Tag: Bible Study

  • Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Last weekend, Lisa and I had the opportunity to see David at Sight & Sound in Branson.

    The production was outstanding.

    Like most people, I expected to leave thinking about Goliath.

    Instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nathan.

    As I watched the prophet confront David over his sin with Bathsheba and Uriah, I found myself comparing that scene with another confrontation recorded in Scripture.

    Two kings.

    Two prophets.

    Two sins.

    Two completely different responses.

    King Saul was confronted by Samuel after sparing King Agag and keeping the best of the Amalekite livestock, despite God’s clear command to destroy everything.

    King David was confronted by Nathan after committing adultery with Bathsheba and arranging for Uriah to be killed in battle.

    Neither man sought out correction.

    God sent a prophet to them.

    Both men had sinned.

    Both men were confronted.

    But that’s where the similarities end.

    When Samuel confronted Saul, his first response wasn’t confession.

    It was self-defense.

    “I have obeyed…”

    “The people took of the spoil…”

    “It was to sacrifice unto the Lord…”

    Excuse followed excuse.

    Responsibility was shifted.

    Blame was shared.

    Even after finally saying, “I have sinned,” Saul immediately added another request:

    “Honor me now, I pray thee, before the elders of my people.”

    Even in repentance, he was still concerned about preserving his image.

    Then Nathan stood before David.

    He didn’t begin with an accusation.

    He told a story.

    A rich man stole the only lamb a poor man possessed.

    David was furious.

    “The man that hath done this thing shall surely die!”

    Then Nathan spoke four words that have echoed through history.

    “Thou art the man.”

    At that moment, David could have done exactly what Saul had done.

    He could have blamed Bathsheba.

    He could have blamed loneliness.

    He could have blamed the pressures of leadership.

    He could have blamed anyone but himself.

    Instead, David uttered one of the shortest—and most powerful—confessions in all of Scripture.

    “I have sinned against the LORD.”

    No excuses.

    No blame shifting.

    No attempts to justify himself.

    Just honest repentance.

    David’s sin was enormous.

    Adultery.

    Deception.

    Murder.

    None of it was minimized.

    The consequences were real, painful, and far-reaching.

    His family suffered.

    His kingdom suffered.

    David himself suffered.

    Repentance does not erase earthly consequences.

    But it does restore fellowship with God.

    I’ve often wondered why preachers spend far more time talking about David and Goliath than David and Nathan.

    Perhaps it’s because Goliath is easier.

    We all like sermons that ask,

    “What giant are you facing?”

    Nathan asks a far more uncomfortable question.

    “Where are you refusing God’s correction?”

    One sermon inspires us.

    The other examines us.

    One points to battles around us.

    The other exposes battles within us.

    As I reflected on the production afterward, another thought settled into my heart.

    The greatest difference between Saul and David wasn’t that one sinned and the other didn’t.

    Both failed.

    Both needed mercy.

    The difference was what happened after God confronted them.

    Saul defended himself.

    David humbled himself.

    One protected his reputation.

    The other surrendered his heart.

    I don’t believe God is looking for people who never fail.

    If He were, none of us would qualify.

    I believe He’s looking for people who remain teachable.

    People who are willing to hear hard truth.

    People who care more about holiness than appearance.

    People who, when confronted by the Spirit of God, are willing to say,

    “Lord… You’re right.”

    Because every one of us will eventually have a “Thou art the man” moment.

    The question isn’t whether correction will come.

    The question is what kind of heart it will find.

    Final Word

    David wasn’t called “a man after God’s own heart” because he never sinned.

    He was called that because when God exposed his sin, he didn’t harden his heart.

    He humbled it.

    The difference between Saul and David wasn’t the seriousness of their failures.

    It was the condition of their hearts after they were confronted.

    May we never become so concerned with protecting our reputation that we stop listening to God’s correction.

    Because the path to restoration doesn’t begin with defending ourselves.

    It begins with four simple words…

    “I have sinned, Lord.”

  • When Conviction Loses Compassion

    When Conviction Loses Compassion

    One of the saddest realities of our culture is that we have become convinced we must choose between truth and compassion.

    We’re told that if we stand for biblical truth, we cannot truly love people.

    Or, if we genuinely love people, we must eventually surrender biblical truth.

    Jesus accepted neither option.

    He never compromised truth.

    He never withheld compassion.

    And somehow, two thousand years later, many of us have managed to separate what He perfectly united.

    Before we go any further, let me be equally clear about where I stand. I believe God’s design for marriage and sexuality is revealed in Scripture, and I do not have the authority to redefine what God has already spoken. At the same time, I believe every person—regardless of their beliefs, identity, choices, or lifestyle—is created in the image of God and is therefore worthy of dignity, compassion, and respect. These convictions are not in conflict. In fact, they belong together.

    I recently came across a simple quote that has lingered in my mind:

    “When you hold a belief so tightly you cannot see another’s humanity, it will eventually obscure your own.”

    Whether the author intended it or not, I immediately thought of Jesus.

    Not because He abandoned truth…

    But because He never allowed truth to become an excuse for forgetting the value of the person standing in front of Him.

    Think about His ministry.

    The woman caught in adultery.

    The Samaritan woman at the well.

    Matthew, the tax collector.

    Zacchaeus.

    The lepers everyone else avoided.

    The demoniac living among the tombs.

    People whom society had already categorized, condemned, dismissed, or avoided.

    Jesus never ignored their sin.

    But neither did He ignore their humanity.

    He saw people before He addressed their problems.

    Genesis tells us something remarkable.

    Every human being is created in the image of God.

    Not just Christians.

    Not just people who agree with us.

    Not just those living according to Scripture.

    Every person.

    Sin has marred that image, but it has not erased it.

    That truth should forever change the way followers of Christ see people.

    The person addicted to drugs.

    The man sitting in prison.

    The woman who has had multiple abortions.

    The atheist.

    The Muslim.

    The political activist.

    The LGBTQ+ individual.

    The person who hurt you.

    The family member who rejected your values.

    The coworker who mocks your faith.

    Every one of them still bears the imprint of the Creator.

    If God saw enough value in them to create them…

    And enough value in them to send His Son to die for them…

    Who am I to pretend they are beneath my compassion?

    James writes something that should stop every Christian in their tracks.

    With our mouths we bless God…

    And with those same mouths we curse people who have been made in the likeness of God.

    James says these things should not be.

    Think about that.

    When I insult, mock, dehumanize, or rejoice in another person’s humiliation, I am doing so against someone who still carries the fingerprints of God.

    That doesn’t excuse sin.

    It simply reminds me that sinners are still people.

    Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become so busy defending biblical positions that we’ve forgotten why God gave us those truths in the first place.

    The purpose of truth is not to win arguments.

    The purpose of truth is to lead people to Christ.

    Jesus never confused acceptance with approval.

    He welcomed people without affirming everything they did.

    He loved them enough to meet them where they were.

    He also loved them too much to leave them there.

    To the woman caught in adultery He extended mercy…

    Then He called her to leave her sin.

    Those are not contradictory actions.

    They are the very definition of biblical love.

    Love without truth leaves people lost.

    Truth without love leaves people hopeless.

    The Gospel has always been both.

    During the past month, as conversations surrounding Pride once again filled social media, I noticed something that deeply grieved me.

    Not the disagreements.

    Disagreement is inevitable.

    Christians and our culture have very different understandings of sexuality, marriage, and identity.

    Those conversations matter.

    But what disturbed me wasn’t disagreement.

    It was the hatred.

    The mocking.

    The cruel jokes.

    The celebration of another person’s pain.

    The comments that seemed to delight in making someone feel less than human.

    I couldn’t help but wonder…

    When did we decide that cruelty became a fruit of the Spirit?

    There is nothing Christlike about humiliating someone.

    There is nothing holy about ridicule.

    There is nothing righteous about treating another image-bearer of God as though they have no value.

    If we believe someone is living apart from God’s design, shouldn’t that move us toward compassion instead of contempt?

    After all…

    That’s exactly how Jesus treated us.

    The Apostle Paul wrote words that every believer should remember:

    “Such were some of you.”

    Those words level the ground beneath the cross.

    Every Christian has a past.

    Every Christian has needed grace.

    Every Christian has stood in desperate need of mercy.

    The only difference between us and anyone still trapped in sin is not our goodness.

    It’s God’s grace.

    That realization should produce humility instead of arrogance.

    Compassion instead of contempt.

    Tears instead of insults.

    Perhaps the greatest danger isn’t abandoning biblical convictions.

    It’s allowing those convictions to harden our hearts.

    The Pharisees knew Scripture better than almost anyone.

    Yet they looked into the eyes of the Son of God and could not recognize Him because their hearts had become so consumed with being right that they no longer loved the people they were supposed to shepherd.

    Knowledge had replaced mercy.

    Religion had replaced relationship.

    Truth had lost compassion.

    May that never be true of us.

    As followers of Christ, we should never apologize for what Scripture teaches.

    But neither should we apologize for loving the people Christ died to save.

    Those are not opposing commitments.

    They are inseparable.

    If my convictions cause me to look down on people…

    Something is wrong with my heart.

    If my theology allows me to despise those Christ willingly died for…

    Something is wrong with my theology.

    Because every person I meet is someone Jesus considered worth stretching out His hands for.

    And if He could love them enough to die for them…

    Surely I can love them enough to treat them with dignity.

    Final Word

    The world often tells us we must choose between conviction and compassion.

    Jesus chose neither.

    He embodied both.

    He never compromised truth.

    He never forgot a person’s worth.

    As His followers, neither should we.

    Because biblical conviction should never make us less compassionate.

    It should remind us just how much compassion God first showed us.

  • Scripture Is Not About Me… But It Still Reveals Me

    Scripture Is Not About Me… But It Still Reveals Me

    Yesterday, we talked about James describing God’s Word as a mirror.

    That thought sparked some interesting discussion.

    One person commented that the Bible is written so we can see Christ and follow God—not so we can see ourselves.

    In one sense, I completely agree.

    The Bible is not primarily a self-help book. It is the revelation of God. From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture points us to God’s character, God’s promises, God’s mercy, God’s judgment, and ultimately God’s plan of redemption through Jesus Christ.

    Christ is the center of Scripture.

    But I think we can make a mistake if we stop there.

    If Scripture reveals Christ, and Christ exposes what is in my heart, then self-examination becomes unavoidable.

    Throughout the Bible, we find people who encountered God and immediately became aware of themselves.

    When Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, his first response was not to analyze the sins of the nation around him. He cried, “Woe is me! for I am undone.”

    When Peter witnessed the miraculous catch of fish, he fell at Jesus’ feet and said, “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.”

    At the Last Supper, when Jesus told the disciples that one of them would betray Him, they did not immediately begin pointing fingers. Instead, one by one, they asked, “Lord, is it I?”

    In every case, seeing God more clearly caused them to see themselves more clearly.

    That is why James compares God’s Word to a mirror.

    A mirror does not create flaws.

    A mirror reveals what is already there.

    The purpose of Scripture is not to make me the hero of the story. The purpose of Scripture is to reveal God. Yet when God is revealed, I begin to see myself honestly.

    We do not read David so we can pretend we are David.

    We do not read Esau so we can condemn Esau.

    We do not read Peter simply to admire Peter.

    These men often become mirrors.

    David reveals the heart of repentance.

    Esau reveals the danger of placing temporary desires above eternal blessings.

    Peter reveals how quickly passion can outrun wisdom.

    Judas reveals that it is possible to be near Jesus while withholding complete surrender.

    The goal is not identification.

    The goal is transformation.

    The question is not, “Which Bible character am I?”

    The better question is, “Lord, what are You showing me that needs to change?”

    That question requires humility.

    It is easy to read about the Pharisees and see someone else.

    It is easy to read about Judas and think of someone else’s betrayal.

    It is easy to read about Esau and think of someone else’s poor choices.

    It is much harder to ask whether traces of those same attitudes might exist in our own hearts.

    Yet that is often where real growth begins.

    The closer we draw to God, the less interested we become in evaluating everyone else and the more willing we become to examine ourselves.

    Perhaps that is why the disciples’ question still echoes through Scripture.

    Not, “Lord, is it him?”

    Not, “Lord, is it her?”

    Not, “Lord, is it them?”

    But, “Lord, is it I?”

    When we open God’s Word, may we see Christ more clearly than ever before.

    And in His light, may we have the courage to see ourselves honestly as well.