Pride and the Things of This World

President Trump’s pattern of renaming public institutions and government programs after himself — from the U.S. Institute of Peace to the Kennedy Center, from a new class of battleships to prescription drug benefits and children’s savings accounts — seems to offer a good contemporary illustration of what the Bible calls “the pride of life.” In warning against loving “the things of the world,” the Apostle John identifies a spiritual danger that transcends any era: the human temptation to seek immortality and significance through the perpetuation of one’s own name. This self-glorifying impulse, which transforms public institutions meant to serve the common good into monuments to individual ego, exemplifies the kind of worldly vanity that Biblical teaching warns against.

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Kingdom of Love

It often seems that people approach Scripture through different lenses. Some see it as a form of legalistic instruction manual. Others see it as a historical document. To anyone trying to understand the fundamental truths revealed in the Bible, it can seem confusing. In trying to do this myself, I noticed that Jesus basically states what all of Scripture is all about and, with that in mind, it’s clear throughout the rest of the Bible.

In several places, Jesus stated that all the “law and the prophets”, essentially all of Scripture, can be summed up by loving God with our whole being and loving others as we love ourselves. Love God and love others. In other words, the fundamental lesson of Scripture, at least according to Jesus, is to love. His statement implies that, when we try to understand anything in the Bible, we should look at it through this lens.

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Diversity and the Ends of the Earth

I recently watched a video1 in which the speaker described diversity as something harmful—likening it to poison or cancer. His argument was that diversity “doesn’t work” in contexts like marriage or business because communication breaks down. But what he ultimately described wasn’t a failure of diversity; it was a failure of communication.

Yes, some kinds of diversity—such as speaking different languages—can create significant challenges. But that’s not what most conversations about diversity are actually addressing. Instead, they focus on differences of race, culture, citizenship, religion, and more. And while language can play a role, these issues must be understood within the broader context of human relationships and how we choose to engage one another.

The speaker in the video also appealed to Christian identity as if Christian sameness should be the foundation of unity—yet he offered no Scriptural grounding for this view. No teachings of Jesus. No reference to the overarching story of God’s people. Only personal opinion.

That disconnect made me curious to revisit what the Bible actually shows us about diversity.

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The Paradox of Christian Nationalism: When Law and Grace Collide

At the heart of American democracy lies a foundational principle: the rule of law. The United States operates under a constitutional framework where no individual—not even the president—stands above the law. This commitment distinguishes our republic from monarchies and dictatorships, establishing a system where every citizen, regardless of status or power, is equally bound by legal standards. This framework has proven essential to maintaining ordered liberty and protecting individual rights.

Christianity, by contrast, centers on something fundamentally different: relationship rather than regulation. The Christian faith emphasizes a personal connection with God that then naturally produces transformed behavior—what Scripture calls “good fruit.” This is a crucial distinction: good works flow from relationship, not the other way around. Many Christians express this as the doctrine that we are not “saved by works”—that no amount of rule-following can establish or earn our standing with God. The relationship precedes and produces the behavior, not vice versa.

This principle appears most clearly in Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where he vigorously opposed those who insisted that adherence to Jewish ceremonial law was necessary for salvation. While Paul’s immediate concern was a specific set of religious regulations, the underlying principle extends far beyond that historical context: legalistic compliance cannot create spiritual life. Authentic faith transforms from the inside out, not from the outside in.

Of course, this doesn’t mean Christians are exempt from civil law. Believers are called to be model citizens, obeying legitimate governmental authority as an expression of obedience to God. But this obedience is an outflow of an already-established relationship with God, not the means of creating one. The motivation differs entirely from legalism: Christians obey laws not to earn divine favor, but because they already possess it.

Christians have also historically engaged with legal systems to advance human flourishing. The abolition of slavery, efforts to care for the poor and the establishment of social safety nets, child labor laws, civil rights protections—these required legislative action, and Christians often led these efforts. Since Christ calls his followers to demonstrate God’s love through tangible care for others (the call to love one’s neighbor), pursuing just laws becomes a natural expression of faith. This engagement with law is about loving neighbors, not achieving salvation.

These two frameworks—American constitutional law and Christian theology—occupy separate spheres. The United States is built on the rule of law, and Christians rightly work within this legal system to serve others and promote justice. Yet this civic involvement remains categorically distinct from the gospel message of grace.

Christian nationalism, however, collapses these separate categories, fusing them in ways that distort both. It seeks to encode specific theological positions into civil law, transforming doctrinal beliefs into legally mandated behavior. Gender ideology becomes enforced through legislation. Public display of religious texts like the Ten Commandments becomes a legal requirement. Public prayer becomes a governmental function.

While proponents may not explicitly claim these measures “save” anyone, the practical effect reinforces a fundamentally legalistic message: that proper behavior and outward conformity define authentic Christianity. The public rhetoric surrounding these efforts often confirms this, emphasizing moral compliance as the marker of genuine faith. People absorb the implicit message that Christianity is primarily about following the right rules, displaying the right symbols, and enforcing the right behaviors on society.

This tendency appears most clearly in Christian nationalism’s heavy reliance on Old Testament law and its preoccupation with behavioral compliance as the measure of right standing with God. The Old Testament economy indeed operated under a legal framework where obedience to detailed regulations governed Israel’s covenant relationship with God. But this was always intended as a temporary system pointing toward something better. Christian theology teaches that Christ fulfilled this legal system, ushering in a new covenant based on faith and grace rather than law. Yet Christian nationalism frequently gravitates back toward Old Testament categories, emphasizing legal codes, punishments, and external conformity over internal transformation and grace.

The consequences of this conflation are serious and multifaceted. First, it systematically corrupts the Christian message itself, gradually shifting the faith from a gospel of grace to a burden of legalism. People inside the church begin to believe that Christianity is fundamentally about correct behavior and political alignment rather than about transformation through relationship with God. The message that drew people to faith in the first place—that God offers freely what we could never earn—gets obscured beneath layers of cultural and political requirements.
Second, this approach profoundly alienates those outside the faith. When Christianity becomes identified with political power, legal coercion, and cultural warfare, it creates barriers that make the actual message of grace nearly impossible to hear. Non-Christians see a religion that seems primarily concerned with control rather than love, with winning rather than serving, with power rather than humility. This cultural Christianity drives people away from the very message that might genuinely transform their lives.

The tragic irony is that Christian nationalism, despite its stated goal of advancing Christian faith and values, actually undermines both. By substituting legal enforcement for spiritual transformation, it produces neither true justice nor genuine faith. By collapsing law and grace into a single framework, it distorts both. And by alienating both believers and non-believers from the authentic gospel message, it works directly against the faith’s true mission.

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Seeing the Mark of the Beast

In the book of Revelation, the “mark” or “number” of the beast has often been used throughout history to target particular people, movements, or institutions. In many end-times interpretations, someone is linked with the number of the beast as if Revelation were predicting a specific person, event, or organization. The number itself—666—most likely refers to Nero, the cruel Roman emperor who was the first to really persecute Christians. Although Nero died before Revelation was written, rumors persisted that he might return.

Yet, given the symbolic nature of Revelation, the number was probably never meant to point to a single individual alone. Instead, it seems to represent recurring spiritual forces—patterns of evil—that can appear in many forms throughout history.

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Revelation and Human Objectification

The book of Revelation is notoriously difficult to interpret, filled with vivid imagery, mysterious symbols, and dramatic pronouncements. Yet, amidst its complexity, some passages resonate with unmistakable clarity. Revelation chapter 18, for example, paints a haunting picture of the fall of corrupt powers, where the wealthy and powerful weep—not for justice, but for their lost ability to profit. In particular, verses 11–13 depict merchants lamenting that no one buys their luxurious cargo anymore. The detailed list of goods includes precious metals, spices, animals, and—most strikingly—“slaves, that is, human souls.”

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The Hidden Idolatry of Modern Christianity

In Christianity, idolatry is traditionally understood as the act of worshiping something or someone other than the one true God. Worship, in this context, typically implies acts of adoration, dependence, and prioritization. This definition often conjures images of carved idols or golden statues—physical objects revered in place of God. Yet, the New Testament broadens this concept, equating greed with idolatry. This perspective invites us to rethink idolatry’s implications for our spiritual lives and interactions with the world around us.

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Effective Evangelism: Spiritual Insights from Acts

The phrase “ends of the Earth” as it appears in the book of Acts pertains to those who are far from God. Acts chronicles a great deal of evangelistic activity, yet it offers only a few instances where we are provided with detailed accounts of the messages shared with people who are in this category. These examples warrant closer examination to uncover insights about the methods used and their outcomes.

In one such example, Paul and Barnabas visit the city of Lystra (Acts 14:8-18). Here, Paul performs a miraculous healing of a lame beggar, which evokes a dramatic response from the townspeople. Believing that Paul and Barnabas are manifestations of their gods, Hermes and Zeus, the people prepare to offer them worship. This reaction is linked to a regional myth about the gods previously visiting in disguise and being overlooked, leading the people of Lystra to vow not to repeat the mistake. Paul and Barnabas reject this misplaced veneration, redirecting the crowd’s attention to the one true God. Interestingly, Acts does not record Paul explicitly mentioning Jesus in this instance. The outcome? There is no mention of conversions, and Paul and Barnabas eventually move on to the next city, seemingly leaving behind a community unchanged by their message.

Athens presents a starkly different scenario (Acts 17:16-34). Paul engages with the local populace in the agora, or marketplace, which leads to his invitation to address the learned elite on Mars Hill. His speech here stands out for its cultural resonance: Paul begins with the Athenians’ own worldview, referencing their religious practices and even quoting Greek poets to introduce them to the concept of the one true God. From this foundation, he moves on to the subject of Jesus and the resurrection. The results in Athens were more mixed: some listeners believed, while others expressed a desire to hear more, and still others dismissed him outright. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that Paul tailored his approach to align with the intellectual and cultural framework of his audience, resulting in tangible spiritual fruit.

Later in Acts, Paul finds himself arrested in Jerusalem, leading to an audience with King Agrippa (Acts 26:1-32). Given this opportunity, Paul shares his personal testimony, recounting his dramatic conversion on the road to Damascus. Rather than addressing Agrippa’s specific concerns or context, Paul focuses on his own story. The outcome is clear: Agrippa is unmoved, dismissing Paul’s appeal and showing no interest in embracing Christianity.

It is worth noting that the examples above are the primary instances in Acts where messages are delivered to those far outside the Jewish faith or the category of “God-fearers”—non-Jews who already believed in the God of Israel and needed to be introduced to Jesus. Among these three encounters, Paul’s only apparent success was with the intellectuals at Mars Hill. A possible reason for this lies in his method. Unlike in Lystra or before Agrippa, Paul at Mars Hill made deliberate use of the listeners’ cultural context and knowledge to frame his message.

In contrast, Paul’s approach in Lystra seems detached from the people’s preoccupations. The townspeople’s focus on their local myth appears to be ignored or unacknowledged in Paul’s exhortation. His message is a generalized appeal to accept the God of Israel, devoid of specific references to Jesus. Similarly, with Agrippa, Paul relies solely on recounting his personal spiritual journey, without any evident attempt to connect with the king’s unique perspective or concerns.

This leads to a broader reflection on the effectiveness of Paul’s strategies. Could it be that these accounts reveal the importance of speaking not just from personal conviction but in a manner that resonates with the audience? Paul is often assumed to have always spoken under the direct guidance of the Holy Spirit, yet Acts does not explicitly affirm this in every instance. The varying outcomes—particularly the apparent lack of conversions in Lystra and with Agrippa—might suggest that even Paul had to navigate the challenges of effective communication and cultural engagement.

Indeed, Paul later requests prayer for boldness and clarity in proclaiming the Gospel (eg, Eph. 6:19 and Col. 4:4), an acknowledgment that effective evangelism requires divine empowerment as well as thoughtful preparation. This is what I’ve termed “speaking in power” in this blog, and highlights a significant tension in Christian witness: the balance between faithfulness to the message and adaptability to the audience’s needs. The examples in Acts remind us that successful communication of the Gospel often requires humility, contextual sensitivity, and reliance on the Holy Spirit.

Modern Legalism

One of the goals of this blog is to seek an understanding of what’s not working in today’s church, at least from the standpoint of evangelism. The letter to the Laodiceans, for example, is useful for suggesting areas to look at.

One of the things that came up there, for example, is the prevalence of legalism today. In the letter, Jesus’ direction to buy white clothing could be interpreted as being a move away from legalism, suggesting that legalism was one of the things causing the Laodiceans to be lukewarm.

However, I did not define “legalism”, and it would be helpful to think through that at least a little.

In the New Testament, the clearest use of the term was to refer to the Old Testament Law, the Torah. Paul wrote about the error of believing that obedience to the Torah was the key to being saved. Instead, he taught that faith in Christ was key, that the Law was a kind of pointer to our need for Him.

This wasn’t an entirely new idea, because in the Old Testament, prophets pointed out that even performing a good sacrifice, for example, wasn’t acceptable if the people’s hearts weren’t right.1

Now, Christians today generally don’t follow the Torah, or believe it to be a key part of salvation, but the idea of following rules still exists in other forms. It can start by thinking of the Bible as a sort of rule book, with a list of dos and don’ts that must be followed.

For example, it’s possible to believe we must dress properly for church in order to be acceptable to God, perhaps even that He will punish us somehow for not doing so. There are many variations on this theme, but the most extreme version may be to believe that we need to perform certain actions in order to ensure our salvation. Someone may believe that they need to tithe or they won’t go to heaven, for example.

Usually, though, this sort of legalism doesn’t go so far that Christians worry about their own salvation.

It seems much more common for us to believe that other people’s behaviors affect their salvation. It’s easy to find examples of Christians condemning someone else’s actions so strongly as to say that, unless they change their actions, they cannot be saved. This causes Christians to focus on the actions of unsaved people, rather than their relationship with God.

I think this is a very clear example of modern legalism, in which we revert to the idea that obedience to some sort of law, such as the Bible as a rulebook, is necessary for salvation. In that view, trusting in Jesus might also be needed, of course, but it’s not enough without following the rules.

So when I talk about legalism in this blog, I’m talking mainly about this last perspective, that some sort of rule following is necessary to be saved, and especially when this view is presented to people outside the faith.


  1. See, Hosea 6:6, Isaiah 1:10-17, Amos 5:21-24, Micah 6:6-8. ↩︎

Pentecost and the End of Slavery

Pentecost is often seen to be the start of the church, as the Holy Spirit filled the small band of believers. Sometimes focus is placed on the result of the Spirit’s filling, namely speaking in tongues, as an indication of the presence of the Spirit. Others see the primary impact to be the fellowship that existed shortly after this event as more and more people entered the community.

In this blog, we’ve looked at the effectiveness of Peter’s speech, how it was the first example of Jesus’ statement that the Father would give us words to speak of Him, and how this example was followed by others in Acts, modeled by Paul’s prayer requests, and described in the theology in his letters.

I think that there’s another way of looking at the Spirit’s effects in the lives of the early believers, and that is to consider the difference between freeing slaves and ending slavery that I discussed earlier. In that discussion, slavery was used as both a literal problem and as a metaphor for the many ways that people are subject to the kingdom of this world, rather than the kingdom of God. The idea is that, while it is good to free slaves, to help people whenever we can in whatever ways we can, it is better to remove the institutions of slavery completely.

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