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A Video Review

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The following is an additional feature I’ve decided to include on this page. I wrote it while walking on the treadmill. Before I started walking, I’d seen a family member post it on Facebook. I felt it deserved a thorough examination. I had time, and so, I used it to examine the video’s five steps. The examination isn’t long. There is no theology here. Although truth is Christological. And so, the following…

A Review of Robert Reich’s Video entitled “How Trump is Following Hitler’s Playbook.”

To view the video, visit https://youtu.be/WSxJRIiCNs8?si=XeDbDnUWwp65fSfk

The first thing I’ll say is that it’s awfully ironic that the presenter’s last name is Reich, especially when you consider the tactics he employs throughout. With that, I’d like to analyze each of his steps at least and consider the logic/details/context behind what he said.

First, he claims Trump tried to intimidate both officials and voters in the same way Hitler and Mussolini did using militias. For starters, this is a false equivalence. Comparing sporadic, decentralized threats by fringe Trump supporters to organized paramilitary units like Hitler’s Sturmabteilung or Mussolini’s Blackshirts is, if anything at all, a stretch. I get why people like to use the “Proud Boys” quote in videos like this. Out of context, it is a goldmine. But in context, it fails. Conversely, what shows Reich’s third-reich-like willingness to use dirty logic is his willingness to weaponize the quotation in a way that conflates it. His argument assumes causality without clear evidence. People argue in such ways when they’re trying to stir fear.

Next, he claims Trump wanted to purge civil servants and replace them with loyalists via “Schedule F” and Project 2025. How about some context? Well, context harms Reich’s goal.

The “Schedule F” executive order was about classifying certain policy-influencing roles so that presidents could more easily remove them. Similar restructuring has occurred under past administrations going back decades. As for Project 2025, it was a policy blueprint developed by a think tank, the Heritage Foundation, rather than an official or inevitable government plan from anyone in the Trump administration. But even if it had come from someone in Trump’s midst, he denounced it publicly. Reich must have missed that. Even further, there’s no way he could enact even a fraction of what’s in it. A simple review reveals that the entire process would require congressional approval.

After all this, Reich claims Trump uses the fear of immigrants in the same way Hitler used fear of other races. This is an easy one. In fact, it’s another conflated criticism. Hitler restructured an entire nation into a functioning war machine through laws like the “Enabling Act” and purges like the “Night of the Long Knives.” Trump’s immigration proposals are absolutely nothing like Hitler’s totalitarian restructuring, and, in the end, Reich’s argument is little more than comparing conservative criticism of progressive prosecutors or immigration policy to a frightening ideology (fascism) while completely ignoring the valid (and widely held) conservative positions on the issue. Reich assumes bad motives without considering long-held and well-established alternative interpretations that have been in place for centuries. It’s as if he couldn’t care less about what’s actually being (or has been) debated on this topic, choosing instead to create an alien narrative from evidence only he knows about. And this evidence leads him to conclude that Trump is laboring to militarize the government—or even create a personal militia. Speculative fearmongering is a Nazi tactic. Reich is demonstrating this in spades.

Following this, Reich focuses on Trump’s “vermin” language as mimicking Hitler’s rhetoric. This is a loaded comparison, and as usual, it lacks any context. Yes, Trump’s language can be inflammatory. But you’re more familiar with his inflammatory commentary because the media tends to talk a lot about it. I’m yet to see MSNBC or CNN discuss the filth pouring from folks like Crockett (“Governor Hotwheels”) and Waters. Maxine Waters called for people to attack conservatives at home, in restaurants, and wherever they might be found. Never once has a conservative done something so extreme. And so, comparing Trump’s words to genocidal propaganda lacks all nuance. Political rhetoric is often harsh on both sides. Equating strong language with genocidal intent is an escalation that demands stronger justification… or at least some reasonable evidence. That said, where are the calls from Democrats to stop burning Teslas and Tesla dealerships? The silence is deafening. Reich’s shallow argument resulting in selective outrage is, too. He completely ignores similar rhetoric from left-wing figures aimed at conservatives (Hillary Clinton’s “basket of deplorables” comment). Reich’s standards are more than inconsistent.

Lastly, Reich claims Trump attacks the press like Hitler did, reducing trust in the media. To begin with, this is nothing new to any politician or party on either side. It happens in constitutional republics and democracies. But here’s what Reich forgets: Trump’s attacks on media (just like AOC’s and Bernie Sanders’s) were verbal, not legislative or enforced by law like Hitler. Reich’s premise falls shorter than short. Trump calling the media biased is not the same as controlling it. Again, many politicians criticize the press. What matters is whether they legally suppress it, which, by the way, actually happened in an unprecedented way under Biden during the COVID-19 pandemic. Those facts are in, and they’re awfully damning.

On this same front, I did some digging. I know from my doctoral work that Gallup’s longitudinal data is the standard for U.S. media trust metrics. I cross-checked the numbers with Gallup’s broader dataset, including their 2024 update from their October 14, 2024, article “Americans’ Trust in Media Remains at Trend Low.” Gallup’s statistics show that media trust was in freefall long before Trump. For example, they fell from 55% in 1999 to 32% in 2023. Trump does what any politician would do. He exploits this. But Reich insists he caused it. Read the studies. Factors like social media, bias perceptions, and scandals (e.g., Iraq War coverage) predate Trump. In other words, Reich’s implied causality is, once again, a fearmongering murk. He writes as though Trump is omnipresent (everywhere and everywhen) and omnipotent.

I said at the beginning that I find it ironic that his name is Reich. When all is said and done, his rhetorical approach is far more reflective of fascist strategy than anything he attributes to Trump. Fascism thrives not merely through violence or overt tyranny, but through control of language, manipulation of public perception, the deliberate crafting of fear-based narratives that silence dissent, and other strategies that Reich boldly employs. He selectively curates evidence, omits context, assumes nefarious motives without substantiation, and stokes panic by drawing exaggerated historical parallels—all tactics straight from the authoritarian playbook. Yes, Trump’s style is brash. But he operates within the familiar bounds of a conservative populist spectrum. Reich, on the other hand, uses propaganda techniques that intentionally bypass rational debate in favor of emotional conditioning, sowing division, and casting opponents as existential threats. Ironically, in attempting to portray Trump as a fascist, Reich exposes his own comfort with the very mechanisms of fascism. Only, he’s far more eloquent than most. He can cloak his deception with academic language and moral indignation. Unfortunately, this only bolsters the barriers in place around those who remain so ideologically captured by this inconsistent and illogical mess of progressive assumptions.

The Sacred Territory of Good Order

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Spring is upon us. Do you want to know how I know this? Migraines.

Every year at this time, the migraines set in. I never experienced them growing up in Illinois. Here in Michigan, surrounded by the Great Lakes, the temperature and barometric changes are more drastic, making their probability and frequency more prevalent.

Do you want to know one of the places with the least barometric fluctuation resulting in migraines? Florida.

Yes, Florida is a peninsula, which means it’s surrounded by water. Still, coastal regions aren’t as chaotic when it comes to barometric changes. They’re relatively ordered. I suppose that’s why I feel great while there. In fact, my chronic back pain typically disappears, too.

I read that tropical regions near the equator are the best places to avoid migraines. However, moving to an off-the-grid village somewhere outside of a place like Macapá, Brazil, probably wouldn’t work for me. I know that stress levels play a part in migraines, and I’m guessing my first trip to the bodega for supplies could result in a new kind of headache. While I’m generally disinterested in material things, I do appreciate creature comforts, such as air conditioning and pasteurized milk. My stress levels would almost certainly increase when these things are only occasionally (if at all) accessible. It’s also why I’d last maybe three days before packing up and moving to a place with more reliable electricity and steady internet access. I need to impose my ramblings upon the world around me, if not for you but for me. My constant need to type something—anything—helps maintain my brain’s order. I’ve written before that my need to write is almost disease-like. It’s an itchy affliction. If I don’t scratch it, I’ll unravel.

I wasn’t sure where this was leading just yet, but I think I figured it out. I’m a man who appreciates good order. My body is in complete agreement, and my seasonal migraines are a reminder.

Jennifer insists among our children that they keep themselves in order with calendars, planners, and the like. Our oldest son, Joshua, is married now, has a son, and works a full-time job. It’s funny how he’ll hug his mom and say, “You were right about keeping things organized.” He has come to realize, as many of his age eventually do, that disorder breeds unrest. The Bible certainly affirms this. In fact, it interprets disorder as sin’s regular product.

Saint Paul insists somewhat plainly that rejecting God and His natural law results in a “debased mind,” which is little more than a condition of mental and moral confusion (Romans 1:21-22, 28). Saint James writes, “For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice” (James 3:16). Isaiah offers, “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness” (Isaiah 5:20). The implication is that sin distorts moral clarity, ultimately confusing right and wrong.

Again, disorder is sin’s fruit.

Relative to this, I should say that I appreciate simplicity. Sinful humanity tends to complicate things. Sure, the mechanics of almost any issue are vast. In a way, I attested to that last week when I wrote about the need to read more, not less. Still, the point of sifting through the swirling details of any particular issue is to find a way through the confusion to something better. When we do find that way through, we often discover that the fix was not as complicated as we thought. It may be difficult getting there, but when we do, it won’t be hard to understand the what, why, and how of it all.

I wonder if this is why I’m oddly captivated by Elon Musk and his Department of Government Efficiency. While the United States government swirls with chaotic dysfunction, here’s a guy who has stepped into the middle of all of it and found a way to make its complicated mess into something crisp. His brainiacs have devised algorithms that can gather the chaos, sort it, identify the good and bad, and find a way through to an objective fix. When I observe this through a Gospel lens, there’s something strangely biblical about what Musk and his nerds are doing. No, not in the “mark of the beast” kind of way that the Revelation-twisting junkies and modern-day prophet-following weirdos try to suggest. First, I’m led to more of a David-and-Goliath image, where the unlikeliest champion throws a stone at the lumbering establishment, and the whole system wobbles. My second inclination goes far deeper.

Whether he realizes it or not, Musk has stumbled into sacred territory. A binding thread inherent to natural law is God’s desire for order. Saint Paul affirms this in 1 Corinthians 14:33 when he writes, “For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” In Titus 1:5, he tells Titus to “set in order the things that are lacking” in the churches of Crete, making it clear that the Church itself requires structural clarity and good governance. Even in Acts 6, when the early Church faced the initial challenge of caring for widows, the Apostles responded with an administrative order. They appointed deacons to handle the task so that the administration of the Word remained central. It’s here (as it was with 1 Corinthians 14:33) that we see God’s deepest desire for order, which Saint Paul highlights in 1 Timothy 2:1-6 when he writes about the need for Christians to interface with earthly authorities. We do this to help maintain good order. And why? In verses 2 through 4, Paul says the goal is “that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (v. 2). He continues, “This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (vv. 3-4).

The whole point of order is to provide a context in which the Gospel can be preached freely and without obstacle, all for the sake of saving souls.

With these things in mind, I realize it’s by no means coincidental that, right from the beginning, one of the first mandates God gave to Adam was to maintain order. In one of the most surprising acts of delegation ever recorded, God said, “Fill the earth and subdue it.” Next, He added, “and have dominion” (Genesis 1:28). This was a call to cultivate and maintain order in God’s creation. And so, we do. Certainly, this is an issue of faith relative to obedience. But as with all of God’s commands, there are practical fruits that come from holding to His divine commands. I already told you the most important one: the Gospel’s perpetuation. But there are others.

For example, order is inherent to a stable household. The Thoma family spent most of our dinnertime together on Friday talking about the blessings of a household that’s built in the way God designed it. A household established on God’s orderly design for marriage—a husband and wife—doesn’t just produce more humans. The sacred offices of husband and wife, becoming father and mother, create an ordered framework for children to understand love, responsibility, and many other aspects that make life truly enjoyable, just as God intended. If anything, a stable household becomes a training ground for carrying the kind of order that’s true to God’s heart into the broader world. It isn’t stifling. It nurtures growth while simultaneously instilling a crucial resilience to chaos, which is the space where confusion cooks up division, leading to broad-reaching and long-lasting harm.

As I said, observing through the Gospel’s lens, Musk and his team are in sacred space when they do what they’re doing, if only because they’re trying to bring order to chaos. They’re laboring to establish order’s honest clarity amid falsehood’s confusion.

To wrap this up, I mentioned at the beginning that migraines are a seasonal reminder. Keeping this ailment within the boundaries of God’s Word and beneath the shadow of the cross, my migraines are a natural protest against disorder—my body’s internal revolt against barometric chaos. In that sense, they’re a metaphor. They are proof that sin exists; it’s at work in my body (Romans 7:23). With it comes disorder. They also help me remember that God did not intend them by His design, and therefore, I’m not where I’m meant to be. In a mortal sense, even as I’m better suited for Florida’s climate, in the more extraordinary sense, I’m genuinely meant for the restored order of the new heaven and new earth (Revelation 21:1-5, Isaiah 65:17, 2 Peter 3:13) that Christ brings at the Last Day—the time when my whole self “will be set free from its bondage to corruption” (Romans 8:21).

Indeed, this world’s chaotic brokenness isn’t the final word. Genuine, actual, real restoration of order is coming. Christ has already seen to this by His life, death, and resurrection.

Truth’s Longer Road

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I’ve noticed that when people share what I write, they often do it with the caveat, “Be warned, this is a long read.” I smile when I see that.

I should preface by saying (as I have in plenty of past articles) that to learn anything, more than snippet-reading is required—or as I said in my 2/12/25 article about active and passive learning, “Genuine learning isn’t lazy. It’s an active process. It takes work…. Most often, controversial or challenging topics are not easily digestible. They take a little extra work, especially if the intent is to understand the argument and then formulate a barrier of truth relative to it.”

Sixty-second reads and meme-learning may be all we think we have time for. Still, it just won’t do. You have to dig in and examine the strata. I tend to believe that when a society prefers only the easy reads, we’re in trouble. Ideological capture only increases, along with the inability to engage in dialogue, resulting in divisions deepening.

Let me show what I mean.

A friend of mine shared a recent NBC article on his timeline. It is a perfect example of how selective framing, couched in brevity, presents an incomplete argument that ultimately hinders understanding and furthers the divide.

You can read the article here:

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/congress/speaker-mike-johnson-floats-eliminating-federal-courts-rcna197986

Now, before I get into this, I don’t want you to think that every short article is inherently dishonest. Shakespeare indeed said, “Brevity is the soul of wit.” But perhaps better, wisdom produces wit. Wisdom doesn’t become the substantive force that it is by feeding off of nothing but sugary catchphrases and ideological sayings. More in tune with my point, I’m saying that brevity requires the omission of complexity, and when that happens, because we’re already working with inherent beliefs, a reader’s ideology naturally fills the void.

Considering the article at hand, for starters, keep in mind that the opening sentences in any article are the ones that typically establish its tone. The first and second sentences do this. But starting with the second: “It’s the latest attack from Republicans on the federal judiciary….” The word “attack” is an emotionally loaded term. It implies irrational aggression. In other words, the Republicans are not engaging with the judiciary as though it is good. They are attacking it with the intent of tearing it down altogether. With this at the article’s beginning, the topic is already buried by negative connotations, ultimately undermining neutrality. This is precisely what’s lost in snippet culture. The tone is set with a single word rather than requiring a fuller explanation that shows why that word is appropriate. Without considering these implications more deeply, when this happens, a reader can absorb the writer’s bias without even knowing it. If the writer provides reasoning, it’s harder to trick the reader. It may even become harder to trick himself.

With that, before going further, I should go back to the article’s first sentence, which begins, “Facing pressure from his right flank….” This implies Speaker Johnson isn’t acting on principle. He’s certainly not employing constitutional reasoning. Instead, he is being pressured by extremists—the “right flank.” This sets the stage for the reader to assume (as the article leads them along) that Johnson and others are by no means doing what they’re doing because they genuinely believe and can prove that the courts are overreaching. This is ad hominem in the mineral sense. It dismisses someone’s fuller argument based on presumed motivation rather than engaging with the argument itself. There’s a reason people use ad hominem attacks. Doing so creates a narrative imbalance. But what happens to that imbalance when the bones of the argument are given more flesh? Again, it becomes a lot harder to trick a reader when they have more of the details.

Another observation might be that the article quotes Johnson, who said, “We do have the authority over the federal courts….” However, this is essentially all you get. Rather than exploring or explaining the GOP’s constitutional reasoning, their entire argument is undercut and reframed as nothing more than extremism-fueled overreach with a sprinkling of political theater. This is an example of selective omission. Anyone familiar with debate tactics and language will attest that debaters/writers do this for the same reason ad hominem is used: to create narrative imbalance. What would happen to this imbalance if the constitutional reasoning were presented, even in part?

Something else I noticed, while it could be considered speculative on my part, sure was suspect. The author uses snippets of Republican voices to show disunity within what is, in reality, an incredibly unified party right now. For example, there’s the following selective quotation: “Sen. Josh Hawley… said eliminating a district court would create ‘massive backlogs.’” He’s probably right. But knowing Hawley, that’s likely not all he said. Even further, for balanced reporting, why not include dissenting Democrats who have criticized judicial overreach or supported curbing judicial activism? While not directly supporting Johnson here, someone like Senator Fetterman has pushed back against his own party on similar rhetorical excesses. But no such nuance is offered. We’re left with a false dichotomy by contrast, using only Republican critics to discredit other Republicans without showing similar disagreement from the other side. Imagine if the broader argument—the similar concerns from Democrats—were included in the article.

But that would take more time to read.

Continuing on, I think the greatest disservice given by this short article was the apparent lack of equivalent historical framing concerning Johnson’s mentioning of Congress eliminating courts in 1913 and 1982. Some facts are included, but only briefly and in a way that relies on the already established premise of irrational hostility. Doing so, the article completely distances those previous eliminations from the current efforts, teeing up the implication, “But that was entirely different back then,” or worse, that Johnson is saying, “Well, they did it so why can’t we?” This is another crucial omission of some essential information. The reader is given minimal historical context to assess whether what’s happening right now is genuinely unprecedented or not.

These are just a few examples among many in this article. Indeed, when it comes to information that can actually help a reader understand the issue, this article is thin. Realistically, it is pure speculation, riddled with logical fallacies meant to keep ideological silos intact. It may resemble journalism, but it functions like slanted editorializing. And its ultimate goal is not to keep a reader informed concerning a complex issue that affects him. It is to show that Republicans are extremists and Democrats are reasonable.

Admittedly, both sides do this. Still, if more information were provided—if the article wasn’t flawed from the beginning, designed in snippet fashion—the reader might be able to form a more reliably accurate conclusion, even if the article is clearly biased.

And so, returning to my original premise, this is why long reads matter. This is why my notes are longer than most. I want to think the issues through. I don’t necessarily know where I’ll end. Nevertheless, I try to give ample space for nuance, context, and complexity—things that snippet-writing simply can’t hold. On the flip side, the deeper a reader can go, the more equipped he is to challenge a writer’s faulty logic while at the same time navigating various issues with greater discernment. In an age of curated outrage packaged in sixty-second reads, longer reads foster more thoughtful engagement. Besides, we can’t always get along with less information; sometimes we need more. And the thing is, I don’t think truth minds the long road. I think it only asks that we keep walking.

Deterrence

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A lot is happening in our world right now. It has me thinking of the saying that goes something like, “Men are not hanged for stealing horses, but that horses would not be stolen.” I don’t remember who said it. I just know it makes sense viscerally right now.

For starters, and in a somewhat positive sense, it seems that many aspects of American life that had become chaotic are being restored. Criminals are being caught and punished. Documents are being unsealed, and truths are being made known. Wasteful fraud is being uncovered, and cuts are being made. But there’s something else happening, too. Many are relearning a seemingly long-forgotten factor relative to justice. It’s not merely about trials and verdicts leading to punishment. It’s also about deterrence. Here’s what I mean.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a parent, it’s that consistent and clear consequences function like guardrails on a road. They don’t just punish bad drivers with scrapes and dents. They keep vehicles from veering off course. Remove those guardrails, and people plummet off cliffs. Dismantle them, and the dividing lines between opposing lanes disappear. Sooner or later, someone crosses over and causes destruction. In this sense, deterrents are not merely judicial but protective. They don’t just correct individual behavior; they preserve societal peace by restraining chaos before it can even start.

This point was driven home again just this past week. Jennifer and I were watching the evening news when a segment came on about Venezuelan gang members being ordered back into the country after deportation. Without prompting, Jennifer asked, “What does it say when a federal judge orders the immediate return of violent criminals who’ve already been deported?” Less than ten seconds later, a guest on the segment echoed the same concern. They both recognized the same truth: that law and order don’t merely punish the wicked. They communicate to observers what will be tolerated and what won’t. They warn. They deter.

This is the precise situation that seems to be getting reset. Rather than enforcing the law and holding wrongdoers accountable, America has been seemingly overrun by emotionalized justice—punishing or pardoning not based on guilt or innocence but on political allegiances and ideological sympathies. Of course, we’re not out of the woods yet.

Take, for example, the ongoing vandalism and destruction of Teslas, a rage not driven by any wrongdoing of the vehicle’s owner but by hatred for Elon Musk and his efforts relative to DOGE. The idea that someone’s private property becomes fair game for destruction simply because of an ideological disagreement betrays an aspect of societal devolution. When this is the way a populace operates, it isn’t getting better. It’s getting worse. I have high hopes for Kash Patel and Pam Bondi, if only because they’re tough and because we’re living in a time when a man can execute an insurance company executive in broad daylight only to be cheered on by influencers and media personalities. Naturally, the result is that other potential villains see this, are emboldened, and the overall dreadfulness escalates. This is exactly why deterrents matter.

When the justice system demonstrates that wrongdoing will be tolerated, excused, or even praised by judges, legislators, media, or culture, wickedness is fostered.

In a conversation with my son, Harrison, about the federal judge ordering the return of the gang members, I told him I could accept how someone with a cognitive deficiency or a mental illness might be confused concerning the right and wrong of this situation. Nevertheless, for most normal people dealing with functioning moral faculties (because for believer and unbeliever alike, morality is written into the human heart [Romans 2:15, Jeremiah 31:33]), no matter how the narrative is framed, the facts are not complicated. These deportees are not struggling asylum seekers fleeing oppression in search of the American Dream. They are brutality-minded reprobates intent on terrorizing others. Even in their own words, they’ve come to inflict pain and suffering while perpetuating anything and everything (drugs, sex trafficking, and countless other dreadfulnesses) that destroy American families and culture. One gang member proudly described his tattoos, saying, “You only get these when you kill.” Still, the liberal progressive mind remains a strange one at this intersection. Led by the loudest among their bunch—people like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Elizabeth Warren, Maxine Waters, and others—protests erupt over the Trump administration’s efforts to capture and deport these monsters. Most honest, everyday citizens observe these protests and wonder at the insanity. They can’t figure out why the Democrat Party would foster such ridiculousness.

To find the answer to the “why” question, my first inclination is to lean into the “cognitively deficient” argument I made before. As I said, cognitively deficient people cannot discern distinctions between right and wrong. However, it’s likely they do know the difference; it’s just that they willfully reject right and wrong altogether, maybe even refusing to believe they really exist (which I’ll come back to in a minute). When this is the case, logic is disrupted, and emotions fill the vacuum. With this, they inevitably virtue-signal, minimizing complex issues that they really don’t understand, ultimately interpreting and then naming their overall efforts as pro-immigrant, pro-choice, pro-LGBTQ, and such.

If this isn’t the answer to the question, then my second inclination is to assume they actually do understand the complexity of what’s going on, and if so, then something James Lindsay said to me makes sense.

As a parent, when I let my child do whatever he wants without consequences, I invite household chaos. Is it possible that someone would do this purposely? Well, if the person wanted to make home life so unbearable that it destroys his marriage, freeing him to replace his wife with another woman, he might. If you want a society’s current structure to slide into disarray so that you can replace it with something else, get rid of disarray’s deterrents. Don’t punish crime. Allow or even encourage and maintain it. The thing is, it’s almost as if some of our leaders are doing this. When Maxine Waters encourages protesters to accost opponents in restaurants and at their homes to ensure they have no rest, when a federal judge orders a plane deporting thugs to return to the United States, or legislators press for open borders and an illegal alien’s right to vote, or a former president pits his justice department against parents fighting to keep boys out of women’s locker rooms, the only logical reason for these behaviors that undermine stability is to perpetuate destabilization. What else could it be?

Before I forget, I said I was going to come back around to a point I was making before. Referring to progressive-minded people, I wrote above, “Cognitively deficient people cannot discern distinctions between right and wrong… maybe even refusing to believe they really exist.” What I really meant by “cognitively deficient people” was radical individualists. Radically individualized people, while they may pay lip service to law and order, inherently do not view it as beneficial but as oppressive. Radical individualism does not understand personal responsibility as objectively good but as outdated. And because a radically individualized person believes he can be, say, or do anything he wants without consequence (people can be cats, men can menstruate and have babies, and other mentally ill thoughts), any actual consequence, natural or imposed, is by default deemed unfair.

In a world where this is the rule, chaos reigns supremely. In such a world, people burn cars not because they have been wronged but because they can do so without fear of punishment. In that world, violent criminals are shielded from deportation while law-abiding citizens live in fear. In that world, dreadfulness leads to reward, and goodness is smothered. In that world, horses are stolen not because men are desperate but because they know that no one will stop them.

Christians, you know better.

I sent a private message to someone close to me last week. The person claims Christianity and yet shared an article that favored abortion. In the private message, I wrote, “A Christian man sharing a post in support of abortion is like a firefighter advocating for arson. The Christian faith upholds the sanctity of life from conception (Psalm 139:13-16, Jeremiah 1:5), while abortion is the deliberate taking of innocent life.”

Why did I send the message? First and foremost, a Christian’s responsibility in this world is not to remain silent when falsehood runs amok in the “household of faith” (Galatians 6:10). Beyond Christian fellowship, Christ calls His believers to be “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world” (Matthew 5:13-14). We preserve truth. We are bright-beaming beacons in falsehood’s darkness. Of course, the Lord is referring specifically to the Gospel. Still, the Gospel is truth’s source because Christ is the Gospel’s source (John 14:6). From there, the Holy Spirit at work by that Gospel doesn’t make the one He inhabits dormant. He stirs Christians to know and confess that abortion is murder—that the guardrail of God’s holy Law against it is not bad but good. In the same way, a Christian citizen does not abdicate the role God has given him in society. He becomes someone willing to “rescue those who are being taken away to death; hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter” (Proverbs 24:11). He understands that “if you say, ‘Behold, we did not know this,’ does not He who weighs the heart perceive it?” (v. 12).

As all of this relates to what I’ve shared so far, a Christian understands that the biblical mandate to love the neighbor (Mark 12:31) does not mean enabling lawlessness but ensuring that justice prevails so that our neighbors can live in safety and peace. And there’s a very important reason for this. Saint Paul urges believers to pray for and intercede with “kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Timothy 2:2). He goes on to say, “This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth” (vv. 3-4). In other words, the preservation of law and order is not simply about maintaining civility. It is about protecting the Church’s ability to proclaim the Gospel without interference to a world that desperately needs it. A world with no law and order is a world without religious liberty. A society in disarray naturally stifles the Christian witness. Churches are inevitably threatened, and the Gospel is silenced beneath disorder’s weight.

God ordains governments to dispel chaos. That’s important to the Two Kingdoms doctrine. In its prescriptive sense, God established government (the kind we can rightly call “good”) to punish evildoers and reward those who live uprightly (Romans 13:3-4). When a government abandons this ordination, the Church cannot be silent. She speaks and acts against the forces attempting to destabilize and destroy society by undermining this crucial estate.

From Genesis to Revelation, God’s Word reveals that order, justice, and truth are not merely societal values—they are divine imperatives. Government exists to serve the good, and the Church must speak when that purpose is subverted. In that sense, the Church herself stands as a fixed deterrent. And by the way, this is not a definitively conservative or liberal position. It is, quite simply, natural law. It is how God designed His world. And His way is best.

Necessity

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The Ten Commandments—God’s holy Law—are not complicated. Don’t have other gods. Don’t murder. Don’t commit adultery. Don’t steal. Of course, God’s Word insists that human beings cannot perfectly fulfill God’s holy Law, which is why we need Jesus. Still, while God’s Law may be impossible to enact perfectly, it’s not entirely impossible to understand.

Admittedly, part of the problem with perfectly keeping God’s Law is that human beings are profoundly ignorant. Also, admittedly, we live in a complex world thoroughly infected by sin. Together, this means navigating the world’s complexities and applying God’s Law can be challenging.

And so, a thought.

I had a conversation a few weeks ago in my office with a member of my congregation, a lawyer. A devout Lutheran Christian, he stopped by to ask my theological opinion concerning polygamy. I gave it. During the conversation, he shared with me what prompted his concern.

He listens to Lutheran podcasts regularly. He shared his concerns about something he heard a Lutheran pastor say concerning polygamy during an interview on a recent podcast. In fairness, I’ve yet to listen to the actual podcast. With that, I won’t go into the details. Nevertheless, I trust this member’s concerns. Why? Well, again, if only because he’s a courtroom litigator. He listens, analyzes language (which is the carriage of thought and intention), and measures appropriate insight relative to law. What’s more, I’ve known him for a long time. My guess is that he didn’t squeak past the bar exam. In other words, he’s no intellectual or theological lightweight.

Essentially, this member shared how the pastor played theological word games, ultimately resulting in polygamy’s acceptability. He noted that the podcast host’s better sense appeared to detect this, and yet, he did not push back but instead let the interviewee continue down what was already a fundamentally flawed theological trail, one that dismissed the fuller systematic of scriptural influence relative to the topic.

In other words, he made a determination based on one or two texts without employing countless others that give precise contours for the topic. In the end, polygamy was placed in a gray space, ultimately judged acceptable in certain circumstances, opening a theoretical door to Christians to practice it today.

Our conversation continued. I offered a brief explanation of a frustration I often experience as a pastor. I experience it with couples seeking divorce. I experience it with people teetering at the edge of significant life decisions—such as a job change or countless other challenges this involved world throws our way. Essentially, I explained that between the clarity of God’s Law and the impossible complexities experienced in life, a gray space often emerges. In that space, something unfortunate happens: sinful human beings prove a dark and inherent tendency to blur the lines between right and wrong, ultimately confusing truth with untruth. Why does this happen? I think it’s a sign of the sinful nature’s muscle for sidestepping faithfulness.

And what is the chief excuse in most of these situations? Necessity. Specifically, people claim their actions were necessary and that they had no choice.

I shared a quotation with my visitor during the conversation. I mentioned that Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “We do what we must and call it by the best names.” This is to say it’s far too easy for us to defend, reframe, and rename our actions until they seem not only justifiably acceptable but even virtuous. A stinging word of sarcasm meant to harm is explained away as merely tough love. A betrayal of trust is redefined as an essential compromise. A moral lapse becomes an act of practicality or common sense. Gossip is framed as concern or a necessary sharing of information. Cowardice in the face of truth is rationalized as maintaining peace or staying in one’s lane. Greed is spun as laudable ambition, and selfishness is recast as self-care.

In the extremes, polygamy becomes weirdly acceptable.

Saint Augustine said something about necessity. He wrote, “Necessity has no law.” When he wrote this, he was not commending Christians to whatever is deemed necessary in any situation. He was warning against thinking in such ways in situations that take serious discernment. He was concerned that once we believe necessity permits us, we risk losing sight of genuine faithfulness—not just what we must do, but what we ought to do.

What we feel we must do—or are being forced to do—is not the same as what we ought to do. I remember a time in my own family, not long after my brother died, his wife met another man, and he moved in to live with her and the two small children. Interestingly, far too many in my family saw it as a good thing, saying gray stuff like, “Well, in this circumstance, at least the children will have a father figure.”

Indeed, my brother’s death was a terribly complicated situation. Nevertheless, no. Living together outside of marriage is a sin. Father or no father does not complicate what’s right.

Again, don’t get me wrong. Life’s complications are real. Genuine dilemmas do arise, and with them comes the need to discern carefully. Still, be careful that the corrupted human will isn’t outmuscling the genuine discernment. The complexity of a situation never grants us the liberty to rewrite God’s Law according to personal preferences, steering our perceived necessities. God’s Law is not gray. The thing is, we all know it. It’s written onto our hearts (Jeremiah 31:33, Romans 2:15). It is a clear light in the darkness, revealing sin for what it truly is and illuminating the path of righteousness (Psalm 119:105). And so, by the power of the Holy Spirit at work within us for faithfulness, we guard against trying to justify sin by emotional reasoning or convenience, all beneath the banner of necessity. Faithfulness does not rationalize its choices, maneuvering to get what it wants. It clings to God’s Word of truth—even when it is difficult, even when it costs us something, even when that cost hurts.

My recommendation: When facing a complicated situation, before making any decisions, first look at the cross. Test the backwardness of what Jesus is doing there—the innocent One suffering and dying for the guilty. From there, settle into trusting that God’s way is always best, even when our wits are suggesting otherwise. There’s a clarifying freedom to be had in that trust. It resists the temptation to bend God’s Word to our opinions or circumstances, choosing instead to humble ourselves and be conformed to His will. Indeed, Saint Paul insists, “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2).

How can Paul say this? Because after everything he endured personally (which he thoroughly expounds in 2 Corinthians 11:16-33), he learned God’s will is always good, right, and ultimately for our salvation.

Before and After

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Welcome to Lent. Well, technically, Lent began last Wednesday, and traditionally, Sundays are considered “in Lent but not of Lent.” Maybe I should say instead, “Welcome to Daylight Savings Time.” I should also say, “Be careful out there.” I heard a Fox News story on the way into the office this morning about a study out of Michigan showing that heart attacks increase 24% the Monday after Daylight Savings Time. The researchers affirmed the change’s very real shock to the body’s internal clock and recommended taking it slowly, going to bed earlier, and not drinking too much caffeine. Unfortunately, I heard the story only after my morning routine of stopping for a large coffee at the Hartland McDonald’s.

We’ll see what happens.

But again, welcome to Lent. We’ve officially entered into an unmistakable time in the Church Year. It’s a 40-day pathway paved with penitent reflection leading to Easter. Many of Lent’s travelers make fasting or abstaining a part of their devotion. Fasting takes different forms. Abstaining does, too. Some will avoid certain things they enjoy, such as coffee or sweets. Others make a deliberate attempt to wrestle and pin a bad habit. Still, others up the ante on their Christian devotion, electing to read their Bible or pray more often. I appreciate the practice of all-around betterment. I’ve decided to do a little bit of everything. I won’t share the details. Just know that if you’re observing Lent in one or more of these ways, I’m in it with you, and I’m rooting for you. I hope you’re rooting for me, too.

One thing for sure is that I’ve never heard anyone say they wish they hadn’t observed Lent in these ways. You might know someone who has felt that way, but in all my years of Lenten fealty, I haven’t. That’s probably because the people who do it eventually realize something. Lent’s visceral preparatory nature has a way of juxtaposing the “before” self with the “after” self. Win or lose, a person who takes a deliberate look at Christ’s sacrifice for sin and then deliberately pits himself against an unseemly tendency is not the same person who emerges on the other side of the bout.

This is no surprise to me. Human beings have a consolidated sense of the before and after of moments—events, struggles, times in our lives—rather than the details of any particular day. We look back on these moments, and we see the before and after—who we were and how things changed. The weekend of Good Friday and Easter was a pivotal moment. That’s what Saint Paul meant when he said, “Besides this, you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep” (Romans 13:11). For “time,” he uses the word καιρόν—the period of events or a moment among moments. Paul, the Apostle who was not ashamed of the Gospel of the crucified Savior (Romans 1:16-17, 1 Corinthians 1:23) and was determined to know nothing among anyone but Christ crucified (1 Corinthians 2:2), he implies in Romans 13:11 that the world is not what it once was before the death and resurrection of Jesus. He insists that believers have been awakened—that they are not who they were before their faith in the crucified and risen Savior.

For Christians, everything is different now following Good Friday and Easter. Lent takes us by the hand and walks us back to the moment’s precipice. It wants us to revisit and understand it more deeply. It wants us to never lose sight of it.

In a world of uncertainty, you know as well as I do how critical it is to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus (Hebrews 2:2). Every day brings new crises. Indeed, time’s pace is relentless. Chaucer said, “Time and tide wait for no man.”

But there was a moment in time that met with and beyond time itself. Lent seeks to remind us that because of that moment, we are not meant to be swept along with the tides of the world. Instead, we are fixed to Christ, the One who has already overcome the world, which includes the time that encapsulates it (John 16:33). We do this keeping in mind that Lent’s disciplines—the self-examination, the penitent recalibration, the consecrating view—these are not acts of disengagement from time, but of proper reorientation. They turn our gaze from the fleeting anxieties of the age to the eternal victory of the cross.

No matter how chaotic the present moment may be, the defining moment has already come. As Christians, we are awake to this, and now, the καιρόν—the moment of all moments—is the lens through which we view all things. It shows us the before and after. Before, we were lost. But then Golgotha and the empty tomb. Now, we’re in the after of something completely different—something better. We’re in the after of faith in the One who endured the moment of moments. We’re in the after of Christ’s glorious and eternal victory.

Ash Wednesday 2025

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A critical season in the Church’s life begins this Wednesday. It starts with a defining moment, one that communicates the Church’s identity in ways that the other Church seasons do not. The season before us—Lent—pits itself against all temptations to loosen our grip on who we are and what we are called to believe, teach, and confess.

Epiphany and the Gesima Sundays (Septuagesima, Sexagesima, and Quinquagesima) led us to this moment. Epiphany showed us who Christ is relative to His claims. The Gesima Sundays urged us to embrace His Gospel work, no matter how backward a divine but crucified King might seem.

 From there, we enter Lent. We do so through Ash Wednesday’s liturgy.

As we pass, our foreheads are marked with all that remains from fire’s insatiable judgment. Remnant cinders are smeared on Christian foreheads, but only as we’re also told by the one applying them, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19), or as the early Latin saying eventually summarized, “Memento mori”—remember, you must die. The ashen smear is a messy mark—grittily filthy and hard to wash off. That alone speaks volumes. Death is Sin’s wage, and it will be paid. The payment is not an easy thing. It is tenaciously dirty. It is impossibly thick.

If you’re paying attention, another thought might come to mind in that moment. Anyone participating in the Ash Wednesday liturgy likely does so by first standing in a line. One will go before another and then another and then another. Eventually, it’s your turn to confront death’s dreadfulness.

We all will. We all do.

However, if you can, watch the motion of the one applying the ashes. Even if the resulting mark is crassly formed, you’ll at least see it was done so in the shape of a cross. You’re not remembering death in terror. Ash Wednesday’s liturgy is not condemning you. Neither is the vested one at the end of the line who’s marking your face. You’re being readied, reinforced, and sent into Lent well-equipped.

Yes, Death is Sin’s wage. But the believer bears in his body both the death and resurrected life of Jesus, the One in whom his faith is founded (2 Corinthians 4:10-11). Indeed, Christ’s death on the cross was the all-sufficient payment that thwarted Death’s reign. It is swallowed up in His resurrection victory, having forever lost its sting (1 Corinthians 15:54-57).

I’ve insisted on countless occasions that, if anything, Ash Wednesday’s liturgy reinforces what the Christian Church is to know of Death, lest it become too comfortable with what’s really going on behind the scenes in this life. It does this while, at the same time, redirecting the penitent heart to the only One who can give hope—the One who met death in its own lair, nullifying its power.

Ash Wednesday draws the believer in, ultimately calibrating Him for Lent’s deepest message. And what is that message?

The battle between Christ and Death will be brutal. Death will not surrender us easily. And so, the war will be fierce. At first glance, it will appear all too easy for Death. Christ will not fight back, but instead, will surrender Himself entirely and in every way, ultimately coming to a miserably horrific and mutilated end on a cross drenched in his own bloody agony and dejection. It will be quite the backward sight, one that makes little sense relative to this world’s calculus.

Ash Wednesday and Lent lead us to Golgotha’s happenings. Indeed, they’re raw and unpleasant. And yet, they’re good—thoroughly good. That’s because they’re the muscle fibers that form the Gospel’s heart. Amen, we preach Christ crucified (1 Corinthians 1:23)!  Indeed, we are not afraid of Death because we are not ashamed or afraid of the Gospel! It is the power of God for salvation (Romans 1:16-17).

As always, I’m inclined to encourage you: If you have never attended an Ash Wednesday service, consider doing so. If you receive this note and your church does not offer one, find a church that does.

Here at Our Savior in Hartland, Michigan, we offer two Ash Wednesday services: one at 8:10 AM and another at 6:30 PM. You are welcome to join us in the line. You are welcome to remember Death’s concern rightly. But even better, you are welcome to hear the Good News that converts and convinces human hearts to faith—to hear that Jesus is the resurrection and the life, and that whoever believes in Him, though he die, yet shall he live (John 11:25-26).

God bless and keep you in this faith now and always.

Truth Always Has Its Day

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The Thoma family wandered into a discussion about President’s Day this past week at dinner. The nerd that I am, I interrupted the conversation with, “Did you know that Presidents’ Day is not the official name of the holiday?” I went on to nerdily explain that since its inception in the 1880s, it’s only ever been officially recognized legislatively as “Washington’s Birthday.” It wasn’t until the 1960s that a bill was introduced to move all federal holidays to Mondays, and one of the discussion points was to combine Abraham Lincoln’s birthday (February 12, which many states were already celebrating) and Washington’s birthday (February 22, which the whole country had long been celebrating) into a standard date. The combination was successful, becoming the third Monday in February. However, the name change for the holiday failed to pass. Officially, it’s still on the books as “Washington’s Birthday.”

I went on to ask, “Do you know why Congress ultimately failed to associate Lincoln’s name with the holiday formally?” I knew the answer to this question because I’d read some of the congressional floor discussions that encapsulated the essential argument.

As expected, there remained a strong ideological and regional opposition to Lincoln from southern Democrats. While the nation’s 16th president was revered by pretty much all of the northern states, he was still controversial throughout most of the South, even a hundred years after the Civil War. Essentially, and almost unanimously among Democrats, there remained a harbored resentment for Lincoln relative to the war and the national reconstruction that followed. In short, he wasn’t as beloved as you’d think, and it was often instinctual for the Democrats to slight his legacy whenever the opportunity presented itself.

As a result, while the bill’s consolidation efforts succeeded, any on-the-books remembrance of Lincoln failed. That said, the nation’s citizens adopted the name “Presidents’ Day” anyway, and when promoting and celebrating it, both Washington and Lincoln are almost always represented in its imagery. Stop by a furniture store that’s having a President’s Day sale. You’ll likely see images of Lincoln and Washington in its promotional posters.

I like that this is true. It speaks volumes. It’s a nod toward history’s eventual disregard for a government’s ideological foolishness, and it’s a defiant wink to the nitwits at the helm.

The Christian Church understands this contentious existence well, especially when it comes to its holidays. It seems the historical revisionists and liberal progressives have forever attempted to forget Christ, doing what they can to reshape or redefine the origins of Christian holidays. One needs only to consider Christmas and the forthcoming Easter celebration. Year after year, the Church anticipates attempts to impose confused narratives that diminish these holidays’ Christian foundations. In the end, the perpetrators only end up betraying their real intentions: an innate hatred for Christ; at least, it’s betrayed to those of us who’ve studied Christian history. That same history displays a pattern. Christ’s opponents either repackage His celebrations as pagan festivals or distract from them with secular innovations, coming up with goofy activist holidays like Kwanza.

And yet, despite these seemingly never-ending efforts, the revisionist interpretations put forth by truth’s opponents never seem to catch on. Human beings continue to celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ and Easter as His resurrection, just as they have for centuries upon centuries. Across the world, they still say “Merry Christmas” and call to one another with “He is risen!”

While not precisely the same, this tendency is at least somewhat reflected in the Presidents’ Day celebration. No matter how much the overarching goodness inherent in Lincoln’s efforts was deliberately opposed, the American people appeared to know better, and as a nation, we have instinctively maintained a healthier understanding of the holiday, even calling it by its unofficial and ultimately rejected name.

I suppose one particularly worthwhile angle emerging from today’s rambling is that some things, it seems, are too deeply ingrained in the fabric of tradition and truth to be rewritten by ideological trends. Indeed, truth always has its day.

Are we experiencing this right now as a nation? Maybe. It sure seems like President Trump, a man who was accosted by unjust lawfare for years, is having his day. Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency certainly are having their day relative to long-hidden deviance in government. But that’s just it. Truth has a way of resurfacing and pushing back against worldly foolishness. This should be no surprise for Christians. Truth’s strength figures into our hope. Indeed, Jesus already told us, “For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light” (Luke 8:17). And so, whether in the Church’s steadfast preservation of its holy days or in the American people’s instinct to honor history rightly, truth remains a feisty contender. It refuses to be buried beneath the agendas of the moment.

I find this to be somewhat comforting. I know I live in a world bent on obscuring what is good, hoping to reshape reality itself. It calls a man a woman. It prefers workers based on gender (if they can figure out how to define it) and skin color rather than skill. It rewards liars and penalizes honesty. That said, history continues testifying that such efforts eventually fall short.

Again, this doesn’t surprise Christians. We have God’s Word, and so we know the “grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:8). We know we “are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). In other words, we know God’s Word remains, His truth prevails, and His people endure.

Applying this to life, whether it be the remembrance of faithful leaders, the celebration of our Lord’s birth and resurrection, or the whole of the very Gospel itself, no earthly power can rewrite what God has already written or undo what God has done. Jesus said, “It is finished” (John 19:30). And it is.

First Impressions

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I’m writing this morning’s note from an Airbnb in Morton, Illinois. Rather than rent a hotel room, for barely a fraction more, Jennifer managed to locate a spacious two-bedroom first floor of an early 20th-century home just around the corner and down the street from where I used to live. It has a full kitchen, dining room, and living room to boot. As I said, Jennifer found it. Although, she isn’t here. My daughter, Evelyn, is traveling with me. We’re in town to visit my family.

For starters, I just got back from a quick trip to the local McDonald’s for my usual Sunday morning coffee. You can be pretty sure I’m sipping one while tippity-tapping these Sunday messages. It took a little longer than normal to get the coffee. Usually, I’d just zip through the drive-through and be on my way. However, after sitting for a while unnoticed, I decided to go inside.

It doesn’t matter where you are; there’s something about restaurant dining rooms. They’re either bustling with vigor—people coming and going, conversations echoing from the walls—or they’re eerily quiet, as though the building itself is holding its breath. This morning, it was the latter. It felt as though I was the only one awake in the town—well, besides the three workers I saw behind the counter and one other person who was already inside ordering something, too. Where I am right now, a house on Adams Street, is just as still. Evelyn is still sleeping, and the only noticeable sounds are the taps at my keyboard and a faint machine hum coming from what I’m guessing is the furnace.

I don’t mind the quiet. Stillness has its charm. Because I’m almost always on the move, when I do have a moment like this, especially one that occurs in a relatively unfamiliar location, it becomes an opportunity for a unique kind of reflection. Typically, I’m in my office when I write these notes. I can observe my surroundings—or whatever might be swirling around in my head—without distraction almost every Sunday from my computer chair. But in this particular space—a hardwood chair at a small round table in a unique corner of a much wider world—there’s an exclusive character to its ordinariness. This is to say, while the room’s décor might not win awards, and the coffee I drink ritually is barely up to par, there’s no place like this place right now. If I’m willing to consider that even the simplest things bear a treasure trove of inspiration, then I’m just as blessed to be where I am at this very moment as I would be if I were roaming the gilded halls of the Hermitage.

But to grasp this, I need to pay attention. I need to look around and take notice of what’s happening—what others are doing, what objects are involved in the moment’s stillness as well as its commotions. For example, I mentioned before that I wasn’t the only one who stopped at McDonald’s this morning. Another person was there. Admittedly, he looked rigidly serious in his dark suit. If I’m being completely honest, he reminded me of a funeral director—or maybe a character from the film Men in Black. Had the shadow government sent an agent to Illinois to abduct and mind-wipe me? Who knows. Either way, I wondered further when taking his two bags of food in hand, he followed me out the door. But then I watched him climb into a silver minivan with two bumper stickers on it that made me laugh out loud. One sticker read, “I identify as a toaster,” and the other, “Citizens Against Bumper Stickers.”

For as serious as the man appeared to be, I’m guessing we have a similar sense of humor. Or he’s married to someone who has the same sense. Either way, I’ll bet if we spoke, we’d get along just splendidly. But to know this, I had to let more than first impressions determine our future. I had to give him a little more time and space to be his fuller self.

I suppose the congealing thought this morning is that as Christians intent on bringing the Gospel into a world of countless personalities, this is important to keep in mind. People are complex. They rarely fit neatly into the categories we might initially assign them. I’ve told my own children on occasion that when I first see a homeless person—or anyone who might be relatively off-putting—I try to remember that the person was once someone’s baby, and then eventually a toddler, and then eventually a child, and so on. This person was given life just like the rest of us. That alone deserves reverence. Stepping from there, even as someone’s first impression might communicate a hard and filthy life, or even an all-business and rigidly humorless demeanor, a closer look can reveal a human being with personality and depth, someone with an undiscovered past and an untold future, and among all of it, a human being who bears the fingerprints of the Creator’s artistry in ways we might never expect.

This is just one more example of something I continue to insist among any and all who read the things I write. I’m pretty consistent in encouraging my readers to look at the world through the lens of the Gospel. When the Gospel becomes a way of seeing, our surroundings become more than things, and people become more than strangers, acquaintances, or friends. Saint Paul knew this. He at least winked at it when he wrote, “From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh…. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:16-17). He knew that observing the world and its inhabitants through the lens of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection was to see beyond humanity’s exterior to its divine value. To do otherwise is the old way—sin’s way. In Jesus, the new way has come.

Of course, and once again, Jesus is the ultimate demonstration of this perspective. The first example that comes to mind this morning is Zacchaeus, a despised tax collector in the sycamore tree (Luke 19:1-10). The Lord saw him for all that he was in his sinful past and present, and yet, He called to him, fully intent on giving him a better future. Why? Because Zacchaeus was innately valuable. Another example is the woman at the well in John 4:7-26. He knew her past. In fact, He proved it by telling her things about her life that no stranger would ever know, not even from a first impression’s hints. And yet, His goal was not to harness her to that past. It was to give her a new future. Again, why? Because she was His divine creation, and she was valuable.

In the end, my point is one of encouragement. I’ve written before that I have no problem finding plenty to write about every Sunday morning. That’s because there’s plenty around me to observe and investigate through the Gospel’s lens. And so, again, be encouraged to do the same, especially when it comes to people. Pay attention. Do so, remembering that each is a unique creation of God. I mentioned before that Saint Paul knew this. Truth is, the whole Bible knows it. The Psalmist certainly did, reminding us, “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” (Psalm 139:13-14). Every individual carries this intrinsic worth. With that as the starting gate to any first impression, no one should be dismissed offhand, but rather, there’s always room for second, third, and fourth impressions.

Active vs. Passive Learning

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As you may already know, the Life Team here at Our Savior in Hartland, Michigan, (along with some help from “The Body of Christ and the Public Square”) orchestrated a substantial event entitled “An Evening for Life” featuring Seth Gruber. If you know anything about Seth, then you know he’s a caffeinated firehose of valuable information. That’s why it only took a little more than three weeks of promotion to get 206 attendees from all around the state on a cold Thursday evening, some willing to drive a few hours to be with us. However, referring to these visitors as “attendees” seems insufficient. “Active learners” is more appropriate. Craving information, they actually got into their cars and drove to an event.

Conversely, if there’s one thing that bothers me about typical information exchanges, it’s the tendency some folks have toward spoon-feeding. For example, I wrote and shared something on Facebook a few weeks back in which I discussed a somewhat controversial theological topic. Sometime afterward, I received a private message from someone asking me to explain some unfamiliar terms I used in the post. First, the person wasn’t on my friend list, so I elected not to reply. If you know anything about Facebook Messenger, then you know that if you reply to someone outside your network, you are granting him full Messenger access. I try not to do that. Ever. The times I have, I’ve inevitably needed to block the person.

Second, and putting the best construction on things, my guess is that the person asking for the explanations must live in a place without adequate internet time or resources. Perhaps he lives in a Kath Kuni in the Himalayas or a cave in Afghanistan? However, if neither of these describes his actual plight, then I assume he can research the terms for himself. With a few taps at the computer, followed by a click or two with the mouse, he’d be on his way to learning anything and everything he’d ever hoped to know about the terms he’d never heard before. Instead, he wanted me to spend time writing it all out for him.

He wanted to be spoon-fed.

Now, before I go any further, I’ll admit to doing the same thing on occasion. The Thoma family has a family calendar. It’s synced to my phone. Still, rather than looking at the calendar, I’ll ask my wife, Jennifer, “Is there anything on tonight’s schedule that I should know about?” When I do this, I’m demonstrating passive learning. I have access to the information, but rather than doing my own investigating, I make the mistake of expecting her just to tell me. It’s lazy practice. I admit it.

Genuine learning isn’t lazy. It’s an active process. It takes work. Sure, there are things we learn passively, which is to say, we learn them without active engagement. Infants learn many things that way. They’re human sponges. I suppose there’s an element of passive learning for infants relative to language. They learn to speak as language is brought to them. But it doesn’t take long for the infant to become an active learner in the process, eventually engaging in language exploration. They begin making noises and sounding out words. Indeed, any parent will tell you that infants are the epitome of active learning in almost everything. They see something and, no matter what it is, reach out to explore it in every way they can. And none of their five senses is off limits, not even taste. My grandson, Preston, when he discovered his toes, guess where he eventually decided to put them?

Thinkers are active learners. There’s a chance I’m not dealing with an active learner when, let’s say, I post on Facebook, “William Federer will be one of the speakers at our upcoming conference,” and someone replies, “I’ve never heard of him? Who is he?” A reply like this irritates me because it expects me to present a detailed biography. I certainly could have provided a link to one in the post. However, not every hand needs to be held.

This leads me to something else.

Relative to intellectual lethargy, could it be that we’ve arrived at a time in history where it’s no longer possible to actually convince or convert anyone to a position other than the ones they already hold? What I’m saying is that, for virtue’s sake, I get the sense that most people consider themselves open-minded. And yet, are they passively or actively open-minded?

A passively open-minded person listens to whatever is being said but is only willing to consider and embrace those parts that align with what they already believe is true. They don’t want to do any thinking work. They don’t want to get up from their mental couch to answer another perspective’s knocks at the door. An actively open-minded person knows what they believe, and yet, while listening, searches for breakdowns, loopholes, or contradictions in not only the speaker’s argument but also their own belief system relative to the argument. In other words, they get up from the couch, open the door, and let the perspective into the house for a conversation. As they do, they put in the interrogative work. They ask questions. They offer content and counterpoints. They examine the topic from more than just their perspective, giving and taking along the way.

I think active learning also insists on active open-mindedness.

I guess what I’m wondering out loud right now is why so many seem to lean so heavily on passive learning styles, especially at a time in history when having a grasp on what’s going on is not only incredibly important but, at the same time, we have instant access to so much information. A few weeks back, I shared some of these thoughts with the teachers in our congregation’s school during our regular study of the Book of Concord. One teacher supposed part of the problem could be the overwhelming flood of content we encounter daily. With so many things happening at once and so much content to process, it’s easy to choose the spoon-fed route, preferring extracts from trusted sources rather than taking the time to do a deeper dive. Considering the person I mentioned at the beginning of this particular meandering, perhaps he wanted me to feed him the information because he trusts me. If so, I’m flattered. But my gut tells me it’s more likely that because social media is so overrun with memes, news snippets, and soundbites, he’s been trained to skim rather than study. But therein lies part of the problem.

Dependency on others to think for you—to distill complex ideas into more easily digestible pieces—robs a person of genuine growth.

Most often, controversial or challenging topics are not easily digestible. They take a little extra work, especially if the intent is to understand the argument and then formulate a barrier of truth relative to it. Sure, you can have a sense that transgenderism is weird. You can even know that the Bible stands against it as a perversion. But do you know where the Bible says this, and can you provide a convincing argument for why the Bible might speak this way? Do you know the topic’s relation to natural law, essential societal structures, the nature of male and female, terms like Imago Dei, or the fertile imagery of the mystery of Christ, the Groom, and the Church, His bride? There’s a lot more to the discussion than saying, “I think it’s weird, and I’m against it.”

I know my writings are longer than most you’d find on the internet. But regardless of the “less is more” inclination, I prefer a thorough wrestling with most topics. Snippets are fun, but they rarely close the loopholes.

Again, passivity in learning can be problematic. It’s happy enough to pursue the “tell me what to think” approach rather than investigating and thinking through something for oneself. The first results in echo chambers that never go anywhere. The second is intent on locating truth while buffeted with a firmer grasp on what makes it true.

The distinction between these two approaches has a blast radius that ripples out into the broader cultural landscape. I’m sure, like me, you’ve experienced those conversations with people that have devolved into name-calling, mainly because the debaters couldn’t get any deeper than their emotions. For example, as soon as I mentioned that James Lindsay would be a speaker at this year’s conference, I had someone essentially calling me a rotten pastor for “platforming” someone he deemed an enemy of Christ. But James isn’t an enemy of Christ. Of course, snippets won’t teach this. A deeper dive will. Even better, an interrogative conversation with the man reveals his person. That said, I’ve eaten meals and consumed whisky with the man in my own home. We’ve talked about lots of things, many of which were faith-related. If anything, he’s more open to an introduction to Christ than most. Passive learning is self-centered, and it won’t learn this about James Lindsay.

By contrast, it seems to me that active learning is born from a sense of humility. It approaches others from the perspective, “I’m not perfect, and I don’t know everything. What can I learn from you?” It begins with knowing that objective truth is real, but to truly discover it means admitting oneself is flawed. From there, it’s willing to hear from others. In James’ case, formerly atheistic but now more so agnostic, he’s willing to sit at a clergy friend’s bar in his basement and entertain things of God, while simultaneously, that same friend is willing to hear from his expertise relative to various topics of interest. I’ve learned a lot from James Lindsay about how mainstream Christianity got to a condition in which rock shows are considered worship and lesbian bishops are ordained. If I’d written him off as merely an enemy of Christ, I’d never have learned these things, and my theological prowess would be far lesser.

Of course, as with most things, Christians always have the upper hand on humble learning. We know by faith that objective truth exists. We understand that every human being is terminally flawed in sin, and as a result, objective truth will never be discovered from within. From there, we can say that active learning is fundamental to the Christian life. It’s not like the Bible rarely encourages believers to seek wisdom and understanding. It does so throughout its pages. For example, a ready text is Proverbs 2:2-5. Here, Solomon actually emphasizes active learning, urging us to incline our ears to wisdom and seek it as one searches for hidden treasure. Treasure hunting requires effort. It requires digging deep into the strata. Relative to God’s Word, when we dig deeply, we are not only better equipped to defend the faith (1 Peter 3:15), but there’s something else that happens. Speaking only for myself, the more I dig into the Word of God, the more I sense my mind is attuned to the mind of Christ that Saint Paul talks about in Philippians 2:5.

Circling back to where I started, you need to know the Bible warns against intellectual laziness and the dangers of relying solely on others for understanding. Another prime example is found in Saint Paul’s commendation of the Bereans in Acts 17:11. He praises them for examining and measuring the Scriptures against everything they’ve been taught. By doing so, they were successful in verifying what was true and avoiding what was false. This is a demonstration of active learning, which is in sharp contrast with the passive learners who risk falling into deception or shallow thinking (Ephesians 4:14).

Don’t be a passive learner. Instead, with diligence, embrace your responsibility to think deeply, both for the sake of personal growth and, more importantly, for carrying the Gospel to the world around you in thoughtful, persuasive, and respectful ways, just as the Bible portrays the Apostles and Evangelists before us (1 Peter 3:15-16, 2 Timothy 2:24-25, Colossians 4:5-6, Acts 17:2-3, Jude 1:22-23, Proverbs 16:21, and so many more).