“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.” Matthew 22:37–38
Rome – The fresco of St. Gregory of Nazianzen on the ceiling in the church Chiesa di san Giuseppe alla Lungara
The Bible actually affirms studying and learning Scripture as an expression of love for God—not something to dismiss. Jesus taught that loving God includes using “all your mind,” and God desires that we show love and obedience through godly learning, since He is glorified when we use our minds to understand His Word, ways, and character.
Throughout church history, some believers have feared that education and Bible study produce pride. While pride is a real danger, ignorance is not the biblical solution. Scripture repeatedly calls believers to grow in wisdom, understanding, discernment, and knowledge. The answer to pride is humility, not anti-intellectualism. Several passages directly address this tension between knowledge and love: Paul acknowledges that knowledge exists among believers, but emphasizes that knowledge alone inflates the ego while love builds others up (1 Cor 8:1). Even extraordinary knowledge—prophecy, mysteries, and faith—amounts to nothing without love (1 Cor 13:2).
However, the Bible doesn’t dismiss learning itself. Jesus commands loving God “with all your mind” (Matt 22:37-38), making intellectual engagement a spiritual obligation. Paul urges believers to renew their minds so they can discern God’s will (Rom 12:2). The key is that knowledge should produce transformation, not pride. Several passages show how knowledge and love interconnect: Paul prays that love will increase alongside knowledge and discernment, leading to righteousness (Phil 1:911). Peter describes knowledge as one link in a chain that includes faith, virtue, self-control, and love—qualities that keep believers effective in knowing Christ (2Pet 1:5-8). The deepest principle appears in John’s assertion that loving God and knowing God are inseparable; whoever loves has been born of God and knows Him, because God is love (1 John 4:7-8). True knowledge of God is shown through obedience to His commands, and genuine love is perfected by keeping His word (1 John 2:3-5).
God did not give us minds so we could admire our knowledge. He gave us minds so we could know Him more fully, hearts so we could love Him more deeply, and hands so we could serve Him more faithfully. So when people dismiss Bible study as mere “head knowledge,” they raise a legitimate concern—but they misdiagnose the problem. The issue isn’t studying Scripture; it’s studying without allowing that knowledge to move your heart toward love for God and others. Religious thought is the prerequisite for religious affection and obedient action. Study and devotion aren’t opposites; they’re meant to work together. Shalom.
Heavenly Father,
The more we know You, the more we can love You; the more we love You, the more we seek to know You—guide Your Word into our hearts so we can be obedient to Your commands. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen.
Resources
Donald S. Whitney, Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life (Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress; Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., 2014), 275-76.
Raymond Bryan Brown, “1 Corinthians,” in Broadman Bible Commentary: Acts–1 Corinthians, ed. Clifton J. Allen, Broadman Bible Commentary (Nashville, TN: Broadman Press, 1970), 10:337.
William Hendriksen and Simon J. Kistemaker, Exposition of the Gospel According to John, New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1953–2001), 2:10-11.
So they hurried away from the tomb in fear and great joy, and ran to tell His disciples. Suddenly, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” They came to Him, grasped His feet, and worshipped Him. “Do not be afraid,” said Jesus. “Go and tell My brothers to go to Galilee. There they will see Me.” Matthew 28:8-10( BSB)
At its heart, the story of Jesus is a story of transformation—of individuals, communities, and the world. Yet one of the most countercultural transformations in the Gospels is the central role given to women as witnesses, recipients of healing, and agents of God’s work. A closer look at both the New and Old Testaments reveals compelling patterns: women are not only present but integral to the biblical narrative, often acting with initiative and courage, even when culture discounted their testimony and agency.
All four Gospels record that women were the first witnesses of the resurrection. Mary Magdalene is named as the first to see the risen Lord, earning her the title “apostle to the apostles.” This historical detail is striking: in a world where women’s testimony was not legally admissible, the Gospel writers nevertheless present women as the primary witnesses to Christianity’s central event. The most plausible reason for this? Because it happened that way.
Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances to groups of women, and the inclusion of women as witnesses in various locations and at different times, speak volumes. Despite the cultural script that declared women’s words inadmissible, the Gospels value historical truth over social credibility.
Jesus’ interactions with women in the Gospels heal to restore, bless to affirm, and send to witness and serve. The woman with the issue of blood was excluded from society for twelve years. Yet she was healed and restored to her community, and Jesus did not allow her healing to remain private. This public blessing restored her dignity and status (Luke 8). Jesus repeatedly blessed women publicly, which affirmed their faith and value. Jesus told the sinful woman who anointed him, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Even those on the social margins, like the Samaritan woman at the well or the widow and prophetess Anna, received Jesus’ affirmation and were given a voice in the Gospel story.
The pattern extends to commissioning. Healed women often became witnesses and supporters of Jesus’ ministry. After liberation from seven demons, Mary Magdalene helped support Jesus and his disciples. At the resurrection, women were sent to tell the disciples what they had seen—an act of commissioning that confers agency and responsibility.
Yet the inclusion of women as witnesses met skepticism, especially from the male disciples. The Gospels record the Eleven initially rejecting the women’s report of the resurrection (Luke 24:11). In the Jewish world of the time, women could not testify in court; their words were considered unreliable. Rabbinic tradition and writers like Josephus even claimed women were “not qualified” to bear witness, citing “levity and boldness” of their sex.
The Gospel writers do not gloss over this tension. Jesus himself rebukes the disciples for not believing the women’s testimony. In this way, the Gospel underscores the reliability and importance of the women’s witness, even when it was inconvenient or countercultural.
As a Christian woman, empowered by the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8), I seek to witness for Christ. By letting my light shine before others (Matthew 5:16), encouraging believers (Colossians 3:16), using the gifts God has given me (1 Peter 4:10), and following the example of women such as Priscilla, who helped teach others in the faith (Acts 18:26), Shalom.
One of the most remarkable aspects of the Lubbock Symphony’s Teaching Artist program is its commitment to bringing music directly into children’s lives. While many students may not yet have the opportunity to attend a symphony concert, the program lets them encounter great music, composers, instruments, and musical ideas in the familiar setting of their own classrooms. Through songs, stories, movement, listening activities, and historical connections, students discover that music is not something distant or reserved for experts. Rather, it is a living language that belongs to them. As I begin my first year as a Teaching Artist, I have already learned an important lesson: music education is not simply about teaching children facts about music. It is about helping them discover wonder.
On my way to Bean Elementary one morning, I was listening to the Symphony Hall channel on SiriusXM. Lately, I have been paying close attention to the introductions the hosts give because I am developing program notes and planning future broadcasts for the Ruach Symphony Witness. One particular introduction caught my attention. The host spoke about Bartolomeo Cristofori (1655-1731). Cristofori was an Italian musician, craftsman, and instrument builder who lived during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. At the time, keyboard players primarily performed on harpsichords. Although beautiful, harpsichords could not respond dynamically to the player’s touch. Whether a key was struck gently or forcefully, the sound remained essentially the same. Cristofori envisioned something different. Because he understood music so deeply, he understood what musicians needed. Through years of experimentation and craftsmanship, he developed a new mechanism that let players control volume and expression with their touch. In doing so, he invented and built the first pianos. What struck me was that Cristofori’s achievement was not merely technical. He did not build a piano because he loved wood, strings, and hammers. He built a piano because he loved music. His musical knowledge let him imagine an instrument that did not yet exist.
As I thought about that story while driving to school, I realized that this is the kind of teacher I want to become. I may never build a musical instrument, but I hope to know music so thoroughly and love it so deeply that I can help shape something even more important: a child’s heart. If Cristofori could create an instrument that inspired generations of musicians, perhaps a Teaching Artist can help create a lifelong love of music in a young person. That thought stayed with me throughout these first two weeks.
During our first week, the students met the Lubbock Symphony Orchestra. They watched videos of our own Maestro Cho and learned about the conductor’s role. They listened to a performance. The students were wonderfully attentive, curious, and eager to learn.
One little girl raised her hand and informed me that Maestro Cho was a conductor, but not a train conductor. I laughed and told her, “That’s true. But knowing Maestro Cho, if someone invited him to conduct a train, he would probably do a wonderful job!” The class erupted in laughter, and from that moment on, the students seemed to feel a personal connection with our orchestra. They understood that musicians are real people and that the symphony belongs to them as much as anyone else.
https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1DCGTZ9W4N/
In several classrooms, we integrated music into literacy instruction. Students practiced long and short vowel sounds by singing them. Rhythm sticks became learning tools that helped reinforce language skills while keeping students actively engaged. Watching children discover that learning can happen through music reminded me of the incredible versatility of our art form.
Other classrooms were studying Abigail Adams and Sojourner Truth, which allowed us to explore history through music. The students learned that Abigail Adams frequently wrote letters to her husband, John Adams, when they were separated. As a folk music researcher, I became fascinated with finding a musical connection to her life. After considerable research, I discovered references in her letters to a Scottish tune that she and John apparently cherished. The children listened carefully as I explained how a simple melody could help people remember loved ones over great distances. They thought it was a very special idea.
When we studied Sojourner Truth, the students learned about her courageous travels and her tireless advocacy for freedom. They discovered that she was also known for her beautiful singing voice. Historical accounts describe how she often adapted familiar tunes and inserted her own messages, allowing her audience to engage with her ideas through song. The students were fascinated by the idea that music could be used not only for entertainment but also to inspire social change. When they heard about Sojourner’s version of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” they began to see how music and history are often woven together.
All three of my schools also studied Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Students learned about his extraordinary talent and passion for learning. We discussed how great musicians are often great listeners. Mozart paid attention to everything around him, constantly learning from the music he heard.
This activity was by far the favorite with all ten of my classes.
The students enjoyed discovering historical connections between Mozart and Abigail Adams. Although Mozart was a celebrated composer during her lifetime, Abigail’s personal musical preferences seem to have leaned toward the Scottish music she knew and loved. Such connections helped students realize that the people they study in history books were real individuals with personal tastes, interests, and experiences.
As rewarding as the lessons themselves have been, the greatest joy has come from the students. I love their smiles and laughter. And every day, as I prepare to leave, several children run up to make sure I know they love me. I always tell them that I love them too.
Those moments remind me why the arts matter. Long after the students forget the dates, names, and facts we discuss, I hope they remember how music made them feel. I hope they remember that someone shared music with them, believed in their creativity, and invited them into a world filled with beauty. My first two weeks as a Teaching Artist have taught me that teaching music is not merely transferring knowledge. It is building relationships, cultivating curiosity, and nurturing wonder. Bartolomeo Cristofori used his understanding of music to build an instrument. As Teaching Artists, we use our understanding of music to build something even more enduring: a lifelong love of music in children’s hearts. And that may be the most beautiful instrument of all.
The Theological Foundation of a thesis project for the candidacy of The Doctorate of Ministry in Biblical Studies by Dee Ann Loving-Tackitt
With arms spread wide between heaven and earth, Christ died on the cross (Matt 27:32–50). Standing between death and life, despair and hope—the disciples failed to perceive what God is accomplishing in this rich silence (Matt 27:57-66; 28:1-10). Holy Saturday is a harrowing day, full of profound mystery. Scripture repeatedly portrays this “middle space” in the Easter Triduum as a place of divine activity, the antechamber to the other side of death and the threshold of resurrection. What appears to be an ending becomes transformation for God’s redemptive work. The disciples who wait in confusion and grief soon become witnesses to the risen Christ. Their transformation reflects the broader biblical pattern of God bringing renewal out of suffering and despair. Creation bursts forward into renewed faith, purpose, and mission. This regrowth from renewal provides a theological framework for understanding posttraumatic growth as more than recovery from suffering. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, wounded believers are invited into restoration, spiritual formation, and discipleship.
Scripture portrays humanity living in the tension between God’s intended flourishing and the reality of a fallen world. Humanity’s rebellion fractures its relationship with God and introduces death, alienation, and suffering into creation.[1] In the garden, man was tempted to bypass God’s blessings and transcend human limitations to claim divine prerogatives.[2] God acknowledges that humanity “has become like one of us in knowing good and evil” (Gen 3:22, English Standard Version). The serpent essentially offers a counterfeit path to divine likeness—one achieved through deception and disobedience rather than obedience and grace. The fall is humanity’s first seduction by false divination—accepting the serpent’s whispered knowledge over God’s explicit command. A profound theological symmetry links Holy Saturday and the fall. God’s patient waiting and suffering of human rebellion begin with the fall and continue through human history. Humanity’s choice of Satan’s divinization mirrors this pattern in reverse—a rebellion that God permits to absorb and ultimately redeem.[3] Humanity’s brokenness becomes, in God’s economy, a kind of Holy Saturday—a space of abandonment and silence where God’s redemptive work operates beneath the surface. The parallel deepens when we consider God’s response. Through His death and resurrection, Christ opens the way into the eternal Sabbath rest promised to the people of God (Heb 4:9-11).
[4] Just as Holy Saturday is theologically understood as the period Christ descends into the underworld to bring salvation to the dead, so too does God’s patience with human rebellion become redemptive.[5] Yet God consistently moves toward humanity in the midst of its woundedness. The Exodus narrative reveals God’s redemptive response to a people living under oppression and despair. When God reveals Himself as “I AM” (אֶהְיֶה) and proclaims His covenant name Yahweh (יהוה), He identifies Himself as the God who is present with His people and committed to their deliverance (Exod 3:14-15). Israel’s deliverance from bondage demonstrates that God does not abandon those who suffer but acts to bring them from captivity into freedom. Throughout Israel’s history, patterns of failure, exile, loss, and restoration continue to reveal both the depth of human brokenness and the persistence of God’s covenant faithfulness. Again and again, God transforms situations marked by despair into opportunities for renewal and renewed participation in His purposes.[6]
The pattern seen throughout Scripture, from humanity’s fall and Israel’s deliverance to the death and resurrection of Christ, is embodied in the disciples themselves as they move from fear and grief to faith, community, and witness. The cross represents the deepest encounter with human suffering and brokenness, while the resurrection reveals God’s power to bring new life out of death.[7] During Holy Saturday, the disciples could not perceive what God was accomplishing through the silence of the tomb. Yet the risen Christ appeared to those same disciples, meeting them in their fear, uncertainty, and grief. Their wounds, doubts, and failures did not exclude them from His purposes. Instead, Christ gathered them into a community of faith and commissioned them to bear witness to His resurrection. Consequently, Christian discipleship rests upon the conviction that woundedness is not the end of the story. Through union with Christ and participation in His body, believers are formed into faithful disciples who bear witness to God’s redeeming work in the world.
The restoration experience began after the disciples encountered the risen Christ. As in Psalm 77, the disciples’ lamentations turns to praise as Christ leads them through the love and power of God’s deliverance. Their doubts turn to comfort. Christ commands them to follow His example and use their suffering to help others.[8] Throughout Scripture, spiritual formation deepens through remembering, reflecting on, and recounting God’s faithfulness. The ultimate result is that God is glorified when his people are delivered from suffering.[9] God’s people are called to preserve His works for future generations through written remembrance and are formed through remembrance and recounting of His faithfulness. Preserving testimony enables future generations to grow in faith as they learn from God’s past redemptive work. Consequently, modern practices of theological reflection and written remembrance are means of discipleship and spiritual formation.[10]
Habakkuk’s wrestling with God is what we might call posttraumatic growth. It shows how suffering becomes redemptive when channeled through obedience and testimony.[11] Habakkuk was not angry with his people’s corruption but with God’s silence. This prompted him to demand divine action. Yet, as God usually does, he answers with imperatives—commanding him to “write the vision.”[12] God is doing something remarkable: converting personal anguish into a communal resource. The writing isn’t merely to preserve the vision from being forgotten, but to enable others to read it and act upon it.[13] This transformation is posttraumatic growth: suffering becomes meaningful when it is integrated into a larger narrative and shared with others.[14] God’s message is clear: it is intended for all people everywhere and must be passed on. Habakkuk’s personal crisis becomes everyone’s spiritual resource.
The New Testament connection emerges through this same pattern. Throughout the Old Testament, a vision denotes God-given revelation about the spiritual significance of present or future events, and God gives greater insight into the spiritual meaning of forthcoming events.[15] This principle—suffering producing clarity and testimony— extends into the New Testament through apostolic witness: persecution producing proclamation and pain producing purpose. The pattern is true for both Testaments and today. When we bring our struggles to God and then articulate them clearly for others, they become invitations rather than isolating experiences. The imperative to “write”—whether literally or metaphorically—transforms private crisis into public witness.
Just as Habakkuk discovered that his cry for justice became an invitation to deeper discipleship through God’s imperative to write, wounded believers today find in Christ’s death and resurrection the same transformative call—to move through suffering into restoration and become witnesses of redemptive hope to others. The new creation has begun. Peter tells believers, “You must worship Christ as Lord of your life. And if someone asks about your hope as a believer, always be ready to explain it” (1 Pet 3:15). The ministry intervention proposed in Royal Beginnings seeks to participate in this biblical pattern by helping women move from brokenness to restoration, from restoration to discipleship, and from discipleship to witness.
[1] Ian M. Duguid, Ronald L. Bergey, Jay R. Sklar, and Christine Palmer, eds., ESV Expository Commentary, vol. 1, Genesis-Numbers (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2025), 70.
[2] C. Amos, Birthpangs and Blessings: A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, 1st ed. (York, UK: Sacristy Press, 2022), 48.
[3] J. Paul Tanner, Daniel, Evangelical Exegetical Commentary (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2020), 769.
[7] R. Alan Culpepper, Matthew: A Commentary (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2021), 706-07.
[8] Allen P. Ross, A Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 2, Psalms 42–89 (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Academic, 2013), 639–40.
[9] Allen P. Ross, A Commentary on the Psalms, vol. 3, Psalms 90–150 (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Academic, 2016), 220–21.
[10] Dennis Prager, The Rational Bible: Deuteronomy (Washington, DC: Regnery Faith, 2022), 110–11.
[11] Michelle Panchuk, “What Doesn’t Kill Me Makes Me Stronger?: Post-Traumatic Growth and the Problem of Suffering,” Religious Studies 60, no. 3 (2024): 429.
[12] Booth. Habakkuk: The Christian Standard Commentary. Nashville: B&H Publishing Group, 2024.
[13] Panchuk, “What Doesn’t Kill Me Makes Me Stronger?, 429.
[14] Steven J. Duby, Habakkuk, ed. Michael Allen and Scott R. Swain, The International Theological Commentary on the Holy Scripture of the Old and New Testaments (London: T&T Clark, 2025), 85.
Rome – The fresco of Jesus teaching in the church Santa Maria in Monticelli
“You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am.” John 13:13
Jesus is asked many questions in the Gospels; he rarely answers any of them directly. Some may see Jesus as cleverly evading the questioner. Yet I argue that Jesus’s “questioning questioners” is His vital teaching tool to awaken and involve his listeners in spiritual formation. In this context, Jesus typically responds to questions with another question, either through an indirect claim or a specific revelatory aim. Always! Jesus reframes the terms of a pressing topic and sheds light on his interlocutors’ root motives and spiritually compromised perspectives.
In John 13:13, Jesus tells his disciples, “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am” (cf. Matt 23:10; 26:18). As a teacher, Jesus adopts different teaching styles for formative reasons. As God anointed, Jesus speaks and embodies the message of God’s reign. He aligns with the prophets of Israel’s past, including John, his immediate predecessor. Jesus seeks to heal and to reveal. Divine revelation aims to open and purify the heart before God. This prepares people to receive God’s Torah written on their hearts (Jer. 31:33). The new covenant transforms the heart from within, and this transformation lies at the center of faithful living.
The Teacher of the Coming Kingdom
To be specific, we must set forth the “givens” of Jesus as a teacher from the context of His ministry and mission. First, Jesus came to proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God. Second, He is to make disciples, to “seek and save the lost”; “to give His life as a ransom for many”; “to save sinners”; “to save the sick”; and to do all this by summoning His hearers to metanoia, which means calling forth repentance before the coming of the reign of God. To fulfill this goal, Jesus is willing to say to His own disciples what He also said to those who approach, question, and dispute with Him. Therefore, Jesus clearly accepts and even promotes an environment conducive to dialogue, questioning, and discussion.
The Prophet of the Heart
As a theologian, I am quick to point out that Jesus does not have educational exchanges to get the facts. He debates to fulfill God’s will. He exposes and shapes the listener’s core desires, assumptions, and perspectives. Jesus is NOT willing to engage a question directly when the basic question and exchange have already been molded to be anti-kingdom. Jesus’s pedagogy is not aimed at the heart to access commitments, intentions, desires, and core thoughts. Jesus grappled with reason to access the heart for the Kingdom. Jesus is fiercely consistent, whether in response to a question or a straightforward demand. In Luke 12:13–14 (NIV), someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” Jesus replies, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” Rather than simply saying, “No, I won’t do that,” Jesus’s question functions as a claim: why are you trying to use me or manipulate me to resolve your family’s financial dispute? In Luke 12, Jesus confronts greed, worry, and conflict over material security as crucial issues that can obstruct sincere acceptance of proclamation. This is, however, just one instance of Jesus questioning the nature of one’s actions to address a broader, perennial challenge to entering the way of the kingdom. Jesus ultimately seeks to reveal and transform a person’s bedrock desires and intentions so they may see and enter the way of God’s reign. Shalom.
Heavenly Father,
Today, we choose to pay close attention to wisdom and listen intently to understanding. Help us to trust in the Lord with all our heart and lean ONLY on your understanding. In all our ways, may we acknowledge Jesus. And we ask you to direct our paths. We ask you to remove our proud hearts so that we can trust in You. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen
Rome – Ascension of the Lord painting of Chiesa Nuova
“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”—John 15:9–11
Writing from a Nazi prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “What keeps gnawing at me is the question, Who is Christ actually for us today?” That question still presses on every serious Christian. Jesus put this issue before his disciples during his farewell supper when he said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments…You are my friends if you do what I command you” (Jn 15:14 In this sense, He repeated this challenge in the Sermon on the Mount, “Not everybody who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will get into the kingdom of heaven. Only those who do the will of my Father who is in heaven will enter” (Matt 7:21). The risen Christ, while eating breakfast with Peter on the beach, asks him the same question three times, “Simon, do you love me?” Peter replies each time, “Lord, you know I love you.” In light of Peter’s triple denial, Jesus gave him a concrete command: “Feed my sheep.” He concluded with the words, “Follow me” (John 21:15–19).
Jesus was consistent and clear. He was not looking for admirers who would merely nod in agreement with the Sermon on the Mount. He called followers who would put his words into practice. Because God raised Jesus from the dead, we follow the living Christ here and now. To “practice resurrection” is not simply to admire Jesus from a distance, but to let his risen life take shape in our own lives.
In Christian thought, “practicing resurrection” is a theological concept that means rather than waiting for resurrection only after death, believers “practice resurrection” by embodying qualities associated with resurrection life: hope in the face of despair, forgiveness and reconciliation, justice and compassion, renewal after failure or loss, and participation in God’s work of bringing new life to the world. This phrase is associated with writer and pastor Eugene Peterson, who used it to describe the daily life of discipleship. Fortunately, “practicing resurrection” is something that most of us are already living. We were made in, through, and for Christ (Col 1:16). He has taken our human nature upon himself and joined our lives to his own. Our “life is in Christ, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption” (1 Cor 1:30). God created us to know him. We are given a gracious participation in God’s own goodness. This grace enables us to know God even though apart from him, we are incapable of and unfit for such knowledge.
If we seek knowledge of God by grace through faith, we will walk the way of Jesus, because anyone who seeks to know God will pursue the mind of Christ and the humility and obedience that go with it. We anticipate the life of fellowship we will share with God for eternity. As Paul reflects this kind of mindset, we are to “seek the things that are above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.” Irenaeus said it well when he wrote, “The Word of God, Jesus Christ, on account of his great love for mankind, became what we are in order to make us what he is himself.”
“Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26:53).
One of the most difficult questions Christians face is the problem of evil. If God is good and all-powerful, why does suffering continue? Philosophers such as A. N. Whitehead and Edgar Sheffield Brightman have proposed that God wants to stop evil but lacks the power to do so. While this may be an attempt to argue the problem of evil, it faces a significant biblical challenge: nowhere does God clearly reveal that He is powerless against evil.
The Bible’s teaching is that God is sovereign and powerful, even when His purposes remain hidden from human understanding. Today, we continue to wrestle with the mystery of suffering, but it never resolves that mystery by claiming that God is unable to act. In fact, the opposite appears to be true.
Consider the book of Job. Job repeatedly questions why he is suffering and seeks an explanation from God. God finally responds. He does not tell Job that evil exists because His power is limited. Instead, God points Job to the vastness of divine wisdom and authority over creation. The answer is not divine weakness but human limitation in understanding God’s purposes.
The same pattern appears in the life of Jesus. At His arrest, Jesus tells His disciples, “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26:53). This statement is significant because Jesus acknowledges that God has the power to intervene immediately. The reason God does not stop the crucifixion is not inability but purpose. God chooses to allow the suffering of Christ because it serves a greater redemptive plan.
This distinction is crucial. The Bible does not teach that God approves of evil or delights in suffering. Evil remains evil. Tragedy remains tragic. Yet Scripture repeatedly affirms that God can bring good out of even the darkest circumstances. Joseph expressed this truth to his brothers when he declared, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20). The evil action was real, but God was still able to work through it for a greater purpose.
Paul Moser argues that if God were truly limited in power, one would expect God to disclose that fact clearly. Such a revelation would answer many objections people raise against God’s goodness. If God cannot prevent evil, then much of humanity’s anger toward Him would be misplaced. Yet Scripture provides no such explanation. Instead, the biblical witness consistently encourages trust in God’s wisdom, goodness, and ultimate victory over evil.
This does not mean Christians possess a complete explanation for every instance of suffering. We often lack a full theodicy, a comprehensive account of why God allows particular evils. The Bible itself acknowledges this limitation. God’s ways are frequently beyond human comprehension. However, ignorance of God’s purposes is not the same thing as evidence of God’s weakness.
Patience therefore becomes an essential Christian virtue. We naturally want immediate answers and immediate justice. We want God to operate according to our timetable. Yet Scripture repeatedly reminds us that God’s timing differs from ours. The fact that evil continues today does not prove that God lacks power. Rather, it may indicate that God’s redemptive purposes are not yet complete.
The Christian hope is not that God is struggling against forces beyond His control. The Christian hope is that God remains sovereign even when His purposes are hidden from us. While we may not understand why evil is permitted in every circumstance, the Bible never suggests that evil persists because God is powerless to stop it. Instead, believers are called to trust that God will ultimately redeem evil with good and bring His purposes to completion in the fullness of time.
Heavenly Father, We thank you for Your glory that never remains hidden from us. Give us strength to trust that You will redeem evil with good. Keep shalom in our hearts so that we do not need explanations. We simply need faith. In Jesus’ precious name we pray, Amen.
Resource
Moser, Paul K. The Divine Goodness of Jesus : Impact and Response. Cambridge, United Kingdom ; Cambridge University Press, 2021. https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/liberty/detail.action?
Then God said,“Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.” So, God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Genesis 1: 26–27
Yes, we address God our Father with many names. YHWH, Elohim, El Shaddai, Jehovah Rapha. Another way I understand God’s relationship with all of us is as the Author of all creation, His living story. Many of us, through J.R.R Tolkien, read how he shaped Middle-earth with language, imagination, and design. God is THE Creator. The difference between Tolkien and THE Creator is infinite: Tolkien made a fictional world, while God authors reality itself.
The theologian Kevin Vanhoozer discusses God as the Author of His own story, naming it Theodramatic Theology.
What is Authorial Analogy?
A human author writes. God creates.
An author creates with words, while God creates when He speaks.
An author shapes the plot. God creates the plot as He writes our story.
An author writes the story from beginning to end, but God knows the end before our beginning.
God does not need ink; He creates with His Power.
In Genesis, when God speaks, light appears. When He speaks, life begins. Psalm 33 says, “By the word of the Lord were the heavens made.”
Three Types of Divine Authorship
Authorial Analogy can be explained in three ways.
God as our divine author creates with order, beauty, meaning, and life. Authors have that goal as well.
God shapes history by just creating and stepping back. Yet He chooses to join the story. In the Bible, God spoke to Abraham, sent prophets, became Christ, and took part in the story He writes.
By speaking and working through human writers, God has given us Scripture. In this way His voice is heard in many times, places, and styles.
What About Human Freedom?
How can we be free if God is our Creator? This question is often asked. Are we merely puppets? I don’t think so. God does not do all the talking, keeping us silent. He wants to have a conversation. God speaks, and we should respond! Right away! I have experienced this: God calls, convicts, persuades, reveals, and teaches. This is how He heals us. God waits for us to respond. When we choose to listen and talk to God, our hearts soften. But the opposite is true as well: when we choose to resist, our hearts harden. God does not force this conversation; He waits for us to choose to join His story. He holds the whole story in His hands.
We are responsible to God and others within the story God writes.
God can stand outside His creation, just as an author is physically outside His story.
Yet, God IS present within creation. Therefore, he can be compared to the author who steps into His own story.
The Bible
Where can we read God’s story? Open the Bible. We can read how He creates, makes covenants, and gives us shalom (peace) through His Word. Not only does God speak in the Bible, but He is present in the Bible because He is speaking directly to you. That is why I call Him the Author of all Creation. We live God’s story because He speaks, sustains, and guides.
“As Author, God is not limited by his created work … one authorial day is like a character’s thousand years (2 Pet. 3:8). The Author can open the text to any page, flip back and forth at will, and write himself into the drama of human history: God’s Word and Spirit are in created time but not of it.” Kevin Vanhoozer
Shall we pray?
Heavenly Father,
We weave fictions of our lives with words. We create myths without Your authorship. We welcome Your Words that build a holy place in our hearts while turning love into beautiful music. We still do not fully understand Your way. In Christ, the language You put in our hearts illuminates this dim world. May Your love always cleanse our minds and replenish us with joy. In Jesus’ precious name we pray. Amen.
Resources
Freeman, Austin M. “The Author of the Epic: Tolkien, Evolution, and God’s Story.” Zygon 56, no. 2 (2021): 500–516. EBSCOhost.
Hronich, Andrew. 2025. “God and Indiana Jones.” Liberty Theological Review 9, (1).
Settecase, Parker. “Don’t Write off the Absentee Author: Why the Problems of Divine Hiddenness and Neglect Don’t Destroy Vanhoozer’s Authorial Analogy.” Perichoresis 21, no. 4 (2023): 34–51. https://doi.org/10.2478/perc-2023-0030.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3
Trauma has a way of breaking life open. It can shatter our sense of safety, silence our voice, and fracture our identity. Neuroscience shows that when people relive traumatic memories, the brain’s language centers go quiet while emotional centers flare with activity. This is why survivors often say, “I don’t have words for what happened.” Trauma steals language.
But God has always been in the business of restoring what was broken—especially the parts of us that feel too shattered to name. And Scripture gives us a powerful pattern: healing often begins when people reclaim their story.
Interestingly, modern research on expressive writing echoes this same truth. When trauma survivors write about their experiences, they re-engage the parts of the brain responsible for language, narrative, and meaning-making. Over time, expressive writing has been shown to reduce anxiety, improve mood, strengthen working memory, and support post-traumatic growth.
Science and Scripture meet in a beautiful place: healing begins when we bring our story into the light.
David’s Psalms: When Pain Finds Its Voice
The Psalms are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. David writes through fear, betrayal, grief, and despair. He names what feels unspeakable. He puts chaos into language.
This mirrors what expressive writing does today—helping the brain integrate overwhelming experiences and restore emotional balance. David’s writing becomes both prayer and processing, a sacred act of survival.
Joseph’s Redemption: Rewriting a Wounded Story
Joseph endured betrayal, abandonment, false accusation, and imprisonment. Years later, he reframes his story with God’s help:
“You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” — Genesis 50:20
This is meaning-making—the same cognitive shift expressive writing often produces. Joseph doesn’t erase the trauma; he integrates it. His identity is rebuilt not by forgetting the pain but by understanding it through God’s lens.
Job’s Lament: Wrestling Toward Understanding
Job’s suffering is overwhelming—loss of family, livelihood, health, and dignity. Much of the book is Job trying to make sense of his pain. He speaks, questions, laments, and reflects. He narrates his trauma in real time.
This mirrors the therapeutic process: naming the pain, exploring its meaning, and slowly reconstructing identity after devastation. Job’s restoration is not only physical; it is deeply narrative.
Israel’s Exile: Remembering, Rebuilding, and Returning
The exile is a national trauma. Israel loses home, identity, and stability. In response, the prophets call the people to remember, write, and tell their story. Lamentations records communal grief. Ezra and Nehemiah describe rebuilding both the city and the people’s identity.
God leads them through a process of naming the loss, narrating the experience, and rebuilding life with new meaning—just as expressive writing helps trauma survivors do today.
The Risen Christ: Scars That Tell a Story
After the resurrection, Jesus appears with His scars still visible. The wounds remain, but they no longer signify defeat—they signify victory, identity, and purpose.
This is the heart of trauma recovery: the wound becomes part of the story, not the end of it.
Where Scripture and Science Meet: Healing Through Story
Modern research shows that expressive writing helps trauma survivors:
Re-engage language centers
Integrate fragmented memories
Reduce distress
Improve mood and functioning
Rebuild meaning
Experience post-traumatic growth
Scripture shows God leading people through the same arc:
Naming the trauma (Psalms, Lamentations)
Narrating the experience (Job, Joseph)
Rebuilding identity (Exile and Return)
Finding meaning in suffering (Paul)
Transforming wounds into testimony (Jesus)
Both tell the same truth: healing often begins when we reclaim our story.
Trauma may silence us, but God invites us to speak—to write, to remember, to narrate, to rebuild. Expressive writing becomes not just a therapeutic tool but a spiritual practice, a way of joining the long biblical tradition of people who found healing by putting their pain into words.
And in doing so, we discover what Scripture has always promised: our wounds can become part of a redeemed story.
A Prayer for Healing and Restoration
Father, You see every wound, every memory, every moment that felt too heavy to carry. You know the places where trauma has stolen our words and fractured our sense of self. Today, we ask You to gently restore what has been broken. Give us courage to name our pain, strength to write our story, and grace to see Your hand in every chapter. Bind up the wounds that still ache. Bring light to the places that feel dark. And transform our scars into testimonies of Your faithfulness. Amen.
The Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.–Exodus 15:2
Our lives are meant for more than what we can see here and now. Deep within every believer is a longing for God—the One who made us, saves us, and leads us toward eternal life. Prayer is one way we answer that longing. Sometimes it is spoken, sometimes silent, and sometimes sung. That is part of the thrill of singing in the choir at First Baptist Lubbock. When we sing together, we are praying with melody, worshiping with friends, and turning our hearts toward God.
Singing has always had a special place in the story of God’s people
The first song recorded in Scripture comes after the Lord delivers Israel through the Red Sea: “Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord” (Exodus 15:1). Their song was born out of rescue. Moses declared, “The Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation” (Exodus 15:2). That is still why we sing. We sing because God saves, because He is faithful, and because He brings us through waters we could never cross on our own.
What is remarkable is that the song of Moses echoes all the way to the end of the Bible. In Revelation 15, the victorious people of God sing “the song of God’s servant Moses and of the Lamb” (Revelation 15:3). From the Red Sea to the throne room of heaven, God’s people are still singing. The melody of redemption continues. The God who delivered Israel from slavery has delivered us from sin and death through Jesus Christ, the Lamb. Christian singing is not merely emotional expression; it is gospel proclamation. We sing because Christ has redeemed us, gathered us, and made us a worshiping people.
The Psalms keep that song alive for every generation. “Sing to the Lord a new song” (Psalm 96:1). “Serve the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs” (Psalm 100:2). “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord” (Psalm 150:6). Singing belongs to everyone who has breath. Paul says we sing so that “the word of Christ” may dwell in us richly, teaching and encouraging one another with “psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs” (Colossians 3:16). Our songs carry truth, form our faith, and help the church remember God’s character, promises, holiness, mercy, and victory.
Benefits of Choir
Choir gives us a place to belong and a way to serve. It teaches us to listen more than we speak and reminds us that no single voice carries the whole song. Sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses each bring something different, but together create harmony. That is a beautiful picture of the church, the body of Christ: many members, one body, called to glorify God and build up His people in love.
Choir also strengthens our faith. Week after week, the words we sing get planted in our hearts. Long after a sermon outline has faded from memory, a hymn or anthem can rise up in a hospital room, on a difficult morning, or in a moment of thanksgiving. Music helps Scripture settle into the soul and gives language to our joy, grief, hope, and surrender.
Choir is Worship
When we sing, we are not filling time in a service; we are offering praise to the living God, the One who first spoke, first saved, and first called us to Himself. Worship is our grateful response to grace. We are joining Moses, Miriam, David, the saints in Revelation, and believers around the world who lift their voices to the Lord.
