© Jacob Berhoef I didn’t expect a wake-up call from God to come through a text message. Text Message: “Thank you so much for your prayers!” To my shame, I didn’t even remember what their prayer request was. I had to scroll back through my messages and look. It wasn’t a small request. I can’t even begin to tell you the shame I felt in that moment. In that moment, I felt convicted in a way I had never experienced before. It wasn’t gentle at all. It was that cast iron pan upside the head that left a migraine kinda pow. The weight of promises. When we tell someone, “I’ll be praying for you,” we’re making more than a polite gesture. We’re making a promise, one God Himself hears. To forget that promise is no different than telling a friend you’ll show up to help them move, and then never arriving. That day, I realized I had been beyond careless and thoughtless with my words. They reached out to me in need, and I didn’t come through when I said I would. I felt wrecked in that moment. I cried, and I asked God to forgive me and change me. It has been a journey in changing my habits. It is important to understand that when convicted, you still have to do the work that goes with it; conviction doesn’t mean instant change of behavior, it means God is calling you out on behavior that must change. That is why it took so long to write about this change in my life; it was a learning process and a mental/physical habit that I needed to fix because I was convicted. Ultimately, it is impossible to describe the profound impact this has had on my life in many areas, and I encourage everyone to reevaluate how they handle prayer requests. It will say a lot about your heart and relationship with Christ. I want to share a few things that I have learned along the way. This is akin to a covenant in a lot of ways. “a covenant is a promise between two or more parties to perform certain actions.” A prayer doesn’t have to be fancy words, just sincere and full of faith. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of doing something with people around me. I close my eyes and lift them up in prayer, and when someone asks what’s up, I tell them the truth. I was praying for someone. Be bold and courageous in your faith. Here’s a neat thing: once you pray, you remember their prayer request better. It’s like when you meet someone and say their name, so next time you have a better chance of remembering their name. Discovered the same happens for prayer requests. Some days are better than others regarding the request details, and you won’t remember every prayer request or every single detail for weeks on end. And that’s ok, you remember their name and their need, God will take care of the rest. We are not built to remember every prayer request for weeks on end. We get new data every day, but God will put it on your heart out of nowhere sometimes, so listen to that. You will fail at this sometimes; you will backslide and forget, but keep moving forward with this new chapter of your faith. God has taught me to keep pressing forward, to keep growing, and not let failure pull me back into old habits. Prayer is both a duty and a gift. It’s one of the most intimate promises we can make to one another, bringing a need before God. And if God has never once broken a promise to us, how can we treat our own promises so lightly? This journey has humbled me, convicted me, and reshaped me. And though I’m still learning, I can say with confidence: honoring the prayers we promise transforms more than our habits. It transforms our relationship with God and with others. So the next time you tell someone, “I’m praying for you,” stop and pray. Right there. Right then. Because prayer is not a courtesy, it’s a covenant. (This piece is a revision of an early work and has been rewritten to reflect how God continues to mold me, draw me to this topic, and with a lot better grammar.) © Jane Isley

I struggled to come out of the fog of sleep, searching for awakeness after a broken night’s rest. Lying still with my eyes closed, my brain sorted through its daily reality check. Sunday morning. Church. Lunch with friends. Evening to relax. Got it. But then the flood of anguishing memories from the previous week hit me. It would be an overcast day at best. I pictured myself walking into church, locking eyes with a smiling friend, and bursting into tears. The music would open the floodgates. The sermon would surely hit the bullseye. Should I just walk into church with a box of Kleenex? I quickly decided to tell Hubby we need to watch the livestream; I’m not in the mood to see smiling faces. But then I remembered the chopsticks, and I smiled. The chopstick’s smile study was conducted in 2009 by Daniel Wiswede and his colleagues at the Otto-von Guericke Universität Magdeburg, in Magdeburg, Germany. The researchers were trying to determine if the physical act of smiling had an effect on dopamine levels. Dopamine levels run parallel to mood. A person with low levels of dopamine may feel sad or depressed. A person with excessively high levels of dopamine may be more aggressive and have trouble sleeping. Maintaining a ‘normal’ level of this neurotransmitter helps with the regulation of a person’s generally happy mood. The Chopstick’s Study (as I will refer to it) had participants hold a chopstick horizontally between their teeth, thus forcing their face into a ‘smile’ position. Other participants held a chopstick vertically by their upper lip, thus forcing their face into a ‘frown’ position. These people sat with a chopstick either horizontally or vertically in their mouths for five minutes. The people with the horizontal chopstick between their teeth were found to have an elevated mood and higher dopamine levels. The mere act of smiling makes you feel happier! An alternate study involving the Mirror Neuron System (MNS) was also referenced in the Chopstick’s Study literature. “Mirror neurons in the brain fire not only when the action is performed, but also when the action is observed.” So if I am feeling blue, and someone smiles at me, happy neurological activity starts firing in my brain! As a believer in Jesus, I not only have an MNS, but I also have an MJS (Mirror Jesus System)! Of all the things God created, humans are the only ones created in His image. We were made to reflect His glory. If you are filled with the Holy Spirit, people see Jesus when they see you. When you smile at someone, it causes the other person to smile back, thus releasing dopamine in their brain. Be a mirror of Jesus! Hubby lovingly denied my request to watch the church livestream. I gave myself a mental pep talk on the 23-minute drive to church, my purse loaded with Kleenex, just in case. Stepping out of the car, a smile greeted me. I mirrored. Three more smiles were beamed in my direction. I reflected. By the time I sat down, I had been smiling nonstop for minutes. The dopamine in my brain was flowing. The dark cloud of the previous week had not gone away- But my church family was there holding my umbrella. Chopstick’s Study First published in Pursuing Perfection on Substack by © Tessa Lind, tessalind.substack.com

Pexels If you flip through the Gospels, you’ll notice something Jesus never said: “Come back when you’ve got your act cleaned up.” He didn’t walk the shoreline of Galilee hunting for the holiest, most polished citizens. He went after fishermen who smelled of dead fish, tax collectors with sticky fingers, zealots with hot tempers, and women pushed to the margins. The truth is, Jesus never asked for perfect people. He picked messy ones on purpose. Jesus’ Track Record with Imperfect People When Jesus called Peter, James, and John, they were ordinary laborers. Nothing holy about cleaning nets all night (Luke 5:1–11). Matthew, the tax collector, was a social outcast and viewed as a sell-out to Rome (Matthew 9:9–13). Mary Magdalene carried deep wounds, and rumors trailed her name (Luke 8:2). If you were forming a movement to change the world, would you choose these people? Yet Jesus did. He built His kingdom out of cracked stones, not polished marble. As Paul later wrote, “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise… the weak things… to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27). Messiness Is Not a Disqualification Some of us carry the quiet ache of believing we’ll never measure up. We think, if I could just be more faithful, more disciplined, more holy, then maybe God would use me. But Jesus flips that script. Nadia Bolz-Weber once said, “Never once did Jesus scan the room for the best example of holy living and send that person out to tell others about him. He always sent stumblers and sinners.” That’s the point: our messiness isn’t a barrier — it’s the very space where grace shines brightest. Why Did Jesus Do It This Way? Because perfection was never the requirement. Love was. When the Pharisees grumbled about Jesus eating with tax collectors and sinners, He said plainly: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick” (Matthew 9:12). Brian Zahnd puts it like this: “Jesus doesn’t begin with the demand for perfection. He begins with the offer of mercy.” Jesus called broken people because broken people know they need help. They’re not pretending to have it all together. And when they encounter grace, it’s not theory. it’s lifeblood. What About Us? So where does that leave you and me? It means your doubts don’t disqualify you. Your anger doesn’t exclude you. Your rough edges don’t make you unusable. Think about Peter: he denied even knowing Jesus three times. Yet after the resurrection, Jesus didn’t discard him. He restored him (John 21:15–19). The story of the early church was carried on the back of a man who failed publicly. Rachel Held Evans once wrote, “The gospel doesn’t need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out. It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down walls and throwing open doors.” That’s the kind of community Jesus started with, and that’s the one we’re still invited into. The Power of Grace in the Mess Now hear me on this: Grace isn’t a ticket to stay stuck. It’s fuel to grow. But growth doesn’t erase the fact that Jesus loved us first, while we were still messy. Romans 5:8 reminds us, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Notice Paul doesn’t say “after we cleaned up” or “once we proved ourselves.” Grace met us in the dirt. And grace still does. Living Like This Matters Here’s the challenge: if Jesus picked the messy ones, maybe we need to stop trying to curate our image of perfection and start telling the truth about who we are. Because honesty breeds connection. Vulnerability breeds compassion. And the world doesn’t need more perfect Christians. It needs more honest ones. Now, somebody might be saying, “But what about the verse that says, “Be perfect as I am perfect '?” I’m glad you asked. Let me explain: If you look at the verses right before Matthew 5:48, Jesus is talking about love for enemies. He says God makes the sun rise on both the good and the evil, and sends rain on the just and unjust alike (Matthew 5:45). Then He pushes His disciples beyond tribal, transactional love. So when He says, “Be perfect, as your Father is perfect,” He’s calling them to grow up into God’s kind of love, complete, impartial, generous love. Barbara Brown Taylor once said, “Jesus hung out with all the wrong people. So if you’re trying to avoid the wrong people, you’re going to miss him.” That’ll preach. Take This with You Jesus never asked for perfect people. He asked for willing people. He called the messy, the doubting, the overlooked, and the broken — and He still does. So the next time you catch yourself thinking, I’m not good enough for God to use me, remember this: your story is exactly the kind of story Jesus builds His kingdom on. Not the polished one. Not the Instagram-ready one. The real one. And that’s very good news. © Gary L Ellis Gary L. Ellis (1944–2026) served as an editor and contributor to this publication. His work remains part of our archive in grateful remembrance.

Anyone who has some form of connection to the outside world knows that every day, there is more and more terrifying news. Car accidents, deaths from natural disasters, wars, school shootings, the list goes on and on. And recently, I’ve seen numerous posts and comments about how we are at the end of the world. Now, before you click off this article, I just want to let you know that I’m not writing about whether or not we are moments away from the tribulation, the rapture, or Jesus’ second coming. I don’t know the answer to those things, and honestly, I think we as Christians are focusing too much on whether or not these things are happening. I’m not trying to minimize the significance of these topics, but lately, I’ve seen Christians (myself included) get so focused on these topics that we are losing sight of what we are called to do. In Matthew 28:19, Jesus says, “Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations.” The truth is that we are so focused on the dark things happening in the world that we forget that we are children of God! We can be the lanterns in this dark world if we turn our attention to what truly matters most, which is how great and mighty our God is! God has made every one of us in His image, and we all are different! God wants to use the uniqueness of us as individuals to help glorify Him and His mission. As children of God, this should be the thing that we should be focusing on. How can we be the light in the darkness? How can we show God’s love today? I used to struggle with those questions until a few weeks ago. I was at a gas station and I held the door open for a man who was probably in his fifties. The man stopped walking for a split second, flabbergasted that some woman was holding the door open for him. Then the biggest smile came onto his face. I grew up holding doors for people; that’s what I was taught to do, but it made me realize that this world is a lot darker and desperate for help than I realized. God showed me that day that I don’t need to be perfect or great at something to be able to be a blessing to someone. Today, you can be a blessing to someone just by holding the door open for them. You can be a blessing by tipping your barista a little extra money or by buying a sandwich for that homeless person on the sidewalk. The possibilities are endless. And it’s not just strangers you can bless, it’s your family members and fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Does someone you know need help cleaning their house? Do it even if that selfish part of you doesn’t want to. You never know how much of an impact that’s going to make on their day, month, year, or even life. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, and I love a good flare of drama, but it’s true. Blessing someone can plant a seed in their heart, and you never know what God might do with that seed that was planted. As the world continues to get darker, it’s easy to get scared, to want to stay confined to the safety of our bubbles, and to be selfish with our time, effort, and money. But that’s not what we are called to do. In fact, seeing all of these dark things should be a reminder that people are looking for something good, something bright. And we just happen to be tiny lanterns who have the opportunity to show them who the brightest light of the world is, our savior Jesus Christ. “And without question, the person who has the power to give a blessing is greater than the one who is blessed.” Hebrews 7:7 © Sierra Loew

Prologue Before criticizing Christian nationalism, it is important to represent it fairly. Serious Christian nationalists are not cartoon villains obsessed with domination. Most would argue something like this: Civil government is ordained by God. Nations are real and meaningful, not accidental. Law inevitably reflects moral convictions. If a people are Christian, their laws and institutions should reflect Christian moral order. Strength deters evil and protects the innocent. This position is not irrational. It is a form of political theology. It takes seriously that rulers answer to God. It takes seriously that moral neutrality is a myth. It takes seriously that power must be ordered toward justice. The problem is not that Christians care about order or strength. The problem emerges when strength becomes ultimate. “Raphael’s ‘The Vision of the Cross’ depicts Constantine seeing the cross before battle—a moment where Christian faith begins its uneasy alliance with worldly power.” A Clarifying Question So I ask a simple question. Do you want a truly Christian nation? A nation where: Most people genuinely believe in Jesus. Laws reflect biblical justice. Rulers are godly and restrained. The poor do not go to bed hungry. Corruption is rare. The vulnerable are protected. But here is the condition. It is not the strongest military in the world. It is not the largest economy. It is not a global superpower. Other nations do not fear it. Some even look down on it. Would that still count as success? The hesitation around that question reveals the real tension. The New Testament Problem The New Testament repeatedly warns Christians about “the world.” “Do not love the world or the things in the world” (1 John 2:15) “Friendship with the world is enmity with God” (James 4:4) Yet “God so loved the world” (John 3:16) What is being rejected is not people, creation, or nations. What is rejected is a system of pride, domination, self-exaltation, and the craving for recognition. “The world” is not geography. It is an order of desire. Here is the subtle loophole some Christian nationalists fall into: If the world is the problem, then make the world Christian. If the system is corrupt, take control of it. If culture is hostile, baptize it. Then we can love it without compromise. But this assumes the problem is the label. It is not. If the same instincts remain — if prestige is still ultimate, if dominance is still non-negotiable, if humiliation still feels like the worst evil — then nothing fundamental has changed. You have not rejected the world. You have renamed it. You cannot cure worldliness by giving it a cross. You either crucify the desire for dominance, or you sanctify it. The question is not whether Christians influence power. The question is whether power reshapes what Christians mean by faithfulness. Where the Tension Lives Christian nationalism often insists that strength is necessary to protect righteousness. That claim is not absurd. Weak governments can enable chaos. Defensive force can restrain evil. But at what point does protection become prestige? At what point does deterrence become a craving to be feared? When Christianity gained imperial favor under Constantine the Great, the persecuted church received stability and influence. Many believers saw it as providence. Yet Rome’s instinct for expansion and dominance did not vanish. It merged with Christian identity. The cross moved closer to the sword. From that point forward, Christians have faced the same question: Are we discipling power, or is power discipling us? The Kingdom Jesus Described Jesus did not reject authority, but he radically redefined greatness. “The meek shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5)“Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44)“The greatest among you shall be your servant” (Matthew 23:11)“My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36)“My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9) The early church lived under the Rome of Nero. They had no cultural dominance and no political leverage. Yet they reshaped the moral imagination of the empire. They were spiritually powerful and politically unimpressive. The New Testament does not present global dominance as the mark of divine favor. It presents endurance, holiness, and love under pressure as maturity (James 1:2–4). The Question of Ultimacy This is not about whether a nation may defend itself. It is not about whether Christians should influence law. It is not about whether stability is good. The real question is about ultimacy. If obedience to Christ and national prestige ever conflict, which yields? If a nation became more just but less feared, would that feel like loss? If it became more merciful but less dominant, would that feel like decline? Scripture treats justice as sacred (Micah 6:8)Mercy as sacred (Matthew 9:13)Holiness as sacred (1 Peter 1:15–16) It never treats being feared as sacred. If the New Testament calls believers to reject the pride of life and the lust for status, then making the system Christian in name does not solve the problem if those desires remain intact. The world is not defeated by conquest. It is defeated by crucifixion. The Final Test If your country became more obedient to Christ but less dominant globally, would you call that decline or faithfulness? If righteousness increased but influence decreased, would you celebrate or panic? A genuinely Christian nation, if such a thing were possible, might look restrained, generous, morally serious, and even unimpressive. The cross was not intimidating (Philippians 2:6–8). It was obedient. If your Christianity requires your nation to be feared in order to feel secure, then strength has become more central than discipleship. And that is the question Christian nationalism must answer. © Joel Sarfraz References: Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV). 1 John 2:15; James 4:4; John 3:16; Matthew 5:5, 5:44, 23:11; John 18:36; 2 Corinthians 12:9; Micah 6:8; Matthew 9:13; 1 Peter 1:15–16; Philippians 2:6–8; Romans 13:1–7; Acts 17:26; Psalm 2; Psalm 82:3–4; Deuteronomy 15:4; Proverbs 29:4; James 1:2–4.Barnes, A. (1898). Notes on the New Testament. New York: Harper & Brothers. -Brown, P. (1989). The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200–1000. Blackwell. -Chadwick, H. (1993). The Early Church. Penguin Books. -Stark, R. (1996). The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History. Princeton University Press. -Rolston, B. (2012). Christian Political Theology: A Historical and Systematic Introduction. Oxford University Press. -Ehrman, B. D. (2014). The Apostolic Fathers, Volume 1: I–II Clement, Ignatius, Polycarp, Didache. Harvard University Press. -Raphael. The Vision of the Cross (Sala di Costantino, Vatican). Wikimedia Commons. Public domain. Available at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Raphael_Vision_Cross.jpg

Most of us don’t realize how fragile our sense of security really is, until something threatens it. A rejection letter. A failure we didn’t see coming. A moment when we realize we are not as in control as we thought. I remember talking with a student who had built his entire identity around getting into a particular university. For years, everything revolved around that goal. His classes, his extracurriculars, his sacrifices. It wasn’t just about education — it was about worth. When the rejection letter came, it didn’t feel like a missed opportunity. It felt like a verdict. For weeks, he questioned everything. Who am I, if not this? What was all of that for? What he experienced wasn’t unusual. It revealed something most of us live with every day: when our identity is rooted in fragile things, our sense of security becomes fragile too. It was around this time that I was reading Psalm 1 and Psalm 2. And what I found there completely reframed how I understood power, security, and what it means to live a truly stable life. The God We Expect — and the God We Don’t When most people think about God, especially in the Psalms, certain images come to mind. God is portrayed as a shepherd who gently leads his sheep. He is a refuge who protects us in times of danger. He is a creator who formed us with care and intention. These images are deeply comforting, and rightly so. They reveal God’s tenderness and his personal care for those who seek him. But Psalm 2 introduces a dimension of God’s character that is far less familiar. It opens with a scene of global rebellion. The nations rage. The rulers gather together. The most powerful people in the world align themselves in opposition to God. They believe they possess real authority. They believe they are in control. And then comes one of the most startling responses in all of Scripture: “He who sits in the heavens laughs.” God laughs. Not nervously. Not anxiously. Not defensively. He laughs because their rebellion, for all its apparent strength, is ultimately powerless. Power feels intimidating until you see it from heaven’s perspective. What appears overwhelming from our vantage point is insignificant from his. This is the laughter of absolute sovereignty, the laughter of someone who knows that no force in existence can overturn his purposes. The Fragile Systems We Trust We live in a world built on systems of achievement and approval. From an early age, we learn to measure ourselves by performance. Grades determine opportunity. Success determines respect. Achievement determines worth. We are taught, implicitly and explicitly, that our security depends on how well we navigate these systems. But these systems are fragile. They can reward you one moment and abandon you the next. They can elevate you temporarily, but they cannot secure you permanently. What we think controls our future often cannot even control itself. Psalm 2 exposes this illusion. It reminds us that even the most powerful human structures are temporary. They cannot outlast God. They cannot overrule him. They cannot ultimately threaten those whose lives are anchored in him. This realization dismantles the fear that so often drives our lives. Because if human power is not ultimate, then human approval is not ultimate either. And if human approval is not ultimate, then losing it is not ultimate loss. Why the Early Christians Were Unshakable This wasn’t just theoretical for the early Christians. It became the foundation of their courage. In the book of Acts, two of Jesus’ followers, Peter and John, were arrested and brought before powerful authorities. They were commanded to stop speaking publicly about Jesus. These were not empty threats. The authorities had real power to punish, imprison, and silence them. But after their release, the believers gathered together and prayed. And in their prayer, they quoted Psalm 2. They recognized that the rulers of their time had set themselves against God. And yet, in a profound twist, their opposition had actually fulfilled God’s plan. The crucifixion of Jesus, the greatest display of human power against God, became the very means through which salvation was accomplished. What looked like defeat was actually victory. This changed everything. They did not pray for safety. They prayed for boldness. They understood something that most of us forget: the most secure life is not the one protected from hardship, but the one rooted beyond it. Two Ways to Live: Rooted or Rootless Psalm 1 describes this contrast using a powerful image. It presents two fundamentally different ways of living. The first is the life of a person who is rooted. This person is described as a tree planted by streams of water. Because it is planted, it has a constant source of nourishment. It remains stable through changing seasons. It does not collapse when circumstances become difficult. Its strength comes not from its own effort, but from where it is rooted. The second is the life of a person who is rootless. This person is compared to chaff, the dry husk separated from grain. Chaff has no weight. No stability. It is carried wherever the wind takes it. This is what happens when our identity is rooted in temporary things. When our identity is rooted in achievement, failure devastates us. When our identity is rooted in approval, rejection defines us. When our identity is rooted in success, setbacks unravel us. Freedom without foundation leads to instability. But rootedness leads to flourishing. The King Who Chose Mercy Psalm 2 warns that God’s chosen King will ultimately rule with absolute authority. He has the power to establish justice and to judge rebellion. But the New Testament reveals something unexpected about this King. Instead of immediately exercising judgment, Jesus entered into human history and allowed himself to be rejected, mocked, and crucified. He absorbed the consequences of human rebellion rather than destroying those who rebelled. The God who laughs at human rebellion is also the God who loves rebels enough to rescue them. His authority is absolute. But his mercy is equally profound. This means the invitation of Psalm 2 is not merely a warning. It is an offer of refuge. Those who turn to him find not destruction, but security. The Secret of a Planted Life Psalm 1 tells us that this rooted life begins with where we plant our minds. What we return to daily shapes how we see ourselves and the world around us. In a world filled with constant comparison, distraction, and instability, it is easy to become spiritually rootless. Our identity becomes dependent on circumstances that are constantly changing. But there is another way to live. It is the life of someone who is planted. Someone whose identity is anchored in something unchanging. Someone who is not defined by success or failure, approval or rejection. This kind of life produces a deep and lasting security. Not because circumstances are easy, but because the foundation beneath them cannot be shaken. The Security Nothing Can Take Away The world constantly invites us to build our lives on fragile foundations, achievement, status, approval, control. But these things cannot bear the weight of our identity. They were never meant to. Psalm 1 and 2 offer a radically different invitation. They invite us to build our lives on the God who cannot be threatened. The God who cannot be overruled. The God who laughs, not because he is distant, but because he is sovereign. When your life is rooted in fragile things, you live in constant fear of losing them. But when your life is rooted in the God who reigns over all things, you no longer have to live in fear of the things that terrify everyone else. Because the God who laughs is also the God who invites you to stand secure with him. And that is the most stable life anyone can live. © David Jun

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter.” Isaiah 5:20 This has stayed with me. All I could think about was the moment I knew I was pregnant, how everything in me shifted in an instant. I can’t describe what it felt like to know a new life was growing inside of me. And yet, my daughter would have been considered less than a puppy in this woman's eyes. (dog, cat & gerbil owner here, so don’t think I don’t love or value my furbabes.) When people can treat babies as disposable things while puppies spark sympathy, that exposes the moral blindness that has drenched our world. What makes this terrifying isn’t that the morality is gone. It’s how completely it’s been flipped, tilted, and thrown into a tumbler. The empathy is still there. The care is still there. Love and kindness still exist. But worth has been misplaced, and humanity has been dehumanized. That kind of chosen blindness doesn’t happen by accident or overnight. It is subtle, deceptive, and purely demonic. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” Jeremiah 1:5 “Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14 “When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. Luke 1:41 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalms 139:13–16 In my Blot | Machah | Exaleiphó article, I talk about how God doesn’t write our names in the Book of Life after we come to Him. Rather, our names are already there, from the moment He knitted us together, because we are beloved, valued, worthy, ordained, anointed, and wanted. Life, being “allowed” to live, should never have gotten to the point of being a dinner table discussion or placed on a ballot. Is your moral compass tilted by this world, or shaped by God? And when the two stand in opposition, which one do you follow? © Jane Isely

If it walks like power and talks like control, it ain’t Jesus. “Empires always want to use religion to legitimize their power. Jesus never plays along. He’s not the chaplain of empire — he’s the challenger of it.” Brian Zahnd In a comment I read by Jane Isley, I’d like to expand a bit upon her thoughts: Way back when, kings ruled with crosses in one hand and a sword in the other. They didn’t lead like Jesus. They ruled like Caesar. And that’s what it feels like again. They didn’t lead like Jesus. They ruled like Caesar. They slapped religion on their thrones, not because they loved God, but because it kept the people in line. Faith became their favorite leash. And sadly, America is still repeating it. As a marketing brand and campaign slogan Look around. You’ll see Christianity being marketed like a brand. Used like a campaign slogan. Wielded like a badge of purity while the lives behind it? They reek of corruption, greed, and power-hunger. Some politician slaps a Bible on the table or holds it upside down in a photo op and then pushes policies that stomp on the faces of the poor, the immigrant, and the marginalized. Jesus talked about setting captives free. These folks seem more interested in locking people up. Leading by example? And let’s be real. They’re not even leading by example. They’re not living the Sermon on the Mount while at the same time enforcing posting the Ten Commandments on classroom walls. They’re not turning the other cheek. They’re not loving their enemies. They’re not serving the least of these. They’re just repeating the name of Jesus like it’s a magic password. And hoping you won’t notice what’s actually going on. Here’s the thing that bothers me most. It’s not just the misuse of faith. It’s what gets lost in the shuffle. The actual stories. The context. The grace. The struggle. The real people. The sweat and tears that fill the pages of the Bible. All brushed under the rug. Gone. Because they don’t serve the PR narrative. Because they might make you think. Might make you ask questions. Might wake something up in you that doesn’t fall in line. Religion as control When you use religion to control people, you have to kill curiosity. You have to flatten the text. You have to simplify Jesus into a bumper sticker. A campaign poster. A corporate logo. But Jesus wasn’t controllable. He didn’t play nice with power. He didn’t kiss up to the religious elite. What did He do? He flipped tables and spoke in riddles. He told the truth with his whole body. Even when it got him killed. I keep thinking… what would Jesus do if he walked into one of these rallies where faith and politics are tangled up like a bad extension cord? Would he sit quietly and smile? Or would he make another whip? I don’t know. But I do know this: Jesus never needed a PR team. He wasn’t worried about appearances. He never built a platform. He poured himself out. He loved people with nothing to offer him in return. It’s not just about “getting back to God.” It’s about getting back to the way of God. Dirt under the fingernails living it Back to living it. Not selling it. Back to serving. Not spinning. Back to wrestling with Scripture, instead of cherry-picking it to win an argument or justify some crooked agenda. I feel it in my gut. An ache. This frustration. A burning disappointment when you hear Jesus’ name tossed around by people who don’t seem to care at all about what he actually said? When Christianity becomes a performance, a press release, or a way to win elections and secure donors , then it’s no longer Christianity. It’s marketing. It’s ugly empire. It’s power dressed in a Sunday goin’ to church suit. And maybe that’s why some folks walk away. In fact, I’m sure of it. They’re not rejecting Jesus. Maybe they’re just exhausted by the fake versions of him. I know I am. That was the total reason I started down a path of (dare I say) deconstruction. I didn’t begin my unique journey because I wanted to ‘sin it up’ or because this path was ‘sexy’ as we’re sometimes accused. I didn’t leave Christ. I found Him in ways more authentic than I could imagine. So what do we do now? We stop chasing image and start seeking truth. We stop playing church and start being the church. We open the Bible, not to find ammo, but to find healing. To remember the stories. The context. The heartbeat behind the commands. We stop letting people at the top define our faith. They don’t get to. They never did. We follow Jesus without wearing a costume or hide behind a mask. We can love like him without shouting his name on a megaphone. As Jane said, we don’t need to turn Christianity into a PR stunt. We just need to live it. Quietly. Boldly. Humbly. In our families and coworkers. On our streets. With our friends and neighbors. And yes, as hard as it may be, even with our enemies. Because way back when, Jesus didn’t come to endorse a system. He came to set us free from one. And I think many have forgotten that. © Gary L Ellis Gary L. Ellis (1944–2026) served as an editor and contributor to this publication. His work remains part of our archive in grateful remembrance.

The Question That Finally Made the Gospel Click There is a reason it is not called “Good History.” History is a record of the past, but news is a report on the present. Real news is fresh. It is information so urgent that it changes your circumstances the moment you hear it. If the Gospel feels like an old story, you have missed the “news” of it. It is not meant to be a memory of what happened back then. Instead, it is a live announcement of what is happening today. That makes it just as newsworthy this morning as it was two thousand years ago. The Question Before we dive in, we must acknowledge that only God can give us true understanding. I remember watching a video where a specific question was asked to reveal what people truly believe about salvation: “If you believe Jesus died for your sins today, but then you sin three more times and suddenly die, where would you go?” For a long time, my answer would have been “Hell.” I believed that if I hadn’t at least confessed or said sorry for those specific sins, I was no longer covered. I was treating repentance like a checklist and confession like a safety net. But here is the problem: If my salvation depends on me saying “sorry” for every single mistake before my heart stops beating, then I am not actually trusting in Jesus. I am trusting in my own memory and my own ability to stay “confessed up.” After all, if I save myself, I don’t need a Savior. For all these years, I thought I understood the work of the cross, but I now realize I had no idea what God truly saved me from. When Jesus died on that cross 2,000 years ago, He did not just die for my past sins. He paid for them all. That is why He said, “It is finished,” because the debt has been fully paid. Just as it says in Colossians 2:14: “He canceled the record of the charges against us and took it away by nailing it to the cross.” Why it is “News” If the Gospel is truly News, it means the verdict has already been handed down. On the cross, Jesus didn’t just pay for the sins you have already confessed. He paid for every sin you would ever commit. We often confuse the process of repentance with the payment for sin. The Process: Repentance is a lifelong journey of turning away from sin and toward God. It takes time to bear fruit. Saying “sorry” or confessing is only the beginning of that heart change. The Payment: Jesus’ death is the only thing that pays the debt. Our biggest fight is not trying to be a better person. Deep down, most of us already desire to be better than we are. Our biggest fight is to actually believe the Gospel. This is why Isaiah 53, in describing God’s plan to save us, begins with the question: “Who has believed our report?” The Sin That Blinds The devil’s primary goal is to make you miss your Savior. He does this by tempting you toward sin, but the most dangerous sin is often the one we don’t notice: pride. This is why 2 Corinthians 4:4 warns that: “The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” This blindness often looks like “goodness.” The devil does not mind your religious duties as long as you trust in them rather than in Christ. We see this clearly in Luke 18:9–14, where Jesus speaks to “those who trusted in their own righteousness”. He tells the story of a Pharisee and a tax collector who went to the temple to pray. The Pharisee stood and thanked God that he was not like other men, boasting that he fasted and paid tithes. He had plenty of good deeds, but his sin was trusting in those deeds. In contrast, the tax collector stood at a distance, unable to even look up to heaven, and simply cried out, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!” Jesus tells us that it was the tax collector, not the religious man, who went home justified. The Pharisee was doing “good things,” but he was using them as a shield against his need for a Savior. The Gospel is only News to those who realize they cannot save themselves. © 2026 Mikiyas Astatke Want more content like this? Explore more articles in Knowing God. If this question about grace and assurance resonated with you, this one goes deeper: 👉 A Christian Response to New Age Spirituality Whether it is confessing every sin before death or chasing one more spiritual practice, the trap is the same, believing fulfillment depends on something we do. This article traces that same restless search all the way back to a bonfire in Ephesus. Press Ctrl + P (Windows) or Cmd + P (Mac) to print this article or save it as a PDF.

When people hear my story, they often jump to conclusions, they say: “Rofiat must have changed her faith for a man or peer-pressure,” The truth is far more personal and profound. My name is Rofiat (meaning “kind and gentle”) and I was raised in the Islamic tradition. Islam wasn’t just a religion in our household; it was the foundation of our daily life, shaping my understanding of God and my place in the world. As I matured into adulthood, I began seeking a deeper understanding of my faith. This wasn’t a casual exploration, I invested in Islamic texts, purchasing books like the Tira to study independently. I even sought guidance from my course mate Yusuf, asking him to help me understand the nuances of Islamic practice and theology. When life took me to Abeokuta, I continued my spiritual practices, maintaining my daily prayers and observances as best I could. Yet despite these sincere efforts, something felt incomplete, a disconnection between the rituals I performed and the divine relationship I sought. The turning point came unexpectedly on what seemed like an ordinary day. Feeling restless at home, I found myself considering a visit to a nearby church, not out of rebellion, but curiosity. After a brief search, I discovered Winner’s Chapel Goshen. Standing at its gates, I approached the security guard to inquire about their service times. That simple conversation marked the beginning of a profound transformation in my spiritual journey. While I had occasionally attended church services with friends before, this was different. This time, I wasn’t merely accompanying others; I was searching for something authentic, a faith experience I could understand intellectually and feel emotionally. I longed to comprehend the words I was speaking to God and to know that He understood me in return. My decision to embrace Christianity stemmed from this desire for genuine connection, a relationship with God that transcended ritual and reached into the depths of understanding and personal experience. It wasn’t about rejecting my past but finding a path that resonated with my deepest spiritual longings. The transformation surprised many who knew me. If I could show you photographs from before, of myself wearing the hijab, observing Islamic traditions, the contrast would be striking. Yet the outward changes reflect an even more significant internal journey. Today, my faith continues to evolve and deepen. Each day brings new insights, challenges, and growth as I cultivate this connection that I sought for so long. My story isn’t about choosing one tradition over another, it’s about finding the authentic spiritual path that allows me to connect with God in a way that speaks to my heart and mind. This journey, with all its complexities and revelations, continues to unfold. And while this chapter of my testimony has come to a close, the story of my faith remains very much in progress. © Oluwafunke Folami