Naming Evil for What It Is

Last week, our nation witnessed an act of unspeakable evil. And make no mistake, it is right to call evil what it is, “evil”. Scripture never shies away at naming sin, and neither should we. “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). Softening the definition of sin, or blurring the lines of right and wrong, is to walk in darkness rather than the light.

More and more, our culture struggles with this as we live in an age obsessed with humanizing villains. Movies and media are filled with origin stories that provide tragic backdrops meant to explain how a character descended into darkness. And while these stories can be compelling, they have conditioned many of us to try and justify sin.
Having empathy is not wrong; in fact, Scripture calls followers of Jesus to show compassion. We’re called to feel the weight of others' pain and acknowledge the very real wounds that have shaped their life. But empathy does not eliminate the need for personal accountability.

Life is filled with hardship, but our struggles do not justify acts of wickedness.

Our wounds may be real, our circumstances may be painful, but they do not absolve us from responsibility before God. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21). We must learn to hold these both in tension at once: a person may have suffered greatly, but this does not justify their actions; evil is still evil.
The church must recover the courage to hold these truths together. We can empathize with broken people without erasing the reality of their sin. We can grieve the struggles that shape someone’s life while still calling sin what it is: rebellion against God, a surrender to the demonic, and an assault on His image in others. If we lose that clarity, we do not grow in compassion; we grow confused about righteousness itself.

The Gift of Thought

When tragedies strike, one of the first offerings Christians often make is our thoughts. Yet in the cultural conversation, “thoughts” are often dismissed as a hollow, even irrelevant sentiment, little more than polite words to soften the sting of grief. While this can be an empty statement by someone who offers it without any intention to follow through on their commitment, Scripture paints a different picture. To direct our thoughts toward others is not empty; it is the first step in cultivating compassion.

Some might think that our thoughts themselves have power because we send energy into the universe or create realities by sheer force of the mind but Scripture gives no such promise. There is no mystical power in thinking positively or “sending good energy.” Our thoughts instead have even greater power to shape something far more important, our own hearts.

Paul exhorts believers, “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:4-5). Our thoughts are not meant to orbit endlessly around ourselves but to be oriented toward the needs of others. In Paul's letter to the church in Rome, he commands, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (12:15). This requires more than polite acknowledgment of someone else’s pain; it demands deliberate reflection and the willingness to enter into another’s joy or sorrow. It is not passive sympathy; it is active empathy, the discipline of placing ourselves in another’s shoes and choosing to carry their burden in our own hearts.

This may not sound like much, in fact, the world continues to mock the sentiment, but in reality, it is radically countercultural. We live in an age of passivity. Our social media feeds are filled with stories of violence, injustice, and tragedy, and most of us scroll past them every day without much thought. The sheer volume of suffering we consume has desensitized us to the true weight of sin on the world. For us to truly stop, to slow down, to think of someone else’s pain is no small thing. It is an act of love in a world that is far more comfortable with indifference.

Scripture tells us that “as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7). Our thoughts shape our hearts, and our hearts shape our actions. To genuinely orient our thoughts toward others is to begin the slow work of softening our hearts and readying our hands. This is why empathy should never be ridiculed or shamed. It is not a weakness.

Our thoughts are the seedbed of compassion, the soil from which genuine prayer and righteous action grow.

So when Christians say, “You are in my thoughts,” it is not meant as a dismissal. It is the beginning of love, a deliberate act of slowing down, remembering, and entering into the grief of another. In God’s design, thought oriented around the needs of others is never wasted.
But thought, as important as it is, is not enough on its own. It must give way to prayer.

The Power and Purpose of Prayer

If our thoughts are the seedbed of empathy, then our prayers are an expression of our desperation.

Yet in our culture, prayer is often mocked as just another hollow gesture, or worse, as if it were a failed tool of protection, an accusation that if prayer “worked,” tragedy would never strike. This is, of course, a fundamental misunderstanding of what prayer is.

Prayer is not a charm to ward off evil or a device to manipulate God into giving us what we want. Nowhere does Scripture suggest that prayer insulates us from suffering or guarantees that no harm will come to us. Jesus Himself prayed in Gethsemane that the cup might pass from Him, and yet He still went to the cross (Matthew 26:39).

The purpose of prayer is not to bend God to our will but to bend us to His. It humbles us, reminding us of our weakness and orienting us toward the only One with whom we can find hope.

When we pray, we acknowledge that there is nothing better than Jesus. Paul the Apostle writes that he “counted all things as rubbish compared to knowing Christ” (Philippians 3:8). He even confessed that “to die would be gain”, for it meant he would get to be with Christ (Philippians 1:21-24). Prayer teaches us to see reality the same way: that losing one’s life, even tragically, is not the worst thing that can happen. The worst thing is to be separated from Christ, and in Him, we are promised that nothing, not even death itself, can sever us from His love (Romans 8:38-39).

And yet, Scripture also teaches that prayer does have power. Elijah prayed and the heavens withheld rain, and he prayed again and they poured forth (James 5:17-18). The prayers of God’s people are described as incense before His throne (Revelation 5:8). In ways we cannot fully grasp, our petitions move the heart of God, even as they also humble us before Him. Prayer is therefore both the highest expression of our dependence and the greatest exercise of our power. Not because of us, but because of the One to whom we pray.

No legislation, no human activity, no cultural campaign can accomplish what prayer can. The deepest problem of humanity is not policy or legislation but sin, and the only true restraint of sin is salvation and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. That is why we pray, “Come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20). Prayer acknowledges both our desperation and our hope, calling upon God to do what only He can do: change the hearts of men.

So when the world dismisses thoughts and prayers, let us not be ashamed. Our thoughts are not weak, and our prayers do not lack power. They are some of the most profound actions entrusted to the people of God.

In the face of tragedy, Christians must not be silent, nor ashamed. We name evil for what it is. We think deeply about the pain of others. We pray with desperation to the only One who can change hearts. And from that place of clarity, compassion, and dependence, we act. “Thoughts and prayers” are not empty words; they are the lifeblood of a people who believe that Jesus Christ alone is our hope.

My Comfort is My Pain

I remember as a kid standing at my grandmother's graveside and whispering something into the wind, hoping she could hear me. Maybe you’ve done that too. Maybe you’ve imagined your loved one looking down on you, proud of who you’ve become. Maybe you’ve even thought they gave you a little boost, helped you ace a test, land the job, or win the game.

It’s not hard to understand why.

Grief bends our perception of reality. It hurts too much to let go. So we reach for something, anything, that softens the ache of separation. And one of the most common cultural comforts we reach for is the idea that our loved ones become angels when they die. That they get their wings. That they’ve become guardians, guiding us through hard days, helping from beyond.

It’s poetic. It’s hopeful. It’s also not true.

And believe it or not, that’s good news.

Letting Go Isn’t Forgetting

Part of what makes the “angel wings” idea so painfully deceptive is that it keeps our hearts tethered to the illusion that our loved one hasn’t really left. It offers comfort by keeping them close, but in doing so, it quietly refuses to let them go. And while that might feel loving, it can actually deepen our pain.

When we imagine them watching over us, guiding us, or still participating in our daily lives, we’re not allowing ourselves to fully grieve. We don’t come to terms with their absence, we avoid it. We hold onto presence in fantasy, and in doing so, the grief never has room to heal. It remains suspended. Lingering. Festering.

This kind of grief becomes a form of non-acceptance. We carry their memory not as something that points us to God’s faithfulness, but as a substitute for His presence. We try to comfort ourselves by pretending they’re near instead of entrusting them to the Lord. But Christian grief doesn’t cling to the dead, it entrusts them to the living God. It lets go, not because we love them less, but because we trust Him more.

Letting go is difficult. But it isn’t forgetting. It’s not dishonoring. It’s not cold. It’s the opposite. It’s an act of faith that says, “God, they are Yours.” And when we release them, we find something extraordinary: not the absence of comfort, but the presence of peace. Not silence, but assurance. Not fading love, but enduring hope.

We let go so that we can hold on, not to myth, but to the promise that one day, every tear will be wiped away, every goodbye undone, and the hope that those who are in Christ will rise again.

There is better news:

Your loved one isn’t fluttering through the clouds. If they died in Christ, they are in the presence of God, fully alive, fully safe, and awaiting resurrection.

And you? You don’t have to guess whether they’re watching over you, because the God who made them is watching over you now. And He never sleeps.

A Different Kind of Being

According to Scripture, angels and humans are entirely different kinds of beings. Angels are not upgraded humans. They are a separate race, created by God as spiritual servants and messengers, not as redeemed image-bearers. They don’t die, they don’t marry, and they don’t experience salvation. They’re powerful, sometimes terrifying, and utterly obedient to the voice of God (Hebrews 1:14). But they are not your grandma. Or your dad. Or your best friend who passed while still young.

And we are not waiting to become them.

Humans are unique in all of creation. We alone are made in the image of God (Genesis 1:26). That means we were created not merely to serve, but to reflect God’s nature: to think, feel, relate, create, and reign with Him. We’re not lesser beings hoping to earn our wings. For those who surrender their lives to God, they are brought into His family. Not as servants, but as God’s children, adopted through Christ and destined to reign with Him (Romans 8:16-17). No angel is ever called a son or daughter.

So What Happens When We Die?

If we don’t become angels, what actually happens when we die?

When a believer dies, their soul does not linger here. It doesn’t roam the earth, and it doesn’t transform into our guardian angel. It goes to be with the Lord. Paul says, “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8). That is our hope.

Heaven is not a vague spiritual realm where we float in clouds and watch over our families. It is the immediate presence of God, a place of perfect peace, worship, and rest for the redeemed. It is where every wound is healed, every fear silenced, every tear wiped away. It’s not our final stop, but it is our immediate destination upon death, a paradise where we are safe, seen, and satisfied in Christ Himself.

There, the faithful rejoice, not as angels, but as sons and daughters awaiting the fullness of their inheritance. Heaven is not defined by golden streets or pearly gates, but by unbroken communion with God. It is where faith becomes sight, where joy is unshakable, and where the story continues, not ends.

This is what Jesus promised the thief on the cross: “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43). Not watching over earth. Not becoming someone else's angel. But with Him, in paradise.

But wait…there's more!

The Bible teaches not just of Heaven but of resurrection. One day, Christ will return, and every believer will be raised, body and soul reunited, not as winged spirits but as glorified humans. Jesus rose from the grave in a glorified human body as the first fruits from among the dead, and so will we. We will eat, walk, and speak again. We won’t become ethereal beings. We’ll become more ourselves than we’ve ever been.

Why That’s Better News

Becoming an angel might sound sweet, but Scripture gives us something better: sonship. In Christ, we are adopted as children of God, not servants, not assistants, not celestial helpers, but heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17). That means when we die, we don’t just float off into the cosmos. We go home. And one day, we’ll be raised again into a world made new.

It also means our loved ones who trusted in Jesus are not passively watching us from a cloud. They’re not our audience. But if they lived by faith, they now join the “great cloud of witnesses” described in Hebrews 12:1, not as spectators, but as those whose lives testify to the faithfulness of God. Their stories echo through history as evidence that trusting God is worth it. They have finished the race.
They are safe. Whole. Healed. Resting in the presence of the One who wipes away every tear.

Angels are servants. But in Christ, we are sons and daughters.

Angels stand in awe of salvation (1 Peter 1:12), but we experience it. They serve at God’s command, but we share in Christ’s inheritance. Scripture says we will one day “judge angels” (1 Corinthians 6:3) a staggering statement that shows just how elevated our future truly is.

We don’t need to cling to poetic illusions when we’ve been promised resurrection glory.

What About Comfort?

It’s understandable to find comfort in thinking our loved ones are watching over us. It gives grief a softer edge. Helps us feel emotionally connected to them, so the sting of the broken bond that death brings is softened. But that comfort is fleeting. That idea leaves us in endless grief. The true, lasting comfort comes from this: the God of all comfort is watching over us.

More than that, He came down. He didn’t stay at a distance. He entered into this world, took on flesh, and walked among us. Jesus wept at tombs. He groaned in sorrow. He felt every sting that death brings, and then He broke it. Hebrews tells us He is our great High Priest, able to sympathize with us in every way. Why? Because He knows what it’s like to suffer, to weep, even to die. The God of creation has tasted death. That’s staggering.

And now? The Holy Spirit, the Comforter, is with us. Not just looking down on us. Not just walking beside us. But dwelling within us. Reminding us of what is true. Giving us peace that surpasses understanding. A peace that holds, even in situations that should bring hopelessness, anxiety, and fear.

Pointing us to the day when every loss is swallowed up in life.

So no, your grandma doesn’t have wings. But she may have something better: joy in the presence of the King. And you? If you’ve surrendered your life to Jesus, trusting Him to forgive your sin and reign as your King, then His presence is with you now.

That’s not make-believe. It’s not folklore to make you feel better. That’s the kind of hope that holds when grief comes knocking.

And you? You are not forgotten. You are not alone. You are not without help. You have the Spirit of the living God with you, and He is enough.

Subverting Expectations

Nothing makes a man feel more alive than waking up at 4:00 a.m., covering himself in camo, and sitting in a blind with a weapon in hand, waiting to take down whatever unassuming four-legged creature wanders by. In rural America, that’s often considered one of the hallmarks of “manliness.” I used to joke that where I grew up, that was called a sucker punch. For years, I mocked the idea that this kind of hunting should earn you "man points". I'd be impressed I'd say, if a guy camouflaged himself, hid in a tree, and jumped out to wrestle the beast to the death.

Until I met that guy.

Masculinity can be hard to define sometimes. Different parts of our culture ascribe different qualities to what’s considered “manly.” But let’s talk about something we rarely associate with manhood: faith.

For years, we’ve celebrated moms on Mother’s Day with child dedications, and rightly so. Nothing quite defines the deep, nurturing bond between a mother and her children. It’s beautiful, it’s sacred, and it makes sense that many churches choose to mark that moment with a public celebration. But this year, due to a glitch in our planning software, we missed our usual rhythm. By the time we realized it, Mother’s Day was right around the corner, and there just wasn’t enough time to plan.

And yet, something surprising began to emerge in the silence that followed, a quiet conviction to subvert the script. Why do we only do child dedications on Mother’s Day? Why not Father’s Day? After all, Mother’s Day is one of the most highly attended Sundays of the year, right behind Easter and Christmas. But Father’s Day? Historically, it’s one of the lowest. What if, instead of lamenting that, we leveraged it? What if we used this moment to call attention to the father’s role in the spiritual formation of his children? That’s when this conviction was born.

Somehow, faith has become soft. Sentimental. Emotive. Feminized. In many homes and churches, faith is driven by women while men either disengage or barely accommodate to keep mom happy. But biblical masculinity, real, God-designed masculinity, is defined by its faith. It’s not laziness or loudness. It’s not about domination or bravado that serves to simply mask insecurity.

Biblical masculinity is defined by one thing: responsibility.

The First Man Failed by Doing Nothing

“She took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.” (Genesis 3:6)

Adam’s sin wasn’t ignorance. He wasn’t deceived. His sin was silence. He knew the command; God had spoken to him first. Yet when it mattered most, he abdicated responsibility and followed Eve into sin.

And when God shows up, He doesn’t call for Eve.
“Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9)

Why? Because responsibility started with Adam. God held him accountable for the leadership he failed to provide. This isn’t just an ancient story, it’s a spiritual diagnosis for many homes today. When husbands fail to speak truth, guard their families, or step into moments of tension, the echo of Adam’s silence still reverberates.
Adam’s silence lives on in fathers who check out, in husbands who refuse to lead, in men who stay boys by shirking responsibility.

We bury ourselves in distractions, golf, gaming, fantasy leagues, and hobbies. These aren't inherently wrong; in fact, they may even have their place. But when they become escapes from our God-given responsibility, they become idols.

We’ve confused rest with escape.

Dominion Must Be Tempered by Meekness

In Genesis 1, God gives man a purpose unlike any other created being. He grants dominion, not for domination, but for cultivation. Man was made to work, to steward, to reflect God’s rule. Wherever a man has influence, his home, his workplace, his friendships, he is called to represent the just and righteous reign of King Jesus.

But dominion without submission leads to domination.

Biblical masculinity is not about being “in charge.” It’s about being responsible. A man leads not by barking orders but by bending the knee. He uses his strength to bless, not break.

“But whoever would be great among you must be your servant... For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:43-45)

Men were created to work hard, to provide, and to protect, but always as an extension of God’s character, not their own ego. Their strength was never meant to slink into passivity or shift into dominance. They’re called to temper their strength with meekness.

Meekness isn’t often brought up in conversations about masculinity. It’s seen as weakness. But meekness isn’t weakness, it’s strength under control. Biblical manhood doesn’t rage or retreat, it shows up. It doesn’t domineer or disappear; it initiates, protects, leads, and speaks life. Like Peter Pan, too many men refuse to grow up. They demand the benefits of adulthood without any of the burdens. The result? Homes without direction, marriages without sacrificial love, and children without a compass.

Many in our day might define masculinity as being “self-made”. Great emphasis is placed on discipline and independence. Biblical masculinity begins with submission to God. It’s not about independence. It’s about surrender. We’ll never learn to lead if we don’t first learn to follow.

“The head of every man is Christ.” (1 Corinthians 11:3)

“Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus… his aim is to please the one who enlisted him.” (2 Timothy 2:3-4)

Real men don’t stand alone, they stand firm under Christ. They obey. They repent. They submit. And because they follow Jesus, they are qualified to lead others in love. Until that happens, any attempt to lead the home will fall short where it matters most. Jesus must first be Lord of your life before you can truly lead in His name.

Leadership begins with Lordship.

Jesus: The Manliest Man Who Ever Lived

Jesus didn’t fake strength, He embodied it. He didn’t bark orders or flex His power. He didn’t posture or pretend. He simply took responsibility. He took responsibility for sin He didn’t even commit.
“Christ Jesus… humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5-8)

That’s masculinity. Not bravado, but burden-bearing. Not domination, but death to self. Jesus wept. He washed feet. He confronted evil. He loved sacrificially. He endured injustice. He was arrested, beaten, and nailed to a cross. And He never abandoned the mission.

That’s our model.

The most masculine words a man can speak at home aren’t commands, they’re confessions. “I was wrong. That wasn’t Christlike. Will you forgive me?” That kind of man shapes a home. That kind of man raises daughters who know their worth and sons who know what strength really looks like.

The call on every husband and father is simple, sobering, and sacred: lead your home in faith.

“The husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church.” (Ephesians 5:23)

That doesn’t mean superiority. It means sacrificial responsibility. It means dying to self and protecting your wife and children, not just physically, but spiritually. Through prayer. Through the Word. Through repentance. Through courage.

When God came looking in Genesis 3, He didn’t call for Eve. He called for Adam. Why? Because Adam was responsible.

And so are we.

Why Father's Day

Which brings me to Father’s Day.

On the day when fathers should be leading, many check out. And in doing so, we model that leisure is more important than lordship. So this year, we’re doing something different: we’re dedicating children on Father’s Day.

Why? Because fathers should go first.

This isn’t about competing with moms. It’s about reclaiming biblical masculinity, rejecting passivity and pride, and embracing the call to lead with love. Adam failed to protect and provide spiritual leadership. We’re calling men to do the opposite.

We’re calling men to kneel in prayer, open the Scriptures, and lead their families with sacrificial strength.

And that’s why, this Father’s Day, we’re dedicating children to the Lord. We want fathers to publicly commit to spiritual leadership, because your home will follow the direction of your heart.

And the Gospel still needs men to carry it forward. Men who lead with conviction, walk in humility, and demonstrate what it looks like to pursue Jesus with their whole heart.

Remember

Today is Memorial Day, a day to remember.

It’s more than a day off, more than barbecues and lawn games. Memorial Day exists to help us pause and reflect on something weighty: the lives of men and women who gave everything they had for the cause of freedom. Soldiers who died young. Fathers who didn’t come home. Families who sacrificed behind the scenes. Men and women who gave everything because of their convictions.

No, not every war was necessary. Not every war was just. But the men and women who stepped onto those battlefields believed they were giving their lives for something that mattered. They believed that freedom, though imperfect, fragile, and costly, was worth it.

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

That’s what Memorial Day is about. Not celebration, but remembrance. Not apathy, but gratitude. A sacred moment to acknowledge that the freedoms we enjoy were bought with blood. And something deep within us innately recognizes that this is a worthy reason to stop and reflect.

And yet, Memorial Day, like so much else in life, can point us to a deeper truth.

Because while some fought and died so that we might have political freedoms, there’s another kind of freedom that was also purchased with blood.

Born into a world at War

There’s another war, one far older and far more devastating. A war not fought with guns or modern technology, but with truth, blood, and grace. Not a war between nations, but a war between sin and righteousness. Between life and death. Between good and evil. There has never been a question as to who will win. And yet, it rages on nonetheless.

Jesus entered that war in the flesh, on our behalf.

He didn’t come to liberate a nation. He came to liberate souls, souls that would form a new and holy nation. He didn’t die to secure temporary rights. He died to secure eternal life. He wasn’t armed with a sword. He carried a cross.

“No one takes my life from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” (John 10:18)

Jesus gave His life to purchase a freedom no constitution can guarantee and no army can defend. He didn’t die for sins He committed. He died for ours. And in doing so, He set us free, from the penalty of sin, the power of shame, and the hopelessness of death.

“If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” (John 8:36)

Bought at a Price

Somewhere within us, we instinctively know that freedom is worth fighting for. But freedom is more than the absence of oppression. It’s the space to become who we were created to be. That longing for liberty is woven into the soul because it’s rooted in God’s design. From Egypt to Calvary, the story of Scripture is the story of a God who frees people, not just from tyrants, but from a bondage we can’t see.

And yet, here’s what we often forget: freedom that is bought at a price comes with responsibility.

The moment someone dies for your freedom, you are no longer free to live as if their sacrifice meant nothing.

That’s true in this country. And it’s even more true in the Kingdom.
Those who rise and fall under the freedom that’s been purchased for them, whether through the loss of a soldier’s life or the blood of a crucified Savior, carry a sacred obligation. We are accountable for what we do with the freedom we’ve been given. In the modern world, we treat freedom like a blank check, as if the highest aim of life is to do whatever we want, whenever we want, with whomever we want. But Scripture tells a different story.

“You were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” (1 Corinthians 6:20)

We don’t get to coast through life without remembering the cost. We don’t get to use our freedom to serve ourselves and call it gratitude. We don’t get to wear the benefits of sacrifice and forget the burden behind it.

Freedom doesn’t mean doing whatever we want. It means living in a way that honors the price that was paid. It means using what we’ve been given to serve, to protect, to love, and to sacrifice for others, just as others sacrificed for us.

It Is for Freedom That Christ Has Set Us Free

There’s a phrase in Paul’s letter to the Galatians that sounds almost circular at first glance:

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” (Galatians 5:1)

But this is more than a poetic repetition. It’s a profound theological claim. Christ didn’t just rescue us from something, He rescued us for something. It was for the cause of freedom, that Jesus has set us free. So what is the cause of freedom?

Freedom in Scripture is never the same thing as autonomy. It’s not the ability to drift through life unbothered or to define truth on our own terms. In fact, the Bible is suspicious of that kind of freedom, it often leads straight back to slavery. True freedom, the kind Jesus died to give, is not the absence of boundaries but the presence of purpose.

Jesus didn’t break our chains so we could wander. He set us free so we could walk in the Spirit, so we could finally become who we were created to be. That freedom is not aimless, and it’s not passive. It is a freedom shaped by love, grounded in truth, and fueled by grace. It empowers us to resist sin, to walk in obedience, and to serve others without fear.

Paul warns the Galatians just a few verses later:

“Do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.” (Galatians 5:13)

In other words, the freedom Christ gives is not self-serving, it’s self-giving. We are no longer slaves to sin, but we are also not masters of ourselves. We are free in Christ, which means our freedom is now tied to His mission, His heart, and His way.

You were not only freed from condemnation. You were freed for holiness.

You were not only freed from guilt. You were freed for love.

You were not only freed from judgment. You were freed for joyful, obedient communion with God.

And that means our freedom isn’t just a gift to enjoy, it’s a responsibility to carry. One that reflects the weight of the cross and the worth of the One who bore it.

Remembering Well

So today, remember the fallen. Remember the men and women who laid down their lives on battlefields across the world. Remember the price they paid so we could live with the freedoms we so easily take for granted.

But don’t stop there.

Remember the Savior. Remember the war He won, not with a weapon in His hand, but with nails in His flesh. Remember the freedom He bought, not temporary, but eternal.

And then live like someone who understands the cost.

Don’t waste the freedom that cost someone else everything.

Live for the One who died to make you free.

No Longer My Pope

Yesterday, the world watched as a new pope was selected by the conclave. For over a billion Catholics, it was a moment of reverence and celebration, the appointment of a new spiritual leader, a new head of the Church. At one point in my life, that would have been me, watching on with joy and eager excitement. I was raised Catholic and formed in reverence by the traditions of its faith. It was actually a parish priest who played a significant role in guiding my spiritual journey during my formative years, and at one point, I thought I might be called to the priesthood.

Over time, something began to shift, though. Not because of any bad experiences, In fact, I am forever grateful for how God, in his providence, used that season of my life. No, my departure came as a result of a growing hunger for the Word of God. As I began reading the Scriptures for myself, I encountered doctrinal differences that I could no longer ignore. These differences weren’t about preference or tradition, but they struck at the core of the gospel itself.

The Reformation and the Doctrines That Shaped It 

To understand these differences, it’s helpful to look back at a point in history known as the Reformation. The Reformation was sparked by a deep dissatisfaction with certain practices and doctrines within the Catholic Church. One of its central figures, Martin Luther, a Catholic priest and monk, became increasingly troubled by the Church’s teachings on salvation and its restriction of access to Scripture. At the time, the Bible was only available in Latin and kept out of the hands of ordinary people. Luther believed that if people could read the Bible for themselves, they would see the gospel clearly, salvation by grace through faith in Christ alone.

Alongside other reformers like John Calvin, Luther helped recover the foundational truths of sola scriptura (Scripture alone) and sola fide (faith alone). These, along with sola gratia (grace alone) and solus Christus (Christ alone), became the cornerstones of Reformation theology. For Luther and others, the central issue was how a person is justified before God, by grace through faith in Christ alone, according to Scripture, not by works or the traditions of the Church.

At the time, I knew nothing of church history and was not persuaded by apologists for either side. It was my naive efforts as I dug deeper into Scripture that revealed inconsistencies between the word and several Catholic doctrines that stood in stark contrast to the biblical gospel. These doctrines were not mere theological quirks, they represented significant differences about the nature of salvation and the role of the Church. Let’s explore a few of the key issues that led me to reevaluate my faith.

What Divides: Doctrinal or Foundational?

Many disagreements between Protestants and Catholics fall into the category of secondary or tertiary issues, what some call “open-hand” doctrines. These include things like church governance, end times views, or specific liturgical practices. These are areas where believers can lovingly disagree while remaining in fellowship.

But when it comes to the fundamentals of the faith, who God is, what is wrong with humanity, and how salvation is received, Scripture draws a clear line. In these areas, unity is not just difficult, it becomes impossible if the truth of the gospel becomes compromised. Let’s explore three of the most significant doctrinal divisions, all of which became unavoidable for me in my personal journey.

Before we do, however, I want to be clear from the outset: I do not believe Catholics are outside the bounds of grace. There are many faithful men and women within the Catholic Church who have genuinely surrendered their lives to Jesus Christ and trusted in Him as Savior. Salvation is not the exclusive property of one denomination. God works through hearts, not institutions. This blog is not a critique of Catholic individuals, but rather an exploration of several doctrinal teachings of the Catholic Church that I believe depart from the core truths of Scripture.

1. Papal Infallibility: Where Should We Turn for Truth?

In light of the newly elected pope, it is fitting we begin with what the Catholic Church teaches about the nature of the pope. The Church teaches that when the pope speaks ex cathedra (from the chair of Peter) on matters of faith and morals, he is infallible. This doctrine was defined at the First Vatican Council in 1870.

The Catechism states:

“The Roman Pontiff... enjoys this infallibility in virtue of his office, when, as supreme pastor and teacher of all the faithful... he proclaims by a definitive act a doctrine pertaining to faith or morals.” — CCC 891

The last time a pope spoke ex cathedra was in 1950, when Pope Pius XII declared the Assumption of Mary to be dogma in his apostolic constitution Munificentissimus Deus. He stated that “the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.” This was only the second time in history that a pope had officially invoked infallibility in this way. The first, in 1854, came when Pope Pius IX declared the Immaculate Conception of Mary, also a Marian doctrine, to be an essential belief of the Church. Both declarations remain significant theological differences between Roman Catholicism and Protestant Christianity, which we’ll deal with below.

In the early church, no single bishop held this level of authority. While the bishop of Rome was respected, the idea of papal supremacy and infallibility evolved over time. Even Augustine, one of the most influential church fathers, made it clear that his writings were subject to correction by Scripture and the broader church.

The Catholic defense of infallibility often draws on Matthew 16:18: “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church.” But this passage, when rightly interpreted, speaks to Peter’s confession as the rock by which Jesus would build his church, not to papal succession or infallibility. In fact, Peter himself is later rebuked by Paul in Galatians 2 for compromising the gospel, a clear demonstration that even the apostles were fallible.

Evangelicals believe that while church leaders should be respected, they are not infallible. The final authority rests not in a man, but in the Word of God. Scripture would say of itself:

“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” - 2 Timothy 3:16

The infallibility of any one man stands in contrast to the Bible’s witness about the fallibility of even the apostles. This is why Scripture alone is our final authority.

2. Purgatory: A Cut at the Heart of the Gospel

One of the primary issues for me was the doctrine of purgatory. According to Catholic teaching, purgatory is a temporary state of purification for souls who are destined for heaven but need to undergo further cleansing for their sins.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains:

“All who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven.” — CCC 1030

“The Church gives the name Purgatory to this final purification of the elect... The tradition of the Church, by reference to certain texts of Scripture, speaks of a cleansing fire.” — CCC 1031

This concept, however, has no clear basis in the teachings of Jesus or the apostles. Historically, the earliest inklings of purgatory appear in the third century through Origen, who speculated about post-death purification. Pope Gregory “the Great” (c. 593 AD) was the first to explicitly describe a purgatorial fire, but it wasn't until the Second Council of Lyon (1274) and the Council of Florence (1439) that the doctrine was formally defined. Then at the Council of Trent (1545–1563) this doctrine was fully affirmed as a response to Protestant challenges.

Evangelicals reject purgatory because it suggests Christ’s work on the cross was insufficient and contradicts what Scripture clearly teaches.

“For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.” - Hebrews 10:14

“To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” -  2 Corinthians 5:8

Purgatory  undermines the sufficiency of Christ's atonement. If Jesus’ sacrifice paid the debt for all our sin, there is no need for post-death purification.

3. Mariology: From Humble Servant to Heavenly Queen

Catholics argue that they do not worship Mary, but honor her. However, the titles and roles ascribed to her often reflect more than mere honor. Terms like “Queen of Heaven,” “Co-Redemptrix,” and “Mediatrix” suggest a role far beyond what Scripture allows and in many instances contradicts Scripture’s own teaching.

Historically, the doctrine of Mary’s elevated role developed slowly. The Council of Ephesus (431) affirmed her as Theotokos ("God-bearer") in an effort to defend the divinity of Christ, not to promote her as a redeemer. However, over time, devotional language and practices intensified. The Immaculate Conception was declared dogma in 1854 (by Pope Pius IX), and the Assumption of Mary into heaven was declared in 1950 (by Pope Pius XII) under the doctrine of ex cathedra. While Vatican II stopped short of officially calling Mary “co-redemptrix,” many theologians used that language, and Lumen Gentium refers to her unique cooperation in salvation history.

Evangelicals honor Mary as the chosen mother of Jesus, simultaneously understanding that God demonstrates a pattern of using unworthy vessels to demonstrate His glory. We do not believe she intercedes on our behalf nor do we pray to her. Scripture teaches:

“For there is one God and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.” - 1 Timothy 2:5

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace.” -  Hebrews 4:16

In seeking a mediator apart from Jesus, we unintentionally ascribe attributes like omnipresence or the ability to hear prayers from all over the world, suggesting deistic qualities that belong to God alone. While Mary is to be honored, she is not to be exalted beyond Scripture’s witness. She appears in Scripture to be a faithful saint who died, was justified by the cross of Jesus Christ, and awaits the redemption of all things.

Additionally, one must ask why we would choose to seek a mediator apart from Christ, when children of God have had the way opened through the only true mediator, Jesus Christ.

Truth Over Unity

Some argue that the differences between Catholicism and evangelicalism are simply matters of perspective, that we should prioritize unity over doctrine. But history has shown us that unity cannot be pursued at the expense of truth. The Reformation itself was a painful but necessary response to the perceived distortion of the gospel within the Catholic Church. Unity is important, but it should never be pursued at the cost of compromising the truth of the gospel. While I want to be gracious to my Catholic brothers and sisters. The Apostle Paul was quite direct in his warning.

“But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said before, so now I say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed.”
— Galatians 1:8–9 (ESV)

The Church may strive for unity, but when it departs from the foundational truths of the Bible, that unity is fractured. The reformers were not seeking division for division’s sake, but they were willing to stand firm on the gospel, even if it meant separating from the Church they had once called home.

A Final Word of Grace and Prayer

As we continue to watch events unfold, including the election of a new pope, it’s essential that we, as Christians, remain committed to the truth of Scripture. Our unity must be built on the foundation of God’s Word, and in the areas where Scripture is clear, we must be willing to stand firm, even if it means a difficult path.

For me, that path was deeply personal and at times painful. I wrestled for a long time with the fear that leaving the Catholic Church meant leaving behind my access to God. I had been taught that the Church was the only mediator between man and God, and to step away felt like spiritual abandonment. But in time, I came to see that it is Christ, not any institution, who gives us access to the Father. That realization, though difficult, was freeing.
I’ve written this not to stir division, but to bring clarity. And in that clarity, to extend grace. I know many Catholics who love Jesus deeply. I also know that the doctrines we’ve discussed here are not minor. They shape where we turn to for the ultimate truth, how we understand salvation, and who we turn to in moments when we need hope.

So, let us walk in grace and in truth. Let us pray for our Catholic friends and family. Let us pray for the new pope. And most of all, let us continue to lift high the name of Jesus, our only mediator, our only Savior, and our only hope.

A Dog Walking on Its Hind Legs

Years ago, before moving to central Pennsylvania, I visited the area to perform a wedding. I hadn’t planned to attend the reception, so after the ceremony, all I could think about was food. On my way home, I stopped at a small local bar, ordered some wings, and had a beer while I ate.

The bar was quiet for a Saturday afternoon, but my suit and tie didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn't long before someone worked up the courage to ask why I was dressed up. I smiled, knowing things were about to get interesting. "I'm a pastor," I said. "I just finished performing a wedding."

That’s usually enough to make people visibly uncomfortable as they begin replaying everything they’ve said since I arrived. But this particular day came with an extra layer of surprise. In that rural town, pastors weren’t known for drinking beer. To them, I must have looked like a dog walking on its hind legs, something strange they couldn’t quite look away from.

One man finally called across the bar, “I didn’t know pastors could drink beer!”

“I didn’t either,” I replied with a grin, “but they served me anyway!”

In truth, it was a fair question, and it points to a larger one:

Can Christians drink alcohol? If so, how much? How often? What kind of relationship should a follower of Jesus have with alcohol?

These are important questions, and they deserve an honest, biblical answer.

A Complex Relationship

When it comes to alcohol, Christians often find themselves caught between two extremes. Some treat it as inherently sinful. Others embrace it without much thought. But we need to look honestly at the Scriptures, and consider the full picture of what’s taught.

The Bible does not ignore the reality of alcohol. In fact, it presents wine (and strong drink) as both a blessing and a potential snare.

On one hand, Scripture describes wine as a gift from God, meant to bring gladness to the heart (Psalm 104:14–15) and enjoyed in celebration (Ecclesiastes 9:7). Jesus Himself turned water into wine at a wedding feast (John 2:1–11), signaling the joy of His coming kingdom.

On the other hand, the Bible speaks plainly about its dangers. Proverbs warns, “Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler” (Proverbs 20:1), and Proverbs 23:29–35 paints a haunting picture of addiction and self-destruction. (Take a moment to read it, it’s startlingly vivid.) What begins as a blessing can quickly become a curse when misused.

The Seriousness of Drunkenness

While Scripture allows for moderate drinking, it consistently and strongly condemns drunkenness. “Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery,” Paul writes, “but be filled with the Spirit” (Ephesians 5:18). Drunkenness is not simply unwise; it is listed among the sins that can bar someone from inheriting the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:10). Many have had the experience of overindulging, only to wake the next morning with a sense of shame over words or actions they would never have chosen had their inhibitions not been compromised.

Beyond the clear prohibition, Scripture also warns against using alcohol to escape pain or numb sorrow. In our suffering, we are called to cast our cares on the Lord (1 Peter 5:7), not drown them in drink. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted,” the Psalmist reminds us (Psalm 34:18). Alcohol may offer the illusion of comfort, but we must not be deceived, it cannot bring the deep healing our hearts often long for.

While alcohol is often celebrated in our culture, Romans 12:2 urges us not to be conformed to the patterns of this world. As followers of Jesus, we are called to approach alcohol a bit differently.

In a culture saturated with excess, wisdom may often call us to caution in order to protect our hearts.

As followers of Jesus, we are called to walk in freedom, but not to be mastered by anything. Paul writes, “All things are lawful for me,” but not all things are helpful. “All things are lawful for me,” but I will not be dominated by anything (1 Corinthians 6:12). This is a helpful reminder in any conversation about alcohol. What begins as freedom can become bondage if we are not careful. Christians are to be led by the Spirit, not by impulse, habit, or dependency. If alcohol becomes something you rely on for comfort, peace, or social ease, it’s worth asking whether it's quietly becoming your master or your savior. Liberty in Christ never leads us into slavery.

There will be seasons where abstinence is the wisest choice, for the sake of your soul, your witness, or the people around you. Maturity means learning to discern not only what is allowed, but what is best.

Legalism and the Danger of Condemning What God Does Not

Despite the dangers alcohol presents, we must also guard our hearts against a different danger: legalism. Legalism is what we call it when we add to the commands of God and imposes restrictions that Scripture itself does not. Throughout church history, and especially in more conservative circles, alcohol has often been treated as inherently sinful. But the Bible never condemns alcohol outright. It condemns drunkenness, addiction, and unwise or unloving use.

To prohibit what God permits is to elevate our own preferences above God's revealed Word. Paul warns against this kind of distortion in Colossians 2:20–23, where he critiques man-made rules that appear wise but ultimately have “no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.”

When we insist that Christians must abstain from alcohol as a matter of righteousness, we risk binding our conscience to something where God has granted us freedom. Worse, we may cultivate a culture of judgment, where a person's maturity in Christ is measured by simply their outward appearances rather than by their heart.

Scripture calls us to walk in wisdom, not in legalism. We must not condemn what the Bible does not condemn. Our goal is not seeking to gain greater control through more restrictions or rules, but transformation through grace.

Christian Liberty: Freedom with Responsibility

So can Christian’s drink alchol despite these potential dangers? Yes, Scripture permits Christians to enjoy many good or even morally neutral things, television, music, celebrations, even alcohol. But with every gift comes the responsibility to use it wisely. Our liberty is always governed by our commitment to love one another.

When Cain asks, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9), the implied answer is “yes”. We are responsible for the influence our lives have on others. Paul writes, “It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble” (Romans 14:21). Elsewhere he warns, “Take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak” (1 Corinthians 8:9). This is not to take away from the responsibility others have for their own decisions, but it should be our earnest hope not to be a stumbling block to others.

So the question for the Christian isn’t merely, “Am I allowed?” but “Is this helpful?” (1 Corinthians 10:23). Christian maturity moves us from claiming rights to considering impact. There will be moments when the wisest thing we can do is refrain, out of love for others or to guard our own hearts from drifting toward indulgence.

The goal of Christian liberty is not indulgence. It’s love. It’s about living in such a way that our enjoyment of God’s gifts glorifies Him and builds others up.

Principles for Navigating Alcohol as a Christian

At the end of the day, a Christian’s relationship with alcohol should be shaped by five simple principles:

1. Thank God for His good gifts (Psalm 104:14–15).
2. Guard your heart against temptation and self-deception (Proverbs 4:23).
3. Love others more than your own liberty (Romans 14:21).
4. Stay alert to your motivations (1 Corinthians 10:23).
5. Glorify God in everything you do (1 Corinthians 10:31).

Some Christians will drink in moderation. Others will choose abstinence. Both choices can honor God, if done in faith, wisdom, and love. Our aim isn’t just to defend our behavior, but to reflect the beauty of a life surrendered to Christ in every area.

Even in something as ordinary as eating and drinking, the call remains: “Whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).

So, can a Christian drink alcohol?

That’s an important question, if what we need is a yes or no. But once we realize Scripture does not forbid it outright, a better question emerges:

How can I glorify God in this?

Holy Insecurity: A Rightful Tension in the Life of a Believer

Have you ever wondered if you are truly saved? Some of us question at times that we might not be counted among the redeemed, while others are so confident in their standing that they rarely, if ever, examine their faith. Encountering characters like the Pharisees in Scripture who believed they were walking in obedience to God, yet Jesus revealed that their faith was in vain. When they finally met Jesus, it was revealed that they trusted in their own righteousness rather than truly surrendering to God. Luke 18, tells the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector, where the Pharisee stood in confidence before God while the tax collector beat his chest, crying out for mercy. Jesus declared that the humble man, not the self-assured one, went home justified. With stories like this, how can we really know if we've truly received the good news of the Gospel? How can we be confident in our salvation?

There is a tension in the Scriptures that we are meant to live in, a tension I call a Holy Insecurity. This is not an emotional insecurity that leaves us anxious or doubting every moment of our walk with Christ. Rather, it is a refusal to become so confident in our own profession of faith that we never examine whether we are truly walking in step with the Spirit of God. The Apostle Paul would encourage the church in Corinth to make this a regular practice when he writes in both his letters to the church to “examine themselves”. He writes in his second letter chapter 13; "Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test!”. It is a humility that guards against spiritual presumption and keeps us dependent on Christ and His Gospel.

The Evidence of the Spirit

So where does my confidence come from? It is not from a past prayer I prayed, nor from mere outward behavior that might align with what scripture calls the fruit of the Spirit, because the evidence of patience, kindness, or self control can appear to manifest in our behavior with a little self help, discipline, and good counseling. Transformation is important, but the true evidence of salvation runs deeper.

Jesus tells us in John 16 that the Spirit of God convicts the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment and leads us in truth. Paul reinforces this in his first letter to the Corinthian church where he teaches that “godly grief produces repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.” The evidence of the Spirit is not just external moral improvement. It is the continual experience of godly sorrow over sin, conviction for our moral failures, and an ongoing response of repentance and faith in Christ to heal and transform us.

This rhythm of conviction, repentance, and belief is the regular pattern of a disciple’s life. As we walk in step with the Spirit, our desires begin to change. Over time, the fruit of the Spirit as outlined in Galatians 5 becomes increasingly evident. This does not happen through forced behavior modification, but through a heart that is repeatedly shaped by the Gospel. Growing increasingly convicted of sin and falling more in love with the righteousness of Jesus.

This is where our Holy Insecurity plays a role. It is not about doubting God’s ability to save, but about resisting a complacent faith. It is the ongoing self examination that keeps us from becoming like the Pharisees, who were blindly confident in their own righteousness yet far from God. Jesus makes it clear in Matthew 7 that many will stand before him on the last day and claim they knew him, only to hear him say that he never knew them.

The Call to Perseverance

This is what gives me confidence in my salvation. I see this process at work in my life and in the lives of those who walk faithfully with Christ. But when I stand before God, I will not claim my good works, my pastoral ministry, or even my own sense of assurance. My only plea will be the cross. Like the tax collector who beat his chest and cried out, “God be merciful to me, a sinner” I will stand before Christ knowing that my hope is in him alone.
I firmly believe in eternal security. Jesus said that those the Father gives him cannot be taken from his hand. It is our perseverance in the faith, not for a time but until our inevitable end, that provides the evidence that we are truly saved. Salvation is not about a one-time profession of faith, but a life that continues in faith demonstrating that the Spirit of God is alive in them through conviction, repentance, and belief.

This is why Paul exhorts believers to work out their salvation with fear and trembling. Not because we earn our salvation, but because a true relationship with God cannot be marked by apathy toward sin. A believer does not grieve the Spirit by remaining unmoved by their sin. Instead, they mourn, repent, and believe in the Gospel again and again. When this pattern of repentance and faith defines a person's life, we can have confidence in the genuineness of our salvation and trust that by God's grace, we will finish our race faithfully. Paul writes in second Timothy that he has “fought the good fight, finished the race, and kept the faith.” That is the picture of true assurance, from a man who had run his race and was looking death in the face.

Shaking the Tree

As a pastor, I often feel compelled to shake the tree of people’s faith. Not because I want them to live in fear, but because I do not see evidence of the Gospel at work in many who claim to follow Christ. There are many reasons people participate in church, and unfortunately, some have little or nothing to do with Jesus. I do not want lukewarm believers to stand in ignorant confidence, assuming they are secure in Christ when in reality, they may one day be separated from the sheep and counted amongst the goats as Jesus describes in Matthew 25.  That, to me, would be a tragedy. It would be a failure of my responsibility as a pastor.

The question we must ask ourselves is not just whether we prayed a prayer or whether we are doing good things. The better question is whether we continually respond to the conviction of the Holy Spirit. Am I seeing the fruit of the Spirit, not just in my actions, but in my heart? Am I repenting and believing daily?

This is the posture of a true disciple. A life of faith, humility, and ongoing surrender.

Final Thought

The believer’s confidence does not come from a moment of decision but from a lifetime of God’s sustaining grace. As we persevere, we do so knowing that our security is in Christ, not in ourselves. Yet, rather than growing complacent, we walk in humility, examining ourselves, and ensuring that we are truly surrendering our lives to him.
This is the rightful tension. Confidence in Christ, yet a reverent humility that never assumes salvation lightly. That is Holy Insecurity. Not fear, but faith with self-awareness.