TOP TEN THINGS MY FLESH HATES ABOUT CHRISTIANITY

TOP TEN THINGS MY FLESH HATES ABOUT CHRISTIANITY (But My SOUL Knows It Is Life)

There are days when I must admit something plainly: my flesh does not like Christianity.

Oh, my spirit rejoices in Christ — but this old man in me? He complains. He resists. He sighs dramatically. He wants easier terms.

Christianity is wonderful for the redeemed soul — and terribly inconvenient for the ego.

Here are ten things my flesh quietly grumbles about.

1. My flesh hates that it cannot save itself.

It wants a résumé. It wants applause. It wants to say, “I did that.”

But the Word of God says salvation is by grace through faith, not of works, lest any man should boast (Ephesians 2:8-9).

My flesh wants credit. Jesus gets glory. And that bruises pride every single time.

2. My flesh hates repentance.

Repentance feels like losing an argument. It feels like saying, “You were right, Lord. I was wrong.”

Mark tells us Jesus came preaching repentance and belief in the gospel (Mark 1:15). My flesh prefers explaining. Justifying. Clarifying.

The Spirit says, “Confess it.”

3. My flesh hates loving enemies.

Now let’s be honest.

My flesh does not want to pray for someone who lied on me. It does not want to bless someone who insulted me. It certainly does not want to “turn the other cheek” (Matthew 5:39).

My flesh wants to drop a verbal bomb and walk away slow like an action movie.

But Jesus says forgive. Jesus says bless. Jesus says overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21). And suddenly Christianity feels very inconvenient.

4. My flesh hates letting people “get away with stuff.”

You know what I mean.

When someone wrongs you and everything inside you screams, “Say something sharp. Set them straight. Make it sting.”

But the Lord says vengeance belongs to Him (Romans 12:19).

My flesh wants courtroom justice now. God says, “Trust Me.” That requires faith — and restraint — which my flesh finds exhausting.

5. My flesh hates watching my mouth.

Oh yes.

There are moments when sarcasm would feel amazing. When a cutting sentence would land perfectly. When a spicy post would gather applause.

But James says the tongue is a fire (James 3:6), and Paul says let no corrupt word proceed from your mouth (Ephesians 4:29).

So instead of dropping a bomb, I must drop grace.

And sometimes that feels like swallowing glass.

6. My flesh hates dying daily.

Jesus said if anyone would come after Him, he must deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Him (Luke 9:23).

Daily?

My flesh was hoping for “occasionally.”

Or “when convenient.”

The cross is not jewelry. It is an instrument of death. And my ego feels every nail.

7. My flesh hates sexual holiness.

The culture says indulge. Christianity says your body is a temple; you are not your own; you were bought at a price (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

My flesh says, “Relax.”

The Spirit says, “Be holy.”

One leads to chains. The other leads to freedom.

8. My flesh hates generosity.

It fears not having enough. It tightens its grip. It counts what it might lose. But Jesus says it is more blessed to give than to receive (Acts 20:35).

My flesh clutches.

Grace opens the hand.

9. My flesh hates waiting.

Waiting on answers. Waiting on justice. Waiting on promises.

James says the testing of faith produces endurance, and endurance must have its perfect work (James 1:3-4).

My flesh wants overnight deliverance.

God grows oak trees, not mushrooms.

10. My flesh hates that Christianity centers on a crucified King.

The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing (1 Corinthians 1:18). My flesh would have designed a throne, spectacle, visible dominance.

God chose a cross.

And there — at that cross — my flesh is exposed, contradicted, and ultimately crucified.

Conclusion

Christianity is not hard because it is unreasonable. It is hard because it is holy. It offends the ego. It confronts the appetite. It dismantles pride. It crucifies self.

But what my flesh calls restriction, my soul calls rescue. What my flesh calls loss, my spirit calls life.

For those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires (Galatians 5:24). And though the old man groans, the new man rejoices.

Because every nail that pierces the flesh loosens another chain from the heart.

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Lord Jesus, Crucify in me what resists You. Teach me to laugh at my own pride, to confess quickly, to forgive freely, and to trust You when my flesh demands revenge. Let Your cross not merely inspire me — let it transform me. May my ego shrink and Your glory increase. And when my flesh protests, remind me that real life is found in surrender. Amen.

BDD

JESSE JACKSON (1941–2026) — A VOICE THAT CALLED A NATION HIGHER

A tribute requires honesty, humility, and gratitude where it is due. Jesse Jackson has been one of the most visible and enduring figures of the modern Civil Rights movement. As founder of Rainbow PUSH Coalition, he pressed America to confront injustice in voting rights, education, labor, and economic opportunity. Long before it was comfortable, he stood in pulpits and on public stages insisting that the promise of the Constitution must apply to everyone. He ran for president in the 1980s, not merely to win, but to widen the table — and in doing so, he inspired countless Americans who had never before seen themselves represented at that level of national leadership.

You do not have to agree with every word he spoke or every position he took to acknowledge the weight of his contribution. Courage is often controversial. Prophetic voices are rarely polite to the status quo. Honoring Jesse Jackson is not about guilt; it is about fairness. It is about recognizing that the freedoms many of us enjoy were strengthened by the sacrifices, organizing, and persistence of leaders like him. History is healthiest when we tell it truthfully — when we admit that progress did not happen by accident but because someone was willing to push.

At its best, a tribute to Jesse Jackson is a tribute to the ongoing call for justice — a reminder that faith and public life intersect, that the pulpit and the public square are not strangers, and that the work of building a more just society is never finished.

Rest now, brother in Christ and friend of our nation. For a man who spent his life marching, preaching, organizing, and pressing the conscience of a nation, we pray the words of our Lord over his memory: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23).

Whatever history debates, Heaven sees the labor, the long nights, the burdens carried, and the courage it took to stand. May God grant comfort and peace to his loved ones — strength in grief, gratitude in remembrance, and hope in the promise of resurrection.

And may the Lord have mercy on our nation; heal our divisions, correct our injustices, and raise up leaders with conviction, compassion, and humility. May He teach us to pursue righteousness without hatred, justice without vengeance, and truth without fear. Amen.

BDD

HONORING 23 ON THE 17th — GREATNESS, GRACE, AND LEARNING TO REJOICE

February 17 — the birthday of Michael Jordan — is probably cool to most pure basketball fans, even to those of us who grew up bleeding purple and gold for the Los Angeles Lakers. As a lifelong Lakers fan, it almost feels like betrayal to say it out loud, but truth is truth: Jordan is the greatest to ever play the game. I would love to say LeBron is. Especially now as a Laker. But you aren’t going to find many from my generation who will say anyone is better than Jordan. We saw what we saw in the 90s.

The 1980s were my greatest basketball joy — the Showtime era, fast breaks and banners — but the 1990s were a different story. Those were the years when Jordan and the Chicago Bulls ruled the league and broke a lot of Laker hearts. And yet, somewhere along the way, I made him an honorary Laker in my own mind. I found myself pulling for Chicago because when Jordan played, it felt like greatness itself was on display. His footwork, his will, his hang time, his refusal to lose — it was art and warfare wrapped in one uniform. Love him or hate him, when he stepped on the court, you felt like your team was winning just by witnessing it.

But Jordan’s legacy did not stop at the hardwood. During this Black History Month, it feels fitting to recognize that his competitive fire has crossed into another arena. His NASCAR team, 23XI Racing just captured the Daytona 500 — one of the most iconic and historically exclusive stages in American motorsports. NASCAR has not always been known for its inclusivity, and the sport’s history carries complicated layers. Yet here stands a Black majority owner at the pinnacle of its most celebrated race. That speaks to doors opening, to walls being challenged, to excellence refusing to be confined to one arena. Jordan dominated basketball in a way the world had never seen, and now his presence is reshaping spaces far beyond the court. Greatness, it seems, does not retire — it expands.

As much as it cost a lifelong Lakers fan to admit Jordan’s greatness, there was something freeing in choosing to celebrate it anyway. Romans 12:15 calls us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep — and that command stretches us beyond rivalry, beyond preference, beyond pride. In a small way, cheering for Jordan even when he wasn’t wearing my colors teaches me something about the Kingdom of God: we do not lose when others succeed. We reflect Christ when we honor excellence, when we celebrate progress, when we recognize doors opening that once were shut.

If we can learn to rejoice over a game, how much more should we rejoice when God’s image-bearers rise, overcome barriers, and reflect gifts He placed within them? Jesus frees us from small hearts and tribal loyalties. He teaches us to love what is good, to celebrate what is honorable, and to see every victory as an opportunity to glorify the Giver of every good and perfect gift.

And…despite my proximity to Talladega, I have never been interested in NASCAR. But we can all change. With my favorite basketball player involved now, maybe I’m starting to feel a little interest.

BDD

JESUS IN THE GOSPEL OF LUKE

The Gospel of Luke presents Jesus with extraordinary compassion and clarity, showing us the heart of God clothed in human flesh. From the opening chapters, Luke emphasizes God’s care for the overlooked: the elderly Zechariah and Elizabeth, the poor shepherds, the humble Mary. This is a Savior who steps into the margins, who announces good news to the lowly and liberation to the oppressed (Luke 4:18). His mission is not only to redeem souls but to restore life in its fullness, to reconcile the broken, and to call all people into the embrace of God’s kingdom.

Luke portrays Jesus as a teacher and storyteller, the Master of parables, revealing eternal truths through everyday imagery. The Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, the Rich Man and Lazarus — in each story, the heart of God beats with justice, mercy, and patience. He exposes self-righteousness, lifts the fallen, and reminds us that love is the measure of the kingdom. In every parable, Jesus bridges heaven and earth, showing that God’s ways often run contrary to human expectation.

But Luke does not stop with teaching. He reveals Jesus’ power over sickness, sin, and death. He heals lepers, restores sight to the blind, raises the dead, and forgives sins with authority. And yet, He does so with tenderness. Zacchaeus finds a friend in Jesus; the widow of Nain receives comfort; children are welcomed into His arms. The Son of Man is majestic in action but intimate in care.

Luke also emphasizes prayer and dependence on the Father. From the baptism in the Jordan to the night in Gethsemane, Jesus models a life attuned to the Spirit. His obedience, His patience, His focus on God’s will shows that true strength flows from intimate communion with the Father.

Throughout Luke, Jesus is both Savior and exemplar. He embodies God’s mercy, teaches kingdom truths, heals, forgives, and calls His followers to lives marked by compassion, courage, and faithfulness. The Gospel invites us not only to admire Him but to walk in His footsteps, to see the world through His eyes, and to join in the work of the kingdom here and now.

___________

Lord Jesus, open my heart to see You as Luke presents You — compassionate, powerful, merciful, and wise. Teach me to love the overlooked, to forgive as You forgive, and to live in the Spirit as You did. May my life reflect Your mercy, my words speak Your truth, and my deeds bring hope to those around me. Guide me in Your kingdom ways, that I may follow You faithfully each day. Amen.

BDD

FEBRUARY 15 SERMON: “THE DRUM MAJOR INSTINCT”

Text: Mark 10:35–45

This morning I want to preach from a message that was first powerfully articulated by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., called “The Drum Major Instinct.” I am not borrowing his words, but I am building on the biblical truth he drew from Mark 10 — that deep desire in all of us to be first, to be seen, to matter — and how Jesus redeems that desire by turning greatness into service.

James and John came to Jesus with an unusual request. They wanted seats of honor. One on the right. One on the left. They wanted proximity to power. They wanted prominence. They wanted position.

And if we are honest this morning — we understand them.

There is something within all of us that wants to be first. Something that wants recognition. Something that wants to be seen. That drive, that push, that yearning — Dr. King called it the drum major instinct.

It is the desire to lead the parade.

It is the desire to be out front.

It is the desire for distinction.

Now here is what is important — that instinct is not inherently evil. God put within human beings a desire for significance. A desire to matter. A desire to achieve.

But like fire, it must be controlled.

Like electricity, it must be directed.

Or it will burn down the house.

I. The Perversion of the Drum Major Instinct

When the drum major instinct becomes distorted, it produces arrogance.

It says:

“I am better.”

“My group is superior.”

“My race is chosen above all others.”

“My class deserves more dignity than yours.”

And when that instinct moves from the heart into systems — it becomes racism.

It becomes exploitation.

It becomes injustice wrapped in self-importance.

Wars are fought because of corrupted drum major instinct.

Church splits happen because of corrupted drum major instinct.

Nations rise and fall because of corrupted drum major instinct.

People will kill to be first.

People will lie to be first.

People will crush others to be first.

But Jesus never condemned the desire for greatness — He redefined it.

II. Jesus Redefines Greatness

In Mark 10:43–44, Jesus says in essence:

If you want to be great, be a servant.

If you want to be first, be last.

If you want prominence, find it in serving others.

Jesus takes the drum major instinct and turns it upside down.

He does not say, “Don’t be great.”

He says, “Be great in love.”

He does not say, “Don’t lead.”

He says, “Lead by serving.”

And here is the beauty of it:

Everybody can be great.

You don’t need a college degree to serve.

You don’t need wealth to serve.

You don’t need influence to serve.

You only need a heart full of grace and a soul generated by love.

The world measures greatness by applause.

Heaven measures greatness by sacrifice.

III. Dangerous Unselfishness

Dr. King often illustrated this with the Good Samaritan.

The Jericho Road was dangerous. Bandits hid in the shadows.

The priest saw the wounded man and asked “If I stop, what will happen to me?”

The Levite saw him and asked, “If I stop, what will happen to me?”

But the Samaritan reversed the question: “If I do not stop, what will happen to him?”

That is dangerous unselfishness.

That is Christlike love.

That is the drum major instinct redeemed.

The instinct that once sought superiority now seeks service.

The instinct that once demanded recognition now seeks righteousness.

IV. The Proper Eulogy

Near the end of his life, Dr. King said something profoundly humbling.

He said, “When you speak of me, don’t mention my awards. Don’t mention my honors. Don’t mention my degrees. Say that I tried to love somebody. Say that I tried to feed the hungry. Say that I tried to clothe the naked. Say that I tried to visit those in prison. Say that I tried to serve humanity.”

In other words — measure my life not by applause, but by love.

And that is the Christian ethic.

Because our Lord did not come to be served — but to serve — and to give His life a ransom for many.

The greatest drum major in history marched not at the front of a parade — but up a hill called Calvary.

He wore no crown of gold — but a crown of thorns.

He carried no baton — but a cross.

And because He served, God highly exalted Him.

Conclusion

So I ask you today: Do you want to be great? Then serve.

Do you want to be first? Then love.

Do you want your life to matter? Then give it away.

Because when the roll is called up yonder, He will not ask how famous you were — He will ask how faithful you were.

And when history writes your story, let it be said:

They loved.

They served.

They walked humbly with their God.

That is the drum major instinct — redeemed by Christ.

BDD

“AND SUCH WERE SOME OF YOU”

In 1 Corinthians 6:9-11, the apostle Paul speaks with both thunder and tenderness. He begins with a sober warning: “Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived” (1 Corinthians 6:9). The kingdom of God is not entered by accident, nor inherited by mere association. Persistent, unrepentant unrighteousness has no future in a holy kingdom.

Paul then names sins plainly — sexual immorality, idolatry, adultery, sexual perversion, theft, covetousness, drunkenness, reviling, extortion. He does not rank them. He does not soften them. He does not isolate one category to make others feel superior. He lays them side by side. Sexual sin stands next to greed. Idolatry stands next to slander. Public scandal stands next to respectable covetousness. The point is unmistakable: sin in any form, cherished and defended, is incompatible with inheriting God’s reign.

And then comes one of the most hopeful sentences in the New Testament:

“And such were some of you” (1 Corinthians 6:11).

Were.

That single word carries the weight of redemption. The Corinthian believers were not pretending they had never sinned. They were not spiritually polished from birth. They had been idolaters. They had been immoral. They had been greedy and corrupt. But grace had intervened.

Paul continues: “But you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Corinthians 6:11).

Washed — the stain removed.

Sanctified — set apart for God.

Justified — declared righteous in Christ.

Notice the order and the power. This is not self-reformation. This is not moral bootstrapping. This is divine action. The name of the Lord Jesus. The Spirit of our God. Heaven moved toward sinners.

This passage holds two truths together without apology: the seriousness of sin and the sufficiency of grace. It refuses deception — sin excludes from the kingdom. But it also refuses despair — sinners can be changed.

The church must never preach half of this text. If we only shout verses 9-10, we crush hope. If we only whisper verse 11, we cheapen holiness. The Gospel says both: the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom — and you do not have to remain unrighteous.

“And such were some of you.”

That is the testimony of every true believer. Not sinless — but no longer defined by sin. Not perfect — but purchased. Not condemned — but cleansed.

The kingdom of God is not for those who deny their past. It is for those who have been washed from it.

____________

Holy Father, Keep me from deception. Do not let me soften what You call sin, nor exaggerate what You have forgiven. Show me where I need cleansing, and thank You that cleansing is found in the name of Jesus. Remind me that my identity is not in what I was, but in what You have done. Wash me continually. Set me apart. Anchor me in the righteousness of Christ. Let my life testify not merely to warning, but to transformation. May it be said of me, and of Your people, “Such were some of you.” In Jesus’ name, Amen.

BDD

THE CRIMSON TIDE THROUGH THE BIBLE

There is a crimson tide that runs from Genesis to Revelation — not the tide of a football field, but the tide of redemption. It begins as a quiet stream in a garden and becomes a river that no man can number. It is the scarlet thread of atonement, the blood that speaks, the mercy that covers, the life poured out so that death does not have the final word.

In Genesis 3:21, after Adam and Eve sinned, the Lord made garments of skin and clothed them. An innocent life was taken so the guilty could be covered. That was the first ripple of the crimson tide — substitution, sacrifice, covering. The wages of sin had entered the world, and already God was showing that redemption would come through blood.

In Genesis 4, Abel’s offering was accepted because it was from the firstborn of his flock. Hebrews 11:4 tells us he offered by faith. The tide was rising. In Genesis 22, Abraham lifts the knife over Isaac, and God provides a ram caught in the thicket. “The Lord will provide” becomes more than a phrase — it becomes prophecy. A substitute in the place of the son. The crimson tide moves forward.

Then comes the Passover in Exodus 12. The lamb is slain. The blood is placed on the doorposts. Judgment passes over not because Israel was better, but because blood marked the house. That night in Egypt was not just deliverance from Pharaoh — it was a picture of a greater exodus to come. A people saved under blood.

Leviticus formalizes what Genesis and Exodus foreshadowed. “For the life of the flesh is in the blood,” the Lord declares in Leviticus 17:11, “and I have given it to you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls.” The crimson tide becomes a system — daily sacrifices, yearly atonement, priests standing between God and man. Yet Hebrews later tells us those sacrifices could never fully take away sin. They were shadows, pointing forward.

The prophets saw the tide rising higher. Isaiah 53 speaks of the Servant wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed. Zechariah 13:1 promises a fountain opened for sin and uncleanness. The river is forming.

And then, in the fullness of time, John the Baptist points and says in John 1:29, “Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” The Lamb walks among us. The blood that all other blood anticipated now flows in a body without sin.

At the cross, the crimson tide reaches its deepest point. Nails pierce. A spear opens His side. Blood and water flow. Matthew 26:28 records Jesus saying, “This is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.” What Genesis promised, what Exodus pictured, what Leviticus rehearsed, what Isaiah foresaw — Calvary fulfills.

But the tide does not end at the cross. In Hebrews 9, we are told that Christ entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with His own blood, obtaining eternal redemption. In 1 John 1:7, we are reminded that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin. The crimson tide is not stagnant — it cleanses, it flows, it transforms.

And in Revelation 7:14, we see the final vision: a multitude clothed in white robes, who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. White made white by red. Cleansed by what would seem to stain. That is the paradox of grace.

From Eden’s covering to Calvary’s cross to the throne room of heaven, the crimson tide runs strong. It tells us sin is serious. It tells us mercy is costly. It tells us love bleeds.

And it tells us this: we are not saved by our effort, our heritage, or our record — but by blood.

The crimson tide through the Bible is the story of God refusing to leave humanity uncovered. It is the story of justice satisfied and mercy extended. It is the story of a Lamb slain before the foundation of the world — and a people redeemed by His blood.

That tide still flows.

And anyone who will step into it by faith will find that what was once scarlet becomes white as snow.

BDD

PRESIDENTS’ DAY, BLACK HISTORY MONTH, AND THE THINGS WE PRETEND NOT TO SEE

I announced well in advance that Dewayne Dunaway Ministries would be celebrating Black History Month.

And yet you ask, “Why is Bryan Dewayne suddenly on this Black thing?”

Suddenly?

My friend, I have always been on what you call “this Black thing.” Unless you have willfully ignored me, you already know that. What you label “the Black thing” or “enough about racism” — I do not accept those categories. This is not a trend. This is not a mood. This is not politics.

This is about serving God and honoring my brothers and sisters.

I have basically served three local churches in my life. I did good in all of them, and I did wrong in all of them. This is not pin-a-rose-on-Bryan time. I have had inconsistency and instability in areas. I have had growth to do. But one thing has been remarkably steady: Christ at the center — and racism treated as sin.

Years ago, I put out a church bulletin advertising a week of preaching with a picture of Martin Luther King. I caught heat for that. In the early 2000s, I preached before the federal holiday honoring Dr. King and received pushback from racists. To that church’s credit, leadership stood with me. I used his life as an illustration of loving your enemies, and some lighter-skinned saints grew uncomfortable. And a few got mad.

More recently, a deacon walked out of a service and hasn’t been back because I insisted on diversity. I didn’t go after him. He hasn’t been back and I’d get hot if he came back without repenting.

This is not new for me. I am sorry if you thought it was.

So back to Black History Month and Presidents’ Day.

To the heroes who built, led, endured, and excelled in a society that often resisted their very presence — I say thank you. Your composure under pressure strengthens my faith. Your excellence without permission reminds me that dignity can survive hostility.

And let me say plainly: I love everyone. That is not a slogan. That is conviction.

But love does not require blindness.

Presidents’ Day invites us to honor leadership. We speak the names with ceremonial calm:

George Washington.

Thomas Jefferson.

James Madison.

Andrew Jackson.

Ulysses Grant.

Woodrow Wilson.

Franklin Roosevelt.

Harry Truman.

Dwight Eisenhower.

John Kennedy.

Lyndon Johnson.

Richard Nixon.

Gerald Ford.

Jimmy Carter.

Ronald Reagan.

George H. W. Bush.

Bill Clinton.

George W. Bush.

We may debate them. We may critique them. But we do not erupt.

If I posted Millard Fillmore — silence.

William Howard Taft — calm.

Chester A. Arthur — no crisis.

But when I posted President Obama — after the current racist President depicted him and his lovely wife as apes— there was outrage. Oh, not over what the racist did. Over my picture of the Obamas. That was the outrage.

Outrage at a picture.

Now, I am told it is about abortion. I am told it is about policy. I am told it is about values.

And yet I struggle to remember the same theological intensity applied elsewhere.

If I post George Washington, does the comment section immediately shout “slaveholder”?

If Thomas Jefferson is praised, do we instantly center human bondage?

When Andrew Jackson is mentioned, do we erupt over forced removal and suffering?

Surely no one believes slavery is morally lighter than abortion.

Surely we are not prepared to argue that owning children of God, breaking families, and commodifying human beings is somehow a lesser evil.

And yet selective outrage is real. None of us are immune to it. We all need to be loving and kind, but also do some serious, hard self-examination.

James 2 calls partiality sin. Not preference — sin.

Genesis 1 declares that every human being bears the image of God. The unborn bear it. The enslaved bore it. Presidents bear it. The critics bear it.

If abortion disqualifies one man from any measured respect, then slaveholding must disqualify others with even greater severity.

If moral clarity is our standard, then it must be evenly applied.

But what often happens is this: some presidents are filtered through historical context and grace, while another is filtered through suspicion and permanent indictment.

That pattern deserves examination.

This is not about blind loyalty. Presidents are not messiahs. Policies are debatable. Leadership is accountable.

But disproportionate outrage reveals disproportionate discomfort.

Black History Month reminds us that Black advancement has often been followed by backlash. From Reconstruction to civil rights to boardrooms to the White House, progress has unsettled people before.

Presidents’ Day during Black History Month becomes a mirror.

Are we upset about policies — or unsettled by progress?

I refuse hatred. I refuse bitterness. I refuse revenge rhetoric.

But I also refuse selective memory.

If you can calmly admire slaveholders but combust at the sight of one modern president — something deeper is operating.

So I return to gratitude.

To those who achieved in spaces that resisted them — thank you.

To those who are uncomfortable — I still love you.

But let us at least be honest.

Many names pass without disturbance.

Many portraits hang without protest.

But only one president sparks outrage at the mere sight of his picture.

Hint: it’s the Black fellow.

BDD

THE FOLLY OF A GODLESS FOUNDATION

There are movements of thought that present themselves as enlightened, liberated from what they regard as the restraints of faith. Among them stands atheism — not merely doubt, not the cry of a wounded heart wrestling with suffering, but the settled denial that God is. It claims intellectual maturity; it speaks the language of reason; it prides itself on emancipation from the unseen. Yet beneath its confidence lies a profound insufficiency.

For the denial of God does not remove Him; it only removes the ground upon which meaning stands.

If there is no God, there is no ultimate origin. The universe becomes an accident without intention. Mind arises from matter without explanation of why reason should be trustworthy. Morality becomes preference elevated to consensus. Justice is reduced to social agreement. Love is chemical reaction. Hope is psychological necessity. The human spirit, which longs for permanence, is told it is a flicker in a purposeless dark.

Such a worldview may be asserted, but it cannot satisfy the depth of human consciousness.

There is within man an ineradicable sense of transcendence. Across cultures and centuries, humanity reaches beyond itself. This is not mere conditioning; it is correspondence. Hunger implies food. Thirst implies water. The longing for ultimate meaning implies an ultimate Source. To dismiss this as illusion is to declare the most persistent instinct of humanity to be deception.

Moreover, reason itself stands upon ground atheism cannot secure. If thought is the byproduct of blind forces, why should it be trusted as a reliable guide to truth? If the mind is merely an evolutionary convenience, oriented toward survival rather than truth, then its conclusions about God are equally suspect. Atheism borrows the tools of rationality while undermining the foundation that makes rationality coherent.

The Christian confession does not begin with abstraction but with revelation. God has not remained hidden behind metaphysical speculation; He has made Himself known in history, supremely in Jesus Christ. The life, death, and resurrection of Christ are not mythic symbols; they are the decisive self-disclosure of God within time. The question is not whether man can climb to God by argument, but whether God has spoken. Christianity rests upon the latter.

Atheism often frames belief as a refuge for the weak. Yet history testifies otherwise. Men and women who have suffered deeply, who have faced persecution and loss, have clung to faith not as escapism but as encounter with a living Presence. They testify not to blind credulity but to sustained communion. One may dismiss their witness, but one cannot erase it.

It must also be said that atheism offers no ultimate resolution to evil. If there is no transcendent moral standard, then injustice is only violation of preference. The cry against oppression loses its absolute force. Yet the human heart protests evil as though it violates something objective and sacred. That protest aligns more naturally with the existence of a righteous Creator than with a purposeless cosmos.

None of this is written to condemn the struggler. Honest doubt is not atheism. Questions are not rebellion. But the categorical denial of God closes the door to the very Light that could answer those questions. It asserts finality where humility would inquire.

The Christian faith affirms that the universe is not self-explanatory. It declares that behind existence stands eternal Being. It proclaims that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. It insists that reality is not chaos but creation, not accident but intention, not despair but redemption.

To remove God is not to simplify the world; it is to unravel it.

The issue, then, is not merely intellectual but relational. God is not an equation to be solved; He is a Person to be known. The refusal of God is ultimately the refusal of relationship. Yet the invitation remains open. The One whom atheism denies does not cease to seek. He addresses the conscience, stirs the longing, confronts the pride, and calls the heart.

For the denial of light does not extinguish the sun. It only leaves the eyes closed.

___________

Living God, who are before all things and in whom all things hold together, reveal Yourself to seeking hearts. Dissolve pride, steady honest doubt, and grant light where there has been denial. May those who question encounter not argument alone, but Your living presence in Jesus Christ. And anchor our own faith more deeply in the certainty that You are. Amen.

BDD

WITHOUT FAITH

Hebrews 11:6

“Without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.”

There are words in Scripture that cut through every illusion of spiritual adequacy, and this is one of them. It does not say that without zeal it is difficult to please Him, nor that without knowledge it is unlikely. It says without faith it is impossible. The Holy Spirit leaves no margin for substitutes. Whatever may impress men, whatever may sustain religious machinery, if faith is absent, the thing lacks that which alone answers to God.

This is because faith corresponds to God’s own nature and initiative. Faith is not optimism, nor is it mental assent to a creed. It is the inward response of a heart apprehended by divine revelation. It is the spirit’s movement toward God because God has first made Himself known. Faith is awakened by the unveiling of God in His Son.

“He who comes to God must believe that He is.” The beginning of all spiritual life is the recognition of God’s reality. Not merely that God exists in abstraction, but that He is present, living, active. The tragedy of much religion is that it proceeds as though God were distant, theoretical, almost incidental. Faith brings the soul into conscious dealing with a God who is. It refuses to reduce Him to doctrine alone; it insists upon His immediacy.

But the word goes further: He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. The reward is not material gain, nor the gratification of ambition. The reward is God Himself. To seek Him is to discover that He gives Himself to the one who draws near in faith. There is reciprocity in divine relationship; as faith lays hold of God, God makes Himself known more fully.

Hebrews 11 stands as a testimony to this principle. The men and women named there were not perfect; they were responsive. They acted upon what God revealed. Abraham left because God spoke. Moses endured because he saw Him who is invisible. Their lives were shaped by an unseen Reality that outweighed visible circumstance. Faith made the unseen more substantial than the seen.

This is why faith pleases God. It acknowledges His sufficiency. It declares that His word is trustworthy. It honors Him as faithful. Unbelief, at its root, questions His character. Faith rests upon it. Therefore faith glorifies God, not by loud declaration, but by quiet reliance.

The impossibility of pleasing God without faith is not a threat; it is a disclosure of divine order. God will not be approached on the ground of human merit. He will not be manipulated by works. He seeks that inward trust which opens the heart to His operation. Faith creates the vessel into which He may pour Himself.

And yet faith is tested. It is purified in delay, strengthened in trial, refined through contradiction. Often the reward seems hidden, the promise deferred. But faith persists because it has apprehended something of God’s own faithfulness. It seeks Him, not merely His gifts. It clings to Him when explanations fail.

So the question is not whether we maintain religious appearance, but whether we are living in active trust toward God. Are our decisions shaped by what we see, or by what He has said? Do we calculate according to circumstance, or according to promise?

Without faith it is impossible to please Him. But with faith — even faith as small as a mustard seed — the soul stands upon ground that delights the heart of God. For faith is the answering echo of His own self-revelation, the human spirit responding to divine initiative, the child resting in the Father’s faithfulness.

____________

Lord God, deliver us from empty profession and awaken in us true faith. Reveal Yourself afresh in Your Son, that our trust may rest not upon feeling or circumstance, but upon Your unchanging character. Strengthen our hearts to seek You diligently, and make our lives a testimony that You are — and that You reward those who draw near in faith. Amen.

BDD

IN SPIRIT AND IN TRUTH

John 4:23-24

When our Lord spoke to the woman at the well, He was not merely resolving a religious dispute; He was unveiling an entirely new order. The question before Him concerned sacred geography — this mountain or Jerusalem — yet the Lord lifted the matter above terrain and tradition into the realm of divine reality. The hour, He declared, was not only approaching but had already arrived, when worship would no longer be confined to external systems, but would be rooted in something inward and living.

“God is Spirit.” This is not a poetic phrase; it is a revelation of God’s essential nature. If God is Spirit, then He cannot ultimately be approached through what is merely outward. Ritual, however precise; music, however beautiful; forms, however ancient — these may have their place, yet none of them in themselves reach God. Only that which corresponds to His nature can truly commune with Him. Therefore, worship must arise from the human spirit made alive by the Spirit of God. It must be the inward response of a life brought into union with Christ.

The Lord’s words mark the passing of an old order. The temple, the sacrifices, the prescribed ceremonies — all were shadows pointing toward a greater reality. Now the Substance had come. In the presence of the Son, the veil began to fall away. Worship was no longer a matter of approaching a distant shrine; it was participation in a living relationship. Heaven had drawn near in the Person of Christ, and worship would henceforth be grounded in that nearness.

To worship in truth is to worship in accordance with what God has revealed of Himself in His Son. Truth is not bare correctness of doctrine, though doctrine guards it. Truth is the unveiled reality of God as made known in Jesus Christ. Where Christ is not central, worship loses its substance. Where He is merely acknowledged but not enthroned, worship becomes hollow. The Father seeks those whose worship flows from living knowledge of His Son.

It is deeply significant that the initiative lies with the Father. He is seeking worshipers. This implies divine desire, but also divine purpose. God is not satisfied with outward compliance; He desires correspondence with His own heart. Only what is born of the Spirit can answer to Him who is Spirit. Therefore, worship demands more than attendance; it requires transformation. The natural man may adopt religious habits, but he cannot generate spiritual communion. Only as the Spirit deals with the self-life — pride, independence, self-interest — can there be that purity of response which rises acceptably before God.

The woman who began with controversy ended with revelation. She moved from argument about sacred sites to encounter with the living Christ. That transition is the essence of true worship: from system to Savior, from form to fellowship, from ritual to reality. Worship is not confined to a place or hour; it is the expression of an indwelling Life. Where Christ governs inwardly, worship flows outwardly. Where the Spirit has liberty, truth becomes experience rather than theory.

The hour has come, and now is. May we not cling to the shadows when the Reality stands before us. May we not substitute activity for communion. And may our worship be born of spirits made alive unto God, responding to Him in the truth of His Son, for such the Father seeks.

____________

Father of spirits, awaken our hearts from mere formality and bring us into living correspondence with Yourself. Deliver us from worship that is outward and hollow, and make us those who respond to You from spirits made alive by Your Spirit. Center our hearts in Your Son, who is the Truth, and lead us into that deep communion which satisfies Your seeking heart. In Christ’s Name we pray. Amen.

BDD

WEIGHED IN THE BALANCES

Daniel 5:27 — “You have been weighed in the balances, and found wanting.”

The Bible pulls back the curtain and lets us see how God evaluates a life. Daniel 5 does that. Belshazzar held a feast while a kingdom trembled. He drank from sacred vessels taken from the temple of the Lord. He mocked what was holy. He celebrated power as if it were permanent. The music played; the wine flowed; the nobles laughed.

And then the hand appeared.

Not a rumor. Not a dream. A hand—writing on the wall. The room that had echoed with laughter fell silent under judgment.

When Daniel was summoned, he did not flatter the king. He did not soften the truth. He interpreted the message with holy clarity: “You have been weighed in the balances, and found wanting.”

God does not measure as men measure. We weigh success by applause. God weighs integrity. We weigh strength by dominance. God weighs humility. We weigh wealth by accumulation. God weighs stewardship.

Belshazzar had inherited a kingdom but ignored its lessons. He knew what God had done to Nebuchadnezzar. He knew the testimony of divine sovereignty. Yet knowledge without repentance hardened his heart. And so Heaven placed him on the scales.

The image is sobering. Not merely examined—weighed. Not casually observed—evaluated against a standard.

That standard is not public opinion. It is not political power. It is not cultural influence. It is the righteousness of God. And when that righteousness is the scale, who can stand?

The text does not say he was slightly lacking. It says he was found wanting. Deficient. Inadequate. Falling short.

That phrase should still tremble through our sanctuaries. Because the same God who weighed Babylon weighs nations still. He weighs churches. He weighs preachers. He weighs motives hidden beneath polished words. He weighs how we treat the vulnerable. He weighs how we handle truth. He weighs whether we tremble at His holiness or toy with sacred things.

The handwriting on the wall is not only for ancient kings. It is for us.

But here is the mercy hidden within the warning. The gospel tells us that another was weighed. Christ stood where we could not stand. He bore the full weight of divine justice. On the cross, He absorbed the verdict our insufficiency deserved. The One who was perfectly righteous took upon Himself our deficiency. So that those found wanting might be declared righteous in Him.

Daniel 5 is judgment without repentance. The cross is judgment satisfied by grace. Belshazzar’s feast ended in collapse. The believer’s feast ends in redemption.

So let us examine ourselves before the scales are set. Let us repent before the handwriting appears. Let us handle holy things with reverence and walk humbly before the Lord. For a day is coming when every life will be weighed.

And blessed are those who hide themselves not in their own merit—but in Christ, whose righteousness outweighs every failure.

____________

Holy God, search us and weigh us now. Reveal what is lacking before the night falls. Strip away pride and awaken repentance. And clothe us in the righteousness of Christ, that when we are weighed in Your balances, we may stand secure in Him. Amen.

BDD

FEBRUARY 15 — “UNFORGETTABLE”

On this February 15, we remember the death of Nat King Cole—a son of Alabama raised on hymns and hardship, who carried a velvet strength in his voice. The world remembers the smoothness; history remembers the barriers; but the believer may hear something deeper.

Among his many songs, one rises with great authority: Unforgettable. The title alone invites meditation.

Unforgettable.

In a world that forgets so quickly—forgets promises, forgets pain, forgets people once the applause fades—what does it mean to be unforgettable? What does it mean to remember?

Cole sang of a presence that lingers, a love that imprints itself upon the heart so deeply that it cannot be erased. The song speaks of someone whose very nearness alters the atmosphere—whose touch leaves an indelible mark.

And while he sang of human affection, the Christian cannot help but lift the thought higher. There is One who is truly unforgettable.

The Lord who forms us does not forget His own. The prophet declares that though a mother may forget her nursing child, yet the Lord will not forget His people; He has engraved them upon the palms of His hands. That engraving bears the scars of Calvary. Love made visible. Mercy made permanent.

We strive to be remembered. We labor for recognition. We fear obscurity. But the Lord turns the matter on its head: it is not that we must become unforgettable to God—we already are. The greater question is whether God is unforgettable to us.

Israel forgot Him in times of prosperity. The church forgets Him in times of comfort. We forget Him in the noise of ambition and the clamor of self-importance. Yet He remains constant—faithful when we wander, steadfast when we grow cold.

“Unforgettable” becomes, then, a quiet rebuke and a tender invitation.

Is Christ unforgettable in your daily walk?

When you rise in the morning, does gratitude rise with you? When you face injustice, does His cross steady your resolve? When the world measures you by status or skin, does His voice remind you of your true worth?

Nat King Cole lived in an America that tried to forget the dignity of Black souls. Yet he stood before crowds with composure and excellence, as if to say without shouting that God’s children cannot be erased. His very presence challenged the lie of inferiority. That steadiness is redemptive.

But even the finest voice eventually falls silent. The human singer may be unforgettable for a season.

Christ is unforgettable for eternity.

His love does not fade when trends change. His sacrifice does not lose its melody when generations pass. The Lamb who was slain still stands; the risen Lord still intercedes; the Spirit still whispers truth into weary hearts.

On this February 15, as we remember the death of a gifted artist, let us remember the greater Song.

Let Christ be unforgettable in your home—in your speech—in your dealings with neighbor and stranger alike.

For when all other names grow dim, His Name will remain. When earthly melodies cease, His redemption will resound. And when history closes its books, those engraved upon His hands will never be forgotten.

____________

Lord Jesus, write Your mercy so deeply upon our hearts that we cannot forget You. In a world that forgets what is holy and remembers what is hollow, fix our gaze upon Your cross. Make Your love unforgettable to us and make our lives a grateful response to it. Amen.

BDD

FEBRUARY 15 — A DAY OF TRANSFIGURED GREATNESS

February 15 in Black history shines with a particular light because on this day in 1970, Nat King Cole passed from this life. His voice had already circled the globe; his music had crossed boundaries that laws and hatred tried to keep in place. Yet his life tells a deeper story than melody alone.

Born in Montgomery, Alabama, and raised in Chicago, Cole emerged from the church and the piano bench into the world’s grand stages. He became one of the first Black artists to host a nationally televised program, The Nat King Cole Show in 1956. That fact alone was revolutionary. In a segregated America, a Black man sat in America’s living rooms not as a caricature, not as comic relief, but as a dignified, refined artist.

And yet sponsors withdrew. The show struggled because corporate America feared associating too closely with a Black host. The talent was undeniable; the resistance was equally real.

That is February 15.

It is a day that reminds us that excellence does not shield you from prejudice—but it does testify against it.

Nat King Cole’s voice carried warmth, restraint, and polish. Songs like Unforgettable and Mona Lisa became standards. But behind the smooth tone was a man navigating bomb threats, racial hostility, and the tension of being “acceptable” yet not fully embraced.

In 1956, he was assaulted on stage in Birmingham, Alabama, by white supremacists who resented his presence before an integrated audience. He survived, returned to perform, and continued pressing forward. That kind of dignified, quiet resolve, says who was really supreme in the situation.

February 15 is not only about the loss of a singer.

It is about the persistence of dignity.

Black history is often told through marches and megaphones—and rightly so. But it is also told through pianos, through microphones, through men and women who refused to shrink their excellence to make others comfortable.

Nat King Cole did not lead protests in the streets the way Martin Luther King Jr. did, yet in his own way, he challenged the nation’s conscience. Every time he sang before a segregated audience, every time he appeared on television with composure and class, he disrupted the lie of inferiority.

There is a lesson here for us.

Black history is not only resistance; it is refinement under pressure. It is grace in hostile spaces. It is image-bearers of God carrying themselves with worth when the world questions it.

February 15 teaches us that some battles are fought with speeches—and some are fought with excellence.

And excellence, when sustained in the face of injustice, becomes a quiet revolution.

So today, remember that greatness is not always loud. Sometimes it is steady. Sometimes it is melodic. Sometimes it is a voice that refuses to disappear.

History may mark February 15 as the day Nat King Cole died.

But Heaven marks it as the day a life of cultivated dignity finished its song and left notes that still resonate.

BDD

LOVE THAT BROKE CHAINS

February 14 is known for roses and romance; for whispered promises and tender gestures. But as we continue our celebration of Black History Month, it is also the day remembered by Frederick Douglass—a man born in bondage who chose to anchor his life to a day called love.

Douglass was born enslaved, stripped of family, denied education, treated as property. Yet the love of God found him before society ever affirmed him. He learned his letters in secret. He fed his mind in hidden places. And when he finally escaped the plantation, he did not escape merely to survive but to speak.

Love did that.

The kind of love the Scriptures describe is not sentimental weakness; it is fierce and liberating. “The truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). And Douglass wielded truth like a trumpet blast across a sleeping nation. His speeches were not polite suggestions—they were holy indictments. He exposed the hypocrisy of a Christianity that sang hymns on Sunday and chained men on Monday.

Black history is not merely a record of suffering; it is a testimony of endurance. It is mothers praying through tears; fathers working through humiliation; children learning in segregated classrooms yet rising beyond the ceiling imposed on them. It is the image of God shining through skin that the world once despised.

And today, on Valentine’s Day, we remember something deeper than romance—we remember divine love.

“God demonstrates His love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Before America loved him, before laws protected him, before institutions affirmed him—Christ loved him. That love dignifies all life. That love crowns us with worth. That love says you were never property—you were always a child of almighty God.

So today, I thank God for Black resilience. I thank Him for the spirituals sung in cotton fields; for preachers who sounded hope into hopeless rooms; for activists who marched though dogs barked and hoses sprayed; for grandparents who believed in a future they would never see.

Frederick Douglass chose love’s day to mark his existence. And perhaps that is a word for all of us: We will not let hatred define our story. We will not let oppression write our ending. We belong to the God who is love—and love does not lose. And the “we” there is all brothers and sisters in the human family of God.

Black history is not just about what our Black brothers and sisters have endured. It is about who carried them.

And He still carries all of us now in the fight for what is right.

BDD

WHEN JESUS LOOKED AT HIM AND LOVED HIM

There is a gaze from Christ that searches deeper than words. It is not hurried. It is not careless. It sees the whole man—the virtue that impresses others and the vacancy that only heaven can detect. In Mark 10:21, we are told that Jesus, looking at the rich young ruler, loved him.

Before the command.

Before the sorrow.

Before the turning away.

He loved him.

The young man came running—earnest, respectful, morally disciplined. He knelt. He addressed Jesus as Good Teacher. He spoke of commandments kept from his youth. By all visible measures, he was a model of religious devotion. Yet Christ saw beyond the polished exterior into the throne room of the heart.

And He loved him.

Divine love is never sentimental indulgence; it is holy intention. When Christ loves, He aims to liberate. When He looks, He intends to transform. The love of Jesus does not flatter our strengths; it exposes our idols.

“One thing you lack.”

How piercing those words must have been. Not ten things. Not a catalogue of failures. One thing. Yet that one thing was everything. The man possessed great wealth—but the wealth possessed him. And Christ, in love, placed His finger upon the chain.

Sell what you have. Give to the poor. Come, take up the cross, and follow Me.

The truest love will not leave a man undisturbed in his ruin. A physician who smiles while ignoring disease is no friend. And the Savior who demands surrender is not cruel—He is kind. For what He asks us to release is never equal to what He offers in return.

But the tragedy of the passage is not Christ’s demand; it is the man’s departure. He went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. He preferred full barns to an open heaven. He chose security over surrender.

And still, the text says: Jesus loved him.

How mysterious—that love can be offered and yet resisted. That grace can be extended and yet declined. Christ does not coerce the will; He confronts it. He reveals the rival and calls for allegiance.

What is the one thing in us?

It may not be wealth. It may be reputation. It may be comfort. It may be control. Whatever we cling to more tightly than Christ will eventually grieve us. For the soul was not made to balance multiple masters.

When Jesus looks at a man and loves him, He will not merely affirm him. He will summon him. He will press upon the hidden loyalty and say, “Follow Me.”

Blessed are those who rise, leave all, and go. For though they part with much, they gain Him—and in gaining Him, they lose nothing of eternal worth.

____________

Lord Jesus, Reveal the one thing that competes for Your throne in our hearts. Give us courage to surrender what we cannot keep in order to receive what we cannot lose. Save us from walking away sorrowful. Draw us to follow You with undivided affection, until You are our treasure and our joy. Amen.

BDD

THE CROSS THAT OFFENDS

There is nothing in this world more beautiful—and nothing more offensive—than the cross of Jesus Christ.

The apostle declares in 1 Corinthians 1:18-25 that the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. And in that single sentence, the Spirit divides humanity—not by race, nor by rank, nor by intellect—but by response to a crucified Savior.

The cross offends human wisdom. It announces that education cannot rescue the soul. It proclaims that philosophy cannot reconcile man to God. The Greeks sought wisdom, systems, eloquence. But heaven answered with a bleeding Redeemer. God did not send an argument; He sent His Son.

The cross offends human morality. It declares that even our best works cannot erase guilt. The religious man stands tall in his discipline and charity, yet the cross insists that he must be saved the same way as the thief—by mercy alone. Pride trembles before such a verdict. Self-righteousness recoils. For the cross leaves no room for boasting.

Humility is not optional in the Christian life—it is the very entrance into it. And nothing humbles like Calvary. To look upon Christ crucified is to see the end of self-confidence. The nails preach against our pride. The thorns expose our vanity. The pierced side reveals what our sin required.

If the cross does not wound your pride, it has not yet healed your soul. For before it becomes precious, it must first become personal. Before it comforts, it confronts. It tells every man, “Your sin did this.”

Yet herein lies the glory: what offends the flesh redeems the sinner.

God has chosen what the world calls foolish to shame the wise. He has chosen what appears weak to overthrow the mighty. A crucified Messiah—rejected, mocked, executed—is the very wisdom and power of God. The instrument of shame has become the throne of grace.

The cross offends because it removes all ground for comparison. At its foot, kings and beggars kneel alike. The scholar and the laborer are equally silent. The only language permitted there is repentance and faith.

And still today, the offense remains.

Preach morality without blood, and many will applaud. Preach spirituality without repentance, and crowds may gather. But preach Christ crucified—substitutionary, exclusive, sovereign—and you will find the dividing line. For the natural heart prefers improvement to crucifixion.

But we must never polish the cross to make it palatable. Its rough edges are its glory. Its offense is its power. For only what kills pride can raise the dead.

Let us cling, then, to the very message the world resists. Let us glory not in eloquence, nor in influence, but in Jesus Christ and Him crucified. For what humbles us most will exalt Him highest—and what wounds our pride will heal our souls.

___________

Crucified Lord, Bring us again to the foot of Your cross. Strip us of every boast but You. Let the offense of Calvary slay our pride and silence our self-trust. Teach us to love the message the world rejects and to find our wisdom in what it calls foolish. Make us humble, grateful, and bold—never ashamed of Your wounds, never weary of Your gospel. May we decrease until Christ alone is seen. Amen.

BDD

THE SIN NOBODY CONFESSES

There are sins that shock us—and there are sins that sit comfortably beside us in the pew.

The apostle addresses one of them with unsettling clarity in James 2. He speaks not to pagans, not to persecutors, but to believers assembled. A rich man enters wearing fine apparel; a poor man follows in humble clothing. And the church, with subtle instinct, moves toward one and away from the other.

No adultery.

No murder.

No public scandal.

Just preference.

James calls it partiality—and he does not treat it lightly. He says that when we show favoritism, we become judges with evil thoughts. We dishonor the poor. We transgress the royal law, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” And if we stumble at this point, we are guilty of breaking the whole law.

That is strong language for what many would call social instinct.

But heaven does not measure sin by how polished it appears. Partiality is pride dressed in church clothes. It is valuing people by usefulness rather than by image-bearing dignity. It is the quiet assumption that some souls are worth more attention than others.

And it flourishes where it is rarely named.

We confess lust more readily than favoritism. We condemn theft more quickly than prejudice. Yet partiality reveals something foundational: we have forgotten how we ourselves were received. The gospel levels the ground. The ground at the cross is not elevated for the influential and lowered for the obscure. We all came needy. We all came bankrupt. We all came undeserving.

How then can the forgiven rank the forgiven?

The sin nobody confesses is often the sin most defended. We call it prudence. We call it culture. We call it preference. But if love is impartial in Christ, then partial love is not Christlike.

The church must examine herself—not merely her doctrine, but her posture. Not merely her preaching, but her welcome. For if we claim faith in our glorious Lord and yet measure people by appearance, we contradict the very mercy that saved us.

The Lord who opened His arms to us did not first inspect our résumé.

He saw our poverty—and invited us near.

____________

Righteous and impartial Father, Search us and expose what we excuse. Deliver us from hidden pride that ranks souls according to comfort and advantage. Teach us to love as You have loved us—without calculation, without preference, without quiet superiority. Make our assemblies places where the poor are honored, the overlooked are seen, and Christ alone is exalted. Let the royal law govern our hearts until favoritism withers and holy love remains. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

BDD

WHEN THE LORD PASSED BY

Sometimes everything slows down—when heaven draws near and time itself seems to hold its breath. One of those moments is found in Exodus 34:6-7, when the Lord passed by Moses and proclaimed His own name.

Moses had asked to see the glory of God. Not the works of God. Not merely the power of God. The glory. And what did God reveal? Not first thunder. Not first fire. Not first judgment. He proclaimed His character.

The Lord declared Himself merciful and gracious, patient and overflowing with covenant love and faithfulness; forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin—yet not sweeping guilt into the shadows as though holiness were negotiable. Mercy and justice flowed together in one divine proclamation.

We tend to separate what God has joined. Some cling to mercy and silence justice. Others scream justice and forget mercy. But when the Lord passed by, He declared both without apology. He is patient—yet holy. He forgives—yet does not excuse rebellion. He is compassionate—yet not indifferent to evil.

Cheap grace is not born in heaven; it is born in human imagination. The God who forgives iniquity also confronts it. The God who keeps mercy for thousands also refuses to clear the guilty without atonement. That tension finds its answer at the cross—where justice was satisfied and grace was poured out without measure.

When the Lord passed by Moses, He hid him in the cleft of the rock. When the Lord passed by us in Christ, He became the Rock Himself—bearing wrath so that mercy might reach us without compromising righteousness.

We must not preach a God of preference; we must proclaim the God who revealed Himself.

If we would see His glory today, we will find it as Moses did—low before Him, dependent upon Him, trembling yet trusting. For the Lord still passes by—not to entertain, but to reveal; not to flatter, but to purify; not merely to soothe, but to sanctify.

May we bow when He proclaims His name.

May we receive all that He has declared Himself to be.

_____________

Holy and merciful Father, Pass by us again—not that we may be impressed, but that we may be changed. Teach us to love Your mercy without despising Your holiness. Guard us from softening what You have spoken and from hardening what You have made tender. Hide us in Christ, our Rock, and let Your glory humble us until pride falls silent. Make us a people who proclaim You as You are—gracious and just, forgiving and holy. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

BDD

IN THAT DAY THERE SHALL BE A FOUNTAIN OPENED

The prophet spoke of a day that would change everything—not a day marked by political triumph, nor by military victory, but by mercy. In Zechariah 13:1, the Word of God declares that in that day there would be a fountain opened for the house of David and for the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for sin and for uncleanness. A fountain—not a trickle, not a ritual basin, not a temporary provision—but a flowing, living source sufficient to wash what no law could scrub and no ceremony could erase.

Sin leaves a stain deeper than skin. Uncleanness is not merely outward defilement; it is inward disorder—a heart turned from God, a will bent toward self, a conscience burdened. The prophets understood that Israel’s deepest problem was not Rome, nor Babylon, nor any earthly oppressor; it was the corruption within. And so the promise was not first of a sword, but of water.

That fountain was opened when Christ was lifted up.

When the soldier pierced His side, blood and water flowed—a sign that the cleansing had begun. The fountain is not a metaphor only; it is redemption made visible. At Calvary the Holy One bore our uncleanness so that we might be washed. The apostle reminds us that we were washed, sanctified, and justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God (1 Corinthians 6:11). The water is not earned; it is given. It does not merely cover; it cleanses.

Notice the language: “a fountain opened.” It was not partially uncovered; it was opened. Opened by God Himself. Opened decisively. Opened publicly. Opened for sinners. The fountain does not run dry because its source is not human resolve but divine mercy. It is not fed by our worthiness but by His sacrifice.

And yet the fountain must be entered.

Water can flow freely and still leave the thirsty unrefreshed if they will not come. The promise is wide, but it calls for repentance and faith. The same cross that provides cleansing also confronts us with the seriousness of our sin. Grace does not excuse uncleanness; it washes it away. The Lord does not say, “Remain as you are.” He says, “Come and be made clean.”

In a world that minimizes sin and redefines uncleanness, this ancient promise still stands. There is a fountain open. Not a philosophy, not a political movement, not self-improvement—but Christ Himself. He is the living water. He is the cleansing stream. He is the mercy of God flowing toward the guilty.

And in that day—which dawned at Calvary and continues even now—the invitation remains.

Come to Jesus

Come to the fountain.

Wash.

Be clean.

BDD