
When repeated failure makes a person look like a lost cause, writing them off can feel less like cruelty than common sense. Yet Paul opens 2 Corinthians 1 by addressing a fractured, correction-resistant congregation as “the church of God” and “saints”—then speaking grace and peace over people who appear to deserve neither.

A child at a pond knows the drill: rod, reel, line in the water. Then something tugs. Knowing how to cast is not the same as being ready for the catch. In Matthew 10, Jesus takes his “Fishers of Men” and gives them further preparation for an even more important catch.
You’ve said it in the middle of the pain: there has to be more to this life than this. Israel lived that distance in Egypt—promised milk and honey yet making bricks from dawn to night, their cries seemingly unheard. Exodus 1–15 traces that groan toward a sea no one can part alone, and asks who can carry a captive people across it.

Salvation required no work of yours; Jesus paid it all. 1 Corinthians 3 nevertheless calls you God’s field and God’s building, a laborer together with Him who only plants and waters. The spirit of the world still sneaks in with envy, taking credit, and divisions, making even sincere effort feel wasted or aimed at the wrong spot.

If we’re all fools, what’s it matter if one fool hurts another? Does anything matter? To God, the answer is it does — and not all fools are alike because of Him.
“You must let no unwholesome word come out of your mouth, but only what is beneficial for the building up of the one in need, that it would give grace to those who hear.”

The Boys are back — one standing, one sitting — both trying to make sense of Cardinals chaos, Blues heartbreak and the first hundred days of Trump 2.0. Plus: speculation on the next album from Taylor Swift and a meditation on the mystery of Jesus’ two natures.

I am provoked by an internet presence that goes by “Redeemed Zoomer,” presumably a 20-something young man holding theologically conservative views, and similar views on Christian ethics, who is Reformed.

When one of my sisters phoned the other day, we got to talking about the church in which we grew up.
We were raised high-church Episcopalian. When you went to church there was no other place it could possibly be and nothing but worship could have possibly been going on. As the priest consecrated the body and blood for communion, he — yes, he — faced the altar and crucifix. We received communion on the tongue while we knelt at the communion rail. The lay readers — those who read the Epistle at each service — were enrobed, as were we acolytes.

“Don’t Be Evil.” If you’ve followed the tech industry long enough, you know that used to be Google’s motto. Whatever happened to that Google? We could ask that of our attempts at mere avoidance of evil, too.