One example is the language of the Positive Prevention PLUS curriculum, which President Joe Biden’s Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) funded through several Teen Pregnancy Prevention grants in 2023. These federal grants were originally intended to support the implementation of comprehensive sexual health programs through 2028.

What the Curriculum Actually Teaches

However, several questions immediately arise: What does “Teen Pregnancy Prevention” actually entail? What is included in “comprehensive sexual health,” and why is it necessary for schools to educate teenagers about it?

To its credit, the curriculum is upfront in some areas about its intentions. For example, an FAQ on its website states:

“Is Positive Prevention PLUS an abstinence-only curriculum? No. Per California State Law, Positive Prevention PLUS emphasizes sexual abstinence as the only 100% sure method for avoiding STDs or an unplanned pregnancy.

However, to prepare students for their future lives as sexually healthy and responsible young adults, the Positive Prevention PLUS curriculum also provides information on contraception and access to community reproductive health services.”

However, the way in which abstinence is “emphasized” leaves room to wonder if it was ever part of the goal at all. Repeatedly, the curriculum encourages children to choose to have sex when they feel they are ready with a trusted partner. When it does attempt to encourage abstinence, it is always paired with how to manage the aftermath in case sexual activity does happen. Rather than encouraging prevention of sexual activity itself, the curriculum seems more concerned that teenagers have access to resources such as birth control.

The student workbook states: “To avoid unplanned pregnancy, it is important to abstain from sexual activity or to use birth control consistently and correctly.” (Student Workbook, p. 8)

This language also reveals the curriculum’s underlying worldview on abortion. Elsewhere, abortion-related content is presented in clinical and bureaucratic language, portraying it as safe, legal, and accessible healthcare.

“In all states, people at any age can purchase some type of emergency contraceptive pills over-the-counter without parental consent and without a prescription.” (Student Workbook, p. 26)

“Abortion is a safe procedure when done under medical supervision.” (Teen Pregnancy: Choices and Responsibilities PowerPoint, Slide 15)

The curriculum also encourages students to accept LGBTQ+ identities and relationships as legitimate expressions of family life.

“What is family? Possible responses include:
• …a same-sex couple raising their child/ren.
• any combination of adults or child/ren who live together in a caring, supportive relationship” (Teacher’s Manual, p. 170)

The Pushback

It is no surprise, then, that when President Donald Trump’s HHS announced in late June 2026 that it would end these federally funded programs ahead of schedule, the decision was met with pushback framed in similarly evasive language. Critics quickly characterized the move as an attack on teen pregnancy prevention—a description that omits the curriculum’s sexually explicit content.

Rachel Fey, interim co-CEO of Power to Decide, argued that the decision denied young people “the high-quality sexual health education they need and deserve.”

Linguistic Warfare

This type of disingenuous language allows activists not only to disguise morally contested worldviews as neutral education but also to portray any criticism as an attack on young people’s rights. Framing objections to sexually explicit material as opposition to education itself is Orwellian in nature.

Although “doublespeak” is not Orwell’s own term, it captures the same kind of deception illustrated through the Party’s use of “Newspeak” in 1984. Forced labor camps were called “joycamps,” while the institution where citizens were imprisoned and tortured into submission was known as the Ministry of Love. These labels did not deny the Party’s conduct outright; they simply reframed it.

Given how common this type of language has become, “newspeak” has even found its way into Merriam-Webster, where it is defined as “propagandistic language marked by euphemism, circumlocution, and the inversion of customary meanings.”

Biblical Clarity Amidst Confusion

What are Christians to do in the midst of such confusion? Two exhortations may be helpful:

First, Christians must grow in discernment about what the labels actually mean. We can no longer assume we live in a high-trust society where institutions speak honestly about programs such as Positive Prevention PLUS. Parents, especially, should carefully examine what their children are being taught, since public schools are among the primary recipients of this type of funding.

Second, Christians must continue to affirm what Scripture clearly says, in the way it says it. God has no intention to be confusing or deceiving to those who read His Word. A Biblical sexual ethic does not require layers of modern jargon. Genesis 1:27 says that “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” There is no room for more obscurity or sophistry. The categories God has established for sex and gender are sufficient and need no further explanation.

In an age of doublespeak, speaking clearly about God’s Word is not merely an exercise in linguistic honesty; it is an act of faithfulness. Despite the opposition that may come, Christians must not be intimidated by evil, no matter how strategically sophisticated it becomes.

An Old Sin with a New Name

What is main character syndrome? Well, first of all, a main character is normally the central protagonist of a story. The setting and action revolve around him. Eyes and cameras are fixed on him. This is the writer’s intention and great stories cannot exist without this element. Every narrative needs a main character.

It should be no surprise, then, that Google defines the condition this way:

“Main character syndrome is an informal internet expression describing the tendency to view oneself as the protagonist of life while treating others as supporting or background characters.”

At first, the description doesn’t seem as though it introduces a new phenomenon. One might say it is simply narcissism dressed in internet slang. And that is partly true: narcissism is certainly at the foundation of what it is trying to communicate.

After all, the same definition identifies several common signs:

“Viewing life as a movie: Expecting dramatic plot points, looking for cinematic coincidences, or treating routine setbacks as grand character arcs”

“Treating people as props: Seeing friends, family, or strangers not as individuals with their own rich lives, but as support systems meant to aid your personal journey.”

“Constant self-focus: Overanalyzing everyday social interactions to see how they reflect back on you, or dramatizing routine moments for an imaginary audience.”

None of these tendencies is entirely new. The belief that we are special and stand at the center of the universe is a delusion as old as the Garden. However, what makes main character syndrome distinctively modern is that technology and the current cultural milieu have taught us to turn that ancient delusion into a lifestyle.

The Performative Self

Social media now trains us to narrate our lives. What began as a medium for sharing and preserving moments that mattered to us has become something far more complicated: a means of communicating to the outside world who we are—or, more precisely, who we want to be seen as.

Social media’s self-aggrandizing nature allows us to construct a story about ourselves that could survive only by excluding the mundane and unflattering parts of our lives. Even our mistakes—let alone our sins—can be reinterpreted according to the narrative we wish to present rather than being left open to the judgment of others.

This is why I believe celebrities—Christian and non-Christian alike—love a good, heart-wrenching apology video. The offender appears vulnerable and exposed, but he still controls the emotional arc. Sympathy is in the hands of the author.

Yet more damaging than the reframing of our least glamorous moments is the performative behavior that social media encourages. Everyday actions, habits, and even identities are increasingly curated for an audience rather than arising from genuine conviction or desire. In its most aggressive form, users stage public acts specifically to provoke reactions from strangers. But even in subtler forms, the intent is the same: other people and social institutions have become the supporting cast in our pursuit of personal validation.

This is the context in which main character syndrome thrives. The condition flourishes in a culture that treats self-fulfillment as the summum bonum of life. If we are convinced that we are the main characters of our own lives, then everyone else is easily reduced to an ally, villain, or disposable extra. Criticism from our peers—and especially from fellow church members—is no longer received as accountability but regarded as an obstacle, a roadblock standing in the way of expressing our most authentic selves. Anyone else who fails to contribute to our personal pursuit of happiness is dismissed as an “NPC”—a person whose life appears to lack meaning apart from the role he plays in ours.

What is the solution? The answer may require some painful reorientation. To challenge the idea that we are at the center of our lives requires more than logging off of our social media accounts. After all, from what other perspective can we possibly view the world? Through whose eyes can I see my surroundings other than my own?

Philippians 2 and Looking to the Interests of Others

To such a question I propose two exhortations:

The first is the humility to which the apostle Paul calls the church in Philippians 2:3–4:

“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

It should come as no surprise that the timeless remedy for this modern form of narcissism is biblical humility. Yet Paul’s definition of humility is far more precise than the common assumption that it merely means regarding oneself as lowly or unworthy. As previously noted, even emphasizing our weaknesses and shortcomings can carry value in the marketplace of attention. In the age of social media, false humility can be every bit as performative as its prideful counterpart.

Pauline humility is not a high or low estimation of oneself, but a refusal to make oneself the constant object of attention. It is not thinking less of oneself so much as thinking of oneself less. The people with whom we interact do not receive their inherent value from the degree to which their lives intersect with ours. Each life possesses its own weight and glory because each person bears the image of God. Considering others therefore means learning to look beyond our own character arcs and asking instead how we might serve within the lives of others.

Psalm 8 and Finding Our Place in God’s Story

Second, consider the posture of the Psalmist in Psalm 8. Verses 3-4 read:

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?”

Even more important than interpreting our lives through the lens of serving others is interpreting them in relation to the Creator of the vast cosmos. While main character syndrome asks why the universe has failed to accommodate us, the psalmist wonders why its Creator would be mindful of us at all.

After all, the gaze of creation is not fixed upon whether we achieve fulfillment or express our authentic selves to the fullest. Rather, creation exists to reflect the glory of God, to whom praise and adoration are owed from every corner of existence. If the universe has a “main character,” it is certainly not us.

And yet, this understanding does not obliterate the significance of the individual. The alternative is not that we become “NPCs” in God’s world. Rather, we must recognize that our significance and glory are derived rather than self-curated. Our value, dignity, and even the attention we receive are established by the fact that we bear the imago Dei.

Any platform or narrative we construct for ourselves pales in comparison with the significance of being created, known, and redeemed by God. While Psalm 8 depicts man as occupying a place of remarkable honor and attention within creation, it is God who raises him to that station and crowns him with glory. Likewise, within the unfolding narrative of redemptive history, the church receives her beauty as the bride of the true main character, Jesus Christ. The story of redemption exalts the Savior, and the redeemed share in His glory only through their union with Him.

Perhaps, then, the answer to main character syndrome is not simply to step out of the spotlight, but to direct it elsewhere. Our lives become rightly ordered when Christ increases and we decrease, and when the people around us are seen not as supporting characters but as neighbors whom we have been called to love. We may not be the main characters, but by grace we have been given a place in a story far greater than any we could have written for ourselves.

When OnlyFans launched in 2016, it was originally presented as a subscription platform where creators could self-manage their content without an intermediary. The business model initially targeted coaches, musicians, and influencers. However, due to its loose content restrictions, the company became notorious for its high volume of sexual content. For creators of explicit material, many of whom were women who had previously relied on male-dominated distributors, the platform offered a seemingly direct path to their own audience.

Its rapid rise as an entrepreneurial tool is difficult to overstate. In 2024 alone, OnlyFans generated around $1.4 billion in revenue, and by the end of that year, the platform had grown to 4.63 million creator accounts and 377.5 million fan accounts.

Outside estimates suggest that women make up the majority of its creator base, often estimated at around 70%. If accurate, that would mean roughly 3.2 million creator accounts are held by women.

Its appeal is obvious. In a culture where economic strain and the desire for recognition weigh heavily, the platform offers the appearance of control: ownership of the body, the image, and the brand. Former Baywatch actress Brande Roderick described the control she felt OnlyFans gave her over her content: “I’m my own Hugh Hefner,” she said.

For such women, OnlyFans appears to offer what the older sexual economy did not: income without dependence, exposure without exploitation, and most importantly, autonomy without submission.

Or so it seems.

The Paradox of Control

The irony is that this new cultural shift is a recapitulation of humanity’s ongoing desire for domination, a desire that history has repeatedly shown to consume societies from the inside.

In The City of God, Augustine of Hippo describes what he calls the libido dominandi — the lust for domination. In doing so, he writes, “For even those who command are themselves slaves to the lust for domination.”

Therefore, he raises a question that remains relevant nearly 2000 years later: Is it possible to be in control while being free from control?

After all, that was the promise of the sexual revolution. It sought to liberate sexual behavior from traditional constraints and give control over to the individual. Coupled with the rise of contraceptives and abortion, sex was freed from both spiritual significance and consequence, paving the way for its desecration.

In effect, the revolution convinced people that sex had been brought under control. In doing so, the progression—from actions as basic as sex outside of marriage to now platforms like OnlyFans—was only logical.

However, as E. Michael Jones argues in his book Libido Dominandi: Sexual Liberation and Political Control, sexual liberation is a tool for social and political control, evolving over centuries to manage populations through their passions rather than overt force. The book traces how the rhetoric of sexual freedom was used to engineer a system of covert control, replacing traditional moral orders with a new form of social management.

For example, Jones writes that Wilhelm Reich, an Austrian psychoanalyst and sex educator, believed that “the best way to attack the social system which rested on the authority of the father, who represented the authority of God the Father on earth, was to persuade the young person to engage in sexual activity before marriage.”

In other words, Reich used the illusion of sexual freedom as a means of undermining societal order. He wrote in The Sexual Revolution, “A child whose motor activity is completely free, and whose natural sexuality has been liberated in sexual play, will oppose strictly authoritarian, ascetic influences.” He continues, “We thus see the revolutionary structuring of the child must involve the freeing of his biological, sexual motility. This is indisputable.”

Jones comments that it is virtually impossible to tell whether Reich is trying to liberate young people sexually or control them politically. Reich’s theory after all, was that sexually active children were natural revolutionaries, and by “liberating” them from the gaze of divine shame, parental authority, and moral order, they could be formed into his foot soldiers for revolution. It is not surprising, then, that by the 1960s, sexual radicals would put his logic into practice, disseminating pornography as a tool for “sexual education.”

And while there may not be as nefarious a figure as Reich at work today, the same pattern remains.

A 2021 report from The Avery Center found that 30% of surveyed OnlyFans creators said they had received warnings that their profiles could be taken down if they did not continue posting new content. Six percent said they had very little control over what they created or how it was used because traffickers managed their accounts. Additionally 34% of the creators expressed negative mental health consequences, including anxiety, depression, shame and fear.

Such statistics expose the irony of sexual freedom: it is not free at all. Those who are ruled by vice are in turn, ruled by others. When people are given into their desires, they become vulnerable to coercion and manipulation under the guise of freedom and autonomy.

Freedom and Slavery

One need not be an expert on political history to understand this truth. The Bible already speaks of freedom and control in categories that show absolute autonomy is impossible.

Romans 6:17 says, “But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed.”

The language of slavery here is intentional. Sin is a master that dominates our actions and desires.

The modern idea of “freedom” often insists on absolute autonomy — the ability to self-determine apart from consequence. However, the passage further explains that every person lives under one of two masters: slavery to sin or freedom in Christ.

As Romans 6:20-23 explains: “For when you were slaves of sin, you were free regarding righteousness. But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death. But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

One master — sin — leads to shame and death. The other — God — leads to sanctification and eternal life.

The irony, again, is clear. It is the fulfillment of Augustine’s insight: The one who believes he is in control is, in reality, under subjection. The individual who believes he masters sex is, in turn, mastered by it.

The question, therefore, is not whether one will be ruled, but by whom. One master leads to death; the other, Christ, leads to life. This means the gospel does not call sinners to find autonomous freedom, but to be delivered from themselves to be brought under the gracious rule of Christ.

For the woman creating such content, that may mean leaving it all behind and awaking from the illusion that OnlyFans perpetuates. No longer can she live under the belief that her body and image are hers to rule. Rather, she must submit the whole sum of her life to God’s good commands.

For the man consuming such content, it means confession, repentance, and a swift turn toward seeing women as image-bearers of God, not as objects for consumption and pleasure.

And while such a life is not always glamorous or profitable, it is the only truly free life. Christ offers what sexual autonomy never can: peace without shame, and life without bondage.

Then, on Wednesday, Jesse shared in an Instagram Story that he and Ashley had made the “difficult decision” to terminate the pregnancy.

“I know some of you may be very disappointed to hear this news. We are devastated,” he wrote in the since-expired post, according to the Los Angeles Times. “This has been extremely traumatic for both of us, especially Ashley. She underwent the procedure earlier this week and is on the mend.”

When Conviction Is Tested

For many, this may have been just another tragic story passing through the news cycle. But for families who have received that same diagnosis, and especially for those of us who have welcomed children into this world with Down syndrome, it is impossible to read it as just another passing story.

It should be obvious why a case like this hits close to home. My wife and I had a similar experience in our first pregnancy, much of which I’ve already written about.

For that reason, I can relate to this situation to some degree.

As a Christian family, we have always been staunchly committed to the sanctity of life. I have preached against the practice of abortion and also have written multiple pieces on its atrocities. I attend a church that is just as passionate about ending it as I am.

However, even as an adamant opponent of abortion, when we received our daughter’s diagnosis of Down syndrome, I had to admit that there was an extra layer of testing my conviction had not yet undergone.

This is, after all, one of those “extreme” anecdotal experiences that abortion advocates believe makes the case for abortion clear. Often, they present situations like this as if the quality of life of the child or the family is at stake. Their argument is that in circumstances such as these, parents should have the ability to terminate the pregnancy at any point.

Obviously, we do not believe that anecdotal cases or circumstances change the right to life for anyone at any place or time. And so naturally, our daughter was born and is, by God’s grace, thriving today.

The Limits of Sympathy

However, years later, a brother asked me whether I had possessed even the slightest temptation to turn back on my convictions during that season. I wasn’t sure how to respond.

Looking back, it is possible that I had moments of weakness. I was anxious about the future. I wondered what would separate our family from the norm. I feared what life would look like for our daughter, for our marriage, and for the rest of our family. And all of this was happening while real voices, from real people, urged us to take the easy way out.

Therefore, to some extent, I can track with what Jesse Ridgway wrote when he tried to justify the publicity of his experience. He said, “People still need to see vulnerability and hear the raw truth.” He continued, “There is real suffering going on and it is being done in silence and fear.”

In many ways, our family also withstood the pressure of that season silently. We, like the Ridgways, knew that not many people would understand our situation or the difficulties that would come.

However, this is where my family’s similarities—and sympathies—end.

No Special Case for Murder

In responding to his critics, Ridgway replied that “many of the people throwing stones don’t even have children, let alone one with a condition and most likely will never do the things they say they’re going to do.”

The irony of this reply is that many of his critics do, in fact, have children with a condition. Many of them have received the same diagnosis. Many of them have felt the same fear. And yet, they carried their children to term. They did the very thing Ridgway assumed they would never do.

What sets such families apart is not that their experience was easier or less frightening. What sets them apart is that their suffering did not deceive them into believing there was some uniquely special case for murder.

Scripture gives us no such category. Paul writes, “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man” (1 Cor. 10:13).

That does not mean every trial feels the same. Some situations are heavier than others. But it does mean that no temptation is so exceptional that sin becomes justifiable. There is no amount of fear that makes murder necessary.

After all, it is God who knits children together in their mothers’ wombs (Ps. 139:13). Some pregnancies, disability or not, bring anxiety, distress, and uncertainty about the future. But none of these things place a child outside the sovereign care of God. Before the world sees the child, God already knows the child. No circumstance is exceptional to the God who forms life in the womb.

Perhaps the oblivious arrogance of the Ridgway family began not merely when they believed their circumstances justified the killing of their five-month-old child, but when they assumed their circumstances were exceptional at all.

Moral Clarity, Not Vulnerability

Therefore, to the Ridgways, I leave this.

We live in a society that applauds vulnerability and authenticity so much that it often distracts us from the greater moral issues at hand. There may been real pain. There may have been real tears.

But suffering does not negate responsibility. Making a Youtube video does not automatically turn you into a victim. None of that changes what happened. A child was killed. A precious life God formed in the womb was ended.

And before sympathy is extended to those who were responsible, there must first be moral clarity about the child who never had a voice.

Because at the end of the day, murderers don’t get to mourn.

When I was young, my grandmother suffered from Parkinson’s disease, so visits to the hospital were part of the natural rhythm of our life. I grew up used to seeing prescription medicine on our kitchen counter, organized into those little containers with the days of the week marked out. When her condition began to decline in my later teenage years, I would watch my mother frequently on the phone, scheduling treatments and appointments with providers.

Those years led our family to develop a quiet reliance on healthcare. My parents had no background in medicine, and so they had no choice but to place their trust in whatever the doctors prescribed and ordered. Watching them interact with providers has, in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time, shaped my own perspective on medicine as well.

In 2018, my grandmother passed away. Her treatments had been showing diminishing returns for quite some time, and one day she didn’t wake up.

It was my first experience not only with death, but with the limits of what I believed medicine could achieve. In my naivety, I had been quietly convinced that medicine, science, and technology always had a solution — that it was only a matter of finding it.

The Limits of Medicine

Fast forward to 2023. I was diagnosed and treated for a condition called cervical myelopathy. I won’t rehash the details — I’ve written about it elsewhere — but my attitude going in was the same as it had always been. Every ailment I’d previously faced, the common cold, a broken wrist, had eventually yielded to medicine. Why would this be any different?

After my first fusion surgery, the results were pretty cut and dry. The nerve pain in my right arm was gone. Feeling had returned to my fingers. For my surgeon, I was one of a thousand cookie-cutter success stories that he could file way.

But only a month later, my symptoms returned. The sensation drained gradually from my fingers, my gait became unsteady, and fine motor movements grew increasingly difficult. Physical therapy offered little improvement, and I became wary of layering on more prescriptions.

In 2024, I opted for a second surgery. This time a laminoplasty, far more extensive than the first. Where the fusion had addressed a single level of my spine, this procedure involved five, opening the back of my spinal canal to relieve pressure on the cord. The recovery was difficult.

The surgery helped in some regards. However, I would be lying if I said it got me out of the woods. Months later, my symptoms returned, and to this day they continue to slowly progress, though at a much slower rate than before.

At this point for me, this seems like the end of what medicine currently knows. Several surgeons are unanimously uncertain why my symptoms persist. There are no surgeries left, no treatments on the table. Perhaps future advances will eventually shed light on cases like mine — but I doubt they will arrive in time to matter for me.

The Myth of Human Mastery

What this experience has taught me is that we often carry a near-utopian expectation of medicine. For every ailment, every disease, we assume there is a treatment waiting to fit the mold — a solution that just needs to be found and applied. We treat the body like a problem that, with enough expertise and technology, can always be solved.

After all, we now sail across oceans that once belonged to the “gods”. We scale mountains and cut through clouds as a matter of routine. It was only a matter of time before we convinced ourselves that the next frontier was the human body itself.

Health culture, bio-hacking, transhumanism: these are all symptoms of a shifting anthropology, one in which the body is no longer seen as something finite and given, but as a limit to be overcome. The belief that all disease, aging, and mortality can be overcome is the next natural step in mankind’s advancement.

And yet, while cases like mine are few, they exist in enough number to remind us that the body still holds mysteries that confound even the most capable of experts. A 3mm difference in cord compression and my body’s refusal to behave according to textbooks appropriately curbed my confidence.

One must be reminded that a Biblical anthropology has always respected the limitations of the human body. Humanity’s finite nature is not a challenge for the next innovator, but a reminder of the distinction between creature and Creator. Contrary to some strands of religion, the the telos of man was never to become like gods.

The real danger of modern medicine is not medicine itself, but the temptation to believe that human ingenuity can totally free us from the conditions of creatureliness. After all, the body, in all its frailty, still reminds us that we are dust — and that no amount of progress can erase that truth.

In January 2026, Ms. Rachel, a YouTube sensation known for her language-development videos for toddlers, visited a District 2 pre-K center with New York City’s newly elected mayor, Zohran Mamdani. The openly socialist mayor and the YouTuber with more than 19 million subscribers made an unlikely pair as they discussed emotions and sang “The Wheels on the Bus” together.

This same Ms. Rachel also regularly features a performer named Jules Hoffman, who identifies as nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, on her YouTube channel “Songs for Littles.” Off camera but on social media, Hoffman has posted anti-ICE messaging and celebratory support for the LGBTQ+ movement. These views appear to parallel Ms. Rachel’s own public posture. In several instances, she has celebrated Pride Month on her social media platforms, and more recently, she has been accused of promoting antisemitism.

One might wonder how such affiliations find their way into a children’s program, but these moments point to a larger trend: the politicization of children’s media.

Ms. Rachel is just one example. Behind colorful animations and friendly characters, many programs designed for young audiences now carry cultural messaging that goes beyond simple entertainment. The shift is often subtle, but it is strategic.

The Pattern

These programs gain an audience because they usually start with normalcy. The main characters appear in every episode to establish familiarity and comfort. A typical family is introduced — Mom and Dad, brother and sister. The environment feels safe and predictable. Over time, trust is built.

Eventually, one episode breaks the pattern to make a statement. A character may announce a non-binary identity. A new family may appear with two fathers, offering a sharp contrast to the reality children have come to expect from earlier episodes.

There are numerous examples of this. The episode “The Sign” from the popular children’s show “Bluey,” aimed primarily at children ages two to six, includes a reference to a classmate, Pretzel, having ‘two mums.’ The series has accumulated tens of billions of streaming minutes and is currently the most-streamed show in the United States. Likewise, “PAW Patrol,” which debuted in 2013, introduced a character named River in its 2023 Rubble & Crew spin off, a character the episode’s writer later described as nonbinary coded.

Although these programs are products of the 21^st century, the broader strategy behind them is far older. The use of youth culture to advance ideological goals has a long historical record.

History’s Playbook

History repeatedly demonstrates that when ideas take root in childhood, they rarely disappear in adulthood. That is why nearly every major ideological movement has sought to shape the minds of the young.

In the early 1930s, when the Nazi regime consolidated power in Germany, it created mandatory youth organizations such as the Hitler Youth. School curricula were altered. Loyalty to the state was elevated above loyalty to family or church. Education, recreation, and even songs were redesigned to cultivate ideological conformity from childhood.

Similarly, during the Cultural Revolution in the People’s Republic of China from 1966 to 1976, Mao Zedong mobilized students through the Red Guard movement to purge what were called the “Four Olds”: old customs, old culture, old habits, and old ideas. Teachers and parents were publicly denounced. Youth-led campaigns, encouraged by the state, destabilized institutions almost overnight.

The cultural contexts may differ dramatically from Western children’s media today, but the underlying principle remains the same: Instill new beliefs in the next generation and the future direction of society can be reshaped — and quickly.

And that society increasingly is anti-family, anti-truth, anti-America, and anti-Christian.

The Biblical Mandate for Parents

How, then, should Christian parents navigate such a hostile environment?

Practical steps may include limiting screen time, curating what actually appears on that screen, monitoring children’s social media exposure, paying close attention to who their friends are, or even considering homeschooling.

Yet these responses remain secondary to the biblical responsibility placed upon parents.

Here’s what Deuteronomy 6:1-9 says about the formation of children:

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

The expansive language of “when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise” communicates the constant responsibility parents bear in raising their children in the Lord. The commands are comprehensive.

Modern parenting philosophies often encourage parents to let their children form their own conclusions about religion and morality. Scripture presents a different model. Parents are called to instruct their children actively in the Word of God.

That’s because when children are not instructed in the ways of the Lord, they are inevitably instructed in other ways. Scripture is clear that there is no neutrality.

Matthew 6:24 says: “No one can serve two masters.”

If a generation is not raised to worship the Lord, it will learn to worship something else. Often that substitute takes the form of personal autonomy, sexual identity, or the shifting moral values of the surrounding culture.

The question, then, is not whether the next generation will be formed, but who will form them?

At the intersection of entertainment, education, and ideology, Christian parents cannot afford to remain passive observers. Scripture’s charge remains clear: You must raise your children in the commandments of the Lord — diligently and without apology.

Behind the rapid growth of prenatal testing lies a quiet moral crisis. In the United States, more than 200,000 people live with Down Syndrome, yet thousands more never get the chance to live at all. Each year, about 5,700 babies are born with Down syndrome, but research suggests the number would be significantly higher without abortions following a prenatal diagnosis. In Europe, roughly half of Down syndrome pregnancies end in termination, and some countries report rates of above 90 percent.

The conclusion is hard to escape. A subtle strain of eugenics has returned to the practice of childbearing, not through state mandate but through cultural expectation, technology breakthroughs, and clinical routine.

From Uncertainty to Control

Scientific developments have transformed pregnancy. Before the 20th century, childbearing was shrouded in mystery. There were no genetic screenings. Prenatal care consisted of home visits from a physician or midwife. Conditions such as gestational diabetes and genetic abnormalities were largely unknown until labor or tragedy revealed them.

Today, modern medicine has made childbirth safer. Infant mortality rates have fallen to about five to six per 1,000. Maternal deaths have dropped to roughly 20 to 30 per 100,000. Expectant mothers now receive fetal heart monitoring, blood pressure screenings, preeclampsia detection, and detailed imaging. Parents can learn a child’s sex, size, and approximate weight. They can even see a three-dimensional image of their child’s face months before birth.

These are real blessings. Christians should be grateful for them. Yet technology does not merely expand what a society can do. It shapes what it expects. When uncertainty becomes measurable, it begins to feel intolerable. What once required trust now feels like a problem to be managed.

When Risk Was Part of Life

For most of human history, the risk of childbearing was accepted as part of life. Danger did not eliminate gratitude for the life that survived it. Scripture reflects this posture of humility before the mystery of life: “As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything” (Ecclesiastes 11:5).

In fact, large families were common in part because loss was expected. Parents knew that not every child would survive. That reality shaped family size, cultural attitudes toward death, and the way people received children as gifts rather than projects to be optimized. Loss was present, but so was reverence for life. Alongside the presence of danger and death was a worldview that recognized the God-given blessing of children.

The irony is that the innovations of modern technology and medicine, while physically promoting and safeguarding life, have not always been matched by a deeper appreciation for its sanctity. The clarity that modern technology now provides risks shifting a society’s perspective to risk management.

Who Gets to Be Born

One need look no further for a clearer example than in the case of society’s most vulnerable: the unborn, namely those with genetic abnormalities or special needs.

In the beginning stages of pregnancy, many mothers are offered a prenatal screening such as MaterniT21. This test, known as a noninvasive prenatal test (NIPT), works through a simple maternal blood draw that analyzes cell-free fetal DNA. Through this screening, parents can receive an early warning if their child shows signs of genetic disorders. Normally, if a screening comes back as high risk, parents can choose to confirm it with a diagnostic test, such as chorionic villus sampling (CVS) or amniocentesis.

However, the sad reality is that for some families, the mere presence of risk sets them on a path toward decisions that they will never be able to take back. What makes this additionally striking is that these prenatal tests do not reveal the extent of the disability nor the symptoms that the baby might actually have. More often than not, individuals with Down syndrome live long, meaningful lives, contributing richly to their families and communities.

But in fear of the unknown and spurred on by doctors who cite grim statistics and encourage termination, families often assume worst-case scenarios and decide that allowing the pregnancy to carry through is not worth the risk.

Alongside the ever-growing abortion industry, prenatal testing has implicitly given many parents the power to decide which lives are worth keeping and which can be passed up for another try. There is no longer humble acceptance of the conditions but defiance of God’s providence driven by the desire for certainty. More often than not, an unborn child whose genetic makeup is less than ideal is the one to pay the price.

A Biblical Warning

The aim of this article is not to reject medical testing or technological progress. It is undeniable that modern medicine has saved countless lives. Rather, the concern is how such tools may shape the posture of the heart.

Scripture gives a warning through the ancient account of Babel in Genesis 11:4:

“Then they said, ‘Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth.’”

The ancient narrative of Babel is not an immediate warning against a society’s pursuit for advance but against its misuse to become their own gods. It’s a lesson against those who would believe that humanity can surpass the limits God has placed on human life.

A society that uses its technology to protect life in childbearing while also using it to selectively end life separates the material from the spiritual. Over time, such practices not only reduce risk but reshape expectations, lower tolerance for difficulty, and dim our understanding of what it means to receive life as a gift rather than manage it as a variable.

The biblical vision of human life runs in the opposite direction of the spirit of our age. Human worth is not determined by strength or ability but by the image of God borne by every person from the moment of conception. Thus, even those considered the weakest members of a society are indispensable. The greater question for our age is not simply what technology enables but whether we are willing to be fruitful and multiply on God’s terms rather than the culture’s.

As a follow up from my last post, I wanted to give two ways (that are by no means exhaustive) in which Scripture encourages us to at least begin this pursuit for one of the most valuable Christian virtues.

The Home

I had mentioned in a Substack comment that it is no surprise that a lot of Proverbs is taught through the dialogue of a father to a son. In Proverbs 6:20-26, (which I had written on before) much of the warnings against the adulterous woman are passed on with this precursor:

²⁰ My son, keep your father's commandment,
and forsake not your mother's teaching.
²¹ Bind them on your heart always;
tie them around your neck.
²² When you walk, they will lead you;
when you lie down, they will watch over you;
and when you awake, they will talk with you.
Proverbs 6:20-22

While Proverbs often uses a more general term for wisdom, here we see two specific terms: a “command” and a “teaching.” The word for command is miswah, and the word for teaching is torah, often used for God’s law.

Therefore, what has confused some scholars is this imperative to obey the “father’s-God’s law”. One might ask: when the son is told to keep his father’s torah, is this simply parental advice? Or is it the law of God being communicated through the parents? Are we meant to keep God’s law—or our parents’ instruction?

The answer, in a sense, is both.

On one hand, faithful parents are meant to pass down instruction shaped by the Word of God. Their guidance is meant to reflect the wisdom of Scripture. But on the other hand, Proverbs assumes something very ordinary, which is that parents are actively involved in shaping the lives of their children.

Scripture may tell us, “You shall not commit adultery.” But it is often within the family that this wisdom is applied more specifically—through boundaries, rules, and oversight. Limits on media. No sleepovers at friends’ houses. Decisions about where to go, what to watch, and who not to be alone with.

While you won’t find curfews explicitly laid out in Scripture, the point is that the family is a central hub wherein wisdom is dispensed, and therefore we should receive our parents’ instructions with a sense of gravity.

Normally this is the part where someone would ask: But what if your parents dropped the ball? What if you’re the exception? A messy divorce, a broken family?

The first step is to acknowledge that the exception never invalidates the norm. There has always been statistical correlation between a child’s behavior and their upbringing, with effects that last into their adulthood. Anecdotally, in my many years of working with young men, I have found that those without father figures are more likely to pursue promiscuity while delaying commitment and stability until much later in life.

But fortunately for those exceptions, we see in Scripture that wisdom is passed down in ways that even transcend the nuclear family.

Christ does not leave the orphan unattended to, and perhaps such is the spirit of adoption, that even the fatherless become sons of God who are able to learn under the tutelage of those who came before them. Barnabas to Paul. Paul to Timothy. Mentor to mentees, and spiritual fathers to their children in the Gospel. This, of course, points to the eternal reality that our heavenly Father blesses those within His spiritual home.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” - Romans 8:15

“For though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers. For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel.” 1 Corinthians 4:15

The Heart

Returning to Proverbs, we are reminded of a second way in which the believer attains wisdom.

“The beginning of wisdom is this: get wisdom.”
- Proverbs 4:7

What initially some might read as the most unhelpful verse in the book is actually the bedrock principle that if neglected, renders the home ineffective.

The truth is not that wisdom is nowhere to be found—as we see that it is plentiful in the home and even in the church—but rather that wisdom begins with a heart for it. In fact, it is wise to want wisdom.

In Proverbs 1:4–5, two groups are addressed: “the simple and the youth,” and “the wise and the one who understands.” On one hand, there is the simple youth. On the other, the understanding and the wise.

The word for simple carries the sense of someone lacking experience. Naive, inexperienced, or immature. It is not necessarily negative. Proverbs uses other terms when it wants to describe someone hardened in foolishness. Here, the picture is closer to someone who is uninformed, especially when paired with the word youth.

That distinction matters, because verse 4 speaks of prudence being given to them. This reflects the natural course of history, when older men, parents, or teachers would give and impart instruction to the youth. The youth would then receive it with humility and reverence.

Sadly, this is something our age has begun to lose.

With the rise of technology, information is everywhere. Answers are always within immediate reach. Because of that, we now believe that we can outthink or outgrow those who came before us. In our naivety, we assume that a quick Google search can prove experience no longer matters.

Instead of sitting under instruction, there is a growing instinct to reverse the roles and to assume that what is older must be outdated. We have a generation that is increasingly comfortable with telling its parents, elders, and traditions that their wisdom is no longer relevant.

But Proverbs assumes the opposite posture. Wisdom begins with the humility to receive. The simple become wise not by proving themselves right, but by placing themselves under instruction, displaying a heart of appreciation and hanging on every bit of knowledge they can get.

And in case anyone believes they are exempt, the very next verse says:

“Let the wise hear and increase in learning,
and the one who understands obtain guidance.”
- Proverbs 1:5

Even though the verse now addresses the “wise” group, the exhortation is that they would still “hear and increase in learning.” This proves that hungering for wisdom is not a stage you can graduate from, but it is a heart that you must maintain.

The wise are not those who no longer need instruction. They are the ones who keep seeking it.

My father, however—who had worked in general contracting early in his career, saw some of the videos I was watching and insisted that it wasn’t as easy as they made it look.

It didn’t take long for me to realize he was right.

Not long after starting a project, even when I followed the videos step by step, I would run into a situation that wasn’t covered and find myself stuck. I could replay the video or search for others to supplement it, but nothing seemed to provide the exact fix I needed.

My father, on the other hand, could think on the fly. He would know exactly what to do. Years of hard work had given him the insight and skill to navigate complex situations.

Wisdom in the Christian life is something like that. The Christian life requires more than good intentions. It requires skill and learning how to live wisely in real situations.

In the opening of the book of Proverbs, verses 2–3 read: “To know wisdom and instruction, to understand words of insight, to receive instruction in wise dealing, in righteousness, justice, and equity.”

The Hebrew word for “wise dealing” has been described as a “well-used skill,” carrying the sense of understanding a situation well. And if we look at the rest of the verse, we see that this skill or understanding is directed toward carrying out “righteousness, justice, and equity.”

This may be surprising to some. When we think about what makes a good Christian, the word skilled probably falls somewhere lower on the list. We have all met sincere and good-hearted believers, but how often do we think of Christians who are not only faithful, but wise?

There’s a line from the movie Black Panther (which I admittedly enjoyed) that has always stayed with me. When T’Challa comes face to face with the vision of his father, King T’Chaka tells him, “You’re a good man with a good heart. And it’s hard for a good man to be king.”

There is a measure of common grace and truth reflected there. The very existence of a book like Proverbs assumes that the Christian life calls us not only to do what is right, but to do what is right well. Being a good man with a good heart is not the end game. There are ways to minimize or to maximize the good we do, even when our hearts are in the right place.

King Solomon himself exercised this in great display when the two women in 1 Kings 3 came to him and asked him to settle the dispute over who was the true mother of the living child. As the story goes, he says “Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one and half to the other”, ultimately prompting and revealing the real mother to say, “Give the other woman the child, by no means put him to death!”

The narrative concludes in v28, saying that all of Israel heard of this because they “perceived that the wisdom of God was in him to do justice.”

This type of wisdom matters plenty in the church. Many a conflict can be avoided with wisdom. Sin and evil can be prevented with understanding a situation well. It takes skill and insight to not only lead a flock, but even to be part of one.

There is wisdom behind who you invite to your birthday party. There is a skill to planning a wedding. There is a way to date well, break up well, and get engaged well. Even in every “good” interaction that happens in the church, there are opportunities to increase or decrease it.

Your heart is important, but so are things like optics and communication. Who you speak to, how you speak, and when you speak all matter. All of these pieces come together to form the wisdom that determines how well you carry out the good intention in your heart, from beginning to end.

The Christian life calls us not only to desire what is right, but to become skilled in doing it. And when it is done wisely, it bears abundant life and peace in Christ.

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The initial public reaction to such stories is often one of disgust or disdain. But these accounts are sobering not because they invite slander, but because they force the church to confront an uncomfortable truth. Sexual temptation is not a danger reserved for the young, the immature, or the fringe of Christianity. It follows even those who know the Scriptures well, who teach faithfully, and who appear outwardly strong.

In Proverbs 6, wisdom is given that does not merely warn that temptation exists, but instructs God’s people in how to live faithfully in a world where temptation patiently works toward the downfall of believers.

Proverbs 6:20–24

My son, keep your father’s commandment,
and forsake not your mother’s teaching.
Bind them on your heart always;
tie them around your neck.
When you walk, they will lead you;
when you lie down, they will watch over you;
and when you awake, they will talk with you.
For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching a light,
and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life,
to preserve you from the evil woman,
from the smooth tongue of the adulteress.

The Siren’s Song

Long before modern collapses and the language of scandal and headlines, ancient stories understood this pattern well. Greek mythology tells of the Sirens, creatures portrayed as half woman and half bird. Over time, this image evolved into the modern mermaid, but the older version was far darker.

The Sirens were described as having a tremendous ability to capture the heart of men. They would sit on an island, combing their long golden hair, and whenever a ship passed by, they would sing. Their song was meant to be captivating, praising, soothing, and distracting, causing sailors to forget caution and consequence. It was even said to be so beautiful that sailors failed to notice the bodies floating in the water as their ships drew closer to the island.

The purpose of the Sirens was singular. They lured sailors close enough that their ships would break apart on the rocks, sending both vessel and crew down into the sea along with countless others before them.

For this purpose, the Sirens functioned as literary symbols of the temptations of the flesh and the seductive pull that leads many men toward destruction. But such scandals in recent decades make it evident that the very same song plays today. Whether through the public fall of prominent pastors or the reality that a majority of teenagers are exposed to pornography at a very young age, this temptation is not a thing of myth, but a defining feature of the present world.

Proverbs and the Pull of Temptation

Long before Greek mythology gave the world the image of the Siren, Proverbs warned of the same danger. Again and again, the book returns to the figure it calls the adulterous woman, not as a minor moral failure, but as a uniquely destructive temptation.

Proverbs 5 describes the adulterous woman’s speech as “smoother than oil,” yet those who follow her are led “down to death.” Proverbs 7 adds that she is not confined to one place. She waits in the street, in the market, and at every corner. What Proverbs presents is not merely a single person, but a persistent pattern of temptation.

That pattern remains. Today it appears through phones, televisions, streaming platforms. The setting has changed, but the strategy has not.

In a world where temptation is constant and accessible, how is righteousness maintained? Proverbs 6 answers by calling God’s people to holiness and by providing wisdom for how to live faithfully in the midst of it.

What: Wisdom Passed Down

The passage opens with a father addressing his son, speaking also on behalf of the mother.

“My son, keep your father’s commandment,
and forsake not your mother’s teaching.”

While Proverbs often uses general language for wisdom, two more specific terms appear here: command (miswa) and teaching (torah). Torah is commonly translated as God’s law.

This raises an important question. Is the father referring merely to parental advice, or to God’s commandments communicated through the parents? The answer is both.

The instruction given is grounded in God’s Word, and Proverbs assumes that both father and mother play an active role in shaping moral and spiritual life. A healthy home remains one of the most effective guards against immorality.

Scripture clearly says, “You shall not commit adultery,” but families apply that wisdom in concrete ways through boundaries related to media, devices, relationships, and daily habits. These applications may not always be spelled out explicitly, but Proverbs assumes they carry real authority.

It should be no surprise that there is currently ongoing tension that exists over who holds authority in shaping children. While the government and public education have historically been incrementally insisting that the responsibility lies with them, the book of Proverbs establishes that the primary place where God dispenses wisdom is the family.

How: Binding Wisdom to the Heart

The father then says these commands are to be “bound on the heart always” and “tied around the neck.”

This language intentionally echoes Deuteronomy 6, the Shema, where Israel is commanded to keep God’s words on the heart and bind them as signs on the body. Before the time of Christ, this was taken literally through the use of small boxes of Scripture worn on the body, one near the heart and one on the head.

The point, however, is not external ritual but internal formation. God’s wisdom, reinforced by parents, is meant to shape the inner life. It is to be read, prayed over, meditated upon, and memorized.

This matters deeply in the battle against sexual sin. Even secular voices now refer to pornography as a “new drug.” Practical steps such as filters, accountability software, and device restrictions may help, but without a Spirit-wrought transformation of the heart, their effectiveness is limited. When desire remains unchanged, safeguards are eventually bypassed.

For this reason the psalmist writes, “I have hidden your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you.” True purity begins with a renewed mind and reordered desires shaped by the Word of God.

When: Every Moment

The father then expands the scope further.

“When you walk, they will lead you;
when you lie down, they will watch over you;
and when you awake, they will talk with you.”

Wisdom is described almost as a companion, guiding, guarding, and reminding throughout the day. There is both an active and passive dimension. Wisdom must be guarded, and in turn, wisdom provides protection.

This mirrors the Shema again. Sitting, walking, lying down, rising. It is a poetic way of saying all the time and everywhere. Why? Because sin is also present at all times and in all places.

There is a story of a pastor who traveled frequently for speaking engagements. On these trips, he would stop at the same café, and over time a waitress recognized him. One day, feeling lonely while away from home, he invited her to sit down for a cup of coffee. Months later, his wife found the waitress’s clothing in the backseat of his car.

Temptation often begins with something small and seemingly harmless. Genesis 39 records that Potiphar’s wife tempted Joseph day after day. Temptation is persistent, and vigilance must be constant.

As a disclaimer, Christians sometimes ask whether this requires avoiding all interaction with the opposite sex. It does not. But neutrality should never be assumed. The father’s warning is not rooted in fear, but in awareness.

Why: Wisdom Preserves Life

The final verses explain why this instruction matters.

“For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching a light,
and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life,
to preserve you from the evil woman,
from the smooth tongue of the adulteress.”

Instruction illuminates the path. Correction keeps one on it. Both preserve life.

The Septuagint translates “evil woman” as “married woman,” highlighting the distinction Proverbs consistently makes between obvious immorality and more subtle adultery. Temptation does not always appear overtly sinful. Often it comes clothed in respectability and charm.

Satan rarely shouts. He whispers.

A Better Song

Another story involving the Sirens appears not in The Odyssey but in the later Greek epic Argonautica. When the hero Jason and his crew passed by the Sirens, they did not attempt to block out the sound. Instead, Jason brought a musician on board. When the Sirens began to sing, the musician played a song louder and more beautiful, allowing the ship to pass safely through.

Efforts to silence temptation matter. Avoidance, boundaries, and discipline all play a role. But Proverbs presses deeper. The Word of God is a better song.

Proverbs 5 says the lips of a forbidden woman drip honey, but Psalm 19 declares that the law of the Lord is sweeter than honey. Obedience to God and delight in His wisdom surpass any pleasure sexual sin promises.

Christ and the Greater Reward

Satan was relentless in tempting Jesus Christ. For forty days in the wilderness, immediate pleasure and glory were offered. Each temptation was answered with Scripture. The Word was a lamp to His feet and a light to His path.

Christ resisted not only because He knew Scripture, but because He had a greater reward set before Him. He was promised His bride, the church, by the Father from eternity past.

Because Christ remained faithful, those who fail are clothed in His righteousness. The assurance of victory over temptation does not rest in human strength, but in union with Christ and delight in Him.

To belong to Him is greater than any promise Satan could offer.

But the truth is, there are countless students who have enrolled—or are currently enrolled—in seminaries who will walk out with little to none of their money’s worth. Why? Because the true value of seminary is not found in the paper handed to you at the end of four years (or more).

Perhaps this reflects an attitude carried over from our broader understanding of higher education—an attitude I can sympathize with. Many students enter college unsure of what they want to do, filling their schedules with irrelevant prerequisites and GPA boosters, just to slap a Bachelor of Arts on their resume at the end. So if we’re talking about wastes of money, undergraduate programs have far outpaced seminaries in that regard.

However, most people don’t go to seminary to “find themselves.” It may not necessarily be pastoral ministry, but most students have a general sense of what they’re pursuing or what they’d like to study.

But this is where some churches have some explaining to do. Because after affirming a young man’s call into ministry, many churches and even pastors have sent those men into seminary only to downplay the experience—as if seminary were simply a box to check on the way to “real ministry.”

Make no mistake: if you are called into the work of ministry, seminary is a means to an end. After all, it’s four years of theology—biblical, systematic, historical, and pastoral—fed through a firehose for the sake of equipping men for service in Christ’s church. If that’s your calling, seminary is indeed a means to an end.

My concern, however, is when that sentiment goes too far. I’ve seen students treat seminary the same way they treated “Intro to Art History” or “Gender Studies” in college. I’ve seen them aim for the bare minimum, just high enough to avoid academic probation. Because for many, seminary isn’t about being equipped to serve the saints—it’s just a formality to get through.

What results, then, is a generation of graduates who rely more on charisma than conviction—more on their relational skills than the insight of the Word. And churches that perpetuate this mindset, simply because they need to quickly fill a youth pastor role, will inevitably lower the standard for qualified ministers. It may seem like a slow decay, but it is certainly a real one.

This, of course, comes back to bite later. I’ve seen men graduate from Reformed seminaries unable to answer the most basic theological questions from their congregation. I’ve even known some who have cheated on Bible exams, because seminary is merely a hoop to jump through, not a time of spiritual formation. And little by little, those called to “guard the good deposit” (2 Timothy 1:14) are rendered weak and spiritually ineffective.

And so my warning and exhortation to those considering seminary is this: if you don’t want to waste your money, don’t treat it like a degree. Treat it like discipleship.

The right seminary will provide you with access to faithful professors, the riches of theological tradition, and the space to think deeply about the things of God. This of course should be paired with the valuable experience of serving in the local church, but both are necessary if you are to be effective in your future ministry.

Don’t coast your way to a diploma. Sit under the Word and learn from your professors as faithful, wise men who have gone before you in the faith. Don’t waste the privilege of being trained for holy work by treating it like a checklist for ministry.

Because when you treat seminary lightly, you’re not just wasting your money—you’re cheapening the call of God on your life.

The first and most obvious is the inevitable confrontation with their sin. The Word of God functions like a mirror, exposing blemishes that would rather remain hidden. The light reveals what the darkness conceals, and coming face to face with the preaching of God’s holy law wounds the conscience and unsettles the soul.

Yet as painful as that lesson may be, many people can at least understand it. They know, by nature and by conscience, that something is wrong. They sense that they have not lived up to some moral or ethical standard. This much, they can grasp.

But even after acknowledging this, many still stay away from the house of the Lord. Because alongside the discomfort of facing their sin lies another, deeper realization: there is absolutely nothing they can do about it.

When I was serving in college ministry, I often heard students say they stopped coming to church because they “weren’t doing spiritually well.” While I appreciated their honesty, I could never quite understand the logic behind that reasoning. I would ask when they planned to return, and the answer was usually some version of: “I’ll come back once I get a few things together.” Of course, few actually did.

It’s one thing to acknowledge your sin and inadequacy. It’s another to admit your powerlessness to fix it. And in refusing to do so, many also fail to recognize the power of the Gospel.

Fathers struggling to lead their families will take time away from church to “get things in order.” Mothers wrestling with anxiety will isolate themselves until they feel “ready.” Couples with conflict will stay home, and singles battling pornography will never ask for help.

This mentality is not only misguided—it is destructive. For some, it may seem foolish to return to church before their lives are sorted out. Yet as 1 Corinthians 1:18 reminds us, “the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

While proximity with God and His people is not a promise of prosperity and comfort, it is the only solution for the sinfulness of man. The irony is that the very thing people avoid—the gathered church, the preached Word, the communion of saints—is the only thing that can heal what they’re trying to fix from afar.

The Gospel begins where our strength ends. And that’s why the church, for all its imperfections, remains the place where sinners can find peace and learn to hope again.

There have been two places in Scripture that have been instrumental in my comprehension of infant baptism, the first of which is Matthew 19:13–15, where we see infants being included in God’s covenant:

Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples rebuked the people, but Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” And he laid his hands on them and went away.

Matthew 19 is a familiar story. Even if you haven’t studied it deeply, you likely know how it goes: Jesus is in the heart of His ministry, proclaiming the Kingdom of God. As He enters Judea, large crowds follow Him, and amid the commotion, parents begin bringing their children to Jesus. The disciples, however, tell them to stop—but Jesus intervenes and welcomes the children instead.

1. The Heart of the Parents

Verse 13 says, “Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray.”

First, let’s clarify that these are truly children. Some argue that the Greek word paidion might refer to older youth or young adults. While it can have a range of meanings, its earliest biblical usage in the Septuagint appears in Genesis 17:12:

“He who is eight days old among you shall be circumcised.”

This connection firmly establishes that paidion can indeed refer to infants. Contextually, the children were “brought” to Jesus—passive, not active. So these were likely dependent children, even infants.

In Jewish custom, parents would bring their children to rabbis or spiritual leaders to receive a blessing—acts believed to convey divine favor and protection. You see similar practices in the Old Testament, such as Jacob blessing his grandsons.

Even in modern cultures—perhaps in some Asian traditions—there’s a sense of generational blessing when elders lay hands on the young. And even if you’ve never experienced something like that, you can still understand the parents’ heart here. They fought through the crowds in Judea to bring their children to Jesus because they wanted what was best for them.

John Calvin writes of this moment:

“We must observe the intention of those who present the children; for if there had not been a deep-rooted conviction in their minds, that the power of the Spirit was at his disposal, that he might pour it out on the people of God, it would have been unreasonable to present their children.”

In other words, these parents brought their children because they believed Jesus could bless them with the Spirit.

That’s quite different from the modern parenting mindset, isn’t it? Today, many parents insist on giving their children “freedom to choose” their religion, as though neutrality were a virtue. I remember when I was growing up—my parents, like many others, let me try soccer, lacrosse, piano, art, basketball—but also allowed me to skip church when those things conflicted. Looking back, I regret those missed Sundays, because I missed out on the blessings of belonging to God’s covenant community at an early age.

The heart of the parents in Matthew 19 wasn’t to appease their children’s desires—it was to bring them to the One who could truly bless them. By virtue of their faith, their children received the benefits of that faith through Christ’s blessing.

2. The Heart of the Disciples

Verse 13 continues: “Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples rebuked the people.”

Before we get to Jesus’ response, we should ask—why did the disciples rebuke the parents?

In the ancient world, children were often viewed as socially insignificant. Though loved by their families, they were dependent, unable to contribute economically or religiously. In first-century Judaism, children couldn’t participate in sacrifices or synagogue worship—those were for adult men. So the disciples likely assumed Jesus had more “important” matters to attend to.

To them, children didn’t belong in the center of spiritual activity. “Let the grown-ups do the talking,” they probably thought.

3. The Heart of Jesus

But Jesus rebukes them:

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

And this leads us to the central question of today’s message:
Are children part of the Kingdom of God, or not?

Because the answer to that question determines whether they should receive the sign of the Kingdom—baptism.

Let’s unpack Jesus’ statement: “for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

The “kingdom of heaven” is unique to Matthew’s Gospel, but it’s synonymous with “kingdom of God.” The term refers to God’s covenant community, though Scripture sometimes uses it in three overlapping ways:

1. The visible church – as in Matthew 13, the net that gathers both good and bad fish, or the field with both wheat and weeds.

2. The invisible church – the regenerate, true believers (John 3:3, 1 Cor. 6:9).

3. The consummated kingdom – God’s perfected reign in glory (Matt. 25:34).

Calvin described the visible church this way:

“By the term ‘Church’ is designated the whole multitude of men who, spread through all parts of the world, profess to worship one God and Christ. In this Church are mingled many hypocrites who have nothing of Christ but the name and outward appearance.”

So the Kingdom has both visible and invisible aspects—just like Israel in the Old Testament, which included believers, unbelievers, and their children. Though the forms of worship changed, the covenantal substance remained: God calling a people—and their children—to Himself.

That naturally leads to the question: If children received the covenant sign of belonging in the Old Testament (circumcision), shouldn’t they also receive it in the New (baptism)?

Baptism: Two Views

Let’s define the two main views of baptism:

1. Baptist view: Baptism is a public testimony of one’s faith in Christ. Therefore, only those who can profess faith should be baptized.

2. Reformed/Presbyterian view: Baptism is a sign and seal of what Christ has done for His people. Therefore, covenant children of believing parents should receive it.

Both agree that in the Old Testament, entire households were included in the covenant. Adult converts had faith before circumcision (like Abraham), while their children received circumcision before faith (like Isaac).

So where we differ is whether that covenant principle continues into the New Testament.

Continuity in Colossians 2

The second text which serves as a pillar in my understanding of this doctrine is what Paul writes in Colossians 2:11–12:

“In Him you were also circumcised with the circumcision made without hands… having been buried with Him in baptism, in which you were also raised with Him through faith in the working of God.”

In one sweeping sentence, Paul links circumcision and baptism. Physical circumcision pointed forward to the cutting off of Christ in His death (Isa. 53:8). Baptism now points backward to that same reality—death and resurrection with Him.

Every “watery judgment” in Scripture—like the Red Sea—has two outcomes: one party perishes, one is saved. The Egyptians and the Israelites both entered the sea; only one came out alive. Baptism mirrors this—our old self dies, our new self rises in union with Christ.

So while the sign has changed, the substance remains: both circumcision and baptism signify union with Christ and entrance into His covenant people.

If the substance of the sign remains the same, then so should its recipients—believers and their children.

Covenant Continuity

Throughout the New Testament, this covenant pattern continues:

• Acts 2:38–39: “The promise is for you and your children.”

• 1 Corinthians 7:14: Children of even one believing parent are called “holy.”

• Galatians 3:8: Paul quotes the promise to Abraham—and calls it “the Gospel.”

Household baptisms reinforce this continuity—Cornelius, Lydia, the Philippian jailer, Crispus, and Stephanas—all were baptized with their households.

What’s at stake here isn’t just theological precision—it’s whether we see children as inside the Kingdom or outside. In neglecting infant baptism, we risk repeating the disciples’ error—unintentionally hindering those whom Christ invites.

If Jesus blessed the children brought to Him, should they not also receive the sign of His blessing?

Joel Beeke says,

“Baptism is God’s pledge to the child; it is His claim, not the child’s testimony. That covenant claim should shape the entire upbringing of the child.”

And Sinclair Ferguson adds,

“To be a covenant child is to be raised not on neutral ground, but on holy ground.”

Jesus concludes by saying,

“Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”

In Mark’s account, we’re told, “He took them in His arms and blessed them.”

The disciples thought the Kingdom had “bigger fish to fry.” But Jesus redefines greatness. In Matthew 18, He says, “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Who belongs in the Kingdom? The humble. The dependent. The ones who confess that salvation is by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone.

And what better picture of humility and dependence than a child? Children who can do nothing for themselves—who rely completely on the mercy and provision of another.

Jesus shows us that children are not merely symbols of the Kingdom’s character—they are also recipients of its promises. After all, it would make little sense for Him to declare that the Kingdom belongs to them, only to later deny them its sign.

As Christ reveals the heart of His Kingdom, let us not neglect those whom He invites. Let us bring our children to Him in faith, trusting that He blesses them and claims them for Himself. And may we, too, come before Him with the humility and dependence of a child—knowing that our salvation rests not in what we do, but entirely in what Christ has done.

May this truth shape our homes, our church, and our lives—that both young and old alike may know, experience, and rejoice in the immeasurable grace of our Lord.

Those stickers first appeared in the U.S. in the early 2000s, partly in response to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan after 9/11. The idea was simple: people of various beliefs can live together in peace. However, whether or not that was the original intent doesn’t matter—the effect was that it quickly became a symbol of the postmodern age.

Our nation has always operated on some premise of pluralism. The separation of church and state, after all, was meant to keep the state out of the church—not the other way around, as many assume. But in the postmodern age, pluralism took a nose dive into relativism and subjectivism and the “coexist” sticker quickly became just one symptom out of many.

All religions suddenly became equally up for grabs. Alongside the sticker emerged a multitude of other illustrations such as:

• Two people stand over a number on the ground. One sees a 6, the other a 9.

  

• Several blind men try to describe an elephant. One grabs the trunk and says it feels like a snake. Another holds a leg and says it’s like a tree.

Both of these illustrations try to claim that religions are simply different perspectives of looking at the same reality, and therefore one cannot say with confidence that his has more validity than the other.

The refutation of these is easy and has already been beaten to death. Their premise presupposes the existence of a unified reality that somehow the person making these claims can see. By claiming that all men are blindfolded, the one making the claim is already assuming that he is the only one who sees. It’s claim of certainty that tries to accuse everyone else of uncertainty. The argument collapses on itself and needs not much more investigation.

However, the problem is that post-modernism hasn’t stopped at tolerance. If we accept the premises of total relativism, people won’t just give up on truth—they’ll grow to hate it. Truth becomes nothing more than a bargaining chip, defined by whoever has power.

From a Christian perspective, truth is steady and reliable. For example, the uniformity of nature means the laws that govern the world today will govern it tomorrow. Good and evil remain the same in America as in Iceland. And whether or not anyone is around to hear the tree fall, 2+2 will still equal 4.

The alternative on the other hand, always boils down to a power struggle. If truth is not rooted in a stable reality outside of subjectivism and personal preferences, then the consequence is that it is a social construct determined by who is in charge at the time. This is primarily why Marx believed that Christianity was the “opiate of the masses”, and this is also why many believe today that their truth can only be established by the removal of those who are in power.

Like a child who loses patience waiting for the swing, they don’t appeal to dialogue—they appeal to force.

Christians can buy into this without realizing it. Words like “minority” and “oppressed” tug at our heartstrings, even when they no longer reflect demographics so much as a narrative of “voicelessness.” And because Christians are often compassionate, we feel an instinct to side with the “powerless,” sometimes without thinking carefully about what’s being assumed.

But my hope is that the saints of Christ will be wiser in the public square, and especially behind the pulpit. Truth is not something to be bartered. If you’re tempted to give up your preaching slot to someone because they claim a “special insight,” think twice. If you feel bad that preaching the whole counsel of God’s Word doesn’t highlight other “truths,” don’t.

Far from being oppressive, truth rooted in God’s Word is liberating. It grounds us in a reality that cannot be shaken by politics, culture, or power struggles. It frees us from the endless bargaining of a world that treats truth like a currency.

We do not give people “turns” at truth, because that’s simply not how truth works. The pulpit belongs to Christ, and His Word does not take shifts.

Last night I wrote a short post on here about Charlie Kirk’s assassination. I couldn’t spend much time on it, but I had such a sense of urgency and necessity that I just immediately published it.

Some time has passed since then, and I’ve spent much of that time wondering why I’ve become so emotionally invested in the assassination of a man to whom I had little to no connection.

Why does this tragedy ring so loudly—not only in my heart, but in the hearts of millions of Americans across the country?

After some reflection, I think I know why.

1. Charlie was, first and foremost, a husband and a father. Before he was a spokesperson, he was a 31-year-old man with two young children. His gravitas and public persona may have seemed impressive to many, but the reality is that settling down early—finding a wife and raising children—was probably one of the biggest contributions to his maturity as a man. That family will now grow old without him.

2. Though political, Charlie was not necessarily a politician. What he championed was common sense, reason, and even revelation. He believed in a true marketplace of ideas, where thoughts could be exchanged on the basis of human reasonableness. Many of his debates I love and revisit often. Others make me wince in disagreement. And yet I believe that, had I ever met him, he would have welcomed even my disagreements with fairness and open dialogue.

3. Lastly, Charlie was a Christian. Though he initially emerged as a secular conservative, over time he became increasingly vocal about his faith, which grew to become the bedrock of his political and moral vision. Critics might argue he was only nominally evangelical, but the evidence tells a different story. There is no shortage of footage showing his willingness to share his faith. And when he recounted the Gospel to his listeners, one thing was clear: for Charlie Kirk, salvation was in Christ alone.

What unsettles me most in all of this is the simple truth that Charlie Kirk, behind the conferences and the company, was not a larger-than-life figure. He was a man with a family, a man committed to reason, and a man of faith. He is you. He is me. And that is the man they chose to silence.

Because the truth is, the labels of “extremist,” “bigot,” and “fascist” are no longer reserved for outspoken figures standing on college campuses with a microphone. They are now applied to every man and woman who dares to believe in the things our forefathers once took for granted: that marriage is between a man and a woman; that the unborn deserve protection; that our nation has the right to secure its borders; that crime deserves just punishment; that God created humanity male and female—nothing more, nothing less; and that citizens have the God-given right to bear arms in defense of themselves, their property and their families.

Charlie stood for these truths openly. Many of us hold them quietly. Perhaps his death grips us so personally because it was the silencing of a voice that validated our presence in a world that often villainizes us.

Then I saw the wicked buried. They used to go in and out of the holy place and were praised in the city where they had done such things. This also is vanity. Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil. Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life, yet I know that it will be well with those who fear God, because they fear before him. But it will not be well with the wicked, neither will he prolong his days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God.

-Ecclesiastes 8:10–13

Today, we witnessed a man murdered in broad daylight for exercising his freedom of speech on a college campus. Charlie Kirk—a leading figure in the conservative political world—was shot and killed while speaking at a Turning Point USA conference in Utah.

What should have been recognized as a bipartisan act of violence quickly became yet another reminder of how fractured our country’s moral compass has become.

On one side, the natural response: prayers and condolences for a faithful man who leaves behind a wife and two children. On the other, rhetoric that has become nearly synonymous with the left: “He had it coming.”

That mindset reveals something deeper than politics. It exposes a spiritual rot—the belief that certain evils can be justified if they align with our frustrations or grievances. We’ve seen it before: in the Luigi Mangione case, where outrage at the healthcare system turned a murderer into an overnight sensation for progressives; in the manifestos of transgender school shooters who claimed oppression by traditional Christian values; and even in the twisted commentary that followed assassination attempts on the president.

Charlie Kirk’s faith-based conservatism was no exception to this hatred. He invited debate, discussion, and a free exchange of ideas—even when it was uncomfortable. He believed that honest dialogue humanizes opponents and helps us grow as a nation. But like a child flipping the table after losing his favorite game, the world could not defeat his ideas—so it resorted to violence.

And yet, Ecclesiastes 8 reminds us of a sobering truth: earthly justice is often delayed, distorted, or denied. The wicked may appear to prosper while the righteous suffer.

But what separates the righteous from the wicked is this: even in their affliction, the righteous will not repay evil with evil. Justice belongs to the Lord. That truth should humble those who justify violence in the name of ideology—and comfort those who endure it, knowing that vindication and salvation come from Him.

That may sound like an overgeneralization—but given our proximity to New York City, it shouldn’t be surprising. I don’t blame secularism or liberalism, though. Churches have always preached the gospel in pagan cities since the days of Antioch.

The real problem in regions like mine doesn’t come from external opposition—it comes from internal wear and tear.

To be fair, I’m grateful for the broader evangelical presence that has allowed many churches to be planted nearby. There’s no shortage of options—Methodist, Baptist, CMA, CRC, PCA, and more. While doctrinal purity matters immensely, there’s a kind of cultural preservation that even nominal Christianity upholds. It’s part of the reason the tide of secularism hasn’t fully overtaken our majority-blue town. That’s a mercy.

But for those churches that claim to care about doctrinal precision—those that identify as Reformed or confessional—there always seems to be something holding them back. While they’re Reformed on paper, there’s often an unspoken effort to distance themselves from the culture, history, and full implications of confessional Reformed theology.

Embracing the risk of being politically incorrect: I believe the meme-ified spirit of “I’m not like other girls” is alive and well in the modern Reformed church. There’s an insecurity—an image to manage.

“I’m not like those other churches”.

They’ll proclaim the five solas with boldness. They’ll rightly reject the prosperity gospel and affirm the doctrines of grace.

But on issues outside of soteriology, the volume immediately dips. Complementarianism becomes “soft” complementarianism. Cessationism becomes “soft” cessationism. Every controversial stance gets walked back with qualifiers.

It’s not that these churches don’t have convictions. They do. But those convictions always tend to land somewhere between two abstract extremes, as if the goal is to avoid being mistaken for the wrong type of Reformed person. Carefully moderated positions are constructed that feel less like theological conclusions and more like image control.

I am lightly speaking about the Tim Keller-ite impulse toward “third-wayism.” That framework, which seeks to transcend the binary of left and right, is particularly tempting for urban or suburban churches trying to survive cultural hostility without losing social credibility.

But at the same time, I don’t think this is just about Keller’s influence. These churches constantly feel the need to distance themselves from something.

Not just theological extremes, but from any group that might carry cultural baggage: conservatives, fundamentalists, reconstructionists. Pick your poison. The fear of guilt by association outweighs the courage to own their confession.

What’s worse is that this distancing instinct often leads to distorted interpretations of Scripture—not necessarily out of malice, but from an anxious need to differentiate.

A church wary of Peter Wagner-style hyper-charismaticism won’t move toward Richard Gaffin’s thoughtful cessationism. Instead, it lands somewhere in Wayne Grudem’s brand of soft continuationism. John Stott’s “complemegalitarianism” is another common one, and much more could also be said about liturgy and the casual treatment of the regulative principle.

Often, their approach to interpretation begins with the question: “What would the bad kind of Reformed person say?”—and then works backward to avoid sounding like that caricature.

This is not to say that there are no genuine believers of those views, but for many, their hermeneutics have become purely reactionary. Many pastors grew up in churches or institutions they now want to avoid being mistaken for. So they teach what they believe, but spend just as much time clarifying what they’re not. “We’re complementarian, but not patriarchal.” “We’re Reformed, but not cage-stage.” The result is a church culture built on allergy rather than clarity.

This instinct isn’t just psychological—it’s ideological.

In 1965, Marxist theorist Herbert Marcuse introduced the idea of “repressive tolerance.” He argued that real control doesn’t always require censorship. Instead, you allow all opinions to exist, but quietly promote one while keeping the others in the background. Over time, the promoted view becomes dominant—not because others were banned, but because they’re no longer taken seriously.

The modern evangelical ecosystem—especially in urban Reformed circles—has done something similar. It marginalizes robust, historic Reformed theology not by banning it, but by making it look cringe, fringe, or extreme. Even those who believe it feel compelled to soften the edges. They don’t want to be associated with the wrong tribe. They want to be taken seriously and respectable.

But Christianity was never meant to be respectable by the world’s standards. Our calling is not to say, “We’re not like those other churches,” but to say with our lives, “We are like Christ.”

If you want to ruin your day, you won’t have to look far. Just scroll through your newsfeed and you’ll find plenty of fuel.

An article.
An injustice.
A political pundit.

Ask, and you shall receive—especially because the system is designed that way. A large part of modern media thrives on envy and rage. Whether you’re on the left and searching for the next cisgender white man to blame for your circumstances, or you’re convinced that woke-ness has ruined America (which to be fair, it has), there’s no shortage of “rage bait” online. They know exactly what you want, and they’ll give it to you by flooding you with material like a firehose through a straw.

But don't assume your so-called "righteous anger" stays confined to the comment section. Close the door and wait.

A small blemish in your house.
A minor irritation with your spouse.
A misbehaving child.

Watch how a single match sets the whole home ablaze. Once you see red, it’s the only color you see.

Anger is easy. It’s everywhere. It’s always waiting—just beneath the surface, ready to take over.

But it doesn’t have to win.

Learning from David's Wisdom

More than anyone, King David knew this impulse. Rather than denying it, he offered this counsel:

“Be angry, and do not sin”
(Psalm 4:4a)

Your anger might be justified, but your sin will never be. The challenge is that most of us aren't very good at telling the difference. We shout into the void, convinced we're standing for righteousness—but more often than not, our emotions betray us. True righteous anger is rare; it's anger that aligns perfectly with God's heart for justice without being tainted by our own pride, hurt, or desire for revenge.

So how do you distinguish between righteous anger and sinful anger?

“ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent.” (Psalm 4:4b)

David’s advice: Go to bed. Sleep it off. Give it a minute. Israel’s king suggests that a little bit of time and silence might be the first step toward a thoughtful response.

You can take your rage to your bed instead of letting it out on your spouse. You can sit in silence instead of rushing to your keyboard. You can think before you speak—not because silence is golden in itself, but because it makes room for David's next instruction.

Turn Inward and Upward

“Offer right sacrifices,
and put your trust in the Lord.” (v5)

That's the next step. Not venting or posting, but worship. David turns inward and upward—away from vengeance and toward reverence. In practical terms, this means bringing our anger to God in prayer, confessing our need for His perspective, and asking Him to transform our hearts. It means choosing gratitude over grievance, even when grievance feels justified.

If you're looking for a reason to be angry, you'll find it. Discontentment is just a newsfeed refresh away. But David doesn't look to culture or the news for peace. He looks to the Lord.

“There are many who say, ‘Who will show us some good?’
Lift up the light of your face upon us, O Lord!”

You have put more joy in my heart
than they have when their grain and wine abound.” (v6-7)

David receives his joy not from surveying the world for problems to solve or enemies to defeat, but from the face of God. He finds satisfaction not in outrage, but in God's presence.

The Peace That Puts You to Sleep

And then comes the climax:

“In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” (v8)

He’s saying, “I’m just going to bed because I have peace.”

Even though there's an infinite number of reasons to be upset with the world, David calls it an early night. The joy of the Lord literally puts him to sleep. Even in chaos, he can close his eyes.

This isn't escapism or denial. It's the profound rest that comes from entrusting your concerns and even irritations to a God who never sleeps, who works while you rest, and who promises that His justice will ultimately prevail.

I’ll admit, I’d never had much interaction with children with disabilities. As a kid, in my immaturity, I often avoided them because I didn’t know what to say or how to act. As I got older, I became less awkward, but I still found myself thinking, “Their parents must have it so hard.” Disability always felt like a world far removed from my own.

But now that world was about to come crashing into mine.

My wife took it the hardest. She cried often. Maybe she wondered if it was her fault—because I know there were moments when I wondered if it was mine. But one of the strangest parts of that season was that I was never quite sure what we were really grieving.

Our family’s belief in the sanctity of life was never up for debate; we knew we would keep this child no matter what. Yet there were days when it felt like another voice was inside me. One day I’d be comforting my wife—cracking jokes, reassuring her that our daughter would be loved just like all the other kids at church—and the next day I’d find myself asking God why He had given us this cup to drink. I was confused and afraid, caught between trust and doubt.

It was that confusion that led me to make a choice I know I will never make again.

After all, the MaterniT21 was only a screening test. These tests don’t diagnose; they simply estimate whether there’s a higher or lower chance of certain genetic conditions. Normally, if a screening comes back high-risk, parents can choose to confirm it with a true diagnostic test like chorionic villus sampling (CVS) or an amniocentesis.

Those tests do diagnose chromosomal conditions with near-100% accuracy, but they’re invasive and carry a small risk of miscarriage—around 0.1% to 0.3% with modern methods, though older estimates were closer to 1–2%.

Plagued by anxiety and desperate for certainty, we chose to move forward with the amniocentesis. It felt like the only way to silence the questions in our minds.

The amniocentesis was quick. They inserted a thin, long needle into my wife’s abdomen and withdrew a small amount of amniotic fluid. We were in and out within 30 minutes without any complications. The baby was fine, and just as we expected, that 60% became a 100% confirmation that our first child was going to have Down syndrome. No more wondering.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just done something very irresponsible. Because of our need for certainty, we had put our child at risk—no matter how small that risk seemed.

Some may look at this and think I’m blowing it out of proportion. After all, 1–2% is nothing compared to the risks we take every day. But if my family was determined to uphold the sanctity of life regardless of the outcome, was this risk truly necessary? Was the certainty really worth it?

The sad reality is that today people make far worse decisions with far less clarity. In the United States, around 400,000 to 600,000 people live with Down syndrome, yet thousands more never get the chance because they are aborted after a screening merely suggests they might have this condition. Each year, about 5,700 babies with Down syndrome are born, but that number would likely be closer to 9,000 if not for elective abortions following non-diagnostic tests like the MaterniT21.

Behind these numbers lies a quiet atrocity: countless families trade their child’s life for the illusion of comfort and control—discarding little ones who could have brought immeasurable joy and dignity into the world—all because we crave certainty. We want to believe life will be easy, that everything will go according to plan, and that we deserve the perfect child.

Last night, my daughter woke me up for hours, running from her room into the hallway at full speed. When I tried to soothe her, her sensory struggles made her kick me in the face over and over until my wife finally stepped in. When I tell her to sleep, she just laughs, unable to understand.

It’s frustrating at times. It’s not easy. I’m painfully aware of the differences between her and the other kids at church. There are real financial costs to raising a child with a disability—time spent at countless appointments and therapy sessions. There’s no neat, fairy tale ending here.

And yet, the joy she brings into my life runs deeper than I ever imagined—a joy I would trade every day of my old, quieter, childless life to keep.

A smile that lights up the room.

A hug that could melt the hardest heart.

There’s no shame in wanting the norm; God ordered creation to work in patterns and majorities for a reason. But sometimes He calls you outside that norm—and when He does, you trust that His providence holds a glory far greater than your plans. Uncertainty, in His hands, becomes a beautiful thing in its own time.

I decided to take this as an opportunity to give some insight into who I am to the sudden influx of subscribers that have come to this page. Thank you for giving my humble Substack the time of your day.

This will hopefully be the first entry of a series where I take a look at some of my important life events and see how they’ve shaped me to be who I am today, and if I have any new thoughts now, several years later.

2016-2019: Early Ministry Years

The Lord called me into ministry around 2016. I had worked in software engineering for about two years post-undergrad, but eventually mustered up the courage to send in an application to Westminster Theological Seminary.

From several years prior and through my seminary days, I served as a pastoral intern at a church that I thought I was going to die at. That either means I was whole-heartedly devoted to this church, or I literally thought I was going to die there. I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide which one I mean.

To be honest, I was at odds theologically with a lot of what this church stood for. However, I admired their passion and the fact that they carried themselves as a church that was “serious” about discipleship. They would tell me repeatedly that the theology I learned in seminary and “real life” ministry were at odds with each other. Being convinced of this, I figured I could overlook some of their secondary and tertiary issues for the sake of spreading the Gospel. I would find out eventually that I was wrong.

In 2019, that church would plant in Queens, NY. My fiancee (now wife) and I eventually were sent out as assistance and I was hired as an assistant pastor. The secondary and tertiary issues from the previous church carried over unto the new one. I was aware of this, but was optimistic and thought that it wouldn’t be a big deal. Being near the end of my seminary degree, I was excited for the new setting and hoped that I would have some more opportunities to preach and teach at this new church.

2020: When Convictions Collided

I got married in 2020 on a Friday in March. About 5 days before my wedding day, the governor of NJ reduced gathering capacity down to 100. 4 days before, he reduced it again to 80. And then 2 days before, 20. Our invite list shrank from the entire church and extended family, to just our parents and my pastor.

Such also was the case for our newly minted church. Within three months of planting, we shifted entirely to online services for the rest of the year. Quite the way for my wife and I to start a new life together.

However, as jarring as the shift to isolation and quarantines was, nothing was quite as bad as the sudden influx of politics into my ministry life. I use the term “politics” loosely, because that would soon turn out to just describe theological liberalism.

I will freely admit that up until 2020, I was politically ignorant. Not only was I oblivious to current events, but I didn’t have any real concrete views of my own. So when the TV told me that I should hate the bad orange man, hated him I did, and when Derek Chauvin pinned down George Floyd on millions of screens across the country, I joined in the outrage.

I was scared for minorities across the USA. I feared for people of my own skin color, who were forced to live in this white man’s world. And so like others, I signaled that we were going to be part of something greater. With this black box on our Instagrams, we were going to be a voice for the voiceless and pave the way for a future free of systemic racism. That was the plan.

That is, until I did some research and read my Bible after a cold shower.

I’m not quite sure when the flip happened for me, so truly I can only attribute it to the grace of God. Things weren’t adding up. I started by watching body cam footage, to reading police reports and even CCTV cameras of other incidents like Breonna Taylor’s. Every situation was messy, at best. So why were people interpreting them in such a monolithic way?

I stayed up that night — and the night after. By the third day, I was deep into Hegel, Marx, Antonio Gramsci, and the writings of the Frankfurt School. Some solid brothers in the faith walked with me through it all. Over and over, three words rose to the surface: Critical Race Theory. Whatever this was, it had fooled all of us.

My pastor wanted to bring the “experts” in to speak on race. I pushed back. That did not go well. Long story short, we eventually parted ways.

2021 - Like-Minded Saints

After departing my previous church, a place where I thought I was going to live out the rest of my days, I felt lost. There was no plan B, I had no ministry offers lined up, especially not ones where I could preach my convictions.

But in my searching, my friend from seminary introduced me to his church’s podcast. They had recently done an episode on liberation theology and from my understanding, they were the only ones in the area who were standing on biblical ground regarding the issue. There was an intern position open at the church. I applied and the rest is history.

During my first sermon at that church, I railed against Critical Race Theory. I was passionate. I was convinced it was a plague that the church needed to purge, and that its influence had ruined many well-meaning Reformed churches. I remember calling it “Critical Revenge Theory”, because it takes justice out of God’s hands and puts it in the hands of the “oppressed”. My thought was, “people need to hear this”.

When I came down, a brother pulled me aside and told me, “You don’t have to fight anymore”. He was right. This was a church that was mature beyond its years. Before I had even arrived, they had addressed this error and all its members were in agreement.

In Hindsight: Secondary and Tertiary Issues

This was unusual to me. For the past several years, I felt that I had lived in a theological wilderness. While I only mentioned Critical Race Theory, the truth is that was only the tipping point. I was a cessationist at a charismatic church. A complementarian serving under several women pastors. The list goes on. Every church I had been at convinced me that theological accuracy was secondary for successful ministry. But while I have nothing but respect for my previous pastors, one piece of wisdom that I have gleaned about in ministry in hindsight is this:

Sometimes secondary and tertiary issues do not remain secondary and tertiary issues.

At my current church, I have been dubbed the “CRT Guy” because of how often I speak out against it from the pulpit. I have since tried to cut back on it simply because there are other things the saints needs to hear. However, the reason I was so adamant against it is because 2020 revealed to me what inerrancy and infallibility meant for a lot of churches.

The claim after all, was that we lack clarity and the full revelation of God’s Word if we have not achieved diversity in a satisfactory way. While my objective in writing this is not to give a comprehensive analysis as to why this is wrong, the premise easily begs the question: “What is satisfactory? When is it enough and who determines that?”

After all, the main focal point of Scripture is not in its diversity of authors, literary genres or narratives (as beautiful and wonderful as those may be), but it is in its unity as the inspired revelation of God’s Word. It is the unfolding story of God reconciling a sinful people to Himself. What I was hearing from multiple churches that even had Reformed leanings was that we were missing out on an essential part of ministry by not uplifting minority voices and partaking in social justice. Obviously, this would presuppose that preaching the Word and the ministry of reconciliation to God was no longer a sufficient mission for the church. The new mission was equity, equality and discovering your intersectionality of oppression.

Perhaps a decade ago I would have felt I was splitting hairs. The main goal after all, is preaching the Gospel to the lost. However, ten years of ministry in hindsight have shown me that secondary and tertiary issues often stem from a faulty understanding of the primary. Even the descriptors “secondary and tertiary” are aimed towards describing what is unnecessary doctrine for saving faith. That much I affirm. However, when we use those descriptors, by no means are we using them to say that some things of Scripture are secondary and tertiary.

You may not be a complementarian, and perhaps that will not damn you, but by no means does that presume that John 3:16 is a primary text and 1 Timothy 2:11-15 isn’t.

Ten years have shown me that when a church has secondary and tertiary issues, be careful of what else may rear its head later down the line. Many seminarians have been gaslit into believing that theology takes a back seat in “real life” ministry. This is not true. I have seen the beauty of theological accuracy grow a church before my very eyes. Theology doesn’t hinder ministry, but rather it shapes it, guards it, and gives it life. Without sound doctrine, a church drifts with every cultural wind. But when a church clings to the whole counsel of God, even the so-called secondary things, it stands firm and grows strong, just as the Lord intends.