Ephesians 5 says, "Let no one deceive you with empty words." The thing about empty words is that you don't always realize how empty they are. In this case, I'm not sure Paul is talking about any obvious kind of evil. Empty words may sound harmless or reasonable. Maybe even spiritual.

Some of what takes away from true discipleship doesn't always show up looking like disobedience. Empty words can sound like wisdom.

This is where what I call Christ-veneer slips in. Christ-veneer is when something sounds holy but isn't actually Christ-like. It's when we slap Jesus' name on our preferences, our politics, what makes us comfortable, or our bitterness and call it faith. It uses church language without carrying Jesus' heart.

It may sound like:

• "God helps those who help themselves."
• "Speak your truth no matter who it hurts."
• "Real Christians should agree with me."
• "Grace means God doesn't really expect change."

It feels spiritual. But it isn't.

Christ-likeness always leads toward humility, love, repentance, truth, and transformation. Christ-veneer usually leads to self-righteousness, division, apathy, and stagnation.

The scary part is that veneer slips into our thinking through social media posts, conversations, headlines, and even some sermons. Over time, we begin to make small compromises, not because we want darkness, but because it sounds reasonable.

The apostle Paul reminds us that not everything wrapped in religious words carries the light of Christ. So, here's a simple question worth reflecting on this week. Does this sound Christian or does it actually look like Jesus?

Because following Jesus isn't about repeating holy-sounding phrases. The Holy Spirit reshapes us in his character, giving us the same mind as Jesus.

Light doesn't just talk differently. It lives differently.

And when we walk in the light of Christ, we don't settle for empty words. We seek to live lives transformed by God's grace.
 

Stay blessed...john

Contentious church meetings are nothing new. In Galatians 2:1–10, Paul describes one such gathering he had in Jerusalem that enabled the church to be what God wanted it to be. Imagine the hard conversations around the issue. Essentially, it's a matter of who's in and who's out.

After their conversations, Paul convinces the leaders in Jerusalem that God has entrusted different callings to different people. Peter was sent to the circumcised to profess Jesus as Lord. Paul was sent to the Gentiles for the same reason.

Notice how this meeting ends. After all the theological wrestling, James and Cephas and John gave Paul and Barnabas "the right hand of fellowship." They didn't begrudgingly allow Paul's mission to continue. They joined in fellowship with them.

Different missions, but the same gospel.

It's been said that the phrase "do not fear" comes up in the Bible 365 times. That's once for every day of the year. Now, I haven't checked the validity of that, but I can say the idea of laying aside fear is a recurring theme in scripture.

I do wonder, though, if we misunderstand what that means. Having had many conversations with people who struggle with fear, I'll affirm that there are many appropriate times to be fearful.

That said, listen to the strong sense of confidence behind what the psalmist asks: Whom shall I fear? At the same time, notice that the writer acknowledges evildoers, adversaries, foes, and armies. It's not helpful to shrug off the struggles, pain, or situations that might fall on us.

But you also don't have to wallow in them.

So, yes, the psalmist will be confident, but I'm not sure that means fearlessness. The psalmist isn't showing off some false bravado. Rather, he's tapping into another important theme in the Bible: Trust.

If I trust God, I can be confident. Whatever fearful thing is in front of me, I can learn to see it in the light of God's power. Such an acknowledgement isn't denying the danger or struggle ahead, but it does offer a deeper grounding within it.

The disciples of John come to Jesus with a question about their practice of faith. They want to know why his disciples don't fast as they do. In that question, there is some wondering about faithfulness, discipline, and religious seriousness. But Jesus wants his followers to know more than rules and schedules. They should pay close attention to moments.

Jesus says, "he wedding attendants cannot mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them, can they?" In other words, be present to what God is doing right here, right now.

That's an idea Amy Oden emphasizes in her book by the same title. She reminds us that Christian mindfulness is not about escaping reality, but about attentive presence. We learn how to wake up to God's activity in this moment, in this place, and in these circumstances. Jesus embodies such an attentiveness. He refuses to let spiritual habits become mere automatic rituals that are detached from lived reality.

Hebrews 10 tells us that the law of God was a shadow of what was coming. In that system, year after year, the people of Israel offered sacrifices for their sins. But no matter how often they prayed, prepared their offerings, or followed the rules, the cycle of guilt and imperfection continued. The Hebrews preacher sees that the system was designed to point forward, not to fix the problem.

In the same way, we sometimes try to patch up our spiritual lives with “good deeds” or by checking the right boxes. We pray, serve, or even go to church, but our hearts still wrestle with doubt, fear, and guilt. Now, praying, serving, or worshiping are not wrong in themselves. As a Methodist Christian, my tradition sees these as means of experiencing God's grace. But they are like the temple sacrifices. They show that we recognize the problem, but they cannot remove it. They weren't designed to!

Enter Jesus. Christ is not a spiritual band-aid or a temporary fix. Have you seen the bumper sticker: If Jesus is your copilot, switch seats.

I always appreciate taking part in the MLK march and prayer service each year. My favorite part comes when the march ends and we finish in worship, entering the sanctuary to sing “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” Every time I sing that song, I remember a couple of things.

I see Ms. Joy Turner, my elementary school choir director. In the third and fourth grade, do-re-mi didn’t interest me much, but I could tell something was different about that song. And I didn’t understand then that she wasn’t just teaching us how to sing. She was actually teaching us how to pray, showing us that lifting our voices together could be an act of hope and dignity.

Another memory comes from Grandma. I was in high school, sitting at her house, when she called me over. I don't remember if it was something we were watching or just a conversation that got her thinking. But she looked at me and said, “Mijo, don’t forget that what they did to them, they did to us, too.” Grandma wasn’t bitter about it. I think it was her way of passing on her family's experience and tradition.

Recently, a group of colleagues and I were asked to reflect on whether we thought racism could ever end. Out of that conversation came the idea that many Christians do not believe it could. Not that it would not, but that it could not.

As a pastor, that's disheartening. If we say something is impossible, we're likely to stop worrying about it. We learn how to live with it and maybe even stop praying about it. That leads me to wonder what kind of faith do we think God gives us. Many Christians pray "the prayer Jesus taught us," asking God to deliver them from evil.

Is our deliverance only an escape?

The biblical story assumes there are spiritual forces of evil. It names injustice, violence, and sin honestly. Again and again, though, God’s people are invited to see a future that does not yet exist. It's the paradox of now and not yet.

That kind of imagination is not naïve optimism. It is hope. As an act of resistance, hope insists that the way things are is not the way things must always be. Hope believes God is still delivering people from sin, from systems, from identities we’ve been told are unchangeable.

As a United Methodist Christian, my baptismal vows promise to renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness and reject the evil powers of this world. Accepting those vows is more than reciting tradition. We are declaring that evil doesn't last against God. We're not renouncing something that’s unbeatable.

I recently visited with a colleague who lamented the instructions given to them by a parishioner just before worship. The pastor was told to "not get political."

Personally, that directive seems to assume there is little that is political about our faith. You don't get far in the Bible's story before you realize that idea doesn't hold up. Someone might say that politics were different in the ancient world. To that I would agree, but different politics are still politics. My experience has been that the don't-get-political demand means not saying something I might disagree with.

And here's why this is worth reflecting on. It too often leads to something we see in Galatians.

Some in the Galatian church had not rejected Jesus outright. They still had some of the right language. They still talked about faith. But somewhere along the way, the gospel had been adjusted, to use a nice word. Paul says it was perverted. It had been reshaped just enough to feel manageable or comfortable.

That means the gospel had been lost, not because of rebellion but through a revision. And that is the danger every generation and culture must guard against.

We are not always patient people. And our impatience often clouds our judgment. Even in ministry! We can be so eager to serve the Lord that we forget to slow down and actually listen to the Lord. When that happens, even our best intentions can lead to unnecessary strain, missteps, or burnout.

As we read about Jesus' ministry, though, we should notice something about him. He seems to be more patient than his disciples, those who walked with him then and those who walk with him today. His patience has a way of uncovering our true priorities, our fears, and sometimes our desire for quick results rather than deep faithfulness.

Slowing down with Jesus helps us see the long game of peacemaking and discipleship. Yes, there are moments when faith, hope, and love call us to bold action. But more often than not, living out the gospel looks quiet and unspectacular. Not that it isn't difficult or doesn't challenge us. Think of how much of a struggle forgiveness and mercy can be to offer to someone who has hurt you.

Stay blessed...john

I wonder if Jeremiah’s excuse is more than just his age. Is “I am only a boy” a political realization about his power and his voice?

Every young person probably feels the tension of needing experience to get experience, but today I'm reading something different from Jeremiah. "I am only a boy" may mean "I do not matter." I don't sit in the room where it happens. I don't have the credentials to speak to kings, priests, or systems.

Jeremiah knows what the world has already decided about him: Your voice doesn't matter.

But God calls him anyway.

The Lord does not deny Jeremiah’s youth or try to argue him into confidence. Instead, God instructs Jeremiah to shake off what he's been told. “Do not say, ‘I am only a boy.’” Not because it's not true, but because that won't matter.

Our identity in Christ is not merely something we discover within ourselves. It surely isn't something we earn through approval. Our identity is spoken over us by God. What the world says is “only,” God renames as beloved.

Sent. God commissions what culture says is powerless.

Jeremiah is not promoted into relevance. His life is redefined. The boy does not grow up to be a prophet. The prophet is brought into being by the word of the Lord.

Let's lean on that for a moment.

Most of us carry our own version of “only.” Only inexperienced. Only grieving. Only tired. Only recovering. Only unsure. Only one voice.

These may be true statements, but they can also be assigned limitations. And God does not shame us for recognizing them. But God refuses to let them be our identity. And we shouldn't let them be our excuse.

God’s call does not ignore our smallness. So, the question is not whether we are enough. It is whether we will keep saying “only” after God has already said, “I am sending you.”

Stay blessed...john

It’s common wisdom to say that it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is for permission. In Acts 10, Peter does neither.
Something astonishing has just happened. It appears God’s saving grace has been freely offered to those outside the Jewish faith. That wouldn’t have been something everyone would have easily received. Peter struggled with it himself. But when the Holy Spirit became undeniable, Peter realized what it meant. God had already acted.

Afterwards, Peter doesn’t stand up and recite new rules. He doesn’t call for a committee meeting or a vote. He asks a question: “Can anyone withhold the water?” In other words, who are we to stand in the way of what God has already done? Peter realizes that the church has not been asked to grant access to God, but to bear witness to God’s generous movement in the world.

Now, let's reflect on what that means for our ministry today.

Too often, we imagine ourselves as spiritual gatekeepers who get to decide who is ready, who is worthy, who fits, and who belongs. We don’t say it out loud, but our hesitation, our silence, and our caution can be like withheld water. We create barriers not because we are cruel, but because we are afraid. What will happen if all these new people come?

Acts 10 reminds us that the Spirit does not wait for permission. God moves first. The church follows second.

Acts 9 doesn’t tell us what Paul said after his world fell apart. The Bible mentions Ananias's reluctance. Other than that, we skip right past how Paul and the others are processing what's happening. The detail that struck me as I reflected on that today was that, in the end, Paul ate. 

That seems too ordinary to be a part of this grand story.

But before Paul did anything in Jesus' name, he sat at a table and ate. After days of fasting, fear, and disorientation, his entry into the Christian community was not a sermon or a new beginner's class. It was a meal. 

Of course, he needed his strength. He waited a few days before leaving. But eating was not just about calories. It was acceptance and trust. On one side, Paul was saying, "I will receive what you are offering," and on the other, the community is saying, "You belong here now."

We love conversion stories. We celebrate baptism Sundays. We count decisions and mark milestones. But Acts 9 shows us something deeper. How far does our welcome actually go? Are we content to see people come to church, or are we also willing to bring them to our table?

For many Christians, communion is a neatly-timed ceremony. For the early church, communion was embedded in the meal itself. Bread was broken during our conversation. Grace was shared while the stew simmered. 

Have you ever heard God's voice? That's something people ask pastors. What does God's voice sound like? When do we hear it, or how do we even know we truly have heard God's voice? Those are questions to consider when discerning what you're hearing.

Personally, I feel like I have heard God's voice. Like I've heard from many others, it wasn't an audible experience. No Morgan Freeman-like figure showed up to have a conversation with me. But there have been moments of peace and clarity that assured me what I heard was God.

That experience feels very different from how the psalmist imagines God's voice. According to Psalm 29, the Lord's voice thunders, is strong, and breaks through creation. The elements unravel when God speaks.

That's quite a vision of what it is to experience God's voice. I'm not sure how much of that we could handle. Still, the assumption is that God speaks, and a response is waiting.

For the psalmist, the response is praise. People of God use their voice to praise God for hearing the Lord's voice. Knowing that God speaks is a blessing of strength and peace for God's people.

But let's also consider this: God has already spoken.

A high school classmate wrote me a letter more than ten years ago. I keep it for a couple of reasons. First, I remember the joy of reading it for the first time. My old friend was doing well, at a better point in his life than he had been before. He wrote to tell me how great things had been going and what he was looking forward to.

And I was excited to write him back.

Except I didn't. That's the other reason I keep the letter. My friend died before I got to tell him how happy I was for him. His letter keeps teaching me to tell people what I want them to know. Not to wait to let people know how much I appreciate them or care for them.

Life's too short, and God is too good not to share the love you have right now.

I tell you that today because, as I read Ephesians 3, I wondered how the apostle Paul felt while writing his letter. Yes, there was a gospel message he wanted to reemphasize to a church he knew and loved. There was also something personal. Paul was imprisoned when he wrote the letter. Time was uncertain. And so, he wanted to ensure his people knew about Jesus, but he also wanted them to know how much he hoped they would experience the power of Christ.

If you're reading this, chances are we know each other. Let me tell you, then, what a blessing you are to me. I hope you experience the power of God's Spirit, that Christ dwells in your heart, and that you know the breadth and length and height and depth of Christ's love. My encouragement is for us all to learn to speak love, gratitude, forgiveness, and faith to one another whenever we have the chance.

There are moments when God does something so good, so unexpected, and so redemptive that it feels like your heart skips ahead of your words. Did you know there's a bidi bidi bom bom moment in the Bible?

Selena fans know what that means. It's the sound your heart makes when you're in love. As the prophet Isaiah saw it, it's what your heart does when you're in awe.

In Isaiah 60, God's people heard the promise that God's light would shine on them. It would shine so much upon them that nations would come to honor God. They would bring their wealth with them, and the people would see it as a sign of God's blessing. No more would they see exile or know desolation. The Lord would bring prosperity to them.

As a result, the prophet says their heart "shall thrill and rejoice." That's not a generic sense of happiness. It is a deep joy that moves your whole being. There's a sense that their heart would swell with joy. It's meaningful because this joy would rise within a people who had learned to expect loss more than abundance. It's also important, I think, to recognize that the promise of this heart-shaking joy came before the people actually experienced it. It was something they could expect to come in time.

Recently, I picked up a Bible someone gave me when I was new to faith. As I flipped through it, I noticed the notes scribbled in the margins and the verses I had underlined or highlighted. Honestly, some of it was pretty basic. But what else would you expect from someone just beginning to read Scripture?

Someone wiser than me must have encouraged me to simply start reading and not worry about understanding everything all at once. Those simple observations and even the silly questions represent my first steps of faith. They were exactly what I needed at the time.

I share that because I think many of us hesitate to read the Bible for a strange reason. We feel like we should already have it figured out. Say that out loud, and it sounds a bit silly. Everything you know about anything starts somewhere. Yet sometimes we act as if angels are supposed to sing the moment we open our Bible, or every page turn should come with a dramatic spiritual breakthrough.

There are moments when the light bulb comes on, so to speak, when something you read opens your eyes or reshapes your heart. Thank God for those moments. But most of the time, it’s just you and the Bible, or you, a small group, and the Bible. You read, you reflect, and you trust the Holy Spirit to work over time. And you can trust that the Spirit will.

There’s usually no special feeling that comes with reading Scripture.

Like Joshua, you don’t need all the answers before you begin. Be strong and courageous enough to open the Bible again today and tomorrow, even if it feels pointless or like you're not getting anywhere with it. By the power of God's Spirit, God’s word does its work through your steady attention.

Stay blessed...john