Hebrews, Paul, and John: What of the Jews and the End of the Old Covenant?

 

I was reading through Hebrews 6-8 the other night and a memory of a 'fight" jumped in as I read the writer of Hebrews absolutely declaring an absolute end to the old administration of the Covenant of Grace. 

Every now and then, when I write or teach- I get people pretty rankled at me.

For example, whenever I teach through the Book of Revelation, the pushback usually comes right around chapter 7. People want to pin me down on Israel, the Church, the 144,000, and whether I believe in “replacement theology.”  I don’t. 

One sweet lady charged me after Sunday School back in 2004. She had her giant Bible, a red face, and I had only a small podium to guard me!

 "I can't believe the presbytery or elders of this church would be very happy if they knew you  were teaching replacement theology!"

My reply? "No ma'am, I'm so sorry I didn't make that clear enough for you, I do not believe in replacement theology, I like to call it "expansion theology."

I don’t believe God discarded His promises to Israel, and I certainly don’t think He runs two separate plans of salvation—one for Jews and one for Gentiles. 

God’s promises to Abraham were never meant to end with national Israel. They were always designed to flow through Israel to the nations, so that His mercy would cover the whole earth."

She softened a little, and my best guess is she never turned me in to the elders, but I bet it was a topic at tea.

For a long time I leaned toward the idea that the 144,000 and the great multitude in Revelation 7 were simply two ways of describing the same people, similar to the way Revelation 5 uses the pattern of “I heard” and “I saw” to describe the Lion and the Lamb. 

But the more I’ve read and wrestled with it, the more I’ve come to believe that the text is actually presenting two distinct but united groups: the 144,000 representing the Jewish believers and the great multitude representing the Gentile believers. Even so, it would be hard to argue that 144,000 is a literal number—it’s a cubed multiple of twelve, a number of symbolic fullness and completion, not a census.

 To press the math would miss the poetry. The real beauty of the number is that it testifies to God’s faithfulness to Israel. At the same time, the vision of the innumerable multitude fulfills His promise to Abraham that his descendants would be like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore.

Revelation 7 remains mysterious to me, especially with the elder’s strange question to John: “Who are these?” and John’s almost sheepish response, “Sir, you know.” It is a reminder that these apocalyptic visions often baffle the very ones who receive them. That in itself makes me hesitant to claim certainty. The more I teach it, the more I find myself marveling rather than mapping out charts.

When I step back from Revelation and listen to the rest of the New Testament, I find a helpful balance between Hebrews and Romans. 

Hebrews is relentless in declaring the end of the old covenant system. “When there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law.” “By calling this covenant new, he has made the first one obsolete.” The priests, the sacrifices, the temple rituals—these were shadows pointing to the substance that is Christ. Hebrews leaves no room for reviving the system. It is finished because He has come.

But Romans reminds me that while the system is gone, the people of Israel are not cast away. 

Paul grieves over his countrymen, laments their unbelief, and yet insists that their hardening is partial and temporary. “Has God rejected his people? By no means!” He envisions a day when “all Israel will be saved,” not through a return to temple sacrifices, but through a turning to the Messiah Himself. 

He pictures the Gentiles grafted into Israel’s olive tree, sharing in the root of the promise, not planted in some separate field of their own. And he insists that one day God’s mercy will rebound back toward Israel after it has swept across the Gentile world.

This vision keeps me out of the two ditches where people often land. 

On one side is replacement theology, which says Israel is discarded and the Church alone carries on. 

On the other side is restorationism, which imagines a revived temple system running alongside the work of Christ. 

Both miss what I believe the New Testament actually teaches. The continuity lies with the people, not the system. The discontinuity lies with the old administration of the covenant, not with God’s faithfulness.

Paul ties it all together with that sweeping statement in Romans 11: “For God has bound all men over to disobedience so that He may have mercy on them all.” Salvation went to the Gentiles because of Israel’s unbelief, but God promises that mercy will circle back again. 

None of us has any room to boast, because every single one of us—Jew or Gentile—stands in need of mercy. And Paul cannot end the discussion without erupting into doxology: “Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable His judgments, and His paths beyond tracing out!”

That’s where I want to end too. 

Humanity missed the first coming of Christ—who really “got it right”? I don’t have much confidence we’ll nail the second coming with all our charts and timelines either. 

But I am confident of this: God’s mercy has swept me up in it. It will sweep up His people Israel as well. And in the end, the system is finished, the people remain in play, and the story belongs to one Savior who is gathering His multitude, from 144,000 to countless stars, all washed in the blood of the Lamb.

So where does all of this leave us today? 

If Hebrews tells us the old system is finished and Romans reminds us the people are still in play, how should Christians think about Israel and the Jewish people in our own time? 

First, we should approach with humility. Paul’s warning in Romans 11 is sharp: do not become arrogant toward the natural branches. Gentile believers are only grafted in by grace, and we owe our very life in Christ to promises first given to Abraham’s family. The right posture toward the Jewish people is gratitude, not pride. 

Second, we should approach with hope. Paul saw a future day when Jewish hearts would turn in large numbers to Christ. That should fuel our prayers, not arguments. We pray for God’s mercy to sweep through Jewish communities, just as we pray for our neighbors and the nations. 

Third, we should approach with love. If God has shown mercy to sinners like us, then our posture toward the Jewish people—indeed toward all people—ought to be one of kindness, compassion, and genuine desire for their good. Anti-Semitism in any form is utterly foreign to the gospel. The God who grafts in wild branches also promises to restore natural ones.

So while modern questions about the State of Israel are tangled in politics and history, the biblical posture for Christians remains clear: we honor God’s faithfulness to His promises, we pray with longing for Jewish people to know their Messiah, and we remember that mercy is the great equalizer. Jew or Gentile, priest or rebel, ancient branch or new shoot—the same Savior gathers us all.

Postscript:

Some readers may wonder, “If this is how we think about God’s covenant people, does it give us any insight into how we should approach Muslims?” While the situations are different, there are echoes worth noting. As with the Jewish people, humility must guard us against arrogance. Hope should fuel our prayers, since God’s mercy is wide enough for every tribe and tongue. And love must mark our witness—real, compassionate, patient love. Just as Paul longed for Israel to see their Messiah, so too we long for all people, including Muslims, to see the beauty of Christ. Our approach must be shaped by the same mercy that saved us.

What helps me is that I don't feel pressure to convert a heart, I feel a great privilege to share a gift and let God do the miraculous work in others... just as He did in me.

King of Salem (Hebrews 7)

There is a haunting mystery that surfaces in Genesis 14. Abraham—fresh from a victorious rescue of Lot and a triumph over four kings—is met by an enigmatic figure: Melchizedek, King of Salem and priest of God Most High.

The narrative is terse yet profound. Abraham, battle-weary but triumphant, receives bread and wine from this priest-king. Melchizedek blesses him:

“Blessed be Abram by God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
and blessed be God Most High,
who has delivered your enemies into your hand!”
(Genesis 14:19–20)

In response, Abraham offers him a tenth of the spoils. This act is striking—not just in its generosity but in its humility. Abraham bows before a priest-king greater than himself, even in the flush of victory. Many kings throughout history have fallen because victory gave birth to pride. Abraham instead bows low. He recognizes a higher throne.

Melchizedek nearly disappears from the stage of Scripture. He receives only a brief mention in Psalm 110:

“The LORD has sworn and will not change his mind,
‘You are a priest forever
after the order of Melchizedek.’”

And then, centuries later, Hebrews picks up the thread, weaving it into a stunning portrait of Christ:

“For this Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of the Most High God, met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him, and to him Abraham apportioned a tenth part of everything. … He resembles the Son of God; he continues a priest forever.”
(Hebrews 7:1–3)

Melchizedek stands as both type and shadow of the true King of Salem—Jesus Christ, who is both priest and king, both blesser and blessed.

What strikes me most in this story is the warrior’s humble bow. Abraham does not gloat in triumph. He does not set up monuments to himself. He bows. He tithes. He recognizes that victory belongs to God and that blessing flows from God’s appointed priest.

I'm reading about King Uzziah in prep for a Sunday School lesson on Isaiah, and as great a King as he was, he ended his days in isolation with leprosy due to pride and disobedience... not Abraham.. he knew to bow before this possible "Christophany" (mysterious and I find it fascinating).

This is a posture often missing in our own victories. How easy it is, after conquering a hill in our careers, families, or ministries, to tighten our grip on the spoils and forget the Giver. How tempting to raise a fist instead of open hands.

Yet Abraham models the way: lay down arms, surrender the spoils, bow to the greater King.

In Christ, the shadow becomes substance. Jesus is the King of Peace, the Priest of Righteousness. He blesses His weary warriors, not with bread and wine alone, but with His own body and blood. He calls us not merely to win battles, but to rest in His finished victory.

And so, Hebrews invites us into the same posture as Abraham:

“See how great this man was to whom Abraham the patriarch gave a tenth of the spoils!”
(Hebrews 7:4)

Our victories—whether over sin, struggle, or circumstance—are not ours to hoard. They are ours to lay down. We bow before the Priest-King who has conquered death itself.

In that surrender, we find the paradox of peace: when we lay down our arms, we are raised up in His righteousness.

All of this leads to the final picture of life.

I enter the throne room of God—alone, weary, scarred, and in tears. It doesn’t feel like victory. Surrounded by His holiness, I feel undone. But then my Ally appears—the High Priest, my friend. The bread and wine were His body and blood. He wipes away my tears, forgives my sin, lifts me up, and stands to defend me against the accuser. And the Father declares me righteous. Heaven erupts into eternal celebration. My Prophet, Priest, and King has rescued me.

(Genesis 14 and Hebrews 7)

The Hebrews playlist is growing

King of Salem (Hebrews 7)

Verse 1 From the battle’s dust and fire, I return with weary hands, Vict’ry banners still yet tattered, Echo through the conquered lands. At the valley’s quiet crossing, One appears, serene and still, Bread and wine within His keeping, Priest and King, of God’s own will. Chorus King of Salem, Prince of Peace, Righteous One whose reign won’t cease, I lay my spoils, I bow my name, Blessed forever by the same. No beginning, endless reign, Jesus Christ, the Lamb once slain, My Priest, my King, my holy claim— All glory to the King of Salem. Verse 2 Abraham bowed low before Him, Tithes of honor at His feet, Blessing flowed from heaven’s altar, God and man in Him complete. Now I see the greater story, Shadowed once, fulfilled today, Jesus, Priest forever reigning, All my sins are washed away. Chorus King of Salem, Prince of Peace, Righteous One whose reign won’t cease, I lay my spoils, I bow my name, Blessed forever by the same. No beginning, endless reign, Jesus Christ, the Lamb once slain, My Priest, my King, my holy claim— All glory to the King of Salem. Bridge No genealogy to bind Him, No death to bring His throne to end, He intercedes forever for me, My High Priest, my truest Friend. Chorus King of Salem, Prince of Peace, Righteous One whose reign won’t cease, I lay my arms, I find my rest, Blessed forever, fully blessed. No beginning, endless reign, Jesus Christ, the Lamb once slain, My Priest, my King, my holy claim— All glory to the King of Salem.

I Now See "Two" (Hebrews 6:17)

 So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, [18] so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. [19] We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, [20] where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. (Hebrews 6:17–20 ESV)

For years I would read Hebrews 6:17–18 and nod my head in vague agreement. The text says that “by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us.”

And so I struggled figuring out 2 things- isn't it just God, his character, his promise.... where is there a 2nd?

But recently, in slowing down, I realized I wasn’t paying attention to the careful argument of the writer. There are two distinct things here: God’s promise and God’s oath.

I tend to think of a promise as an oath, but the language of Hebrews makes an important distinction and that should "thrill" me as a covenantal believer.

A promise is God’s word spoken in His own faithful character. That’s already enough. When God says something, it cannot fail.

An oath is different. It is God adding a formal, covenantal ratification. In Genesis 22, after Abraham offered Isaac, God not only repeated His promise but “swore by Himself”: “By Myself I have sworn… I will surely bless you and multiply your offspring” (Gen. 22:16–17).

Why would God need to swear? Not for His sake—He cannot lie. It was for ours, a condescension to our weakness. The oath is covenantal, priestly language. It is as though God stepped into the solemnity of a legal contract, invoking His own being as the seal of assurance.

This is where Hebrews ties it all together. The author points us not only back to Abraham but forward to Christ:

• God made promises to Abraham.

• God ratified them with an oath.

• And then God sealed it all in Christ, whose priesthood is itself confirmed with an oath: “The Lord has sworn and will not change His mind: You are a priest forever” (Heb. 7:21).

In other words, the oath becomes the formal ratification of the covenant in priestly terms. The Levitical priests were not appointed with an oath. But Jesus was. His priesthood—and therefore the new covenant in His blood—is grounded not only in promise but in oath.

This double assurance, anchored in God’s unchanging character, is why Hebrews can say our hope is “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure” (6:19).

So I felt like I needed some help from my favorite Reformers to see  how clear they are on this point.

• John Calvin (Commentary on Hebrews 6:18):

  “He mentions two things, God’s promise and his oath. For as men confirm what they say by an oath, so God intended by this means to confirm his promise. It was indeed superfluous as to God, but necessary as to us, that we might be more assured of the certainty of His promise.”

• Martin Luther (Lectures on Hebrews):

  “God added an oath to the promise, so that by two immutable things—promise and oath—we may be firmly established.”

• B. B. Warfield (The Gospel in the Epistle to the Hebrews):

  “God interposed Himself with an oath, so that by two immutable things, His promise and His oath, we might have strong consolation.”

Each of them drives home the same truth: God’s word is utterly reliable, and yet, for our sake, He stooped to confirm it with an oath.

Let's review the formal aspect of this great salvation- The Covenant of Grace.

First glimpsed in God’s promise to crush the serpent (Gen. 3:15), unfolded in successive installments throughout the Old Testament until it reached its fulfillment in Christ. With Abraham, God pledged to bless all nations through his seed, confirming it with both promise and oath. Through Moses, the covenant took on a national, pedagogical form, with the Law serving as tutor to expose sin and point to the need for a Redeemer. In David, the covenant narrowed to a royal line, promising an eternal throne that would one day be occupied by the greater Son of David. And in Christ, all the shadows and types found their substance: the Seed of Abraham, the Prophet like Moses, the King from David’s line, and the Mediator of the new covenant in His blood. Thus, the Covenant of Grace, one in essence yet administered in diverse forms, was progressively revealed and formally ratified until its consummation in the person and work of Jesus Christ.

This realization changes how I read Hebrews. 

We tend to skip over all of the references to priesthood-

Look at them all together......

Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people (Hebrews 2:17).

Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession (3:1).

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin (4:14–15).

For every high priest chosen from among men is appointed to act on behalf of men in relation to God, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. He can deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is beset with weakness. Because of this he is obligated to offer sacrifice for his own sins just as he does for those of the people. And no one takes this honor for himself, but only when called by God, just as Aaron was (5:1–4).

So also Christ did not exalt himself to be made a high priest, but was appointed by him who said to him, “You are my Son, today I have begotten you”; as he says also in another place, “You are a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.” … And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek (5:5–10).

Where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek (6:20).

For this Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of the Most High God, met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him… He is without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest forever (7:1–3).

Now if perfection had been attainable through the Levitical priesthood—for under it the people received the law—what further need would there have been for another priest to arise after the order of Melchizedek? … For it is witnessed of him, “You are a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek” (7:11, 17). This makes Jesus the guarantor of a better covenant (7:22).

The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office, but he holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever. Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them (7:23–25). For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself (7:26–27).

Now the point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man (8:1–2). But as it is, Christ has obtained a ministry that is as much more excellent than the old as the covenant he mediates is better, since it is enacted on better promises (8:6).

These preparations having thus been made, the priests go regularly into the first section, performing their ritual duties, but into the second only the high priest goes, and he but once a year, and not without taking blood… But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands), he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption (9:6–12).

For Christ has entered, not into holy places made with hands, which are copies of the true things, but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf… But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself (9:24–26).

And every priest stands daily at his service, offering repeatedly the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God. For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified (10:11–14).

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith (10:19–22).

We have an altar from which those who serve the tent have no right to eat. For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the holy places by the high priest as a sacrifice for sin are burned outside the camp. So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name (13:10–15).

It’s not just an abstract note about God’s honesty—it is the deep covenantal assurance of my salvation. The covenant was broken by man, but God Himself bore the blood penalty and ratified the promise with an oath. Christ’s priesthood is the ultimate seal, and now my hope rests not in my ability to hold on, but in His unbreakable word and sworn faithfulness.

Two things, unchangeable. Promise and oath. And that is why I can have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before me.

One last note: I often cringe when thinking how bloody, violent, and unsightly the old administrations of the Covenant of Grace must have been. Those men were TOUGH! It must have made quite an impression on the penalty and stain of sin... We not only have a better covenant by security, we have a better one practically as well. It is bloodless now- water not blood, baptism not circumcision... but do we grow soft to the penalty and stain of sin? Something to think about.... are we thankful?

Song: Two Unchangeable Things (Hebrews 6)

Just Another Day's Journey

I was sent this picture by my good friend and mentor, Pastor Greg Corbin who quoted me in his sermon a few weeks ago at Lakeside Baptist Church. I thought it was cool but also humbling

 (yes I know, quite proud of me to say I was humbled when I am promoting the information. I'm very PROUD of my humility)

These past few weeks have been unlike any season I can remember. I’ve been juggling the usual—coaching football, working hard in my job, teaching Sunday School in Isaiah—but all of it has been undergirded by a slow walk through Hebrews in my personal devotions. At first, I worried that splitting my prep time between two books might make things shallow. Instead, I’ve been surprised by the opposite. Hebrews and Isaiah have not only been companions—they’ve been conversation partners, each echoing the other and illuminating passages I’d never thought to connect.

Two mornings ago, Matthew 13:10–17 nearly leapt off the page. It had Hebrews and Isaiah all the way through it!

[10] Then the disciples came and said to him, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” [11] And he answered them, “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. [12] For to the one who has, more will be given, and he will have an abundance, but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. [13] This is why I speak to them in parables, because seeing they do not see, and hearing they do not hear, nor do they understand. [14] Indeed, in their case the prophecy of Isaiah is fulfilled that says:

“‘“You will indeed hear but never understand,

and you will indeed see but never perceive.”

[15] For this people’s heart has grown dull, (Hebrews)

and with their ears they can barely hear,

and their eyes they have closed,

lest they should see with their eyes

and hear with their ears

and understand with their heart

and turn, and I would heal them.’

[16] But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. [17] For truly, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it. (ESV)

Jesus quotes Isaiah’s warning about ears that no longer hear, eyes that no longer see, and hearts that have grown dull. I sometimes call that “sensory organ malfunction.” It’s what happens when people give themselves to idols or when they stop tending to God’s truth—they lose sensitivity. 

We become like the things we worship- Idols can't see, or hear, or talk, or do anything effective. We become like that - eyes that can't see, ears that can't hear, etc - we have a lot of this right now in our culture.

Truthless, aimless, lost and wandering in the wilderness.

At first, it’s subtle. 

But the more we ignore or push aside the voice of God, the less we hear it. That is the same danger Hebrews warns against: drifting, dullness, and eventually outright unbelief.

Both Isaiah and Hebrews paint a sobering picture—truth is never static in our lives. If we pay close attention, we gain more; if we neglect it, even what we think we have begins to slip away. Neglect leads to numbness, numbness to blindness, and blindness to loss.

This has been a challenging time, but also a growing one. 

I also have been really proud (maybe satisfied?) of the spiritual songs I have been writing out of the Hebrews study, they are great companions to the devotions (at least I like them). These songs have been some of the hardest I’ve ever written because I want them to capture the entire text and right now they feel truest to my own journey. I struggled with the lyrics and some of the rhyme schemes still need work and I often couldn't fit the genre that I wanted... so it has been a good struggle and hobby to distract my football plagued mind-  They’re not just songs—they’re markers of how God has been pressing these truths into me.

The project isn't even close to being done (am I even halfway?) but here is a link the the playlist: I think I am through Chapter 6 and have 11 songs that are inspired by the text.

Songs from Hebrews

And selfishly, I keep thinking about legacy. Every blog post, every devotion, every song is a kind of breadcrumb. One day, my children, their children, or maybe even a great-great-grandson might stumble across these words or melodies and discover a little more about “Pops.” If that happens, I hope they’ll see a man wrestling with Scripture, learning as he went, and clinging to grace.

Feel free to reach out if you have questions or concerns..... jayopsis@gmail.com

Mr. Smats HATES Cats- An Allegory

Note: I originally published this in 2014, but given the current state of rhetoric in our culture, it needed and update:

Everyone knows it.

Some say it with a chuckle, others with a grimace, but it comes as certain as sunrise: Mr. Smats hated cats.

The mausoleum proves it. His stone vault casts a shadow across town, a gloomy silhouette on the horizon. Each time we pass, it tolls the same refrain—steady, rhythmic, like a drumbeat etched in memory: Smats hated cats. Smats hated cats.

But the dead feel no shame. It is his sons who bear the wrath. Their name rhymes too easily—Smats with cats—and no amount of protest can untangle it.

Sam Smats once climbed a tree to rescue a kitten. The branch snapped, and his leg broke so badly that he walks with a crooked limp. From a distance you can spot him—bent, marked, the injury itself whispering accusation: He hated cats.

Will Smats filled his home with cats, but no one is convinced. The creatures under his roof grow sickly, fur matted, eyes hollow. Neighbors shake their heads: “See how even his pets suffer? Like father, like son.”

And then the paper printed it: Will Smats had buried a cat in his backyard. The town cried out for justice, and City Hall obliged. An inspector confirmed the offense—an unpermitted burial—and Will was fined more than anyone in town history. His pleas of innocence fell on deaf ears.

So Sam limps. Will protests. And the chant grows louder.

I tried to defend them. Over coffee with a friend, I asked, “What if Sam climbed that tree to help the kitten?”

He looked at me as if I’d blasphemed.

“You jest. Didn’t you hear what folks said? His face was twisted with anger. Thank God he fell before he killed the poor thing.”

“But we weren’t there,” I said. “What if the kitten was just scared of heights?”

“Then why did he climb at all?” my friend snapped. “Only a hater goes to such trouble.”

I tried again. “What if Sam hated his father’s cruelty so much he wanted to prove the opposite?”

He sipped his cup and stared with suspicion, as though my defense itself was proof of guilt.

At last, I found someone who agreed with me.

He grinned wide, slapped the table, and said with confidence, “Yes! Mr. Smats hated cats. But Sam and Will Smats love them!”

We laughed. We whispered like conspirators. Why don’t people see it? Maybe time would heal the lie.

But even then I heard it on the playground—girls chanting as they skipped rope:
“Sam Smats hates cats, Sam Smats hates cats.”

At baseball practice a boy mimicked a swing:
“I bat like Will Smats hits at his cat.”

The rhyme was alive. The truth was not.

So I brought my new ally to the café to speak to my doubting friends. The smell of roasted beans filled the air as we laid out our case:

“Yes, the father despised cats. But his sons are different. Look closer. Listen harder.”

My ally shook hands, smiled warmly, and departed. I was certain progress had been made.

But then I saw two suspicious eyes peering over a coffee cup.

“Do you even know who that was?”

“Of course,” I said. “His name is Mark.”

The smirk cut deep.

“Mark Smats. The nephew. And a nephew hates cats as much as a son.”

I froze. Outside, children’s voices pierced the window glass—high, unrelenting, cruel in their innocence:

“Sam Smats hates cats. Sam Smats hates cats.”

I lowered my head into my hands.

Why even try?

Questions Still Remain in the Case of Kirk

The past two weeks have been heavy. The tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University shocked us all. While investigators have released statements and we now know the assassin claimed he acted in response to Charlie’s “hate,” many details are still unsettled.

I have been quiet-  watched, listened and prayed. I feel deep sorrow and pain, but nothing like Kirk's widow and family.

Yesterday’s memorial service for Charlie was something that I honestly cannot articulate. I posted on X: 

It was a moment of grief, honor, and resolve.

And yet, questions remain.

First, did the assassin truly know Charlie’s message first-hand, or was he a product of endless propaganda from those who marketed Charlie’s words as hate? I don’t know the answer. But I do know this: each of us has a responsibility not to be shaped only by secondhand rhetoric. We must be willing to go to authentic first sources, listen for ourselves, and make up our own minds.

Second, what goes so wrong in a human’s moral compass that he feels compelled to gun down a man in cold blood, from a coward’s distance? This is not only about ideology — it is about the human heart, and what happens when hatred consumes it.

Third, the ultimate question is the one Jesus raised in Luke 13.

There were some present at that very time who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And he answered them, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” (Luke 13:1–5)

When Jesus was confronted with tragedy and evil, He did not explain why these things happened. He did not indulge the speculation of whether the victims were especially guilty or cursed. Instead, He turned the question around: “Do you think they were worse sinners? No… but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.”

In other words, Jesus shifted the conversation away from “why did this happen to them?” to the far more personal question: “What if this were to happen to you? Are you ready to meet God?”

That is the heart of the matter. Charlie’s death confronts us all with our own mortality. The assassin’s actions confront us with the reality of evil and guilt. And Jesus’ words confront us with eternity: unless we repent, we will perish — not merely in body, but in soul.

I have seen many tears, both public and private, shed when Erika Kirk spoke forgiveness to her husband’s killer. But that forgiveness does not assuage the guilt of the deed. The life of the suspect may indeed be taken by the state as a punishment for his actions, and even that is not enough to pay for his crimes. There is only one way to escape the wrath of God that hangs over every human, and that is through the ransom payment of the blood of the Son of God.

If you were to die today, do you know where you would spend eternity?

“And this is the testimony, that God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life.” (1 John 5:11–13)

Finally, I have to say it......

I deeply grieve those who still double down on hate. In my 20 plus years of posting on this blog, I have always done my best to stay 'on Bible and off politics'. But I'm getting to the point now where there is no more "Left vs Right".... the radical progressives, militant and anti-American have moved the needle. In my view it feels more like "Left vs Light". When many of the best speeches Sunday were from former democrats, you have to understand now why they HAD to leave. 

The best message from Sunday? Politics will NOT solve our deepest needs or heal our deepest wounds.. this is a spiritual condition and we are in need of a Savior.

Hold Fast, Show Compassion, Pray Boldly (Hebrews 4:14-16)

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. [15] For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. [16] Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:14–16 ESV)

Hebrews often forces us to slow down. This is one of those passages. The language of High Priest and passing through the heavens is dense, mysterious, and deeply theological. But within just three verses we are given a framework for Christian life and ministry.

Jesus, the Great High Priest (v. 14)

The writer declares:

“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.”

The phrase passed through the heavens, (in my opinion) points to more than Christ’s ascension. It carries the imagery of the Old Testament priest passing into the Holy of Holies, but with a cosmic scope. Jesus has descended in humiliation, ascended in exaltation, and opened access to God by rending the veil of the temple (cf. Matt. 27:51).

Thus, He is not merely a high priest but the Great High Priest — one whose priestly ministry transcends earth and heaven.

 The Call to Hold Fast Our Confession

The first command follows: “Let us hold fast our confession.”

Here, confession is not private sentiment but public profession. R. Kent Hughes cites Bishop Brooke Foss Westcott:

“The writer everywhere insists on the duty of the public profession of the faith. The crisis (severe persecution) claimed not simply private conviction but a clear declaration of belief openly in the face of men.” (The Epistle to the Hebrews, p. 106)

This was written to a persecuted church tempted to shrink back. But the exhortation is clear: the Christian faith must be proclaimed openly. In every age—including ours—the temptation is to remain silent. Yet the text insists: hold fast.

The Compassion of Our High Priest (v. 15)

The next verse balances the call to courage with a call to compassion:

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.”

Unlike the Levitical priests, who were “men in their weakness” (Heb. 7:28), Christ is both sinless and sympathetic. Earthly priests had to sacrifice daily, first for their own sins, then for others (7:27). Jesus needed no such sacrifice for Himself, yet His perfection does not remove Him from our condition — it enables Him to bear it fully.

Thus, when Christians hold fast their confession, they must also display the compassion of Christ. We proclaim the gospel not as superior voices but as fellow sinners in need of grace.

 Drawing Near with Confidence (v. 16)

Finally, the writer directs us to prayer:

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

The word confidence (Greek: παρρησία, parrēsia) denotes bold, open, and free speech — the frankness of a citizen speaking in the public square. Remarkably, this is the word chosen by the Jewish translators of the Septuagint, emphasizing that prayer is not a timid ritual but bold honesty before God.

Kent Hughes observes that this gives prayer a quality of bold frankness — a vigorous dialogue with God, not out of irreverence, but out of trust in His fatherly mercy. Just as we speak Christ in the marketplace of ideas, we speak with God in prayer—openly, zealously, even wrestling with Him like Jacob at Peniel.

The Christian Life in Three Verbs

In summary, Hebrews 4:14–16 gives us a concise vision of Christian life under the Great High Priest:

• Proclaim — hold fast the confession of Christ publicly and without shame.

• Show Compassion — reflect the empathy of Jesus, who knows our weaknesses.

• Pray Boldly — approach the throne of grace with confident frankness, trusting His mercy.

This is the daily pattern of discipleship. And it is possible only because Jesus Christ, our Great High Priest, has passed through the heavens and forever lives to intercede for us.

Quiet Defense in a Loud World

Wrestling with Hebrews 4–7

Note: Also a shout out to Pastor Greg Corbin, Senior Pastor of Lakeside Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama for a little 'nugget' he passed on as well.

 I’ve always had a hard time reading Hebrews 4–7. It’s some of the richest Christ-centered theology in the New Testament, but the way it’s written feels… choppy. The author will start a thought, interrupt himself, wander into a warning or exhortation, and then return again later—only stronger, deeper, more breathtaking.

When I first read it years ago, it frustrated me. “Why not just say what you mean?!” But over time I’ve come to appreciate that this very choppiness is part of the inspired genius of Hebrews.

In Hebrews 4:14, we’re told that Jesus has “passed through the heavens.” That little phrase has become a kind of portal for me, a rhetorical gateway through which the writer is carrying us. The high priest in Israel walked through veils and shadows into a man-made holy of holies. Jesus, our great High Priest, has passed through the heavens themselves, entering the real Holy of Holies—not for His sake, but for ours.

And in a sense, the author’s rhetoric is doing the same thing. He doesn’t just lay it out in a clean, linear essay. He moves us step by step, almost like taking us through veils—pausing, warning, then pressing us deeper. It feels like a spiral staircase more than a straight path.

Luther, Calvin, Warfield

The Reformers noticed this in their own way.

• Luther saw Hebrews as a collection of urgent exhortations wrapped around lofty doctrine:

  “The Epistle to the Hebrews is not an orderly work but a set of admonitions. It interrupts itself with warnings because the doctrine is so great and the people are so weak.”

• Calvin was even more explicit. On Hebrews 5:11, where Melchizedek is first mentioned and then postponed until chapter 7, he wrote:

  “He now digresses somewhat, for he checks himself in order to add an exhortation, and then returns to what he had begun.”
  Calvin understood this not as disorder, but as pastoral wisdom: slow down, warn the reader, then resume at greater depth.

• Warfield, writing from old Princeton, described Hebrews as a progressive unveiling:

  “The author of Hebrews leads us gradually, step by step, from the shadows of Aaron to the reality of Christ, until at last we behold Him in the full perfection of His eternal priesthood.” (The Person and Work of Christ)

So even though they didn’t call it a “rhetorical circle,” they all recognized what we’re seeing: Hebrews is intentionally leading us upward through its very structure.

For me, the crescendo comes in Hebrews 7:25:

“Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

That word consequently (or “therefore”) is like a drum roll. After all the starts and stops, after the warnings and the waiting, after passing through the heavens with Jesus and walking with Him past the veil, we finally arrive at the Holy of Holies.

And the contrast is stunning: weak men, Levitical priests, had to offer sacrifices even for themselves. But Jesus, exalted above the heavens, holy, innocent, undefiled, lives forever—not needing intercession, but giving it. To the uttermost.

Hebrews 4–7 may still feel choppy to me when I read it. But I’ve come to see that the choppiness is part of the climb. We’re being carried along through the heavens, layer by layer, until we finally stand in awe at the great High Priest who never fails, never grows weak, and never stops praying for us.

And maybe you’re like me—my background doesn’t help me relate to the significance of a priest. But for the writer of Hebrews, who knew his Old Testament in Greek and was urging a persecuted church to hang on, the picture of Jesus as High Priest was life-saving. The temple system they grew up with wasn’t lost—it was fulfilled. The high priest they once depended on wasn’t gone—they had a better one, eternal and exalted. That truth gave them courage to endure. And it gives us the same anchor today: Jesus, the Great High Priest, saves to the uttermost.

There was no need to go back.... it has to be onward and upward.

Song: Can't Go Back (Hebrews 4-7)

To the Fall

This is the time of year in the South where seasons don’t quite know what to do.

A drip, a drop of leaves here and there, but the heat still clings, stubborn and unrelenting. The land is thirsty—dry to the bone. The stars themselves even feel muted, Orion slipping low, almost hidden below the horizon.

It’s an in-between time: summer doesn’t want to let go, but the days keep getting shorter. Fall is on the doorstep.

And I feel it—not just in the air, but in my own heart.

We humans are fickle.
We longed for summer when the chill of winter lingered too long, and now—tired of the heat—we ache for cool breezes and crisp mornings.

As I watch the leaves fall, one at a time, I sometimes wonder: How many more of these seasons do I get to see? Why do we get so discontent? Why can’t we rest in the moment we begged for only months ago?

The truth is, our steps are not unlimited. But our hearts are always moving on.

A song that has always stuck with me is George Strait’s “The Chill of an Early Fall.”
It’s not just about weather; it’s about the change of seasons in the heart—the cold that sneaks in when something once warm begins to fade. There’s both a beauty and a sadness in that song. The early fall he sings about carries the weight of loss, of love slipping through, but also of time moving forward whether we’re ready or not.

When I hear it, I feel that tug: every season we live through is precious, but none stay forever. The chill comes whether we welcome it or resist it.

So here I am, caught in this in-between time. The days are still hot, but the signs are there. Change is coming. The leaves drip one by one, the light slips away a little earlier each evening, and my restless spirit shifts with it.

Maybe the call of fall is more than just cooler air or shorter days. Maybe it’s a reminder to number our steps, cherish what’s here, and trust the rhythm of change.

Yes, summer will fade.
Yes, another fall will come.
But each one is a gift, and I don’t want to waste it in discontent.

So, to the fall… I lift my eyes, my heart, and my hope.

To the Fall (song lyrics)

Verse 1
Drip, drop—just a few leaves fall,
But the heat still lingers, hanging over all.
The sky feels heavy, the night turns small,
Orion fading, sinking past the wall.
Summer’s holding on too long,
But the season’s changing song.

Chorus
To the fall, to the fading light,
Days grow shorter, and the air feels right.
We begged for summer, now we’re weary of it all—
So we sail our restless hearts to the fall.

Verse 2
One by one, the colors start to fade,
Golden fire where the green was laid.
And I can’t help but wonder, as they drift and stall,
How many more will I get to see at all?
Steps are numbered, shadows tall,
Yet I’m drawn into the fall.

Chorus
To the fall, to the fading light,
Days grow shorter, and the air feels right.
We begged for summer, now we’re weary of it all—
So we sail our restless hearts to the fall.

Bridge
Why do we chase what slips away?
Why can’t we rest in the gift of today?
The heart keeps moving, seasons call,
And every step just leads me…

Chorus

To the fall, where the shadows grow long,
To the fall, where endings make us strong.
Every drip, every drop, is a whispered call—
To number our days,
And lean into the fall.

Song Link: To The Fall

George Strait gave us a picture of autumn that chills the heart, a season of loss and longing. My own song is more of an answer to that—less about love slipping away and more about learning to rest in the rhythm of change.

Both songs, though, remind me of the same truth: the seasons move on, and so must we. And in that movement, there’s both a gift and a call—to cherish what is here, and to live every step fully, before the leaves fall again.

If We Don’t Cry Out, the Stones Will

I’ve always loved that moment in Luke 19 when Jesus rides into Jerusalem and the Pharisees demand that He silence the crowd. They’re angry at all the shouting and palm branches and hosannas. But Jesus just shakes His head and says, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

That line has always stopped me. It feels both beautiful and haunting at the same time. Beautiful, because it tells us that praise is inevitable—the whole world is built to respond to the glory of God. Haunting, because if people won’t testify, then the inanimate, the lifeless, even rocks will take our place.

Joshua 24:27 – “Behold, this stone shall be a witness against us, for it has heard all the words of the Lord that he spoke to us.”

And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I realize the Bible has been whispering this theme all along. Joshua once set up a stone as a covenant witness and told Israel, “This stone has heard all the words of the Lord.” 

Habakkuk 2:11 – “For the stone will cry out from the wall, and the beam from the woodwork respond.”

Habakkuk went even further, saying that a stone in the wall would cry out against injustice and the beam of the wood would answer it. That’s where my mind drifts to Edgar Allan Poe’s dark little tales—The Tell-Tale Heart or The Black Cat—stories where guilt gets nailed behind a wall, boarded up, and sealed off. Yet somehow the silence can’t hold. The floorboards throb, the plaster groans, and the very structure testifies against the man who thinks he has covered everything. Poe gives us fiction, but Habakkuk gives us truth: the stones will not stay silent.

But the Bible doesn’t just use this image in judgment. The Psalms and Isaiah turn it into music. The seas roar, the rivers clap their hands, the trees sway and sing, the mountains burst into joy. Creation itself is a choir, rehearsing day after day. It’s like every sunrise is a solo and every wave is an ovation. The world is alive with praise, even when we walk by deaf to the sound.

Isaiah 55:12 – “The mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

Psalm 19:1 – “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.”

Psalm 98:7–8 – “Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who dwell in it! Let the rivers clap their hands; let the hills sing for joy together.”

So when Jesus says the stones would cry out, He’s not spinning poetry. He’s stating reality. If His disciples hushed their mouths, if the whole city went silent, the ground itself would split open in song. That’s how undeniable He is. That’s how true His kingship is.

And it leaves me with a question: am I letting the world do my praising for me? Do I walk through life too distracted, too self-absorbed, too busy to join in the chorus? Too fearful? Because truth has a way of finding a voice—through judgment, through joy, through waves, through stones. The only question is whether I will join in, or whether I’ll leave it to the rocks.

As for me, I don’t want to be out-sung by the stones.

This week, Isaiah 40:9–11 has been pressing on my heart. “Go on up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good news; lift up your voice with strength… say to the cities of Judah, ‘Behold your God!’” That passage holds together both courage and tenderness—the mighty arm of God in verse 10 and the shepherd’s heart in verse 11. 

In the wake of the shocking assassination of Charlie Kirk, I’ve felt the weight of that tension. It is so tempting to either lash out in anger or to retreat into silence. But God calls us to something better: to lift up our voices without fear, to speak truth with strength, and to do it with the gentle tone of a shepherd.

I’ve been challenged to speak up more—not to be combative, not to join the noise, but to testify with civility and grace, even toward those who disagree with me. The rocks shouldn’t have to do my talking. My prayer is that I can lift my voice clearly, kindly, and consistently, so that in my own small way I’m pointing people to the Shepherd who carries lambs close to His heart.

Sadly, enemies may throw stones, we should not- we need to fear not and speak up.

Let Them Throw Stones (2 Sam 16)

In Memory of Charlie

Hebrews 4 and the Journey Ahead

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience… For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword… Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession… Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
– Hebrews 4:11–16

This passage is like a threefold summons for the Christian life:

Strive to Enter His Rest (v. 11)

The call to “strive” feels contradictory—how can we strive to rest? But Hebrews is showing us that entering God’s rest isn’t passive. It means resisting the pull of unbelief, distractions, and disobedience. It takes intentional faith to stop grasping for control and instead trust fully in Christ’s finished work.

Listen to His Living Word (vv. 12–13)

We cannot enter that rest without being searched by God’s Word. It is alive and sharp, cutting past the surface to the heart. This can be painful—it exposes motives, intentions, and sins we would rather hide. Yet God doesn’t expose to destroy; He exposes to heal. His Word wounds to bind us back to Himself.

Draw Near to His Throne of Grace (vv. 14–16)

The passage ends not with despair but with invitation. We have a Great High Priest who knows our weakness, feels our struggles, and yet reigns victorious. Because of Him, we can draw near with confidence—not shrinking back in fear, but stepping forward to receive mercy and grace right when we need it most.

Together, these verses teach us a rhythm: striving faith, listening hearts, and confident prayer. We strive against unbelief, we let His Word do its deep work, and we come boldly to His throne, finding in Jesus both rest and strength.

One of the unexpected joys of walking slowly through Hebrews has been how naturally the text pushes me toward worship. What began as study notes often blossoms into lyrics and melody. 

I’ve been working to bring these pieces together—my blog at Jayopsis.com and my SoundCloud page. They now link back and forth, so that Scripture study and song can live side by side. My larger goal is to finish a manuscript of devotions from Hebrews and release a companion album inspired by the text.

The Songs from Hebrews 4

• Strive to Rest – inspired by Hebrews 4:11, exploring the paradox of striving to enter God’s rest.

• Sharp Blade – built on Hebrews 4:12–13, reflecting on the piercing, healing work of God’s living Word.

• High Priest – drawn from Hebrews 4:14–16, lifting our eyes to Jesus, the priest who suffered, sacrificed, and now intercedes for us.

All three are now live on SoundCloud and part of a playlist of songs I am developing from Hebrews

Hebrews

Chapters 1–3 have set the stage: Christ is greater than angels, greater than Moses, the builder of God’s house, and the One we must hear lest we drift away. The warnings are sobering: “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.”

Chapter 4 pulls those threads together. The promise of God’s rest remains open, and the failure of Israel in the wilderness serves as both a warning and an invitation. God’s Word cuts to the core of who we are, exposing us completely. And yet, instead of despair, we are called to draw near with confidence because we have a Great High Priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses.

Looking Ahead

Chapter 5 will carry the theme of priesthood further. Christ, appointed by God, learned obedience through suffering and became the source of eternal salvation. The writer of Hebrews will open a rich treasury of Old Testament imagery—Melchizedek, sacrifice, and covenant—all pointing to Jesus as the fulfillment of every shadow.

The Project

Here’s the journey I’m on:

• Blogging through Hebrews – letting study become devotion.

• Writing songs – letting devotion become worship.

• Linking platforms – so that words and music meet, and anyone who reads can also listen.

• Working toward a manuscript and an album – two different expressions of the same truth.

Love to hear your comments- feel free to like and share as well.

Some Say There Will Never Be Another Charlie Kirk

Yesterday’s news broke my heart. The tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk is a moment that leaves a deep wound in our nation. For many, the immediate thought is, “There will be another Charlie.” And in one sense, that’s true. But in another sense, it’s not true at all. There will never be another Charlie Kirk, just as there will never be another Billy Graham. Each man of God is unique, and their absence leaves a void our culture feels sharply. God always raises up new voices in every generation.

Isaiah 40 offers us a kind of recipe for how men like Charlie come to be.

“Go on up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good news;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good news;
lift it up, fear not;
say to the cities of Judah,
‘Behold your God!’”
—Isaiah 40:9

The command is simple but profound: Get up as high as you can. Proclaim good news without fear.

Why? Because proclamation flows out of pondering. 

To be a Charlie Kirk- you have to be filled with the curiosity he had- to PONDER.

The word "Behold" in Hebrew means - PAY ATTENTION- BE ASTONISHED- STOP AND STARE

 And as Charlie did that, he found AWE of the presence of the truth of God. 

The cry of Isaiah is not “Behold the messenger,” but “Behold your God!” To behold Him—really see Him—is to be astonished. And astonishment leads naturally to proclamation: lift up your voice, fear not, and tell the world.

This is why Charlie’s light cannot be extinguished. You can silence the man, but you cannot silence the God he proclaimed. You can gun down the man, but you will never turn off the light.

Isaiah 40 is too rich to cover in one post, but let me point to a few promises that comfort us in this dark hour:

• Verse 5: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.” The story of God is not ending—it’s unfolding. His glory will be seen by all.

• Verse 10: “Behold, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him.” The arm of the Lord is strong enough to carry justice and victory.

• Verse 11: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.” And yet the same strong arm is also the tender arm of a shepherd, carrying the brokenhearted close to His heart.

So today, yes—we mourn. But we do not grieve as the world grieves. As Paul wrote:

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”
—1 Thessalonians 4:13

We grieve with hope. Because the glory of God will be revealed. His arm is strong. His heart is gentle. His light shines on.

Get up- rise up- and keep sharing the message without fear... we can't replace him with one voice, we have to replace him by thousands of voices. 

In Memory of Charlie