

1.   Over-sheltering children from risk and independence in the real world.

2.   Leaving them dangerously overexposed to the risks of the online world.

A generation that once defined itself by anxiety and detachment is now seeking connection and purpose. Children are playing outside again, parents are rethinking screen time, and schools are moving away from ineffective tech-based learning. A global yearning has emerged, especially among young people, to reclaim their lives from the grip of endless scrolling.

We see this longing in the words of a 14-year-old who lamented years wasted online but added, “I know I’m still young, and I have so many years to make up for it.” That spirit of hope—that sense of possibility—is what gives me confidence in the future.

The Tower of Babel and the Road Ahead

In Genesis 11, the Tower of Babel symbolizes humanity’s hubris, its attempt to build something so grand that it could rival God Himself. The result was confusion and scattering, as their language was confounded and their unity destroyed.

Our own technological “tower” of smartphones and social media has similarly scattered us, fragmenting relationships, creating echo chambers, and isolating us in a sea of meaningless chatter. But here’s the good news: the story of Babel is not just a tale of failure—it is a reminder that confusion can lead to clarity and that scattering can make room for rebuilding.

We are rebuilding now. We are learning to use technology wisely rather than worshiping it. We are rediscovering the value of real-world play, face-to-face connection, and lives lived with intention.

As we move forward into 2025, let us remember that the human spirit is resilient, and our capacity to heal is boundless. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

This is not a moment of despair—it is a moment of transformation. Just as Babel gave way to a more humble and connected humanity, our scattered society is finding its way back to what truly matters. We needed to remember that we are humans and not Gods because of google and the existence of virtual worlds we control. We found we cannot control them either, like the real world we are too small to control even virtual reality. These are actually great days, friends. Let us thank God that we have been given the chance to play a part in making them so.

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      I want to focus on a hope that transcends every challenge we face. But to begin to grasp the good news, we first need to understand the gravity of our reality.

Recent events remind us of life’s fragility. From catastrophic plane crashes to devastating storms, each headline underscores how quickly life can unravel. Add to this the warning from Geoffrey Hinton, the so-called “godfather of AI,” who believes artificial intelligence could surpass humanity and potentially extinguish us within a decade (Sky-net to anyone who grew up in the 80”s). He says, “We’ve never had to deal with things more intelligent than ourselves before.”

But is that true?

As Christians we believe that throughout history, humanity has lived in a world filled with forces far more intelligent and powerful than us—forces that are often unseen but undeniably real. Scripture reveals the existence of spiritual entities, from Satan to his demonic legions, who have sought to deceive and destroy…and never back off or give up. These beings are far smarter and more cunning than any human or AI, yet they still fall short of the ultimate power and authority of God.

Consider the mysteries of the universe itself. Scientists now speak of “dark matter,” which keeps galaxies from tearing apart, and “dark energy,” which causes the universe to expand. They believe these unseen forces dominate the cosmos, yet remain largely a mystery, and like evil forces are totally unseen, and also believed…by faith. On a smaller scale, the “strong force,” the force these same scientists also believe is the most powerful force in the universe, binds atoms together, making all visible matter possible. Also…faith, with competing theories and silence for an explanation as well. The latest book on the subject just gives over to “we know it all holds together somehow so we had to call it something.” Ok, well that’s good enough for some and I guess I can understand why people would say that if they didn’t believe in God.

But for the Christian, Scripture gives us an explanation: “By [Christ] all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible… and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:16–17). What science observes as mysterious forces, we know to be the sustaining power of Christ, holding the universe together by his will.

More importantly, the same God who set the physical universe in motion is also Lord over the spiritual realm. While Satan and his forces operate with cunning intelligence, they are no match for the power of God. And unlike artificial intelligence or dark forces that may work against us, God is not only infinitely powerful but also infinitely good. He is for us, not against us, and he has our best in mind at all times.

The Bible proclaims that God’s power is not just external but also internal, transforming our hearts and lives:

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations” (Ephesians 3:20–21).

However, unlike the physical forces that some scientists believe hold our universe together, God’s transforming power requires our cooperation. His promises are available to us, but we must choose to trust him, seek his will, and walk in obedience:

   •   He is our peace (Ephesians 2:14), but we must acknowledge our conflict and turn to him for reconciliation.

   •   He forgives our sins (Jeremiah 31:34), but we must confess them and seek his grace.

   •   He completes the good work he began in us (Philippians 1:6), but we must surrender to his perfect will (Romans 12:2).

AI may outthink us, and spiritual forces may outmaneuver us, but neither compares to the power and wisdom of God. He is trustworthy, sovereign, and good. As we step into a new year, let us rest in the assurance that nothing is too hard for the Lord (Genesis 18:14).

The only question is whether we will trust him fully and let him work in and through us.

As we begin this New Year, let me extend my heartfelt greetings: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a hopeful Happy New Year. The title of this message borrows from something I read this morning from a scene in Apocalypse Now. People of a certain age will remember the part in the fascinating movie where Martin Sheen’s character, dropped into a bunker amid chaos, and asks the soldier firing a machine gun, “Who’s in charge here?” The soldier pauses, briefly glances back, and replies, “Ain’t you?” I remember my friends and I laughing out loud at that scene. But that question—posed in a moment of chaos and confusion—is one we’ve been asking of our own leadership for far too long.

It was never a secret to those paying attention that Joe Biden was little more than a figurehead during his presidency. What we suspected, and were mocked for saying, is now undeniable: Biden was never in charge. His retreat into irrelevance post-election only confirms what many already knew. Kamala Harris, who was never relevant to begin with, serves as a weak echo of this rudderless leadership. Their final days have been marked by reckless and bizarre decisions: ATACMS strikes into Russia that risk escalation, an astonishing five-year work-from-home order for federal employees, and the incomprehensible pardons of violent criminals—including his own felonious son.

In many ways, Biden’s answer to the question “Who’s in charge?” seems to have been “Ain’t you?”—directed squarely at the Democratic Party itself. By pushing Kamala Harris forward as his running mate, the party essentially handed over a ticking time bomb to its own base. It was as though Biden threw up his hands and said, “You deal with it.” The decision to place Harris—unpopular and largely ineffective—one heartbeat away from the presidency was a clear signal of a leadership vacuum. This abdication of responsibility left not only the party but the nation floundering in uncertainty.

As we turn to the next administration, it inherits not just the wreckage of the past four years but also the many years before that, and the lingering questions of its own readiness to lead. The fractures within the Democratic Party are deep. It is not the party of even my own relatives. The progressive left’s overreach and arrogance alienated vast swaths of Americans, leaving the new leadership with little room to maneuver. They enter office with an electorate that is skeptical, a nation divided, and international adversaries emboldened by four years of weak governance.

Barack Obama’s shadow loomed large over Biden’s presidency. It is no secret that Obama’s loyalists staffed the administration, shaping policy and pulling the strings from behind the curtain. This current “presidency by committee” approach not only failed Biden but also tarnished Obama’s remaining legacy. I work in “higher education” and the “leadership by committee” is spelling the disaster that is academia as well. It’s not the administration of the schools that run them. Nor is it the faculty senate. It is a “committee of wealthy donors” that run most schools. It’s always a leadership disaster. The same coalition that propelled Biden to power now views his influence as a liability (this also is happening in schools and churches). His inability to deliver a coherent vision for the nation, even as a puppet master, is an albatross the incoming leadership cannot easily escape.

It is the height of naivety—and downright dangerous—to believe there are not nations actively seeking the downfall of the United States. History is replete with examples of empires brought low not by external invasion but by internal rot exploited by cunning adversaries, does anyone believe we have “evolved” past this? China, Russia, Iran, North Korea, and others are not merely rivals; they are adversaries whose strategic goals include undermining the very foundations of our Republic, and they do not want to lose. Yet, during the Biden years, this reality was treated as alarmist rhetoric rather than a call to vigilance. To ignore these threats is to invite disaster.

Our weakness has emboldened these nations. Our open borders, economic mismanagement, and wavering foreign policy signal vulnerability. These adversaries see an opportunity, not because America has become weak overnight, but because our leadership failed to project strength, discipline, and resolve. For the new administration, recognizing this reality will be its first test.

Meanwhile, the notion that Donald Trump is somehow not in charge is laughable. And if that is not enough, many of the same ones who say this also called him Hitler? It’s an exercise in total projection for those who have spent years spinning narratives to claim otherwise. Trump has proven time and again that he understands the gravity of leadership, how to pick experts, and its requirements. Unlike his predecessor, he does not hide in irrelevance or outsource decision-making to handlers that do not have merit as their criteria for leadership. He’s made it abundantly clear—whether you love him or hate him—he’s at the helm, unapologetically.

This past summer, Trump himself faced a moment of trial that underscored his resilience and resolve. Surviving an assassination attempt in which he was shot in the ear, he emerged not as a victim, but as a symbol of determination. That moment—one that might have silenced others—only strengthened his resolve to continue fighting for the American people. The man who was literally targeted for elimination is now poised to reassert his leadership with the wisdom gained from both his successes and his scars.

As we look forward to the next chapter of American leadership, Donald Trump’s journey reminds us (though very vaugley) of Peter, the apostle. Let me explain. Peter was bold and passionate but often impulsive, a “bull in a china shop” who required refinement to become the rock upon which the early Church was built.

Peter’s early leadership had notable missteps. If you think is is bad being called Hitler, how about being called Satan himself by God in carinate! In Matthew 16:23, Jesus rebukes Peter harshly, saying, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.” Peter, despite his zeal, misunderstood the greater plan and allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment. Similarly, Trump’s first term had moments where his boldness, while admirable, occasionally lacked the wisdom and foresight necessary for effective leadership.

Peter’s story also includes the time he rashly stepped out of the boat to walk on water toward Jesus (Matthew 14:28-31). Initially, his faith kept him afloat, but when he became overwhelmed by fear and doubt, he began to sink. Jesus, however, reached out and pulled him back up, saying, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” This moment of sinking parallels Trump’s experience during his presidency and its aftermath. His “sinking” could be seen in his impeachment trials, relentless media attacks, the loss of the 2020 election, and yes, even the attempt on his life. But just as Peter was pulled up by Jesus, the American people can “lift” Trump if he learns from his past and embraces the refinement that comes with experience.

Finally, Peter’s journey teaches us that leadership is like fire—it must be contained within the structure of a fireplace to provide warmth and light. Unchecked, it can cause destruction, even burn the building down. Trump’s raw energy and passion must be paired with wisdom, discipline, and humility to fulfill his potential as a transformative leader. His brush with mortality last summer may have been one of his moments of sinking, and it is through the faith and support of the American people that he can rise stronger and more focused.

Trump, like Peter, like all of us, has the potential to grow into a leader not defined solely by boldness but by wisdom and vision. His first term, while marked by some achievements, also surely revealed areas for growth. With lessons learned and a renewed sense of purpose, he has the opportunity to channel his passion into lasting, positive change. Will he take it?

As we enter 2025, Americans must demand clarity and accountability from their leaders. The chaos and confusion of the past four years cannot be allowed to repeat. The question of “Who’s in charge?” should never again leave the lips of a single citizen. Most importantly, the answer, “Ain’t you?” should never come from the person we thought was in charge—whether they be a president, a vice president, or a party. With faith in our nation’s resilience and a commitment to learning from the past, this New Year can truly be one of hope and renewal.

Actually, this man is not a beggar or a homeless wanderer.

This is Leo Tolstoy, a Russian novelist and philosopher, best known for his masterpieces War and Peace and Anna Karenina.Widely regarded as one of the greatest authors of all time, Tolstoy’s works delve deeply into morality, ethics, and the human condition. Despite his literary fame, Tolstoy made a radical decision later in life: he sold all his possessions, chose homelessness so that others might have homes, and gave to the poor so that beggars might have food.

Tolstoy was a man of conviction, known for his profound quotes such as:

• “Don’t tell me about your religion, let me see your religion in your actions.”

• “If you feel pain, you are alive. But, if you feel the pain of others, you’re human.”

His life and writings have inspired countless others, including Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., to embrace principles of simplicity, nonviolence, and service to humanity. In a famous photograph, Tolstoy is pictured dressed plainly, resembling a poor man. Yet, beneath this humble appearance was a towering intellect and an extraordinary heart, dedicated to bettering the world.

But there is one whose life and sacrifice surpass even the example of Tolstoy.

However, this person is not merely a teacher, philosopher, or reformer.

This is Christ, the Son of God, whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. While Tolstoy gave up his wealth, Christ gave up His heavenly throne. While Tolstoy lived as a servant to inspire change, Christ humbled Himself to the point of death—even death on a cross (Philippians 2:8)—in order that our eternal destiny might change, and we might live forever in paradise with Him.

Jesus, the King of kings, was born not in a palace but in a lowly manger (Luke 2:7). He came not in glory but in humility, proclaiming, “The Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). Like Tolstoy, His life demonstrated that greatness is found not in power but in service, not in taking but in giving.

His eternal words include:

•   “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink… Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25:35-40).

• “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3).

• “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13).

Christ’s sacrifice has inspired countless philosophers, theologians, and leaders. Mahatma Gandhi, reflecting on Jesus, said, “A man who was completely innocent, offered himself as a sacrifice for the good of others.” Similarly, Martin Luther King Jr. proclaimed, “Jesus gave us a new norm of greatness: if you want to be important—wonderful. But recognize that he who is greatest among you shall be your servant.”

Like the humble image of Tolstoy, Christmas reminds us of Christ’s humility, as does also the cross. He exchanged His divine riches for earthly poverty, His glory for a cradle, His crown for a cross. And through His love, He gave us the greatest gift of all—salvation.

This Christmas, let us remember greatness lies not in what we possess, but in what we give. As Tolstoy once said, “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” Christ not only thought of it—He did it, changing the world forever.

In a particularly striking moment from a recent Saturday Night Live episode, the audience erupted in cheers when a news skit mentioned Luigi Mangione, a man who killed a CEO in cold blood on video. The crowd’s reaction—applauding a person who committed a horrible heinous act—reflects a troubling cultural trend: morality and justice are often redefined or excused based on ideology or societal forces. This moment in our history encapsulates the growing desensitization to wickedness in our world, where acts of evil are justified or even celebrated if they align with certain beliefs or grievances.

This phenomenon connects directly to broader questions about the nature of evil, morality, and accountability—questions that resonate through both popular culture and Scripture. Consider the opening query in Wicked posed by Glinda: “Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?” This question parallels the narrative of Genesis 3, where humanity’s first sin unfolds. Both the musical and the biblical account wrestle with the origins of evil, albeit from vastly different perspectives, offering an opportunity to examine these ideas through the lens of biblical truth.

Let’s explore Glinda’s question, “Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?” This question reflects a profound inquiry about the nature of evil. From a biblical standpoint, the answer is both: humanity is born wicked due to the Fall, and this inherent sinfulness is also exacerbated by external forces like Satan, sinful societal influences, and a world further and further estranged from God, and actually moving backwards toward paganism.

According to Scripture, all humanity is inherently sinful because of Adam and Eve’s rebellion in Genesis 3. This act of disobedience introduced sin and death into the world, corrupting human nature and ensuring that every generation inherits this sinfulness (Romans 5:12). Psalm 51:5 reinforces this truth: “Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me.” While external pressures amplify and shape wicked behavior, they act upon a heart already predisposed to sin.

In contrast, Wicked attributes moral failings primarily to external forces—societal rejection, misunderstandings, or poverty. Glinda’s line questions whether it is fair to label someone as “wicked” when their actions may be the result of circumstances beyond their control. This perspective, while empathetic, diminishes personal responsibility and reflects a modern relativism and “my truthism” that aligns with much of today’s cultural narrative.

The Bible’s account of the Fall provides a clear answer to Glinda’s question. In Genesis 3, Satan’s deception causes Eve to doubt God’s goodness, leading to humanity’s first act of disobedience. This rebellion against God not only brings guilt upon Adam and Eve but also corrupts human nature itself, plunging the entire world into a state of sin.

Satan, as the external force, manipulates Eve by twisting God’s words and reframing disobedience as enlightenment: “You will not surely die… For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:4-5). However, Eve and Adam remain accountable for their choice to rebel, showing that external forces may influence but cannot absolve personal responsibility.

This theological foundation challenges the relativism seen in Wicked. While societal influences and external pressures certainly exacerbate wickedness, Scripture is clear that all humans are inherently sinful and accountable for their actions.

Both Wicked and Genesis 3 explore the interplay between internal and external causes of evil. Where Wicked suggests that only external pressures like societal rejection, abuse, or systemic inequality create wickedness, Scripture teaches that humanity’s sinful nature is the root cause behind these. External forces, such as Satan’s schemes and corrupt societal norms, fuel this inherent wickedness but do not create it.

Glinda’s question reflects a secular worldview that minimizes accountability, portraying wickedness as relative and contextual. This perspective aligns with modern philosophies like relativism and “my truth,” which prioritize external explanations over internal moral realities. In contrast, the Bible reveals that evil originates from humanity’s rebellion against God and can only be redeemed through Jesus Christ (Romans 5:18-19).

The Saturday Night Live audience’s reaction to Luigi Mangione underscores the cultural desensitization to wickedness, driven by ideologies that justify evil based on external forces (in this case destroying a life and a family because, “we see greedy bad man running a healthcare company”). Similarly, Wicked also attributes moral failings to societal pressures, sidestepping the deeper issue of humanity’s sin nature.

In contrast, Genesis 3 provides a complete understanding of wickedness: humanity is inherently sinful due to the Fall, and external forces like Satan and a fallen world magnify this sinfulness. The solution lies not in recontextualizing morality but in God’s grace through Jesus Christ, who offers redemption and the transformation of both individuals and societies. Without this grace, humanity remains trapped in a cycle of depravity, perpetuating the very wickedness it seeks to explain away.