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Justice. Mercy. Humility

A meditation on Micah 6:8 in the age of air-raid sirens and culture wars

there’s a dull thud in the distance
but the tremor reaches our screens in real time

Khan Younis… 70 people fall while waiting for flour
Gaza’s toll climbs past 55,000 names no algorithm can pronounce

meanwhile war planners debate bunker-busters for Tehran
and reporters chart which U.S. bases are close enough to launch the next wave

the pundits label it deterrence
the prophets just call it blood

the rupture at home

pews once arranged shoulder-to-shoulder
now divided into voting blocs
some churches preach the ballot before they preach the Beatitudes
others go silent, hoping neutrality will save them

yet the fracture widens:
63% of adults still call themselves Christian,
but many wonder what the word even means anymore

Micah 6:8 (our compass)

He has shown you, O human, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.

justice… because every image-bearer in Gaza, Tel Aviv, Tehran, and Tulsa carries equal weight in the heart of God
mercy… because vengeance only multiplies sorrow
humility... because power without repentance turns pulpits into echo chambers

three invitations

  1. Lament aloud
    Turn the scroll of headlines into prayer.
    Name the dead. Weep for enemies. Refuse to sanitize the statistics.
  2. Practice inconvenient empathy
    Sit with someone whose vote, accent, or liturgy unsettles you.
    Listen until you hear fear hiding behind their certainty.
  3. Re-center on the crucified Christ
    A kingdom without bombs, ballots, or budget line-items.
    Where swords are melted, not modernized.
    Where the metric is love, not leverage.

a closing breath

justice is not a partisan hobby
mercy is not weakness
humility is not silence

it’s the narrow way…
the way that heals divided churches,
defies reckless administrations,
and dignifies every war-torn street with the whispered truth:

“Beloved, you were never expendable.”

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EXILE

And other places God shows up. [A meditation on Revelation 1]

the island

there’s an old man on an island
and he’s alone
really alone
the kind of alone that makes you wonder if anyone remembers your name

patmos.
rocky.
isolated.
the roman empire’s way of saying
we don’t want to hear from you anymore

but here’s the thing about exile…
sometimes it’s exactly where heaven
decides
to show up.

sunday morning

john tells us
“I was in the spirit on the lord’s day“

pause there.
breathe that.

in the spirit.
on an island prison.
separated from everyone he loved.
and still…
in the spirit.

what if being in the spirit
isn’t about location
or circumstances
or having it all together?

what if it’s about
staying open
even when everything feels
closed?

the voice

then…
a voice like a trumpet
behind him.

not in front where he’s looking
not where he expects
behind him

God has this way
of coming from directions
we’re not watching
speaking into spaces
we forgot to guard

the voice says
“write“

because some revelations
are too important
for memory alone

the turning

john turns
and sees
seven golden lampstands
and someone
walking
among them

not above them
not distant from them
among them

this is the risen Jesus
but not the jesus of sunday school flannel graphs
this is jesus
unleashed
uncontainable
undeniable

hair white as snow
eyes like blazing fire
voice like rushing waters
feet like bronze in a furnace

this is what resurrection looks like
when all the limits
are
off

the lampstands

seven churches
seven communities
seven places where people
gather
and struggle
and hope
and sometimes barely hang on

your kitchen table…lampstand
your workplace…lampstand
your heart at 3am…lampstand
your doubt-filled prayers…lampstand

and jesus
walks
among
them
all

not inspecting
not judging from a distance
walking among

presence
not performance
proximity
not perfection

the fear

john falls down
as though dead

because sometimes
when you really see
who jesus is
something in you
has to die

your small story
your manageable god
your controlled narrative
your fear-based assumptions

as though dead

the touch

but then
Jesus places his right hand
on john

the same hand that holds
the keys of death and hades
touches
a frightened old man
on a lonely island

do not be afraid

four words that change
everything

because the one who conquered death
is touching
you

the keys

i hold the keys
jesus says
of death and hades

every door you think is locked forever
every ending you think is final
every grave…literal or metaphorical
that seems to have
the last word

he holds
the keys

which means
nothing
nothing
is over
until he says
it’s over

the walking

so here’s what i want you to know
as you leave this place
as you return to your lampstands

jesus is walking
among them

in your monday morning anxiety…he’s walking
in your marriage struggles…he’s walking
in your work stress…he’s walking
in your parenting fears…he’s walking
in your health concerns…he’s walking
in your financial worries…he’s walking

not as judge…
but as presence
not as critic…
but as companion

the invitation

be in the spirit
on your lord’s day
and every day

turn when you hear the voice
even if it comes from
behind you
from directions
you weren’t watching

let something die
when you see
who jesus really is

feel his hand
touch your fear
and hear him say
do not be afraid

remember
he holds all the keys

to all the doors
to all the endings
that aren’t really
endings

the light

you are a lampstand
burning bright
with the light of the one
who walks among you

and nothing…
not exile
not fear
not even death…
can put
that light
out

so breathe…
open your eyes…
the one who was dead,
is alive
and walking
among us

right
now

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Come Up Here!

A reflection on Revelation 4

It begins with a door.
Always a door.

John, exiled, isolated, alone… and yet somehow more awake than the emperors and elites who sleep in marble palaces.
He hears a Voice, like a trumpet, like thunder cracking through silence.

“Come up here…”
The invitation isn’t to escape reality…
It’s to see reality as it actually is.

We think of Revelation as catastrophe.
But this chapter, this vision, is not of chaos.
It’s not about beasts, bowls, or blood.
It’s about the throne.

Because when your world feels like it’s falling apart…
what you need most is a vision of what holds it all together.

The Throne at the Center

John is not shown a map.
He’s not given a plan.
He’s given an image.

A throne.
At the center.
Still. Radiant. Holy.

And One sitting on it.
A kaleidoscope of color… jasper, carnelian, emerald…
Not to describe, but to evoke.
This is not an IKEA diagram for how the cosmos works.
This is art that rearranges your soul.

And around the throne?
Creatures you can’t categorize.
Eyes everywhere. Wings in motion.
A lion, an ox, a human, an eagle…
Earth, strength, intelligence, spirit.

Creation itself, animated and awake,
revolving around the One who was, and is, and is to come.

Worship is Resistance

They cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy…”

This isn’t soft, background music for religious people.
This is the soundtrack of defiance.
Worship in Revelation isn’t passive. It’s revolutionary.
It declares that Caesar is not king,
fear is not lord,
and death does not get the final word.

In a world where everything screams for attention,
Revelation 4 pulls us back to what actually matters…
Who is at the center.

The Twenty-Four

And the elders?
They throw down their crowns.

Because the closer you get to glory,
the less you want to hold onto anything.

They don’t just worship.
They surrender.

In a culture addicted to control,
this is the invitation:
Lay it down.
All of it.
Status, reputation, agenda, your little kingdoms.

Because every throne we build
has to be thrown down
before the One who sits on the throne.

The Door Is Still Open

“Come up here…”
John heard it.
So can you.

Revelation 4 isn’t a vision of the end.
It’s a vision of the now
beneath the surface of things.

There is a door.
There is a throne.
There is One seated.
And there is a song…
being sung by creation itself…
waiting for you to join in.

So the question isn’t:
“Is God still on the throne?”

The question is:
“Are you living like He is?”

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So We Do Not Lose Heart

A meditation on 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Therefore.

That’s how Paul begins this part of the sentence. “Therefore.”
A hinge. A pivot. A breath before revelation.
It’s as if he’s saying, In light of everything…the affliction, the confusion, the groaning of creation and the groaning within…let me tell you how we survive the ache.
How we don’t quit. How we don’t crack under the weight of a world that keeps coming at us.

“Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”

And you know what?
That’s true.

The mirror doesn’t lie…
Crow’s feet deepening.
Hairline retreating.
Joints muttering complaints with each stair.
Bodies breaking down, and sometimes spirits too.

But then… there’s this inner place.
A sanctuary the world can’t touch.
Where, in the quiet,
when you stop scrolling,
stop spinning,
stop pretending…

You hear the whisper:
You are being renewed.

Not once.
Not on some mountaintop high.
But day by day.
Like manna.
Like breath.
Like mercy that’s new in the morning.

And then Paul has the audacity to say this:

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.”

Light and momentary?

Paul, you were beaten, shipwrecked, jailed, hunted, stoned, abandoned.
And you call that light?

Only someone who’s seen beyond the veil can talk like that.
Only someone who’s had the curtain pulled back and caught a glimpse of the coming glory.
Not the fluffy, escapist kind.
But weighty glory. Substance. Kavod.

Something that makes the ache worth it.
Not because the ache vanishes,
but because it transforms.
Because it births something eternal in us.
Resilience. Compassion. Hope.

Which is why…

“We fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.”

Because what is seen is always changing.
Always decaying.
Always slipping through your fingers.

But what is unseen…
That’s the real.
The eternal.
The kingdom breaking in.
The Christ in you.
The Spirit groaning with you.
The glory waiting within you.

So we do not lose heart.

Not because life is easy.
Not because the pain isn’t real.
But because renewal is deeper than decay.
Because glory is heavier than suffering.
Because the unseen is more solid than the seen.

Therefore.

Don’t lose heart, beloved.

Even when the world says you should.
Even when your body betrays you.
Even when all you see is fog…

Fix your eyes.
There’s more going on than you can see.
More being formed in you than you yet understand.

You’re being renewed.
Day. By. Day.