How many of us are weary? Our lives are so full, so stressful, and so hurried we only feel troubled. There is no peace for the weary. We live in an exhausted world where the pace of our days has left many of us empty. But there is another way.

“That hurt like hell. Thank you so much.” Of all the “Thank you for the sermon today, Pastor” comments I’ve received over the years, that one was particularly memorable—and particularly encouraging. It came from a man I knew well—a thoughtful, humble, family-focused, Jesus-loving owner of an auto repair business. He wasn’t an elder or a deacon, but he prayed for me every day. I cherished his friendship, and though I never would’ve intentionally hurt him, this man’s words were a helpful reminder that biblical preaching can often cause deep but good and necessary pain. We teach to present our people complete in Christ. We direct their lives to God revealed in Jesus. So when they say, “Good message,” I’m glad. But I’ve also learned that when the truth hurts, when it’s hard and raises questions rather than words of encouragement, that’s a good sign too. ‘I Know, Because of the Pain’ The same year that my friend told me my sermon hurt, I read the French classic Diary of a Country Priest by Georges Bernanos. On the subject of the ministry of God’s Word, the priest says, Deeply biblical preaching can often cause deep but good and necessary pain. Teaching is no joke, sonny! . . . Comforting truths, they call it! Truth is meant to save you first, and the comfort comes afterward. . . . The Word of God is a red-hot iron. And you who preach it best go picking it up with a pair of tongs, for fear of burning yourself, you daren’t get hold of it with both hands. . . . Why, the priest who descends from the pulpit of Truth, with a mouth like a hen’s vent, a little hot but pleased with himself, he’s not been preaching: at best he’s been purring like a tabby-cat. Mind you that can happen to us all, we’re all half asleep, it’s the devil to wake us up, sometimes—the apostles slept all right at Gethsemane. . . . And mind you many a fellow who waves his arms and sweats like a furniture-remover isn’t necessarily any more awakened than the rest. On the contrary. I simply mean that when the Lord has drawn from me some word for the good of souls, I know, because of the pain of it. (emphasis mine) Why must the truth sometimes hurt? Because “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Heb. 4:12). God’s Word proclaimed will lay things open, right down to the bone, and that’s going to hurt in order to heal. It’s OK to admit that too. Not Designed to Entertain Truth be told, sermons aren’t designed for enjoyment and certainly not for entertainment. Sermons are designed to inform, liberate, convict, inspire, confront, comfort, challenge, build, disturb, subvert, and demolish. They’re search-and-destroy missions launched by the Holy Spirit against the strongholds of falsehood erected in our minds by hell. They’re a dead-raising summons to people who prefer graves to grace. Sermons drive out darkness—and sometimes that’s accompanied by agony. “That sermon angered me” or “That message was painful” might be far better responses to a Sunday message than any other words one could or should say. “My chains fell off” is also acceptable. Sermons drive out darkness—and sometimes that’s accompanied by agony. That’s why Annie Dillard was wise to observe that Christian worship services are hard-hat areas where people are under construction—and sometimes, the dust is going to fly. It’s a shared pain. Pastors’ tears when preparing and preaching are real. We repent of our sins as we seek to offer the red-hot iron of the gospel to all. We know it’ll be painful but not harmful. Call to Repentance and Renewal Not unlike Eustace Scrubb in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, we experience the painful plunging of Aslan’s sharp claw into our souls, ripping away the scales of our dragonish thralldom, restoring our humanity: Then the lion said—but I don’t know if it spoke—“You will have to let me undress you.” I was afraid of his claws, I can tell you, but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it. The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. My old friend knew that pain. He knew that truth. He knew the word he’d heard that day, the word that “hurt like hell,” was actually heaven-sent, calling him to repentance and renewed faith, calling him to take painful steps outside his comfort zone and to make some crooked paths straight. And he did. Friends, that’s a good message. That’s what a sermon is for.

Recent studies reveal about 10 million people have been labeled “dechurched casualties.” These are folks who’ve left the church over the past 25 years because of their negative experiences, and they have no intention to return. Faith deconstruction, while not exactly synonymous, is a common experience among this group. Much has been written extolling either the dangers or benefits of deconstruction. But is seeing deconstruction as a threat or as liberation the only options? In their new book, Invisible Jesus: A Book about Leaving the Church and Looking for Christ, New Testament scholar Scot McKnight and pastor Tommy Preson Phillips choose their side. They write, “We believe deconstruction is a prophetic movement resisting a distorted gospel. It is not a problem; it is a voice. And we need to listen to what it is saying to the church” (1). McKnight and Phillips are right to be concerned with the ways some churches distort the gospel, but Invisible Jesus doesn’t bring the clarity necessary to strengthen the faith of deconstructors and the church’s witness. Basis for Deconstruction McKnight and Phillips, who share their own deconstruction experiences, argue that while many are leaving the church, they aren’t necessarily leaving Jesus. Often, they don’t abandon the church altogether but rather “find another form of the Christian faith that fits them better” (13). The authors provide little reflection on the various conclusions deconstruction can lead to. While many (including me) do remain Christian, it’s undeniable that many don’t. This reality is largely overlooked in Invisible Jesus. Deconstructors, seeing Christians acting hatefully in how they fight the culture war or hypocritically their fundamentalist attitudes, leave the church. According to the authors, they leave to find Jesus: “It is for Christ’s sake that people today are walking away from churches” (2). McKnight and Phillips accurately capture the deconstruction experience, describing it as a dark night of the soul, a crisis that doesn’t always mean leaving the faith. They recognize the pain of those ostracized or silenced in their churches and rightly point out that many churches have lost the plot, centering the church on themselves or their leaders rather than on Jesus. Compromised churches, they argue, are a major catalyst for deconstruction, and a prophetic witness is needed to call them back to Christ. McKnight and Phillips are correct about some cases. But is this the only cause of deconstruction? Incomplete Picture If you only read Invisible Jesus, you’d think the answer is yes. McKnight and Phillips recognize how churches can distort the gospel, yet they give only a passing glance at how deconstructors might distort the gospel themselves. This tendency to adjust beliefs to be a better personal fit, rather than seeking what’s true, deserves scrutiny—yet it’s hardly mentioned. Compromised churches, they argue, are a major catalyst for deconstruction. The book presents deconstructors in two seemingly conflicting ways: as those who want a “Jesus-first religion” (49) and as those who put “everything . . . up for reexamination” (46). While deconstruction does involve being willing to question everything, these are contradictory portrayals. One is a prophetic call to return to Jesus, while the other is a willingness to challenge the core of the faith, including Christ’s divinity and resurrection. It’s unclear how someone can do both simultaneously. McKnight and Phillips appear to conflate these, labeling them both as “deconstruction” without attempting to reconcile them. Undefined Doctrine Confusion like this permeates the book. In the same breath, McKnight and Phillips advocate for a centered-set Christianity focused on Jesus, suggesting that doctrinal and ecclesial boundaries should be removed to avoid hindering faith, while also attempting to maintain the importance of these boundaries. They write, “A centered-set approach to faith does not mean the only article of faith is Jesus, and Jesus alone. Beliefs about God, the Spirit, redemption, the cross, resurrection, justification by faith, and other beliefs are all still important. . . . But rather than defining the faith with clear boundary markers, we have something more akin to what C. S. Lewis called mere Christianity” (41). While a centered-set faith is good as far as it goes, even a “mere” Christianity has boundaries. This confusion is exemplified when they discuss the voices deconstructors are listening to. They list figures like N. T. Wright, Dallas Willard, Rachel Held Evans, Brian McLaren, Anthea Butler, Rob Bell, and Richard Rohr. While these names are influential among deconstructors, presenting them without distinguishing their varying degrees of orthodoxy (or heresy) is baffling. These authors span a wide spectrum. The gap between people like Dallas Willard, an evangelical proponent of spiritual formation, and Richard Rohr, who has tried to redefine the Trinity, is vast. Treating them as if they’re all alike is misleading, if not irresponsible. The authors acknowledge the need for doctrinal boundaries but fail to clearly define where they should be drawn. Their proposal of a centered-set faith with doctrinal limits seems more like a bait and switch than a genuine effort to remove stumbling blocks. A clearer framework, such as theological triage, would be more practical than a vague “centered-set” approach that pretends to have fewer boundaries than it does. Narrow Ecclesiology McKnight and Phillips criticize rigid ecclesial and denominational structures but don’t hesitate to prescribe their own. They write, “The church must find ways to become flatter, less hierarchical, and less institutional . . . more intimate, social, equal, participatory, relational, and transparent. It is time to stand face-to-face or in a circle and proclaim what we know is true about our King through laments, protests, choirs, and corporate prayers” (107). This call to stand “face-to-face or in a circle” critiques the traditional setup of rows facing a stage. The only model they explicitly endorse is the house church. There’s no acknowledgment that traditional church structures serve a purpose. Chesterton’s fence would serve us well here: It’s best to know why something exists in the first place before you tear it down. McKnight and Phillips correctly diagnose part of the problem that influences people’s deconstruction, but their analysis is incomplete. McKnight and Phillips correctly diagnose part of the problem that influences people’s deconstruction, but their analysis is incomplete. They rightly call the church to listen to deconstructing people instead of writing them off, but they don’t invite deconstructors to reflect on other reasons they’re deconstructing besides the hurt they experienced in a church. They rightly want the church to be centered around Jesus but struggle to define what that means. While attempting to speak prophetically to the church, Invisible Jesus undermines the church itself. That is tragic, because good churches are the best place for deconstructors rebuild their faith. Many of its diagnoses and some of its prescriptions hit the mark. However, this book is more likely to entrench the divide between the church and those who’ve been hurt by it than it is to heal relationships, strengthen the faith of deconstructors, and solve the problems they encounter in the church. In those ways, it greatly misses the mark.

Don Carson discusses the strengths and weaknesses of new hermeneutics, arguing that while it offers helpful insights, all Scripture carries an enduring relevance that transcends cultural shifts. He emphasizes the need for humility in biblical interpretation, Scripture’s clarity, and the Holy Spirit’s role in enabling us to understand God’s Word. He teaches the following: New hermeneutics must be balanced by Scripture’s transcendent relevance Scripture is clear and accessible for all believers to understand and obey God’s revelation is complete under the new covenant Understanding Scripture requires both intellectual effort and the Holy Spirit’s guidance How to evaluate command, sharing, and servant models of leadership Humility and a teachable spirit are essential when interpreting God’s Word

I'm diggin' this move from the White Sox

The Regime sycophants at MSNBC wasted no time going into North Korean anchor mode after the conclusion of Vice President Kamala Harris’s “closing argument” speech at the Ellipse in Washington, D.C., in an effort to trigger friendly coverage with January 6th contrasts.  Watch as Russia Hoax purveyor Rachel Maddow and racial arsonist Joy Reid take turns fawning over Harris’s speech (click expand” to view full transcript): MSNBC THE CHRIS HAYES SHOW 10/29/24 8:10 PM CHRIS HAYES: Joining me now: Rachel Maddow, host of The Rachel Maddow Show, Joy Reid, host of The ReidOut on MSNBC. We were speaking before the speech and we got to see it. Rachel, your thoughts? RACHEL MADDOW: This is a damn good speech. This strikes me as, essentially, the book end to her Democratic National Convention speech. Her acceptance of the Democratic Party's nomination hit some of the same lines but she knew she was speaking to the Democratic Party and to those that elevated her within that party. Tonight she was speaking to the whole country. She overtly asked for people's vote, sheovertly reintroduced herself to the country. She said, “I know a lot of people say they don't know enough about me” I am paraphrasing, but she talked about her upbringing, she talked about having worked most of her career outside of Washington and she ended with a big, you know, presidential flourish, a big vision: “Nearly 250 years ago America was born when we wrested freedom from a petty tyrant. Across the generations, Americans have preserved that freedom and expanded it. And in so doing, proved to the world that a government of, by, and for the people is strong and can endure. The United States of America”, she said, “is not a vessel for the schemes of wanna-be dictators. The United States of America is the greatest idea humanity ever devised.” She is not speaking to people who already support her there. She is speaking to people who may not have been inclined to vote for her, who may not have felt comfortable with her, who may not have felt like there was worthy- it was a worthy cause to get up off the couch and go vote for anybody. She’s there to say, “Listen. I embody the future of this country and the other guy embodies the end of the democratic American experiment”. And it’s worth voting for me because I will protect this country. And that is strength personified. She did a very good job delivering this speech. And I think it was probably the most important speech of her life thus far. HAYES: Joy. JOY REID: Indeed, she said “It is time to turn the page on the drama and the conflict. The fear and the division. It’s time to turn the page to a new vision for America.” I wrote that line down as well as the line that Rachel Maddow just read to you. This was an excellent speech, but what strikes me is what she said, talking about herself being a child of the civil rights movement, her parents taking her to marches in a stroller. She described watching her mom work out the bills and figure out how to buy her first home and stay in it at that Formica yellow table. She described a middle class upbringing. An approachable upbringing that people can relate to. A relatable person who talked about working for the people. She talked about her biography a bit. But I think what really struck me was not just the delivery of the speech, which to Rachel’s point was very well done, the setting was iconic. With that cinematic look where you can sort of see the Capitol blurred behind her. The beauty, the vision of it. But we stand at the brink of potentially electing our first woman president. We stand at the brink of doing something that Liberia was able to do, that Pakistan was able to do, that Israel, that England but that we have not done. That Mexico just did. That we stand at the brink of that. And for the 75,000 some odd people who stood at the Ellipse, their memories of the Ellipse, their vision of the Ellipse will not be about January 6th, 2021. It will be about being there tonight, listening to the daughter of immigrants say that the tyrant that we should oppose today is somebody who spurns immigrants, despite two of his three wives being immigrants. It’s somebody whose closing argument was to attack immigrants, to attack strivers, to attack Dreamers, to attack the people who make our country great. And what she says is that America doesn't have to be made great. It is great. And it’s great because of all of us. And regardless of party, it’s great because of you. And, so this ask for the vote, which is the primary job of a political candidate, I think this ask was put in terms that are both inspiring and fundamental to those of us -- you know, we children of immigrants- we have a little bit of a rose-colored view of America. We kind of come with it. We’re kind of born with it- sort of a thing we get when we come out of the womb of our immigrant parent who came here on purpose. And I think whether you are somebody who came and became an American citizen on purpose, deliberately as an immigrant, or somebody whose lineage goes back all the way to the beginning in its flawed beginning, what Kamala Harris is saying you are part of that mosaic. And so I think it was both her best speech, it was her most important speech, and the location of it made it literally iconic. One expects a certain degree of sycophancy and Democrat derriere osculation from MSNBC. However, even this gushing exceeds the norms. Rachel Maddow and Joy Reid are fawning over what essentially amounts to a redo of a botched early stump speech. Maddow admits this is a reintroduction, shortly after hailing the speech as “damn good.” She then turns to the portions intended to evoke the American Revolution, citing them as she hails Harris for being “strength personified”, and the embodiment of the future of this country. Joy Reid took over and also began fawning. Immediately. Reid weaved together various elements of Harris’s life, such as her family’s participation in the civil rights movement, the “middle class upbringing”, and the cinematic look of the speech. Reid exulted about a daughter of immigrants becoming the nation’s first woman president. Reid closes out by calling the speech “literally iconic.” If it weren’t for Regime Media, we’d have none at all.  

It's easy to hold onto what you love the most, but in doing so, you become blinded to the other goodies waiting in the wings. I get it - you love your Gran Turismo games - but believe me when I say there are plenty of other vehicle-based games out there worth a play, even if they're not all strictly racing-orientated. Here are ten games you should play if you love Gran Turismo.

On Tuesday’s broadcast of CNN’s “The Source,” Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro (D) reacted to President Joe Biden’s comments about supporters of 2024 Republican presidential candidate former…