The sixth commandment is not merely about avoiding violence. It calls God’s people to protect and cultivate life. A murderous philosophy motivated the Nazi regime, but it has its contemporary co-belligerent in the work of Princeton ethicist Peter Singer. His radically anti-Christian view that belittles the idea of humans as God’s image bearers, a view he refers to as “speciesism”, leads him to conclude that the newly born infant is not fully human - only potentially so, that a human infant is no different than a pig and must prove to the parents that he’s worthy of life. This massive deception is creeping into mainstream thinking and affects the Church as well. Against it, we affirm a Biblical anthropology and choose life.

Paideia means more than discipline. It refers to whole-life formation. The shaping of a person’s values, loves, habits, instincts, and imagination. It’s the deep work of enculturation.

Paul takes a word that once aimed at forming citizens for the empire and redirects it toward forming heirs of the kingdom, the citizens of heaven on earth. 

The Ten Commandments are not thin rules. They are seeds. Each contains an entire moral world inside it.

Just as the command not to bear false witness includes gossip, slander, flattery, and manipulation, so the command to honor father and mother stretches far beyond childhood obedience. The bare command does not exhaust its meaning.

It will take time to unpack even the surface issues. There are two main angles here.

First, honor and respect. That is the view from the child’s position, or more broadly, from anyone under authority.

Second, “raising” up. Paul uses the word paideia in Ephesians 6. It means discipline, training, and formation. That is the view from the parent or authority position.

Honor and formation. These two realities are central to how the kingdom of God becomes visible in the world.

“I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit.”

The word contrite means crushed. Broken. Not theatrically ashamed. Not self-hating. But pierced. Awakened. Humbled.

There is a world of difference between shame and contrition.

Shame says: I am worthless, so I hide. Shame looks for fig leaves and weaves a new runway-worthy clothing line.

Contrition says: I am sinful, so I come. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more minimizing. I can’t save myself; I must have a Savior.

Ash Wednesday is not about groveling before a reluctant God. It is about coming honestly before a gracious one.

Notice the promise: He dwells with the contrite.

Not tolerates. Not endures. Dwells.

The high and holy God makes His home with the humble.

Some personal news and a word about some upcoming preaching and teaching, along with an invitation to check out the Alliance for Mission and Renewal in the PCA.

Over the years, I’ve been asked many times to preach the Book of Revelation and, while I have often preached from it, I’ve never preached through it. There are a lot of reasons for that, not the least being the weird sensationalism that some people bring to the book. But I find myself considering doing so now, maybe in the winter of 26-27, though I’m not sure if I would do so on Sunday morning or a new worship service in the evening. This article simply lays out how I approach Revelation.

The exposure of our many sins can and should lead us to a renwed daily repentance, a firmer reliance on grace, and a determined prayer that God the Spirit would sensitize our hearts to the abuse of God’s name, strengthen our faith to proclaim his Name, and deepen our reverence for his Name in worship, joining the Psalmist to exclaim, “O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is your Name in all the earth!”

In this framework, both antinomianism and legalism are refuted, and a rich gospel proclamation is reinforced, together with discipleship shaped by the whole counsel of God. Grace does not cancel moral responsibility. It reinforces it and drives it home.. Because salvation unites believers to Christ, a life increasingly shaped by his love is the expected result.

Idols aren’t hard to find.

If we could run an echocardiogram on our souls, they’d show up quickly. Career. Comfort. Politics. Control. Approval. Pleasure. Even religion itself can become an idol. That’s why God doesn’t just say who to worship. He tells us how. Because left to ourselves, we will always redesign worship to suit our preferences. We’d make God in our image and worship that image the way we find fulfilling.

In Exodus 19–20, God gives the Ten Commandments. For many Christians today, that moment feels distant, confusing, or even irrelevant. Some see the Law as a relic from a harsher era. Others see it as a ladder to climb toward God. Still others quietly assume it doesn’t matter anymore.

All of those views are profoundly mistaken. Let’s learn the Ten Commandments and learn how God uses his Law to direct us to Christ and teach us his wisdom.

The first commandment is deceptively simple. It sounds obvious, even tame. Of course, God should be first. Of course, we shouldn’t worship idols. Most of us hear it and nod along. But the truth is this commandment, rightly understood, confronts the deepest loyalties of our hearts. It exposes what we actually love. And if we allow it to do its work, it will change our lives from the inside out.

“It’s too soon to announce a change to the direction of secularism... but I’ve never seen anything like this.” - Ed Stetzer

“This illness is not unto death, it is for the glory of God.” That’s a sentence most late-modern people - even Christians - will stumble over. How can our pain, our suffering, and that of those we love, glorify God? Surely the absence of pain, sorrow, and ease of life is what God wants for us, right? Wrong!

Wrapped in grave clothes, stumbling into the sunlight, Lazarus becomes living proof that Jesus is more than a teacher or a healer—he is the resurrection and the life.

But this moment wasn’t just for Lazarus. It was a sign—the final and most dramatic of seven signs in John’s Gospel, pointing us to who Jesus is and what he came to do.

The crucifixion was the darkest day in history—so dark that the sun itself refused to shine. The Light of the World was snuffed out, and for a moment it looked as though darkness had prevailed. But on the third day, the Light burst forth in glorious day, and the grave was emptied forever. Not only has Christ been raised from the dead, the light of the world shattering death “while it was still dark” (John 20); he has also been raised to the right hand of glory and will come again “to judge the living and the dead.” And when he comes again, “every eye shall see him” (Revelation 1:7).

Resilient joy is not the absence of pain—it’s the presence of Christ in it. It’s knowing He’s alive, He’s sovereign, and He won’t let go. We stand firm because Christ’s hold is strong.

We belong to a Kingdom that cannot be shaken, and even when “the nations rage,” we hold fast to the peace and strength of the Lord Almighty.

In a world that says you are what you earn, what you produce, or what you post, the gospel says: you are loved, forgiven, and made new—before you lift a finger.

All the best this world has to offer—fame, money, status—is skubalon compared to knowing Jesus. This is Gospel joy, all that he has done, is doing now, and will yet do that we might know him.