Blinded by Pride, Lit by Humility

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Pride blinds us to our own sins, while humility—by God’s grace—opens our eyes, clears the fog, and leads us into wisdom and peace in Christ.

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” ~ Proverbs 16:18

I first learned about pride in a hay-barn tunnel. The bales were stacked high like a fortress, the air thick with dust, and the light so dim I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face. At first the darkness felt thrilling—until my shin struck a hidden cinder block. What felt safe turned out to be treacherous.

That’s what pride does. It convinces us the dim corners are harmless, even cozy. It whispers that the path is clear when in reality we’re one step away from stumbling.

Paul reminds us that sin clouds the mind as much as it corrupts the heart. He calls it blindness—the noetic effect of sin—“the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:4). Pride thickens that fog. We defend ourselves, accuse others, and excuse our behavior. It’s always their fault, never ours.

But humility is different. Humility is the flashlight God presses into our hands. It doesn’t just reveal the hazards; it lights a path forward. James says, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6). And when the Spirit softens a heart, two things happen almost at once:

• We see ourselves clearly—confessing instead of finger-pointing.

• We see others charitably—listening instead of lecturing.

I’ve watched this happen in the counseling room. Sessions that began like courtrooms—with each side arguing their case—shifted the moment one spouse said, “Maybe I’m the bigger sinner here.” Pride’s fog lifted. What was once a trial became a workshop, a place where two people could actually start to build again.

That’s why Proverbs teaches, “With the humble is wisdom” (Proverbs 11:2). Humility doesn’t just expose the cinder block on the floor; it reveals the doorway to peace, gentle words, and “good fruits” (James 3:17).

Pride darkens, but humility illuminates. And in that light, we discover something remarkable: Christ is not a judge to hide from but a carpenter ready to remodel the space.

So the next time pride swells in your heart, remember the hay barn. The same dust that hides stumbling blocks can also hide treasure—if only we’re willing to switch on humility’s light.

Coram Deo

A Biblical Vision for a Kingdom of Christian Nations

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God’s design for humanity is not empire by force, but the spread of His kingdom through persuasion, evangelism, discipleship, and the transforming power of the Holy Spirit—nations invited, not compelled, to walk in His light.

It has always struck me that Moses, who spoke face to face with the Lord of heaven and earth, never set out to conquer the world. He did not dream of empire or impose God’s law on every nation by force. Instead, he gave Israel laws meant for life within its own borders.

The prophets saw that the Torah was not only for Israel’s good but for the blessing of all humanity. Yet the way that blessing was to spread was not through armies marching across the earth, but through nations streaming to Jerusalem, eager to learn God’s ways. Scripture’s vision is not domination by power, but invitation through truth—people drawn to God because they see His goodness.

“Many peoples shall come, and say: ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord… that He may teach us His ways and that we may walk in His paths.’” (Isaiah 2:3)

That was the Old Testament pattern: Israel lived as a light to the nations, a model for how life under God’s rule could look. But in the New Testament, we see a great shift. With the coming of Christ, the people of God are no longer only called to be an example—the church is sent out on mission. Jesus gave His disciples the Great Commission: “Go therefore and disciple all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you, and lo, I am with you all the days -- till the full end of the age ” (Matthew 28:19–20).

What was once primarily a call for the nations to come and see has become a command for the church to go and tell, go and disciple. No armies, no swords, no coercion—only the Word of God, the witness of His people, and the power of the Holy Spirit. This is how the kingdom spreads: persuasion, evangelism, discipleship, and Spirit-filled mission.

How different this is from the empires of old - and new! Those powers were always hungry for more land, more people, more control—promising peace and prosperity, but only on their own terms and at great cost. By contrast, the biblical model is a world of nations living within their own borders, at peace, yet open to learning from God and from one another.

This vision shaped the very foundations of Western civilization. A nation that governs itself can push the chaos of war to its borders, creating space for peace to take root inside. It doesn’t need to chase after faraway conquests. Instead, it cultivates the freedom to grow in its own strengths and challenges other nations to do the same.

Most importantly, such a nation provides the soil where liberty can flourish—where free institutions take shape and individual lives are given room to grow. That is no small gift. The psalmist reminds us:

“Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, the people He has chosen as His heritage.” (Psalm 33:12)

So, when we gather it all up, the conclusion is simple and profound: God’s best for humanity is not empire by force, but the spread of His kingdom through persuasion, evangelism, discipleship, and the transforming power of the Holy Spirit—nations invited, not compelled, to walk in His light. That when all is said and done, “the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea” (Habakkuk 2:14).

Coram Deo 

 

Enemies in the Fight, Armor for the Battle

 

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Christians will have enemies. We will not seek them, but they will come.   

Jesus Himself said:

• “Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets.” (Luke 6:26)

• “Do not be surprised, brothers, that the world hates you.” (1 John 3:13)

• And Paul told Timothy, “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” (2 Timothy 3:12)

The truth is, righteousness will always have an audience of enemies. Stand for what is good, and those who profit from bad will oppose you. Call sin by its name, someone will take offense. Proclaim Christ is the only way, the crowd will thin in a hurry.

But that’s no reason to shrink back. A man stands up for right, good and true.

A man is not measured by how many friends he keeps but by the truths he refuses to betray.

The old poem rings true:

You have no enemies, you say?
Alas! my friend, the boast is poor;
He who has mingled in the fray
Of duty, that the brave endure,
Must have made foes! If you have none,
Small is the work that you have done.

If you never meet resistance, maybe you’ve never stood against wrong. When you do stand, enemies will come. The question is - will you be ready?

You don't just want to put on the helmet of salvation.  That just makes you a streaker! 

The apostle Paul tells us how to be ready:

“Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.” (Ephesians 6:11)

• The belt of truth keeps us from tripping over lies.

• The breastplate of righteousness guards our hearts when accusations fly.

• The shoes of the gospel of peace steady our steps when the ground shakes.

• The shield of faith extinguishes flaming arrows of doubt and fear.

• The helmet of salvation fixes our hope where no enemy can reach it.

• The sword of the Spirit, the word of God, gives us more than defense—it gives us the power to advance.

Clothe yourself in Christ’s armor, it will not fail you.  

Even our Lord faced enemies at every turn. The Pharisees sneered. The crowds reviled him and eventually Rome nailed Him to a cross. Yet He stood - armed with truth, righteousness, and unshakable obedience to His Father. He turned wrong to right, and with his light, the darkness could not overcome Him.

So take heart. You do not fight alone.
The enemies you face are proof you are in the fray, and the armor you wear is proof you will endure it.

“Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.” (Ephesians 6:13)

So stand. Stand boldly. Stand armored in Christ.

"Deo Gratias,"   

("Thanks be to God")

 Audio Version of Blog Here

 

 

The Rain That Never Misses

 

 

More than half a century has passed, but I can still recollect my boyhood where I grew up in Mesa, Arizona. We didn’t have a barn of our own, but there were two on the land behind our house. 

To us kids, they were our Castles and Fortresses. We’d swing on a big rope and land in the hay.  We'd create tunnels and play war with dirt clods.  We'd climb up those stacks of hay bales, our jeans dusty and our hands itching, and play for hours until the desert sun dipped low and golden in the Arizona sunsets.

It didn’t rain much in Mesa. When it did, you could smell it coming—rain on dust has a scent all its own. The dry ground would drink it in so fast you’d wonder if it had ever fallen at all. But the Palo Verde trees would bloom brighter the next week. The cactus flowers would burst open. Somehow, some way, that brief, rare rain made everything grow.

That’s what Isaiah 55 reminds me of:

“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth… so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth.” ~ Isaiah 55:10–11

God compares His Word to rain. And that makes perfect sense in a place like Mesa. Rain is precious there. You don’t waste it. You notice it. You give thanks for it. And no matter how long the dry spell lasts, that rain always does what it came to do.

Sometimes, God's Word feels rare like that too. It can feel like you're waiting forever to see the fruit of a verse you shared, or a prayer you prayed. But just like the desert, there’s life hiding under the surface—waiting.

I think about those hay barns sometimes. About how we used to pretend we were farmers, builders, soldiers—anything our imaginations could stretch to. And how, even though we didn’t have land of our own, we still ran through those fields like we did. We couldn’t see it then, but even in a dusty place like Mesa, God was planting something in us.

“It shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose.” (v 11)

His Word always lands. Always nourishes. Always brings something to life—even if we don’t see it right away.

So whether you’re in a lush valley or a dry desert, hold fast to the promise: the rain never misses. And neither does God’s Word.

Soli Deo Gloria

(To God alone be the Glory)

Walk Before Me and Be Blameless

 

In Genesis 17, God says to Abram, "I am God almighty; walk before me, and be blameless."

 

God’s words to Abram weren’t a transaction. Not a test. Not a condition for love or favor. No, this wasn’t 'do this so I’ll love you.' This was something richer, deeper. A calling that arises because of what’s already been given.

 

God had already chosen Abram. Already set His covenant in motion. Already made promises that Abram could never earn. The call to walk blamelessly was not the way into the relationship—it was the way to live inside it.

 

That’s when the line from Saving Private Ryan came into my thoughts.  Monday night my family and I were vacationing at Yosemite and and sat down together and watched “Saving Private Ryan.”

 

At the end of the movie, after many men had died in this costly rescue mission, Captain John Miller, bleeding out on a bridge in Ramelle, looks up at Private Ryan and whispers:

 

 “Earn this.”

 

It’s a haunting line. A burden. A gift that sounds like a debt.

 

All around us, the culture preaches that message: Earn it. Earn your keep. Earn your second chance. Earn your spot. Earn your salvation.

 

But that’s not the voice we hear in Genesis 17.

God doesn't say "Earn this."

 He says, “Walk with me.”

 He doesn’t say, "Justify what I've done for you."

 He says, “Live in the light of it.”

 

Miller's words carried the weight of sacrifice, yes—but also a burden no man could carry. Private Ryan, as an old man, stood before Miller’s grave and asked his wife, “Tell me I’ve lived a good life. Tell me I’m a good man.”

 

Even decades later, he wasn’t sure if he’d earned it.

But when God speaks to His people, He doesn’t lay a burden on their backs. He lays His own name on their foreheads.

 

We walk not to prove something, but because we've been invited into something already begun. A covenant not earned but received.

 

So there on the patio overlooking a beautiful valley near Yosemite,  I scribbled it down:

 

Live faithfully, not to earn it. Live in light of what has already been given you.

 

That’s the better word. The truer word.

 Not “Earn this.”

 But “It is finished.”

 

And in response: walk.....

"In Excelsis Deo" 

("Glory to God in the highest.")