The Resurrection’s Centrality

By / Mar 31

Is the resurrection of Christ a necessary component of the gospel message? After all, certain biblical texts seem to imply that Paul may have focused more on the cross. In Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth he says, “We preach Christ crucified” (1 Cor. 1:23). He doesn’t say, “We preach Christ crucified and raised,” but simply that he preaches Christ crucified.[1]

Just a few verses later Paul seems to double down on his singular focus on the cross: “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:2). This seems rather exclusive. Earlier Paul even insists that “the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing” (1 Cor. 1:18). Again, he doesn’t include the resurrection. To the Christians in Galatia, Paul likewise says that the cross is an “offense” (Gal. 5:11) and that he boasts only in the cross (6:14). To believers in Rome, Ephesus, and Colossae, Paul writes that we have been reconciled to God through Jesus’s death on the cross (Rom. 5:10; Eph. 2:16; Col. 1:22). He says that “we have redemption through his blood ” (Eph. 1:7) and that Jesus has made “peace by the blood of his cross” (Col. 1:20). It seems like Paul emphasizes the cross more than the resurrection.

Nevertheless, a more careful look at these texts reveals that Paul saw the cross and resurrection as intricately connected. The cross without the resurrection would be like a bird without wings, for the resurrection discloses the significance of the cross. When Paul spoke of one, he implied the other. Only when we see to the other side of the cross does it begin to make sense (see John 12:16). The New Testament never speaks of the crucifixion as an isolated event but speaks of it from the perspective of the victory of Jesus’s life. Jesus’s death and resurrection have a cosmic and scriptural unity.

This can be seen in that the Scriptures describe both Jesus’s death and resurrection as not only being “raised up” but also being “glorified” (for the latter, see John 12:23; 13:31). Additionally, although Paul claims that he only preaches Christ crucified (1 Cor. 1:23), in the next verse he affirms that Christ is “the power of God” (1 Cor. 1:24). Paul elsewhere says that Jesus “was declared to be the Son of God in power . . . by his resurrection from the dead” (Rom. 1:4). The cross wasn’t the power of God until it was transformed by the resurrection.

When Paul says that he knew nothing but Christ crucified, this was shorthand for the complete work of Christ more generally. A little later in the same letter, Paul indicates that he imparts a secret and hidden wisdom of God (1 Cor. 2:7).

This wisdom of God implies that Jesus’s death was not final. It was through Jesus’s death that he was able to offer life. Paul even concludes the letter with his longest reflection on the resurrection in all his correspondences (1 Cor. 15). Paul knew nothing but Christ crucified, but paradoxically this included his resurrection from the dead.

Reconciliation and peace come through the cross and the resurrection. Paul proclaims that “Jesus died and rose again” (1 Thess. 4:14). Paul’s gospel can be summarized in this way: “Christ died for our sins . . . he was buried . . . he was raised on the third day” and “he appeared” to many (1 Cor. 15:3–8). Paul affirms that these realities—all of them—are of “first importance” (1 Cor. 15:3). These four realities are really two realities with confirmations. Jesus died, and this is proved by his burial. Jesus was raised, and this is proved by his appearance to many witnesses.

As one author has said, Christian theology has mostly shined a spotlight on the cross with occasional light aimed toward the incarnation. What we need instead is to shine a floodlight on the total event of Christ’s life, including the resurrection.[2] It is not that the resurrection is more important than the incarnation or the cross; rather, the incarnation and the cross are incomplete without the resurrection. Apart from the resurrection, the death of Christ is void of power.

A gospel message that does not include the resurrection of Jesus from the dead is no gospel at all. To quote another author, “At the heart of Christianity is a cross; and one of the most significant things about it is that it is an empty cross.”[3]

Raised for Our Justification

Most people connect the term justification to Jesus’s death. Justification is a law court term communicating that someone has been declared to be in the right. If you are guilty, a judge can declare you to be righteous. By the judge’s declaration, you are no longer under a sentence, nor must you pay a penalty. Paul, surprisingly, connects our justification not only to the cross but also to Jesus’s resurrection. In Romans 4:25 Paul says that Jesus “was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification.” The text can be visualized like this:

Jesus was delivered for our trespasses 

Jesus was raised for our justification 

According to Paul, Jesus’s resurrection is for justification. We have to think carefully about what for means here. It could mean that Jesus was raised because we had been justified. In this case, justification should be tied more closely to the cross and not the resurrection. Some translations even say we have been “raised to life because we were now justified” (NEB marginal note). This is possible but not likely.

I think it means that Jesus was raised in order that we might be justified. In this case, Jesus’s resurrection was not only his vindication but also the vindication of all who believe in him. Jesus was handed over to death because all people have trespassed the law of God, but Jesus was raised to life so that people might be declared righteous. The goal of salvation was not simply to save us from sin but to unite our humanity to God. John Calvin puts the point well: “Through his death, sin was wiped out and death extinguished; through his resurrection, righteousness was restored and life raised up.”[4]

Martyn Lloyd-Jones agrees: “If it is not a fact that Christ literally rose from the grave, then you are still guilty before God. Your punishment has not been borne, your sins have not been dealt with, you are yet in your sins. It matters that much: without the resurrection you have no standing at all.”[5]

In short, Christ’s resurrection is both “part of the atonement as well as being the seal of what happened on the cross.”[6] The resurrection is the decisive deed of justification, the actualization of what is declared.[7] Jesus’s death alone does not secure our justification. He had to be raised from the dead to declare us righteous. God justifies believers by not counting our sins against us and by clothing us with life and righteousness. Spurgeon rightly says,

When our Lord rose from the dead, it was certified that the righteousness,  which he came to work out, was finished. For what remained to be done?  All was accomplished, and therefore he went up unto his Father’s side. Is  he toiling there to finish a half-accomplished enterprise? Nay, “This man,  after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right  hand of God.” Our righteousness is a finished one, for Jesus quits the place of humiliation, and rises to his reward.[8]

Our justification hangs as much on the resurrection as it does on the cross. The resurrection guarantees our salvation and, therefore, is good.

Editors Note: Content taken from The Hope of the Resurrection by Patrick Schreiner ©2026. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, Wheaton, Il 60187, www.crossway.org.

[1] Adrian Warnock, Raised with Christ: How the Resurrection Changes Everything (Crossway, 2009), 71–72.

[2] Theodore B. Clark, Saved by His Life (Macmillan, 1959), 70. Quoted in Thomas S. Kepler, The Meaning and Mystery of the Resurrection (Association Press, 1963), 84.

[3] Michael Green in his preface to George Eldon Ladd, I Believe in the Resurrection of Jesus (Hodder and Stoughton, 1975), 5.

[4] John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Westminster, 1960), 1:521 (2.16.13).

[5] Martyn Lloyd Jones, The Assurance of Our Salvation (Crossway, 2000), 492.

[6] W. Ross Hastings, The Resurrection of Jesus Christ: Exploring Its Theological Significance and Ongoing Relevance (Baker Academic,2022), 25.

[7] Thomas F. Torrance, Space, Time and Resurrection (T&T Clark, 2019), 62.

[8] Charles Haddon Spurgeon, “The Power of His Resurrection,” April 21, 1889, The Spurgeon Center, https://www.spurgeon.org/.



Three Encouragements for the Storm-Tossed Christian

By / Mar 30

Storms are part of the natural weather of the Christian life. When black clouds gather, waves rise, the wind strengthens, and the light fades, our faith is tested on the stormy sea.

This may be you right now—slapped about in the middle of a storm.

Splashed, soaked, tossed, beaten, clinging with cold fingers to the boat while the violent turbulence makes us sick and our strength wanes.

When this is your experience, what can you do? How do you anchor your heart when the storm rages? How do you keep hold of hope so that you might find your way through?

It has brought me comfort to return again and again to the storm stories of the Bible. I encourage you to do the same and to keep your Bible open there for as long as this season lasts. In these passages, God gives us both comfort for our hearts and guidance for our endurance.

Comfort from the Storm Stories in the Gospels

In three of the Gospels, God inspired the record of storm stories through the Apostles (Matt. 8:23–27; 14:22–33; Mark 4:35–41; Luke 8:22–25). These accounts are a gift to us. They orient us in the raging waves and give language to our experience.

We read of an occasion when Jesus sent His disciples into a storm (Matt. 14:22–23). Sometimes storms are aroused by Satan (Job 1). Sometimes they are provoked by our sin (Jonah 1). But sometimes storms come because, in His wisdom, Jesus sends our boat straight into them.

We also discover that Jesus did not help His disciples immediately (Matt. 14:24–25; Luke 8:23). In fact, in the thrice-repeated storm stories, He was asleep. Yet at the end of every storm account, Jesus demonstrates His authority over the waves. He speaks, and they obey.

Lastly, Jesus reveals what His disciples lacked in the storm: faith. They needed greater trust in Him. Though Jesus sent them into the storm, His intent was not to destroy them. Though He slept through the storm, He was not indifferent to their struggle. Though He desired the strengthening of their faith, He did not condemn them for their fear.

Even knowing these truths, when the storm crashes over us, aren’t we just like the disciples—crying through wind and spray, “Jesus, wake up!” Or asking with trembling hearts, “Teacher, don’t you care?” (Mark 4:38).

Despite how absent God’s presence may feel in suffering, we know we have a God who never sleeps and is always with us (Ps. 121:4; Matt. 28:20). We cling to that truth—but how do we do so when we are disoriented and worn down?

Because these truths are easy to forget in the middle of suffering, God gives us practical ways to cling to them.

1. Keep Reading Your Bible

This may sound obvious, but those most battered by the storm often feel their faith fraying. When God seems distant, opening the Scriptures is itself an act of faith.

Even if your heart feels cold, your mind unfocused, or the words fall flat, open the Book. Turn the page the next morning. Read a paragraph before bed. Read the next psalm. God’s Word is “alive and powerful,” and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we have hope (Heb. 4:12; Rom. 15:4).

2. Keep Crying Out to God in Prayer

No, you may not be able to pray for all 18 of your neighbors this season—and that’s okay. Your prayers may feel broken, inarticulate, or reduced to tears.

Persevere in prayer, friend. Run to Jesus with your words and heart. Tell Him everything. Draw near (Jas. 4:8). Cry in faith. Call His name in the rain.

Pray the kind of prayers Scripture invites—honest, simple, without insecurity (Matt. 6:7; Ps. 62:8). And when you finish, thank God for this promise: that the Holy Spirit and Jesus Himself are interceding for you (Rom. 8:26–27, 34). You are not praying alone.

3. Keep Resting in Jesus’ Love for You

Remember the disciples’ question when Jesus slept in the storm: “Don’t you care?” (Mark 4:38). When relief does not come, when the body weakens under pressure, when the waves surge like an oncoming army and no “Peace, be still” is heard, another voice may whisper: God must not love you. He isn’t hearing you. How could He let this happen?

When that voice joins your suffering, look to the cross. And over the roar of the wind you can say, “That cross is proof enough to me that I am loved.”

Storms do not determine whether God loves us. “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8). “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us” (1 John 3:16).

Jesus—the one who first said “Peace, be still” to terrified disciples—allowed the storm of God’s wrath to fall fully upon Himself so that you would never face it. He did this so that even in your darkest days, you might know the love of God.

God loves you. He has proven it in the giving of His Son (John 3:16). Jesus loves you and has proven it in the giving of His life (1 John 3:16). And your Captain is committed to sailing with you until you reach the shores of heaven.

Find Strength in the Love of Christ

If you are storm-tossed right now, I hope this has given you a place to go in God’s Word—the storm stories. I hope you are encouraged to keep trusting the Lord by opening the Scriptures, crying out in prayer, and resting in the love he has for you.

As you do, may your heart grow strong in the confidence that nothing—not even the distress of your present suffering—can separate you from the love of Christ (Rom. 8:38–39).

 

 



Learning to Love a Broken Church

By / Mar 26

The Corinthian church has garnered a poor reputation over the centuries. And it is easy to see why in 1 and 2 Corinthians. There were issues of sexual immorality (1 Cor. 5), lawsuits among believers (6:1–11), misuse of the Lord’s Supper (11:17–34), false teachers (2 Cor. 11:1–15), confusion regarding spiritual gifts (1 Cor. 14:1–40), idolatry (8:1–13; 10:1–22), divisions (1:10–17; 3:1–23), and more. Truth be told, they are like many churches today. Every congregation struggles with some, if not all, of these same issues, but it is easier to look at the Corinthians and be shocked—or even disappointed—by their troubles.

For all the bad associated with this church, and for all the heartache they caused Paul, this was one of the most loved churches in the New Testament. Why?

The answer is simple: Paul never gave up on them. He continued to write, wrestle, confront, restore, and lead them toward obedience. As much personal pain as they caused him—slandering his name, denouncing his reputation, questioning his ministry, accusing him of wrongdoing (2 Cor. 10–12)—he didn’t quit. Rather, he poured out effort to instruct them in righteousness.

The Power of Christlike Love

Paul does not seem to regret this effort. At the end of 2 Corinthians, after a lengthy section defending himself, he writes these remarkable words: “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls” (12:15).

This is an emphatic statement. Paul’s desire for them is such that he will exhaust himself—depleting all his energy and strength—for the sake of their souls.

What motivates him? There are two inseparable answers. He offers himself this way because of the Lord and because of love. The Lord has called him to this ministry, so he will obey (Acts 18:9–10). Because of his love for Christ, he is filled with love for them (1 Cor. 1:4–9). He loves them like Christ loves us—like a father loves a prodigal child (Luke 15:11–24).

Paul’s love was not abstract—it was personal. He knew these people. These were the people God called him to reach. He spent a year and six months (Acts 18:11) with them because God came to him in a vision saying, “Do not be afraid, but go on speaking and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many in this city who are my people” (18:9–10). Paul had been rejected by the Jews and was determined to go to the Gentiles with the gospel (18:6). In the face of this rejection, the Corinthians emerge as the people God had destined to hear the gospel. Because they received that gospel, they were worth the pain and toil of correction as well as repeated visits (2 Cor. 12:14) and the multiple letters. God loves them, so Paul loves them.

This example shows the power of Christ’s love when it takes up residence in our hearts. We are enabled to sincerely love others even when they are messy, broken, sinful, and personally offensive. We love them here and now for who they are, not for who they might be. We hope they will grow in the Lord and we work toward that end, but we love them no matter what.

God Uses Imperfect Churches to Refine Us

Recently I read an encouraging article written by Bobby Jamieson in 2014 entitled Nobody Gets the Church They Want. Jamieson reminded readers that every church is broken and falls short of its goals. Every church is full of people still in the middle of their sanctification. Therefore, our relationships are challenging, our ministries are limited, and our holiness is a slow progression. Jamieson went on to say that perhaps God has us in these challenging situations for our own spiritual growth. Maybe God is teaching us patience, compassion, resolve, service, and kindness. Maybe God is refining our faith, teaching us to love like Christ—even teaching us to fight against our own pride. Too often we think we are in broken churches to make them better, but maybe God is using them to make us holy. Either way, God has us in imperfect churches because we are imperfect people, and these situations have a way of sanctifying both parties to be more like Christ.

So, what do we do when we find ourselves in difficult churches? Do we leave in search of a better church? That journey would never end. Do we wreak havoc and blow everything up, hoping the church will put itself back together better? That is both harmful and ungodly.

Instead, let me suggest that we live in the church with the same attitude Paul had toward the Corinthians: to gladly spend and be spent for their souls.

What if we had experienced the love of Christ with such potent force that we could learn to love even the most broken church? Surely Christ’s love enables us to sincerely love those who have different political views, have committed sexual immorality, caused divisions, struggle with drunkenness, mistreat the church, or are biblically illiterate and unrefined—to love the ones He loves. Surely Christ is giving us eyes to see the people of a local congregation as the ones for whom He died (1 Cor. 8:11). What if this radical kind of love was the key to showing off the glory, power, and beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ (John 13:34–35)?

Such love does not absolve accountability. It is because of love that Paul encouraged the Corinthians to practice church discipline (1 Cor. 5:1–13). He is not advocating that the church, in the name of love, put up with those who continue in unrepentant sin. Instead, he is saying that as long as they struggle and repent, we should bear with our brothers and sisters by spending ourselves for their well-being (Matt. 18:21–22).

It is easy to complain, get angry, give up, or believe things will be better somewhere else. It is easy to accuse, despise, and ignore those who are difficult to deal with. Paul could have given up on the Corinthians because they were exhausting. Christ could have given up on us because we are worse than exhausting! But Paul, and even more so our Lord Jesus, spent themselves for the good of God’s people.

When Leaving Is Necessary

Unfortunately, not every church is worth staying in. Some compromise the gospel. Some twist God’s Word. Some permit all sorts of ungodliness. Sometimes the best course of action is to leave a church, to shake the dust off your garments (Acts 18:6). That is what led Paul to preach to the Corinthians in the first place.

But if a congregation, though woefully imperfect and chaotically organized, still loves Jesus, guards the gospel, and reveres God’s Word, then there is more than enough reason to stay, spend, and be spent for the sake of Christ.



Building a Sermon with Biblical Theology

By / Mar 24

Unless the Lord tarries, this Sunday pulpits all over the globe will be filled with pastors preaching God’s Word to God’s people. The confidence in the exhortation of a sermon is not birthed in the preacher but in the inspired text he proclaims. This article seeks to advocate for the discipline of letting the Word speak by weaving biblical theology into Sunday sermons. Preaching that honors the whole canon empowers preachers to build sermons they can be confident in, edify the body with the whole Bible, and stand the test of time.

What is Biblical Theology?

Though definitions vary, biblical theology is the discipline of understanding how an author of Scripture has purposed a particular text to be understood in light of the whole Bible. More than simply seeking to understand the meaning of individual words, biblical theology pays attention to motifs, literary devices, and structure. One of the great benefits of a unified canon is that Scripture interprets Scripture, so if you’re paying close attention, the biblical authors may tell you how to interpret something being said or taking place.

With this being said, let’s look at an example from Luke’s Gospel, focusing on how biblical theology might impact a sermon you would preach on Sunday.

An Example from Luke the Physician

“Jesus Feeds the Five Thousand,” “Peter Confesses Jesus as the Christ,” and “Take Up Your Cross and Follow Jesus” may be three distinct sermon titles—after all, they are the ESV’s subheadings in Luke 9. Certainly, it is not wrong to preach these texts independently. However, Luke has woven these episodes together so that the disciples might gain a clearer picture of who Jesus is and what it means to be His disciple.

Jesus Feeds the Five Thousand

In Luke 9:10–17 Jesus feeds the multitudes in a “desolate place.” Paying attention to language here, Luke uses the Greek noun for “wilderness” to describe the setting. Elsewhere in Luke, John the Baptist is said to be in the “wilderness” until his public appearance (1:80). Luke 4:1 then also records that Jesus was led by the Spirit into the “wilderness.”

Thus, in the context of the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus is located in a “wilderness” setting and performs a miracle by feeding the multitudes. This invites a question: Where else have we seen the multitudes fed in the wilderness? Exodus 16 recounts Israel’s hunger and God’s provision of bread from heaven. Luke uses the wilderness setting and Jesus’ miraculous feeding to highlight Jesus’ divine power to provide for the multitudes—just as God did in Exodus 16.

Peter Confesses Jesus as the Christ

The narrative seems to jump to the next pericope in Luke 9:18–22. Jesus is alone praying. Upon returning, Jesus asks his disciples, “But who do you say that I am?” This question marks the crescendo of a theme that has been building in Luke’s Gospel: Who is Jesus? This question appears repeatedly (Luke 4:36; 5:21; 7:20; 7:49; 8:25; 9:9).

Peter, as the spokesman, answers, “The Christ of God.” Immediately after this confession, Jesus refers to Himself as “the Son of Man,” calling to mind Daniel 7:13–14, where the Son of Man receives an everlasting kingdom and dominion. While Peter may understand Jesus has been sent from God to deliver His people, Jesus clarifies that it will not come as he expects. Jesus capitalizes on the Son of Man motif to explain that He must suffer, be rejected, be killed, and be raised. Jesus’s teaching slowly straightens out Peter and the disciples’ understanding of who He is.

Take Up Your Cross and Follow Jesus

In the final episode, Jesus does not allow His disciples to stand on the sidelines and watch, but they too must take part in Jesus’ path of suffering. Luke strategically knits together the previous passages to arrive at this moment, revealing both the magnitude of who Jesus is and the cost of discipleship.

Who is Jesus? He is not simply like Moses, who witnessed bread coming down from heaven in Exodus 16. Jesus is the Bread who has come down from heaven (John 6). He is not like Elisha, who relied on God to feed a hundred men (2 Kgs. 4:43–44). Jesus is the divine Son of God who Himself works miracles. He is not like the other kings of the world. He is the King who establishes His rule and reign by dying for the sinners and rising again to life.

In Luke 9:23–27, the disciples must recognize that there is none like Jesus. To follow Him is to cast off the present evil age and to long for His kingdom, “when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.”

Recovering Biblical Theology in the Pulpit

Careful attention to how Luke has composed these episodes reveals his intended meaning: to display the greatness of Jesus and to clarify what it means to be His disciple. Rightly bringing themes, motifs, and literary devices into the pulpit exposes God’s people to the grandeur of the whole canon, strengthens assurance in the unified story of redemption, and grounds the preacher in what is truly present in the text.

Pastors, we do not have to reinvent the text, be abstract, or function as content creators. We must be miners—excavating the text, its themes, constructions, placement, wording, and literary devices—so that when Sunday comes, we enter the pulpit confident not in ourselves, but in the unfolding wisdom of God revealed in His Word. Biblical theology helps us do just that.



When Passion Outpaces Prudence

By / Mar 23

I spent a decade in youth ministry, and it came with some of the greatest joys of my life. Few things are richer than walking alongside parents to see their teenager come alive in Christ. There were light bulb moments I was able to witness during fun overnight trips—all on very little money and sleep. Helping teenagers follow Jesus is a roller coaster, though. They have these big dreams, desires, and feelings with a very underdeveloped prefrontal cortex, which causes what the Bible might describe as foolishness. It was endearing, though.

The Danger of Passion Without Prudence

Church life cycles are akin to the development of a child. There is an infant stage, and then they hit a teenager stage where they have big vision but very little brain development to support it. Churches want to have great worship gatherings, build a kids ministry, do mercy ministry, and reach the lost—and it’s beautiful. I have served on staff at a church like this. Yet they don’t have the wisdom to accomplish what they actually want to accomplish. Their passion has exceeded their prudence.

And what are the consequences of this?

  • We overpromise and underdeliver, and our people learn not to count on us.
  • We spend money we don’t have because we haven’t built financial systems to keep track of our resources.
  • We have staff who micromanage everything because delegation is inefficient.
  • We lose great staff members because they are tired of leading through dopamine rushes.
  • We lose members because they begin to see that Sunday mornings aren’t enough.

How many of our church plants or replants are in buildings with stories related to poor leadership decisions or financial negligence?

The early church had this same problem. Luke says, “Now in these days when the disciples were increasing in number, a complaint by the Hellenists arose against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution” (Acts 6:1).

What happened? The church was growing, but needs were being neglected. Jethro’s charge to Moses was similar: “Moses’ father-in-law said to him, ‘What you are doing is not good. You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you. You are not able to do it alone.… So it will be easier for you, and they will bear the burden with you. If you do this, God will direct you, you will be able to endure, and all this people also will go to their place in peace’” (Exod. 18:17–18, 22–23).

Passion and white-knuckling our way through ministry can be fun, but it is often not wise. Like the church in early Acts and Moses coming out of Egypt, we often do what we think is best in our own eyes, not what is best for the whole.

A Prudent Way Forward

So how can churches be more prudent?

1. Adopt Plurality

Wisdom often comes in a multitude of counselors. I am not arguing for a particular model of elders, deacons, or committees—I would just urge you toward bringing multiple people to the table of decisions who are marked by wisdom. Who are the people in your congregation that others go to for advice? Find them, buy them coffee, and ask for wisdom.

2. Audit Procedures

Take an examination of how you do things. Review your bylaws and personnel procedures to ensure you are practicing in accordance with them and with governing laws. How does your church make decisions? Does it welcome wisdom? Is it ethical? Write down the last 10 decisions your church has had to make and review how you could have used wisdom better and sought more input—input that generates more trust.

3. Slow Down

Passion often wants to go fast. Fast is fun. Yet, what is more inspiring: a teenage date to the movies, or a 75-year anniversary date at 4:00 p.m. at Cracker Barrel? In our zeal to reach people, we often go so fast that we miss what truly matters—and in particular, we miss people. Going slow in your processes and decision-making over the long haul is likely the most efficient and effective way to go about it. You will have fewer mistakes to clean up, fewer follow-up meetings, and less guilt about who you’ve hurt. So in your next big decision, ask: What if we prayed, sought wisdom, and considered this over the next three months?

4. Seek Help

My best volunteers in youth ministry were the ones who were burdened to help students avoid the same folly they had gone after. These youth workers would step into students’ lives and say, “Hey, I’ve been there—it doesn’t work out the way you think it will.” There are pastors and churches that have traveled the road ahead of you who can say the same thing. Find a local pastor in your region and ask, “Can I pick your brain about some of the things going on in my church?” They often say yes.

The greatest fruit of youth ministry was seeing your students grow older. They go to college, get jobs, get married, have a family, and create beautiful things. It wasn’t because their passion died—it’s because they learned wisdom. Like teenagers, our passion for God’s glory shouldn’t die—we just need to aim that zeal through the conduit of prudence. If our churches do this, we do more than pop up for a few years; we establish a faithful presence that lasts decades.



Before You Pick a House, Pick a Church

By / Mar 19

I recently had to make a decision—a decision I haven’t had to make in over ten years.

Where would my family and I go to church?

For about a decade, I served on church staff, so this decision was simply part of the job—a choice made through an interview process. When you work vocationally at a church, you don’t wake up on Sundays wondering which faith family you’ll join for worship that morning.

In the last year, I transitioned from local church vocational ministry to state convention ministry. My current role serves churches all over the state, so as long as we attend a Southern Baptist church within a reasonable distance of the convention office, we could live and attend church anywhere we wanted. Suddenly, we were faced with finding a new physical home for our family and a new spiritual home—a new faith family.

Options for housing were endless and included multiple considerations: availability, price, safety of the neighborhood, school district, distance to work, shopping, grocery stores, restaurants, number of bedrooms and bathrooms, garage, yard size—the list could go on and on. Buying a house can be overwhelming. One way to simplify the process is by choosing your church before choosing your address.

This might sound unusual, but for many believers, the decision is made in reverse: you pick a house first, then hope there’s a good church nearby. Some other criteria are used to choose a neighborhood, and then you hope you stumble onto the right faith community afterward.

Instead of asking, “Where will I live?” we should ask, “Who will be my community?” Believers are given a community in the spiritual brothers and sisters found in their local church. To be connected to that community in a healthy way, it needs to be local.

Having folks over for a meal, hosting a small group in your living room, leading a Bible study around your kitchen table, or responding quickly to a crisis is much harder when your commute to church is longer than your commute to work or school. The community—this family—that God graciously gives us in the local church is for our formation. Along with His Word and Spirit, His people are the elements that shape us into the image of His Son.

If this community plays a major role in our formation into Christlikeness, choosing where we go to church is of utmost importance. It’s a choice that can guide where we buy a house, which college to attend, or when to take a new job.

Followers of Jesus were never meant to follow alone. Discipleship does not happen in isolation. The depth of connection in your community is directly linked to your proximity to them. Before you pick a house, pick a church.



Carried Through Cancer: The God Who Bears Up Daily

By / Mar 17

Counting the Days Ahead

I tried to calculate what lay ahead.

One emergency surgery. One tumor removed, along with part of my colon. An ileostomy bag. Six months of chemotherapy. An ileostomy reversal. Five weeks of recovery. Another month and a half of radiation. When I added it all together, the result came to nearly three-fourths of 2025.

I ran those numbers one night while trying to fall asleep. Instead of resting, I drifted into worry. My mind raced ahead, tallying the burdens those nearly 275 days might carry—every procedure, each side effect, all the needles. I was attempting to shoulder tomorrow’s troubles all at once. Eventually, I remembered to pray, and the Lord graciously brought to mind verses I have often shared with others in seasons of suffering: “Blessed be the Lord who daily bears us up. God is our salvation. Our God is a God of salvation, and to God, the Lord, belong deliverances from death.” (Ps. 68:19–20)

Grace for One Day at a Time

The Lord daily bears us up—day by day, one day at a time.

Jesus said it this way: “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matt. 6:34). Each day’s shelves are stocked with plenty of burdens, Jesus says. No wonder I couldn’t sleep.

Through Psalm 68:19, Jesus has ministered to me with a precious truth, “Leave tomorrow’s burdens there; I will bear you up under them tomorrow. Leave every procedure, each side effect, and all those needles right where they are, on their own appointed days. I will bear you up when we get to them. I bear you up under your real burdens when they show up in real time, no matter what or how many they are.”

“But Jesus,” I argue, “there are so many real burdens coming my way. Will Your bearing match my burdens?”

In Hebrew, the first line of Psalm 68:20 literally reads, “Our God is a God of salvations.” Salvations, plural. Our God has an endless supply of salvations. The next line says it another way: “To God, the Lord, belong deliverances from death.” While there are many ways to die, both literally and figuratively, our God has many more ways of escape. He has stocked His shelves with an endless supply of rescues from daily deaths.

That’s how Jesus can bear us up daily. The storehouses of His heart are fuller of salvations and deliverances than our days are filled with troubles and deaths. Jesus said it this way to the suffering apostle Paul: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).

It’s enough. Whatever this day’s burden, thorn, loss, or pain, the strong grace of the resurrected Jesus is enough. And as the weeping prophet Jeremiah experienced, “His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning” (Lam. 3:22–23). Your troubles can never drain Jesus dry. His supply of mercy and grace is fresh every morning and sufficient for every day.

Proof of His Burden-Bearing

So how can I know that Jesus is qualified to bear me up daily? The proof of His promise is found both in His character and in the burden He has already carried.

Psalm 68 crescendos with praise for the character of this burden-bearing God: “Awesome is God from his sanctuary; the God of Israel—he is the one who gives power and strength to his people. Blessed be God!” (Ps. 68:35). The Apostle Paul later quotes verse 18 and reveals that Psalm 68 ultimately points to Jesus (see Eph. 4:8). Jesus is the conquering King who has defeated Satan, sin, and death and now reigns in power with His Father by His Spirit. Our Jesus is the one who “gives power and strength to His people” to bear them up day by day.

Our hope in each day’s suffering is this: Jesus already carried our heaviest burdens, so He is uniquely qualified to bear us up under our comparatively “light and momentary afflictions” today (2 Cor. 4:17).

Jesus was grieved, stricken, smitten, afflicted, pierced, crushed, chastised, and wounded—all to bear us up under our greatest burden: the soul-crushing weight of guilt and the penalty of the never-ending death our sin deserves (Isa. 53:4–5). On the cross, Jesus bore the heaviest burden, the sharpest thorn, and the most excruciating relational loss there is to bear. His blood-stained cross and empty tomb are the proof we need to trust that He has already taken our greatest burden upon Himself.

If Jesus already bore our biggest burden, how will He not also be with us to bear us up under every smaller burden we will ever carry (see Rom. 8:31–32)? In his final sermon, Charles Spurgeon put it this way: “The heaviest end of the cross is ever on His shoulders. If He bids us carry a burden, He carries it also.”

Day by Day with Jesus

My heart’s desire is to turn each page of my appointed cancer calendar one day at a time—one procedure, side effect, and needle at a time—and to lean on Jesus as He bears me up under each one. “Day by day with Jesus” has become my prayer.

What can you do today when tomorrow’s worries weigh heavy on your heart? I have found the following practices helpful:

  • Bless Jesus for being your burden-bearing God. That is what Psalm 68:19 calls us to do. Praying this prayer has sustained me: “Jesus, thank You for freeing me from my biggest burden by bearing the guilt of my sin on the cross. I trust that You will bear me up under every smaller burden I carry.”
  • Ask Jesus to bear you up today: “Jesus, please bear me up through today’s pains, procedures, or problems.”
  • Reach out to your community of burden-bearers. Be willing to be weak and ask for help and prayer. God’s people will answer His call to “bear one another’s burdens” (Gal. 6:2). Their practical love will be an in-the-flesh reminder of the tender, strong, daily love of Jesus.

Day by day with Jesus—this is how the One who cares for us promises to carry us.



Women’s Ministry: Healing the Ways Women Hurt Each Other

By / Mar 12

The Power and Pitfalls of Women’s Groups

There’s something about groups of women that can be incredibly empowering, but on the other side, deeply destructive. I’ve experienced both. Some groups are healthy and life-giving; others are toxic and draining. And for women, I think this issue begins young. The stereotype of the “mean girl” didn’t appear out of nowhere—cultural pressures and psychological factors shape how girls, and later women, relate to one another. Exploring all of that would take a collaborative effort far bigger than one woman can unpack alone.

What I do know is this: women can be unbelievably nurturing, but we can also be competitive, insecure, and judgmental. Women’s church groups aren’t magically exempt from that—we’re human, after all. Being Christians doesn’t erase the cultural patterns that shaped us; it simply exposes how deeply those patterns run. So here’s the real question: can we step outside what has formed us culturally and intentionally step into what Christ offers? Not by “trying harder” or checking off a spiritual to-do list, but by living from a new identity, not just performing new behaviors.

I’ve spent time in many different groups—some filled with mean girls, others genuinely loving. Even in the loving ones, judgment can be silent, but still present. How can we be truly loving and not unhealthy? Like many things I read, I ask: what does that actually look like in real life? Strangely, my first exploration of this didn’t come from a Christian book or Bible study, but from a very secular context. Maybe that’s not surprising—God undergirds the systems of life and extends common grace to all people.

This thought process began when we lived abroad. My husband speaks and teaches German, so experiencing different cultures became normal for us—beautiful at times, hard at times, always stretching. Here’s what I noticed: When I spent time with people from different cultures and languages, I felt more comfortable. Even if I was quiet or reserved, I didn’t feel the judgment I might normally feel in my circles at home. I chalked it up to the lack of cultural standards—there was nothing to compare against. We met each other purely as people. All the unspoken rules, silent hierarchies, and subtle judgments dissolved. Even if judgment existed, it didn’t land. I couldn’t take it seriously because there was no standard by which to measure me.

Years later, I began to see these experiences through a biblical lens. As people poured the gospel into me through action, I wrestled with a practical question: where can we help women? Can we take our God-given capacity to nurture and actually extend it to one another, instead of tearing each other down?

The Paradox of Community and Distinctiveness

I’ve heard it repeatedly: women should build each other up; we should be each other’s biggest cheerleaders. And while I agree, I often ask, how? What does that actually look like? We say it, but nothing seems to change. We claim to build each other up, yet behind the scenes, we still tear each other down, creating the illusion of growth without real transformation. Outward behavior may shift, but the underlying instinct is muffled, not transformed.

God created us for community, to feel loved, seen, and valued. He has written that longing on our hearts. Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 says, “Two are better than one … if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.” Yet in our human way, we mismanage this longing. One common misstep is believing that acceptance requires us to emulate the people in the group we want to belong to. That inevitably leads to comparison—and we all know what comparison does: it steals joy and fosters unhealthy competition. 2 Corinthians 10:12 warns, “Not that we dare to classify or compare ourselves with some of those who are commending themselves. But when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding.”

On the other hand, if we refuse comparison entirely and focus only on celebrating our differences, we risk isolation. To emphasize uniqueness, we must set ourselves apart, becoming “different, but alone.” Scripture warns against this as well: God created us for community, not solitude (Gen. 2:18).

Here lies the paradox: we’re called to live in community, yet we’re built to be different from each other. In such paradoxes, I find Jesus waiting, ready to reveal purpose. The gospel reconciles what seems irreconcilable. So how does this look in women’s ministry? How can we be part of a community while recognizing our differences?

Transformation Through Christ

The solution is not outward conformity but inward transformation. We must surrender the part of us that strives to emulate and invite Christ to take up residence within. Only then can we live in community freely, celebrating differences not as threats or trophies, but as reflections of the life He pours into each of us. Galatians 2:20 says it well: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”

My cultural experience abroad mirrored this truth in a small way. We were living life, but it was as if all the unspoken rules, silent hierarchies, and subtle judgments had dissolved. When I realize Christ lives in me, there is nothing left to judge. Every talent, every skill, every insight is given by Him. How, then, could I compare myself or judge others? United in Christ, it becomes clearer how to love one another. Even between believers and unbelievers, we are all image-bearers of God.

As women, we can come together in our differences and participate in community if our inward life reflects Christ—not just in actions, but in identity. The gospel shapes who we are. Are we boasting in gifts and talents that foster comparison, or in who Christ is in us, allowing Him to shape our true identity?

My experience of different cultures coming together, where judgment seemed to dissolve, felt like a signpost from God. But this glimpse is incomplete without the full gospel. Cultural differences may remove some standards we use to judge one another and temporarily reduce comparison, but the gospel goes deeper. Through Christ’s blood, we are united in an eternal bond, empowered not only to live without judgment but to love one another with His love. As Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35).

There’s a larger cultural shift to be explored, and I pray for the days of the “mean girl” to be behind us. Yet even in the brokenness of this world, we can trust a God who reveals His sufficiency.



The Compassion of a Shepherd

By / Mar 10

When is your compassion tested most in ministry? Recently, after a long and somewhat discouraging Sunday, I was finally sitting on the couch ready to relax. Then my cellphone rang. It was one of my church members—a kind lady, usually encouraging and full of positive words. But we’ve all had “those days.”

“Those” are the days in which our compassion is tested the most. Those are the days we realize just how different we are from the Chief Shepherd. I trust you have had a day like mine. I trust you have had a reaction like mine. We might summarize it this way: I was not compassionate toward my member. As I continued preaching through the gospel of Matthew, I learned a few lessons on compassion from the Chief Shepherd.

Compassion with the Masses

Jesus had hard days of ministry. With the crowds, we see just how different and sinless our Lord is. He models the perfect compassion of a shepherd. Matthew 9:36 says, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (emphasis added).

Jesus had compassion on them, and yet I have no doubt this crowd had a lot of baggage. Many came to Him not knowing who He was. I venture to guess that the majority of this crowd did not have their theological ducks in a row. They probably asked Jesus, from time to time, to cut the Sermon on the Mount down by a few minutes.

Yet Jesus had compassion on them. He didn’t deride them. He wasn’t frustrated by them. Pastors, we would do well to learn from Jesus’ example with the crowds. He had compassion on the masses during the hard days—despite their peculiarities—and desired to shepherd them.

Compassion After a Long Day

If anyone knew about long, taxing days of ministry, it was Jesus. In Matthew 14, after hearing of John the Baptist’s death, Jesus withdrew from Nazareth to a desolate place. Matthew 14:13–14 says: “Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a desolate place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick” (Emphasis added).

Jesus wanted a moment to retreat and pray—to rest and commune with His Father. But the crowds didn’t take the hint. And yet, when He saw them, He had compassion and healed their sick.

Here I see my own shortcoming. After all of the Lord’s Day events, I am tired. Yet even on my busiest Sundays, I haven’t experienced half of what Jesus did. That phone call I received doesn’t compare to a massive crowd following Him to a place of retreat. I didn’t have compassion on my church member that day. But Jesus has compassion upon compassion. Our own compassion after long days of ministry can learn much from His example. When we want to quit or when our patience runs thin, we should look to the Chief Shepherd.

Compassion for the Embodied

We are tired, weak, and worn out after long days of ministry. We pastors feel the weight of being embodied souls in time, space, and fallen bodies. But we often forget that we share this reality with our people.

Jesus had compassion on the crowds in Matthew 15:22 for this very reason: “Then Jesus called his disciples to him and said, ‘I have compassion on the crowd because they have been with me now three days and have nothing to eat. And I am unwilling to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way’” (Emphasis added).

Jesus tells the disciples that He has compassion because they are hungry—it’s been three days! Our typical Sunday morning may only be a few hours, yet even our harshest critics would have to admit the crowds’ needs were far greater. Our people are tired, hungry, and ready to rest. We should not forget that we are tired come Sunday afternoon, and so are they. The sheep get tired and may act grumpy. We can bear with them patiently, remembering that our embodied souls need care just as theirs do.

The Good, Compassionate Shepherd

Brothers, we are not as compassionate as our Lord. If our people’s righteousness depended on our perfect compassion, we would all be in trouble. But we have the gospel of Christ’s righteousness.

We have a perfectly compassionate Lord. The Good Shepherd teaches under-shepherds how to care for wounded sheep, stubborn sheep, needy sheep, and wandering sheep. May He help us to be so compassionate.



The Christian Hope in Mourning

By / Mar 5

During the Covid-19 pandemic, the practice of delaying funerals became routine. Often postponed out of necessity, delayed funerals complicated the mourning process and created difficult conversations resurfacing months later. Indeed, by mid-2021, articles began appearing in major publications contemplating the awkwardness and grief attending the phenomenon of delayed funerals. A palpable sense was afoot that something deep and meaningful had been lost.

Yet in the wake of Covid, many pastors have anecdotally noticed an increase in the practice of deferring the funeral altogether. Some attribute this trend to factors such as the rise of cremation, while others point to cultural shifts that downplay social connection and acknowledge that the “beliefs and values of the organizers” often do not align with the ethos of traditional funeral services.

From the other side of the pulpit, I can relate. It is not uncommon for me to perform a Christian funeral that would have made sense to the deceased, but which feels quite alien to many of those in attendance. We can expect this dynamic in a quickly secularizing culture, but it remains true that many who find themselves in charge of a loved one’s arrangements attempt to discharge that duty as theological outsiders. The talk of eternity is unfamiliar. And as for the talk of the exclusivity of Christ, which is subject to contemplation in Bible-believing churches, well, that’s just a bridge too far.

In the midst of all this, committed Christians need to reckon with the reality that, because our churches have long neglected a theology of mourning, we find ourselves prone to rather utilitarian and therapeutic approaches to the funeral. We shirk language of loss in favor of “celebrations of life.” We tend toward eulogies that rely heavily on funny stories and anecdotes and rarely ponder the eternal. These factors, both within the church and without, have conspired to create an environment in which funerals are renamed, recast, or altogether relegated to the past: a vaguely understood tradition that may no longer serve our enlightened needs or dignify our postmodern sensibilities.

These realities communicate to the Christian conscience something more salient than mere statistical patterns or offended sensibilities. In fact, when the formal funeral is neglected, something deeply Christian is obscured. We are, after all, a people with a message of hope beyond the grave. Moreover, we are those encouraged to grieve temporary losses in service to reminding our fickle hearts of the comfort only eternity in Christ brings.

Jesus rather confounds us when He claimed, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matt. 5:4).

Yet I submit that this ethic could be said to comprise a vast portion of the Christian worldview. The Cross and the empty tomb make present mourning and pain bearable. In view of Christ’s victory over death, we of all people should be able to understand a funeral. It is where we go to remember that this world could never deliver on its promises in the first place. It is where we go to make sense of Jesus’ Beatitude of mourning, knowing that those who have thrown out all hope of lasting comfort in this life will be eternally comforted in Jesus in the next.

And lest we think Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount was the only place this theme surfaces, we are reminded of the reflections of Solomon in Ecclesiastes: “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad” (Ecc. 7:2–3).

That’s right: it is better to go to a funeral than to a party. And for Christians seeking to calibrate their consciences aright, we can also say that it is better to have a funeral that mourns than a funeral that ignores life-giving eternal truth.

We live in a culture that seeks to push thoughts of death to the periphery of our consciousness. Whether this is done in service to limiting “negative emotions,” “living one’s best life,” or some other therapeutic justification, the Creator of the universe has built us to utilize mourning for our spiritual good.

Christians: let’s keep the funeral alive. It is not only the occasion during which we can prompt our unbelieving or nominally Christian neighbors to consider again the end toward which we are all walking, but it is also a visceral reminder to our own souls that we will not live forever. A funeral is a sanctifying rehearsal of our own future: one that calls us deeper to Christ and asks us to contemplate what portion of our present way of living will be judged as eternally significant by the only One whose evaluation really matters.