SEEING THE HEART BEHIND THE HASSLE

Del Griffith (John Candy)—bless him—comes to us on the screen as a whirlwind of chatter, chaos, and endearing frustration; yet if we linger long enough to look past the noise, we begin to see something precious glowing beneath the surface. In Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Neal (Steve Martin) sees only the irritation at first—the spilled drinks, the endless talking, the misplaced optimism that grates on weary nerves. But as the journey unfolds, the Lord gives us a gentle reminder: what we notice first about a person is rarely the truest thing about them. And what seems bothersome, inconvenient, or exhausting may be the very place where Christ is quietly teaching us patience, compassion, and understanding.

As the story deepens, we discover that Del carries a heart shaped by loneliness, yet overflowing with kindness; a soul wounded by loss, yet still determined to brighten the lives of others. He hides his pain not with bitterness, but with an almost childlike joy—choosing to bless rather than burden, to give rather than grasp. And isn’t that a picture of how many people move through this world, smiling through sorrow, laughing through heartbreak, loving through their own unseen valleys? Christ invites us to pause long enough to see such souls the way He does; with tenderness, with grace, with eyes that search deeper than outward annoyances.

By the end of the film, Neal learns what we so often must learn ourselves: that God can place extraordinary goodness in the most unlikely vessels, and that beneath someone’s rough edges may lie a heart of pure gold. The man he once dismissed becomes the friend he cannot let walk alone. And in that shift—quiet, humble, relational—we see the beauty of Christlike love: a love that looks beyond the irritation, beyond the inconvenience, beyond the surface, and sees the person within. A love that refuses to measure anyone merely by their quirks but instead honors the image of God in them.

So let Del’s story speak to us—softly, kindly, and with the warmth only grace can bring. Let it remind us that every person we meet carries a world we cannot see, and that Jesus, who looks past all our flaws, calls us to do the same. When we choose patience over frustration, compassion over judgment, and gentleness over irritation, we begin to love as He loves; we begin to truly see. And in seeing, we discover that behind the “annoying stranger” may stand a soul aching for kindness, a friend waiting to be found, and a lesson from the Lord wrapped in the most ordinary disguise (1 Sam. 16:7).

BDD

CHRIST FORMED WITHIN

God’s purpose for us is not only that we be forgiven, but that Christ be formed within. Salvation is the beginning of a far greater journey—the shaping of the soul into the likeness of the Savior. The Father’s desire is not just to make us better, but to make us His. Paul wrote with holy yearning, “My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you” (Galatians 4:19). This is the mystery of the Christian life—not us trying to be like Him, but Him living in us, expressing His life through clay vessels.

This forming comes through the Cross. The Cross is not only the place where Christ died for us; it is where we die with Him. It is where pride is broken, where self-will is surrendered, and where our hearts are emptied so His Spirit can fill them. Each time we yield our way for His way, His image grows clearer in us. “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). The Cross is not the end of life—it is the beginning of His life in us.

Christ in us is the secret to all fruitfulness. Without Him, we can do nothing (John 15:5). But when we abide in Him, His love flows through us like living water. Our words become softer, our service becomes purer, and our hearts begin to reflect His patience and peace. We do not strain to bear fruit; we simply stay near the Vine, and His life produces what our effort never could. The more we rest in His presence, the more His beauty begins to shine through.

This is the true work of grace—not achievement, but transformation. God’s goal is not to make us famous, but faithful. Not powerful in the eyes of men, but pure in the sight of Heaven. Day by day, the Holy Spirit shapes us, often quietly, through trials, tears, and tender mercies, until the life of Christ is seen. And when that happens, heaven touches earth. The fragrance of His life fills our days, and the world sees not us, but Him who lives within.

Lord Jesus,

Let Your life be formed within me. Shape my heart to mirror Yours. Teach me to yield where I once resisted, to love where I once judged, to trust where I once feared. May the Cross do its holy work in me until pride is broken and Your peace reigns. Let my life be a reflection of Your gentleness and strength. Abide in me as the Vine in the branch. Let Your words find a home in my heart, and let Your Spirit breathe through my days. When I am weak, be my strength. When I am silent, speak through me. When I am still, fill me. And when I stand before You at last, may the world have seen not me, but You living in me.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL (About David’s Throne)

The throne of David stands as one of Scripture’s great covenant landmarks—majestic in promise, rich in prophetic detail, and ultimately fulfilled in the risen Christ seated at the right hand of God. When God swore to David that He would “set up your seed after you” and “establish the throne of his kingdom forever” (2 Samuel 7:12–16), He was not merely securing a political dynasty in Jerusalem; He was unfolding His redemptive plan. David was God’s man on God’s throne over God’s people—not because of bloodline alone, but because he was a man after God’s own heart (1 Samuel 13:14). Faith, not mere genealogy, placed David in the stream of God’s covenant purposes, and that same faith determines who truly stands within the covenant God made with Abraham and David (Romans 4:13–16).

The prophets never wavered from this logic. Isaiah spoke of a child born to reign “upon the throne of David…from that time forward, even forever” (Isaiah 9:6–7). Jeremiah announced a righteous Branch from David who would “reign and prosper” (Jeremiah 23:5). The hope was not for a mere political restoration, but for a faithful King whose rule would be righteous, spiritual, eternal. This anticipation finds its victory in Christ, the Son of David, who after His resurrection was “exalted to the right hand of God” (Acts 2:33). Peter’s sermon at Pentecost is the interpretive key: David foresaw Christ seated in royal authority—not on an earthly chair but on a throne that transcends the earthly shadow (Acts 2:29–36). God raised Jesus, God enthroned Jesus, God made Him “both Lord and Christ,” and in doing so established the greater Davidic throne.

The New Testament authors write with deliberate clarity. The Greek term thronos(θρόνος) appears consistently in reference not to a Jerusalem seat, but to heavenly rule—authority, dominion, kingship. Christ sits where no son of David ever sat: at the right hand of the Majesty on high (Hebrews 1:3). Paul teaches that Christ has been seated “far above all principality and power” (Ephesians 1:20–22). John sees the Lamb upon the throne itself (Revelation 3:21). This is no postponement, no vacancy awaiting a future political restoration. Christ reigns now. The throne promised to David is active, spiritual, and Christological, and its authority extends over the church—the people of the King (Colossians 1:13). As God’s people once gathered under David by covenant, so believers now gather under Christ by faith (Galatians 3:7, 29). The faithful King has come, and His reign is present.

This reading does not deny the historical throne in Jerusalem; rather, it sees it as the shadow pointing to the substance (Colossians 2:17; Hebrews 10:1). The earthly throne was temporary, typological, pedagogical; the heavenly throne is eternal. The kingdom, as Jesus Himself proclaimed, is “not of this world” (John 18:36), not sourced in political geography, but in the power and presence of God. Christ rules now in the midst of His enemies (Psalm 110:1–2), ruling from God’s right hand as the true Son of David. This is not an abstraction; it is the theological heartbeat of apostolic preaching. If one asks where David’s throne is today, the answer is as wide and bright as the gospel itself: it is wherever Christ reigns—and He reigns over all things for the church.

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APPENDIX: TEXTUAL, LINGUISTIC, AND CONTEXTUAL NOTES

1. The Hebrew Background of “Throne” (כִּסֵּא / kisse)

The term kisse in the Old Testament carries the sense of rulership, judicial authority, and divine commissioning (Psalm 89:3–4, 36–37). It is not furniture. In covenant contexts, it signifies God’s chosen representative ruling on God’s behalf. Thus David’s throne was God-appointed, God-defined, and God-directed.

2. The Greek Thronos (θρόνος) in Apostolic Interpretation

The apostles consistently apply thronos to Christ’s heavenly reign (Acts 2:30–36; Hebrews 1:8; Revelation 3:21). The linguistic weight is royal and cosmic. For Peter, Christ’s enthronement is not future—it is the theological explanation for Pentecost itself.

3. Typology: Earthly to Heavenly

The Old Testament throne is the type; Christ’s throne is the antitype. The type is temporal; the antitype is eternal. David’s throne functioned as God’s pedagogical instrument, preparing Israel to receive the true and final King.

4. Covenant Continuity and Faith

Just as not all physical descendants of Abraham belonged to the covenant (Romans 9:6–8), not all who sat on David’s earthly chair were God’s true kings. Saul’s rejection demonstrates that lineage alone is insufficient. Faith remains the covenant criterion—from Abraham to David to Christ to the church.

5. Christ’s Present Reign in Eschatological Perspective

Hebrews 2:8 acknowledges the tension of “already–not yet” experience, not an absence of kingdom. Christ reigns now, though not all things are subjectively experienced as subdued. His reign is present; its universal acknowledgment is future.

Summary of the core points:

• The Davidic covenant is eternal.

• The Messiah’s enthronement began at His exaltation.

• The NT explicitly identifies Christ’s resurrection and ascension as the fulfillment.

• The church is the community ruled by the enthroned Son of David.

• The throne of David now resides at the right hand of God.

THE THRONE OF DAVID MADE SIMPLE

God promised David that one of his descendants would always rule on his throne (2 Samuel 7:12-16). David was God’s man, chosen not just for his ability to fight or lead, but because he trusted God and followed Him with all his heart (1 Samuel 13:14, Acts 13:22). The throne of David was more than a chair in Jerusalem—it was God’s plan to bless His people through a faithful king. David’s heart of faith made him God’s man on God’s throne over God’s people.

Even though Saul was the first king over Israel, he was not God’s chosen man in the same way (1 Samuel 15:22-23). Saul had the right family line, and he ruled in the capital city, but he rejected God’s ways. He did not walk by faith, and therefore he lost the honor of being God’s man on the throne. God’s promises are not kept because of physical ancestry; they are fulfilled in those who have faith and obedience (Romans 4:20-21).

Christ is the true descendant of David who fulfills God’s promise (Luke 1:32-33; Acts 2:29-36). Jesus now sits at the right hand of God, ruling with power and authority over all things. He is God’s man on God’s throne—over the church, His people today (Ephesians 1:20-22). The covenant of David, like the covenant of Abraham, has always depended on faith, not physical lineage (Galatians 3:7-9, 16). Faith opens the way for someone to truly be a descendant of David in God’s eyes.

When we trust Christ, we share in the blessings of David’s throne. We are part of the kingdom ruled by God’s chosen King, and our lives are governed by His guidance and love (Hebrews 1:3; Colossians 1:13). The throne is not about political power or earthly armies; it is about God’s faithful rule in the hearts and lives of those who believe. Just as David’s heart sought God, we are called to place our trust in Christ, the eternal King, and let Him reign in us.

The lesson is simple but profound: God’s promises are always fulfilled in His way, through faith. Physical lineage matters less than the heart that trusts God. David had faith, Saul did not, and Christ has come to complete the promise for all who believe. One day, every knee will bow to Him, the true descendant of David, seated on the throne forever (Philippians 2:9-11). Faith is the key, then and now, to being part of God’s people.

BDD

THE SOLID GROUND OF SALVATION (It is Objective, Not Subjective)

There is a wonder—quiet, steady, unshakable—in knowing that salvation is not first something we feel, but something God Himself has done. The gospel is rooted in an objective reality, not a subjective one; it rests on the finished work of Christ, not the fragile experiences of our trembling hearts. And when a believer grasps this—when the soul understands the difference—it is like standing on rock instead of sand; like hearing the voice of God whisper, You are safe because I have acted, not because you feel strong.

Objective reality is simply this—something that is true whether we feel it or not. A child can grasp it. If the sun is shining, it shines even when your eyes are closed; if the mountains stand tall, they do not disappear when you turn your back. So it is with God’s work in Christ. The remission of sins—our cleansing, our forgiveness, our reconciliation—took place in the mind and purpose of God when Jesus shed His blood “for the forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26:28). It did not wait for our emotions to rise or fall; it did not depend on our understanding or our strength or our spiritual temperature in the moment. It is a settled thing, a divine act completed on Calvary, a reality anchored in heaven itself.

Subjective reality, on the other hand, is what we feel on the inside. Feelings come and go; they can rise like a warm breeze or sink like a stone. A child understands this too—sometimes you feel brave, sometimes afraid; sometimes joyful, sometimes sad. But the truth remains even when the feelings shift.

Our experience of salvation—our joy, our peace, our confidence—may ebb and flow like the tide, but the fact of salvation does not move an inch. God does not wait for us to feel forgiven before He forgives; He does not wait for us to feel loved before He sets His love upon us. Salvation rests in what Christ accomplished once for all (Hebrews 10:10); it stands firm because God willed it, God worked it, God finished it.

And here is the hope—burning, bright, and blessed: because salvation is objective, it is certain. Because it is something God did through Christ, not something we manufacture in our emotions, we can rest the full weight of our souls upon it. Our assurance is not fragile, not delicate, not dependent on the highs and lows of our days. We look to the cross, where mercy met justice; we look to the empty tomb, where life conquered death; and we look to the throne where Christ intercedes for us still (Romans 8:34). Salvation is not a trembling candle in our hands—it is a blazing sun in the heavens.

So we come to Him with open hands—trusting, resting, believing. We do not wait until we feel worthy; we do not wait until our hearts sing the right song. We trust the One who acted decisively in history, who secured forgiveness before we ever drew our first breath, who offers a salvation “ready to be revealed” and already accomplished (1 Peter 1:5). And in that trust—in that leaning upon what God has done—we find peace that does not flicker, hope that does not fade, and a salvation as steady as the heart of Christ Himself.

BDD

CHERUBIM: Heaven’s Guardians and God’s Presence

When we read the Bible, we sometimes come across strange, awe-inspiring creatures called cherubim (Genesis 3:24; Exodus 25:18-22). At first, they can seem mysterious or even frightening, with wings and multiple faces and eyes. But the truth is simpler than it looks: cherubim are heavenly beings, symbols of God’s presence and His holiness. They show us that God is always at work, always watching over His creation, and always moving with purpose. Wherever the cherubim appear in Scripture, we are reminded that God is not far off; He is close, active, and involved in the world.

Cherubim appear first in the Garden of Eden, guarding the way to the tree of life after Adam and Eve sinned (Genesis 3:24). This tells us that God takes holiness seriously—He cannot be approached casually—but it also points to His mercy. The presence of the cherubim reminds us that God is always in control, even when we are separated from Him by sin. Later, we see cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant and in the Temple, where their wings stretch toward each other, forming a throne for God’s glory to rest upon (Exodus 25:18-22). They are symbols of God’s majesty and His dwelling among His people.

In the visions of the prophets, cherubim are full of movement, fire, and eyes (Ezekiel 1:4-28). They are alive with the energy of God, showing that He is not passive but active, always working His plan even in the midst of chaos. These visions remind us that God’s presence is both awe-inspiring and comforting: awe-inspiring because He is infinitely holy, and comforting because He is watching over His people and working for their restoration. Cherubim are like a heavenly hand pointing us to the glory, power, and faithfulness of God.

For us today, cherubim teach a simple, practical truth: God is always present, always holy, and always moving for our good. We do not need to understand every detail or become afraid of these mysterious creatures. What matters is that God’s presence surrounds us, protects us, and guides us, even when life seems uncertain or confusing (Psalm 91:1-4). Let us live with the confidence that the God who sends His cherubim is the same God who loves, guides, and sustains us every day.

Lord, help me to see Your presence in every moment, to trust Your holiness, and to rest in Your protection. May I walk in confidence, knowing that You are always near, guiding, guarding, and loving me. Amen.

BDD

THE WINGS OF GOD’S PRESENCE

Ezekiel, by the hand of the Spirit, beheld a vision that pierced the heavens. He saw the skies opened, and the glory of the Lord descending in winds and fire, upon winged creatures, full of eyes, full of motion, alive with the energy of God Himself (Ezekiel 1:4-28).

These cherubim, these living symbols of Divine activity, remind us that the Lord is never idle; He does not slumber, He does not pause. Though His people were in captivity, though His temple lay in ruins, the wheels of His providence turned, and His hand was still at work.

The vision is at once terrifying and beautiful—eyes all around, wings aflame, the movement of fire and spirit, the living wheels within wheels (Ezekiel 1:15-21). Here is judgment, yes, but judgment in holiness, in wisdom, and in love. Here is the God of Israel, asserting His sovereign rule over all creation.

This is not the repose of a distant God; this is the activity of a God who moves, who restores, who will not be thwarted by human sin or suffering. Just as in the later visions of Revelation (Revelation 4:6-8; 5:6), we see the emergence of hope from trial, the promise of restoration from exile, the renewal of a people once broken now called to unity, peace, and spiritual vitality.

And so, we, the heirs of this vision, are called to live in the awareness of His presence. The cherubim, the fire, the wings—these are not mere curiosities; they are God’s fingerprints upon the earth, His assurance that He is ever at work. Though we walk through trials, though the world presses upon us, His Spirit moves still, His plan advances, His restoration will come (Ezekiel 36:26-27).

Let our hearts not faint, let our eyes not fail, for the God who moves in heaven moves within us, carrying us toward holiness, toward peace, toward the completion of His good purposes in Christ (Philippians 1:6).

Lord, open my eyes to see Your majesty and Your motion in all the events of life. Let me rest in the certainty of Your presence, confident that You are never idle, never weak, never defeated. May I trust in Your Spirit to guide, restore, and renew, until the day Your glory is fully revealed in me. Amen.

BDD

THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT YOU COULD GIVE ME (“Your Writings Must Be AI-Generated”)

It’s a funny world we live in—one where the greatest compliment anyone could give my writing is to accuse it of being AI‑generated. Truly, that’s rich.

AI does not write my material; AI does not breathe my sentences into being; AI does not sit with Scripture open, praying and pondering and shaping a thought until it sings. What AI does is simple—it helps polish, smooth, edit, and arrange. It gives me tools that once only the wealthy or well‑resourced could ever dream of having. Spurgeon had editors, transcribers, assistants—entire teams capturing his sermons, shaping his words, sending them to print. I don’t have that luxury. But I do have a device in my hand and a little app that lets me clean things up. If anything, modern tools only liberate the writer—they don’t replace him. If he’s honest and refuses to intentionally deceive or plagiarize.

And if you doubt that I write these words myself, I’ll make you a friendly offer: put your money where your mouth is. Let’s meet at Starbucks. Bring your suspicion, bring your skepticism, bring whatever proof you think you need—and then tell me right there, on the spot, what you want written. I’ll pull out a pen, or open a note, or speak straight into a recorder, and I’ll write it while you watch—real‑time, no tricks, no invisible elves hiding behind the Wi‑Fi. If I do it, you owe me fifty bucks (or at least twenty). And trust me—I write fast. I’ve always written fast. I can type quickly, I think quickly, and now I can even dictate quickly. That’s not artificial intelligence; that’s just how God wired me.

There is nothing wrong with using tools. There is nothing dishonest about letting technology polish what your heart and mind already produced. A potter uses a wheel, a carpenter uses a saw, a preacher uses a microphone, and a writer uses whatever helps the words find their best shape. The tool never creates the vision—it only helps carry it. If AI can smooth my grammar or untangle a sentence that came out sideways, why wouldn’t I use it? But the ideas, the heartbeat, the rhythm, the convictions—those come from me. They always have. They always will.

So if someone says, “This sounds too clean, too polished, too good—it must be AI,” I’ll take that as the highest compliment they could give. It means the words landed well. It means the voice was steady. It means the thought carried weight. But at the end of the day, these writings come from my own mind, my own experiences, my own walk with Christ. AI may shine the boots, but I’m the one doing the walking. And if you still doubt that—well, Starbucks awaits. Bring your challenge, pick the topic, and watch it flow. :)

THE ENIGMA OF ISAAC ASIMOV (And the Limits of Human Wisdom)

There are figures in this world who shine with a peculiar brightness, men whose minds move with such clarity and speed that their thoughts seem to leap ahead of the rest of us like lightning over the hills.

Isaac Asimov was one of those men.

He was brilliant; dazzling, even. He could take the machinery of the cosmos and place it on a child’s shelf. He could weave together robots and empires, laws of logic and laws of physics, and then explain them as simply as a man explaining how to boil water. He wrote so much that no one—certainly not I—could ever hope to read it all; yet I have read him voluminously, hungrily, gratefully.

He was, in many ways, an enigma. Here was a man who could peer into the far reaches of imagined galaxies, who could take the most complex ideas and make them seem like common conversation. He even wrote Asimov’s Guide to the Bible, approaching Scripture with the curiosity of a historian and the respect of a craftsman who knows he is handling something ancient and weighty.

And yet, by his own admission, he lived as an atheist. A respectful one, yes; a thoughtful one; never cruel or hostile toward the faith. But he trusted his mind, trusted his intellect, trusted the rigor of his own reason above the whisper of God’s revelation.

And it is here that his story becomes a quiet, sobering lesson. For Scripture tells us that “the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God” (1 Corinthians 3:19), and that no matter how brightly a mind may burn, it cannot light the path to eternity by its own strength.

A man may understand galaxies and still misunderstand his own soul. He may write ten thousand pages and still miss the one truth that matters more than all the rest: that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). Without that foundation, even the keenest intellect walks in a kind of twilight, seeing much yet missing more.

I do not stand as Isaac Asimov’s judge; that throne belongs to Christ alone. And I will not pretend to know what thoughts passed through his heart in his final hours. Perhaps—God only knows—he saw something then that he had long overlooked.

But I do know this: his life reminds me that brilliance cannot save, reason cannot redeem, and knowledge alone cannot bring a soul home. The gospel is not mastered by the mind; it is received by the heart. Salvation is not achieved by intellectual ascent but through faith in the crucified and risen Christ, “who loved us and gave Himself for us” (Galatians 2:20).

Yet I remain grateful for the man. I have learned much from him. His clarity, his curiosity, his craftsmanship—all of it sharpened my own mind and widened my imagination. And in a strange way, his unbelief taught me too; taught me that without Christ, even the brightest among us falls short of the light.

Asimov reminds me that genius is no substitute for grace, and that the simplest believer who kneels at the foot of the cross sees farther into eternity than the greatest writer who stands without it.

So may we read widely, appreciate deeply, and think carefully; but may we never trust in our own brilliance. Let us lean on the wisdom that bends the heavens, the mercy that outshines the stars, and the Christ who calls us—not to speculate, but to follow. For in Him alone is life; in Him alone is truth; in Him alone is the wisdom that no genius can manufacture and no universe can outshine.

BDD

FAITHFULLY A Reflection

The song Faithfully by Journey speaks to the enduring nature of commitment, and though it is framed in the context of human relationships, it resonates deeply with the spiritual life. In the Christian walk, we are often reminded that God does not demand perfection from His children—He demands faithfulness. Every saint knows that the striving for perfection can become exhausting, even paralyzing, but faithfulness is a path that can be walked with confidence, joy, and hope.

To be faithful to Christ is to keep walking, even when the storms come. It is to hold firm to the truth of the Gospel, to persevere in prayer, to love God and neighbor, and to trust that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion (Philippians 1:6). Faithfulness is not measured by the absence of failure but by the persistence of the heart. It is what allows us to rise each time we fall, to return to the cross when we stumble, and to keep our eyes on the Savior even when the path is hard.

Scripture reminds us again and again that God honors faithfulness. “If you are faithful in little, you will be faithful in much” (Luke 16:10). Even the smallest acts of devotion, the simplest prayers, the quiet obedience in the ordinary rhythms of life—they are all noticed by Him. Faithfulness is relational; it is about steadfast love, enduring hope, and unwavering trust. It is about showing up, moment by moment, and saying, “Lord, I am yours.”

The beauty of faithfulness is that it is accessible to every believer. You do not have to be perfect to serve, to love, or to walk with Him. You only have to be willing to remain, to continue, to keep your hand in His. And as we journey in faith, we find that even our weaknesses, our doubts, and our failures can be woven into the tapestry of His glory when we remain faithful.

Let us then embrace faithfulness above perfection. Let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2), and walk each day in the assurance that faithfulness pleases Him far more than flawless performance ever could. It is in faithfulness that we reflect His love, honor His calling, and experience the profound joy of being fully His.

Lord Jesus, teach me to be faithful, not perfect. Help me to trust You, even when I stumble, and to remain steadfast in love, hope, and obedience. Let my life be a testimony of faithfulness to Your name, and may I glorify You in every moment, knowing that Your grace covers all my shortcomings. Amen.

BDD

JUST CATCH THE BALL

The gospel is simple, and sometimes the best way to see it is through the picture of a football field. No wide receiver watches the ball arc through the air and wonders, What am I supposed to do with that? It is not his job to throw the ball—only to receive it. His task is simple: hold out his hands and catch what has been freely given. The quarterback does the passing; the receiver trusts, extends, and receives.

The Bible speaks of salvation in the same way. Paul calls it “the free gift of God” (Romans 6:23), and John tells us that Christ came so that “whoever receives Him” may become a child of God (John 1:12). The language is simple because the grace is simple. God has already accomplished the work—Christ lived the righteous life we could not live, died the atoning death we deserved, and rose in triumph on the third day—and now the gospel is placed within reach. It is not thrown as a frantic Hail Mary; it is tossed gently, placed perfectly, lobbed in a way that even a child could catch it.

The trouble is not that the gospel is too complex, but that the human heart often makes it so. We try to run extra routes, add our own fancy footwork, or insist that receiving must somehow involve contribution. But salvation is not something we manufacture; it is something we receive, humbly and openly, as an undeserved gift. Christ has already paid the price, already secured the victory, already crossed the goal line. Our calling is to stretch out our hands in faith—to believe, to trust, to accept the grace that has been offered.

So do not overthink what God has made simple. Do not imagine that Christ’s invitation is for someone more worthy, someone more prepared, someone more spiritual. The gospel is for you. The ball is in the air. The Savior has already thrown it with perfect accuracy and perfect love. All that remains is the simplest act of faith—open your hands; receive Christ; catch the gift that has been sent to you. There is nothing complicated about receiving Him. Just do it.

BDD

TRUTH, DIGNITY, AND THE SIN THAT HIDES IN WICKED AND FOOLISH RUMORS (The “Mrs. Obama is a Man” Lie)

Every now and then a rumor spreads so wildly, so senselessly, that it forces us to ask—are we thinking at all? The claim that Michelle Obama is secretly a man is one of those rumors. It is foolish. It is baseless. It is cruel. And yes, it is sin.

Michelle Obama is a woman; she did not fall out of the sky; she is not from outer space. She was born in a hospital; she grew up surrounded by family, friends, classmates, teachers, neighbors—ordinary people who knew her, loved her, and watched her grow.

To imagine that thousands of people would be involved in a lifelong conspiracy to hide her identity is absurd. To believe that every doctor, nurse, relative, and childhood friend somehow kept quiet is not only illogical—it is willful blindness.

And let us consider this plainly: if there were any truth to this, her enemies would have proven it long ago. These are the same political forces that demanded President Obama show his birth certificate—something no other president has ever been forced to do. If people could push a baseless conspiracy about where he was born, do you not think they would have dug even deeper into Michelle Obama’s life? Of course they would.

Unless she were an alien who descended from another galaxy, there would be childhood medical records, school documents, eyewitnesses, neighbors, teachers, and family members. People could simply go talk to those who knew her as a girl; they could interview classmates; they could check the public paper trail that every human life leaves behind. And yet none of her enemies—none of the investigative journalists, none of the political opponents, none of the obsessed conspiracy hunters—has ever found a shred of evidence. Not one.

Why? Because the rumor is not rooted in evidence. It is rooted in something darker. Something older. And something Christians must have the courage to name.

At its core, this conspiracy is fueled by racism.

Some may recoil at that word, but truth does not bend to our discomfort. A lie that only erupts when a Black woman becomes visible, powerful, admired, or accomplished—while no similar rumor haunts white First Ladies—reveals its nature.

A lie that denies her womanhood, her motherhood, her humanity, her dignity—because some cannot stand the idea of a Black woman standing with grace, intelligence, strength, and influence—reveals its root. This rumor dehumanizes, mocks, and tears down, and Scripture condemns that spirit directly.

We are commanded not to bear false witness, lie about people, not to traffic in foolish myths (1 Timothy 1:4), not to speak evil of others without cause (Titus 3:2), and not to judge according to appearance but with righteous judgment (John 7:24). When believers repeat this nonsense, they are not being discerning—they are being deceived.

And so we must speak clearly: Michelle Obama is a woman. She carried her daughters, gave birth to them, raised them, and loves them. I believe she is a good woman, a strong woman, and I know she is a woman created in the image of God. To participate in a rumor that denies her humanity is not only intellectually irresponsible—it is spiritually heinous.

Real Christians are people of truth; people who defend the innocent; people who see every human being as image-bearers of the Lord. We must reject slander, challenge lies, and refuse to pass along gossip. The world may feed on conspiracy, but we feed on the living Word, which calls us to what is true, noble, just, pure, and lovely (Philippians 4:8).

Let us hold fast to truth. Let us refuse every lie. Let us honor the Lord by defending the dignity of those unjustly maligned. For every careless word will be judged (Matthew 12:36)—and every truthful word spoken in love honors the One who is Truth.

BDD

CHRIST DIED FOR US

The gospel Paul preached, the gospel the Corinthians received, the gospel in which they stood and by which they were saved, was not a side note or an optional detail. It was the heart of everything.

“Moreover, brothers and sisters, I declare to you the gospel which I preached to you, which you accepted and in which you stand, by which you are saved, if you hold tightly to that word which I preached—unless you believed in vain. For I delivered to you of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins as the Scriptures teach, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day as the Scriptures teach” (1 Corinthians 15:1–4).

Paul’s words rise with clarity and weight. The gospel is not only precious, it is essential — the message above all other messages, the truth upon which the entire Christian life rests.

When Paul says Christ died for our sins, he is not speaking just of a tragedy of history or a martyr’s lonely cry. He is speaking of love so fierce and holy that it bore the full burden of human guilt. Jesus did not die because men overpowered Him; He laid down His life willingly, stepping into our darkness so that we might step into His light. He carried what we could never carry. He paid what we could never pay. And the Scriptures had been whispering this promise through every age — from the prophets, from the psalms, from the sacrifices that foreshadowed a greater Lamb who would take away the sin of the world.

And He was buried. Those words matter. They remind us that Jesus entered fully into death, that He went where every human goes, that His body rested in the silent stillness of a borrowed tomb. There was no illusion, no sleight of hand. The Son of God tasted death for everyone.

Yet death could not hold Him. On the third day — just as the Scriptures had foretold — He rose again. The stone rolled away, the grave lost its sting, and Christ stood victorious over the one enemy no human being has ever defeated alone. His resurrection is not merely a miracle to marvel at; it is the foundation of our hope, the promise that life will triumph and that every believer will share in His victory.

Paul calls this message “of first importance,” and rightly so. Everything else in the Christian life grows from this root. Our worship, our obedience, our mission, our comfort in sorrow, our hope in weakness — all of it flows from the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. If we lose this, we lose everything; but if we cling to it, we stand firm on ground that cannot be shaken.

Lord Jesus, thank You for dying for our sins, for entering the grave, and for rising again in power. Help us to keep this gospel at the center of our lives, to hold it tightly, and to share it boldly. Strengthen our faith, deepen our love, and anchor our hope in Your finished work. Amen.

BDD

ROBERT JOHNSON AT THE CROSSROADS

The old legend about Robert Johnson has been repeated so long that many people treat it as truth. They say he could barely play, vanished for months, and then returned with astonishing skill. And somewhere along the way, a story grew that he met the devil at a lonely crossroads and traded his soul for talent.

In the 1960s, white rock musicians who — in my opinion — did not understand Black culture romanticized this tale. They imagined the Mississippi Delta as a haunted, cryptic landscape. They acted as if “the blues” came from some supernatural darkness or voodoo. But we need to say this plainly:

That is racist nonsense.

Blues musicians were not mystical figures. They were normal working artists. And their songs played on jukeboxes just like country, swing, or any other popular music of the day. People listened to Robert Johnson like people listened to Hank Williams or Glenn Miller: because they enjoyed it, not because they thought it was ghostly.

And as for those “mysterious” months, historians have done the real work. Johnson went to Alabama. He found a man who could teach him well. He studied. He practiced hard. A musician took him under his wing — likely Ike Zimmerman, as some have reasonably argued — and he learned what he had not yet been taught.

This is exactly how musicians grow. You find someone better than you. You listen. You imitate. You work. There is nothing supernatural here, nothing eerie, nothing involving pacts or spirits or magic. Just a young artist determined to get better and a teacher patient enough to show him how.

But beyond the history lies a deeper truth, and Scripture speaks to it with clarity: no one can sell their soul to the devil. The soul belongs to God. He created it. He owns it. He alone has authority over it.

Jesus said that only the Father can destroy soul and body in hell (Matthew 10:28). Paul told believers that they were bought at a price by Christ (1 Corinthians 6:20). And through Ezekiel, God declared that every soul is His (Ezekiel 18:4). Even when Satan tried to “offer” Jesus the kingdoms of the world, Christ exposed his lies and rejected him outright (Matthew 4:8–10). If the devil cannot purchase anything from Christ, he certainly cannot purchase anything from ordinary people. The devil is not a buyer. He is a deceiver and a thief. And thieves steal what does not belong to them.

So when people speak of “deals with the devil,” they speak of something that Scripture never supports. What they describe is usually the tragedy of sin or addiction or despair, but it is never a literal transaction where Satan gains ownership of a human soul. Christ alone holds that authority. He breaks the chains of darkness; He binds the strong man; He plunders the house of the enemy and sets captives free (Mark 3:27). Satan cannot buy what Christ came to redeem.

In the end, the Robert Johnson legend does not reveal anything about devils at crossroads. It reveals how easily people can twist real human stories into myths, and how racism helped turn normal Black musicians into exotic characters in the imaginations of others. Some simply do not understand the psychosis of racism. It runs deep and it will cause you to believe some ridiculous things.

The truth is far better.

These men were artists. Their songs played in juke joints and poured from jukeboxes. They filled the weekends of ordinary people who wanted to dance or relax or forget their troubles for a few minutes. Nothing haunted about that. And over all these stories stands the greater truth of Christ, who alone owns the souls of men, and who alone gives life, hope, and redemption to anyone who calls on His name.

BDD

A SERMON

This is “my” sermon, one I have preached, taught, and carried with me for many years, and you are completely free to use it in any way that will further the cause of Christ—preach it, teach it, pass it out in Bible classes, or adapt it for your own ministry. Nothing any of us produce is totally original; this sermon has been used by others besides me, and I have gladly drawn from the work and wisdom of faithful men before me. We are all on the same team, working for the greatest cause in the world.

I have not built many structured sermons in a long while—I usually prefer to stand up and simply speak from the overflow—but I’m easing back into preparing outlines and sermons some too because I want to help people however I can. As I write more, I will share them. I wrote this particular sermon a long time ago and it has helped a lot of people in a lot of places.

WHAT MAKES YOU KNEEL AT THE CROSS?

By Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

INTRODUCTION

The message of the Gospel centers upon one sacred place—the cross of Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15:1–4). Everything a Christian possesses—every spiritual blessing (Eph. 1:3)—flows from that one moment where heaven’s love met earth’s sin. Paul declared that he would glory in nothing except the cross of Christ, “by whom the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Gal. 6:14). At the foot of the cross, all boasting dies. Salvation leaves no room for pride (Rom. 3:27; Eph. 2:8–9); the forgiven can only confess, “My hope is in Jesus.”

The Gospel is not the story of what man has done for God—it is the story of what God has done for man. From Eden’s first promise (Gen. 3:15), through Calvary’s fulfillment, to the triumphant scenes of Revelation, Scripture bends toward one theme: the cross. “But God demonstrates His love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8).

The question is no longer, “What will God do?” He has already done it. The real question is: “How will I respond?”

Will I bow in trusting obedience, or will I turn away in pride? Will I embrace His love, or will I bear my own guilt? Everything in Christianity begins—and ends—at the cross of Christ.

Jesus said, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). That truth is not merely a doctrine; it is a Person—bleeding, suffering, dying—to purchase our freedom. Only when we grasp the cost of Calvary will we ever understand the privilege of discipleship. Like Isaiah, forgiven and overwhelmed, we will say, “Here am I—send me” (Isa. 6:1–8).

There is an old song that says, “Kneel at the Cross.” But what makes a person kneel there? What draws the heart down in surrender? In this series we consider three truths that bring a soul to its knees:

1. The King Who Was Led There

2. The Words That Were Said There

3. The Blood That Was Shed There

Each of these will lead a humble heart back to Calvary—and down to its knees.

THE KING WHO WAS LED THERE

(Matthew 27:31, 37–44)

“And when they had mocked Him, they took the robe off Him, put His own clothes on Him, and led Him away to be crucified… And they put up over His head the accusation written against Him: THIS IS JESUS THE KING OF THE JEWS.”

Jesus was—and is—the King of the Jews. Yet He was not the King many expected. They wanted a political liberator, a warrior who would crush Rome and restore David’s throne. Instead, they received a humble Servant who “came to seek and save the lost” (Luke 19:10), who came “not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:28).

Their dreams of earthly glory shattered when Jesus died. They said, almost in despair, “We had hoped that He was the one to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21). The message of a crucified Messiah became a stumbling block (1 Cor. 1:23). They could not conceive of a King whose throne was a cross.

Before we judge them, we must examine ourselves. The Jesus of Scripture and the Jesus of our imagination are not always the same. We sometimes fashion a Christ who looks like us, thinks like us, and approves of us—rather than conforming ourselves to the Christ of the Gospels. But the real Jesus—He dines with outcasts, welcomes sinners, touches lepers, and rebukes the self-righteous. Many rejected Him because He did not fit their expectations. We must ensure we do not do the same.

Jesus is a King—but not the kind the world crowns. He spoke often of peace, not revolution (Eph. 2:17). He promised peace: “My peace I give to you” (John 14:27). He produced peace “through the blood of His cross” (Col. 1:20). He personified peace—for “He Himself is our peace” (Eph. 2:14).

The world seeks kings who conquer by force; Jesus conquers by love. He pleads, “Come to Me” (Matt. 11:28). Imagine that—a King who pleads. A King on a cross.

To the world, the cross is foolishness; but to the saved, it is the power of God (1 Cor. 1:18). When we behold this King—stripped, beaten, mocked, and crucified—not for crimes He committed, but for sins we committed (Luke 23:41), our knees bend almost instinctively.

The King humbled Himself (Phil. 2:6–8). He left heaven’s glory, entered Bethlehem’s barn (2 Cor. 8:9), and died our death. When you realize that the King of kings died for you, you will indeed kneel at the cross.

THE WORDS THAT WERE SAID THERE

(Matthew 27:45–50)

From the cross, Jesus uttered seven sacred sayings—each a window into His heart.

He prayed for His executioners: “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34).

He saved a dying thief: “Today you will be with Me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43).

He cared for His mother: “Woman, behold your son” (John 19:26).

He thirsted (John 19:28).

He yielded His spirit in faith (Luke 23:46).

He declared, “It is finished” (John 19:30).

But the most sobering cry was this:

“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matt. 27:46)

For three hours—from noon until three—darkness covered the land (Matt. 27:45). God turned His face away as His Son bore the full weight of sin. “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us” (2 Cor. 5:21). He “bore our sins in His own body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24). Never in all eternity had the Son been separated from the Father (John 17:5). But on the cross, for our sakes, He was.

Observe three things about this moment:

1. The Meaning of the Separation
   

   God darkened the sky to declare to the world: This is a holy moment. The Lamb of God was bearing the wrath of God.

2. The Moment of the Separation
   

   Jesus cried out at the ninth hour—at the height of His suffering—when human comfort had vanished and divine fellowship withdrew.

3. The Misunderstanding of the Separation
   

   Those nearby said, “He is calling Elijah” (Matt. 27:47). They misunderstood entirely. Many still misunderstand today. To understand this cry is to admit responsibility—our sins caused it (Isa. 53:4–12). That realization alone brings a sinner to his knees.

THE BLOOD THAT WAS SHED THERE

(Matthew 27:51–54)

When Jesus died, “the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom” (Matt. 27:51). That veil—sixty feet high—barred all but one man (the high priest) from the Holy of Holies, the symbolic dwelling place of God.

When Christ died, God tore that veil from top to bottom. Man did not tear it; God did. The barrier was removed by the only One who could remove it.

Hebrews says:

“We can boldly enter the Most Holy Place because of the blood of Jesus… by His death He opened a new and living way through the curtain” (Heb. 10:19–23).

The blood of Jesus reconciled us to God.

Sin separated us (Isa. 59:2).

The cross brought us back (Eph. 2:16).

We were far off—His blood brought us near (Eph. 2:13).

We were guilty—His blood justified us (Rom. 5:9).

He made us (John 1:3).

Then He bought us (Acts 20:28).

When you realize that the precious blood of the perfect Lamb of God was shed for you, you will kneel at Calvary.

CONCLUSION

The cross is the center of Christianity. Without it, we are nothing. Without gratitude for it, we will do nothing. May we never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. May God grant us wisdom to recognize where the power is (Rom. 1:16), and grace to bow in humble obedience.

And may every heart reading these words kneel at the foot of the cross—where sinners are forgiven, where peace is purchased, and where the King of kings opened the way home.

A REAL OFFER FROM A REAL SAVIOR

There are moments when the heart needs to hear, with quiet certainty, that the offer of Christ is not a trick or a trap or a hollow word whispered into the wind. It is real. It is sincere. It is extended by the One who bled for you, who rose for you, who intercedes for you even now at the right hand of the Father. And if I care for your soul at all, it is only because He has taught me to care; left to myself, I would not carry such concern. But His love bends the heart outward, and His compassion creates compassion in those who belong to Him. “The love of Christ compels us” (2 Corinthians 5:14), and it is His love that compels me to speak to you now.

Christ is reaching toward you from every direction—from the Scriptures you read, from the believers who encourage you, from the ministry that surrounds you, from every quiet prompting that stirs your conscience and warms your hope. He calls through His Word, saying, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). He calls through His Spirit, who whispers the things of Christ into weary hearts. He calls through His people, imperfect as we are, who long to see you walk in light and joy and steady trust. This is not the voice of manipulation; this is the voice of mercy.

Yes, the world is filled with counterfeits—voices that exploit rather than heal, hands that take rather than give. Scripture warns us of such things, that “from among yourselves men will rise up, speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after themselves” (Acts 20:30). But the existence of the false does not negate the beauty of the true. There remain men and women who simply want to walk beside you, who want nothing except to see Christ formed in you, who desire only that you grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord (2 Peter 3:18). Real Christians still exist, and their only treasure is Jesus.

If you sense Christ calling, receive His call with humility and hope. For He seeks you not to burden you but to bless you; not to trap you but to free you; not to shame you but to cleanse your heart with the kindness that leads to repentance (Romans 2:4). He has loved you from the beginning. His hands are open. His mercy is wide. His invitation stands.

And so this offer remains—simple, sincere, and sacred. If you hear His voice, do not harden your heart (Hebrews 3:15). Let His grace draw you, let His truth steady you, let His people walk with you, and let His love finally give rest to your soul.

If I can help, let me know. dewaynedunawayministries@gmail.com

BDD

THE BEAUTY OF TONGUES IN THE LIGHT OF SCRIPTURE

Sometimes heaven seems to breathe upon earth, and one of those holy moments unfolded on the day of Pentecost. The disciples waited, praying in the upper room, and suddenly the Spirit descended, filling them with a power not their own. And when they spoke, the multitudes marveled, saying, “We hear them declaring the wonderful works of God in our own languages” (Acts 2:11).

These “tongues” were not mysteries whispered into the air; they were languages—real, intelligible, purposeful—given by the Spirit so that the glory of Christ might be heard by every heart in its own native sound. Grace spoke in a way the listener could understand, and that is always the way of our gracious God.

Paul unfolds this with pastoral tenderness in his letter to Corinth. He reminds us that gifts are never ornaments—they are instruments; they are not given for personal display but for the building up of Christ’s church. “If I come speaking with tongues,” he says, “what good is it unless I bring understanding—knowledge, prophecy, or instruction?” (1 Corinthians 14:6). Language without meaning is like a lamp without oil—it flickers but gives no light.

Yet when the Spirit grants interpretation (1 Corinthians 12:30), even the unlearned language becomes a river of blessing, touching every soul present. So Paul, with apostolic clarity, declares, “I would rather speak five words that can be understood than ten thousand in an unknown tongue” (1 Corinthians 14:19). Truth must be clear, or else it cannot be cherished.

Some, with sincere hearts, ask whether this gift continues among us today. Scripture foretells a day when certain gifts would cease (1 Corinthians 13:8–10), and many thoughtful believers observe that tongues served as a sign—an echo of Isaiah’s warning (Isaiah 28:11) and a whisper of Joel’s prophecy (Joel 2:28–29). We note Paul’s words: “Tongues are for a sign to unbelievers” (1 Corinthians 14:22). And we see in the ruins of Jerusalem, A.D. 70, the sobering fulfillment of that sign. Yet while this view holds weight, Scripture does not speak with absolute finality on the exact moment of cessation, and humility calls us to acknowledge both its possibility and its silence.

But this much is certain—if God were to grant this gift today, it would bear the same marks it bore in the days of the apostles. It would be a real language, not an unintelligible sound (1 Corinthians 14:10). It would be used to proclaim God’s truth to a hearer who knows that language (Acts 2:6–12). It would speak with holy order—“two or at the most three,” each in turn, and never without interpretation (1 Corinthians 14:27–28). And above all, it would reflect the character of the God who gives it—never confusing, always peaceful, always clear (1 Corinthians 14:33). For the Spirit who descended in fire on Pentecost does not kindle chaos; He kindles comprehension.

So let us walk away from these truths with reverence and gratitude. The God who once spoke through many languages can still speak to the heart today—through the Scriptures, through the gospel, through the whisper of grace. And whether with the tongues of men or simply the quiet sighs of prayer, may our words always declare the wonderful works of God, who meets each soul in the language it can hear, and in the mercy it most needs.

BDD

REDEMPTION MADE SIMPLE

There are truths so deep that God wraps them in the simplest language, so even a young believer can understand—and redemption is one of them. From the first pages of Scripture, the Lord shows us that humanity wandered from Him, choosing our own way instead of His (Genesis 3:6-7).

Yet instead of abandoning us, God stepped toward us with a promise; a Redeemer would come, Someone who would crush evil, restore what was broken, and bring us back into fellowship with Him (Genesis 3:15). Redemption, at its heart, means being bought back—lifted from our bondage, restored to the One who made us.

In the Old Testament, God gives pictures of this redeeming love—deliverance from Egypt, rescue through the Passover lamb, forgiveness through sacrifice in the tabernacle. These moments were shadows pointing toward the greater story, whispering that a perfect Redeemer was coming (Hebrews 10:1).

Each rescue, each sacrifice, each deliverance declared the same truth: God does not leave His people trapped; He steps in, He pays the price, He brings them out. Redemption was never about human strength; it was always about divine mercy.

Then Jesus came, fulfilling every hint and every promise. He said He came “to give His life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45), and on the cross He did exactly that. His death paid the debt that sin created; His resurrection broke the power that held humanity captive (Romans 4:25).

Redemption becomes simple to understand when we see it through Jesus—He takes our guilt, He gives us His righteousness; He bears our shame, He offers us His peace; He steps into our darkness, then leads us into His light. It is not earned, not deserved, not purchased by our works—it is a gift, offered freely by a Savior who loves without hesitation.

And now, every believer stands in this grace; redeemed, forgiven, restored. Redemption is not only a moment—it becomes a life. God continues to draw us, shape us, cleanse us, and strengthen us so that we may walk in the freedom Christ purchased (Titus 2:14).

When guilt whispers, redemption answers; when fear rises, redemption reassures; when doubt grows, redemption reminds us that Jesus paid it all, and nothing can separate us from His love (Romans 8:38-39). To understand redemption is to understand the heart of God—He rescues, He restores, and He rejoices over those He has brought home.

Father, thank You for redeeming me through the love of Jesus. Help me walk in the freedom You purchased. Let my life reflect the grace that saved me. In Jesus name, Amen.

BDD

PRAYER AND THE PRIVILEGE OF GOD’S PRESENCE

Prayer is one of the most precious gifts God has given His children. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we have been invited into a relationship where we may draw near to the Father with confidence and trust. The gospel reminds us that it is by the blood of Christ that “we may enter the Most Holy Place,” approaching God with sincere hearts that have been made clean (Hebrews 10:19–22). Prayer, then, is not a small or casual act; it is a privilege purchased at a great price, opened to us by the One who loved us unto death.

Because this access is rooted in Christ’s work, Scripture consistently directs our prayers to God Himself. We are encouraged—again and again—to come boldly to “the throne of grace” where we find mercy and help in our time of need (Hebrews 4:14–16). This is not merely a pattern; it is a principle. God invites us to Himself, and He welcomes us personally. Prayer flows from relationship. It makes little sense, biblically or spiritually, to seek out intermediaries when the gospel has so clearly given us direct access to our gracious Father.

Throughout history, many sincere believers across various traditions have developed practices involving prayers to revered figures, saints, or even loved ones who have passed on. While these practices often arise from deep respect or heartfelt devotion, the Bible gently guides us toward a simpler and more foundational truth: prayer is a form of worship, and worship belongs to God alone. When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, the very first words were, “Our Father in heaven, holy is Your name” (Matthew 6:9). Prayer begins with honoring God’s character, acknowledging who He is, and resting in His unique glory.

Prayer also involves confession, forgiveness, and the deep work of the heart. We are told that if we confess our sins, God Himself is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse us (1 John 1:9). This forgiveness flows from the fact that “there is one Mediator between God and humanity, the Man Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5). Out of love, God has made the way clear, simple, and sufficient. We do not need additional mediators—because Christ’s work is complete, and His invitation to us is personal and open.

Many of our brothers and sisters in various traditions hold practices rooted in long histories, sincere intentions, and deep affection. And while we honor that sincerity, the gospel gently calls us to remember that Christ is fully sufficient. He is enough—more than enough—for our prayers, our worship, our struggles, and our needs. With kindness and humility, we can encourage one another toward that beautiful simplicity, inviting all believers to embrace the direct access God has lovingly provided in His Son.

BDD

THE NECESSITY OF GRACE (Because We Still Sin)

There is a strange and almost comical idea drifting through the modern church—that Christians no longer sin, that somehow the moment we rise from the waters of baptism or whisper our first prayer of faith, the battle is over and the flesh is finished. But Scripture, in its deep and honest simplicity, refuses to flatter us; it tells us the truth, and the truth is that even redeemed hearts still wrestle, still stumble, still feel the pull of temptation, and still need the cleansing mercy of Jesus every single day (1 John 1:8–9). And if the apostle John—who walked with Christ, leaned on His chest, breathed the air of His presence—says that denying our ongoing sin makes us liars, then honesty demands we abandon the fantasy and embrace the reality.

And the reality is this—we remain clay in the Potter’s hands, still being shaped, still being softened, still being purified. Paul, that mighty preacher of the gospel, confessed with painful transparency that the good he longed to do he often failed to perform, and the evil he despised still tugged at him like a shadow lingering at his heels (Romans 7:15–25). A Christian who pretends sin has vanished is not walking in victory—they are walking in denial. Because true victory begins not in pretending perfection, but in admitting weakness, and then clinging, with trembling fingers, to the grace that never lets go.

And Grace—oh, how we need it—flows not to the proud who claim they have risen beyond sin, but to the humble who acknowledge that apart from Christ, they can do nothing (John 15:5). The illusion of sinlessness dries the soul like the desert heat; but honest confession opens the springs again, letting the cleansing blood of the Lamb wash and restore and renew. The Christian life is not a museum of flawless saints; it is a hospital of forgiven sinners who walk with a perfect Savior, learning step by step the cadence of holiness.

And holiness—let us say this clearly—is not sinlessness, but Christlikeness, slowly emerging in us as the Spirit shapes our hearts, corrects our thoughts, restrains our desires, and strengthens our resolves. If any believer imagines that sanctification is the same as completion, they have forgotten that even Paul pressed forward, confessing that he had not yet arrived, following after Christ with holy longing and humble dependence (Philippians 3:12–14). Our imperfections do not indict the gospel—they illuminate its beauty. For the gospel was not given to the worthy but to the weary.

So let us be emphatic and uncompromising: Christians still sin, and that is precisely why we cling to Christ; that is why His cross towers over our days; that is why His mercy meets us in the morning and His faithfulness steadies us at night (Lamentations 3:22–23). Denying sin steals glory from Jesus, but confessing sin magnifies Him, for He came not to applaud our imagined righteousness, but to save us, to cleanse us, to carry us, and to complete us. And until that blessed hour when we stand before Him perfected, we will walk as sinners saved by grace—utterly dependent, eternally grateful, joyfully honest, and forever His.

BDD