Wow. That wasn’t the election night a lot of people were expecting.

This morning, Americans are waking up to a changing political landscape. Some are celebrating. Others are disappointed, perhaps even shocked.

Those feelings are real. Elections matter. Leadership matters. But before we become overwhelmed by what happened yesterday, I want to remind you of something.

Jesus Christ is still King.

Growing up in Michigan, we played a game called King of the Hill. During winter, snowplows would create enormous mountains of snow, and we’d scramble to the top while trying to knock everyone else down.

I’m pretty sure that game would violate about seventeen school safety policies today. Back then, we called it recess.

But here’s what I remember. Nobody stayed on top forever. Eventually, somebody knocked you down.

History tells the same story.

I’ve been preaching through the book of Daniel, and chapter 8 describes a remarkable vision of kingdoms rising and falling. A ram represents the Medo-Persian Empire. A powerful goat represents Greece, led by Alexander the Great. Alexander conquered much of the known world in roughly a decade, but at just 32 years old, he died.

His empire was divided, and other rulers rose, including Antiochus Epiphanes, who brutally persecuted the Jewish people. Eventually, he died too.

Persia rises. Greece rises. Alexander rises. Antiochus rises. And every one of them falls.

The pattern never stops. Julius Caesar and Napoleon once held extraordinary power. Lenin, Stalin, Mao, and Hitler were names that caused people to tremble with fear. Now they're just names in a history book.

But here’s the thing. Trusting God’s sovereignty doesn’t mean we stop caring about what happens in our country.

Daniel certainly didn’t. After seeing the suffering coming upon his people, he was overcome and lay sick for days.

Think about that. Nothing in that vision caught heaven by surprise. And yet Daniel was physically sickened by what he saw.

He grieved.

Sometimes Christians confuse trusting God’s sovereignty with not caring. But faith isn’t indifference.

And sometimes, when I look at our nation, I’m deeply grieved. Perhaps you’re feeling some of that this morning.

Daniel reminds us we don’t have to pretend everything is fine just because we believe God is in control. We can trust God’s purposes and still grieve over what happens in our world.

There’s one more detail in Daniel 8 that I find especially encouraging this morning:

“And I, Daniel, was overcome and lay sick for some days. Then I rose and did the king’s business, and I was appalled by the vision and did not understand it.” (Daniel 8:27, ESV)

Notice that last part. Daniel didn’t understand it. He didn’t have it all figured out. He was still troubled. But he got up and went back to work anyway.

And consider whose business it was. The king Daniel served was Belshazzar, a pagan ruler whose kingdom was about to fall! Daniel served faithfully under an earthly king while trusting the everlasting King.

That’s a pretty good model for the morning after an election.

Whatever happened yesterday, your calling today remains unchanged. You still have a family to love, a church to serve, neighbors to help, and a gospel to share. You’re still called to pray for those in authority, including those you didn’t vote for, to seek the good of your community, and to speak the truth.

We can be involved without being consumed. Concerned without being terrified. Disappointed without being defeated.

The King Who Never Falls

One chapter earlier, Daniel saw the Ancient of Days seated on His throne and “one like a son of man” receiving an everlasting kingdom. Daniel 7:14 says:

“His dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom one that shall not be destroyed.”

Christians recognize this Son of Man as Jesus Christ.

Jesus didn’t come to conquer with an army. He came to save sinners by giving His life. The rulers of His day thought they’d defeated Him when they nailed Him to a cross. But three days later, Jesus walked out of the tomb.

Philippians 2 tells us that God highly exalted Him and gave Him the name above every name. One day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. Every president, dictator, and king who has ever lived will acknowledge His authority.

So whatever you’re feeling about yesterday’s election, pray for our country. Pray for our leaders. Stay engaged. Speak the truth. Love your neighbor. And keep doing the work God has called you to do.

Because the most important throne in the universe wasn’t on the ballot yesterday.

And the One seated upon it isn’t going anywhere.

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Most people think of Nehemiah as the book about rebuilding a wall. And it is. Stones, gates, mortar, a 52-day construction project around Jerusalem.

But the more time I spent in Nehemiah, the more convinced I became that the wall isn't really the point. The wall is the setting. The real story is God rebuilding His people.

Think about it. The walls were broken because something had broken between God and His people long before the Babylonians ever showed up. Fixing the stones without fixing the hearts would have just been a nicer-looking ruin. So while the people are hauling rubble, God is doing a deeper work. He's restoring their faith, their families, their sense of who they are, and their relationship with Him.

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That's why I think this book speaks to us so clearly. Most of us aren't rebuilding a city wall. But all of us have something that needs to be reconstructed. Maybe it's your faith. Maybe it's your family or a relationship that has drifted. Maybe it's your health, or your priorities, or a part of your life you've quietly stopped looking at.

And Nehemiah isn't a dry rebuilding manual. It's a great story. You've got real history. You've got opposition that mocks, threatens, and schemes. You've got heroes who show up and do the work, and villains who would love to see it all fall apart. There's even a guy who ends up with a room in the temple he never should have had. (You'll have to read chapter 6 for that one.)

That's what Rebuilding What Matters Most is about. It walks through Nehemiah one section at a time, and every chapter comes back to the same hope: broken things are not beyond the reach of God.

The book releases this Sunday, November 1. If you'd like a signed or personalized copy, you can preorder one here: pastorphilayres.com/rebuilding

It's also available for Kindle preorder, and the audiobook, in my own voice, is coming to Audible.

Whatever needs rebuilding in your life right now, I hope this book helps you take the first step.

Grace and peace,

Phil

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I wasn’t reading another political argument about abortion. I was reading comments from women who were apparently celebrating the idea of aborting their own children simply because they were boys.

Isabel Brown, who is pregnant herself, had compiled a series of comments from TikTok and shared them on Instagram. Some were so disturbing that I had to read them twice.

One woman wrote:

“I got an abortion w each boy. told my husband I had a miscarriage and go spend a week at the spa after 😆 no boys coming out of this mama.”

That comment reportedly received more than 36,000 likes.

Another wrote:

“No for real. I’m either having a girl or an abortion.”

More than 23,000 likes.

Others claimed to have aborted every boy they’d conceived. One woman announced that she was waiting for a scan to determine whether she was having a girl or an abortion, adding the hashtag #KillAllMen.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Now, I want to be careful here. I can’t verify that these women actually did what they claimed. Some of these comments may be cruel attempts at humor, written by people who have become so accustomed to saying outrageous things online that they’ve lost their sense of perspective.

But even if every one of them was joking, we still have a serious problem.

How did we reach a place where the death of a baby boy could become a punchline? And how did tens of thousands of people decide it was funny?

As a pastor, I’ve sat with couples who desperately wanted children but couldn’t have them. I’ve prayed with women who struggled through years of infertility. I’ve watched families spend their savings trying to adopt a child they could love and raise as their own.

And then I read comments like these.

It’s difficult to comprehend.

What troubles me most is the attitude underneath these statements. It’s the idea that a child is valuable only if that child meets our expectations.

I’ll love this baby, but only if it’s a girl.

I’ll welcome this child, but only if it’s the kind I wanted.

And if it’s not?

I’ll simply get rid of it.

We’ve rightly condemned sex-selective abortion in countries such as China and India, where countless unborn girls have been discarded because families preferred sons. We’ve recognized the cruelty of treating a child’s sex as the determining factor in whether that child deserves to live.

But surely the principle works both ways.

A little boy’s life is no less valuable than a little girl’s.

Scripture reminds us:

“Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward.” (Psalm 127:3, ESV)

Not just daughters. Not just sons. Children.

Their value isn’t determined by their sex, their abilities, their potential, or whether they fit into the future we’ve imagined for ourselves. Their value comes from the God who created them.

How Did We Get Here?

Earlier this year, Slate published an article with a headline that caught my attention: “I Was Devastated to Learn I Was Having a Baby Boy. I’m Far From Alone.”

Think about what that says about the cultural waters we’re swimming in.

Some women have become so disillusioned with men that the thought of raising a boy fills them with dread.

Now, I don’t want to dismiss that feeling without trying to understand it. There are women who have been terribly mistreated by men. Some have experienced abuse, abandonment, betrayal, and violence. Those wounds are real, and the church should never minimize them.

And that’s where I think we need to turn the conversation toward ourselves.

Where are the fathers? Where are the husbands? Where are the men who will demonstrate that masculinity isn’t something to fear, but something that can be shaped by humility, courage, gentleness, and faithfulness?

I wonder how many young women have grown up without ever seeing that kind of man.

And I wonder whether some of us have been too quiet.

What Can We Do?

I wish I could offer a simple solution. I can’t.

We can pass laws, and I believe protecting unborn life matters enormously. But legislation alone cannot change a heart that has learned to despise another human being.

Only the gospel can accomplish that kind of transformation.

Still, there are places we can begin.

Men, we need to model godly manhood. Not the loud, arrogant version that demands respect while doing little to earn it. I’m talking about men who keep their promises, love their wives, protect the vulnerable, and take responsibility for their families.

Fathers, be present. Your sons need to see what a good man looks like, and your daughters need to know that good men exist.

Churches, let’s celebrate our boys rather than merely tolerate them. Let’s disciple them, challenge them, encourage them, and call them toward the kind of manhood we see in Jesus Christ.

I think about Nehemiah standing before a frightened people, calling them to courage:

“Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes.” (Nehemiah 4:14, ESV)

That sounds like a pretty good assignment for us today.

And to any woman who has actually made the decision described in those comments, I want you to hear something else.

There is grace for you.

I’m not minimizing what happened. But the same Jesus who calls us to repent also offers forgiveness and a new beginning. Your story doesn’t have to end with your worst decision. The cross is sufficient even for this.

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Before you scroll away, picture a little boy.

He’s got chubby hands, a round face, and a laugh that fills the room. He doesn’t know anything about politics, cultural movements, or the arguments people have about whether boys are worth raising.

Maybe someday he’ll become a doctor. Or a pastor. Or a soldier. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a faithful husband who loves his wife well, or a father who stays when things get difficult.

Or maybe he’ll simply be an ordinary man who works hard, loves his neighbors, and quietly makes the world a little better.

He deserves that chance. And he deserves more than our silence.

So speak up. Encourage the fathers around you. Challenge young men to live with integrity. Show compassion to those who have been hurt. Defend the lives of children who cannot defend themselves.

We may not be able to change every heart, but we can be faithful with the influence God has given us.

And when the culture begins treating the lives of little boys as disposable, surely that’s a moment when Christians ought to find their voices.

Because sometimes, not to speak is to speak.

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I have news, and I wanted you to hear it here.

My new book, Rebuilding What Matters Most: Nehemiah’s Lessons for Faith, Renewal, and Courage, comes out on November 1 in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle. And if you’d rather hear it read in my voice, I narrated the audiobook myself, and it’s coming soon to Audible.

That’s the cover above. Five stones stacked on top of each other. No bulldozer, no dramatic before-and-after. Just steady, one-at-a-time rebuilding, which is how it usually goes in real life.

The book grew out of a six-week series we did at LifePoint Christian Church earlier this year. Nehemiah hears that Jerusalem’s walls are broken, and before he travels, plans, or lifts a stone, he sits down and weeps. Then he prays. He confesses. He remembers what God has promised. Only then does he get to work.

I think a lot of us are standing in front of something that needs rebuilding. Maybe it’s a faith that has gotten tired, a relationship that has grown distant, or priorities at home that don’t match what we say we believe. The question isn’t really whether something needs attention. It’s where to begin.

So here’s the question I’ll be asking for the next few weeks, and I’d love for you to sit with it too:

What in your life needs rebuilding, and what would it look like to begin with God?

Hit reply if you want to tell me. I read what you send.

You can preorder a signed or personalized paperback from my website. It’s $12, I’ll write a personal note if you’d like, and it ships when the book releases. (It makes a good Christmas gift or a thank-you for a small-group leader.) There’s a study guide in the back too, so it works well for small groups. If you read on Kindle, that preorder is live now on Amazon for $7.99: a.co

More soon,
Phil

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When the clip came across my phone this week, I almost scrolled right past it. Small-town Iowa. A city council chamber. A man steps up to the podium to give the opening invocation, and the first words out of his mouth are “Dear dark father.”

He ends with “Hail Satan.”

Wow.

Let’s be honest. My first reaction was the same as just about everybody else scrolling past it. My jaw tightened. I felt the heat rise in my chest. I wanted to share it with a few choice words of my own and go on with my day feeling righteously angry.

A lot of people felt the same way. The clip went viral and racked up over a million views.

But before we all grab our pitchforks, let’s slow down and look at what actually happened.

The town is Ottumwa, Iowa. On January 20 of this year, the city council voted 4-1 to adopt an invocation policy, Resolution No. 18-2026. For the first time in decades, Ottumwa’s meetings would open with prayer. The mayor said the goal was to start meetings “with reverence” and to bring unification to local churches. Seven residents spoke that night, most of them in favor, including two pastors from Ottumwa Baptist Temple.

I love that. I really do. A city deciding to start its business by bowing its head is a good thing.

But the policy is open to everyone, and the law requires that. Any approved resident or organization can give a voluntary invocation, whatever their faith or lack of one. The policy even says its purpose includes respecting “the diversity of both organized and unorganized religious denominations, as well as other faiths, belief systems, or the lack thereof.” Dates are first-come, first-served.

Nine days after the vote, on January 29, a former council member named Matt Dalbey put in his request. Reports describe him as a member of The Satanic Temple. His date was October 6. He stood up and opened with “Dear dark father.” At one point he said, “let us embrace the Luciferian impulse to eat of the tree of knowledge.” And he closed with “Hail Satan.”

Council member Cara Galloway, the lone no vote back in January, said she had warned during the original debate that someone from the church of Satan could give a prayer and the city would have to allow it. She called it.

But here’s the thing. This is exactly the reaction they were hoping for. By its own description, The Satanic Temple doesn’t believe in a literal Satan. It’s a largely nontheistic activist group. One of its favorite tactics is to request a spot wherever public religion shows up and use the shock to make a point about church and state.

Shock is the strategy. Outrage is the payoff. Every angry repost is another trophy on their shelf.

Christians have no reason to panic about the devil. He is a defeated foe. Paul tells us that at the cross Jesus “disarmed principalities and powers,” and “made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them in it” (Colossians 2:15). The enemy got a few minutes at a podium in Iowa. Jesus already made a public spectacle of him at Calvary.

John reminds us, “He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4). I don’t have to be afraid of two words at a city council meeting.

And we have to remember that “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood” (Ephesians 6:12). Matt Dalbey is a man made in the image of God, and he is someone Jesus died for. I can reject everything he said at that podium and still pray that the Lord gets hold of his heart. In fact, that’s my job.

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Here’s a question I keep coming back to. When Ottumwa opened that calendar in January, how many dates were open? And how many churches signed up for them?

I don’t know the answer for Ottumwa. But I suspect in a lot of towns the answer would embarrass us. We cheer when prayer comes back to city hall, and then we assume somebody else will fill the slots.

Think about Elijah on Mount Carmel in 1 Kings 18. Israel was overrun with the prophets of Baal. Elijah didn’t circulate a petition to get them banned from the mountain. He let them go first. He let them shout all day long. Then he repaired the altar of the Lord, soaked it with water, and prayed, “Hear me, O LORD, hear me, that this people may know that You are the LORD God” (1 Kings 18:37). And the fire fell.

Elijah didn’t cancel Baal. He showed up and called on the living God.

Paul tells Timothy to pray “for kings and all who are in authority, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and reverence” (1 Timothy 2:1-2). Notice that word. Reverence. It’s the very thing Ottumwa’s mayor was hoping for. And a city council counts as “all who are in authority.” Your mayor and your commissioners are on that list.

Here’s what encourages me. The very next name on Ottumwa’s calendar, on October 20, is Joseph Sia of St. Joseph Catholic Church of Ottumwa. “Hail Satan” got one night. Grace gets the next word.

Here in Longwood, our city commission opens its meetings with prayer. And I’m one of the pastors who gets to stand at that podium. A few times a year, I take my turn, rotating with other local pastors and ministry leaders from around our community.

I’ve pastored LifePoint here since 2003, and let me tell you, it’s a privilege every single time. I get to stand in front of the people who make decisions for my city and pray for them by name. That’s a gift I never want to take for granted.

By the way, nobody goes viral. Nobody makes headlines. But meeting after meeting, Longwood’s leaders hear their names lifted up before the living God, because local pastors and ministry leaders take turns showing up.

So when I tell you to sign up at your city hall, I’m not asking you to do anything I’m not doing myself.

So here’s my challenge. This is doable. It’s happening in Longwood right now, and your town can do it too.

Pastors, call your city clerk this week and ask if there’s an invocation calendar. Deacons and elders, put your names on it. Moms, business owners, retirees, if your town lets residents pray, sign up. Take a date. Then take another one.

And when your turn comes, pray for your town by name. Pray for your mayor by name. Pray for your council members by name. Pray for the police officers and firefighters and the crews who fix the water lines. Pray like Elijah, so that people may know the Lord is God.

If the only voice at the podium is “Hail Satan,” some of that is on us.

That’s the whole idea behind this Substack. Silence is never neutral. When the church stays quiet, the quiet says something. It says we don’t care, or we’re scared, or we figured someone else would handle it.

An empty slot on a city invocation calendar preaches a sermon too.

Ottumwa’s calendar is open. Yours probably is too. Let’s fill it.

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I’ll be honest. I didn’t expect to be writing about Joe Biden again.

But something he said recently has stayed with me.

On September 24, the former president received the Sonia Schorr Sloan Service Award at Planned Parenthood of Delaware’s annual Chocolate & Champagne Gala. Jill Biden presented the award, named for a longtime friend and supporter of his who had led the organization’s board.

During his remarks, Biden said he was “outraged and appalled” when the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. He talked about his efforts to protect access to abortion and urged the crowd to keep going: “There’s no time to give up. It’s time to get up.”

I understand why Planned Parenthood would honor him. What I struggle to understand is how he reconciles that position with the faith he so often talks about.

In 2023, Biden told supporters, “I’m a practicing Catholic. I’m not big on abortion.” Then he added, “But guess what? Roe v. Wade got it right.”

Those statements are difficult to put together.

For decades, Biden supported the Hyde Amendment, which generally prevents federal funding of abortion, with limited exceptions. Then, during his 2019 presidential campaign, he reversed that position, arguing that access to health care should not depend on someone’s ZIP code.

But calling abortion health care doesn’t resolve the moral question. There is still another human life involved.

And while I’m not Catholic, the Catholic Church’s teaching on this is clear. Pope Francis spoke forcefully against abortion. This January, Pope Leo XIV told diplomats that abortion “cuts short a growing life and refuses to welcome the gift of life.”

At some point, the faith we claim has to shape the positions we take. That applies to presidents, pastors, and everyone sitting in the pews.

More importantly, we have to consider what Scripture says about the value of human life.

The nations surrounding ancient Israel sacrificed their children to Molech. God explicitly forbade His people from following them: “You shall not give any of your children to offer them to Molech, and so profane the name of your God: I am the Lord” (Leviticus 18:21).

That language expresses how utterly opposed this was to His will. His people were sacrificing the very children He had entrusted to their care.

Ancient child sacrifice and modern abortion are different practices in different settings. But I believe the comparison confronts us with a serious question: What happens when the lives of children become expendable in service of something adults value more?

Our idols can have respectable names. Success. Freedom. Financial security. Control over the future. Those things become dangerous when preserving them requires us to deny the value of another person.

I also know that behind many abortions are fear, pressure, abandonment, and circumstances most of us have never faced. We need to speak honestly about those realities. They should move us to help the mother and protect her child.

That is why seeing a former president celebrated for defending abortion troubles me. A man who spent eight years as vice president and four as president has enormous influence. I wish he were using it to defend the lives of unborn children.

But before anyone assumes this is simply a Republican argument, I have concerns about Donald Trump too.

Trump appointed three of the Supreme Court justices who helped overturn Roe. I’m grateful for that. His other statements on abortion have been disappointing.

In August 2024, he promised that his administration would be “great for women and their reproductive rights.” That same month, he criticized Florida’s six-week abortion law as too restrictive. He also said he would veto a federal abortion ban.

The Republican Party’s 2024 platform moved away from its longstanding call for national protections for unborn children and emphasized leaving abortion policy to the states.

During the last election, I felt caught between a Democratic ticket committed to expanding abortion access and a Republican candidate willing to oppose some abortions while protecting access to others.

That was frustrating then. It still is.

So when will we have a leader who consistently defends human life from conception onward?

I don’t know. I pray we will. But our responsibility is already clear, and we don’t have to wait for Washington to fulfill it.

Across the country, pregnancy resource centers are helping women face circumstances they never expected. We can support that work with our money, time, and prayers. We can help make sure a frightened woman has someone to talk to, somewhere to turn, and practical support for the months ahead.

We can foster and adopt. We can also support the families who do, because opening your home is only the beginning of a demanding commitment. Those families need people who keep showing up.

We can help the single mother in our neighborhood, workplace, or church. Sometimes that means diapers or groceries. Sometimes it means babysitting, a ride to work, or a connection that helps her find a job.

Being pro-life should be visible in the way we care for people after the baby is born.

And our churches need to be places where people can tell the truth about their lives.

A scared young woman should know she can come to us for help. A woman carrying regret over an abortion should hear that forgiveness is available in Jesus. A father who pressured someone into that decision needs to know he can repent and find grace too.

We can speak clearly about sin and tenderly to people wounded by it. Jesus shows us how to do both.

Proverbs 31:8 tells us to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. I cannot think about that command without thinking about a child in the womb.

Wherever you live, there are people who need help and lives worth defending. There is a family you can support, a ministry you can strengthen, or a conversation you need to have.

We don’t have to hold public office to make a difference. But we do have to take responsibility for what is within our reach.

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Some stories practically write their own punchlines.

A lesbian bar in Massachusetts called “Last Ditch” requires every customer to wear KN95 masks or better—in 2026. But when the struggling business announced mask-optional night once per week, the backlash includes accusations of ableism, racism, and eugenics.

I heard the story through a video recounting the Boston Globe’s reporting. And I’ll admit, my first instinct probably wasn’t much different from yours.

You have got to be kidding me.

According to that account, the bar opened in 2025 with a strict masking policy, creating a gathering place for LGBTQ patrons, including people with disabilities and compromised immune systems. But the business struggled financially. Two of the three original owners stepped away, leaving one person trying to keep it going.

The proposed adjustment was modest: make masks optional on Saturdays to attract more customers.

The response was anything but modest.

Critics accused the business of endangering disabled people. One commenter even expressed a wish that the venue would be firebombed. An apology brought another round of criticism because the image containing it lacked alternative text for visually impaired readers.

Then came a community meeting, with participants attending in person and through Zoom. It began with a calming breathing exercise and deteriorated into accusations against the mediators and the remaining owner.

When the owner cried while explaining the financial burden—including responsibility for a $50,000 loan—critics accused her of centering her feelings.

That was the part that stayed with me.

A person was breaking down in front of a community built around care, and even her tears became another offense.

There is plenty here to criticize. Threatening violence over a disagreement about safety is grotesque. Treating every practical compromise as a moral atrocity makes community nearly impossible.

But as I listened, my reaction began to change.

I felt sad.

Those of us who are conservative Christians can become very good at “dunking” on people. We find the outrageous clip, add a sarcastic caption, and pass it around to people who already agree with us.

I understand the temptation. I feel it too.

But I keep coming back to a question: How would Jesus look at the people in this story?

Matthew gives us a picture. When Jesus saw the crowds, He had compassion for them. They were, in Matthew’s words, “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36).

The Greek verb translated as having compassion is splagchnizomai. It describes a deep, inward response, drawing on language associated with the inward parts of the body. We might describe it as compassion felt in your gut. Their condition moved Him deeply.

Jesus saw people who needed a shepherd.

I wonder how often I see people who would make a good social media post.

Let me be clear about something. Concern for vulnerable people deserves respect. Wanting somewhere to gather without fearing for your health is understandable. Making information accessible to someone who cannot see it is a good thing.

The disturbing part is how quickly concern can become condemnation—and how little mercy remains when someone cannot satisfy every demand.

To me, that begins to look like a religion of self.

I cannot know every participant’s heart. But I recognize the temptation to make my feelings the final authority, my grievances the measure of another person’s goodness, and my approval something everyone else must continually earn.

Under those conditions, disagreement becomes betrayal. An imperfect apology creates a new offense. Someone else’s suffering matters only after my suffering has been sufficiently acknowledged.

That sounds exhausting.

There are rules to obey, offenses to confess, and judgments to fear. But where does a person go to receive forgiveness? When has the apology been enough? Who finally says you can put down the burden?

And before we congratulate ourselves, we should recognize how easily Christians build the same kind of environment.

We can demand grace for our failures while keeping meticulous records of everyone else’s. We can defend biblical truth with an attitude that reveals very little of Jesus. We can make being right an excuse for being cruel.

The religion of self fits comfortably inside a church building.

That is why this story should send us back to the gospel.

Jesus calls sinners to repentance, and He offers forgiveness purchased through His own sacrifice. He tells us the truth about our condition and opens the way for us to come home.

I need that grace just as much as the people in this story. Whatever clarity I have is no reason to look down on someone still searching for it.

So yes, challenge the ideas. Name the cruelty. Refuse the demand that every feeling must govern everyone else.

Then pray for the people. Remember that the person on your screen has a life beyond the clip. Ask whether your response might help someone hear the truth—or simply make your friends laugh.

I want my convictions to remain firm. I also want my heart to remain tender.

Because when Jesus saw sheep without a shepherd, He had compassion.

I want to learn to look at people that way.

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If you’ve listened to a podcast lately, you’ve probably heard someone explain how artificial intelligence is going to change everything. Depending on who’s talking, it will either take your job and destroy civilization or solve nearly every problem we’ve managed to create. That’s quite a range of possibilities for something I recently asked to help me edit an email.

I understand some of the excitement, and I understand some of the concern. AI is powerful, and we’re still learning what it can do. But as I listen to these conversations, I find myself wondering whether we’re paying enough attention to what using it might do to us.

I’m a pastor, so that’s where my mind tends to go. I’m interested in how things work, but I’m also interested in how they shape our hearts. What are we learning to trust? What habits are we developing? Are we becoming more thoughtful and more loving, or just more efficient?

A good deal of what I’ve written here has been political, often because I’ve felt the need to speak truthfully about things that matter. This subject comes from that same concern, though I’m still working through it myself. I don’t have every answer about AI. I use it, and I used it to help edit this article. That seems like something you ought to know before I start offering advice about it.

Still, using a tool doesn’t mean we should stop examining it—or ourselves.

Ecclesiastes tells us there is “nothing new under the sun” (1:9). That doesn’t mean Solomon was anticipating a chatbot. It means the human heart hasn’t changed nearly as much as our inventions have. We still find ways to place too much confidence in things we’ve made. We still want shortcuts, and we still struggle to recognize when something helpful has become something we depend on too much.

AI gives us another opportunity to wrestle with those old questions. Here’s how I’m beginning to think about it.

Remember what it is and who you are

One of the remarkable things about AI is how personal it can sound. It can respond patiently, offer encouragement, and help you put a difficult thought into words. Sometimes its answer sounds wiser than what we’ve heard from actual people. I can see why someone would keep going back to it.

But sounding caring and caring are different things. A chatbot can produce the words of an apology without having anything to repent of. It can explain grief without grieving. It can write a prayer, but it cannot join you in bringing your burdens before the Father.

That distinction matters because the Bible describes human beings as made in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). You are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). Your worth comes from the God who made you and loves you, and no machine’s ability to imitate your work can take that away.

As a writer, I find that reassuring. It also challenges me. If a machine can produce a polished paragraph, then perhaps I need to remember that the deepest value of my writing was never just its polish. It’s the truth I’m responsible to communicate and the people I hope to serve.

We can appreciate what AI does while remembering what it is. Trouble begins when we give it a place in our lives that belongs to God or expect it to provide what we need from one another.

Pay attention to what you’re handing over

My greater concern is how easily we might surrender our judgment. When we’re tired, busy, or unsure, a confident answer can feel like a relief. We don’t even have to decide that the machine knows best. We just have to get in the habit of accepting what it says.

I need to watch that in myself. There’s a difference between asking for help thinking through a question and asking something else to do my thinking for me. The first can be useful. The second can become a habit before we realize what we’ve given away.

Proverbs 3:5 tells us to trust in the Lord with all our hearts and not lean on our own understanding. If my own understanding needs to be submitted to God, then surely an answer generated by a computer needs examination too. A response doesn’t become trustworthy simply because it arrives quickly and sounds certain.

AI can help us gather information, explore an idea, or notice something we’ve overlooked. But we still need to open our Bibles, pray, listen to wise people, and take responsibility for our decisions. Sometimes the wrestling is part of how God teaches us. I don’t want to become so eager for an answer that I miss what he wants to develop in me along the way.

Set boundaries that help you love well

Paul writes, “I will not be dominated by anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12). He wasn’t discussing technology, but that resolve gives us a useful question: Am I directing my use of this tool, or is my dependence on it beginning to direct me?

For a Christian, boundaries should help us remain faithful to God and loving toward people. AI might help me organize a prayer list, but I still need to pray. It might help me prepare for a difficult conversation, but I still need to have the conversation. It might help me express an apology clearly, but I still need to mean it.

And we ought to be honest about how we use it. If we use AI to mislead someone, conceal the truth, or manipulate their trust, the quality of the result doesn’t excuse the dishonesty. God cares about truthful speech (Proverbs 12:22), even when a machine helps us choose the words.

In Romans 14, Paul addresses disagreements about food and observance of certain days. He warns against acting contrary to faith and conscience, concluding that “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (v. 23). We should be careful about applying that passage, but it does remind us to examine whether we can do something with a clear conscience before God.

If I’m uneasy about how I’m using AI, I shouldn’t brush that aside just because it saves time. I need to ask why. Is there something dishonest about it? Am I avoiding a responsibility? Am I neglecting a person who needs my attention? Those questions deserve more than a quick answer.

Remember who holds the future

There are real concerns worth discussing, and trusting God doesn’t require us to dismiss them. But as Christians, we can face an uncertain future remembering that God remains sovereign. Our inventions have not caught him by surprise.

Jesus asked whether worrying could add a single hour to our lives (Matthew 6:27). I need that reminder when the predictions get loud. Fear can occupy a great deal of our attention without helping us become any more faithful.

So I’m learning to approach AI with gratitude for what is useful, care about what is harmful, and a willingness to keep examining my own habits. I want it to help me serve people well. I want the time it saves to make room for things that matter, including things that cannot be hurried.

AI won’t replace your soul. But the way you use it can reveal something about your heart: what you trust, what you’re willing to hand over, and what you value enough to do yourself.

I’m still learning where those lines belong. Perhaps you are too. We can keep talking about it, keep listening, and keep bringing our questions before God. He has promised wisdom to those who ask (James 1:5), and we’re going to need it.

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The news of Rob Reiner and his wife Michele being found murdered in their Los Angeles home is a heartbreak that should unite us in sorrow, not sharpen our divisions. Reports indicate both were tragically killed in what law enforcement is investigating as a double homicide. The details are still unfolding, but the loss is real and deeply human.

Rob Reiner was a towering figure in American cinema. He was the actor who first made us laugh as Michael “Meathead” Stivic on All in the Family, the director of Stand By Me, When Harry Met Sally…, and my absolute favorite, A Few Good Men. Michele Reiner was his wife of three decades and was remembered by many for her warmth and steadiness. Whatever one thinks of Rob Reiner’s politics, two human lives have been violently taken, and that alone should stop us in our tracks.

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In moments like this, something should happen instinctively in our public discourse. We should lower the temperature. We should show restraint. We should acknowledge the dignity of life, even when the person involved held views radically different from our own.

Instead, President Trump chose to post a message that many, including people who agree with his policies, found deeply distasteful. To mock a man hours after his death, to suggest that his murder was somehow the result of his political criticism, crosses a line. It turns a family’s tragedy into a political punchline. It tramples a grave that has not even settled.

Mr. President, you make it so hard to be supportive of you.

Yes, I agree with most of your policies. Yes, I think critics on the Left often engage in hysterical and disgusting rhetoric. But none of that justifies using a violent death as an opportunity to score points or settle grudges. Regardless of what Reiner said about you or MAGA, there is no need to dishonor a man at the moment of his death.

To those who applauded the presidents post, I would ask a simple question. What does this moment reveal about us? What does it say about our hearts when we can hear of a husband and wife being murdered and our first response is laughter, applause, or justification? At what point did outrage replace empathy as our default setting?

And to my fellow conservatives who are tempted to excuse this because “he fights” or “he says what others won’t,” I would say this: We don’t get to suspend moral standards when it benefits our side. You cannot claim to care about truth, life, and virtue while cheering the degradation of human dignity. Consistency matters.

I have said it before and I will say it again. Trump is not a Messiah. He never has been. There is only one person worthy of our worship, our ultimate allegiance, and our moral submission. When loyalty to a political figure begins to override basic decency, something has gone wrong. How we speak about people, especially in death, reveals far more about the condition of our soul than any policy position ever could.

This was a moment for silence, prayer, and restraint. It was a moment to mourn with those who mourn. It was a moment to show that disagreement does not require dehumanization.

Trump failed that test.

As scripture reminds us,

“Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles” (Proverbs 24:17).

That verse does not come with a partisan exemption clause. It does not ask who someone voted for, how annoying they were online, or whether they deserved our sympathy. It simply calls us to restraint, humility, and moral clarity.

Jesus said we would be known not by our volume, our cleverness, or our ability to dominate the moment, but by our love. That love does not require agreement. It does require humanity.

There was nothing to gain here by speaking. There was much to lose by doing so.

In reflecting on the death of Charlie Kirk, I’ve been carrying a heavy heart. No, I didn’t know Charlie personally, but for some reason his assassination hit me in the gut. It wasn’t just shocking—it felt personal. Like many of you, I have watched many of his videos, followed his career online, and even attended a few of his Turning Point USA events. But I wasn’t prepared for the stomach-turning effect of seeing him murdered in 4K on X.

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For the last day or so, I’ve been trying to make sense of my feelings. I know we all have. After all, we’re not living in a war-torn region of Europe or the Middle East. We’re here. In America. And somehow, on a sunny day in Utah, a 31-year-old father of two was professionally assassinated in front of thousands of people, including his wife and children.

In a haunting interview just 2 months ago, Charlie was asked, “How do you want to be remembered?” His answer was simple: “I want to be remembered for courage in my faith.” Now, he could’ve said “building an organization” or “winning political debates,” or “being friends with the president.” All of that would have been true. But instead he said courage. And specifically courage tied to his faith.

Wow.

When I heard that I couldn’t help but think of the heroes mentioned in Hebrews chapter 11—the chapter we call the “Hall of Faith” chapter. These were men and women who trusted God in impossible situations. People who endured mocking, torture, prison, and death—all because they refused to stay silent about what they believed. The writer of Hebrews even says, “the world was not worthy of them.”

I believe Charlie Kirk now stands in that long line. Not as a perfect man. Not as a saint. But as a modern martyr. Like Jim Elliot, who died on the mission field in Ecuador. Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, executed for resisting the evil of Nazi Germany. Like Cassie Bernall, the teenage girl in Columbine who reportedly said “yes” when asked if she believed in God—and was killed for it.

In July 2024, my wife and I attended Charlie’s TPUSA Believers Summit in West Palm Beach. We saw Charlie interview several guests and deliver a phenomenal speech, eventually introducing Donald Trump as a special guest speaker—just months before he would become our 47th president. But what we saw wasn’t just a political pundit or an activist. We saw a strong Christian. Charlie’s faith wasn’t a side note; it was central. He didn’t wrap the gospel in political slogans or hide it behind clever branding. He led with it—over and over again.

He believed politics had a place—but that Christ must reign over all. And that’s what makes this loss so difficult. We didn’t just lose a voice. We lost a witness.

There’s an memorable line in Star Wars: A New Hope. It’s one I can’t stop thinking about. Ben Kenobi faces Darth Vader in a light saber duel and says to him, “If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” Strange how true that’s becoming of Charlie Kirk. His voice, momentarily silenced by a bullet, is now echoing louder than ever, and especially among young people.

I'm seeing it everywhere. Students, leaders, even quiet Christians who’ve been watching from the sidelines are stepping up and speaking out. They are picking up the mic Charlie dropped and saying, “It’s my turn now.” And it’s not just to argue politics, but to speak boldly across enemy lines, with the truth of Christ.

Let’s be honest. We’ve been a generation that expects faith to feel good all the time. We’re shocked when it costs us something. But Christianity has never been comfortable. It’s always been costly.

Right now, we need more believers willing to say, “Even if it costs me everything, I will not back down.” Think of John the Baptist, who lost his head for telling the truth. Or 11 out of 12 apostles who were martyred because they couldn’t keep quiet about the gospel.

Remember, Charlie Kirk didn’t die because he was chasing influence, fame or money. He died because he refused to trade truth for safety.

So yes, I’m grieving. But I’m also resolved. I want to honor Charlie’s legacy and I can’t do that by softening my message or retreating into silence. We honor him by living the way he died: unashamed of Christ, willing to speak the truth with boldness, confidence, and grace. Not with anger or vengeance, but with clarity and conviction.

If Charlie’s death teaches us anything, it’s that courage may cost us everything, but silence costs even more.

Explain it to me. Please—somebody.

We’ve known for years that Jeffrey Epstein ran some kind of sex trafficking operation. He was convicted in 2008, did a joke of a prison sentence, and somehow came back more powerful, flying young girls around the world on his private jet, the “Lolita Express.” Survivors came forward, sworn affidavits were filed, names were named—Prince Andrew, Alan Dershowitz and several other high profile individuals. Additionally, photos of underage girls alongside high-profile figures like Bill Clinton and Prince Andrew have been online for years.

Then in 2019, Epstein was arrested again. We were told justice was coming.

But before he could stand trial, he “killed himself” in one of the most secure federal jails in the country. A place where the guards mysteriously fell asleep. The cameras mysteriously stopped working. All at the same time.

We were told this was a coincidence.

Then in 2023 Donald J. Trump ran a campaign on transparency. He said he would end the coverups. He promised to release the JFK files—and the Epstein client list. People around him backed this up. Pam Bondi, Dan Bongino, Kash Patel, and others swore that the Epstein investigation would see daylight. They said there was a list. They said the public would see it. Even Vice President J.D. Vance said as much.

But now? This week? The Department of Justice says not only will there be no list—they claim no list ever existed. And that Epstein, conveniently dead, was the lone perpetrator. No accomplices. No clients. Case closed.

We are supposed to believe that one man created a global sex trafficking operation for the world’s elite… and no one else participated.

Do they think we’re stupid?

It’s insulting. Not just because of the audacity of the lie, but because of who’s telling it. These are the very people who said they would tell the truth. Who campaigned on the promise that they were different. That they’d tear down the system. Drain the swamp.

But now, when it really matters—when the victims are waiting, and the public is watching—they fold. Or worse, they cover it up.

I believed them. A lot of people did. We put faith in these promises because we wanted to believe that someone, finally, would take on the machine. Now, we’re being told to forget it ever happened. That there’s nothing more to see. Trump himself was asked this week about Epstein. His answer? “We have more important things to focus on.”

That scares me.

Because when someone changes their tune this abruptly, it’s not just suspicious—it reeks of fear. As Shakespeare put it: “The lady doth protest too much.” Except now it’s the President and his allies, shutting down questions, dismissing concerns, and pretending they never promised us anything.

So what changed?

Maybe the people in power are being threatened. Maybe they’ve been absorbed into the very system they claimed to oppose. Either way, it’s betrayal. Whether through weakness or complicity, they’ve abandoned the truth.

The truth is this: If Epstein was trafficking girls to the rich and powerful, how is it that none of those clients have been held accountable? Our justice system appears to be protecting them. It’s especially baffling given that Ghislaine Maxwell—Epstein’s right-hand in the operation—is serving a 20-year sentence for recruiting and grooming those same girls. Who exactly was she procuring them for?

That should concern everyone, regardless of your party, your politics, or your preferred cable network.

I didn’t write this to score points. I wrote this because I’m angry. I feel duped. And I think a lot of you do, too. Because silence in the face of injustice isn’t neutrality—it’s complicity.

Not to speak is to speak.

And I won’t be silent.

Isaiah 5:20
Woe to those who call evil good
and good evil,
who put darkness for light
and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet
and sweet for bitter!

Let’s be honest: Isaiah’s warning feels like it was written for today. We’re living in a world where justice has been flipped on its head and common sense is thrown out the window. What used to be clear—like the difference between right and wrong—has been completely muddled by a culture that’s more concerned with feelings than facts. And nowhere is this more obvious than in the UK’s latest move to let biological men strip-search women.

The Madness of Modern Justice

For years now, the UK has been heading down this road. Street preachers arrested for sharing their beliefs? Check. People raided by police for posting their opinions online? Of course. So it’s no surprise that they’ve now gone all-in on the transgender agenda, even to the point of putting women at risk.

Case in point: “Skye” Morden. Skye is a biological man who says he’s a woman. He’s been a police officer for over 20 years and now leads an organization called Trans in the City, which promotes transgender and non-binary rights. That’s all well and good, but here’s where things get problematic.

New rules from the British Transport Police (BTP) allow biological men who claim to be women to conduct intimate searches on female detainees, as long as they have a gender recognition certificate (GRC). It doesn’t matter if they still have male anatomy—what matters is their paperwork. So now, officers like Skye, who is clearly a man, can legally perform strip searches on women

.Think about that for a second. A woman in custody might have to endure an intimate search from a biological man. Sure, the rules say she can object, but let’s be real—who’s going to risk being labeled “transphobic” in that situation? The pressure to stay silent is enormous, and the system knows it

.This isn’t just a bad policy. It’s a slap in the face to women everywhere. For decades, women have fought for their rights and safety. Now, all of that is being erased in the name of inclusivity. The lines meant to protect women—lines that should be non-negotiable—are being blurred or outright ignored.

Isaiah’s words hit the nail on the head: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.” That’s exactly what’s happening. Policies like this aren’t progressive; they’re regressive. They don’t protect women—they put them in harm’s way.

For now, the U.S. hasn’t gone this far, but let’s not kid ourselves. These ideas have a way of crossing borders, especially when no one speaks up. If we stay silent, this kind of madness will make its way here, too.

The time to push back is now. We can’t just sit on the sidelines, shaking our heads. We need to say, clearly and boldly, that this isn’t right.

This isn’t just about bad laws or misguided policies. It’s about a culture that’s turned away from God’s design for humanity. When you reject the Creator, chaos is the natural result. The confusion we’re seeing about gender, justice, and morality is a symptom of something much deeper—a spiritual rebellion against God.

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But while it’s tempting to focus our anger on people like Skye Morden, we have to remember that he’s not the real enemy. He’s a person made in God’s image, just like you and me, who’s caught up in a cultural storm of confusion. My hope for him—and for everyone like him—is that he would see the truth, turn to Christ, and find the freedom that only God can give.

We can’t afford to sit back and hope someone else speaks up. It’s up to us—parents, pastors, teachers, and everyday people—to push back against this cultural confusion. We need to stand firm, not out of hate, but out of love for truth and love for our neighbors.

And as we do, we need to pray. Pray for our leaders to have wisdom. Pray for our culture to wake up. And pray for people like Skye Morden to find the hope and healing they need in Jesus.

At the end of the day, the solution to this mess isn’t more outrage or better policies (though those help). The real solution is the gospel. Jesus is the only one who can cut through the darkness and bring true clarity.

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If you want to understand what the Biden administration values most, look no further than the most recent Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient. This week, President Joe Biden will pin our nation's highest civilian honor on Cecile Richards. She’s the former president of Planned Parenthood and an unapologetic advocate for abortion. According to Biden, Richards will be remembered as a champion of “women’s reproductive rights and equality.” But the reality is darker—far darker. During her 12-year tenure, the organization she led was responsible for ending the lives of an estimated (very conservatively) 2.5 million unborn children. Let that sink in.

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Richards isn’t just an administrator in the abortion debate. She’s a figurehead, a symbol of a movement that celebrates "choice" without confronting its cost. In a 2014 interview, she shared a deeply revealing comment about her own abortion, saying, “It was the right decision for me and my husband, and it wasn’t a difficult decision.” Not a difficult decision? It’s as though the moral weight of ending a life has been sanitized to the point of triviality—a harsh reality indeed.

But Richards’ legacy isn’t just about abortion statistics. Her leadership at Planned Parenthood was marred by scandal and controversy that most people would rather ignore. The organization has been repeatedly accused of covering up child sexual abuse,1 committing Medicaid fraud2, and even profiting from the sale of fetal body parts.3 These aren’t conspiracy theories; they’re documented scandals, with undercover videos exposing the callous and disturbing practices that occurred under her watch. One particularly chilling clip shows Planned Parenthood representatives laughing and joking about the sale of aborted babies' organs—a moment that feels more dystopian than real. (You can watch it, if you dare, here).

The irony here is almost unbearable. A medal meant to celebrate freedom is being awarded to someone whose life’s work has been defined by a denial of it. And while the world cheers, I can’t help but feel a profound sadness. For Richards. For our country. For the more than 2.5 million tiny humans who never had a chance.

There’s an added layer of tragedy to this story. Cecile Richards has been diagnosed with glioblastoma, an aggressive and often terminal form of brain cancer. I don’t bring this up to gloat or wish her harm—far from it. Life and death are realities that we all must face. And in Richards’ case, I can only hope that this diagnosis gives her an opportunity to reflect on her life, her legacy, and the millions of lives taken during her time at Planned Parenthood. 

Because one day soon, like all of us, Cecile Richards will stand before the ultimate Judge. And when she does, no political accolade or presidential medal will matter. What will matter is whether she found forgiveness in Christ and turned to Him in repentance. That hope isn’t just for her; it’s for all of us, no matter how dark our past may be.

It looks like Donald Trump is on his way back to the White House. That’s a good thing but to be honest—I’m surprised. I didn’t think the election would turn out this way considering how hard so many mainstream news outlets were propping up Kamala Harris as the future of America. The rhetoric was fierce (on both sides) and I was sure the democrats would keep the presidency for another 4 years.

But in the end, the people voted, and their decision now stands.

I’ve been open about this: Trump isn’t a perfect leader—far from it. But he stands for many things that I believe could make our country better. Even so, as Christians, it’s important to remember that how we handle this moment matters, especially around those who voted differently. The Bible gives us some wise advice here.

Proverbs 24:17-18 says, “Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when they stumble, do not let your heart rejoice, or the Lord will see and disapprove and turn his wrath away from them.”

This verse reminds us not to celebrate someone else’s loss or rub it in when we win. Instead, we’re called to show humility, grace, and respect.

If you voted for Trump, take this victory with humility. There’s no need to put others down or act like this win means we’re somehow better. And while Trump might align more with our values, he’s far from the perfect role model for Christians. It’s likely that his response in this victory will be less than a humble one. We must continue to pray for him, asking that he would encounter the true light of Christ, opening his heart fully to God and becoming a true follower.

For the next days and months, you’ll encounter some very pointed and angry words from those whose candidate lost. And those words might tempt you to respond in anger or pettiness. But another proverb from God’s Word offers us wisdom for moments just like this:

Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

When it comes to conversations at home, at work, and especially on social media, let’s avoid the urge to return fire with fire. Instead, let’s commit to speaking the truth humbly and in love. If we truly want to make a difference, we’ll do it by being a light in a divided world, showing respect to everyone—even those who didn’t vote the same way.

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Those who study this world come quickly to realize that the natural world, outside of the influence of humanity, is a world of supreme order.  It’s a world of infinitely intricate systems and processes that work together seamlessly to create balance and function, for a purpose.  Among the myriad ways humans have found to create chaos out of order, the issue of Abortion is once again playing its role in dividing our great nation.

In a time when proposed ballot measures across the country are calling for “love” to the exclusion of reason, rationally-minded voters must take a step back and consider our role in either endorsing or opposing chaos.  Rationally-minded voters must accept that abortion subverts the natural order.  Nowhere else in the animal kingdom do we see mothers ending, or attempting to end the lives of their offspring in utero purely on the basis of convenience, mental health, physical health, perceived health or lack thereof of the preborn baby, on the basis of who contributed the other half of the DNA, or the perceived available resources.  Unfettered access to abortion is not a societal “advancement”.  It is an age-old illustration of societal decline.  Human mothers championing their right to kill their own babies at will is not an indicator of how far humans have come.  It is an image of how far humans have fallen from the natural order, and, dare I say it, from God’s original plan.   

Now before you go educating me on the fact that mother birds are known, at times, to evict hatchlings from the nest because of a food shortage or deformity, or that rats sometimes eat their own babies, or that fish will consume their own eggs, or any other anomaly of the sort we may witness within the wilds of the animal kingdom at large, these occurrences are the exception, and not the rule.  Science will tell us that it’s quite the opposite in the entirety of the animal kingdom, with mothers willing to endure incredible pain and suffering protecting the lives of their babies, even to the point of death.  And, the more advanced the animal, the greater likelihood it would be willing to die for it’s offspring. 

“But you say we are part of the natural order, are we not? And in the natural world there are reasons animals kill their young.”  Absolutely, we are.  But are we not also unquestionably set apart?  While some rats and birds, and fish of the animal kingdom may indeed have no recourse by which to survive and thrive in certain situations of stress or hardship, and therefore resort to killing their babies, can we really lump ourselves in with those examples and call it natural?  No sane person would say so. It is obvious that humankind is indeed set apart from the rest of the animal kingdom, whether you believe it is through the process of evolution, or that of creation.  We have been created as part of the natural world, and yet, we are set apart… special.  Historians will tell you that, in so many areas of human life, the advancement and evolution of humanity usually signals an increase of compassion, not the other way around. 

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So then where does this idea come from, that ending the life of our own children could benefit us?  Well, when something is not of the NATURAL world, reason suggests it would have to be influenced by factors outside of the world we see around us, or, the SUPERnatural. There is nothing new under the sun, and abortion had its rise in virtually every ancient society of the past just like its having its rise in the world right now.  It echoes the Judean child sacrifices to Baal that we read about in the bible (Jeremiah 19), the sacrifices made to the god Moloch by the Caananites, and many others.  As a matter of fact, the barbaric practice of child sacrifice found its way into virtually every major ancient civilization, from the Babylonians and Carthaginians of biblical times, to the Aztec and Incan empires, to the Celtic Druids on the other side of the world.  The age-old formula went like this:  If I give up my child to appease (whatever god), my life will be better in some way.  It will rain more.  It will rain less.  My harvest will be bountiful. The community will become prosperous. And on and on and on. 

But the abortion industry does not reflect that same curve.  It may not be made of gold, but there is no doubt that the abortionist’s table is an altar to the gods we make of convenience, pleasure, money, things, time, and above all, SELF.   The gods of our age have evolved beyond golden calves but they are here among us nonetheless, demanding our attention and basking in our worship. Abortion is a sacrifice on the altar of the evil one, who has deceived us into believing it is GOOD for us.  The sacrificer is hoping for a favorable outcome, but any perceived benefit is fleeting, just as it was for the Babylonians, because their hope has been misplaced. Their God-given role as mother-protector has been traded for murderer.  Order has become chaos.  Loving women means pointing them to THE perfect healer, our savior, the one who wipes away all tears and makes all things whole, and to the ONLY God deserving of our worship.  It means pointing them away from the wiles of the deceiver and toward the only true source of living hope, Jesus Christ. 

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In the past I’ve made this clear. My support for Trump has always been somewhat complicated.

As a Christian and a pastor, I’m not naive about the man's imperfections. But I recognize that Trump is not auditioning for Sunday school teacher or even head Boy Scout—he’s vying to take the helm of a country in desperate need of reform. I get that he’s an instigator and agitator, shaking up a political system that is in desperate need of change. That’s one of the reasons I support him.

On Sunday night at Madison Square Garden, Trump’s team assembled a host of speakers in front of a packed audience, a lineup meant to stir up excitement. Names like J.D. Vance, Vivek Ramaswamy, Elon Musk, and Tucker Carlson—people with serious clout, no matter your stance on their politics. But first, the stage was taken by Tony Hinchcliffe, a comedian known for “Kill Tony,” a notoriously crass and confrontational show at Joe Rogan’s comedy club, The Mothership in Austin, Texas.

Hinchcliffe’s brand of humor is edgy, blunt, and frequently offensive—everything you’d expect from a roast comic who made waves “roasting” Tom Brady on Comedy Central just months ago. But during the RNC rally on Sunday he called Puerto Rico a “floating island of garbage” and joked about African Americans carving watermelons instead of pumpkins. He also made a terribly crass joke about the sexual habits of Hispanic people. His jokes landed poorly at best. It seemed like the audience didn’t know if they were allowed to laugh.

Roast humor has been around for a while and is even utilized by the Washington elite. Just a couple weeks ago Jim Gaffigan roasted the audience at the yearly and prestigious Al Smith dinner, poking fun at both sides of the political divide. However, the jokes weren’t tinged with racist undertones, nor were they sexual in nature.

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So, here’s the question: why on earth did Trump’s campaign think a roast comic would resonate with this audience? We conservative Christians are already holding our breath when it comes to Trump, frequently having to justify our support for a guy who often leaves us wincing (remember Arnold Palmer? Google it). More critically, Trump has softened his stance on one of the most defining issues for conservatives: abortion.

This rally wasn’t the moment for a comedian whose entire act is about pushing boundaries and poking nerves. The people didn’t show up for edgy humor or cheap shots; they came for inspiration, for strength, and maybe, just maybe, a reminder of why we’re still standing behind this campaign at all.

Maybe Trump wasn’t aware of what was planned for that night. But somebody had to know. Somebody on his team approved of having Hinchcliffe on stage and either didn’t care or didn’t consider how poorly it would land with a conservative crowd. Whoever on Trump’s campaign thought this would be a good idea needs a serious wake-up call—or a new job. 

A rally isn’t a comedy showcase or late-night talk show. It’s supposed to be a statement of resolve and vision, a gathering meant to rally Americans who feel their voices and values are slipping away in a chaotic, shifting world. Instead, it ended up embodying the very accusations the media’s been lobbing at Trump for years—vulgar, crass, even hostile. The rally could have been a defining moment of strength; instead, it is becoming a public relations nightmare.

To those saying, “Hey, lighten up; it’s just humor!” I’d say this: there’s a time and a place for that kind of humor. A presidential rally, just over a week before the election, is not it. Humor can bridge gaps, but it can also divide—and in this case, it was like using a match to defuse a bomb.

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This election is a big deal. The stakes are high, but the weight of the decision is even higher. And yet, I’ve made up my mind: I am not voting for Donald Trump.

Surprised? Let me explain.

I’m NOT casting my vote for a person. I’m voting for a set of ideals, a moral standpoint that reflects where I think our country should be heading.

Here’s the problem with how we approach elections today: we get bogged down in personalities rather than principles. In a two-party system, the real choice is between the values those parties stand for, not necessarily the individual who becomes the figurehead. So, let’s dive into what these values look like—and why I’ve chosen to align myself with one side over the other.

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On the one hand, we have Kamala Harris and Tim Walz, who represent the Democratic Party. Now, let’s be clear: they aren’t just figureheads. They lead a movement that pushes policies I find deeply concerning. For instance, they advocate for what is essentially an open-border policy. What does this mean in practice? It means unchecked immigration, which leads to dangerous outcomes—human trafficking, the spread of fentanyl, and insufficient vetting of individuals entering the country, some of whom have clear criminal intentions.

And then there’s their stance on abortion. Kamala Harris, along with almost every Democrat, has openly supported unrestricted access to abortion, even when the fetus is viable outside the womb. They often frame this as a matter of "reproductive rights," but the reality is what it is. The left is determined to expand access to abortion nationwide, with no limits or restrictions whatsoever. In one case, every Democrat voted against providing life-saving care to infants who survive failed abortions. To me, this is the destruction of human life at its most vulnerable, and I simply cannot support that.

Tim Walz is no different when it comes to pushing an agenda I don’t agree with. He’s been outspoken in his support for the LGBTQ movement, including policies that allow biological males access to female-only spaces, like locker rooms and bathrooms. He even backs initiatives like putting tampons in boys’ bathrooms for biological girls who identify as boys.

But wait, there’s more. Harris and Walz have also signaled that they don’t exactly see free speech as a priority. Both have supported efforts to combat so-called "misinformation." Sounds good on the surface, right? Who wants lies and confusion running wild? The problem is, "misinformation" in their world seems to mean "anything they don’t agree with." This opens a very dangerous door. When the government—or those in power—start deciding what can and cannot be said, we’re walking down a path toward censorship. Free speech, one of the core principles that America was built on, is at risk here. Who gets to decide what’s true or false? The same people who promote policies I fundamentally disagree with?

The slippery slope toward censorship is one we can't afford to slide down. The Harris-Walz platform, with its stance on regulating speech, suggests that the government should have a greater hand in deciding what information is allowed to circulate in public discourse. This might start with "misinformation," but where does it end? The freedom to speak, question, and criticize is central to a functioning democracy, and when those in power start filtering out voices they don’t want to hear, we all lose.

Now, let me be clear—I’m not voting for Donald Trump because of his personality. Frankly, there are aspects of his demeanor that don’t sit well with me. His rhetoric is clumsy at best and he can be petty—that’s true.

This election isn’t about whether a candidate is likable or charming. It’s about the beliefs he stands for and the team he’ll build to support policies that fit with my Christian values. He’s not running to be our pastor, Bible study leader, or even someone who greets people on Sunday mornings. He’s running to be the commander in chief, a job that needs a tough and steady leader. In this role, what matters most is his commitment to stand firm on issues of right and wrong, fairness, and freedom, even when the choices are hard. His job is to lead with both strength and honesty, qualities that are more important than personality and connect to values I believe in.

First and foremost, Trump stands for securing our borders. He’s committed to ensuring that people entering the U.S. are properly vetted, and that we aren’t allowing dangerous individuals or child traffickers to slip through the cracks. This is crucial to me. Protecting innocent children from harm should be a top priority for any administration. Besides the fact that any sovereign nation has borders and rules for coming across them. Trump simply wants to put people in place who will enforce the laws that ALREADY EXIST in the United States.

I also support Trump’s stance on limiting gender reassignment procedures for minors. At a bare minimum, parental consent should be required before life-altering surgeries take place. But beyond that, the Republican platform aims to protect children from the growing gender ideology that’s taking hold, and I believe this is vital for the well-being of future generations.

Now, is Trump perfect on every issue? No. For example, his position on abortion could be a lot stronger. I hate that he is unwilling to take a 100% pro-life position. Still, it’s a significant improvement over the alternative. Under Trump, there are limits on abortion, at least after the first trimester, which is far more pro-life than the extreme stance of the Democratic Party.

So here’s where I land: I’m voting for Trump, the policy position, not the person. I’m voting for what he represents. This, I believe, is the way we should approach every election. Let’s stop getting caught up in the personalities of the candidates and start focusing on the principles they stand for and the policies they’re going to implement.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about liking or disliking a candidate personally. It’s about the future we want to shape. And for me, that future aligns more closely with what Trump’s administration represents.

This is how I see it, anyway. Your vote is your voice, and how you use it is up to you.

How about some good news for a change?

A few weeks ago, right here in my neighborhood in Longwood, Florida, a young 6-year-old girl named Jayana decided to set up a lemonade stand. With the help of her mom and brother, she got a table, an umbrella for shade, and three large canisters of lemonade: strawberry, blueberry, and classic plain.

I drove past her stand but didn’t have any cash on me. So, I turned around, went home to grab some, and returned for some refreshing lemonade. Her price? Just a free-will donation. I gave her $5, happy to support a little entrepreneur on a hot day.

Fast forward to about a week later. Someone in the neighborhood apparently felt that Jayana’s lemonade stand was a public menace and decided to call the police. Yes, you read that right—a kid selling lemonade “without a permit” and supposedly causing a traffic jam.

So, three Longwood police officers showed up. Now, here’s where the story gets good. Instead of citing her or shutting down the stand, they did what any freedom-loving American would do—they bought lemonade! The officers snapped a picture with Jayana and posted it on their department’s Facebook page.

That’s when things really took off. Comments started pouring in from the community, praising the police for doing the right thing and Jayana for being such a great example of entrepreneurial spirit. Her little lemonade stand suddenly became a symbol of positivity and goodwill in the community.

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Soon after, the local news picked up the story. Jayana and the three officers were featured in a heartwarming segment, which then sparked even more attention. People all over the greater Orlando area began hearing about Jayana’s lemonade stand, and many were eager to find her and support her small business.

Watching all of this unfold from the sidelines, I got a call at the church from Jayana’s dad, Jorge. He explained that with the influx of new customers expected over the weekend, they needed a bigger space. He asked if Jayana could set up her lemonade stand on our church property to handle the extra traffic.

“Absolutely!” I told him. What an incredible opportunity!

So, this past weekend, our little church played a dual role. We held our regular worship service AND helped keep the dream of a young entrepreneur alive. And the best part? Jayana isn’t just any random kid—she’s a part of our church! She’s a regular in our children’s ministry and an absolute delight to have in class. Talk about a proud pastor moment!

But the story doesn’t end there. In a move that would soften even the hardest heart, Jayana gave 10% of her earnings to the church as a thank-you. If you could have seen the look on her face when she dropped that money into the offering box—it was pure joy.

In times like these, when the world feels more divided than ever, leave it to a 6-year-old girl to remind us of what really matters. A simple act of selling lemonade brought a community together, showcased the kindness of our local police, and highlighted the values of self-reliance and generosity being passed down to the next generation.

And thank God for these little moments that remind us, even in a world full of chaos, there’s still plenty of good to be found.

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Welcome to the next chapter in our unfolding dystopian saga. No, this isn't the plot of a new Netflix series. Instead, it's the real-life story of Enoch Burke, an Irish teacher whose crime was refusing to conform. Not conforming to the whims of a school administration. Not conforming to a court's orders. Not even conforming to the current trend of progressive values. You probably haven't heard of him. And why would you? Stories like his don't make the front pages; they're not the kind of tales the mainstream media is keen on spotlighting. After all, when someone stands up against the tide of governmental tyranny, the media machine would rather you see them as a pariah, not a hero.

But here's the thing: Enoch Burke is a hero—or at least he could be if we're willing to look at him through the correct lens. He's a devout Christian, a dedicated teacher, and a martyr for the cause of free speech. His story is one that Americans should heed; otherwise, we may find ourselves walking down a similar path.

Enoch Burke was a history and German teacher at Wilson's Hospital School in County Westmeath, Ireland. Two years ago, a transgender student complained when Burke refused to use the student's preferred pronouns and newly adopted name. The school dismissed him in a move that many argue has become all too common today. But Burke continued to show up at his post. It wasn't about the paycheck for him. It wasn't even about the job. It was about principle.

When the school, rattled by Burke's audacity, secured a court injunction ordering him to stay away, he refused. As a result, he was arrested and jailed. You might say, "Well, he broke the law." And you wouldn't be wrong. But what law? A law that mandates compliance with what one might consider an infringement on his conscience? Burke himself put it succinctly:

After spending 90 days in jail, he was released—only to return to the school and be jailed again. The cycle continues. And for Burke, it's a matter of conscience. He cannot, in good faith, follow an order he believes is immoral.

Now, you might be thinking, "Well, that's Ireland for you. They don't have the same free speech protections we have in the United States." True enough. But where are we headed? The writing is on the wall. 

Look at Minnesota Governor and Vice Presidential hopeful Tim Walz, who recently remarked, "There's no guarantee to free speech on misinformation or hate speech." Granted, he was talking about voting, but the slippery slope begins with just a few carefully selected words. The First Amendment exists precisely to prevent such erosion of freedoms. It clearly states that we cannot be compelled to change our language even if someone else considers it "rude" or even "hateful."

Yet, our government seems all too eager to bend these rules to serve its narratives. Earlier this year, the Supreme Court sent two crucial free speech cases back to lower courts, subtly reminding us that the government does not have the authority to control social media to enforce its version of acceptable speech. This move was a free speech victory, but the battle is far from over.

The case of Enoch Burke should serve as a cautionary tale, a canary in the coal mine for what might be coming if we're not vigilant. The road to losing our cherished freedoms is paved with "reasonable" restrictions that eventually turn into shackles.

We can laugh at the absurdity of jailing a man for refusing to follow what he believes is a morally compromised order, but how far are we from seeing something similar happen here? Will we soon be silencing teachers, journalists, or even everyday citizens for speaking out of turn?

As we head into another election season, let’s remind ourselves of what's truly at stake. The First Amendment isn't just a quaint relic from a bygone era; it's a living, breathing shield against tyranny. But it requires constant vigilance. The Democrats have made no secret of their desire to pack the court, impose term limits, and appoint more progressive or liberal judges who might be all too happy to reinterpret the Constitution in ways that could limit our freedoms.

Let's hope America never reaches the point where a teacher like Enoch Burke could find himself behind bars for simply speaking his mind. Our votes this fall could very well determine whether we maintain the robust free speech protections that have made America a beacon of liberty—or whether we take a step closer to the kind of state censorship we've seen play out across the Atlantic.

Don't let Enoch Burke's fight be in vain. Let it be a warning—a loud, clear, and unmistakable warning—that in America, we still value the freedom to speak, to think, and to be. Because once we lose that, there's no telling what we'll lose next.

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Words matter. We all know that. They’re how we communicate, how we share our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. But lately, it seems some people are more interested in twisting those words around than in telling the truth. Sure, words and their meanings evolve over time. But let’s not kid ourselves: there’s a big difference between the natural evolution of language and the deliberate redefinition of words to manipulate a gullible public.

Take the latest advice from the Vermont Department of Health. In a Facebook post dated August 28, 2024, they encouraged everyone to “use terms that cover the many versions of what family can look like.” Sounds harmless enough, right? A little bit of feel-good, inclusive language. But dig a little deeper, and it turns out their advice is for families—yes, like Mom and Dad—to avoid using gender-specific terms like “son” or “daughter.” Instead, they suggest using neutral terms like “kid” or “child.”

Words are powerful. They shape our reality. They tell us what’s true and what’s not. When used properly, words reveal the truth. But when they’re twisted, stretched, or replaced, they can create an alternate reality—a false reality. Or, as it’s usually known, a lie.

This is nothing new. The devil’s been playing this game from the very beginning. Remember the Garden of Eden? Satan’s first act of temptation wasn’t offering Eve a shiny new apple—it was redefining God’s words. When Eve told the serpent that God had forbidden them from eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, warning that “they would die,” Satan responded with a lie: “You will not surely die.”

What’s happening here? A redefinition of the word “die.” Satan tried to paint it as something desirable—“your eyes will be opened,” he promised. “You’ll be like God.” But we all know how that turned out. Death wasn’t some metaphorical eye-opening experience. It was literal. By twisting the meaning of “die,” Satan lured Eve into disobeying God, and the rest, as they say, is history.

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Fast forward to today, and it seems Satan is still at it. Through the influence of people who stand against God and all He represents, there’s a movement to redefine our language and strip it of its original meaning.

Jesus said, “Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female?” (Matthew 19:4).

Yet today, our culture insists there’s no such thing as male or female—or, if there is, they’re just two of an endless number of genders on a broad spectrum.

Remember when President Biden’s 2021 budget request replaced the word “Mother” with “birthing person”? That wasn’t just a harmless change. It matters. Words like “mother” and “woman” have specific meanings. Only women can get pregnant. And when they do, they’re called mothers. And instead of calling an adult human female a “woman,” they now want us to say “people with uteruses.” And there are countless other terms that have been rebranded to sound more palatable while also being more misleading. Here are a few, for example:

• Abortion = “reproductive rights”

• Sex change surgery = “gender affirming care”

• Illegal alien = “undocumented citizen”

• Prostitute = “sex worker”

• Fat = “plus-sized” or “body positive”

• Riot = “fiery, but mostly peaceful”

And don’t even get me started on the pronoun police. “He” and “she” have been around forever, but now we’re being told to use “they,” or “ze,” or “zim,” or “zir,” or any other concoction that sounds made up. It’s like someone’s launched a word missile straight into the heart of our language, creating a chaos of words that suggest, in the end, there is no truth.

And that’s exactly what Satan wants. Jesus warned us about this. He said that Satan is a “liar and the father of lies,” and those who lie are his children.

In John 8:44, Jesus laid it out plainly: “You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies.”

So, what are we to do in the face of this onslaught against truth? Hold fast to what is true! Stand firm against the language police and their followers. Refuse to be bullied into abandoning the truth for the sake of some politically correct nonsense. Don’t let yourself become a victim of their linguistic game of Twister. Stand up and say, “No thank you, I’m not doing it.” I will call my boys, “sons” and my girls “daughters.” I will call pregnant women “mothers” and fathers “dad” and every other word that so accurately describes actual reality.

As Jesus said, it’s the truth that sets us free—spiritually, physically, and maybe even politically.