What removes death’s terror? John Piper shows from 1 Corinthians 15:51–58 that Christ took the sting of death our sin deserved.

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I am from a long line of top-notch cozy-creators. I learned from my mom (who learned from her mom) the power of a creamy soup on the stove, chocolate chip cookies in the oven, and a fleece blanket on the lap. Something about the warm and perfectly well-worn invites us to come in and take off our shoes.

Even if cozy aesthetics aren’t your cup of tea, there is something deliciously comfortable in life that serves as solace. Perhaps your morning routine, favorite author, fitness class, or friend group wears like wool socks, snugly confirming you belong.

But comforts can only satisfy according to size. Most earthly delights have the longevity of a Febreze spritz in a stinky bathroom. Coziness is elusive in a cursed world, a cat ever chasing its tail. Life is not tidy, no matter how well we declutter. Sin populates our landscape like teenage acne. How often have we set a lavish table for family, only to have it spoiled by a pre-meal charcuterie board of tension? No matter how you chase the thrill of cozy, any lasting promise of peace, safety, and belonging is just out of reach.

Once, back in Eden, we could nap, play, and put our feet up without care. We walked with our Maker in the cool evening air, naked and unashamed. All was right in the world. Coziness hammocked us because God was near and we were friends.

As those living east of Eden, we need nothing less than God-sized comfort. Our longings for all to be right in the world can only be met in Christ’s redemptive work. He alone brings us home to God. Safe and secure in his family, surrounded by songs of deliverance (Psalm 32:7; Zephaniah 3:17), we can live anywhere: a hole in the ground, a prison cell, on the mission field, and in broken, dysfunctional earthly families.

We can be the most uncomfortable people on the planet because we can taste the lasting comfort coming.

The God of All Cozy

We too often settle for misplaced comforts the size of table lamps and cul-de-sacs. We exchange a bright life as a light and hilltop city (Matthew 5:14–16) for the dull life of a hoarder and recluse. We reserve the Spirit’s fruit for our favorite circles only. We prefer the lighting in our castle to the darkness over there (wherever your “there” may be).

Living in a cul-de-sac is not the problem, nor is the answer to jump on a plane and renounce our Yankee Candles. Christian homes can be some of the coziest, to the glory of God and for the good of others. Some of the most worshipful moments in my life have been when I’ve lit a candle and set out a nice breakfast for my kids. The crepes and candlelight declared God’s goodness to my children in the face of the day’s problems. Yes, we miss Grandpa and faraway friends, we have frustrating OCD tendencies to manage, and we face another week of math. And yes — our Father sets the table.

God sets a table in the wilderness of today. We toil outside the garden, but Jesus has not left us as orphans (John 14:18). We are bloodied by sin and suffering, but God is near. So near, in fact, that nothing can separate us from his love (Romans 8:38–39). Jesus has gone to make a home for us in heaven (John 14:3), and the “God of all comfort” sends care packages as we wait (2 Corinthians 1:3). What kid, far from home, doesn’t beam at receiving a box of homemade goodies from Mom and Dad?

But what beats the postcard or package in the mailbox is the cousin around the corner, the soldier back from war, the friend stepping off the plane to be with you — the loved one himself. “God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son.” John 3:16 is a love letter that lives. God loves you in Jesus, which means you have all that you need.

Feasting in the wilderness is rustic, but the food is more than satisfactory. Jesus is our manna, honey-sweet. Observe the linens, bright with his steadfast love and mercy, and a seat all your own, reserved and royal. See the clothes he has provided for the occasion, white and clean. Taste the rich promises of God’s word; drink deeply of the Spirit that fills you. Don’t worry about the price of the wine and bread. Your Father pays the bill.

Nomads, Not Country-Club Members

Redeemed people taste enough of heaven’s feast to wait for it patiently. Every good and cozy gift fills them with thanksgiving, as does every thorn and valley. They are luminous like Job, who in both comfort and lack asked, “Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?” (Job 2:10). Those who feast in the already-but-not-yet say with David, “I am a sojourner with you, a guest, like all my fathers” (Psalm 39:12).

Such people traverse their lifetimes like nomads rather than country club members. If their Savior “has nowhere to lay his head” (Luke 9:58), they avoid entitlement to forever homes close to grandparents and living beyond what they can afford. They are ready to turn down any comfort for Jesus’s sake.

And we will face times of serious discomfort. Jesus knows the discomfort of your depression, your grief, and the scream you let loose alone in the family van. Perhaps your home life is the opposite of cozy. Like an attentive father dropping to his knees and taking your face in his hands, God says in perfect directness, “I, I am he who comforts you” (Isaiah 51:12).

Wilderness discomfort is too heavy for your best friend, spouse, or venti frappe double whip. But it isn’t too weighty for God. Like the Israelites wedged between enemy and sea, where do you feel the heat? Not yet in the land of milk and honey, what do you thirst for? Your God can cut raging seas like a cake; there is not a single discomfort he won’t flip on its head the moment he knows you need it. The redeemed sing with Moses on countless shores, “You have led in your steadfast love the people whom you have redeemed; you have guided them by your strength to your holy abode” (Exodus 15:13).

Comfortable Like a Christian

Indulge in comfort like a Christian, wrapped in the patchwork quilt of God’s common grace that can take the shape of warm brownies, fresh-cut flowers, and lakeside walks. Yet chiefly draw strength from Christ’s eternal comforts. Redeemed people know what true comfort tastes like, so they sidestep the bear traps of materialism and long spiritless naps. The anchored people of God set down their cup of Cozy Chamomile to enlist in God’s mission. Christ’s completed victory is our safety and security in the wilderness, sending us “marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before.”

Crave cozy all the more; you’re on your way.

In this introduction to ‘Theology Refresh,’ David Mathis and Lewis Guest IV explore reasons to go deeper into theology — not simply to gain more knowledge but to know God more deeply and live faithfully for his glory.

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The mystery of God’s goodness in Christ exceeds everything we can imagine. We need God himself to reveal it to us.

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Alcohol is one of God’s most potent gifts. He created it to gladden the heart (Psalm 104:15), to brighten life (Ecclesiastes 10:19), and to heighten celebration on the happiest occasions (John 2:1–11). Perhaps most telling, he designed this substance as an edible metaphor for the blood of Jesus, one that can help us taste the thrilling love of God. As seventeenth-century Anglican priest George Herbert reflected in his poem “The Agonie,” Communion is “that liquor sweet and most divine, which my God feels as blood, but I as wine.”

The Bible makes it clear that alcohol is full-proof divine goodness. And yet, precisely because it is so good, Scripture relentlessly warns us about the dangers of abusing it. After all, corruption of the best is the worst (if you don’t believe me, just consider what the world has done with sex). Paul includes drunkenness among habitual sins that bar one from the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:10). The pint is not to be trifled with.

Given this biblical tension and with Oktoberfest — the world’s flagrant celebration of drunkenness — now here, how should sober-minded Christians approach alcohol? We know “everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving” (1 Timothy 4:4). But knowing when and how to receive the cup requires wisdom, knowledge of God’s word, and prayer.

To that end, we’ve curated a handful of resources to help navigate the pleasures and pitfalls of alcohol.

In this 2013 episode of Ask Pastor John, John Piper outlines a biblical theology of alcohol. He describes alcohol as a permissible gift but fraught with dangers, as Scripture issues warning after warning against alcohol abuse and drunkenness. Piper concludes that drinking is not automatically a sin but may easily become one, and he cautions listeners to know their own weaknesses.

Why does Paul contrast drunkenness with being filled with the Holy Spirit? In this podcast episode from 2025, John Piper opens Ephesians 5:18 to answer that question. He distinguishes between the effects of alcohol and those of the Holy Spirit. The former dulls the senses, dims the mind, and confuses the heart. The latter is God’s power to awaken holy affections, grant wisdom, and open eyes. Spirits deaden; the Spirit enlivens.

If you desire to know God more fully and enjoy him more deeply, Piper says, “you ask, ‘How can I do everything that would enhance closeness to God?’ not, ‘How can I nuzzle up as close as possible to sin without really sinning?’”

In this 2023 article, Marshall Segal summarizes biblical warnings against five dangers of excessive drinking:

1. Confusion — Alcohol can fog our perception of reality. Drunkards see strange things; they stumble over nothing; they run when no one chases; they fight friends. Consumption leads to confusion.

2. Perversion — Like a magnet with iron shavings, drunkenness draws the worst out of the hearts of men. Sins that linger deep down are lured to the surface by too much drink. Temptations take on new, terrifying power.

3. Instability — Overuse of alcohol leaves men incapacitated, unfit to protect and provide as they ought. When danger comes, they are unaware and, even worse, unable to act.

4. Paralysis — Drunkenness offers a certain kind of comfort, but only by numbing the senses to reality. Having one too many leaves people oblivious to dangers — especially the eternal kind.

5. Futility — The drunkard seeks satisfaction in drink, but his bottle is no more than a broken cistern. No matter how often he returns to it, he will not find what he seeks. The search for joy in wine is futile.

In light of such threats, Segal offers a wise warning to anyone reaching for a brew:

As is also true about the best gifts, wisdom over the glass will mean more than heeding warnings. It will mean being so satisfied at another, deeper well that we can enjoy wine without becoming its slaves. In other words, if you do decide to drink, don’t drink on an empty soul. The best way to guard against the serious dangers of alcohol is to fill ourselves with God.

In this article from 2015, Marshall Segal asks the question, “Is drunk you the real you?” Many people get lost in their cups to find a preferred version of themselves. But the self that excessive alcohol sets loose is not the real you. He is a wraith. She is a frail, broken, pitiful thing. “He or she is not the you God created you to be, not the you that’s most in tune with real life, and not the fullest and happiest you.”

Segal validates the desire to be seen and known, but he explains no bottle could ever fulfill that longing. We can only become all God made us to be when he fills us with his Spirit and we overflow with good works. Segal reminds us that we don’t abstain from drunkenness for the sake of denial; we do it for delight. You in Christ is gloriously better than you in your cups.

In this 1981 sermon, John Piper gives four reasons why abstinence from alcohol may be a wise, though not a biblically required, choice for Christians today.

First, drinking may violate your conscience. The Bible makes it clear that consuming alcohol is not necessarily a sin, but some people’s consciences tell them it is — and it is always wrong to violate your conscience. Even though we can reeducate oversensitive consciences, Piper wonders why, given the dangers, one would do so in the case of alcohol.

Second, alcohol alters the mind for the worse. Drinking dulls judgment, making temptation harder to resist and holiness harder to pursue. The desensitizing effect of alcohol stands as a warning: It “weakens the intensity of our desire to be holy as God is holy.”

Third, alcohol is addictive. Piper argues that being both dangerous and addictive is a perilous combination.

Fourth, for Piper, abstinence is a social statement. America today is racked with the devastating effects of alcohol abuse. Christians should oppose such evil, and perhaps the simplest way is to stop drinking altogether. Piper is clear: “I choose to oppose the carnage of alcohol abuse by boycotting the product.”

Above all, any decision to use or abstain from alcohol — as with any endeavor in the Christian life — should spring from and aim to increase our trust in God. When we thank him for the delightful gift of a glass of wine, we glorify him. And when we set that glass aside to avoid its dangers, we trust his grace to satisfy us more than a drink ever could.

What makes costly love worth it? John Piper opens 1 Corinthians 15:12–19 to show how resurrection hope frees us to take risks for love’s sake.

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How can we witness to those who just want a quick fix? Pastor John presses home the shocking reality of eternity and the astounding love of Jesus.

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Wise men know you can sleep too much. In fact, that memorable proverb appears twice in God’s inspired book:

A little sleep, a little slumber,
     a little folding of the hands to rest,
and poverty will come upon you like a robber,
     and want like an armed man. (Proverbs 6:10–11 and 24:33–34)

For all of history, drunkards and gluttons have slept their way into rags. The lazy have chosen extra slumber over productive labor. Some still fall prey.

But most of us now wrestle with different temptations. We have electric lights. We have pixelated screens. We have caffeine and added sugar. We have endless notifications and a monstrous appetite for entertainment, whether sports, comedy, drama, or news. Maybe you’ve heard the secret of streaming services: Their biggest competitor is your sleep.

Many of us today simply do not sleep enough. It feels inconvenient, unproductive, almost a necessary evil. Even in the church, young, energetic, well-meaning Christians hear stories of our heroes and get the impression Scott Hubbard did:

I read with wonder how Hudson Taylor sometimes rose at 2:00am to read and pray until 4:00am. . . . George Whitefield, too, was known to begin his day well before dawn, sometimes finishing both his devotions and his first sermon by 6:00am. . . . And didn’t the Puritans get just a few hours of sleep a night? The post-Puritan William Law seemed to capture the spirit of the godliest saints when he spoke of “renouncing sleep” to redeem the time.

But we must ask, What were the long-term effects on their health and ministries? Whitefield, for one, was dead at age 55. Calvin slept no more than four hours a night, and died at age 54. And maybe the most revealing query: How early did some of our heroes go to bed to enable their early mornings? We should not assume our bedtimes and gawk at their risings. Many of them may have slept more than we do.

Stoics and Hedonists

A stoical Christian will incline to one approach: sleep as necessity and duty. The hedonist will bring another angle: sleep as gift and joy. Some of us (like myself) call ourselves “Christian Hedonists.” We are convinced by the arresting appeals to joy in Jesus’s teaching (like Matthew 5:12), modeled in his own life (Hebrews 12:2), and applied to Christian ethics (Acts 20:35). We have discovered that God is supremely delightful to the (born-again) human soul, and that our delight in him makes him look good (glorifies him). We are learning to devote our lives to pleasure in God, which overflows to meet the needs of others (love).

Still, sleep remains one of the final frontiers for practical Christian Hedonism. For years, I lived as a pleasure-pursuing Christian, seeking joy in God in the Bible, in prayer, in fellowship and corporate worship — through nature, music and song, even through exercise. But sleep? Oh, what an unfortunate duty! Think how much more time I could put into seeking my joy in God if I didn’t have to sleep!

It has taken me a long time to recondition my late-modern impulses to see that even sleep is an opportunity for joy in God. At least three pieces of the puzzle help me — some more obvious, some less so.

1. God made sleep.

Can you imagine life with no bedtimes? Maybe the child in you fills with wonder at the thought. But linger over that a bit, and the adult in you might soon get tired just considering it.

God, in his unsearchable wisdom, made our days to revolve around the rhythms of evening and morning. Sleep is not the product of the fall. Adam was a sleeper before he was a sinner (Genesis 2:21). Sleep is God’s idea and good design, to be received as sweet (Proverbs 3:24; Ecclesiastes 5:12) and pleasant (Jeremiah 31:26). Because God doesn’t sleep, we can (Psalm 121:4). In short, our infinite, untiring Creator made us finite, tiresome creatures.

Why would God design humans to spend a third of their lives in such an ungodlike state? John Piper explains:

Once a day God sends us to bed like patients with a sickness. The sickness is a chronic tendency to think we are in control and that our work is indispensable. . . . Sleep is like a broken record that comes around with the same message every day: Man is not sovereign. Man is not sovereign. Man is not sovereign.

Sleep is acted-out humility. Humility says, “God is God, I am not, and I’m glad about that.” Pride says, “My abilities and efforts are so important. How can I afford to lie down and sleep when so much depends on me?” Every bedtime offers a chance to rehearse our limitations, God’s majesty, and our gladness in him.

2. God gives sleep — and takes it.

God didn’t just make sleep; he gives it. Psalm 127:2 says,

It is in vain that you rise up early
     and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
     for he gives to his beloved sleep.

Good sleep is not a feat to be achieved, but a gift to be received. Of course, we are not totally passive, even in sleep. Our habits matter in posturing our bodies (and souls) to receive God’s gift. As Justin Earley comments,

We know all kinds of things that hinder good sleep. Most of them you could predict: late naps, caffeine, tobacco, alcohol, electric light, smartphones, and sugary and rich foods mess up our sleep. Alternatively, a good diet, consistent bedtimes, dark rooms, and exercise help us sleep. (The Body Teaches the Soul, 100)

Our focus here isn’t sleep-hacks but the God who gives sleep — and takes it away. The humbled but faithful Job spoke truly about all divine gifts (including sleep) when he said,

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. (Job 1:21)

When God takes sleep, we genuinely suffer. No sleeper is untouched. We all live and try to sleep in a sin-cursed world. Some suffer vastly more than others. We all have our nights of staring at the ceiling; many suffer seasons; some endure years.

In a fallen world, sleep challenges are complex. Not all sleeplessness is easily traced to sin in our lives or to clear ways that God is working for good in our suffering. As Christians, we can acknowledge that some experience insomnia that needs professional help, that some sleep troubles result in a fresh humility, and that what we think and feel about God (our theology) really can affect our rest.

Whether or not you (happily) acknowledge that God is God and you are not plays no small role in your ability to cease striving and get to bed. How much better might you sleep if you consciously rolled your burdens onto Jesus’s broad shoulders before hitting the pillow?

3. Sleep serves joy in God.

Now the Christian Hedonist impulse comes roaring back. Sleep does more than daily remind us of our limits in contrast to God’s greatness. Tonight’s sleep will help (or hinder) tomorrow’s joy in God. So, Christian Hedonists wield sleep in service of joy in God and loving others.

Do you think about sleep like that? You can pursue joy in God not only with an open Bible, and on your knees in prayer, and gathered in corporate worship. We also honor God in our bodies by making use of them according to his design. Lying down to rest readies us to enjoy God more, not less.

To be sure, beyond sleep troubles, God calls us to less sleep some nights, and even some seasons. For instance, when parents have young children, particularly newborns, the call of love might leave us without adequate sleep for months. But few other seasons justify neglecting our creatureliness and the humbling fact that God made us to sleep. Faithful stewardship of our bodies requires rest, and proper sleep is indeed useful in the service of spiritual joy.

So, sanctify your sleep with good habits, and sacrifice your sleep when love calls. Sleeping to the glory of God requires wisdom to read the situation and follow the leading of the Spirit. Most nights that means turning in on time, trusting Jesus to run the universe without your help. And occasionally it means staying out of your comfortable bed or rising from it early for the sake of someone else’s joy.

Pray for Your Sleep

Do you pray for your sleep? In other words, do you seek sleep like a consciously God-dependent Christian, or do you just sleep, like a nonbeliever? Do you make sleep holy through grateful prayer in light of what God says about sleep (1 Timothy 4:4–5)? Every bedtime is a chance to rehearse the basics and freshly acknowledge (and enjoy) the Sovereign of sleep.

Under the reign of Jesus, cultivate your sleep discipline. Don’t squander his gift for poor reasons. Learn from the times you foolishly choose against sleep. And be ready to sacrifice your sleep as an act of love when real needs emerge. It is an act of love to discipline yourself for regular sleep, so that you might be ready to help when needs arise.

Sleep is a gift to be received in service to our joy in God, and to be sacrificed in service to the joy of others. God is most glorified in our sleep when our sleep serves our joy in him, and renews our strength to love others.

The world’s diversions at college may distract and entice. But when we pursue lasting pleasure in God, every semester counts for eternity.

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The rulers of this age mistook Jesus, so they crucified him — and ushered him into new glories he shares with his saints.

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