Tag Archives: lutheran

Alignment

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Maybe you heard recently that the Earth’s rotation appears to have sped up a little. Jennifer laughed at me when I told her. But that’s only because I was in the early stages of a migraine when I mentioned it, and I blamed my crackling brain on the whole world suddenly accelerating.

Apparently, scientists have been tracking the phenomenon for years. It seems that some days have been ending a fraction of a millisecond sooner than they used to. Like a gazillion other wonders in the natural world, they still don’t know why it’s happening. Some say it’s because of changes in ocean currents. Others suggest it’s due to variations in atmospheric pressure (which I’m certain is responsible for my migraines). But whatever it is, in the end, it’s not something any of us would actually notice while making breakfast or driving to work. However, in the more precise world of atomic clocks, even these tiny shifts are enough to spark curiosity.

Of course, it’s easy to laugh at these things as whimsical. But it’s obscure bits of information like these that remind me just how fascinating God’s handiwork really is. Our planet is not a static stage beneath our feet. It’s part of a vast choreography, spinning, tilting, and gliding through space in concert with the sun, moon, planets, and stars.

Based on something Jennifer shared with me recently, it seems that every so often, the great dancers of our solar system move into rare, harmonious formations that catch our attention and, perhaps, set before us in unmistakable terms the divine order woven into the chaos. What I mean is that just this past week, on August 10, six of our solar system’s planets gathered along a single line, forming a planetary alignment. To the naked eye, it appeared as if these distant worlds had agreed on a meeting place, shining together in the same stretch of sky like old friends who rarely get to visit together. I looked it up. A planetary alignment is not necessarily unprecedented. They happen from time to time. The next one is February 28, 2026. Seven planets will align on that day.  Still, the rarity lies in their visibility and timing. For me, a guy who is consciously looking at everything through the lens of the Gospel, it’s another reminder that so much around me is keeping a schedule that I didn’t set, and yet it’s one that, even if I wanted to push against it, I’m inevitably bound to follow.

If you’ve ever stood beneath a dark, unpolluted sky and just looked, I’d be willing to bet you were moved in some way. It’s hard not to be. Jennifer and I went out onto our deck and took pictures of the Northern Lights last spring, and then again in June. Admittedly, it was pretty amazing. Especially when you realize what’s causing those multihued streaks. They happen when charged particles from the sun, carried along on solar winds, slam into Earth’s magnetic field and collide with the atmosphere’s protective layers. The collisions become bursts of light in greens, pinks, purples, and reds, painting the sky like an undulating canvas. It’s already breathtaking from our deck in Linden. And yet, Jennifer wants to visit a dark park, which is a reserved area where artificial light is largely restricted, set aside for seeing the night sky free from light pollution. Jen showed me images taken in dark parks. We’re so used to light pollution, we don’t know what we’re missing until we see it. And when we do, it’s breathtaking.

For me, I’m not necessarily moved by the vastness of space. I’m more astounded that the heavens above me are not random. They operate under laws that have held since the beginning, laws that both govern and reveal the Creator’s design. These are the same laws that govern the tides, the seasons, the migrations of birds, and probably so many other things we’ll never even know.

But this carries me further, especially as we get closer to our forthcoming conference on October 4. Along with folks like Trey Gowdy, Dr. James Lindsay, and William Federer, we’ll also hear from Chloe Cole.

Now, before I say anything more about her, it’s worth noting that what I’ve written so far, whether about planets or humans, ultimately comes down to the same foundation: natural law. Just as the heavenly bodies move according to fixed principles, so too does human life. And both flourish when aligned with natural law’s order. Sure, we can ignore that order, setting aside laws we don’t like for this or that ridiculous reason—say, we don’t want to use Kepler’s Law because someone named Kepler once hurt our feelings. But do this while engineering a satellite and you’re destined for failure. Your plans might look neat on paper, but in reality, you’re going to end up designing something that’ll likely get destroyed before leaving the Earth’s atmosphere. And if it does make it into space, it’ll immediately become nothing more than a piece of space junk hurling toward who knows what.

In other words, your opinions do not affect reality. Reality is constant, steady, and unshaken by what it carries in its calculations.

As a young teenager, Chloe began questioning her gender identity, and instead of being guided with care and patience, she was rushed into “gender-affirming care.” This included puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and ultimately a double mastectomy—all while she was still a developing child. At the time, she was assured these interventions would solve her struggles and bring her peace. Instead, they left her with deep regret, permanent physical changes, and a realization that she had been led down a path built on ideology rather than truth.

Now, still only twenty years old, Chloe has become one of the most outspoken voices in the nation, warning about the dangers of pushing minors into irreversible medical procedures. She speaks with a rare combination of clarity, courage, and compassion—sharing not only her own painful experience, but also urging others to protect children from similar harm. Her testimony is more than a cautionary tale. It’s a living and breathing example of what happens when a society rejects the natural order God has established.

It’s also a demonstration of the hope inherent in returning to it.

For those who will hear her in person, I think that the impact will go far beyond what anyone might normally experience from headlines or soundbites. Chloe’s presence among us—her vulnerability, and also her ability to speak truth without bitterness, even as she continues to be relentlessly attacked for her detransition—it gives her story a weight that must be experienced in person. Essentially, she embodies everything I just described. She’s living proof that when we live in step with God’s design, not in defiance of it, there is hope for restoration, even after deep hurt—even after it seems like we’ve already hurled our satellite into deep space. Her journey reminds us that truth isn’t an abstract principle. In fact, in her case, it not only governs her existence, but God also put it in place as a lifeline. She reached out to grab what was real and found her way back to a better life.

Now she wants that for others who are suffering from the same dysphoria. By God’s grace, she has discovered a world she didn’t know existed, and yet, was already there. In that world—the real world of faith—she was pulled into Christ’s gravitational embrace. And within that embrace, she discovered a courage to reach out and pull others in, too.

In the end, whether we’re talking about the Earth’s rotation, the precise timing of planetary orbits, or the moral order woven into human existence, the truth remains the same. Reality is fixed because its Author is unchanging (Hebrews 13:8). The heavens declare this with every sunrise and celestial alignment (Psalm 19:1). And lives like Chloe’s affirm the otherworldly blessings and strength God grants to those who, by the power of the Holy Spirit given by the Gospel, turn to Him in repentance and faith, choosing to walk in His ways rather than their own (Isaiah 40:31, Proverbs 3:5–6). It’s this loving God, the One who keeps the planets in motion and the seasons in balance (Genesis 8:22, Job 38:33), who is also holding our lives in His hands (Isaiah 41:10), desiring us to live in harmony with His design (Micah 6:8). And when we do, whether in the wonder of a night sky or the courageous witness of a life recalibrated, we find ourselves anchored in His truth and, ultimately, aligned with His eternal purpose: the salvation of our soul (2 Corinthians 4:18, John 3:16-17, John 6:40).

If you have yet to register for the conference, you can do so by visiting: https://www.bodyofchristandthepublicsquare.org. Do so soon. Space is limited.

Rest and Responsibility

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Returning from vacation always puts me in a contemplative form.

When we landed yesterday at Detroit Metro Airport, having returned from our annual two weeks in Florida, I can assure you that I had one of those invisible moments where even the “ding” sound as the overhead seatbelt light went out seemed to carry a lot of weight.

Things were going to be very different from what they were only moments before.

And then there’s the aura inside the airport. Sheesh. Maybe it’s just me, but the people departing are far different than the people returning. The people preparing to board for vacation look bright-eyed and ready. Among those returning, some are wearing flip-flops and theme park shirts. Others are carrying totes probably filled with things they bought while away. All are carrying the quiet resignation of a settling reality. They’re sort of shuffling through the terminal, not like the people who are getting ready to leave. Those folks are eager for what’s next. The returning folks aren’t so eager for what’s next. Although they’re not resisting it, either. They appear to know that a vacation is precious. However, it can only be held for so long before you have to let go.

I suppose in a culture dominated by the relentless pursuit of pleasure, vacations run the risk of feeling a little bit like a secular salvation. That’s probably why resorts market themselves as paradises promising renewal through pleasure-seeking. Secularism pretty much champions the idea of this kind of escape. It suggests that genuine rest comes from detaching oneself entirely from the reality of responsibility, feeding the myth that fulfillment can only be achieved far away from who or what we actually are in the lives we regularly inhabit.

While waiting for our luggage at carousel 3, a man walked by in all black and high heels. He was trying his best to be womanly. He wasn’t fooling anyone, except maybe himself.

I share this because it’s an easy example. The modern push of transgenderism seems like an embodied form of what I’m describing. It’s driven by the notion that someone’s identity is actually apart from biological realities, and therefore, satisfaction can be attained by remaking oneself according to personal desire, rather than embracing the givenness and goodness of what’s real—of what God has designed.

In both cases, whether with gender or with the more benign realm of vacation marketing, the cultural message is the same: “Escape who you are. Reinvent yourself. That’s where fulfillment lies.”

But is any of this really true? While I can appreciate a resort’s marketing allure, I also recognize that a vacation’s escape is indeed a marvelous thing, but perhaps not in the way our culture imagines.

Vacations make space for things that generally have to wait. There’s more time for anything and everything, or nothing at all. It’s a moment in time to do whatever might ease life’s usual burdens. In the meantime, bills wait. Work waits. Life’s duties wait.

But here’s the thing. The duties do not wait idly. They wait hungrily. When we got home, I saw that the weeds in the flower beds continued to grow. The grass did, too. I found that one of our cars sat and leaked a steady stream of transmission fluid for two straight weeks, all over the driveway. The pre-vacation refrigerator that was emptied had to be refilled. The milk we forgot to dump was quite the clumpy sight. The house had that strange, unlived-in scent, and dust had settled on things that were cleaned before we left, reminding us of our absence.

And yet, even as I came home to these things, I’m not so bothered by them. There’s a goodness in them, too.

The dinner table was ours again last night. We all sat in our usual spots. Well, four out of the five of us did. Harry went to see some friends. And admittedly, we were all very tired. We woke Saturday morning at 2:30 AM to catch a 6:00 AM flight home. Either way, the discussion was as it always is. It wasn’t the novelty of vacation. It was something more rooted. By way of another example, I can say I experienced what I’m doing my best to describe when Jen and I drove back from a quick visit last night with Josh, Lexi, and Preston. Passing through town, I mentioned Linden’s landscape—its trees and such. They look and sound nothing like the manicured palm trees and flora in Florida. And while I didn’t say it, they looked and sounded more like home than paradise ever could.

That’s because Linden is home. And perhaps it is precisely this feeling that helps me understand why God’s Word might speak of rest—of vacationing—not as an abandonment of reality, but as a renewal within it (Matthew 11:28-30; Hebrews 4:9-11). Jesus, when tired, often withdrew to quiet places (Luke 5:16; Mark 1:35). He certainly didn’t do it to escape the burden He knew He would bear (Matthew 26:39, 42). He did it as a very real and very human in-between for re-engaging with strength (Mark 6:30-32). Unlike the secular goal of continually fleeing responsibility, God’s Word reassures us that work and rest, engagement and withdrawal, each have their sacred roles (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). They are not opposed. Instead, they weave together to form a life that can actually be very good.

I think there’s something holy about returning to your place in the world, even if the transition is difficult. You belong there. You are needed there. I think if you’re listening closely enough, something around you may even whisper, “Welcome back. It’s good to have you home. And now, let’s get back to work.”

Don’t get me wrong. You’ll never hear me say that coming home from a vacation is easy. It isn’t. In fact, for the Thoma family, it’s one of the most challenging transitions there is. I can assure you there were tears. With as busy as our lives can be, vacation sees that busyness out the door for a little while.

However, I think we can all admit there’s something wonderfully reassuring about stepping back into the familiar spaces. As much as we crave what vacations can offer, there’s relief in sleeping in our own beds again. There’s reprieve in reclaiming the familiar routines that, in some ways, define us. After all, home isn’t just a building to which we return. It’s far more than that. It’s where the richness of our story unfolds. That story is layered. Within those layers, we experience the ordinary rhythm of work and rest.

As I’ve already more or less said, for as good as “paradise” may feel, there’s a holiness in the “ordinary.” In the end, coming home from vacation isn’t so much about losing something precious as it is rediscovering the beauty of that ordinary. For me, it’s a precise moment on the timeline when I’m forced to remember that rest doesn’t mean escape. Indeed, God sets something better—actually, something extraordinary—right in front of me every single day. Looking through that Gospel lens, I can make it through to next year’s getaway 365 days from now.

Below the Surface

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It might be old news, but one of my all-time favorite films, Jaws, celebrated its 50th anniversary this past June—the 20th, to be precise. Of course, the Thoma family observed the special day by ordering a pizza and watching it.

What brings this to mind right now is that I just learned that a documentary about the making of the film was released on July 11. I haven’t watched it yet, but I plan to. I’m sure it’ll bring back memories.

I remember the first time I saw the film. I wasn’t very old, maybe seven or eight. My brother and I watched it on a Betamax player my dad borrowed from a friend at work. At least, I think that was the context. I can’t say for sure. Either way, I loved the movie, and I dare say it played a huge part in my fascination with horror films. Although Jaws wasn’t really a horror film. It was more of an adventure-like thriller with horror elements. It was slow-building and suspenseful. But its charm was that it was grounded in something that could happen.

Ask my family, and they’ll tell you there isn’t much that I fear. Scary movies never bothered me. I’m rarely startled when surprised. I was never afraid of the dark as a kid. I never felt the urge to rush up the basement steps after turning out the light. But I can admit, I’m no fan of sharks. I have my reasons. And as such, I can admit, even when I was a 20-something lifeguard working at a freshwater lake in the summer, I thought about what might be lurking beneath the surface every time I went for a dip.

Harrison and I were listening to movie soundtracks on Spotify several weeks back. Jennifer and the girls walked in just as I played the soundtrack from Jaws. Right away, they all knew the iconic two-note motif, even without me telling them. Go swimming in a pool, and at some point along the way, it’s the resident father’s job to dip lower, his mouth just above the rippling surface, and begin, “Dun-dunt… dun-dunt… dun-dunt-dun-dunt-dun-dunt…” When that happens, no matter how old the children are, there’s a crazed splashing as they dash for the pool’s edge.

I finished the fantasy-fiction book I was writing and sent it off to the publisher. I’m glad to say it has been accepted for publication. Two more are expected. Now I’m five chapters into something completely different—a thriller. For the record, I’m loving every minute of its creation. Stepping beyond myself for a moment to observe the writing process, I think movies like Jaws did more than just spark my interest in all things scary. I believe it played a role in introducing me to the power of storytelling, particularly in terms of tension and pacing. It taught me that what you don’t see is often more frightening than what you do. Spielberg’s restraint—the decision to show the shark sparingly—was brilliant. It left space for the mind to fill in the fear.

It’s hard to believe it’s been fifty years. But then again, some stories never truly grow old. They just circle beneath the surface, waiting to rise again.

I read a reply to one of my Facebook posts this morning. It more or less supported the point in a cultural sense. Ultimately, I deleted the reply, if only because it was crass and attacking. Essentially, the person believed that LGBTQ issues should be seen as entirely normal and, therefore, acceptable. His premise was that LGBTQ relationships have existed as long as heterosexual relationships. So, in other words, longevity equals legitimacy.

For the record, that’s just silly.

Age alone doesn’t validate something. Throughout history, plenty of things have been long accepted, yet we now easily recognize them as absurd. The Spartan culture, for many centuries, considered it honorable to dispose of newborns with birth defects by throwing them from cliffs. Although I wouldn’t put it past Michigan’s current leadership to write the practice into the state’s constitution. We already have an amendment that allows abortion up to birth, and in some instances, afterward.

But before I stray from my original thought, my point is that the age of a thing, or even its level of acceptability in cultures throughout history, says nothing about its morality or truth. Ultimately, sin has been around since Eden. Pride, murder, greed, envy, idolatry—all of these things have endured. Not one of them is new. And all along the way, God’s Word has spoken clearly against them. Just because something has endured doesn’t mean it’s good or right.

Indeed, the enemy of God’s truth has always worked subtly, patiently, and yes, sometimes through the slow-building suspense of cultural conditioning—until finally, it’s time once again for the fin to break the surface and for the attack to come.

By the way, that Facebook reply itself was a tired example of the premise. The desire to justify one’s sin is an ever-lurking predator. It waits patiently just below the surface of the conscience, always ready to offer an excuse, always prepared to snap with, “This is who you are,” rather than, “This is what Christ came to redeem.”

It’s no coincidence that the Bible often describes devilish things in predatory terms. Sin crouches at the door (Genesis 4:7). The devil prowls like a lion (1 Peter 5:8). These things are purposely framed as ensnaring and deceiving. The cultural arguments we hear today try to steer away from these descriptions. But in the end, they’re little more than recycled lies with polished packaging—that is, for the lifeguard who’s paying attention. They see the appeal to emotion or history. They recognize the labeling of objectively true things as “fascism” and “bigoted,” and they see the same old fin circling the swimmers.

I suppose my concern these days is that the Church, the appointed lifeguard, is too often lulled by the quiet of the water. Too many in our ranks are too often asleep in the chair, thinking all is well. Perhaps worse, among those who know the dangers, many are afraid to swim out into the crimsoned waters to help. We know we, too, could be attacked, and that the effort to help might have an irreversible cost to our reputation, our comfort, our families, and so much more. In other words, not unlike the tension that Jaws portrayed so well, there’s a fear of what you don’t see but know could happen.

But here’s the thing. Christians are not called to fear, but to faithfulness. Our calling is not to retreat. We’re not to remain on the beach. We are sent into the waters knowing full well what stirs beneath. I’d say this is true because we’ve already been carried into and through the better waters of Holy Baptism, which is a washing that doesn’t remove fear, but transforms it. Our LCMS President, Rev. Dr. Matthew Harrison, once described this kind of Christian courage in a way that I’ve never forgotten. He said something about how Christian courage is nothing less than fear that’s been baptized.

He was right in so many ways.

Grafted into Christ, fear becomes something altogether different (John 15:4-5; Romans 11:17). It doesn’t necessarily vanish. Instead, it bows. It gets reordered by the Gospel, and as a result, it no longer rules the heart (Philippians 4:7; Colossians 3:15). That’s because it has been fixed to Jesus. Indeed, “we were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4-5). This is to say, we are joined to the One who has already gone into and through the depths of darkness and emerged alive again (Revelation 1:17-18).

That said, we’re not here to tread water or stay dry on the shore. We’re here to swim, and sometimes that means swimming right into the blood-stained mess. We do this not because we’re immune to fear. We’re no fools. We know so many unseen and fearful things are gliding quietly beneath us (Ephesians 6:12). This is especially true in the waters of culture. But the point is that for Christians, fear is not preventative. We know that the worst that could ever happen in any situation—death—has no dominion (Romans 6:9; 1 Corinthians 15:54-57).

Sisters

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Madeline and Evelyn

Two of the little girls washed away in the floodwaters were sisters. Blair and Brooke Harber were their names. Blair was 13 years old. Brooke was 11. When they found their lifeless bodies fifteen miles downstream, they were still holding hands.

When Jennifer shared this with me last night, I thought this couldn’t possibly be true. Then I looked it up. It seems it is true. The New York Post reported it. So did the Houston Chronicle and the Associated Press.

But here’s the thing. I have two daughters. If there’s one thing I know for sure about them, had they been swept away in a similar tragedy, we’d have discovered them in a similar embrace.

Madeline and Evelyn are as different as night and day. One loves to fly. The other could spend the whole day fishing. One prefers all things scary. The other is most comfortable in cowboy boots. One slips into unfamiliar scenes with quiet grace. The other makes sure everyone in the room knows where she stands on pretty much everything. But for as different as they are, the love they have for Christ, their family, and each other has never needed them to be alike. It has only needed them to be near.

So, while Jen was reading to me about those two girls, I’ll admit I got a little choked up. Who wouldn’t? Although I didn’t let her see it. She was already struggling to read the article, and a husband needs to be sturdy at these times and in these ways. Still, it was hard to hear, not just for the sorrow of it, but for the unseen truth, something familiar to me, that stirred in the swirling muck of a dreadful situation. The kind of love those girls had, I see it in my own daughters. That kind of final grasp isn’t made in a moment. It’s made over the years through late-night whispers, shared stories, and tearful apologies. It’s born from a wordless understanding between two sisters who know each other sometimes better than they know themselves. It is a love that holds on.

I know Madeline and Evelyn would have held on, too. And I believe they still will, no matter how far the current of life carries them. Because love like that just doesn’t let go. Even better, they have a Savior who won’t let go of them. And together, as sisters, they know it. They know even if the world gives way beneath them, He is there. By faith, they know, just as the seemingly simple and yet incredibly profound song goes, “Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but He is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me.”

The Duty to Protect Children

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The news out of Mystic, Texas, was shocking. The flash floods brought more than water. They brought terrible sadness. I just checked. As of only a few hours ago, forty-three people are dead. Fifteen of them are children. The Associated Press article I was reading reported that “27 girls from Camp Mystic, a riverside Christian camp for girls in Hunt, Texas, still were unaccounted for about 36 hours after the flood.”

There’s something especially jarring about the death of children. It’s a primal ache. The little ones among us are meant to be protected. I can only imagine how helpless the parents of those children are feeling right now. They sent them to camp, expecting them to return. But in the middle of the night, a cabin of eight-year-olds was swept away.

Tragedies like this awaken something deep in us. They are reminders that being an adult is, in part, about standing guard. Even when, as children, we resisted the watchfulness, something changed the moment we became parents ourselves. We began to understand. We realized that protecting children is one of the most fundamental callings written into the human frame.

At least, you’d think it was. It seems more and more that this essential truth has been blurred by design. It seems that deliberate choices are being made by adults that not only fail to protect children but actually drop them right into the rising ideological deluge, insisting it’s for their good, even as the current pulls them under.

A long-time friend of mine, Martha, stopped by my office this past Wednesday while in town on business. It was good to see her. We spent a little over an hour catching up.

When it comes to what’s going on in the world, she’s a lot like me. She wonders how things got so backward. At one point along the way, we touched briefly on the recent U.S. Supreme Court decision upholding the Tennessee law. Essentially, the law bans transgender hormone treatments and surgeries for minors. I was glad for the 6-3 decision. Martha was, too. At its core, the law is a step toward protecting children from irreversible harm.

I mentioned to her in passing that Michigan has similar legislative efforts in motion. For example, House Bill 4190 would prohibit doctors from prescribing hormones or puberty blockers to minors. It also bans gender reassignment surgery on kids. My friend, Jason Woolford, is the one behind this worthwhile piece. He is an example of someone willing to step into the gap and defend children where others hesitate. I don’t think I mentioned the like-minded Senate bills that would criminalize healthcare providers while giving parents the right to sue for damages. One is Senate Bill 291.

These are all noble efforts, for sure. Still, I told Martha that someone should at least consider drafting a bill identical to Tennessee’s law. Make it word for word. I realize that with Governor Gretchen Whitmer at the helm and the Democrats controlling the State Senate, it’s unlikely that anything will get through and become law. Nevertheless, a shift in power could be on the very near horizon. And so, push the identical bill. Tennessee’s law has already been stress-tested in the nation’s highest court.

I’m sure not everyone agrees with this approach. Some might argue that simply copying another state’s legislation overlooks the subtleties of Michigan’s political landscape. I wonder if that’s part of the problem. Perhaps we’ve become too concerned with tailoring bills to conciliate rather than to confront. In fact, the longer I stand at the intersection of Church and State, the more convinced I become that we’re overcomplicating things. Too often, bills are laced with endless nuances, providing this exception and that concession, all in hopes of pleasing as many as possible, and yet resulting in the legislation being neutered before it even reaches the Governor’s desk. The more I see this, the more I question whether the bill drafters truly grasp the dangers posed by the ideologies they’re supposedly trying to address.

Chiseling away at devilish ideologies is virtuous, but only insofar as truth continues to meet squarely against anti-truth. To do this requires both unwavering clarity and legislative precision. When it comes to radical gender ideologies in particular, anything else risks the grotesqueness embedding itself deeper into our schools, our medical systems, our laws, and our souls.

Now, I should probably steer preemptively into two critiques I expect to receive from what I’ve just written.

First, I have plenty of friends in government who’ll step from my seemingly simple-mindedness, calling me naïve—that I don’t know how things work in Lansing, or, bigger still, Washington, D.C. I expect that assessment. And to some extent, they’d be right. However, I would respond by saying that if political realism leads to bills that ban surgery but affirm the worldview behind it, even if only a little, then perhaps a little naïveté is exactly what’s needed.

That said, rest assured, I’m not ignorant of the legislative process. I am aware that the political world involves negotiation, committees, amendments, and such. Rest assured also that I’m not necessarily an absolutist. Like Jesus during His earthly ministry, I’m more of an incrementalist. Indeed, divine absolutism will eventually play out, and everyone everywhere will know when it does (Philippians 2:10–11). On that day, “He will judge the nations with justice and the peoples with equity” (Psalm 98:9). Meanwhile, the Lord didn’t reach into this world, taking upon Himself human flesh, and instantly demanding complete comprehension from those He encountered (John 1:9-14). He preached, He taught, and He walked with people (Luke 24:27; Matthew 4:23; John 3:2). He led them step by step into His identity and truth—patiently, deliberately, and with perfect clarity (Mark 4:33–34; John 16:12–13).

But take note: He did this, never compromising truth’s substance for the sake of palatability (John 6:60–66).

That’s the balance I prefer. I want to do everything I can to move the ball down the field, avoiding any plays that risk giving up ground. In other words, incrementalism must never become appeasement. I’ve seen how the slow erosion of truth so often hides behind the phrase “what’s politically possible.” Refusing to give ground is the only respectable posture.

But that means we must first understand and then acknowledge just how backward things are. Until we do, we’ll remain a society that embraces madness, the kind that creates bills that still allow exceptions in some instances for surgically mutilating its citizens under the banner of compassion.

The second thing I should probably steer into is likely to come from a now former friend (unfortunately) who I can hear saying something like, “Look, no one wants to see kids suffer. But we need to get the government out of this altogether. We need to let families and doctors make these deeply personal decisions without government interference.”

And that, right there, is a big part of the problem.

Even apart from Christianity’s boundaries, personal liberty has never equated to moral neutrality. Liberty understands that truth exists and that citizens must be free to seek, speak, and live according to that truth without fear of coercion or punishment. But liberty untethered from truth is no longer liberty—it’s radical individualism. When radical individualism invokes the Declaration of Independence’s “pursuit of happiness” phrase to justify the mutilation of children, then freedom has become a twisted version of itself. We end up using our nation’s founding documents, not in pursuit of truth, but as permission-granting sources for redefining it. And again, it’s the children who pay the highest price for such redefinitions. They are both the battlefield and the collateral.

“But that’s more or less a spiritual argument, Pastor Thoma.”

In a sense, yes. But so is the counterargument. Right now, the prevailing narrative in our world says that someone can be “born in the wrong body.” Having spent enough time around Dr. James Lindsay, I’ve realized this is a deeply Gnostic concept—one that severs the soul from the body and declares the physical form irrelevant or even hostile to the true self.

The Christian faith insists otherwise. Body and soul are not at war but in union, created by God in perfect harmony (Genesis 2:7). Our Lord took on flesh, not as a costume to be shed, but as the very substance of our redemption (John 1:14). Christ’s incarnation affirms the goodness of the human body—male and female—as God designed it (Genesis 1:27). To mutilate that body in the name of self-actualization is not compassionate liberation. It’s a spiritual act, and a desecrating one at that (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). To slice away organs or pump anyone, child or adult (because age does not sanctify the level of one’s error), with cross-sex hormones in pursuit of an impossible transformation is not compassion or the pursuit of happiness. It is bodily harm, sanctified by pseudo-Gnostic jargon cloaking a lie, one that is easily detected in Natural Law (Romans 1:25).

Ultimately, I hope that future generations will look back on this time in America as a dark age. I hope everything that’s happening relative to so-called “gender-affirming care” will be remembered with the same horror as lobotomies. Whether such somber reflection will ever occur, I don’t know. What I do know is that a generation of legislators did not defeat slavery with bills that allowed “grandfather” exceptions.

There’s one more critique I should probably address before wrapping up, mainly since much of this has focused on gender dysphoria.

Per usual, I will be accused of hatred for what I’ve written. I will be told that I just don’t understand and that I am invalidating someone’s identity. Someone may even wield dissenting Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor’s argument that my position is nothing short of advocacy for suffering.

To that, I suppose I might say, “Yes, I am advocating for suffering. Just not the kind you think.”

I’m advocating for what we Lutherans call the “Theology of the Cross,” a path marked by humility, struggle, and self-denial. It’s what Jesus meant by saying, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). The one following Jesus is less interested in worldly accommodation, but instead, is inclined to suffer all things, even suffering against internal desires, rather than be separated from Him and His redemptive work on the cross. All this stands in stark contrast to the world’s “Theology of Glory,” which seeks affirmation and comfort at any cost.

Every human being is born with backward desires. That’s the reality of sin. Taking up the cross in life’s combat, some fight against lust. Others wage war against drinking. Others fight dysphoric tendencies. Right now, we live in a culture more inclined to affirm and celebrate these disorders rather than restrain them. Still, Christ bids us to follow Him, not the “self.” It is not dangerous or unloving to say this. It is, however, unloving to affirm a lie, and it’s risky to give it room.

In the end, I expect to be called hateful for my positions. However, in every aspect of life, the courage to suffer for the sake of truth is the only way forward. It’s the best levee for holding back the water. That’s because its strength lies in a divine kind of love that brings truth, even when it costs something. Look to Jesus on the cross and see for yourself. There, love and truth are not in conflict but are inseparably joined—and in the most wonderfully protective way.

July 4, 2025

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I wasn’t going to write anything this morning relative to the Fourth of July celebration. I intended to wake up, get some coffee, and just relax.

However, just a few minutes ago, I read an online piece about what actually went into planning and executing particular liberty-securing special military operations in early American history. It was dangerous. It was the embodiment of diligence. It was the deliberate offering of one’s own life for the sake of others. It was early mornings without the certainty of evening rest. It was calculated suffering, guided by conviction, and sustained by the hope that a freer nation might actually be built—brick by brick, battle by battle, prayer by prayer.

In other words, for our Founding Fathers, it was anything but waking up, drinking coffee, and relaxing.

Maybe we should set aside our barbecues and eat turkey instead. It sure feels a little like the Fourth of July could be interchangeable with Thanksgiving Day. We could sing our anthems, light our fireworks, and gather around tables not because we have earned this freedom, but because God has so graciously granted it, and for that, we are incredibly thankful.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery” (Galatians 5:1). He wasn’t talking about national liberty. He was talking about freedom in Jesus. This is freedom from sin, death, and Satan. Still, where Christian liberty exists, there is true liberty in every sense of the word. It makes sense, then, that we would give thanks for the national freedom to gather and to worship our Lord without fear.

This is, in fact, a place where Church and State meet—not by confusion of their roles, but by acknowledgment that God rules over both. By His rule, we have the greatest freedom secured by a Savior, and another freedom He has so graciously given, made sure by patriots.

That carries me to something else.

Liberty rightly understood is not license. It is a gift to be stewarded, not an idol to be polished. God’s Word reminds us: “Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God” (1 Peter 2:16). In other words, liberty is not measured by the expanse of its seemingly endless boundaries. A person is not truly free if freedom means indulging in that which destroys. You are not living in liberty if you believe a person is free to murder an unborn child or redefine human sexuality. Genuine liberty pursues what is good, right, and true.

So, I guess what I’m saying this morning is that I’m thankful for liberty and the price paid for it, both on the cross and the mortal trenches. And yet, looking up from the trenches, I’m thankful for the preservation of this nation only insofar as she continues to understand liberty rightly, that she repents where needed, and that she pursues righteousness where lacking.

Yesterday, I was on a national phone call with Dr. Ben Carson. He asked me to speak. Of course, I agreed. One thing I said was that, in a sense, any nation with Christians living in it is blessed. That’s because they know what to pray for. Not only that, but they can hold the line on truth (1 Corinthians 16:13), and they can speak that truth in love (Ephesians 4:15). Their love for Christ always supersedes their love of country, and in that sense, they serve as purifying elements, whether they realize it or not.

Now, I don’t mean these things in a dominionist way—as if to say only Christians should run the government. What I mean is that when Christians live in faithfulness to Christ and therefore live faithfully according to their vocations, loving their neighbor and fearing God, the nation is naturally enriched, even when it doesn’t know why. Christians truly are any nation’s salt and light (Matthew 5:13-16).

I suppose I’ll close with that.

Remember that as Christians, we are dual citizens. While we walk the soil of this great republic, we belong to a Kingdom not of this world (John 18:36). And yet, when considering America by comparison to so many other nations, we are bound to be thankful for both. In such thankfulness, keep the proper perspective. When you see the fireworks booming, remember the thunderous response of the dark sky and cracking rocks at the Lord’s crucifixion. He won your truest freedom there. When you see the fireworks flashing, remember that His divine light has shattered the darkness. When you see the flag waving, remember that the banner of Christ’s cross is forever raised over every nation, tribe, and tongue. And by the power of the Holy Spirit alive in you by the Gospel, you go forth in service to Him with a bit of extraordinary insight. You know, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord” (Psalm 33:12).

Have a great day!

The Throne of Your Heart

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It’s been several weeks since the “No Kings” protests. However, I just saw an online advertisement this morning for “No Kings 2.0” scheduled for the Fourth of July. I did some checking around, and it seems this is only a rumor.

My daughter, Madeline, told me the group gathered in Fenton a few weeks ago for their first attempt. There were people there with signs and slogans. In Lansing, they gathered on the Capitol’s steps. I didn’t pay it much attention at the time, which is probably another reason why I’m only now offering commentary. I have plenty to keep me busy these days. And besides, the whole thing felt like just another performance of the usual twisted pageantry. I remember seeing an image of a sign from the Lansing event that displayed the slogan “86-47,” which is the not-so-subtle numerical code calling for the 47th president’s removal by any means necessary, including death. In other cities across America, people wearing all black and face coverings gathered in public places and spray-painted the “No Kings Here” mantra on historic monuments, essentially defacing memorials actually put into place as emblems against tyranny. That’s ironic, isn’t it? Still, the groups marched and chanted like voodoo shamans performing their dark rites and ceremonies.

If you’re not familiar with the relatively fizzled No Kings movement, as I already hinted, the essence is pretty predictable. Like most everything that bubbles up from the progressive left, it was just another resistance to President Trump. With this particular effort, they framed him as a self-coronated dictator. The organizers aimed to present the movement as a spontaneous, grassroots uprising, as though everyday Americans were uniting against what they claimed was an unprecedented crackdown on illegal immigration.

But in truth, it was and remains more of the same: a theater of outrage designed to imply that Americans are universally appalled by the dismantling of the so-called “woke” infrastructure—that we’re incensed President Trump refuses to pander during “Pride Month,” which LGBTQ, Inc. has claimed not merely as a season, but as a sovereign domain over the entirety of June itself.

In the end, it’s a familiar pattern. These are the same voices that rage not so much at what Trump does as that he remains entirely unmoved by their contempt. He doesn’t flinch. He simply continues forward undeterred and, perhaps most offensively to them, unbothered.

For the record, and as the saying goes, I voted for this.

Beyond these things, what I find most interesting is that while the protests wanted to appear organic, the entire operation was orchestrated and paid for by ideologically captured groups, nearly all of which are connected to George Soros.

Now, some will read that sentence I just typed out and say, “Uh-oh, Thoma is becoming a conspiracy theorist.” But I’m not. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned Soros’ name in anything I’ve ever written. What’s the difference here? Well, the receipts are in. The documented funders of the “No Kings” protests included groups such as Indivisible, the ACLU, MoveOn.org, 50501, and various teacher unions and organized labor federations, all of which had received their funding for the effort from Soros’ Open Society Foundations. That’s not a conspiracy. That’s basic bookkeeping.

Setting the ledgers aside for a moment, while mindful of the effort’s truest geist, the irony of the No Kings protests—beyond the faux-revolutionary aesthetic and its TikTok theology—is that they presume to cast down the idea of kingship while fully prostrating before their own tyrants. They say they will not bow, and yet, they’re already on their knees in so many ways.

They slather praise on transgender activism as it tyrannically jackboots through female locker rooms and right into women’s sports. They still wear masks in their cars while declaring the unvaccinated to be “anti-science.” Their costumes are rainbow t-shirts that say, “Love is love,” while they do all they can to cancel anyone who would claim marriage is for one man and one woman. They converge on businesses, first emerging from vehicles with a “Coexist” bumper sticker ironically surrounded by other stickers with crass anti-conservative slogans. Then they march into the business offices wearing their government DEI badges, insisting that racism can only be quelled by applying more racism.

The authority they wield doesn’t come from thrones or castles but from 501(c)(3) and 501(c)(4) corporations. Their language isn’t regal, but it is rehearsed. Catchphrases have become decrees, and school boards have become their courts. And their reigns are no less absolute than the supposed tyrants they say they want to depose. Except, unlike the kings of old, they demand far more than taxes and loyalty. They want your mind. They require your memory and morals. They absolutely demand your children. And just try taking a public stand against their mandates. Try dissenting, even politely. You’ll discover how quickly the No Kings crowd finds its enforcement arm. In fact, I realized this firsthand in a place where I thought I’d be relatively safe from it.

This past Friday, during the convention of the English District of the LCMS, a lay delegate approached me during the morning break. His two-fold goal? To announce his pride in the Democrat Party and to accost me for my public opinions on abortion and LGBTQ issues. Think about that for a second. I was sitting alone at a triennial gathering for supposedly biblically minded clergy and laymen. This individual—a representative of a sister congregation sent to embody and, if possible, move the District according to its theological positions—sought me out of his own volition to assault biblical positions. Scary. Although the gathering onlookers (who did and said nothing, by the way) enjoyed quite the intermission at my expense.

Before I stray too far, I guess what I’m saying is that the No Kings folks are not really trying to rid the world of tyrants. Tyrannical ideologies already enslave them, and as such, they more or less prove they’re okay with kings, especially the ones who sanctify their sins. The ones willing to call their rebellion by name must be overthrown. In that sense, they don’t want freedom, at least, not like they’re saying. They’re after dominion. And I suppose in the most ironic twist of all, they cry “No kings!” while building a congregation of progressives, one formed by the gospel of “self” and served by priests in rainbow vestments intent on leading all of us in the new liturgy of control.

That’s not just cultural irony. It’s a theological tragedy. And that’s really the crux of it. As Christians, we know this isn’t just about politics or public policy. In the end, it’s not even about power. It’s about divine things.

God’s Word insists that every human heart has a throne, and every throne demands a king. If Christ is not seated there, someone else—or something else—will be. This isn’t conjecture. It’s reality. Saint Paul wrote, “You are slaves of the one whom you obey—either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness” (Romans 6:16). In other words, you will serve a master. Your heart will be devoted. You will bend the knee. This is because the heart is not some morally neutral chamber of vague intentions. It is, as the Bible says, the seat of human desire and its fruit. That’s why Solomon wrote, “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life” (Proverbs 4:23). What fills the heart rules the life.

Interestingly, this principle doesn’t apply only to individuals. It seems to apply to entire societies. Indeed, every group has its creed. Every society bows before something. “They [entire generations of people] exchanged the truth about God for a lie,” Paul writes, “and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator” (Romans 1:25). But Paul doesn’t stop there. He later warns in 1 Corinthians 10:20–21 that our devotion never exists in a neutral zone. It is aimed either toward the divine or toward the demonic. There is no third option. There is no spiritual vacuum.

And so, to come back around to the No Kings crowd. They spray-paint their slogans in defiance, but they’re not really free. Sure, they declare autonomy, but it’s an illusion, if only because autonomy requires clarity of thought and freedom of conscience—neither of which survives long under the tyranny of hatred. Their obsession with Donald Trump—regardless of what he does—isn’t principled resistance. It’s programmed allegiance. And in that sense, they are not without a king. Their hatred has become their monarch and lord. It governs their emotions, their actions, and even their sense of righteousness. But hatred is a brutal master. It blesses confusion, punishes dissent, and demands unquestioning loyalty. So, no, their chants aren’t declarations of liberty. They’re the sound of spiritual captivity—liturgies offered to the ever-hungrier lords of the age.

As for me, I will not bow to these new kings making jumbled decrees from their cathedrals draped in “self.” Instead, I’ll bow to the One who wore a crown of thorns. I’ll do this while steering into our nation’s Fourth of July celebration with incredible thankfulness for the Founding Fathers and their extraordinary courage. Indeed, I am blessed to be an American. That said, I intend to love this nation, not as an idol, but as a gift worth serving and supporting, most especially as one forged in the understanding that true liberty means responsibility before God, not license to rebel against Him. I intend to be a citizen who remembers that even a constitutional republic can fall if its people forget that true freedom requires virtue, and virtue only endures when rooted in Christ.

So, to the No Kings folks, if you do decide to attempt a 2.0 effort, go ahead and do it if you must. March and chant and graffiti your slogans across the faces of the dead, doing so well-funded and furious as ever. But do not pretend you have no king. You do. The only question is who—or what—occupies your throne (Matthew 16:15).

Role Reversal

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If you haven’t already heard, the U.S. military used our country’s infamous bunker-buster bombs yesterday to take out Iran’s nuclear sites. Whether one agrees with the decision or not, it’s a sobering reminder: the world our children are navigating is growing more perilous by the hour. That said, when I woke up this morning, I had already intended to write about a significant role reversal I experienced last week. I’m going to stay the course, yet I can already sense how this morning’s news will impact it.

Essentially, my daughter, Madeline, recently earned her private pilot’s license. As a Father’s Day gift, she took me on an hour-long flight. We departed from Bishop International Airport in Flint, flew to a small airstrip in Linden, landed and launched twice, and then returned to Flint. On approach into Flint, she performed a maneuver called a “slip.” I looked it up and found the following definition to be exactly as I experienced:

“A slip is an aeronautical maneuver that involves banking the aircraft into the wind and using opposite rudder to maintain a desired flight path while increasing descent rate or correcting for wind drift.”

In plain terms, Madeline banked us left, and yet, we didn’t turn. We slid sideways while descending rapidly. Just above the runway, she finally straightened the plane, leveled us out, and touched down as if we were angels gently descending from heaven.

She was amazing.

Now, I started by saying I experienced a significant role reversal. To frame all of this in the proper perspective, it really wasn’t all that long ago that Madeline’s life was in my hands in every way imaginable. Indeed, it’s as if only recently, I was tucking her into a car seat and securing the five-point harness, even adjusting the straps to fit her comfortably while ensuring maximum safety. I was the one who checked twice—sometimes three times—that every latch was secure, every buckle snug, because that’s what a father does to keep his child safe. He does things like hold her hand in public. He hovers behind her on staircases that she is still too small to climb. He steadies the handlebars on her first bike ride, jogging alongside her down the sidewalk, ready to catch her when she tips. Everything about her very existence—the entirety of her well-being—is entrusted to him.

But last Sunday—Father’s Day, no less—somewhere just beneath the clouds, the roles reversed, and I found my life was entirely in my daughter’s hands. I climbed into the copilot’s seat and fastened the belt, which she then refastened because I hadn’t done it correctly. She proceeded to adjust it accordingly. And then she was the one now glancing over the vehicle’s every dial, confirming each setting, running her hand along the controls, reciting the pre-flight checklist items with unbroken concentration. I did nothing. She captained the headset, talked with the towers, and guided me through what to expect.

I guess what I’m saying is that the magnitude of that transfer wasn’t lost on me. It was exhilarating, yes, but also profoundly humbling.

Still beaming a couple of days after the flight, while Madeline and I were driving together, I told her again how proud I was of her. I mentioned a quote that had resurfaced in my mind as we flew—something from C.S. Lewis’ The Four Loves. He wrote so profoundly, “To love at all is to be vulnerable.” I explained how placing my life in her hands had revealed something. It wasn’t just that I trusted her. It was more about the depth of love I have for her, the kind that knows just how much she loves me, too.

I’ve known Lewis’ words for a long time. I’ve reflected on them in the context of marriage, friendship, pastoral ministry, and countless other situations where love demands a certain measure of risk. But I’d never thought to apply them to my kids until now. And yet, there they were, soaring right beside us at 2,000 feet on Father’s Day.

I’m usually pretty good with words. But this morning, I’m feeling somewhat limited. The English language doesn’t really have the capacity for genuinely communicating the moment your parental life shifts from giving care to receiving it—from being the one at the controls, both literally and metaphorically, and then, in an instant, letting go of the illusion that I would always be the one doing the work to keep my child safe. That kind of vulnerability doesn’t come easily, especially for a dad. But it is, I think, a place where, if we’re looking through the lens of the Gospel, God shows us just how complete love can be in a family.

I suppose something else comes to mind in all of this, too.

I would imagine that most Christians are familiar with the text of Proverbs 22:6, which reads, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Most folks see that verse in terms of instruction in moral grounding and right living. That’s not wrong. But it misses the heart of the verse.

Its primary aim is that we would raise our children in the “way,” namely, faith so that when they do climb into the cockpit of life, so to speak, they do so not only with competence but with wings outstretched for trust in Christ. In that sense, Proverbs 22:6 reminds us that even as our children’s hands might reach to ours for learning character, skills, and such, it is far more critical that they know to reach for the Lord’s hand in all things. Only then can they truly navigate both the clear skies and the storms with spiritual wisdom and poise. Only in Christ will they know how to take off, how to “slip” when necessary, and how to land with grace.

Anyone considering these things honestly will recognize something more.

Without question, the world my children are navigating is by no means the same one I inherited. Long before the latest news about Iran, the skies they were flying in were already far more turbulent. The voices buzzing through the coms are more confusing, almost unintelligible. The instrument panel in front of them, while more advanced, is almost entirely calibrated by a secular age that denies God’s existence altogether, calling His Word foolishness and insisting that truth itself should be wholly despised.

My point is that the role of Christian parenting cannot be passive in any of this. It cannot be content merely with getting one’s kid into a good college so that they are materially successful. All of that ends when they breathe their last. As I’ve often said from the pulpit, this world and everything in it carries an expiration date. You may not see it, but it’s there. That said, we are not just raising children to exist and survive among temporal things. We are raising them, as Luther said, “to believe, to live, to pray, to suffer, and to die” (LW, Vol. 47, pp. 52-53), which, by default, means we’re raising them to exist in this world with eternal things in mind. We’re raising them to stand, to speak, and to boldly hold the line when others around them are folding. We’re raising them to do these things, not with arrogance, but with conviction formed by the eternal Word of God.

That’s why Proverbs 22:6 matters so deeply. Indeed, to “train up a child in the way he should go” means to help position them for good character and success. But the “way” it mentions is not abstract. It is the cruciform road that leads through repentance and faith in Jesus. When we train our children in this way, we’re grounding them in the very mind and heart of God.

And they need this grounding. They’re already being told that truth is subjective and that steadfast Christian conviction is cruelty. Worst of all, the surrounding world insists that biblical godliness is an artifact of a bygone era. They are surrounded by cultural winds that do not merely blow—they howl. If they are to fly straight—if they are to correct for this world’s drift—they will need spiritual discernment. They will need courage calibrated by sound doctrine and faithful practice. They will need to be taught to see everything in this world through the lens of who they are in Jesus.

In a sense, the time has already come for me to realize that my kids are now flying and I’m not. If you haven’t yet arrived at the same realization, then just know that you’ll be there soon enough. The time is coming when your little ones’ hands will be on the controls, and your hands will be folded in prayer.

That time comes sooner than we think. Parents, the preparation begins now.

When the choice is between faithfulness to Christ and the world’s distractions, choose faithfulness, even when the child doesn’t want to. Lead the way. Even as they might kick and scream to get free from the car seat, strap them in and set out. Do this not only because you’re teaching them how to fly but why to fly. Do this, remembering your children will one day be at the controls, and they’ll be faced with circumstances you never imagined.

Still, when this happens, you’ll be okay, even if things appear to be going south. You’ll be confident that you did everything possible to keep them connected to Christ. You’ll be able to hope that, when it matters most, they’ll know to lean not on the wisdom of this world but on the One who will never steer them wrong. Even better, you’ll know that even though you’re not in the cockpit, Christ is, and regardless of what anyone’s bumper sticker might say, He’s no copilot.

Slipping Into Error

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I’m sure you already know this, and yet, just in case you don’t, Israel launched preemptive strikes against Iran’s nuclear sites on Thursday. As expected, Iran responded. It was reported in the news that we knew those strikes were coming, even as America was attempting to broker a peace deal with Iran. However, Iran appeared to be doing what Iran always does, which is to make every excuse for not securing peace. Meanwhile, Israeli and American intelligence agencies reported that Iran was only days away from having enough enriched uranium to build a minimum of fifteen nuclear weapons, only one of which would be needed to turn Israel to glass. Used against the United States, millions here would die.

Is any of this news reporting accurate? Is the media telling us what’s true? It’s hard to tell these days.

On one hand, Iran’s supreme leader, Ali Hosseini Khamenei, has said they would pursue nuclear independence. He also said as recently as 2023 that “Death to America is not just a slogan. It is our policy.” And of course, Iran—the largest state sponsor of terrorism in the world—has made it a priority to rid the world of the Jews. That’s not breaking news. That’s an open and longstanding fact. What’s more, Iran’s desire for Israel’s destruction, some have said, is the only truly unifying principle that keeps the nation together. A largely tribal nation, Iran would likely come entirely undone if not for its leaders’ radical Islamic ideology.

On the other hand, nearly everything the news reported about COVID turned out to be false. Masks and social distancing absolutely did not accomplish anything, except to decelerate development in generations of children. It turns out that ventilators made the sick worse. Ivermectin, the Nobel Prize-winning medication prescribed to humans for decades, was negatively labeled a “horse dewormer” and called dangerous, ultimately getting doctors who knew better and prescribed it into heaps of trouble. And yet, it turned out to be wholly sufficient for treating the illness. If a person added vitamin D to his regimen, he would be good to go. Conversely, most news outlets insisted that the vaccine would protect from infection. They streamed Biden’s thank-you to the vaccinated while warning the unvaccinated to expect “a winter of severe illness and death.” And yet, the opposite was true. In fact, the rates of unexpected deaths have seen a sharp increase only among the vaccinated.

I read an article this morning from CBS News saying that the FDA is insisting Pfizer and Moderna “expand the warning labels on their COVID-19 vaccines about the risk of a possible heart injury side effect linked to the mRNA shots, primarily in teen boys and young men.” It goes on to talk about unusual spikes in myocarditis. A peripheral article warned of the same, but then added strange cancers and other diseases to the list of concerns, conditions that were never as prominent until after the COVID vaccines and boosters were so widely administered. One particular example shared was that sudden athlete deaths were off the charts by comparison to pre-COVID statistics.

By the way, I should say I’m not surprised by the vaccine results. Dr. Mary Talley Bowden was recently on Joe Rogan’s podcast, and she mentioned that we now have five years of data stacks confirming the vaccine’s dangers. She essentially noted that anyone who received the vaccine is now, in a sense, permanently rewired—because what the news called a vaccine isn’t a vaccine. It’s an mRNA injection. It’s gene therapy. Gene therapy rewrites DNA. Vaccines, in theory, are designed to prompt and arm the body’s immune system. Gene therapy is designed to manipulate the body’s very DNA. It works at a genetic level.

Still, the public’s response to COVID proved how quickly fear and misinformation can bend entire societies—even churches—toward error. I say this as so many churches, even after the lockdowns, continued to forbid worshippers through the door unless they were masked, vaccinated, and sat two rows apart. This is an absolute violation of God’s Word, regardless of the government’s mandates! The same patterns are playing out again, just under different headlines.

However, I didn’t start writing this morning with COVID-19 on my mind. I was more concerned about the possibility of war. More precisely, I was thinking about how easily things come undone—or how easily human beings can steer into falsehood—when our handling of source material is faulty.

Concerning everything I’ve described so far? I suppose the only answer I can give is to say, “Read, read, and read some more.” As Christians, I encourage you to do this, remembering three things in particular.

First, understand that skimming content is rarely helpful. Dig in and digest, reading from various sources in order to get a topic’s fullest spectrum of perspectives. Second, pitch everything you read against the Word of God. In other words, let everything you take in pass through the filter of Scripture. God’s Word shapes our opinions, not the other way around. Third, make sure your doctrine is sound. Doctrine doesn’t just articulate what we believe about salvation. It provides necessary boundaries, becoming a primary tool for discerning everything we see and experience. If you claim the Bible, and yet your theology depends on the modern nation of Israel going to war with Iran as a fulfillment of end-times prophecy before Christ can return, then it’s likely the first two recommendations weren’t heeded. In other words, first, you aren’t all that familiar with the Bible’s actual contents; and second, your opinion has become your strongest filter. As a result, your doctrinal compass is misaligned, and you’re destined only to distort the source material—the Bible.

Now, I say this as someone who’s spent a lot of time wrestling with how theology and the public square intersect, particularly through the lens of Church and State, or the doctrine of the Two Kingdoms. What we believe about God’s rule and our role in the world carries consequences, both for faithfulness and for clarity during incredibly confusing times.

Be aware that confusion has a way of hardening into error.

You may have already noticed from what I wrote earlier about Israel and end-times prophecy that one particular distortion in times like these is Christian Zionism. It’s a theological framework that merges biblical language with modern political expectations, often assigning messianic significance to the nation of Israel. This confusion leads many to misapply sacred titles and divine promises in ways that seem patriotic or spiritually inspiring, but ultimately are biblically reckless and incredibly dangerous.

For example, Israel’s current offensive has been dubbed “Operation Rising Lion.” An online friend posted on Saturday an image of a lion with an Israeli flag blended into its face. The tagline read, “The Lion of Judah has risen.” The image made me cringe. Yes, I support the nation of Israel’s right to protect itself from annihilation. Still, the nation of Israel is not the Lion of Judah. The phrase “Lion of Judah” belongs to Jesus Christ alone (Revelation 5:5). Furthermore, it was posted by someone who assumes the modern nation of Israel still carries an unbroken divine mandate, simply by virtue of its geography or ethnicity.

To believe and confess this is to upend the fuller testimony of Scripture. It replaces Christ-centered fulfillment with nationalistic nostalgia and, in doing so, distorts God’s promises and perpetuates grave theological error.

This kind of misreading reflects the same pattern I’ve addressed already. Whether it’s Iran’s deception or the media’s COVID narratives, when we abandon faithfulness to God’s Word, we can only lose our bearings in life’s fog. Reality becomes distorted, and we are just as vulnerable to being swept away by falsehood as anyone else.

Of course, whenever someone challenges the notion that modern Israel holds a unique divine status, the charge of antisemitism isn’t far behind. Even as someone who supports Israel’s right to defend itself, I’ve borne that charge. But the accusation misses the mark entirely. I’ve written before that it is by no means antisemitic to say (alongside Saint Paul, the inspired writer and chief apostolic interpreter of Christ and the Old Testament Scriptures) that Christians are the “Israel of God” (Galatians 6:16). The Israel of God is not ethnic or a localized nation. Saint Peter clarifies it is “a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession…” (1 Peter 2:9–10). And again, Saint Paul writes, “If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:29); and “For not all who are descended from Israel are Israel. Nor because they are his descendants are they all Abraham’s children… it is the children of the promise who are regarded as Abraham’s offspring” (Romans 9:6–8).

Children of the promise—Christians—are regarded by God as Abraham’s true offspring. Like Abraham, they believe in the promise (Genesis 15:6; Romans 4:3; James 2:23). And what is the promise? The One who was promised—Christ (Galatians 3:16; Luke 1:54–55; Luke 1:31–33; Acts 2:29–31; Hebrews 8:6–13; Romans 15:8–9; 2 Corinthians 1:20; and countless other texts). All who look to Christ in faith will be saved (John 6:38–40) and brought into the new Jerusalem—eternal life (Revelation 21–22; Psalm 46:4–5; Isaiah 65:17–19; and others).

To say that only believers in Christ are saved and given eternal life is not antisemitic, but it is fundamental to Christian theology, and it does show Christian Zionism’s error. If it were antisemitic, then the apostles were antisemites for believing and declaring, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). What’s more, Christ Himself would be an antisemite for saying in absolutist terms, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6); and, “Whoever believes in [God’s Son] is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son” (John 3:16–18).

It is right and godly to defend and protect anyone and everyone from persecution or attack. Long before the events of this past week, Iran and its proxies had launched over 500 ballistic missiles into Israel. Christians should support restraining Iran. To do so is to love one’s neighbor as oneself. But that doesn’t change the fact that Christian Zionism is a dangerously confused theology—a dreadfully miscalibrated doctrine—that must be avoided, if only because it corrupts the Gospel that can save everyone in both Israel and Iran.

I suppose in the end, my main point is to say that if Christians are not vigilant—biblically, and therefore doctrinally—we will find ourselves swept along by narratives that feel righteous but stand in contradiction to God’s revealed truth. Whether it’s the media rewriting science or Christians assigning eternal significance to things that do not deserve it, the temptation to trade discernment for ideological capture is only ever a step away.

This is why being in God’s Word is so important. I encourage you: make it a part of your everyday routine. And as I said, don’t skim. Even better, don’t search the Scriptures just to find proof texts that reinforce your existing political views or cultural assumptions. Instead, go there to be corrected, shaped, and grounded. Go there for truth. Go there to find Christ. He is enough, and His Word is sufficient. And the Church—His true Israel—must live and speak as though both of those things are actually true.

Forming Character

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If you have a moment, I have an early morning observation to share.

Sometime last week, a conversation erupted in an online forum for families associated with our local school district. Essentially, a collection drive was orchestrated, and for those elementary students who participated and ultimately reached a particular goal, a celebratory activity would be their reward. The original post was from a woman bothered that her child was excluded from the activity. Did she and her child participate in the collection drive? No. And yet, her problem was that while the kids who did participate had their fun, the students who didn’t were kept busy off to the side doing something else, but still within view of the other kids. This mother felt it was inappropriate to keep any of the children from enjoying the activity, especially when all the children could see it happening.

I don’t know how you feel about this, but I have at least two observations I’d like to offer. And I won’t lie to you. They feel somewhat contradictory. Still, give them a chance. I think you’ll see that the two thoughts, while seemingly in tension, actually point to the same underlying concern that many of us have, which, in the end, boils down to the formation of character. In other words, both revolve around the same question: What kind of people are we trying to raise?

I’ll start with the more contentious of the two, just to get it out of the way.

The first is that it’s troubling we feel the need to entice children with rewards in order to prompt benevolent behavior. It may seem harmless to offer a small celebration for those who participate. And yet, beneath this is the subtle and unfortunate lesson that doing good is only worth our time if there’s something in it for us. In other words, when generosity is trained to function as a transaction, it ceases to be true generosity. Children begin to associate helping others not with compassion or responsibility but with the personal perks that follow. That kind of moral formation may produce momentary results, but over time, it undermines the deeper virtues we hope to cultivate. True goodness, if it is to mean anything at all, should stand even when no one is looking—and especially when no one is offering a reward.

Personally, if I were to rule the world, I would not allow these types of activities in schools at all. Instead, I would build rhythms of service into the classroom life—moments where students are invited to help not for a prize but because someone needs help. I would normalize the idea that compassion is part of being a decent human being, not a means to an end. Rather than gamifying kindness, I would frame it as a basic responsibility, just as we expect students to clean up after themselves or treat their peers with respect. When we treat generosity as performative, kids internalize the notion that doing good is about being seen. But when we treat generosity as expected and ordinary, kids begin to understand it as part of who they’re meant to be.

Again, I won’t lie to you. On occasion, we organize activities in our Christian school, such as the one described above. And yet, for the most part, I think we lean far more into the former frame of mind than the latter. Interestingly, our incoming Kantor made such a comment this past week. While visiting among the students, he said he experienced a spirit of genuine care and concern for one another that he’d never experienced among students anywhere else. That, of course, made me smile.

The second point I wanted to make is much easier, and it steers directly into the woman’s concern, which was that everyone deserves the reward, regardless of whether or not they earned it.

I say, probably like many of you, not everyone deserves a trophy. I know that sentiment has become somewhat cliché in our cultural discourse, but in this case, it’s deeply relevant. If a student didn’t participate in the effort, regardless of the reason, then it stands to follow that he wouldn’t be included in the celebration meant to recognize those who did. Those were the parameters, and the school families were well aware of them in advance. To bend the rules or to insist otherwise is to flatten the meaning of both achievement and reward. It cheapens the accomplishment of the children who gave their time and energy while simultaneously reinforcing the idea that effort is optional and that outcomes should be distributed equally, regardless of the input.

This isn’t just about collection drives or school events. It’s about a broader cultural confusion between fairness and sameness. Fairness involves recognizing and rewarding effort, commitment, and virtue. Sameness, on the other hand, insists that everyone be treated identically, even when their choices and behaviors differ. When sameness becomes the goal, excellence is discouraged, and mediocrity becomes the norm. Worse still, it breeds resentment, resulting in anti-achievement. Children who do what’s right may begin to ask why they should bother if the rewards are the same for everyone.

In short, if we want to raise children with integrity, we can’t afford to teach them according to the first point, which is that virtue is transactional. But neither can we teach them according to the second point, which is that one’s effort is irrelevant.

I suppose in the end, as with all things, the Bible weighs in on this discussion, coming to rest in character’s domain, which is a land that prizes humility, integrity, charity, good order, and so many other godly traits. And by the way, they’re not negotiable characteristics, but rather, they are essential for society’s stability and flourishing.

Concerning the first point, I don’t have to go far to hear straight from the God-man’s mouth that when we give, we should not do so “as the hypocrites do… to be honored by others,” but instead secretly (Matthew 6:1-4). This behavior is a fruit of faith, one that already understands it isn’t meant to be paraded or purchased—it’s meant to be lived for its own sake. If it can be an open reflection of God’s goodness at work in us for the sake of encouraging faith in others, then so be it (Matthew 5:13-16; Ephesians 2:8-10). God will work that result. In the meantime, we understand the first concern regarding these things. When we train our children to do good only for what they can gain, we inadvertently lead them into works-righteousness and away from the heart of Christ, who gave freely and called us to the same.

God’s Word also affirms the principle of just reward. In Galatians 6:7, Paul writes, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” This isn’t about merit in the salvific sense—grace remains unearned—but it does speak clearly to how the world is meant to function when aligned with God’s order. Labor deserves its wage (1 Timothy 5:18). Diligence bears fruit (Proverbs 13:4; Proverbs 10:4; Galatians 6:9). Obedience and discipline are not to be dismissed as elitist virtues but as marks of maturity and wisdom (Hebrews 12:11; Proverbs 12:1; John 14:23). When we ignore those distinctions, when we give everyone the same outcome regardless of participation or effort, we cultivate confusion and ultimately injustice (Proverbs 17:15; Romans 2:6; Luke 19:17).

That’s why both points, while perhaps initially sounding as though they are at odds, are really part of the same conversation. We’re called to raise children who are generous without self-interest and responsible without entitlement. That’s no small task in today’s world. When I look around and see the popularity of celebrating self over sacrifice, and I see online celebrities being applauded, even though they’ve accomplished nothing, I worry that the next generation is learning to give little and expect much.

I know it seems like heavy lifting. Nevertheless, it’s worth the effort to push back on this, if only because the world our children have (in a sense) already inherited desperately needs help. But not the kind of help this culture is willing to provide. That kind of help is no help at all. Instead, it needs help from hearts aligned with Christ and anchored in genuine truth.