I recently asked an equities investor what he thought of a well-known publication. "It serves as an excellent contrarian indicator," he said. “I read it to find out what I don’t believe.”

It made me laugh, but it also made me think that this is a good way to approach many ministry resources.

When I read that effective ministry needs innovation or new trends, I follow my friend's advice and do the opposite. A.I. is the future of pastoral ministry? I lean into the analog and the personal. Someone's come up with a new theological insight that nobody's ever seen before? I dig up an old commentary. A new way of doing church or a new kind of Christianity or a new perspective on Paul or something else? I go looking for what’s old.

Effective ministry isn't found by looking for the new and novel or adopting new techniques. It's found in the faithful things that pastors have been doing for centuries.

This problem isn’t new. I was shocked the first time I read Preaching and Preachers by Lloyd-Jones, based on a series of lectures he gave in 1969. People said preachers needed to adapt, Lloyd-Jones says, because modern people supposedly don’t listen like earlier generations. “I maintain that this new kind of thinking about these matters is entirely wrong… It is wrong in general, first of all, because it is wrong in fact, and it is wrong in experience. It is wrong in its whole psychological understanding of the situation.” People haven't changed, and ministry hasn't changed either. Lloyd-Jones believed that we should speak to the people of our day, but he also warned against falling:

…into the grievous error of adopting modern psychological theories to such an extent that we evade the truth, sometimes to protect ourselves from the message, and certainly often to justify methods that are not consistent and consonant with the message which we are privileged to deliver.

Elasticity, he wrote, has its limits.

It's a mistake to think that innovation is the key to effective ministry. More often than not, the opposite is true. Go back to the same things pastors have been doing for hundreds of years, the same things that God has promised to bless, and keep doing those things faithfully until the end.

The world is full of promised upgrades and “proven” strategies. I’m not impressed.

Instead, keep going. Keep doing the plain, time-tested things God has called you to do. Stay faithful, and let your suspicion of trends grow. Read old books. Root yourself in what is deep and durable, not what is new and loud.

When the newest blog post tells you to change everything, let it be a warning. Remember to go back to prayer, the Bible, the ordinary means of grace, and love for your people. Faithfulness is not flashy, but it is fruitful, and it will last long after the trends are gone.

Big Idea: God has not abandoned Israel, and the same mercy that reached you is the mercy that will one day reach them.

Here's a loaded question: when I say the word "Israel," what comes to your mind?

Few words today carry more emotional and ideological weight. Chances are, you had one of three reactions:

• Strong Support — Israel is a legitimate democracy with a right to self-defense. The biblical and historical ties to the land are real, and October 7, 2023 only deepened that conviction.
• Sharp Criticism — The Jewish people and Israeli government policy are not the same thing. Military actions in Gaza, settlement expansion, and disproportionate force demand serious moral scrutiny.
• Exhaustion — You'd rather not go there. The conversation feels unresolvable, emotionally costly, and socially risky, especially in a church or diverse workplace.

Wherever you landed, your reaction points to something worth noticing: Israel has never been a neutral topic.

But before Israel was a political flashpoint or a news headline, it was a theological story, and that story is still unfolding. In Romans 11, Paul argues that what God is doing with Israel is directly connected to your salvation, the mission of the Church, and the mercy of God toward all people.

Most of us have strong opinions about Israel. Far fewer of us have sat with what God says about Israel.

That's what makes this passage so important. Paul pulls back the curtain on a divine plan so purposeful, surprising, and soaked in grace that should move us beyond reaction and debate, and bring us to something far better: worship.

The Question

At the heart of this passage is one piercing question: Has God abandoned Israel? Is Israel a chapter God has already closed, important once, but no longer relevant to what he's doing in the world?

There’s a reason why this question came up in Romans. In the early church, Gentiles were coming to faith in large numbers, but very few Jews were. Over time, that imbalance began to breed a quiet arrogance among Gentile believers. If Israel was largely rejecting the gospel, they reasoned, then perhaps God was finished with Israel altogether. Perhaps the Jewish people had been replaced, and Gentiles now stood at the center of God's purposes.

This raised a deeper question, one that cut to the very character of God. If he had turned his back on Israel, what did that say about him? Could his word be trusted? Had his promises failed? And if God could walk away from Israel, what would stop him from walking away from anyone else?

This matters because we need to understand what God has planned for us and Israel in the world.

Paul’s Answer

So let’s look at Paul’s answer. But let me warn you: Romans 11 is one of the most rewarding — and most demanding — chapters in all of Paul's writings. Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones called it one of the "great and notable chapters in the whole Bible," yet was quick to admit it is also one of the most difficult.

Has God abandoned Israel? Paul answers in three ways that help us understand God’s plan. Here’s Paul’s first answer:

God's plan is bigger than you imagined (11:11–16)

So I ask, did they stumble in order that they might fall? By no means! Rather, through their trespass salvation has come to the Gentiles, so as to make Israel jealous. Now if their trespass means riches for the world, and if their failure means riches for the Gentiles, how much more will their full inclusion mean! (11:11-12)

Paul's question is blunt: Has God rejected his people forever? His answer is equally blunt: Absolutely not. Paul uses the strongest negation available in Greek, used fourteen times throughout Romans precisely to rule something out as impossible.

Yes, Israel stumbled. Paul knew this firsthand. In city after city, synagogue after synagogue, the Jewish response had hardened into rejection. The same leaders who crucified Jesus had persecuted his followers and chased Paul across the empire.

But Paul calls it a stumble, not a fall. It was part of a plan.

He traces three movements:

• Israel's rejection opened the door for the Gentiles to receive salvation.
• Gentile blessing was designed to provoke Israel to jealousy — and draw them back.
• Israel's return will unleash even greater blessing on the world. Paul talks about “full inclusion,” which we’ll return to in a moment. God isn’t done with Israel yet!

This isn't abandonment. It's a story still unfolding, one where God's mercy keeps reaching further than anyone expected.

Then Paul says something important to the Gentiles:

Now I am speaking to you Gentiles. Inasmuch then as I am an apostle to the Gentiles, I magnify my ministry in order somehow to make my fellow Jews jealous, and thus save some of them. For if their rejection means the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance mean but life from the dead? If the dough offered as firstfruits is holy, so is the whole lump, and if the root is holy, so are the branches. (11:12-16)

Paul gets practical. He turns his attention to the majority in the Roman church, the Gentile believers. He has already established that the gospel is "the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek" (Romans 1:16). His pattern was consistent: he always brought the message to the Jewish people first, and when they rejected it, he turned to the Gentiles.

Now he reveals something remarkable: his passion for Gentile ministry isn't just about the Gentiles. He hopes their salvation will stir a holy jealousy in his Jewish brothers and sisters, drawing them back to God as well. It's like a boomerang: Jewish rejection opens the door to Gentile salvation, which in turn becomes the very instrument God uses to bring Jewish people home.

Then, in verse 16, Paul offers an image that seems puzzling at first, but it's actually quite beautiful. In Paul's day, Jewish households would set aside a small portion of dough as an offering before baking bread. That act of dedication consecrated the entire batch. Paul applies this picture to Israel: Abraham is that first portion, the holy root from which the whole tree grows. Because the patriarchs were set apart by God, the nation that springs from them remains consecrated to God as well despite their failure. Their failures don't cancel God's faithfulness. He isn't finished with them yet.

Let me ask you: are you living with too small a view of God's plan? It's easy to shrink God's story down to the size of our own experience: our church, our community, our people. But Paul is painting on a much larger canvas. God is orchestrating the salvation of Jews and Gentiles across centuries, using stumbling and returning, rejection and acceptance, all as instruments in his sovereign hands.

Your faith is part of God's plan for Israel. Paul says Gentile salvation was meant to provoke Israel to jealousy. Don't write Israel off. God hasn't. Let this passage widen your prayers. Pray for the Jewish people. Pray for all nations. God’s plan is bigger than you imagined.

But then Paul answers by making a second point:

God's plan calls you to humility, not pride (11:17–22)

In verses 17–24, Paul introduces a powerful image: an olive tree. The tree represents God's people throughout history, both Jew and Gentile. But Paul does something striking with it. The tree is originally Jewish, yet some of its natural branches have been broken off. We as Gentiles were wild branches, grafted in to take their place.

Here's what each part of the image means. The root is Abraham. The broken branches are generations of Jewish people who rejected the Lord. The grafted branches are believing Gentiles.

Most Jewish people have not believed in Jesus as their Messiah and have therefore been cut off from the spiritual blessings that were rightfully theirs. Meanwhile, Gentiles — who had no claim on those blessings at all — have entered into them entirely by faith in Israel's Messiah. We didn't earn our place. We were invited in.

And that's precisely Paul's warning: you were grafted in, not born in. Turning to the Gentile majority in Rome — and to us — he says, "Do not be arrogant toward the branches" (v. 18). From this image, Paul draws out three sharp applications.

• Don't boast. "Do not become proud, but fear" (11:20). Gentiles are beneficiaries of Jewish rejection, not deserving recipients. There is nothing to be proud of here; only gratitude.
• Remember who holds you up. The root supports the branches, never the other way around (11:18). You do not sustain your standing before God. He sustains you. The moment we forget that, we've already begun to drift.
• Don't presume on God's grace (11:20-22). God is love, but he is also holy and just. The breaking off of natural branches should give us pause. Faith perseveres in humility; presumption is what fails. Just as unbelief caused natural branches to be cut off, arrogance and self-righteous unbelief can lead to the same. If he didn’t hesitate to cut off dead branches of the original tree, he won’t hesitate to cut us out either. This isn't a call to anxious doubt; it's a call to live in reverent, honest dependence on God.

It’s easy to drift from “I was invited in” to “I belong here.” But Paul won’t let us do that. We are wild branches, held not by our own strength but by the grace of the One who grafted us in.

There is no place for spiritual pride, no place for judging others, and no place for thinking that God owes us anything. Just wonder. Hold your place in this tree with open hands and a grateful heart, because you didn’t grow here. You were planted by a Savior who is gentle with weak faith, and strong enough to keep what he grafts in.

Paul has shown us that God's plan is much bigger than we thought. Our role in it asks for humility, not pride. Now he brings us to his third point:

God's plan ends in mercy for everyone (11:25–32)

In verse 12, Paul talks about Israel's full inclusion. In verses 23–24, he says the broken branches can be grafted back in. Then in verses 25–26, he calls it a mystery: "A partial hardening has come upon Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in. And in this way all Israel will be saved" — because, verse 29 says, "the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable."

What does Paul mean by “all Israel will be saved”? People usually land in one of four views:

• View 1 — Jews are saved apart from Jesus (a separate covenant path). Romans 11 doesn’t allow that: there’s one olive tree, and salvation is through the Messiah—not a second track.
• View 2 — “Israel” means the Church. That would make “all Israel” mean all believers (Jews + Gentiles). But in Romans 9–11 Paul has been speaking mainly about ethnic Israel; switching definitions right here feels forced.
• View 3 — “All Israel” means the remnant across history. God saves Jewish people in every generation, and that’s true. But Paul’s language about the hardening lifting and branches being grafted back in points to something more than a steady trickle.
• View 4 — A future, large-scale turning of Jewish people to Christ. Before Christ returns, God lifts the hardening and many Jewish people come to faith in Jesus. This is the most common view among commentators.

I believe View 4 is the best reading for a few reasons. First, “Israel” should mean the same in both sentences: if ethnic Israel is mentioned in verse 25, then it is also what Paul means when he says, “and so all Israel will be saved” in verse 26. The second point Paul makes—“life from the dead” helping the world—feels too dramatic to be just a slow and steady flow of Jewish converts over many years. Third, Paul underlines it as a headline truth: “I do not want you to be unaware of this mystery”—his way of saying, “Don’t miss what God is doing here.”

Paul appears to be referring to a time in the future, close to Christ's return, when the hardening is removed and many Jewish people will turn to Jesus. They will do this not through a different way, but through the same mercy that saves everyone: faith in the one Savior.

Israel itself, now lapsed in unbelief, will turn back — from rejection to acceptance, from cut off to redrafted, from disobedience to obedience, and from partial and temporary hardening to faith. (Fred Zaspel and Jim Hamilton Jr.)

There will be a reversal. God's calling is irrevocable. He will not abandon his people.

That truth should humble us, shape our prayers, and fuel our passion for the gospel, including with Jewish people.

God’s story isn’t over. Israel’s rejection of Jesus isn’t total; God always keeps a remnant. Israel's rejection of Jesus is not final; restoration is coming. The story isn't over. It never was.

Romans 11 is a call to three simple things: wonder, humility, and trust.

• Wonder — because God's plan is far bigger than we can imagine, weaving together Jews and Gentiles in ways that should expand our prayers and deepen our worship.
• Humility — because we didn't earn our place in this story; we were grafted in by grace, which means pride has no home here.
• And trust — because the God who has kept every promise to Israel is the same God who holds our lives. His mercy is the first word and the last word, and that is more than enough to rest in.

God has not abandoned Israel, and the same mercy that reached you is the mercy that will one day reach many of them. Give thanks for your salvation through Jesus, and look forward to the day when God will save all kinds of people to be his forever.

Curated links for your weekend reading:

The Pope Drops Spiritual Knowledge on AI

The Pope warned that while AI is a powerful tool, as with all technologies, it is not a morally neutral tool.

What Is Magnifica Humanitas All About?

Magnifica Humanitas argues for a prudential and humane approach to emerging technologies like AI.

The Delightful Duty of Married Sex

Paul makes clear that married sex is a mutual duty for a husband and a wife.

Clarity + Courage = Conviction

There is a difference between leading from convenience and leading from conviction.

The Pastor as Anti-Professional

I must consciously reject the idea that conforming to the external, polished appearances often associated with professionalism is a mark of success.

Nine Marks of a Healthy Paragraph: Practical Suggestions for Improving a Pastor’s Writing

Matt Smethurst offers nine practical suggestions to help pastors improve their writing.

A few years ago, I ran a series of races and felt pretty good about my performance, until I showed the results to a friend. He immediately noticed something I'd missed:

I was running the second half of every race slower than the first.

"You're doing it backwards," he said. "The goal is to run the second half faster. If you've prepared well and paced yourself right, the second half should be your strongest."

That insight stuck with me. I think about it often.

Our culture prizes youth, and for good reason. There's real glory in those early years: boundless energy, open horizons, a future stretching out full of possibility. It's an exhilarating season, even though it's filled with stress and uncertainty.

But I wonder if we've badly misjudged the later years. We frame them as a time to ease up, slow down, and coast toward the finish. I think we have it exactly wrong.

What if a man's later years are meant to be his strongest? What if they're not for winding down, but for our greatest contribution? If we've prepared well, the second half should be when we run our best race.

You Will Experience Decline

Let's start with what we can't avoid: physical decline comes with age. Ecclesiastes 12:1–6 paints a vivid picture of old age as a gathering storm, a house slowly breaking down.

Hands tremble. Vision dims. Strength fades.

No matter how well we eat, how much we exercise, or how carefully we live, we can't escape this reality. Our bodies will weaken. It's happened to every man before us, and it will happen to us.

According to Arthur Brooks, this decline starts earlier than we think:

Here is the reality: in practically every high-skill profession, decline sets in sometime between one's late thirties and early fifties.

We work hard to acquire skills, and they make us successful, but we can expect a significant decline to come as soon as this season of life.

Paul puts it bluntly: “Our outer selves are wasting away” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

Every man past forty knows exactly what he means. We can slow the decline, but we can't stop it. Decline is coming for all of us.

But that's only half the picture.

You're Also Being Renewed

Paul doesn't stop at physical decline. "Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

While our bodies inevitably weaken, something else can be happening: a deep, daily spiritual renewal that far outweighs what we're losing physically.

I've seen this firsthand.

Without exception, the people who've shaped my life most profoundly have been older believers. When I was young, I could outrun every one of them. I had more energy, better reflexes, fewer aches. But they possessed something I didn't:

A depth of soul, a settled strength, a hard-won wisdom that can't be rushed.

That's why you can run the second half of life better than the first — not physically but spiritually. Your later years can be your years of greatest impact. Think of the wisdom you've gained, the character you've developed, the faith you've tested and found true. Your later years are when it all comes together. This is when you run your strongest race.

A Plan for Later Years

As you get older, expect physical decline. Try to hold it off as long as possible, but be realistic: you'll never be able to keep up with those who are young.

But refuse to believe that your best years are behind you.

Instead, ask God to allow you to run the best part of your race in the later years. Keep growing in your relationship with the Lord. Cultivate genuine relationships with those younger than you. Love them well. Invite them into your life not as a project, but as friends. Share honestly about what God has taught you through decades of following Him, through successes and failures alike.

By your 60s and 70s, you've accumulated something irreplaceable: decades of experience and judgment forged only through time. You likely enjoy stronger emotional regulation, richer relationships, and a deeper capacity for meaningful connection. The pressure to prove yourself has lifted.

You'll have greater freedom. Use it intentionally.

You're now a man who can synthesize a lifetime of learning into wisdom that genuinely serves others. Yes, you may have more doctor's appointments. But you also have more to offer than ever before.

Don't be a man who wastes these years.

They may prove to be your most fruitful. Plan with God's help to make the second half of your race the best half.

Originally published at Impactus

Big Idea: God's faithfulness does not depend on our ability to see it.

At some point, we have to face an uncomfortable problem: God's promises to Israel don't seem to have come true. And that matters because if God didn't keep his promises to Israel, why would we trust him to keep his promises to us?

In the Old Testament, God made big promises to his people: a nation and land with Abraham, an everlasting throne with David, and a new heart and full forgiveness with the New Covenant. These weren't suggestions. They were sworn commitments from a God who does not go back on his word.

Now look at history. Their hold on the land has always been contested. The temple has been gone for nearly 2,000 years. No king from David's line has sat on a throne since the Babylonian exile in 600 BC. Nothing in human history, not even the modern state of Israel, matches the wide vision that Isaiah spoke about. Many people in the nation were spiritually lost in Old Testament times, and most did not accept the Messiah when he arrived. Today, only around 2% of Jewish people believe in Jesus.

The Question

So what do we do with that? What happened to God’s promises to his people? How do we explain the grand promises God gave to Israel with what we see in reality, not just today, but throughout history?

Paul faces this head-on in Romans 11:1: "I ask, then, has God rejected his people?" The phrase "cast away" carries weight. It means a final, total dismissal, a decision to have nothing further to do with them. It’s like what God did to Saul in the Old Testament in rejecting him as king (1 Samuel 15:23).

Has he given up on Israel? It would be easy to come to this conclusion. If the Jewish people are God's chosen, why do so few believe while Gentiles stream into the church? Has God's word failed? Has his purpose collapsed?

These are not just historical questions; they are deeply personal ones. If God made clear promises to a certain group of people and those promises seem unfulfilled, the issue doesn't just stay in the past. It reaches into your life right now. Every promise God made to you, every hope you have, and every prayer you trust him with — all this relies on whether God really keeps his word.

So the answer to this question matters more than we might think.

Paul’s Answer

Paul's answer is immediate and emphatic. “I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means!” Paul then establishes that God's rejection of Israel is not total by offering three converging lines of evidence.

Personal Evidence (1b-2a)

For I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew.

Paul himself is Exhibit A. He was a full-blooded Israelite — a descendant of Abraham, from the tribe of Benjamin. He had also been the church's most dangerous enemy: calculating, relentless, and complicit in the murder of believers. He was so feared that after he changed, only Barnabas, a very kind man, was willing to support him.

And yet God went after him. He met him on the Damascus Road, stopped him in his tracks, and brought him, struggling and protesting, into the kingdom. He didn't just save Paul. He made him an apostle.

As long as even one Jewish person has come to faith in Christ, no one can credibly claim that God has abandoned his people. Paul's story alone dismantles that argument.

And this is where the gospel comes into full view. The same kindness that changed Paul — who had blood on his hands and was hurting others — is the kindness available to anyone who wants to accept it. Jesus lived the life we couldn't live and died the death we deserved. He rose again, proving that God keeps every promise he makes. If you've never trusted him, today is the day. Come as you are.

Notice Paul's words in verse 2: "God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew." He chose them, not because of anything they did, but simply because he decided to. And he will not walk away from that choice. Scripture has always been clear on this:

For the LORD will not forsake his people, for his great name’s sake, because it has pleased the LORD to make you a people for himself. (1 Samuel 12:22)
For the LORD will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage. (Psalm 94:14)

Paul presents his own story as evidence that God has not abandoned Israel. But then he offers a second line of evidence:

Historical Evidence (2b-6)

Do you not know what the Scripture says of Elijah, how he appeals to God against Israel? “Lord, they have killed your prophets, they have demolished your altars, and I alone am left, and they seek my life.” But what is God’s reply to him? “I have kept for myself seven thousand men who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” So too at the present time there is a remnant, chosen by grace. But if it is by grace, it is no longer on the basis of works; otherwise grace would no longer be grace.

We think we see the full picture, but so did Elijah. If there was ever a moment to believe God had abandoned Israel, it was then. The nation was in a spiritual free fall. The worst king in Israel's history sat on the throne. Worship of the Lord had been effectively outlawed. Prophets had been silenced. The people were indifferent at best. The entire nation stood under God's judgment. No wonder Elijah concluded he was the last faithful Israelite standing. He came to God in despair because of how bleak things looked.

It looked just as bleak in Paul's day. Honestly, it doesn't look that much better for us. This is true whether we talk about how many Jewish people believe in Jesus or the general state of Christianity today.

But God corrected Elijah. Things were not as hopeless as they appeared. Elijah was not the last faithful Israelite. Not even close. God had quietly, graciously preserved a remnant of seven thousand who had never bowed to Baal. He preserved a remnant then. He preserves one now.

Think about what those seven thousand people looked like. They weren't gathered somewhere. There was no meeting, no way to even know the others existed. Ordinary people — a farmer in the Jezreel Valley, a woman near Samaria — each quietly refusing to bow.

No one saw them do it. No prophet knew their names. And yet every morning they made the same small, invisible choice: not today. Elijah thought he was alone. He was wrong by seven thousand.

If you’re curious if God keeps his promises: he kept them for a whole nation even when only seven thousand out of maybe 200,000 were still following him. He can keep his promises for you too.

Elijah's mistake was treating what he could see as the whole story of what God was doing. That’s our problem too. Paul makes his point: "Even so, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace" (11:5). In Paul's day, that remnant included the thousands of Jewish believers who filled the early church. We didn't deserve it. We can't earn it. God does it by his grace.

No matter how dark the moment, God has always kept a remnant. Noah's family survived the flood. Joseph preserved Israel through famine. Elijah thought he was the last one standing — God told him seven thousand remained. The exiles who returned from Babylon were the faithful remnant through whom God continued his story. God has never stopped preserving a remnant from among the Jewish people throughout the history of the church.

But Paul is quick to anchor this in verse 6: none of it is because of merit. The remnant is preserved by grace. The word “grace” appears four times in verses 5 and 6. It’s entirely by God's doing. We didn't deserve it. We can't earn it. God does it. It's grace, all the way down.

It’s not because of Israel's faithfulness or human effort. The remnant exists because God chooses it, not because the remnant earns it.

Has God abandoned his people? No. Paul’s testimony proves it. The historical evidence proves it. But there’s one more line of argument.

Scriptural Evidence (7-10)

Verse 7 provides Paul's summary: “What then? Israel failed to obtain what it was seeking. The elect obtained it, but the rest were hardened…”

Israel as a whole pursued righteousness but missed it. The elect — those chosen by grace — received the message and believed. The rest were hardened to it. The nation did not obtain what it was looking for, but within that nation, a remnant did.

And this, Paul insists, is nothing new. He looks at Israel's own Scriptures to show that this pattern of hardening appears throughout history of redemption. In verse 8, drawing from Deuteronomy 29:4 and Isaiah 29:10, he writes:

“God gave them a spirit of stupor,
eyes that would not see
and ears that would not hear,
down to this very day.”

Then, in verses 9 and 10, he quotes from Psalm 69:22–23:

And David says,
“Let their table become a snare and a trap,
a stumbling block and a retribution for them;
let their eyes be darkened so that they cannot see,
and bend their backs forever.”

Paul's point is simple: some people in Israel have hardened their hearts before, and this doesn't mean that God has left them. It has always been this way: some believe, some are hardened. This is the pattern of redemptive history.

Now Paul draws all three lines of evidence together. His own story shows that God is still extending grace to Jewish people. Elijah's story reminds us that there is always more happening beneath the surface than we can see. The Old Testament shows that even though many people miss God's plan, it has not stopped God from working strongly through those he has chosen.

Has God abandoned his people? The answer, from Paul's life, from Israel's history, from Scripture itself, is an unqualified no.

Some of you believe God is faithful — to other people. You can follow Paul's argument, nod along, and still quietly wonder if you're the exception.

Here's what Paul would say: you're not arguing with him. You're arguing with a God who stopped a man on a Damascus road — mid-persecution, blood on his hands — and said, I choose him. Not because of what Paul deserved. Because grace doesn't wait for that.

The remnant wasn't preserved because they were the strongest. They were preserved because God kept his hand on them even when they couldn't feel it. That's how this works. It doesn't require your awareness to operate.

God's faithfulness has no footnote that excludes you.

What This Means

A few weeks ago, I returned from England, where I witnessed something encouraging: what they call a quiet revival breaking out among young people. Thousands of them gathering to pray through the night. Gen Z showing up hungry for Jesus, buying Bibles, their lives being turned upside down by the gospel. I was so encouraging for me to hear the stories and to see God at work.

But here's the thing I kept wrestling with: what do we do with that joy? And more importantly, what do we do when the stories stop? What happens when the all-night prayer meetings are over? What do we do when the pews are empty, and God seems distant?

Paul is answering exactly that question in Romans 11.

The temptation, in seasons of blessing, is to let what God is doing become the foundation of our confidence. We start to trust the revival rather than the Reviver. In times of quiet or tough times — like losing something important, a bad news, or many years of prayers with no answers — we face a different temptation: we focus on what is not happening and think that God has stopped helping us or, even worse, that he has left us.

Elijah made that very mistake. He looked at the emptiness around him and declared himself the last man standing. He treated what he could see as the full measure of what God was doing. And God gently corrected him: I have kept for myself seven thousand. The story was never as bleak as it appeared.

Here is what Paul wants us to hold onto: God's faithfulness does not depend on our ability to see it. His work is never as absent as it appears.

In good times, give thanks, but put your confidence in the God behind the blessing, not the blessing itself. In tough times, stay strong, because even if you can't see it, God is always helping, always working, and always keeping his promises. From Abraham to Elijah to Paul to you, the thread of his faithfulness has never once broken.

The world is moving toward its intended end. His plan unfolds exactly as he designed it. He is that kind of God. He makes promises and never breaks them. You can trust him today, no matter how today is.

He has not rejected his people. He has not rejected you.

Curated links for your weekend reading:

The State of Theology: Canadian Survey Now Available

The results are now in, and they’re sobering.

AI Is the Perfect Tool for Celebrity Christian Authors

The publishing industry has ceded so much ground to high-profile authors who don't or can't write.

An Ounce of Clarity Vs a Pound of Cleverness

In writing, an ounce of clarity is worth more than a pound of cleverness.

I’m Not a Writer Says Pastor Who Writes Hundreds of Sermons

Let’s get one thing clear: just about every pastor is a writer.

Why Don’t Our Sermons Change People?

Sermons are often 90% information and 10% application.

Take It on the Chin

To stand, take criticism, and yet remain silent is not a sign of weakness but rather spiritual maturity.

Running and the Pastorate

There is much correlation between running and the pastorate; both require dedication, focus, solitude, and discipline.

If a pastor's child rejects the gospel, must that pastor step down from ministry?

It's a question more pastors and churches will face than we might expect. I recently heard a pastor with young children say that if any one of them did not come to faith in Christ, he would resign. I can think of a number of well-known pastors whose adult children have walked away from the faith. Some of us will face this question ourselves, or we'll walk alongside a pastor in our church who does. It's a question worth thinking through carefully, before the moment of crisis arrives.

The question centers on Titus 1:6:

This is why I left you in Crete, so that you might put what remained into order, and appoint elders in every town as I directed you— if anyone is above reproach, the husband of one wife, and his children are believers and not open to the charge of debauchery or insubordination.

The key phrase is "his children are believers." The Greek word is πιστά, which can carry either the sense of "faithful" or "believing." This raises an important interpretive question: does this verse require that an elder's children hold personal faith, or simply that they live obediently under his household? The answer, as it turns out, is not as straightforward as we might hope.

The “Believers” Position

The main argument for the “believing” position seems to be lexical: Paul usually uses to word to designate Christians as believers (2 Corinthians 6:15; Ephesians 1:1; Colossians 1:2; 1 Timothy 4:10, 12; 5:16; 6:2). After surveying how the New Testament uses the word, John MacArthur concludes:

The faithful are believers and the believers are faithful. They’re interchangeable. To take the word “faithful”, pull it out of the believing context, isolate it as if it only meant submissive to the father’s leadership without believing what the father taught would be to distort the word.

Those who hold this position also advance other arguments: for instance, that if Paul meant “faithful,” it would be redundant for him to then specify that they’re “not open to the charge of debauchery or insubordination.” Also, if his own children have not come to faith under his ministry, that raises legitimate questions about his capacity to shepherd a congregation toward Christ. The ESV, NIV, CSB, and NASB all advance this view.

The “Faithful” Position

Others, like Justin Taylor and Timothy Miller, πιστά should be translated "faithful" rather than "believing/believers” for a number of reasons:

• Lexically, πιστός carries a passive sense in the Septuagint, in Josephus, and in the majority of Paul's own usage, meaning "reliable, trustworthy, faithful within a given role." That core meaning did not inherently connote religious belief until the post-apostolic period. The Gospels reinforce this: in Matthew 24:45, 25:21, and Luke 12:42, the word describes household servants who simply perform their duties well, with no implication of inner spiritual conviction.
• Every other qualification in Titus 1:6–9 measures the man himself: his character, his conduct, his competence. Faithful children fit naturally into that pattern, reflecting whether he can lead his own household with integrity. Believing children, however, would stand alone on the list as the only qualification contingent on someone else's response to the gospel. It’s outside his direct influence and, arguably, outside the criteria Paul appears to be establishing.
• Since 1 Timothy and Titus run as parallel passages, imposing a significantly stricter standard in Titus would be unexpected, and particularly burdensome given the Cretan context, where virtually all potential elders would have been relatively recent converts.

On this reading, the elder's children must be considered faithful, and the phrase "not open to the charge of debauchery or insubordination" serves not as a separate requirement but as the concrete definition of what that faithfulness looks like in practice.

Coming to a Conclusion

Which view is correct? William Mounce is probably right that "a decision is not easy." Even so, the arguments for the "faithful" reading are more compelling. The lexical evidence is strong, and the logic that elder qualifications measure the man himself, not how his children respond to the gospel, carries real weight. As Miller observes, the faithful interpretation raises few applicational challenges, while the believing interpretation tends to create more problems than it resolves.

D.A. Carson puts it plainly: "I think what it is saying here is not that they must believe. After all, grace doesn't run in the genes. At the end of the day they must be faithful, not wild, not profoundly disobedient."

At minimum, we should hold our conclusions with humility and resist imposing them too heavily on others. Above all, this discussion should move us to pray: for the unbelieving children of faithful parents, and for the sustaining grace of God toward those who love them and wait.

Big Idea: Understand why people don’t believe, understand the gospel, and then bring them the good news.

To be a Christian means that you will experience a new kind of pain that you’ve never experienced before. It’s a pain that Paul explains in both Romans 9 and 10. Here’s the first time he describes that type of pain from Romans 9:

I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit— that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, my kinsmen according to the flesh. (Romans 9:1-3)

Here’s the second time he describes that type of pain, found in the passage we just read:

Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved. (Romans 10:1)

When you come to faith in Christ, you will discover a pain you never anticipated — the deep ache of concern for those who do not yet believe. This burden grows so heavy that, like Paul, you may find yourself willing to trade places with unbelievers if it meant they could be saved. Guard your heart against indifference. The hardening of our compassion toward those who have rejected the gospel is a quiet tragedy. Paul felt this weight so profoundly that he declared he would willingly forfeit his own salvation if it meant his people might be brought into the family of God. As Spurgeon says:

If they die unsaved they will have for ever to endure the wrath of God, that my soul feels, and desires to feel more than ever, a continual heaviness of heart concerning every unsaved soul that still lives. God grant us more of this heaviness of spirit. May we be deeply pained by that dread, awful, overwhelming, I will even dare to add, horrifying thought of souls being lost for ever.

This is our pain. So why don’t people believe, and what do we do about it? Those are the two questions that Paul answers in this passage.

Let’s look at these two questions.

Why Don’t People Believe?

The first question before us is this: why don't people believe? Paul is addressing this question with a specific group in mind: his own people, the Jewish nation. These were a people chosen by God, entrusted with his revelations, and recipients of his most sacred promises. Yet despite every advantage, they had not believed. How could that be?

The question remains as urgent today as it was for Paul. We should never lose our concern for the Jewish people — God's covenant people — and their need for the gospel. But the question does not stop there. It reaches into our own lives and circles close to home. What about the people we love? The friend who once sat beside us in church. The family member who has heard the gospel more times than we can count. The colleague who dismisses faith with a polite smile. Why have they turned away? Why don't they believe?

Paul offers two reasons: they rely on works, and they reject the gospel.

They rely on works (9:31-32)

Romans 9 and 10 draws a sharp line between two radically different approaches to righteousness: one worked up through human effort, one received as a gift through faith in Christ. This is not merely a first-century Jewish problem. It is the universal human default. It’s the instinct every one of us is born with.

The gospel speaks directly into it. It confronts our most deeply embedded and most socially acceptable sin: self-righteousness.

No people in history were more spiritually privileged than the Jews. They had the knowledge of God, the law, the promises, and the covenants. And yet they missed Christ entirely. In fact, Paul says in Romans 9:31-32, the Gentiles, who had none of those advantages, ended up ahead of the Jewish people.

What shall we say, then? That Gentiles who did not pursue righteousness have attained it, that is, a righteousness that is by faith; but that Israel who pursued a law that would lead to righteousness did not succeed in reaching that law.

What happened? The problem wasn’t a lack of zeal. Romans 10:2 says, “They have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge." A person can burn with genuine zeal for God and still not be saved. Sincere belief in the wrong thing does not make it true; it just sends you running down the wrong road even faster. Weak faith in the right object is sufficient. Passionate faith in the wrong object is fatal.

The Pharisees are the clearest example. They fasted twice a week, prayed, tithed even their garden herbs, and tracked every rule with exhausting precision (Matt. 23:23). Yet they missed the gospel entirely. It’s like a rich young man that Jesus once met who confidently claimed to have kept every commandment. Jesus revealed he hadn’t even kept the first one. He thought he was morally good, but he didn't love God. He loved his record.

Israel's law-keeping was meticulous but fundamentally misguided. They forgot that the law was never meant to be a performance system; it’s supposed to be a response to God's covenant love.

This error is not uniquely Jewish. It is deeply human. None of us are immune. Paul shows us the problem: even the most religiously privileged people can miss salvation entirely by trusting their own performance.

You may think you’re good enough. You’re not. Nobody will ever be good enough. Our righteousness isn’t enough. It’s only when we stop relying on our own righteousness that we have any hope of being saved.

Why don’t people believe? It’s because they rely on their own performance. But there’s a second reason Paul gives for why people don’t believe:

They reject Christ (10:1-4, 18-21)

One reason Israel trusted in their own works, Paul explains, is that they stumbled over Jesus. Their failure was not merely moral or religious — it was Christological. They rejected the very One the law was pointing them toward.

Isaiah had already proclaimed that those who trusted in God as the Rock would be kept safe, while those who rejected him would be crushed. He and other writers of Scripture were looking ahead to Christ Jesus as that Rock. For those who trust in him, he is a Rock of salvation. For those who reject him, he becomes a Rock of destruction.

This is precisely what Paul means in Romans 10:4 when he writes, "Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes." The word end here does not mean cancellation — it means destination, fulfillment, culmination. The law was never an end in itself; it was always heading somewhere. It was a road, and Christ is where it was always going. Once you've arrived at the destination, you don't keep driving the road — you live in what the road was leading you to all along.

Paul presses this further in verses 18 to 21 by drawing on a string of Old Testament passages to make a sobering point: Israel's problem was not that they hadn't heard. For generations, God had been calling them. The problem was that they refused to answer. And so, in his sovereign grace, God extended his invitation to those who would receive it.

Why don't people believe? They trust in themselves, or they turn away from Christ. More often than not, it's both — two sides of the same coin.

If you're not a believer, Paul's answer is simple: neither being good enough nor being spiritual enough will bring you to God. Christ is not one option among many. He is where the whole story was always heading. He is not waiting for you to clean yourself up. He came down to meet you, and he is still calling.

If you are a believer, this is a warning worth heeding. It is possible to be active in ministry and still quietly trust your own record before God. Check what you are actually resting in.

The call is the same for all of us: stop trying to earn what can only be received. Christ is not the reward for the righteous; he is the refuge for those who know they are not.

Two Things We Can Do

That's why people don't believe: they trust in their own works, and they reject Christ. So what do we do about it? Verses 5 to 17 give us the best news we will ever hear, and two things we can do with it.

Believe the Gospel (10:4-13)

Romans 10:4–13 is one of the most glorious summaries of the gospel in all of Scripture, and at its heart stands one magnificent truth: God has already done everything necessary for your salvation.

Paul makes this clear in verses 6–7, where the righteousness that comes by faith speaks in striking terms:

Do not say in your heart, 'Who will ascend into heaven?'" (that is, to bring Christ down) "or 'Who will descend into the abyss?'" (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead).

You do not need to scale the heights of heaven or plunge into the depths of death, because God has already done both. God the Son came down from heaven and took on flesh. God the Father raised him from the dead. The work is finished. It is complete.

And because it is complete, the gospel is closer to you than you might think. Verse 8 says the word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart — that is, the word of faith we proclaim. You don't have to earn it or travel far to find it. You can receive it right now, by placing the full weight of your trust in what Jesus has done for you, both inwardly in the heart and outwardly in confession:

If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. (10:9–10)

And in case you're wondering whether this promise is really for you, Paul closes the passage by throwing the doors wide open:

For the Scripture says, 'Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.' For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; for the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing his riches on all who call on him. For 'everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.' (10:11–13)

No one who wants to believe is left out. The word everyone means exactly what it says.

So here is the first thing you can do: believe this yourself. Delight in it. The promise of verse 13 carries no asterisk, no fine print, no list of qualifications you must first meet. If you have been relying on your own goodness or your own record to make you right with God, this passage is an invitation to stop. Christ has already done what you cannot do. There is nothing left for you to contribute except your need. So come to him as you are, trust what he has done, and receive what he freely offers. That is the first thing, and it is the most important thing.

Tell Others (10:14-15)

But here’s the second thing you can do: tell others. Or, putting it a different way, get yourself some beautiful feet.

How then will they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!” (Romans 10:14-15)

Paul's logic is airtight: no one believes a gospel they've never heard. The chain is unbreakable — no preacher, no message; no message, no hearing; no hearing, no faith; no faith, no salvation.

When you share the gospel, you step into the role of Isaiah's herald. In the ancient world, a messenger's feet weren't beautiful because of how they looked — they were beautiful because of what they carried. A soldier sprinting home with news of victory was welcomed with joy that matched the magnitude of his message. The feet were glorious because of their cargo.

To have beautiful feet is simply this: to be a sent person, carrying life-giving news to those who haven't yet heard it.

Some will reject it. That should grieve us. But we carry the greatest news ever announced. Believe it deeply. Tell it freely. Your feet will be beautiful — and God may use you to change someone's eternity.

Curated links for your weekend reading:

Do Less to Do More

The problem is that much of what goes into how we work today is not actually productive it’s just busy.

Self-Obsession Is a Formula for Unhappiness

When I’m thinking most about Jesus, not me, I’m most happy.

Why You Should Stop Buying "New" Books

I want you to take a break from reading new books.

Artificial Preaching: The Temptation of AI

We need to be warned that relying on artificial intelligence instead of the Holy Spirit must eventually end in defeat.

AI Is Not the Culprit

In my view, academia has been so debased for so long that the harm done by the latest debasements through AI involves no great loss.

How to Listen to a Sermon: A View From the Pulpit and the Pew

So naturally I've had some time to think a bit about how to preach and how to listen, since I am spending a lot of time these days doing both.

Pray to the Lord of the Harvest

You’d think the command that would follow would be something like 'So get to it! Enlist the workers and get out there!'

My post this week at Gospel for Life: Four Keys to Unlocking a Lasting Bible Reading Habit

Before you give up on daily Bible reading, there's something you need to know: you might only be one dial away from unlocking it for good.

My column this week at The Gospel Coalition Canada: Four Kinds of Churches

Only four kinds of churches exist.

Scripture teaches two truths. They seem to contradict each other, but both stand true.

First, God is sovereign. It’s one of the major themes of the Bible. He reigns over all things — every creature, every event, every moment — with absolute authority, according to his own will, for his own purposes, with no external constraint, no rival power, and no possibility of failure. As R.C. Sproul observed, not a single molecule in this vast universe operates outside of God's sovereign control.

You see this all throughout Scripture in verses like these:

I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. (Job 42:2)
All the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, and he does according to his will among the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay his hand or say to him, “What have you done?” (Daniel 4:35)
In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will… (Ephesians 1:11)

Second, humans are responsible. Humans make real choices. Our decisions aren’t illusory or coerced, and we are without excuse for our actions (Romans 1:20).

Some passages present both truths together. The hardening of Pharaoh's heart is described three ways in Exodus:

• God hardens Pharaoh's heart (Exodus 4:21, 9:12, 10:1, 10:20)
• Pharaoh hardens his own heart (Exodus 8:15, 8:32, 9:34)
• Pharaoh's heart was hardened — passive, no agent named (Exodus 7:13, 7:22, 8:19)

All statements are true. The hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is simultaneously God's act and Pharaoh's act at the same time.

Acts 2:23 also holds both truths together: “This Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.” God ordained it. Men did it. Both are fully true. Neither cancels the other.

John MacArthur called these twin truths that run parallel and never come together or intersect. We can’t harmonize them because the human mind is incapable of understanding God. “All I can tell you is that in the Word of God, these truths run parallel. And the answer is to believe them both with all your heart.”

Theologians over the years have agreed that the tension exists, but they haven't always agreed on how to handle it. Some attempt to resolve this tension theologically.

Open theism wrongly claims that God does not know future choices because they are truly open until they are made. This idea limits God's all-knowing nature to protect human freedom.

Molinism, or middle knowledge, says that God knows what each person would choose freely in any situation. He uses those situations to achieve his goals without taking away human freedom.

Some say it is an antinomy: two truths that seem to contradict each other but are both true. This is similar to how light acts as both a wave and a particle at the same time, making it hard to fit into one clear idea. For instance, J.I. Packer writes:

An antinomy exists when a pair of principles stand side by side, seemingly irreconcilable, yet both undeniable. There are cogent reasons for believing each of them; each rests on clear and solid evidence; but it is a mystery to you how they can be squared with each other. You see that each must be true on its own, but you do not see how they can both be true together.

John Piper disagrees with this view. He argues that God's control includes not only situations but also what people decide. God doesn't coerce people against their desires; he governs the very desires from which choices flow. People always act freely, doing what they most want to do, and that wanting is precisely what God ordains.

We may never fully untangle this tension this side of eternity, and perhaps that's the point.

God is sovereign. We are responsible. Both are fully, undeniably true. The goal isn't resolution but faithfulness: to believe both truths and let them shape how we live. His sovereignty frees us from anxiety. Our responsibility keeps us from passivity.

We pray with confidence in a God who reigns, and act with purpose knowing our choices truly matter, because they do.

Big Idea: God is sovereign, we are responsible, and he gets all the glory.

Few questions have puzzled more people across more centuries than this: If God is truly sovereign over all things, how can human beings be genuinely responsible for their choices?

The Bible teaches that God is sovereign, completely, absolutely, without exception. There is not a maverick molecule in the universe. He is omniscient, knowing all things, including future events. He is omnipotent, accomplishing all his purposes without resistance. He actively governs history toward his appointed ends. Nothing surprises him. Nothing escapes him.

But the Bible also teaches that human responsibility is real. Our choices matter. We are fully accountable for our sin, commanded to repent and believe, and warned of coming judgment. Nowhere does Scripture treat our decisions as illusions or our actions as the movements of puppets on a string.

So how can God be sovereign, and yet humans bear genuine guilt? It's more than an academic puzzle. It surfaces in the most unavoidable questions of life and faith: Is God the author of evil? Does prayer actually change anything? If the elect will certainly be saved, why preach?

This isn't just an intellectual problem. It's the silent grief, the unanswered prayer, the prodigal child, the friend you've lost. Some of you aren't asking this question in your head; you're asking it in your gut.

It's an age-old question, and this passage helps answer that tension.

The Question That Crosses the Line

We have been studying Romans, and in this chapter, Paul is facing a tough question about the gospel: if salvation is "the power of God for everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek" (Romans 1:16), why do so few Jews believe?

Romans 8 declared that nothing can separate us from the love of God. But can we trust that if God appears to have abandoned the very people through whom his plan of salvation came? Has his word failed? And if it has — if God didn't keep his promises to Israel — what hope do we have that he'll keep them to us?

That's the question Paul must answer. And how he answers it shapes everything we believe about God's faithfulness, his sovereignty, and our security in him.

Paul's answer is clear: God has not failed. His promises were always meant to be received by faith, even for Jews. God has always been the one who determines who receives his mercy, and he has every right to do so. As verse 18 puts it, "He has mercy on whomever he wills, and he hardens whomever he wills." God owes no one salvation. It is entirely an act of grace. And in both his mercy and his judgment, God is displaying the full range of his glory.

But that raises an uncomfortable question, one Paul himself anticipates in verse 19: "Why does he still find fault? For who can resist his will?" In other words, if God is the one who hardens people, how can he then hold them responsible for being hard? If they're simply doing what God ordained, how can God judge them for it?

This isn’t just an honest question; this is an attempt to blame God and to evade our responsibility. It shows how we can use the conflict between God's control and our choices to avoid blame. We don’t want our spiritual state to be our fault. We see ourselves as victims, and we think someone else — maybe God — is to blame. This is a question that crosses the line.

Three Reminders

This is a serious accusation against God, and so Paul answers with three reminders that all of us need.

Remember who you are and who God is (9:20-21)

Paul doesn't answer the question directly. In a sense, he doesn't need to, because he already has. The question is based on a wrong idea: that the people God judges are just unlucky victims, helpless players in God's plan. But that is not why anyone is judged. People are not passive. God has never condemned an innocent person. As J.I. Packer said:

The Bible never says a sinner misses heaven because they are not elected, but because they do not want to repent and believe.” The reason people face judgment is not because they were helpless; it’s because they are sinners in willing rebellion against him. No one can stand before a holy God and plead innocence.

So instead of revisiting that argument here, Paul takes a different approach entirely: he calls us back to a right view of God, and a right view of ourselves. Look at what he says in verses 20–21:

But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?” Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?

Paul references Isaiah and Jeremiah to emphasize that, like a potter with his clay, God has sovereign authority over every nation, including Israel, for his purposes.

And then Paul turns that truth directly toward us. Here is his message: there is a categorical difference between God and man. Not merely a difference in degree, but in kind. It is fundamentally inappropriate for the created to sit in judgment of the Creator. The very question is out of order.

Paul is saying: know your place. The creature has no standing to charge the Creator with wrongdoing. We must not assume we occupy the moral high ground from which to assess God. His ways are not just slightly above us — they are infinitely beyond us. Like a potter working his clay, God has the right to form what he has made, to do as he pleases with sinful men. We need a vision of God that recognizes he is right in every decision he makes about his creation.

Paul is not condemning honest questions brought before God. He's blaming the mindset that can easily enter our hearts — that we are equal to God, that he must explain himself, and that we can scold him. Questions are legitimate, but there is a fine line between asking and accusing. Never become a critic of God. Never mistake your limited understanding for a standard by which to measure his. Remember who you are and who God is.

Here’s the second corrective truth that Paul gives us, and it’s an application of the first.

Trust God even when you don’t understand everything about him (9:22-23)

These may be the most difficult and weighty verses in the entire Bible. They address why evil exists and how God's sovereignty relates to it. The context is the potter who creates some vessels and destroys others. Is God just to pass over most of Israel (vv. 6, 8)? To choose Jacob over Esau (v. 13)? To raise up Pharaoh and harden his heart (v. 17)?

Before going further, a warning from John Calvin: go beyond what Scripture says here, and you'll find yourself in a labyrinth you cannot escape. So we must stay close to the text.

Hear what Paul says:

What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction, in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory—

Paul identifies two groups: vessels of wrath and vessels of mercy. God is sovereign over both.

He is sovereign over everything, including evil. He is the Potter. He designs the vessel, yet the vessel is flawed, guilty, and deserving of wrath. You see this in Scripture: God hardened Pharaoh's heart. At the cross, God was sovereign over Herod, Pilate, the Jewish leaders, and every event surrounding the death of Christ. Nothing is outside his control.

And yet humans are fully responsible. The vessels of wrath bear real guilt. No one who faces God's judgment will be able to say they don't deserve it. Pharaoh was morally accountable for every choice he made, even as God hardened his heart. As John Stott put it: "If anyone is lost, the blame is theirs. If anyone is saved, the credit is God's."

This is what Paul calls us to hold: these people are genuinely guilty, and God is sovereign over them at the same time. This is an antinomy: two truths that appear contradictory but are both fully affirmed. The mistake is letting one swallow the other. As J.I. Packer warns, we're tempted to stress human responsibility in a way that excludes God's sovereignty, or affirm God's sovereignty in a way that destroys human responsibility. We must hold both.

Here's Paul's second point: God is glorified through both. He is glorified when he endures the rebellion of the wicked with patience. He is glorified when he judges. He is glorified when he saves. Every human being who has ever lived will glorify God actively or passively, willingly or unwillingly, in heaven or in hell.

And here's what should amaze and humble us: the only difference between the vessels of wrath and us is the mercy of God. We deserved his wrath. Yet for reasons that have nothing to do with our worthiness, he chose us.

As Spurgeon said:

I believe the doctrine of election because I am quite certain that if God had not chosen me, I should never have chosen Him. And I am sure He chose me before I was born, or else He never would've chosen me afterwards. He must have elected me for reasons unknown to me for I never could find any reason in myself why He should have looked upon me with special love. So, I am forced to accept this great biblical doctrine.

Here’s Paul’s point: God is sovereign; humans are responsible; he gets all the glory. We don’t understand how this all works together, and that’s okay. He’s God and we’re not. The challenge is to remember that we’re not God, to refuse to stand in judgment over him, and to thank him for his mercy as we plead for people to turn to him.

As you consider this issue, remember who God is and who you are, and trust him even when you don’t understand. There’s one more truth Paul wants us to grasp:

Remember that God’s plan has never failed (9:24-29)

Remember where we started. The question this passage answers is this: has God’s word failed? Is the fact that many Jews don’t believe evidence that God can’t be trusted?

In verses 24-29, Paul answers this question with an unequivocal no. It’s always been God’s plan to do exactly what he’s doing: to save some, not all, Jews, and to also save Gentiles. This isn’t new. This has been God’s plan all along.

God has prepared some of us for salvation “not from the Jews only but also from the Gentiles” he says in verse 24. And then in verses 25 and 26 he quotes from Hosea. First, from Hosea 2:23:

“Those who were not my people I will call ‘my people,’
and her who was not beloved I will call ‘beloved.’ ”

Then from Hosea 1:10:

“And in the very place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’
there they will be called ‘sons of the living God.’ ”

This isn’t new. Hosea’s words were written 800 years earlier. It’s always been God’s plan.

And just in case, Paul also quotes Isaiah. In verses 27 and 28, he quotes Isaiah 10:22-23:

And Isaiah cries out concerning Israel: “Though the number of the sons of Israel be as the sand of the sea, only a remnant of them will be saved, for the Lord will carry out his sentence upon the earth fully and without delay.”

Finally, in verse 29 he quotes Isaiah 1:9:

And as Isaiah predicted,
“If the Lord of hosts had not left us offspring,
we would have been like Sodom and become like Gomorrah.”

So what is Paul's point? He shows that the covenant community would be both smaller and bigger than his Jewish friends thought. It would be smaller because only a small group of Israel would be saved, and bigger because Gentiles would be completely included. That one idea answers two concerns at the same time: that God has failed Israel and that including non-Jews is something new. Paul's answer to both is the same. The prophets said so all along. God can be trusted. His plans never change. They’re always reliable.

God is sovereign. We are responsible. He gets all the glory. This has always been his plan.

So what does it mean for us? We stop playing God and start trusting him. We pray, choose, and live with seriousness, because our choices are real. And yet we rest, because God is sovereign over every outcome, including the ones that break our hearts.

Here's what should humble us most: the only difference between us and those who face his wrath is mercy. We didn't earn it. We didn't deserve it. He chose us before we ever chose him — and the Son himself satisfied justice for all who trust in him.

His promises have never failed. His purposes have never been derailed. His mercy has never run dry. Jesus stands ready to receive anyone who turns to him.

We may not always understand his ways. We're not meant to. We’re not God. The clearer we see his power, fairness, and amazing grace, the more we understand that praising him is not just the right thing to do. It's the only thing we can do.

Curated links for your weekend reading:

The Best Way to Resist Temptation

The best way to resist temptation is to fix your eyes firmly on the One who already defeated it.

The Dangerous Days Past Middle Age

Perhaps the sifting question for the aging Christian is, 'Am I killing sin, or have I just traded one destructive path for another?'

12 Theses on Fasting and Feasting

What follows is an attempt to distill that clarity with a few important distinctions about fasting and feasting.

We Love to Talk About the Things We Love

When you speak but little of Christ, it is a sign that you love him but little.

If you know me, you know I'm not a big fan of conferences. I've been to too many, and their value is often questionable.

This past week, I attended a conference in London and sat in on four breakout sessions led by Andy Crouch. After the first one, I messaged my wife to tell her it might be the best workshop I'd ever attended. By the fourth session, I had to revise that verdict: it was even better than the first one. In fact, all four were exceptional and will stay with me for a long time.

What made them so good was that they were the fruit of long, sustained thinking at a conceptual level, then carefully translated and applied to everyday life. There was little fluff. Each session was dense, substantive, and clearly the result of hard thinking and many hours of work. During the fourth breakout, Andy ran out of time and tried to wrap things up, but the four hundred or so people in the room wouldn't let him. They kept him going well past his allotted time just to hear the rest of what he had to say.

I kept thinking about that afterward. It's never been easier to do half a job and pass it off as acceptable. AI-generated content is everywhere, and most of us are talented enough to wing it, trusting that people won't notice. But when you encounter something that is the product of costly work, it's unmistakable. The best work takes time. It resists shortcuts. It emerges from sustained effort and practice, and that's what makes it so much more valuable than anything quick and convenient.

In the coming years, we're going to face a flood of cheap ministry. There are so many shortcuts to producing work that's almost good enough, but falls short of what it should be and what people deserve. As content gets cheaper and easier to make, we need to do the opposite: put in hard work and real thought.

This isn't only about workshops, writing, or sermons. It's everywhere. Zoom calls are easy and have their place. On the other hand, face-to-face meetings are inconvenient, time-consuming, and costly, and so much better. Caring for people at a surface level is quick and clean. Truly loving others, investing in them, praying for them is costly, inconvenient, sometimes frustrating, and so much better.

Of course, there’s a place for shortcuts and for using artificial intelligence. The less significant something is, the more these tools can help, and we should feel free to use them there. I'm genuinely grateful for technologies that make relatively unimportant things easier. But for the things that truly matter, pay the price. It's worth it.

You can get by with shortcuts. But you don't really want to. Costly work will increasingly stand out in a world drowning in cheap substitutes. So pay the price. Make it costly. Choose inconvenience on purpose. Do the hard work when it matters, even when it's slow and frustrating, and you will have something worth saying in a world full of noise.

Big Idea: What matters most is not what you've achieved, but who you know: Jesus.

What truly matters in life? What will bring you lasting joy? These are questions worth sitting with because we are all, in some way, searching for joy. It's why we get up in the morning. God created us to pursue something meaningful, something that will satisfy the deep longing we carry within us.

And here's what may surprise you: that longing is not a problem. The Bible never tells us to stop pursuing joy; it invites us to pursue it rightly. The real question isn't whether to seek joy, but where to find it. This passage presents two paths. Only one leads where we truly want to go.

The Quest for Joy

Philippians 3:1 opens with a surprising command: "Finally, my brothers, rejoice in the Lord. To write the same things to you is no trouble to me and is safe for you."

The command is simple and direct: rejoice in the Lord. But don't miss the fact that Paul has already said this three times in this letter in 1:18, 2:17–18, and 2:28. This is the fourth time.

Paul isn't being repetitive for lack of something to say. He is being intentional. He says as much: writing it again costs him nothing, and hearing it again does something for them. It steadies them. The word "safe" here carries the idea of stability: a firm footing on uncertain ground.

It’s worth pausing here. Paul tells us to pursue joy. He does more than that: he tells us that joy is not just a feeling to be chased; it's a foundation to be built on. The Philippians' stability depended on how seriously they took this command. And so does ours.

So here it is, and it’s a command: rejoice in the Lord. It’s not a suggestion, but a command. It’s not as a distant ideal, but as something available to you right now in Jesus. This is where lasting security is found. This is where joy takes root.

Rejoice.

Two Paths, Two Destinations

That sounds good, but the question remains: how do we actually rejoice? Wanting joy and knowing how to find it are two very different things. Paul doesn't leave us guessing. In the next lines, he presents two paths. These are two very different ways to seek meaning and happiness in life. Every one of us is on one of these two paths.

One of them looks promising but leads nowhere. The other, though it may surprise us, leads to the joy God genuinely desires for us.

The Path of Achievement

The first path is the one we usually want to take: the path of achievement. This means seeking happiness through degrees, success, and hard work, focusing on what you've done and who you are.

It shows up everywhere. The student convinced the right degree will make life meaningful. The professional chasing the next promotion. The parent whose worth rises and falls with how their children turn out. The person curating a life that looks successful, because looking the part feels close enough.

But it shows up in church too, and it’s especially dangerous here. This is about a believer who bases their security on how often they help, how much they give, how long they’ve been a Christian, and keeping a secret score to see if they feel okay with God.

The details differ. Degrees, titles, moral performance, religious résumés. But the logic is always the same: if I can just achieve enough, I will finally feel secure.

Paul couldn't be clearer: this path never works. In fact, he says a couple of things about this path.

Be careful about teachers who promote it.

"Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh." (3:2)

In Paul's day, teachers were telling people that acceptance before God required something beyond Jesus: circumcision. But the moment you add anything to grace, salvation is no longer built on Christ's finished work alone. It becomes a transaction. And that, Paul says, is not a variation of the gospel; it is no gospel at all.

Anyone who tells you that you need "something plus Jesus" is preaching a different gospel. Whether it's a religious rite, a cultural background, or sheer self-effort, the addition itself is the corruption.

Paul says “look out” three times in a single breath, reaching for his sharpest language: dogs (the unclean, the dangerous), evildoers (those who lead others to harm), and those who mutilate the flesh (a pointed rebuke of the very practice they required). This is not theological hairsplitting. The stakes are the gospel itself.

Be careful about teachers who promote this approach to life. But that’s not the only danger.

Be careful when you choose it.

Paul doesn't just warn us about false teachers; he turns the mirror on himself. The problem is not just false teachers. The problem is us.

If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless. (3:3–6)

Paul's résumé was extraordinary. Right heritage. Right tribe. Right affiliation. Right record. He wasn't just participating in the path of achievement — he was winning by every measurable standard.

And then he walked away from all of it.

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ… I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. (3:7–8)

Notice what he doesn't say. He doesn't say his résumé amounted to zero, neutral, a wash. He says it went into the negative column. His best achievements weren’t just worthless assets; they were liabilities. Every credential, every achievement, every point of religious pride wasn’t just zeroed out, but instead ended up working against him.

The same is true for us. I’m so tempted to base my worth on my performance, my record, my obedience, but it doesn’t work. Put all the good things you do to gain God's favor and every success you rely on for confidence in the loss column. Not because effort is evil, but because trusting in that effort is a subtle form of arrogance. It’s the quiet claim that we can bring something to God that obligates him to us.

If you're still clutching that résumé before God, it won't hold up. The résumé has to go: not reluctantly tucked away, but surrendered, along with honest acknowledgement of the pride it took to build it.

Let me ask you: What is the ground of your confidence? Your background? Your moral record? Your years of faithful service? These things aren't the path to joy that you need. They are the wrong foundation. And deep down, you already know: they’re a foundation like that keeps you anxious, not at rest.

There has to be another way. The path of achievement doesn’t work. There’s a much better path.

The Path of Knowing Jesus

If the way to a life of lasting joy isn't found in our own achievements, what is? Paul points us to something far greater in verses 8 and 9:

Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith…

Here is the only path to a stable, enduring joy: knowing Christ Jesus as your Lord. Paul sees every benefit, every qualification, and every sign of value as a loss when compared to the much greater treasure of knowing Christ. Whatever the world considers praiseworthy or beneficial, Paul calls it rubbish — human excrement — by comparison. Christ is the only asset worth holding. He is infinitely more valuable than anyone or anything else.

Consider everything you have going for you on the one hand, Paul says. It’s nothing. It’s actually a liability, human waste. Then think about Jesus on the other hand. There’s no comparison.

Think about the kind of person Jesus actually is. There is no one like Jesus. He is a strong friend to sinners, a supporter of his enemies, a protector of those who can't defend themselves, and the one who makes things right for those without excuses. No one will ever love you like Jesus. He gave his life for you. He is so much better than anything else this world has to offer.

Consider what will matter fifty billion years from now. Not your degrees. Not your reputation. Not your accomplishments. Fifty billion years into eternity, you will either be pleading Christ or you will have nothing to show at all. The only thing of any lasting value is Jesus. Without him, you have nothing.

There are only two possible paths to stable joy: achievements or Jesus. Only Jesus gives us the joy we need.

How to Take This Path

So how do we take this path? Paul tells us what the path of finding joy in Jesus looks like:

that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. (3:10–11)

Paul names three active pursuits that define what it looks like to take the path of knowing Jesus.

A Daily Pursuit of Jesus

Thirty years after his conversion, with churches planted and two-thirds of the New Testament written, Paul's deepest longing remains to know Jesus better.

That tells us everything about what Christianity actually is. It’s not just information to master or a checklist to complete, but moment-by-moment communion with Jesus. It’s intensely relational and experiential. The more we know him, the more we see his glory, and the more we gladly give everything to him.

The mark of someone who truly knows Jesus is a growing hunger to know him more. There is no "enough Jesus for now." The more we taste, the hungrier we become. We want more and more of Jesus.

A Daily Reliance on the Spirit’s Power

Paul says he wants to know the power of the resurrection. What is he talking about here? Romans 8:11 tells us that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead — the Holy Spirit — is at work in believers now. Paul wants to live inside that power for his sanctification, endurance, joy under pressure, freedom from sin's dominion.

Real Christianity is not self-improvement in religious clothing. It is a life changed by the Holy Spirit who brought Jesus back to life. The Spirit is active in the life of every believer. We do not have what it takes to live the Christian life on our own, but the Spirit does. We need to get to know the Spirit more. Paul wants to know the Spirit’s power more and more in his life.

But there’s one more thing Paul says is part of the path of following Jesus:

A Different View of Suffering

Paul's third longing is the most surprising: "the fellowship of his sufferings." Make no mistake: the Christian life is hard. There will be lots of trials. Paul, for instance, writes this letter from prison. Suffering is not a sign that something has gone wrong with your faith. It is the normal Christian life.

But here’s the extraordinary thing: God is at work in our sufferings. Our sufferings bring us closer to Jesus. God accomplishes something through our sufferings. He uses them for his glory and our good. In the pain, we find something more precious than comfort — we find him. His life becomes more real to us, not less.

So what is the Christian life like? It’s finding stable joy, not through our accomplishments, but by getting to know Jesus. That’s where joy is found. It’s living daily with the person of Jesus with the power of the Spirit even when things get hard.

The result, he says, is that we may obtain the resurrection of the dead. I think Paul’s talking about our future resurrection, but he’s probably talking about more than that. He’s talking about how Jesus’ new life can be present in our lives today. We can live as if we are new people in a world that is struggling, even now.

God intends for you to have joy. And he's shown us the wrong way to find it: earning it through achievement. Joy comes from something else entirely. It comes from knowing Jesus.

Think about the person who has been performing for God for years, serving, giving, showing up. If you asked them honestly, the peace never quite comes. The scorecard never settles. That's achievement at work, even in a faithful heart.

Think about someone who seems to have a perfect life. But beneath the surface, they feel a constant worry because what they have could be taken away.

The answer isn't doing more. It's knowing Someone who has already done everything.

His name is Jesus. Not a set of beliefs about him. The living, present person of Jesus — available to you right now, not when you get your act together. Right now.

The invitation is simple, just costly. Open your hands. Release the résumé, the record, the religious performance, and receive what you were made for: a relationship with the God who knows you fully and loves you completely.

This is where joy lives. Not in what you've accomplished. In him. There’s no better place to live.

Curated links for your weekend reading:

Eight Myths About Heaven That Many Believe

Here are eight persistent misconceptions about Heaven.

‘Suggested for You’: 5 Values AI Suggests

One of the most powerful technologies mankind has ever created is generative AI. What are some of its suggestions?

The Most Powerful Words You'll Ever Write: Spiritual Formation for Writers

Our ultimate calling isn't to build a platform, but to become more like Jesus.

Fight Sin by Feasting on God’s Goodness

Christianity is more than a list of duties to obey; it is a life of delight to enjoy.

The Pastoral Virtue of Avoidance

Paul teaches a pastoral virtue of avoidance—showing that sometimes the wisest form of engagement is careful restraint.

A Letter to Those Discouraged By Fallen Pastors

If doubts assail you, let me remind you… First, the story of these brothers is not over.

No Little Places: The Council of Nicaea and Pastoral Ambition

The church fathers worried that ambition would run rampant if transfers were allowed.