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In Long Beach, California, the Queen Mary stands as a silent witness to a profound transformation. Launched in the 1930s just 22yrs after the Titanic sank, it also was thought of as the pinnacle of luxury. This grand ship was designed to cradle 3,000 passengers in opulence, offering every conceivable comfort as it glided across the Atlantic. Its staterooms were sanctuaries of peace, its decks a playground for the privileged. But when World War II erupted, the Queen Mary’s purpose shifted dramatically. Stripped of its peacetime extravagance, it was refitted to carry 15,000 troops into the chaos of battle. Rooms once reserved for a single couple now bunked eight soldiers, the plush interiors replaced by the stark utility of war. Peacetime and wartime demanded entirely different postures—one of indulgence, the other of sacrifice.

This striking metaphor mirrors a truth too often ignored in our modern church worlds. We’ve grown accustomed to the luxury liner version of Christianity—comfortable pews, polished programs, and pristine buildings that invite us to settle in and stay. We’ve curated environments that feel like a spiritual retreat, where the coffee is hot, the donuts are plentiful, the worship is seamless, and the sermons soothe rather than convict. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with excellence in our gathering—when it’s offered to the glory of God. But the danger creeps in when we forget that we’re not sailing on a peacetime cruise. We’re living in a wartime reality, and the unsaved world around us is not lounging on the deck of the Queen Mary—they’re crammed into its wartime holds, battered by the storms of sin and despair, desperate for rescue.

C.S. Lewis, in his timeless work Mere Christianity, cuts to the heart of this dissonance: “Enemy-occupied territory—that is what this world is. Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say He landed in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage.” Lewis reminds us that we’re not merely passengers enjoying the ride; we’re enlisted in a cosmic battle. Yet how often do we act as though the war is over, or worse, as though it doesn’t concern us? We polish our spiritual staterooms while the cries of the lost echo outside our walls.

The gospel itself begins with a wartime dispatch: humanity stands under the judgment of God, “dead in [our] trespasses and sins” (Ephesians 2:1, ESV). It’s a grim diagnosis—rebellion has severed us from our Creator, and there’s no self-made remedy. But then comes the glorious counteroffensive: “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). Jesus stormed the enemy’s territory, lived the life we couldn’t, died the death we deserved, and now offers salvation as a free gift. This is not a message meant to be savored in isolation—it’s a battle cry to be shouted from the rooftops.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who knew the cost of faithfulness in a literal warzone, warned against the complacency that can settle over the church: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” Bonhoeffer’s words sting because they expose our tendency to treat Christianity as a luxury liner ticket—a comfortable escape—rather than a call to lay down our lives for others. He understood that the gospel demands action, not just admiration. Paul embodied this urgency in Acts 20:31, declaring, “For three years I did not cease night or day to admonish every one with tears” (ESV). Why such relentless passion? Because Paul knew the stakes: the world was at war, and the unsaved were perishing in the crossfire.

So what does this mean for us? Our churches can be warm and welcoming, our worship can be excellent, but we must never mistake these blessings for the mission itself. Our resources—our time, money, talents, and spaces—aren’t meant to build a cruise liner for Christians to coast through life. They’re tools for a rescue operation. The Queen Mary didn’t stay docked in Long Beach during the war, pampering its guests; it sailed into the fray, carrying souls to safety. Likewise, the church must move beyond its walls, recognizing that the unsaved are living in a wartime reality—crowded, chaotic, and crying out for hope.

This shift requires us to rethink how we view our “stuff.” Are we hoarding comforts for ourselves, or deploying them for the kingdom? Are we content to sip coffee in the lounge while others drown? As Jesus Himself said, “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45, ESV). If the Captain of our salvation embraced the wartime mission, how can we, His crew, do any less?

The Queen Mary’s transformation from luxury to lifeline stands as a challenge: wake up, church. The war isn’t over. The lost are still out there, packed into the holds of a sinking world. Let’s refit our lives and our communities not for peacetime indulgence, but for wartime rescue. The gospel demands nothing less.

Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore have been rescued and should be able to sleep in their own beds tonight. Or at least in beds on this planet. That’s more than these two astronauts have been able to say in the last nine months, since their return after a supposed ten-day stay aboard the International Space Station (ISS) was delayed due to thruster problems on the Boeing Starliner spacecraft that was intended to bring them home. A four-person crew entered the ISS early Sunday morning as part of a mission to relieve Williams and Wilmore. The crew was greeted with smiles and hugs by the seven astronauts aboard the space station, none more than the two stranded Americans.

Their SpaceX spacecraft undocked from the ISS at 1:05 a.m. ET this morning, transporting Wilmore and Williams alongside two other astronauts. Their journey back to Earth will take seventeen hours, with splashdown planned for 5:57 p.m. ET. I’m sure the movie is coming soon.

Let’s consider this remarkable story as a parable.

The ISS has been continuously occupied since November 2000. In its quarter-century operation, it has hosted more than 280 astronauts, cosmonauts, and spaceflight participants from over twenty countries.

However, none of them were born there in the space station.

Each came from Earth with the intention of returning when their operational duty was completed. As a result, no one would need to encourage them to board the spacecraft that would transport them home. However perilous such a journey might seem, it is a temporary means to a much more permanent end, and their real home here on earth.

However, imagine that the space station was populated only with people who were born there on the space station. How hard would it be then to convince them to board a spacecraft to leave the only home they have known for a place they had only read about in a book that claimed that another place called earth was their real and permanent home, and whose existence they must take on faith, from a distant past person who says he was sent from there to tell us?

In the meantime, how challenging might it be to persuade them to live for that day and destination? To convince them that the best way to redeem each day on the ISS is by using it to prepare for the day they leave?

This is just what Christians are asking secular people to believe today.

You and I believe that this temporal world is but a means to our eternal destiny and that the best way to live today is to be ready for the day we depart this broken planet for our glorious eternity. But someone who does not share our faith will understandably wonder why they should make it their own and believe any of us.

The fact that we christians believe it is not enough, nor should it be. If that were the case, people who know Muslims should therefore become Muslims, people who know Buddhists should therefore become Buddhists, and so forth. No one should base their decision regarding eternity on such secondhand evidence.

If someone were to ask me why I use my days on this “space station” floating through the universe to serve the heavenly destination that I believe comes next, I would offer three responses:

1. Our planet has in fact been visited by an emissary from heaven who taught us how to join him there. The empirical and historical evidence for Jesus’ life, earthly ministry, death, and resurrection is so compelling as to convince me that our faith is correct on factual and rational grounds.

2. This God who visited our planet continues to work in our lives and world through his Holy Spirit. I have experienced personally the transformation he can make in a person when they seek his best for their lives. When we submit to his Spirit (Ephesians 5:18) and focus on loving our Lord and our neighbor (Matthew 22:37–39), others see the difference and we pray that they’re drawn to our Father (Matthew 5:16).

3. Living for our eternal home is the best way to live on this temporary planet because all such preparations improve our lives and relationships now. If we knew our Lord would come for us tomorrow (John 14:1–3), anything we would change today is something we should change anyway. Confessing our sins, forgiving those of others, thinking biblically, and living redemptively are the best ways to experience the “abundant” life of Christ right now (John 10:10).

Ultimately, no evidence will ever be enough to convince blind spiritual eyes into believing all of this. You cannot ask a blind man to look at something they are incapable of seeing. It is actually impossible without God opening your spiritual eyes supernaturally. So, I would ask all on the space station for God to open their spiritual eyes.

In the grand sweep of history, the epochs unfold in a roughly linear fashion, with the Enlightenment paving the way for Modernism, which in turn is followed by Postmodernism.

• Early Modern Period (roughly 15th-18th centuries): This period encompasses the Renaissance, Reformation, and the Age of Enlightenment, characterized by the rise of humanism, scientific inquiry, and the questioning of traditional authority.
• Enlightenment (roughly 17th-18th centuries): This intellectual and cultural movement emphasized reason, individualism, and scientific progress, challenging traditional religious and political structures.
• Modernism (late 19th-mid 20th centuries): Emerging in response to rapid technological advancements and societal changes, Modernism sought to redefine art, literature, and philosophy, often characterized by experimentation, abstraction, and a questioning of traditional forms.
• Postmodernism (mid-20th century to present): Postmodernism emerged as a reaction to Modernism, characterized by skepticism towards grand narratives and universal truths, embracing complexity, irony, and a questioning of the very nature of knowledge and reality.

We are now in the Postmodern era which is proving to be almost completely incompatible with Christianity. Satan is working to convince our post-Christian, secularized culture that this “space station” is the only reality that exists. However, I remind you that in many hearts, at the same time, the Holy Spirit is working to convince them that they desperately need the salvation and transformation available only in Christ (cf. Acts 4:12).

You and I are largely the instruments through which this battle is being waged. When we submit to the Spirit, he uses us to lead eternal souls to their Savior (cf. Matthew 4:18–22). When we do not (and this happens to me a lot) the enemy uses our secularized, sinful failings as evidence against the gospel.

And we miss God’s best for us along the way as well.

I was a machinist for the first few years I was married to make ends meet. I worked for a boss who insisted that I do things precisely the way he wanted them done. This was not egotism on his part. He had been in this business for his entire career, cultivated the customers we served, and knew what they wanted far better than I did. As a result, my opinions were less relevant than his directives. Doing what he said served the customers who paid my salary.

When I had shoulder surgery 8 years ago, the situation was similar. After the surgery, my physical therapists insisted that I do things that made no sense to me and only made my pain worse at the time. Again, this was not egotism on their part. They were outstanding physicians who knew what was best for my long-term recovery far better than I did. Doing what they said came at a cost but turned out to be an investment in a much better future.

Living on this “space station” called Earth, we are all like astronauts—some of us longing for home, others unaware that a greater home even exists. Suni Williams and Butch Wilmore’s journey reminds us that we, too, are sojourners here, awaiting our return to the eternal home prepared for us. As Christians, we hold fast to the promise of Scripture: “For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come” (Hebrews 13:14, NLT). Their rescue from the ISS mirrors the rescue we’ve been offered through Christ, who came to bring us back to the Father.

Yet, for those born on this “station,” the idea of leaving for an unseen world requires faith—a faith that God alone can awaken. As the Apostle Paul writes, “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8, ESV). We cannot force spiritual sight, but we can pray for it, trusting that “the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened” (Ephesians 1:17-18, ESV).

In this postmodern age, where skepticism reigns and Satan seeks to blind hearts to the truth (“The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ”—2 Corinthians 4:4, ESV), our task remains clear. We are called to live as ambassadors of that eternal home, reflecting Christ’s light in a darkened world. Jesus Himself assures us, “In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:2-3, ESV). This promise fuels our hope and shapes our lives.

So, like those astronauts stepping onto the spacecraft with trust in its design, we step out in faith, guided by the One who designed our destiny. We live each day preparing for departure, knowing “our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ” (Philippians 3:20, ESV). And as we do, we invite others to join us—not by our own strength, but by the Spirit’s power, trusting that “faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17, ESV). In this way, our temporary stay on this broken planet becomes a testimony to the eternal glory that awaits.

I can still feel the weight and the worry of that moment—the dread that no one knew what was coming, as the world we all knew unraveled. For me, it’s not just a historical marker; it’s a personal wound that reshaped much of my life, my relationships, and the exercise of my faith. The images flood back: sitting alone at work with and empty building because I was deemed “essential.” Portable morgues parked outside hospitals, patients dying alone in sterile isolation wards, friends masking their faces not just from a virus but from the fear of everyone around them. New acquaintances that I thought, and imagined looked a certain way from the sound of their voice and eyes, turned out to be very different from what I had imagined they looked once masks were no longer required (that was weird). Restaurants shuttered, my kids’ school closed, and even my church locked its doors. We were left wondering when—or if—a vaccine would come.

The numbers are staggering. Over seven million deaths confirmed worldwide. But those figures, as chilling as they are, don’t capture the quiet devastation of my own world. My friend lost his father, isolated and unreachable in a hospital bed. Many small businesses I patronized for years collapsed, and to this day my preferred time for shopping on my days off (around midnight) has never returned. I lost the rhythm of Sunday mornings—the hymns, the handshakes, the comfort of a pew—and found myself staring at a screen, alone with my Bible, wondering where God was, and what he was doing in all of this.

David Wallace-Wells wrote in the New York Times that the pandemic “shattered our cities and disordered society,” creating a new “branch of history” we’re only beginning to understand. He’s right—it changed everything. Homicides spiked nearly 30 percent in a single year, homelessness swelled, and addiction—whether to alcohol, drugs, or the numbness of isolation—tightened its grip. I saw it in my own life: the way I stopped calling friends, and they stopped calling me, the way my prayers grew shorter, the way I turned inward. Wallace-Wells says it “turned us into hyperindividualists,” forcing us to process an unthinkable tragedy through the narrow lens of personal survival. I felt that shift, we all saw that shift. I stopped relying on the world around me—government, neighbors, stores, even the church building—and learned to fend for myself. To this day, people still wait in line differently than they did before this all happened.

But it wasn’t just society that fractured; it was also how I viewed my faith. I’d grown up in a cultural Christianity made in my small world—a faith of certain rituals, Sunday services, and national pride. It was comfortable, predictable, a shared identity, like a comfortable old pair of 501 Levis. The pandemic stripped that away. When the doors closed and the programs stopped, I realized how much of my belief was tied to habit, not to a living Lord. Wallace-Wells notes that the pandemic “may have halted the years-long decline of Christianity in America,” but I’d argue it exposed its weakness. A faith built on tradition or entertainment crumbles under real pressure. Biology doesn’t bend to Bible studies or patriotic hymns. The trials of 2020 demanded something deeper—something personal. And quite frankly it was a good thing, it reformed it for me.

I remember the early days, pacing my living room, scrolling through X posts about masks and vaccines, feeling my trust in public health erode. Debates raged, and I found myself doubting not just officials but the systems I’d leaned on—government, church, community. Wallace-Wells calls it a “new age of social Darwinism,” where survivors like me credited our own grit and blamed others for their weakness. I caught myself thinking that way, too—judging those who panicked, those who hoarded, those who didn’t pray hard enough. But that pride was a dead end. It left me isolated, not stronger.
What I needed—what I found—wasn’t more religion/ritual. Going to more services (when they reopened), reading more verses, or saying more prayers wouldn’t have fixed the ache. Cultural Christianity, with its rituals and vague spirituality, was and is, a hollow shell against the chaos. I needed a revitalization and renewal of relationship—not with a theology or a movement, but with Jesus Himself, alive and present. Luke 24 expresses it well. The women at the tomb, stunned to find it empty, were asked, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” That is a great question for all of us. Too much of my life had been seeking life in lifeless things—in routines and ritual, in nostalgia, in a faith that was more about culture than Christ. But He wasn’t there, and he never will be. He is risen, waiting for me, waiting for all of us to meet Him personally.

That shift doesn’t come easily. Our world is materialistic, wired for cemeteries, not resurrections. I was very comfortable with sermons and songs, less with silence and surrender. But in the solitude of the pandemic, I had no choice. Stripped of the crowd, I faced Him alone. And there, in the quiet, I heard His voice—not as an idea, but as a Person, and it was beautiful. My eyes opened, my heart burned, just like the disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:31–32). He loved me—me, not some abstract “churchgoer”—and that changed everything for the better.

The pandemic made us individualistic, yes, but it also showed me that faith must be, too—not in a selfish way, but in an “hyperintimate” one. Christ meets us one by one because He loves us one by one. I still need other believers—my walk is stronger with them—but I can’t borrow their faith or hide in their rituals. I had to wrestle with Him myself (as Jacob did), and so must we all. The living Lord isn’t a national mascot or a Sunday mascot. He’s the One who says, “I am able to make all grace abound to you” (2 Corinthians 9:8), who “always lives to make intercession” for me (Hebrews 7:25). In 2020, when society shattered and my old faith changed, He didn’t, and He was enough.

Today, March 11, 2025, I remember the millions who died and the grief that still lingers—for me, for my family, for the world. I pray for leaders and health officials, knowing more pandemics may come. But mostly, I seek Him—the One who turned my isolation into an invitation, who proved that a personal relationship with Him outlasts any and all trial. He’s waiting to meet you, too—not in the dead things we cling to, but as the living Lord who loves you personally.

The “law of unintended consequences” asserts that human actions—particularly those of governments—inevitably produce effects beyond their intended scope. Not occasionally, but always.

I want to look at this through three real-world examples of profound faith, four philosophical illustrations, and also some personal examples.

First, in February 2025, seventy Christians were found beheaded in a Protestant church in the Democratic Republic of Congo’s North Kivu province. Suspected militants from the Allied Democratic Forces (ADF), tied to the Islamic State, rounded up these believers from the village of Mayba, intending to terrorize and suppress Christianity. Their aim was to instill fear, yet the unintended consequence may be a galvanizing of faith among survivors and the global Christian community, as martyrdom most often strengthens resolve rather than extinguishes it.

Second, consider Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor executed by the Nazis in 1945 for resisting Hitler’s regime. His intent was to live out his Christian ethics by opposing tyranny, expecting imprisonment or death. Yet, his writings—smuggled from prison—unintentionally inspired generations of theologians and activists, amplifying his witness far beyond his immediate circle.

Third, there was Malala Yousafzai, a Pakistani Muslim shot by the Taliban in 2012 for advocating girls’ education. Her goal, rooted in her faith’s call to knowledge, was to secure learning for herself and others. The Taliban aimed to silence her, but the unintended result was her global platform, amplifying her message and earning her a Nobel Peace Prize in 2014.

Now let’s go into the philosophical ideological world.
Imagine a ruler inspired by Plato’s Republic, who mandates rigorous education in abstract reasoning to mold citizens into “philosopher-kings.” The intention is to elevate wisdom and virtue. Yet, the populace, overwhelmed, grows resentful, rejecting the ideal for simpler pleasures, thus fostering factionalism instead of harmony.

Now picture a Stoic sage who retreats from society to live ascetically, seeking indifference to external goods and personal tranquility. However, this withdrawal inadvertently weakens communal bonds, leaving others vulnerable to disorder while the sage remains serene.

Consider a utilitarian governor who, following Bentham, subsidizes a pleasure-inducing elixir to maximize happiness. The aim is collective well-being. Yet, the elixir dulls ambition, and productivity plummets, leading to economic stagnation—a misery no one foresaw.

Now envision an existentialist leader who, inspired by Sartre, liberates individuals from norms to foster authentic self-creation. The intent is freedom. But this radical autonomy breeds chaos, as people, unmoored from shared values, clash in their pursuit of meaning.

No matter the nobility of our aims, we finite beings cannot evade the law of unintended consequences. Our foresight falters: our control over outcomes is illusory. We lack the omniscience to predict every ripple of our choices, the omnipotence to bend reality to our will, or even the clarity to always discern what is for our own good.

A recent survey might reveals that only 22% of Americans in our secular age are satisfied with the nation’s “ethical and moral climate” and they can’t find comfort in society’s ethical drift. Does this suggest a need for spiritual renewal?

Last week, I tuned into an online debate titled “Does the West Need a Religious Revival?” hosted on a popular platform. On one side stood a columnist and a recent convert; on the other, a comedian and a skeptic. Their exchange, streamed to thousands, probed whether religion benefits or burdens humanity. Statistics on anxiety, addiction, and despair peppered the discussion. One camp tied these woes to faith’s decline; the other of course dismissed the correlation.
Midway, the believers shifted ground: they explained that even if religion is profoundly beneficial, and it’s decline is as they argue; the reason for societies decline, what matters most about religion—Christianity especially—is not its utility but its truth. If false, its benefits are nothing more than a shaky scaffold atop a lie. If true, its claims, no matter the utility on earth and in this short life, demand reckoning. The reason is that eternity hangs on accepting or rejecting Christ’s call.

They’re right. Paul staked his faith on evidence: “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile” (1 Corinthians 15:17). Without resurrection, “we are of all people most to be pitied” (v. 19). Christianity rests on history, archaeology, science, and reason—a foundation demanding a verdict, as Josh McDowell might say

The seventy Christians beheaded in the DRC stood firm, knowing Christ as Lord through fact and relationship. Why such fidelity? C. S. Lewis wrote in God in the Dock: “Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important.” For Lewis, its truth lit all else: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”
David prayed, “Those who know your name put their trust in you” (Psalm 9:10). Faith, like a finite currency, yields returns based on where we invest it. Scripture warns we cannot split trust between God and worldly anchors—wealth, approval, or self-will. Each moment demands a choice.
Placing faith in Christ alone unlocks peace beyond earth’s turmoil, power beyond our frail abilities, and love beyond human opinion. Only this path yields the abundant life he promises.

I like to write sometimes. In doing this, I’ve seen this law unfold in my own writing choices. Once, I wrote a critique of a cultural trend, aiming to spark reflection. Instead, readers polarized—some lauded me, others vilified me—widening rifts I’d hoped to bridge, that’s always the chance you take when making thoughts public and in writing. Another time, I declined a project to guard my time, intending focus. Yet, the lost connection dimmed future opportunities I hadn’t foreseen. Even in faith, I’ve shared insights to inspire, only to find some twisted my words into dogma I never meant. These stumbles remind me: my intent is no match for reality’s complexity. Only trust in a wiser hand steadies the course, and makes the unintended consequences livable.

When we look at the front side of a tapestry it is beautiful. However if you only see it from the back it is a tangled mess. This is how we see the complexity of the world. Yet, on the other side of this tapestry of human striving and stumbling lies a divine design so intricate it defies comprehension. The unintended consequences we lament or celebrate—whether the DRC martyrs’ witness igniting faith, Bonhoeffer’s prison notes reshaping theology, Malala’s survival amplifying justice, or even a philosopher’s misstep sparking unforeseen chaos—are not mere accidents. They are threads in God’s ultimate plan, weaving individual lives and humanity’s story into a masterpiece only He fully sees. Romans 8:28 promises, “All things work together for good to those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” The Congolese believers’ sacrifice, my own small missteps, the grandest philosophical ideals—all are caught in His hands, bent toward redemption. Our finite choices, with their unpredictable ripples, are gathered into an eternal narrative where every tear, triumph, and twist serves His glory and our good. In this unbelievably complex plan, faith in Christ is not just a response to truth—it’s an invitation to trust the One who holds the end from the beginning. And we are told how it all ends already.

Singer and songwriter Sheryl Crow made headlines over the weekend by posting an Instagram video in which she waves goodbye to her Tesla as it is driven away. She explained: “There comes a time when you have to decide who you are willing to align with. So long Tesla.” She added: “Money donated to @npr, which is under threat by President Musk, in hopes that the truth will continue to find its way to those willing to know the truth.” She included hashtags for “PresidentMusk” and “ProtectTheConstitution.”

These statements are a far cry from the themes of her songs, which I like, and are generally pleasant and about the relaxed life. The same artist who once sang “All I wanna do is have some fun / Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard” (All I Wanna Do) and “I’m gonna soak up the sun / Gonna tell everyone to lighten up” (Soak Up the Sun) now speaks as though the very foundations of the republic are crumbling. The contrast is striking.

Her rhetoric reflects a growing trend among celebrities who use their platforms to make political statements—many of whom seem to misunderstand basic civics, much less constitutional law. The phrase “constitutional crisis” has become their latest buzzword, a dramatic invocation meant to suggest that any policy or decision they dislike is somehow illegal or undemocratic.

My brother, Hon. Andrew W. Gould, a constitutional expert and a State Supreme Court justice for 20 years, has pointed out how laughable this rhetoric has become. According to him, everything that the current administration—including its advisers—is doing falls well within the powers granted to the executive branch. It is absurd for celebrities and journalists to parrot this “constitutional crisis” phrase over and over, as if it were some kind of shibboleth.

The reality is that, in the last 100 years, the only event that came close to an actual constitutional crisis was the COVID lockdowns and mandates, where government authorities pushed the limits of executive power in ways never before seen in peacetime. And yet, the same celebrities who now cry “crisis” were among the loudest voices cheering on those government overreaches as they sat in their giant mansions with private cooks and the latest of every gadget known to humans.

The preponderance of celebrities seeking political influence across the partisan spectrum stands in sharp contrast with the hero our nation celebrates today. Presidents’ Day (sometimes spelled President’s Day or Presidents Day) is officially Washington’s Birthday at the federal level. Since 1879, the U.S. has honored George Washington in this way. And appropriately so: He led the Continental Army to victory in the American Revolutionary War, presided at the Constitutional Convention of 1787, and served as the first U.S. president from 1789 to 1797. However, he was in many ways a reluctant hero who avoided celebrity whenever he could.

When asked to lead the army, he responded, “I do not think myself equal to the Command I am honored with.” After winning the War for Independence, he was reluctant to lead the Constitutional Convention lest he be perceived as grasping for power. When elected president, he lamented that he lacked the “competency of political skill . . . necessary to manage the helm” and said, “Integrity & firmness is all I can promise.” When he voluntarily stepped down after his second term as president, a dumbfounded King George III proclaimed him “the greatest character of the age.” Historian Matthew Spalding calls him “the man who would not be king” and notes that “no one walked away from power with more dignity.”

Washington exhorted his fellow citizens: “The name of ‘American’ which belongs to you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of Patriotism.” But his sacrificial and humble patriotism made him the “father” of our nation in ways no words could. Now It’s Our Turn.

We live in a time when many people—celebrities included—are quick to point fingers at what they see as national crises while often misunderstanding the true nature of civic duty and governance. If we want to preserve the principles that make our country strong, we must model them ourselves. This is only fair: If we claim that Jesus transforms people into “new creations” (2 Corinthians 5:17), the world has a right to expect such transformation in us.

Imagine the difference in America if every American Christian imitated Jesus—if we asked, “What Would Jesus Do?” and lived accordingly. Consider the evangelists we would become, the ministry we would share, the obedience we would model. Here’s what makes imitating Jesus different from emulating any other laudatory figure of history: Jesus will help us do so.

St. Augustine observed: Christ takes shape in a believer through the faith that is in his inmost soul. Such a believer, gentle and humble of heart, is called to the freedom of grace. He does not boast of the merit he gains from good works, for they are worth nothing. It is grace itself that is the beginning of merit . . . [as] Christ is formed within the believer who accepts the form of Christ, who comes close to Christ by means of spiritual love.

How can we “come close to Christ” today?

1. Make it our ambition to imitate Jesus (cf. Romans 8:29). This and nothing less must be our highest purpose in life.

2. Admit we cannot imitate Jesus without His help. Ask His Spirit to “fill” and control us (Ephesians 5:18), manifesting the “fruit” of His character in our lives (Galatians 5:22–23) and using us to demonstrate Christ to the culture.

3. Join the Spirit in our sanctification through prayer, Bible study, worship, and other spiritual disciplines. These position us to experience the transformation only God can make in our lives.

4. Measure success by service. As with Jesus’ earthly ministry (Matthew 20:28), the consequences of our faithfulness will far outlive our obedience.

St. Augustine assured us: “The believer who imitates Christ becomes . . . the same as Christ whom he imitates.” If more Christians committed to this kind of transformation, perhaps we would see fewer celebrities mistaking their opinions for constitutional crises—and more Americans seeking true wisdom from the One who governs all things.

Former President Donald Trump has proposed relocating Gazans and having the United States take control of the region. The idea has sparked controversy, with critics accusing him of supporting “ethnic cleansing.” However, a closer look at the facts—and at Gaza itself—reveals a vastly different reality.

Ethnic cleansing is a serious accusation, one that implies the forced removal or killing of a group to create a more homogenous population. But that definition simply does not apply here. The people of Gaza already identify as refugees, and international law allows for their relocation when necessary for security. The Geneva Convention states that forced transfers are legal if required for civilian protection or military reasons, and the ICC’s Rome Statute reinforces this by allowing displacement when it ensures civilian safety. If Israel or the U.S. relocates Gazans temporarily, and some may want to relocate permanently, with proper safeguards and the possibility of return, there is no violation of international law—just a necessary response to an ongoing war.

If we are going to talk about ethnic cleansing, we should start with Gaza itself. Over the years, Gaza has systematically removed anyone who does not align with Hamas’ radical terrorist ideology. Christians, political dissenters, and anyone opposed to the regime have been persecuted or driven out. The Jewish population? They were expelled long, long ago. Today, the only people allowed to remain are those who either support or submit to Hamas, an organization that openly calls for the destruction of Israel. Gaza, in effect, has already been “cleansed”—not by Israel or the U.S., but by its own leadership. In fact, this has been taught to the children of Gaza by Hamas as soon as they can read. It is a monstrous situation of indoctrination to a cult of death, the only hope for some is intervention by supernatural enlightenment spiritually from God.

This reality stands in stark contrast to both Israel and the United States. Israel is one of the most ethnically diverse nations in the world, home to Jews, Arabs, Christians, Druze, and others. In fact, 21% of Israel’s population is Palestinian, living as full citizens with rights and representation. The U.S., of course, is one of the most diverse countries on earth. If either of these nations were to take control of Gaza, it would immediately and de facto, become more diverse, not less. Yet despite these facts, many still insist on calling the relocation of Gazans “ethnic cleansing,” twisting the meaning of the term for political purposes. This is not about race or ethnicity—it is about security. For decades, a majority of Gazans have supported or tolerated violent attacks on Israel. Now that Israel is defending itself, accusations of “ethnic cleansing” are being thrown around as a way to demonize the response. It is the same tactic that elitist and self-loathing western nations have used with respect to many issues. Call anything “racist” or “colonial” and you will have the left leaning (and western academically indoctrinated) falling all over themselves to jump on the hate western, Judeo-Christian values train.

To put this in a clearer perspective, imagine a scenario in the United States where an entire city, let us say Detroit, has been taken over by a violent terrorist organization that has ruled with an iron fist for decades. This group has driven out anyone who opposes them, murdered political rivals, persecuted religious minorities, and brainwashed the population into believing that their only purpose is to destroy America. The rest of the country has tried to negotiate, has offered aid, and even allowed supplies to flow in, but every time peace seems possible, the terrorists launch new attacks—suicide bombings, mass shootings, and missile strikes—on Chicago, New York, and Washington, D.C.

For years, the American people tolerate the situation, hoping for a peaceful resolution. But then, one day, this terrorist-controlled city launches the deadliest attack in modern history, killing thousands of civilians. The government has no choice but to respond with full military force to stop the violence and remove the threat. Now, let’s say the terrorists have embedded themselves deep within the civilian population, using homes, schools, and hospitals as bases for their operations. As the U.S. military moves in, civilians are caught in the crossfire—not because the military is targeting them, but because the terrorists refuse to let them leave.

At this point, the most humane and logical option is to evacuate the civilians for their own safety, clear out the terrorist infrastructure, and eventually rebuild the city with a more stable and diverse population. The innocent residents who were trapped under terrorist rule would have a chance to return—not to the same war-torn, oppressive regime they once lived under, but to a rebuilt city where they could live alongside new residents who believe in peace, coexistence, and prosperity. Would this be considered “ethnic cleansing”? Of course not. It would be a necessary security measure to protect both the civilians of that city and the rest of the country. The goal wouldn’t be to remove a particular ethnic group but to eliminate a violent ideology and restore peace. The only people being permanently removed would be those who irrationally hate, and simply must have violence against the rest of the country, and refuse to live without violence.

This is essentially what is happening in Gaza. For years, Hamas has ruled by fear, using civilians as human shields and promoting an ideology of endless war. Israel, like the rest of the U.S. in this analogy, has endured attack after attack, always hoping for peace. But after the October 7th massacre, Israel, like any responsible nation, has no choice but to dismantle the terrorist regime. The safest and most humane way to do that is to temporarily relocate civilians, clean out the terrorist infrastructure, and eventually rebuild Gaza in a way that allows for a peaceful and diverse future.

Just as the U.S. would never tolerate a city launching attacks against its people, Israel cannot be expected to live under constant threat from a terrorist stronghold next door. And just as the U.S. would take action to remove the threat while protecting innocent lives, Israel is doing the same. Those who call this “ethnic cleansing” are either misunderstanding the situation or deliberately distorting reality.

The irony is striking. While critics accuse Israel of ethnic cleansing, it is Gaza that has already purged itself of anyone unwilling to participate in the ongoing war against the Jewish state. With Hamas in charge of Gaza, it is like a hopeless drug addict, addicted to hatred and violence against Israel, their only hope is to go completely “Cold Turkey.”  The reality is simple: Trump’s plan is not about erasing an ethnic group, but about ensuring security in a region long dominated by terrorism. Relocating refugees from a war zone is not a crime; it is a legal and sometimes necessary action. And if diversity is the standard by which we measure justice, then Gaza is the last place that should be held up as an example.

In the complex landscape of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, we can observe two distinct forms of captivity that offer profound spiritual parallels. On one hand, Israeli hostages are acutely aware of their captors and yearn for liberation. On the other, many Palestinians live under the oppressive rule of Hamas, often unaware of the extent of their subjugation, being told massive lies for decades, and having been indoctrinated by their leaders. These scenarios mirror the spiritual conditions of humanity: those who recognize their bondage to sin and those who remain oblivious to it.

Hamas, is and has been designated as a terrorist organization by multiple countries, including the United States. Hamas not only targets Israelis but also suppresses its own people. We know, with absolute certainty, that Hamas has used Palestinian civilians as human shields, placing military assets in schools, hospitals, and residential areas, thereby endangering innocent lives. This exploitation keeps Palestinians in a state of fear and ignorance, manipulating them to serve the organization’s malevolent purposes.

This is a superb object lesson of the spiritual blindness described in Scripture. The Apostle Paul writes, “The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel” (2 Corinthians 4:4). Such individuals are “darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them” (Ephesians 4:18). They are captives, unaware of their captivity, manipulated by the forces of darkness. And Hamas is a force of darkness.

In contrast, Israeli hostages are fully aware of their dire situation. They endure physical confinement, extreme mental and emotional suffering, but remain cognizant of their captors and hold onto the hope of rescue. This reflects the experience of individuals who recognize their sinful state and yearn for redemption. The Apostle Paul lamented, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24). Acknowledging one’s bondage is the first step toward liberation. Blindly going forward and believing that you are perfect the way you are, and have no need of a savior will lead to permanent bondage and separation forever.

For the Palestinians under Hamas’s oppressive rule, liberation begins with the revelation of truth. Jesus declared, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32). The gospel unveils the deceptions of evil powers and offers a way out of spiritual bondage. As John MacArthur explains, “Spiritual blindness is a universal human condition. Every human being born into this world, since the fall of Adam, has been born spiritually blind.”

For the Israeli hostages, deliverance comes through external intervention. Similarly, those who recognize their spiritual captivity find salvation through Christ’s redemptive work. The Apostle Paul proclaims, “Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25). Just as rescuers must act to free hostages God intervenes to save those who call upon Him.

Understanding these forms of captivity compels us to act. For those unaware of their spiritual bondage, we must shine the light of the gospel, exposing the lies that enslave them. For those who recognize their captivity, we offer the hope of Christ’s deliverance and his Word, and our fellowship as comfort. As C.S. Lewis observed, “The gospel is that Jesus Christ came to earth, lived the life we should have lived, and died the death we should have died.”

In a world rife with both physical and spiritual captivity, the message of liberation through Christ remains as vital as ever. Let us be bearers of this truth, guiding the blind and comforting the captive, until all find freedom in Him.

“I will build my church, and the gates of hell will not overpower it.” Matt. 16:18
The perspective and vantage point of most Christians, especially in the United States, is very limited. We can often only see how God is moving and working in our local congregations and among those around us. Depending on the circumstances, that can be discouraging.
When we expand our vision globally with the 2025 report from the Center for the Study of Global Christianity at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, we can see several trends that give us good news about the kingdom of God. Many of these continue encouraging trends from 2024.

1. Christianity is growing
Regardless of what you may expect, Christianity continues to grow around the world. Currently, there are more than 2.64 billion Christians. Christianity crossed the 2 billion mark this century but will top 3 billion before 2050. The world’s population, at just over 8 billion, has a 0.88% annual growth rate, but Christianity is growing at a rate of 0.98%. Around one-third of the world’s population is Christian.

2. Nones have plateaued globally
In many contexts, it may seem as if people are fleeing religion, but that’s probably no longer the case in the U.S. and is certainly not the case globally. From 1900 to 1970, the worldwide population of the religiously unaffiliated jumped from 3 million to more than 700 million. Since that time, however, growth has slowed dramatically. Today, around 906 million individuals aren’t part of a religion, a number currently growing by 0.19% annually. Projections indicate they will soon start declining, falling to 867 million by 2050.

3. Atheism is declining
While the numbers of religiously unaffiliated people have continued to grow slowly, global atheism peaked with bell bottoms and disco. In 1970, there were more than 161 million atheists, but that number fell to 137 million in 2000. A brief period of growth in the early 21st century brought the global atheist population up to almost 147 million in 2020. Today, however, that number has dwindled to 145 million, falling 0.2% annually. By 2050, atheism is projected to drop to 133 million.

4. Evangelicals are among the fastest-growing Christian groups
Every group within Christianity is growing, but evangelicals are one of the fastest-growing. Currently, 420 million evangelicals are growing at a 1.47% annual rate. Since 2000, evangelicalism has increased by 150 million. In the next 25 years, the number is projected to jump by 200 million to reach almost 621 million by 2050.

5. Christianity is exploding in Africa and Asia
Persecution is often severe in many areas in the Global South, but Christianity is growing in every region. Currently, 2 in 3 Christians live in the Global South. The faith is even increasing in the Middle East. Ancient churches, much older than anything in the west are revitalizing in places like Iran where Thaddeus and St. Bartholemew, both one of the original Apostles of Christ started churches in the 1st century!
Right now, more than 750 million Christians call Africa home, and this number is growing at a 2.59% annual rate. Almost as many Christians live in Africa as in Europe, Russia, and North America combined (823 million). Asia has 416 million Christians, a number that is growing 1.6% each year. By 2050, Africa will be home to more than 1.2 billion Christians, and almost 600 million will live in Asia.

6. Ministers and missionaries continue to be called and sent
The number of national workers or citizens who serve the Christian mission in their context has reached almost 13.6 million people. That number has been growing 0.91% annually. The total number is expected to reach 17 million by 2050.
Missionaries, those who serve in a country foreign to them, are growing by 1.15% and reached 450,000 in 2025. Around 600,000 are projected to be serving by 2050.

7. Martyrdom has fallen
While persecution remains a significant issue for Christians in many areas, the number of believers who are killed for their faith over a 10-year period has declined. In 1970, there were more than 3.7 million Christian martyrs over 10 years. That dropped to 1.6 million in 2000 and is now down to 900,000. Projections do, however, see that number increasing slightly by 2050 to around 1 million.

8. More languages have New Testament translations
In 1900, just 228 groups had the New Testament in their language. Today, with a 2.07% annual rate of growth, around 2,500 languages have the New Testament. With a continued focus on language efforts, missions work, and technological advances, around 4,400 languages will have copies of the New Testament by 2050.

9. The percentage of people without gospel access is declining
In 1900, more than half of the world’s population (54.3%) had no gospel access. Due to the work of missionaries of the past and present, that percentage has fallen to 27% and is currently dropping at an annual rate of -0.45%.

Hast Thou No Scar by Amy Carmichael

Hast thou no scar?

No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?

I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,

I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,

Hast thou no scar?

Hast thou no wound?

Yet, I was wounded by the archers, spent.

Leaned me against the tree to die, and rent

By ravening beasts that compassed me, I swooned:

Hast thou no wound?

No wound? No scar?

Yet as the Master shall the servant be,

And pierced are the feet that follow Me;

But thine are whole. Can he have followed far

Who has no wound nor scar?

Have you ever suffered—not for doing wrong, not for a mistake or a failure—but simply for standing with Christ? Have you ever faced rejection, loss, or pain because you refused to compromise the truth? Because you chose righteousness over comfort?

Amy Carmichael’s poem speaks to the reality of Christian discipleship: to follow Jesus is to walk a road marked by suffering. Christ Himself bore wounds—deep, cruel, undeserved wounds—and He tells us, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24).

Paul writes in Philippians 1:29, “For to you it has been granted for Christ’s sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for His sake.” Suffering for Christ is not a burden; it is a calling. It is part of what it means to belong to Him. But in a world that values comfort, success, and approval, it is tempting to avoid the cost of discipleship. It is easy to want Christ without His cross, to want faith without hardship. And yet, Christ was wounded. Christ was scarred. If we are truly following Him, how can we expect to be untouched?

James 1:2-4 tells us to “consider it all joy” when we face trials because they refine and strengthen our faith. We often think of suffering as something to be avoided, but Scripture says it is something to be embraced. Why? Because it shapes us into the image of Christ. It deepens our trust in Him. It proves that we are truly His.

Paul warns in 2 Timothy 3:12, “Indeed, all who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” Not some, but all. If we have never experienced any form of suffering for our faith—no ridicule, no rejection, no hardship—it is worth asking: Have I truly stood for Christ? Have I truly followed Him?

Amy Carmichael’s words cut deep:

“Pierced are the feet that follow Me;

But thine are whole. Can he have followed far

Who has no wound nor scar?”

It is a question we must all ask ourselves. Have we followed Christ at a distance, careful not to stand too firmly on truth, careful not to offend, careful not to suffer? Or have we walked so closely with Him that we bear the marks of that walk? If you have suffered for Christ, take heart. It is a sign that you are His. If you have not, perhaps it is time to ask whether you have truly stepped out in faith, spoken truth when it was costly, or chosen obedience when it hurt.

But do not fear suffering. Christ walks with us in it. And beyond every wound, every scar, every moment of rejection, there is a glory far greater than we can imagine. “If we endure, we will also reign with Him” (2 Timothy 2:12).

So, dear believer, hast thou no scar?

In the modern evangelical church, there is a curious dance happening—one where the world’s wisdom is leading, and the Bible’s timeless truths are, at times, following. Perhaps unintentionally, we’ve allowed the culture’s tune to dictate our steps.

Stockholm Syndrome, a term coined after a 1973 bank heist in Sweden, describes a psychological response where hostages develop a bond with their captors, sometimes even defending them. In a spiritual context, it might look like Christians adopting the views of a world that doesn’t acknowledge the authority of Christ. As Romans 12:2 advises, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

The Wisdom of the World vs. the Wisdom of God:

1 Corinthians 1:20 asks, “Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” Here, Paul highlights the folly of worldly wisdom over divine truth for the Christian.

John MacArthur, in one of his sermons, comments, “The church today is being seduced by the world’s philosophies because we’ve forgotten that our allegiance is to the King of Kings, not the current cultural trends.”

Let me let you in on a little secret, though it’s not really a secret…we will never be accepted by the world system period. Our wisdom is foolishness to the world, and the worlds system is foolishness to God. Here is Paul’s explanation from 1 Corinthians.

“26 For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. 27 But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; 28 God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, 29 so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. 30 And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31 so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” (1 Corinthians 1:26, ESV)

We have always been strange and unacceptable to the intelligencia of the world. No matter how many degrees, or books you write; it’s all foolishness to the world.

When Christian leaders suggest “unhitching” from the Old Testament or downplaying the Bible’s authority in public discourse, we see a tragic scenario where we Christians try to navigate life, especially spiritual life, with one hand tied behind our back. As Psalm 119:105 states, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” Without the full counsel of Scripture, how can we see clearly? We have asked “the blind man” to lead us who have “sight.”  Our strength and power come not from this world but from the word of God…it makes no sense to the World. It’s the ultimate square peg in a round hole; and to be clear, when I say “World” I don’t mean the globe called Earth, I mean the worlds system and the philosophy or Zeitgeists that are controlling it at the moment.

MacArthur often reminds us, “The Bible isn’t just part of our faith; it is the foundation of it. We cannot pick and choose what we like.”

Many in the church have become cultural captives, much like the ones described in the Stockholm Syndrome explained above. Another group did the same thing. The Israelites who, in Exodus, forgot their identity and begged Moses to go back to their Egyptian captives when things go a little rough.  In my opinion, God’s chosen people were actually the first to have so-called “Stockholm Syndrome.”  Maybe the real name of this behavior should be “Exodus Syndrome.” We laugh at the irony, but there’s a lesson here: when we start valuing the world’s applause, acceptance, and comforts over God’s approval, we’ve lost the plot.

2 Timothy 4:3-4 warns, “For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.” Here, we see a prophetic call to remain vigilant against cultural pressures.

MacArthur has been vocal about this, stating, “The church needs to return to the bedrock of scripture, not because it’s popular, but because it’s true.” And might I add, powerful.

Perhaps we need to see our situation through the lens of humor: Imagine you are on a ship, the ship represents the Church and Christians in the the ship are part of this church. The ocean represents the world and it’s system. Imagine the ship’s captain saying, “Let’s throw away our compass; in fact the waves look friendly today, lets just jump into the ocean, forget the ship and swim with the sharks.” The absurdity is clear, yet isn’t this what we do when we side-glance at the Bible in favor of contemporary thought?

The challenge before us isn’t to become hermits but to engage the world with the wisdom of God, not of man. This dance with the world’s wisdom must end if we are to truly follow Christ. Because after the music changes the world will dump us and leave the party with someone else.  Let’s reclaim our identity as those transformed by the renewing of our minds, not conformed by the patterns of this world, with a smile knowing that the truth, in its essence, is both liberating and, sometimes, hilariously straightforward.