Tag Archives: election

When Wolves Applaud the Shepherd

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I should probably start by saying that, even though I’ve never missed a Sunday in over a decade, I will not be providing this weekly eNews message for the next two Sundays while on vacation. I promise. My kids know what I mean when I say, “I promise.”

For me, a promise is binding. I will keep it, no matter what. They also know I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. Rest assured, I can keep this one, if only because I’m more tired, mentally and physically, than I’ve ever been before. I just need to rest.

That said, before I step away for a little while, there’s one thing I’ve been thinking about, especially as I’ve watched the LCMS presidential election unfold. Because I took a few hits for things I wrote, I think it’s at least worth the effort to extrapolate.

And to be clear, I do mean extrapolate, if only because some of the responses to what I posted last week became an exhibit of the very thing I’m about to describe. Some who read what I posted received my observations as accusations. Others went even further, somehow reducing my relatively simple premise to the claim that I was calling a particular candidate a liberal. I said no such thing. I never even assigned to the candidate the liberal ideology of those who happen to be cheering for his victory. What I actually did say had two parts. First, if the primary sales pitch for a candidate is that he’s not the other candidate, you have no real sales pitch. Second, various groups in the LCMS that openly oppose our doctrine and practice are indeed cheering for one candidate over another. I think that’s telling. Audiences are rarely accidental, and I think it deserves sober reflection rather than caricature.

For starters, whenever a person speaks, writes, teaches, preaches, posts, advocates, or whatever, he does far more than just send information into the ethereal spaces. He becomes an antenna of sorts. As an antenna, he creates a kind of signal that attracts listeners. People receive that signal. In the process, some are corrected by it. Some are comforted by it. Considering the responses to some of my posts, I know firsthand that some are provoked by it. This happens because a single signal has multiple frequencies. It also happens because people are working with certain types of receivers, all attuned by their own ideologies. Therefore, even as different kinds of people receive the same signal and tune in, categories based on frequency ultimately form. People might receive the signal and hear a friendly frequency, leading them to appreciate it. Others might receive it and recognize threat. Naturally, those who appreciate it typically stay for more. Those who despise it don’t. Unless, of course, their goal is merely to troll.

That said, among the listeners who stay because they like it, another category has likely developed—and this gets closer to the concern I shared last week about judging a candidate based on those hoping for his victory. When a candidate runs for public office, some people may be drawn to his signal because they hear a frequency that sounds like permission.

Again, every message gathers a congregation. That’s true in the pulpit, in politics, and pretty much in every public something or other that asks people to listen. What’s more, those who write or speak or act for public consumption know that their message never travels alone. It carries these frequencies in its tone and style and emphasis.

Now, I am not at all willing to say that every listener actually understands any given message perfectly. In fact, with the steady decline in reading and listening comprehension, I think that understanding is only getting worse. Still, crowds are always mixed. Even our Lord had both sincere and confused hearers. He had opportunists and enemies, too—all standing in the same crowds. It’s no surprise then that God’s Word urges us to pay attention to who is being drawn to our message as a “friendly.” We should know and understand what they think they heard and why they keep coming back for more. I mean, Saint Paul warned Timothy that people do not merely choose teachers because of information. They choose teachers because of appetite—because something in the teacher’s message grants them permission. They gravitate toward messages that allow them to keep their passions unaltered, or even give them a foothold (2 Timothy 4:3).

I don’t know about you, but that matters a great deal to me. It should matter to everyone participating in an election process. If the prideful consistently hear unintended permission in a candidate’s message, then he should examine the message. Maybe it’s there. If the sexually confused, or those pressing for Church practices that reach beyond biblical boundaries, if these folks keep claiming a candidate’s words as home territory, wisdom requires more than simply saying, “They misunderstood me.” Wisdom asks what they heard. Wisdom stirs a person to ask, “What frequencies am I emitting?”

I learned a long time ago that the folks who inevitably hate or cheer for me will always be the footnotes in my life that explain me. People will look back and know what I stood for by those two categories.

And the thing is, God’s Word already urges listeners (and speakers) to keep this in mind, and it does so without apology. Saint John says, “Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4:1). Our Lord said relatively plainly, “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). Saint Paul wrote, “Bad company ruins good morals” (1 Corinthians 15:33). Saint Jude warned that certain men “crept in unnoticed” and turned the holy message of grace into sensuality (Jude 4).

A point inherent to these texts is that the Lord and His apostles never treated a resulting audience as irrelevant. The kind of people drawn to a message mattered to them. That’s because they knew that false teaching, just like faithful teaching, creates a climate, and climates grow certain kinds of crops.

This is especially important, in a distinctly human sense, because messages contain more than propositions. They also contain posture. Or maybe “nuance” is the better word. I don’t know. Either way, I’ve learned over the years that two people can quote the same Bible verse, and then, by lathering it with nuance, aim it in completely opposite directions. Nuance is never neutral. It’s a frequency in the signal. Again, I made this point in last week’s posts, and the basic response from the opponents was, “Whoever criticizes a person for the audience they attract misunderstands that person.” Well, I suppose sometimes critics are unfair in this regard. But could it be that it’s actually possible to see smoke and know a fire is nearby? Is it possible to see a whole bunch of people cheering for a particular candidate and know by their praises something about the candidate’s potential trajectory?

As it meets with the Church, when the wolves applaud a potential shepherd, the sheep are obligated to at least ask why.

Of course, someone is likely thinking right now that a person in the public sphere cannot control every supporter who gravitates toward them. This is true. But he can control what he rewards and rebukes relative to his message. He can control what he refuses to excuse. He can say, “If you heard support for Marxist social justice, you didn’t hear it from me.” He can say, “If you heard license for practices beyond God’s Word, you didn’t hear it from me. Repent.” He can say, “If you came here to baptize your anthropocentric worship ideologies with my message, you came to the wrong font.”

In that sense, I dare say that a candidate’s silence in those moments is another frequency in the signal.

The Church—especially the Church—should be more than capable of admitting this premise. It’s really not that complicated, if only because we already go about our daily lives picking and choosing things in this way—knowing what to embrace and what to avoid by who we see embracing or avoiding it. In this case, I think it gets complicated when this relatively normal filter is obscured by ideological capture—when we’ve already invested so much of ourselves into a message, a person, a movement, or whatever that we can no longer bear to examine any of it honestly.

If anything, this filter matters most where the Gospel is being preached, if only because, naturally, sinners will always be found nearby. Indeed, Christ came to save sinners, and so the presence of sinners, by itself, proves nothing against the Gospel message. I’ll preach that very message this morning in worship here at Our Savior. Still, the question even those in my own church should be asking is whether the message is one that’s gathering sinners to repentance and faith, or whether sinners are hearing in the message a sanctuary for the beliefs, desires, and loyalties that Christ calls them to surrender.

This is to say, words have gravity, and our audiences ultimately tell on us.

Maybe one of the best ways through these things is to ask listeners what they actually like about what they’re hearing—what attracted them. Or even better, we could ask listeners what they think the message allows them to keep. And then, most importantly, we should ask whether Christ is being proclaimed clearly enough for every sinner to know what must die and where real life is found.

That question matters more than any election, any candidate, or any passing controversy. Because when the Church speaks, the goal is never merely to gather a crowd, but to make sure the voice being heard is Christ’s.

God Is Not Mocked

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Someone asked me this past Wednesday before midweek worship if I was ever concerned about the possible outcome of the national election. I told her I was but that there was a distinct moment for me when my uneasiness became something more like attentive anticipation. By “uneasiness,” I mean that it looked to be anyone’s game. President Trump was doing relatively well. But so was Kamala Harris. For as weak a candidate as she was, donating gaffe after gaffe to Trump’s campaign, her numbers still looked strong.

But then, as I said, my concern went away, instead becoming attentive anticipation. By this, I mean I was no longer wondering who would win but rather what was going to befall the Democrats for something they’d done.

Here’s what I mean—and by the way, I shared these same things with my questioner and a few others who’d gathered to listen.

On April 15, 1912, the captain of the Titanic, Edward John Smith, was reported to have said of his new charge, “Not even God can sink this ship.” Hubris was at the helm, and Captain Smith made good on his taunts. He barreled dangerously through icy North Atlantic waters. However, he sideswiped an iceberg at 22 knots. The unsinkable Titanic sank on April 15, 1912, the ship’s maiden voyage.

Another similar story came to mind. Tancredo Neves ran for the Brazilian Presidency in the mid-1980s. During his campaign, he famously noted that if his party managed to rally 500,000 votes, not even God could prevent him from the Presidency. He was elected on January 15, 1985. He was to be inaugurated a few months later, on March 15. However, the night before his inauguration, he got very sick. He died thirty-eight days later, having never assumed the office.

There are other stories like these that I could have shared. But I didn’t. And I won’t do so here, either. I think you get the idea. That said, Saint Paul wrote rather crisply in Galatians 6:7, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked.” When God scribbled these words through Paul’s pen, He wasn’t kidding around. Come to think of it, Jesus more than tipped His hat to potential repercussions for mocking Him in the Gospel reading appointed for this morning’s worship. In Mathew 9, just as the Lord enters Jairus’s house to raise his daughter from the dead, Jesus tells the professional mourners to leave, implying their services were no longer required. Specifically, the Lord said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping” (v. 24a). But what was their response?

“And they laughed at him” (v. 24b).

The next verse is crucial. We learn that before working His miracle, Jesus put the crowd outside (v. 25). Interestingly, the word used for “put outside” is ἐξεβλήθη. It’s the same word used to describe Jesus’s actions relative to demons in texts like Matthew 9:34 and Mark 16:9. It means to cast out or expel. In other words, it’s an exorcism term. In the situation involving Jairus’s daughter, the scoffers were treated like demons and cast out.

Before I tell you why I’m sharing these things, let me say two things. First, Jesus was mocked horribly during His passion, and He did nothing about it. It had to be that way. He submitted Himself into the domain of darkness (Luke 22:53), letting it have its way with Him for our rescue. Second, I should admit that God is mocked daily. Every time we sin, we mock Him. Unfortunately, that’s the sin-nature’s way. Only by the power of the Holy Spirit given by the Gospel for faith are we enlivened to repent of this disposition and instead be found desiring to love and seek faithfulness to Him. Furthermore, God reminds us that when this re-creation happens, it’s very likely we’ll join Him in being hated (John 15:18-27). We’ll be mocked, too.

But remember, this also works in reverse. When we’re mocked, God is mocked. Indeed, Jesus said, “The one who hears you hears me, and the one who rejects you rejects me, and the one who rejects me rejects him who sent me” (Luke 10:16).

In most cases, I think we can say that people rejecting us, ridiculing our supposed backwater ways as Christians, and calling us names is no big deal. You know, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me” and all that. Sure, the words sting a little, but we survive. Nevertheless, America is on an increasingly aggressive trajectory toward employing those sticks and stones alongside the hurtful words. Christians are being physically attacked, going to court, losing their jobs, suffering permanent reputation damage, and so many other dreadfulnesses, all for the sake of faithfulness to Christ. Some of you may remember I just received a rather offensive glitter bomb in the mail this past Thursday. Still, that’s nothing. I’ve been spit on before, too. My point: The contempt for God and His people is no longer harbored secretly, only revealing itself in conversation at elitist cocktail parties. It’s out in the open, and it’s getting worse. Concerning those at the highest levels of government, for the most part, it seems they’ve been careful enough politically to avoid vocalizing the contempt. However, not anymore. In the same spirit as Captain Smith, Tancredo Neves, my glitter-bomb-sending fan, the lady who spit on me, and the laughing crowd thrown from Jairus’s house, Christ and His followers were brazenly mocked on the world’s stage by the Vice President of the United States, Kamala Harris.

On October 17, 2024, Grant Beth and Luke Polaske, two college students attending a Harris campaign rally, were moved to call out “Christ is King” and “Jesus is Lord” when Harris began a full-throated commendation for abortion during her speech. Immediately, the surrounding crowd began taunting and shoving them. No sooner than this happened, Harris paused and spoke directly to Beth and Polaske, saying laughingly, “You guys are at the wrong rally.” Stoked by her seemingly pithy words, thousands of event-goers erupted in jeering applause.

In one sense, and likely unwittingly, Harris betrayed her secret belief. Christ and His people were not welcome at her rallies. In another sense—and somewhat ironically—she affirmed the truth of Saint Paul’s rhetorical questioning, “For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?” (2 Corinthians 6:14). Indeed, Christ is the light of the world (John 8:12). He calls His Christians the same thing in Matthew 5:14. Harris and her crowds behaved as darkness. But what should anyone expect from the party that calls for abortion on demand and at every stage of fetal development, the spreading of LGBTQ Inc.’s infectious mind virus ideologies, and the promotion of so many other atrocities? What fellowship can there be between light and darkness, between Christians and such ungodliness?

In his own words, Polaske remembered Harris offering a wave and an accompanying “evil smirk” as security escorted him and Beth from the arena. Go figure. Beth told Fox News, “We were heckled at, we were cursed at, we were mocked, and that’s the biggest thing for me personally. In reflection of the event, Jesus was mocked. You know, his disciples were mocked.”

But God is not mocked.

Harris lost her election bid. In fact, I heard on the news driving into the office this morning that she lost by margins in particular states few believed were historically or mathematically possible.

I will not assume that I know the hidden will of God. Candidates win, and candidates lose. Still, God’s revealed will—His holy Word—has declared, “God is not mocked.” This is not a complicated saying. Knowing this, when I first heard about Harris’s words to Polaske and Beth, I went and listened for myself. As I said at the beginning, what I heard turned my uneasy concern into attentive anticipation. I was no longer anxious that Trump might lose. Strangely, I knew in my gut he wouldn’t. Instead, I waited and wondered what might happen in response to the broad-sweeping mockery demonstrated by a world leader with mass influence. I assumed an electoral exorcism at minimum.

Observing only the election results, it sure seems like the “Christ doesn’t belong here” position was cast out. Still, I think more is coming. But that’s just me. I’m not necessarily looking for something more, but as I said, I am attentively aware.

In the meantime, we go forward and rejoice in what promises to be a breath of fresh air in America. But whether it is or isn’t, we go “not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore, do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is” (Ephesians 5:15-17).

I can tell you one thing for sure: mocking God is not in accordance with His will. If you do it, there will be consequences.

Unavoidables

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I received an email this morning from someone I met for the first time at a dinner in early October. Seeing her name reminded me of something she asked during our in-person conversation. Essentially, she wondered if I was at all concerned with people knowing so much about me. Her point was that I share an awful lot about my life and family across multiple online platforms. She was right. I do.

I told her that writing for public consumption does have its dangers. Anyone familiar with my writing efforts will know my wife, Jennifer, is not above reminding me, “Chris, you’re only ever one sentence away from making people angry.” She’s right. I am. Still, I do it.

My new friend asked me if I have limits to what I share. Of course I do. Although, I don’t really think about them. I just know them. For example, while the more uncomfortable and sometimes even embarrassing lessons I’ve learned in life are just as likely to be shared as a humorously insightful comment from one of my kids at the dinner table, you’ll never hear about anything shared with me in confidence. You’ll never know the intimate details of anyone in my circles. Excluding my family, I’m not above sharing my own. I’m also not above analyzing general contexts that relate to most human beings. I know this sometimes makes folks feel like I had them in mind while writing. But I didn’t. I won’t share anything that isolates or identifies one person’s secrets, even if they give me permission to do so.

My conversation partner asked if there was anything about myself that I hadn’t shared. Yes, there’s plenty. For example, I’ve never shared that I have an observable “tell” when I’ve reached my combined physical and emotional level of exhaustion. You’ll know I’m there when my right ear turns bright red. If you were to walk up to me and touch the ear, you’d know it gets hot, too. It’s weird, I know. But it’s been happening for years. One day, I looked it up. It’s called “Red Ear Syndrome.” There are plenty of theories about what causes it, even though no one really knows for sure. Some say it’s thalamic-related. Others say it’s a form of migraine—which I do suffer on occasion. Some theorize that it’s just one more way the body collects and demonstrates stress. I’m not a doctor, but after years of one plus one equaling two, I can assure you it’s my body’s red alert. When my right ear gets warm and red, it’s my body saying, “Chris, you’re done. Go home.”

I mentioned before that writing for public consumption has its dangers. But there are just as many blessings, too. For example, when I’m warmly greeted in public by someone I’ve never met but knows the things I’ve written, in a way, I realize a friendship is already half-formed. They know my family and church, my peculiarities and interests, my likes and concerns. With that already in place, I’m standing on the welcome mat of opportunity to enter their lives—to walk in and form the other half of the friendship by getting to know them. That’s pretty great because, in a sense, we already have a history together. They were already invited to the Thoma family dinner table. They’ve already been laughing alongside us about this or that. They already went with me to the hospital to meet my grandson, Preston, for the first time. They sat beside me during a Church Council meeting when tough decisions were made. They now know that if my ear starts turning red, I need a break, and they can be sensitive to the need and maybe even offer some help.

That said, there’s another layer of significance to this process, especially when it comes to our lives together in Christian community, most especially as it relates to the forthcoming presidential election.

In these critical times, what any of us might tap through our keyboards for public consumption is about far more than sharing personal anecdotes or life experiences. It’s also about using those stories to communicate what’s true and what isn’t. It’s an opportunity to visit someone’s home and in casual conversation, to demonstrate for them how faith in Christ informs every aspect of our lives. Whether a menial event or a life-altering moment, faith in Christ is the lens you use for interpreting and acting on both. Some would put politics into the carefully guarded silo they call “non-sharable.” Of course, you already know I disagree. Again, the Christian faith—built on God’s holy Word—informs every aspect of our lives, especially life’s unavoidables.

The realm of politics is one of life’s most expansive and invasive unavoidables. It affects everything. Therefore, discussions about candidates and their positions are not off-limits. And so, Christians talk about these things. They openly include in their conversations God’s opinion concerning the sanctity of life, religious freedom, human sexuality, the importance of family, and so on. They encourage support for candidates who most closely align with God’s opinions.

Yes, these conversations can be dangerous. For example, I once received an email from an elected member of the Democrat Party in Florida who read what I wrote about abortion and threatened to drive up and curb-stomp me. But curb-stomped or not, our open confession of Christ in public conversation offers blessings, too. Sometimes friends are convinced, and when they are, lives are changed. Sometimes families are preserved. Sometimes moral and natural law are reinforced, not weakened.

The stakes are high in this current election, and the consequences of silence are too great. Be who you are in Christ. Do this out in the open, not in the shadows. The dangers and blessings will vary, but in the end, it’s the blessings that matter most.

The Domineeringly Vicious

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For most readers of this weekly yarn, it’s probably a waste of print for me to describe social media’s more prevalent tendencies surrounding any topic that requires taking sides. Like most who use virtual platforms, you’ve likely experienced how much more domineering and vicious people become.

Concerning the domineering among us, George Burns was the best jester, offering, “It’s too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.” I’ll admit to knowing what he means in a literal sense. I once spent a fifty-minute car ride from Dulles International Airport listening to a laundry list of cures for our nation’s woes. My only available role was to offer a polite but occasional “Yeah, I hear you.” This isn’t to say all of the driver’s ideas were disagreeable. But he did, more or less, puke them all over his passenger, ultimately muting what could’ve been a mutual exchange that expanded one another’s knowledge base. I suppose, had I not been so tired, I might have tried to challenge his insistence on certain topics. I’m certainly more likely to do that in face-to-face conversations than I am in virtual ones. This is true for a few reasons.

For one, you can’t hide during an in-person discussion. If you try, you automatically lose credibility. Second, you can only access what you know. There’s no going to the internet for help. Third, tone and body language are available to both participants. Apart from words, these are often communication’s richest clarifiers. Without them, conversations are far harder.

Of course, social media sells itself as a format for conversation—an arena for ideological exchanges. Although, anyone who uses it knows that’s becoming less and less the case. It certainly plays with a very different set of rules than in-person communication.

For the record, I bring my own rules to the platform. One I practice somewhat devoutly is to simply write something and move on, rarely hanging around to engage in discussion. I know this makes me sound distant. But as someone who writes for public consumption, if I shared with you some of the uglier messages I’ve received over the years, you’d understand. In most cases, it’s best to just say what needs to be said and move along. This particular rule serves another one I practice.

I avoid the domineeringly vicious. These are the people who believe their opinions are the only ones that matter, and if you disagree, watch out. You know the kind I’m talking about. Of course, if such a person’s friendships and interests are the same as mine, the algorithms ensure they’ll end up on my screen. I don’t go looking for them. But when we do cross paths on occasion, I’ll read what they’ve written. As I do, another rule often kicks in. If I feel the urge to reply, I don’t. Why? Well, here’s an all too familiar and equally futile scenario one should expect when approaching these folks.

Essentially, the domineering person will spew his or her opinionated nonsense across the virtual landscape like a glaze. It’ll attract the usual supporters. But it will also attract unsuspecting people willing to share a different perspective. And when the visitor responds with a differing view—maybe even one geared toward the same goal—he is pummeled with insults for not agreeing until he finally leaves the discussion.

As I said, I usually do what I can to mark and avoid people who treat others this way. I steer even further away from the ones who are supposed to be on my ideological team and yet do this. They’re the ones who give the causes I hold dear a very bad name, and in the end, I don’t want to be associated with them.

This behavior seems at its worst during election seasons. For the instate reader, it’s been on steroids throughout the Michigan GOP chairmanship divide. What a mess! But no matter the divisive topic, its social media form is often tantamount to watching a nature show about birds. Like certain species of fowl, there’s an unfortunate time when chicks push unhatched siblings from the nest to their doom, all the while trying to kill the other hatchlings competing for the best of the parent’s vomitous provisions. If David Attenborough were narrating, he’d probably describe the viciousness as necessary for the species’ preservation. But while birds may be vicious for the sake of species survival, I’m not convinced that humans do it for the same reasons.

On one hand, I think the overarching reason is power. People want to rise above another person’s rule. That’s innate to the sinful nature in general. It’s why so many, even in the churches, avoid talking about sin. Fewer and fewer want to acknowledge their accountability to a supreme arbiter of morality—to someone who can actually say what’s acceptable and what isn’t. Humans are, by nature, radical individualists. But this describes all of us, not just a certain type of domineeringly vicious meanie on the internet. So, what is it with them?

I think many of these folks are the way they are because they’re hiding something. But what are they hiding, exactly?

Before I tell you, be sure not to confuse the word vicious. For example, try harming my wife or my children. If you do, I guarantee you’ll experience a divinely ordained ferociousness in me you’ll wish you hadn’t. Try challenging my integrity. Try accosting my reputation. Try steering the Christians in my pastoral care into false doctrine. These things will stir a measure of fierceness you won’t soon forget.

Now, let’s say we’re exchanging ideas, whether in person or online. I promise my inability to best you in an ideological debate won’t end with me maliciously insulting you, showing pictures that mock you, or doing whatever I can to erase you from the discussion. Those are vicious power-lust behaviors, and their only purpose is to hide one’s inadequacies. Ayne Rand described them as weeds growing in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind. And she’s right. Employing vicious behaviors in any ideological discussion is always—always—a sign of intellectual impotence. Although, to the casual observer’s benefit, they help mark the ill-intending egotists we should avoid, which is a good thing. They’re the ones who almost always prove themselves of little use to any worthwhile effort. And why? At least two reasons come to mind.

First, they’re of little use because they’ve somehow convinced themselves that insults hurt their enemy, that they somehow shrink an enemy’s resolve. But they don’t. More often, they bolster it. I’m living proof. Ridiculing me only makes me more invested in the effort to defeat you. Second, if the good guys win, we don’t want the egotists among them holding power. They’ve already proven their landscape-destroying tendencies. The battle for an idea is not won by carpet bombing, and a unique dilemma is rarely solved by indiscriminate assaults. Instead, these challenges are met by sharpshooters with aims that are steady and true. They require skillful precision and patient determination. Moreover, to meet the challenge requires coordinates and capability—truth and substance. The people in power need to own these things before they sit at the table. The sneering armchair quarterbacks rarely have these qualities.

Wrapping this up, I suppose I’d simply encourage you to think about these things and, in the meantime, maybe even do what you can to augment your resistance to the folks I’ve described. You don’t have to cut them from your life. In fact, I say don’t. They can be great entertainment, and sometimes dinner and a show go well together. Still, I caution you not to get caught in their gravitational pull (Proverbs 13:20; 14:7; Romans 12:2; 1 Corinthians 15:33; Ephesians 5:11; and others). Measure their truest intentions against their behaviors (Titus 1:16; James 2:18).

How do you do this? Well, one place to start is by watching how they respond to someone telling them they’re wrong. I guarantee you’ll learn a lot about them in those first few moments.