Tag: Gospel

How Do You See?

“To the pure, all things are pure. But to those who are corrupt and unbelieving, nothing is pure, but both their minds and consciences are corrupted.” (Titus 1:15, NET)

We often think that the world around us determines how we see things. If life is good, we feel good. If life is bad, we feel bad. But Paul reminds Titus of a deeper truth—everything we experience is filtered through the lens of our own hearts and worldview. What we see and how we interpret it reflects who we are.

To the pure, Paul says, all things are pure. This isn’t naivety; it’s the result of a heart transformed by Christ. A pure heart views the world through the lens of grace, love, and trust in God. It seeks the good. It extends charity. It assumes the best intentions and sees opportunities for redemption, even in brokenness.

But to the corrupt, nothing is pure. Why? Because a corrupt heart projects its own intentions outward. Someone who lives in dishonesty assumes others are lying too. A bitter person sees only offense. A lustful heart objectifies. An unbelieving mind interprets everything as meaningless. In other words, our perception of the world becomes a mirror reflecting what’s already in us.

Jesus said something similar: “For the mouth speaks from what fills the heart” (Matthew 12:34). What’s in us comes out—not just in our words, but in how we see and interact with everything. If we’re holding onto sin, anger, or doubt, we’ll project that onto people, situations, and even God. But if we’re holding fast to Christ, we’ll see the world differently.

This truth calls us to examine our hearts. If cynicism, suspicion, or negativity seem to dominate your thoughts, ask: What am I filtering life through? Is my heart shaped by the purity of God’s truth, or am I projecting my brokenness onto the world?

The beauty of the Gospel is that Christ doesn’t leave us trapped in corruption. He transforms our hearts, renews our minds, and purifies our conscience. When we walk in that transformation, we begin to see life for what it really is: a place where God is working, redeeming, and calling us to reflect His goodness.

Today, consider your lens. Are you interpreting life through the purity of Christ, or through the corruption of your own brokenness? Surrender your heart to Him and let Him renew how you see—because the condition of your heart determines the clarity of your vision.

Christian Shrewdness

The events of Acts 22-23 provide a compelling example of Paul’s remarkable shrewdness. After being arrested in Jerusalem, Paul navigates a labyrinth of danger and intrigue with wisdom and calculated action. Despite his willingness to suffer for Christ, Paul does not recklessly throw himself into harm’s way. Instead, he uses every legal, social, and strategic means available to him to preserve his life and further the Gospel.

When Paul speaks to the crowd in Acts 22, he opens with his personal testimony, appealing to their shared heritage as a Jew and his credibility as a Pharisee. Yet when his words provoke anger, Paul doesn’t stubbornly insist on continuing but leverages his Roman citizenship to avoid a brutal flogging. His claim to citizenship forces the Roman commander to reconsider his actions, effectively granting Paul a layer of protection. Later, in Acts 23, Paul cleverly divides the Sanhedrin by declaring his belief in the resurrection—a doctrine embraced by the Pharisees but rejected by the Sadducees. This causes internal conflict among his accusers, buying him time and shifting the focus away from himself.

This narrative challenges the idea that seeking suffering is somehow more virtuous than avoiding it. Paul’s actions demonstrate that suffering for the Gospel is a willingness to endure hardship when necessary—not an active pursuit of pain or martyrdom. Paul’s ultimate goal remains the spread of the Gospel, and he uses his intellect, legal rights, and social awareness as tools to protect his mission.

As Christians, we are called to emulate Paul’s shrewdness. Jesus Himself instructed His disciples to be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16). This balance calls us to integrity but also to strategic thinking. We honor God not by walking into unnecessary danger but by stewarding the opportunities and resources He has given us.

Are there situations in your life where you are called to defend your faith or navigate a difficult circumstance? Do you rely on wisdom and prayer to guide your steps, or do you charge ahead without seeking discernment? Paul’s example reminds us that faith and wisdom are not at odds. Both are gifts from God, designed to work together to accomplish His purposes.

Christian shrewdness is not manipulation or dishonesty. It is the faithful use of God-given wisdom to navigate life’s complexities while remaining anchored in truth. Like Paul, we should seek to advance the Gospel with boldness and intelligence, trusting that God equips us for the journey.

Paul’s Lost Letter: Sometimes We Need to Be Rebuked

Rebuke isn’t something we naturally seek out. It stings, wounds our pride, and can leave us feeling vulnerable. But in 2 Corinthians 7, Paul shows us that rebuke—when done with love and a heart for restoration—has the power to bring life-changing results.

Paul refers to a letter he had written to the Corinthians, now lost to us, in which he rebuked them sharply. He admits he regretted sending it at first, knowing it caused them sorrow. But he also acknowledges that their sorrow wasn’t pointless; it was a godly sorrow that brought repentance and spiritual renewal. Instead of wallowing in shame or rejecting his words, the Corinthians allowed the rebuke to change them. They responded with zeal, clearing themselves of wrongdoing and realigning their hearts with God.

This passage teaches us a profound truth: rebuke, though uncomfortable, can be an incredible gift. Sometimes we need others to speak truth into our lives, pointing out blind spots or sin we’ve grown too comfortable with. Receiving rebuke requires humility, the willingness to admit we’re not always right, and the courage to change.

On the other hand, giving rebuke isn’t easy either. Paul didn’t relish the thought of confronting the Corinthians. He wrote with tears, not anger, because his goal wasn’t to hurt but to heal. True rebuke comes from a place of love, not superiority, and seeks restoration, not condemnation. It’s not about pointing out flaws to tear someone down but about calling them back to the fullness of life in Christ.

Ultimately, rebuke is a means of grace. When we lean into it, whether as the giver or the receiver, we experience the transforming work of the Gospel. It reminds us that God’s desire isn’t to leave us in our brokenness but to restore and renew us. Rebuke, though painful, is often the first step toward deeper fellowship with Him.

So how do you handle rebuke? Do you resist it, or do you allow it to refine you? Are you willing to lovingly confront others when God calls you to, even if it’s uncomfortable? Let’s remember that the goal is always restoration and the joy that comes when we align ourselves fully with God’s will.

Your Best Life Now

The title may give you pause, especially if you’ve heard it used in ways that promise a prosperity-focused, trouble-free existence. Yet as we turn to 2 Corinthians 6:4-13, Paul offers us a very different vision of what “your best life now” truly looks like. It’s not about ease or worldly success but about enduring with integrity and grace through every circumstance life throws at you.

Paul writes, “Rather, as servants of God, we have commended ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships, and distresses” (v. 4, NET). The list that follows is sobering: beatings, imprisonments, sleepless nights, hunger. It’s a far cry from the kind of life we might associate with the phrase “best life.” Yet Paul calls us to redefine success in light of the Gospel. To live your best life now is to live a life of faithfulness—no matter what.

This passage is not a call to seek suffering for its own sake but to rise above circumstances with integrity and steadfastness. Paul describes a life lived “in purity, in knowledge, in patience, in kindness, in the Holy Spirit, in genuine love” (v. 6). Even when surrounded by opposition, betrayal, or hardship, the call remains the same: to conduct ourselves in a way that reflects God’s character.

Why? Because how we live in the present carries eternal significance. The world may misunderstand, ridicule, or even persecute us, but our worth is not defined by worldly measures. Paul experienced being “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything” (v. 10). This paradox highlights a life deeply anchored in Christ, untouchable by external circumstances.

Here’s the challenge: How do we respond when life feels anything but “best”? When trials come, do we reflect the peace and power of the Spirit, or do we falter in fear and frustration? This isn’t about perfection but about growth—leaning into God’s grace to sustain us when our strength fails.

In verse 13, Paul exhorts the Corinthians, “open wide your hearts also.” The best life is one lived open to God and to others, vulnerable yet strong, humble yet bold. It’s not marked by worldly wealth or comfort but by the richness of a life lived in fellowship with Christ and His people.

So, yes, in Christ, you can live your best life now—but not in the way the world might expect. It’s a life of faithfulness, endurance, and hope, one that glorifies God in all circumstances and points others to Him. And as we endure in this life, we hold to the promise of eternal joy in the life to come.

Does Romans 9 Prove Calvinism?

Romans 9:11-24 is one of the most debated passages in Scripture, often pitting Calvinism’s emphasis on God’s sovereignty and predestination against Arminianism’s focus on free will and human responsibility. Yet, neither system fully reconciles the tension between divine providence and human freedom. A Molinist perspective offers a middle way, affirming both God’s exhaustive foreknowledge and His desire for a genuine relationship with free moral agents.

Verse-by-Verse Exploration

Romans 9:11-13

Paul cites Jacob and Esau to demonstrate God’s sovereign election. Before the twins were born, God chose Jacob over Esau “so that God’s purpose in election would stand.” A Calvinist may argue this supports unconditional election, where God’s choice is entirely independent of human actions. However, a Molinist would point out that God’s foreknowledge of all possible worlds (including the one where Jacob’s lineage fulfilled His redemptive plan) allows for this choice without overriding Esau’s freedom. God chose the line of Jacob because, in His omniscience, He knew Jacob’s descendants would cooperate with His purposes.

Romans 9:14-16

Paul anticipates the objection: Is God unjust? His answer: “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy.” Calvinists see this as God unilaterally bestowing mercy. However, Molinism emphasizes God’s mercy is perfectly compatible with free will. God’s choice to show mercy or harden hearts (like Pharaoh’s) is based on His exhaustive foreknowledge of how individuals will freely respond to His grace. Mercy is not arbitrary but aligned with His plan to bring about redemption while respecting free will.

Romans 9:17-18

Pharaoh’s hardening raises another question. Calvinists often assert that God actively hardened Pharaoh’s heart to display His power. Molinists, however, interpret this as God actualizing a world where Pharaoh freely chose to resist Him, knowing that Pharaoh’s rebellion would ultimately magnify His glory. This aligns with the broader biblical narrative, where God desires repentance but allows individuals to reject Him (e.g., Ezekiel 33:11).

Romans 9:19-21

The analogy of the potter and clay underscores God’s authority over creation. Calvinists see this as evidence that humans have no say in their destiny. Arminians might soften it, emphasizing human responsibility. Molinists affirm God’s sovereignty but highlight that He creates vessels of honor or dishonor based on His foreknowledge of their free choices. God’s shaping of individuals respects their agency while fulfilling His providential plan.

Romans 9:22-24

Here, Paul speaks of God’s patience with objects of wrath to make His glory known to objects of mercy. Molinism sees this as God allowing free agents to persist in rebellion, using even their defiance to serve His purposes. God’s foreknowledge ensures His glory is revealed without coercion.

Reading Romans 10 in Context

Romans 10 expands on the universal availability of salvation: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13). This inclusivity challenges Calvinism’s limited atonement. It also highlights human responsibility, countering the idea that salvation is purely God’s unilateral action. Molinism bridges these chapters by showing that God’s sovereign plan incorporates human freedom. God foreknew who would call on Him and actualized a world where His grace is universally sufficient, but salvation depends on individual response.

Is God Less Glorious in Molinism?

Some might argue that acknowledging human freedom diminishes God’s glory. On the contrary, Molinism magnifies God’s glory by showcasing His ability to orchestrate a world where His purposes are achieved without violating free will. A God who can sovereignly guide free agents toward His ends is more glorious than one who relies on deterministic control.

The Call to Abraham-Like Faith

Paul’s argument in Romans 9-10 ultimately points us back to faith, as exemplified by Abraham. Faith is the humble acknowledgment that salvation is God’s work, and our response is to trust Him. God’s plan is perfect, not because He compels us, but because He foreknew how we would respond and crafted a plan where all things work together for good (Romans 8:28).

Final Reflection

Are we willing to trust God’s sovereignty and submit our lives to His will, knowing He has accounted for every choice we will make? Romans 9-10 calls us to marvel at a God whose grace is both sovereign and accessible. His invitation is open: Will you freely choose to call on His name?

You’re Gonna Have To Serve Somebody

Romans 6:15–23 confronts us with a profound truth: we all serve something or someone. As Bob Dylan famously sang, “You’re gonna have to serve somebody.” The question is not whether you’ll be a servant but what kind of master you’ll serve. Paul lays it out plainly: we are either slaves to sin, which leads to death, or slaves to righteousness, which leads to eternal life.

Sin often masquerades as freedom. It promises autonomy and the thrill of doing things “your way.” But in reality, it’s a cruel master. It gives the illusion of control while driving us toward destruction. Like a ship without a rudder, a life given over to sin doesn’t sail freely; it drifts toward the rocks. What seems like liberty in the moment chains us to habits, guilt, and the eternal consequence of separation from God.

On the other hand, serving Christ involves discipline and self-denial. This might sound unappealing at first, but consider what Paul means. Being a slave to righteousness is about rejecting the impulses of the flesh—denying sin’s hold on our lives—and living in obedience to God. It’s not an oppressive bondage; it’s a life of freedom to become who God created us to be. In Christ, discipline is not punishment but training for joy, peace, and eternal life.

Think about your daily choices. Every decision either aligns you closer with sin or with Christ. Sin leads to fleeting pleasure but lasting regret. Following Christ calls for self-denial in the moment, but the rewards are eternal: joy, peace, and the unshakable hope of life with Him. Which master are you choosing today?

Paul concludes this passage with the ultimate contrast: “For the payoff of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23, NET). Choosing to serve sin is like walking off a cliff blindfolded, believing you’re in control all the way down. Serving Christ, by contrast, is walking a narrow path that leads to life.

So, whose servant are you? Are you giving your life to a master that takes everything and leaves you empty, or to the One who gave everything to make you whole? The choice is clear, but the stakes are eternal. Don’t settle for the illusion of control—choose the freedom of life in Christ.

What is Faith?

Faith is at the heart of salvation, as Paul makes clear in Romans 2–4. Abraham was justified by faith, not by works, so that salvation would be a gift of grace and not something earned (Romans 4:2–3). The picture Paul paints is that of absolute dependence on God, where even the smallest notion of taking credit for our salvation is absurd.

Think about it like this: In the movie Aladdin (1992), there’s a moment where Aladdin is drowning, and Genie, bound by the rules of magic, cannot save him unless Aladdin makes a wish. Aladdin, nearly unconscious, appears to nod his head, which Genie interprets as permission to act. Genie then rescues him. It would be laughable for Aladdin to boast afterward about saving himself. He played no active role in his own rescue; his faint acknowledgment was simply the condition through which the saving power of Genie could be applied.

Faith is like that. It is not a work or a contribution to salvation; it’s the means by which God’s grace is activated in our lives. Ephesians 2:8–9 underscores this: “For by grace you are saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so that no one can boast” (NET). Faith doesn’t earn salvation—it’s merely the channel through which grace flows. It’s as though God says, “Will you trust me to save you?” and our faith is the feeble nod that says, “Yes.”

Abraham’s story embodies this beautifully. When God promised him descendants as numerous as the stars, Abraham had no reason to believe based on his circumstances. His body was as good as dead, and Sarah’s womb was barren (Romans 4:19). Yet Abraham’s faith wasn’t about his ability to bring about the promise but about trusting that God would do what He said He would do (Romans 4:20–21). That’s what God counted as righteousness.

Here’s where this becomes a challenge for us. Do we have Abraham-like faith? Are we fully relying on God’s grace, or are we subtly trying to “help” God save us? Maybe we feel the need to perform, to prove ourselves worthy of His love. But true faith lays all of that down. It acknowledges our inability and rests entirely in His ability.

Faith isn’t about earning or even contributing to salvation. It’s about surrendering completely and trusting God to accomplish what we never could. Like Aladdin, who needed rescuing when he could do nothing to save himself, we nod our heads and trust in the One who lifts us from certain death into eternal life.

Are You Protecting God’s Glory or Your Own?

The dramatic scene in Acts 19:23–41 paints a vivid picture of how the Gospel disrupts the power structures of the world. Paul’s ministry in Ephesus was so impactful that it began to undermine the worship of Artemis, the city’s central deity. But the uproar in the Ephesian theatre wasn’t driven by deep devotion to Artemis. Instead, it was fueled by financial loss and the potential erosion of influence. Demetrius the silversmith rallied others, worried that Paul’s teachings would not only ruin their trade but also diminish Ephesus’s status as the guardian of Artemis’s temple. Their reaction reveals that their real allegiance wasn’t to Artemis—it was to their own power and position.

How often do we find ourselves in the same trap? It’s easy to criticize the Ephesians, but their motivations are uncomfortably familiar. Do we make decisions to protect our influence or reputation? Are our choices shaped more by what maintains our comfort or standing than by what aligns with God’s will? Consider the times when serving God’s purposes would have cost you something. Did you hesitate because the price seemed too high?

Paul, in contrast, embodied the humility of Christ. He consistently laid down his own rights and desires to advance the Gospel, even when it meant hardship or rejection. This mirrors the attitude of Christ described in Philippians 2:6–8: “Though he existed in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself.” Jesus became nothing, willingly giving up His position so that we might share in His glory.

What would it look like for you to lay down your own power and position for the sake of Christ? Are you willing to let go of the things you hold onto most tightly—your reputation, your career, your influence? The Gospel invites us to become less so that Christ might become greater (John 3:30). It’s a hard calling, but it’s also a freeing one. When we stop striving to protect our own status, we find true security in the eternal treasure God offers.

The challenge is clear: let go of the things that keep you tethered to this world’s systems. Like Paul, be willing to risk it all for the sake of God’s kingdom. True glory doesn’t come from power or position in this life but from humbly following Christ, trusting that He will exalt you in His time (1 Peter 5:6).

Death is Defeated

The resurrection chapter, 1 Corinthians 15, gives us one of the most vivid pictures of our future hope in Christ. Paul addresses the finality of death, not as something to fear, but as a defeated foe. “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55, NET). In Christ, death no longer holds power over us because the resurrection has secured eternal life. While the unknown of what lies beyond this life might still feel daunting, this passage reminds us that faith anchors us, hope sustains us, and the promise of eternal glory gives us reason to rejoice.

Faith enables us to trust in the victory Christ has already won. Paul insists that the resurrection is central to the Gospel: if Christ has been raised, so too will we be raised (1 Corinthians 15:20–22). This assurance transforms death into a transition rather than a termination. Faith gives us confidence that the God who has orchestrated all creation also holds our eternal future in His hands.

Hope turns our gaze upward. While the process of death may still cause uncertainty, Paul calls it a seed that must be planted to yield something far greater (1 Corinthians 15:36–38). The bodies we will receive in eternity will be imperishable, glorious, and powerful—utterly transformed from the weak and temporary ones we have now. Hope in this promise allows us to see death not as a loss but as the culmination of God’s redemptive work.

Finally, this hope calls us to live with purpose and joy today. Paul concludes the chapter by urging believers, “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, be firm. Do not be moved. Always be outstanding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 15:58, NET). Every act of love, every word of truth, and every sacrifice for the sake of the Gospel matters. The treasures we store up in heaven are the results of living fully for Christ now, reflecting His heart and inviting others into His kingdom.

Death has been swallowed up in victory. This truth removes the sting of fear and replaces it with peace and joy. While the unknown may still intimidate us, the promises of God outweigh every uncertainty. As we walk by faith, live in hope, and act in love, we are prepared for the day when we meet Christ face-to-face, rejoicing in the eternal life He has given us.

Good Enough? Not Even Close!

In the opening chapters of Galatians, Paul confronts a troubling idea: that righteousness before God can be earned through human effort. For some early Christians, the path to holiness seemed tied to strict adherence to the Mosaic law—a rigorous system that no one could keep perfectly. Paul knew firsthand how impossible it was to attain righteousness this way. The law, as Paul explains, is not a ladder to God; rather, it’s a mirror, showing us just how far we fall short.

This is why Paul’s words still ring true: the law wasn’t given to save us but to reveal our need for a Savior. If it were possible to be “good enough” on our own, then Jesus’ sacrifice would be unnecessary. But in our imperfection, Christ’s perfect obedience becomes our saving grace. Jesus fulfilled the law in ways no one else could, and because of our relationship with Him, we’re declared righteous—not by our actions, but by His.

When we live with this understanding, good works take on a new meaning. They’re not a checklist for salvation or proof of our worth but rather a response of gratitude for what Jesus has already done. We live righteously because we’re loved and saved, not in an attempt to become loved or saved. This mindset frees us from the endless cycle of trying to “measure up” and invites us to rest in the assurance that Christ has already bridged the gap.

Let’s not allow ourselves to be drawn back into performance-based religion. Instead, let’s remember that our worth is found in Christ’s fulfillment of the law and His deep, unwavering love for us. We live righteously not out of obligation but out of joy, thankful for a salvation we could never earn but freely receive.