From an early age, many of us were taught, “Don’t talk about politics or religion.” Yet followers of Jesus don’t have that luxury. Scripture speaks into our political moment—not with partisan talking points, but with a radically different way of being human.

From an early age, many of us were taught, “Don’t talk about politics or religion.” Yet followers of Jesus don’t have that luxury. Scripture speaks into our political moment—not with partisan talking points, but with a radically different way of being human.

We were made for an enchanted existence. Most of us don’t feel that way. Our days often feel flat and gray—commutes, deadlines, screens, repeat. Even if we believe in God, we can live as though the only things that are “real” are what we can touch, measure, or buy. The Bible calls this kind of life a suppression of the truth (Romans 1:18–25): God’s beauty and power are clearly seen in what He has made, but we train ourselves not to notice.

In a world of locked doors and “text before you come,” many of us are starving for something we barely remember how to do: real, face‑to‑face community.

In a world that’s more connected than ever and yet lonelier than ever, many of us feel like that isolated rat in a cage; surrounded by options, yet starving for real connection and freedom.

I love Christmas. The movies, the lights, the food, the time with friends and family—it all feels so warm and bright. But for many, this season is also heavy. Christmas has a way of exposing loss, disappointment, and the ache of “what used to be.”

As the cliché accurately says, “There are only infants in prayer.” This post is written much less as a “how to” from the perspective of an expert, and much more as a few observations from a fellow sojourner on a common spiritual journey. This isn’t something I’ve mastered, but something I’m currently delving into. My aim is simply to get some thoughts out for my own growth; and maybe they’ll be helpful for you as well.

Alan Jacobs coined the phrase “omnivorous attentiveness” when referring to the life and imagination of C.S. Lewis. What he means is being attentive to everything; mainly to God, and to His beauty in creation.

In a world that often overwhelms us with temporary solutions to deep-seated problems, the story of Jesus' resurrection emerges as a beacon of enduring hope. Rooted in the Gospel of John, this narrative invites us to consider a profound truth: if Jesus truly rose from the dead, then all our concerns and struggles can eventually be transformed.

In our fast-paced, achievement-driven society, we often grapple with the existential question: What is the point of life? For many, purpose is sought in wealth, relationships, or personal success. Yet, as Jesus teaches in John 15, the true aim is fruitfulness. But what does it mean to lead a fruitful life, and how can we cultivate it?

In a world increasingly dominated by radical individualism, anxiety, and consumerism, finding a sense of peace and purpose can feel like navigating a storm. Reflecting on Jesus' teachings from John 14 and 15, there's a clear invitation to embrace something deeper and more fulfilling: the life-giving presence of the Holy Spirit.

Two thousand years ago, one of history's most polarizing moments unfolded in a small town outside Jerusalem. Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead, and suddenly, no one could ignore Him anymore. He wasn't just another teacher with interesting ideas—He had demonstrated power over death itself. Everyone had to decide: Who is this man, and how will I respond?

Is there a way to blend the mystic and the missiologist? To be both poet and pragmatist? Philosopher and philanthropist? Can I read Tolkien and James Clear? Maybe this is just a personal longing, but it might also be the path forward for the modern pastor.

How do we deal with our weaknesses? As someone who has a speech impediment that I’ve tried to hide for most of my life, I’ve wrestled with this question more than most. In this article, I hope to shed some light on this from the story of Jesus’ healing of the blind man from John 9.

In a world quick to judge and condemn, we find a powerful narrative that challenges our perceptions and invites us to embrace a radical form of love. The story of the woman caught in adultery, found in John 8, provides a profound lesson on compassion, forgiveness, and the true nature of Jesus' mission.

In a world constantly chasing after the next big thrill, we often find ourselves caught between two extremes - empty religion on one side and mediocre hedonism on the other. But what if there's something more potent, more pleasurable, and more fulfilling than either of these? What if the joy we're all searching for isn't found in rigid rules or fleeting pleasures, but in a Person?

The end of a year always invites reflection. For some, it brings gratitude. For others, disappointment. For many, a strange mix of exhaustion and hope.

Years ago, I wrote about closing a year with intention. Since then, life has changed. I’m married. We have kids. We planted a church. I’ve learned (often the hard way) that fruitfulness isn’t about hype, grit, or trying harder. It’s about clarity, alignment, and faithful rhythms.

So here’s how I now close a year and step into the next with a clear heart and a steady pace.

Until 2018, I averaged about one book a month and felt pretty good about it, until I learned that Jefferson Bethke reads ten times that, around 120 books a year. Later, I found out Mark Batterson reads 250. That moment shifted my whole mindset. I’m still far from either of them, but I’ve settled into a rhythm of reading about a book a week.

Maybe this is that paradigm-shifting moment for you. Reading is one of the most impactful investments we can make. If so, here are some of my favorites from this year (in no particular order).

In this message, we're invited to confront the hidden parts of ourselves that we often try to conceal. Through the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, we see how our attempts to hide can shrivel both our inner and outer worlds. But there's hope! Jesus intentionally seeks us out in these hidden places, offering true healing and transformation. The living water He provides is far more satisfying than any worldly well we might run to. This reminds us that real joy isn't found in external circumstances, but in an intimate relationship with God. As we reflect on our own lives, where might we be hiding? What wells are we drawing from that leave us ultimately unsatisfied? Today, we're challenged to bring our hidden places into the light and experience the fullness of joy that comes from Christ alone.

This article invites us to rethink the meaning of weakness through the lens of 2 Corinthians 12. Drawing on the apostle Paul’s reflection on his “thorn in the flesh,” it reveals how our vulnerabilities can become channels for God’s power and grace. Rather than viewing weakness as limitation, we’re encouraged to see it as an opportunity for divine strength to be made perfect in us. Through humility and dependence on God, our struggles gain purpose, shaping us into deeper reflections of Christ’s power and love. This message challenges us to embrace our weaknesses with faith, trusting that God’s grace is always sufficient and that even our greatest struggles can bring Him glory.

This is my first time planting a church, so I’m no expert. But I’ve been reflecting on what’s surprised me—lessons I didn’t hear often from the usual church-planting conversations. These aren’t exhaustive, and they’re shaped by one context: a city center in a progressive, post-Christian environment. Still, I hope they’re useful if you’re thinking about planting in a similar place.