Creativity as the Calling of Christians

God’s Poetry and the Call to Create

N.T. Wright once pointed out the word Paul uses in Ephesians 2:10: we are God’s handiwork, His poetry or artwork. We are not afterthoughts or assembly-line products. God made us deliberately, and He made us for good works.

That means Christians cannot spend life waiting for God to “come back and fix it all.” We are His work, made to take part in His work.

A Creative God, A Creative People

Creation bears the care of its Maker, from the stars to the smallest atom. Human beings bear His image and receive the task of cultivation and stewardship.

Christ does more than patch a broken system. He makes us new creations. Paul tells us in Philippians 2 to have the mind of Christ, and that mind turns power into service.

Our work, relationships, and care for the world should therefore show the craftsmanship of the God who made us. Christian life is active. We receive what God has made and bring our own gifts to it.

Creativity Is a Christian Calling

Genesis joins creation to cultivation. God makes the world, then gives human beings work within it. The New Testament uses the same living image: life in the Spirit bears fruit.

A line attributed to C.S. Lewis says that being in God’s image means we are made to “create in the same sense that He creates.” The wording needs a source, and the distinction matters: God creates from nothing; we receive a world and work with what He gives. We make, tend, repair, and restore because we are creatures of the Maker.

This does not require a grand artistic vocation. It can happen in code, soil, wood, meals, classrooms, families, and neighborhoods. The point is faithful attention to the part of creation placed in our hands.

Rejecting Fatalism

Christians sometimes speak as if God will destroy everything and start over, so work in the present world barely matters. That is not the New Testament hope. The kingdom has already broken into the world through Christ, and we are called to participate in it now.

We still await the fullness of that kingdom. But waiting does not mean idleness. It means bringing beauty, order, justice, and care into the places God has given us.

Our efforts do not build the kingdom by their own power. They answer the God who is making all things new. Even small acts of making and repair can bear witness to His future.

A Life of Creative Engagement

We are God’s handiwork, made in Christ for good works. So make something. Tend something. Repair what has been neglected. Use the gift instead of burying it.

As God’s handiwork, we have the privilege of becoming faithful makers under Him. Our work is not in vain.

Set Your Ambition on Becoming a Saint

When I was a pastor, I used to run the mile from my house to the gym instead of driving. I wanted to keep my heart healthy and push my body.

One day my wife mentioned the routine to another pastor’s wife. Her response was immediate: “What, is that a pride thing?”

That suspicion followed ambition through much of the Christian culture I knew. If you wanted to excel, test your limits, or build something difficult, someone was ready to call it pride.

Then I encountered a line attributed to Pope Gregory the Great: “Do not fear to set your ambition to become a saint.” It gave me a better question. I did not need to bury my drive. I needed to decide what it served.

Ambition and Pride

Ambition can be selfish. It can seek recognition, rank, and control. But drive can also be consecrated. It can build up the weak, serve the poor, strengthen the Church, and glorify God.

Gregory’s challenge aims ambition at the highest goal: sainthood. Holiness requires more than passivity. It requires discipline, endurance, and the willingness to give your strength away.

The Example of Judas in The Chosen

The latest season of The Chosen puts this tension into Judas. He comes to Jesus’ ministry with plans for collections, rewards, and expansion. The other disciples push back and tell him to “just do the work you’re told.”

His problem is not that he thinks boldly. It is that his ambition bends toward control instead of love. I wish the writers had made that distinction more clearly. The Judas on screen did not need less strength. He needed strength ordered by the Beatitudes.

Ambition Ordered by Love

St. Paul writes in Philippians 2:3, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” He names the corrupt form: selfish ambition. Christian greatness spends itself for another.

A second line attributed to Gregory says, “Where love exists, it works great things.” Love decides whether strength becomes service or self-worship. Ambition grounded in love builds, protects, and gives.

The world does not need Christians who are afraid to be strong. It needs Christians who know what their strength is for.

So set your ambition on becoming a saint. Consecrate your passion and your dreams of higher things to serve the lower things. Lift up the Lord Jesus and, with Him, your neighbor.

The Prodigal Son and Origen’s Hope of Universal Reconciliation

The Parable of the Prodigal Son ends too soon. The younger son has come home. The feast has begun. But the older brother is still outside, and Jesus never tells us whether he enters.

Origen’s vision of apokatastasis, the restoration of all things, gives that open ending a startling weight. The parable does not only show that a rebel can return. It leaves us with a father still pleading with the son who refuses the feast.

The Younger Son: Rebellion, Return, and Redemption

The younger son takes his inheritance, leaves his father’s house, and ruins himself. Broke and broken, he comes home expecting judgment.

His father runs to him, embraces him, and restores him as a son. The grace is excessive. The father does not make him earn his way back into the house.

That is the familiar center of the parable: no matter how far we stray, God’s grace is ready to restore us. But Jesus does not stop with the son who knows he is lost.

The Older Brother: Resistance and the Open Door

The older brother stands outside the celebration, bitter that the father has welcomed such a man home. He represents another kind of lostness: pride, jealousy, and self-righteousness inside the father’s own household.

The father does not reject him. He goes out to him and says, “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” Then he asks him to join the feast.

Jesus leaves the answer unwritten. The older son is not forced inside, but neither is he abandoned to his bitterness. The last movement belongs to the father, who has come out to plead with him.

The Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Son

Luke places this story beside the lost sheep and the lost coin. In both earlier parables, the one who lost something searches until it is found, and the finding ends in joy.

Jesus says in Luke 15:4-7, “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?” The shepherd does not decide that ninety-nine are enough.

The third story complicates the pattern because sons can answer their father. One returns from a distant country. The other must decide whether he will leave his anger and enter the feast. Yet the father seeks both.

A Hope for Final Restoration

Origen saw in such stories a reason to hope that no soul would remain lost forever. The father’s patience and the unfinished ending do not let us treat the older brother as disposable.

The parable does not show us the older son entering. It leaves us instead with the character of the father: lavish toward the repentant and patient toward the resistant. Christian Universalism takes that posture seriously enough to ask whether divine love will finally prevail over every refusal.

The answer is not narrated for us. The invitation remains: the feast has begun, the Father has come outside, and He is still calling His child home.

Don’t Reinvent the Liturgical Wheel

The Mass is the Pinnacle of Western Christian Worship

When I first went to Mass, I was shocked to hear evangelical hymns. I knew them from my teenage years, Bible college, and Baptist ministry. I had expected Catholic music to sound completely foreign.

The songs were familiar. What surrounded them was not. Confession, Scripture, prayer, and Eucharist formed one act of worship. The Mass took pieces I had known for years and gave them an order and a center.

That is why I believe the Mass is the pinnacle of Western Christian worship. It is less elaborate than the Orthodox Divine Liturgy, but no less profound. It carries the wisdom of the early Church and centuries of theological reflection in a form ordinary people can pray together.

The Search for the Perfect Liturgy

Protestant traditions do not share one structure for public worship. Some reject formal liturgy and center the service on preaching or praise music. Others preserve or recover prayers and patterns from older traditions.

The recurring problem is balance: spontaneity and structure, emotion and theology, the sermon and the sacrament. A congregation may handle some of these well, but the service often depends on the gifts and preferences of whoever planned it that week.

There is no need to reinvent the wheel. The Mass brings confession, Scripture, prayer, and Eucharist into one durable form. It does not depend on a pastor having a brilliant sermon or a worship band creating the right emotional pitch.

The Eucharist at the Center

The Mass is not merely a useful tradition. Its center is the Eucharist, the memorial of Christ’s death and resurrection and the sacramental participation of the Church in His sacrifice.

This changes the purpose of the gathering. The congregation does not come primarily to hear one person speak or to manufacture an experience. The Church comes to receive Christ, offer thanksgiving, hear the Scriptures, pray, and share in the meal He gave us.

The structure has endured persecution, cultural change, and theological conflict because it does not belong to one gifted leader or one moment in history. It belongs to the Church.

What Protestants Can Recover

The Reformation rightly forced serious questions about doctrine and authority, but the break from Catholic tradition also cost many communities the structure that had formed Christian worship for centuries. Some Protestants retained or recovered much of it. Others did not.

Adopting the Mass in its full Catholic meaning would require more than copying an order of service. The Eucharist cannot be separated from what the Church believes it is. But every Western Christian can still confront the question the Mass poses: why start over each Sunday when the Church has already given us a rhythm of confession, Scripture, prayer, offering, and sacrament?

The Mass is a gift the West should not abandon. It keeps public worship communal, scriptural, and centered on Christ’s sacrifice. Protestants do not need another worship trend. They need to recover what the Church has carried all along.

Karma: A Shadow of a Divine Pattern

A Partial Glimpse

Karma names something real: our actions have consequences. Good and evil are not weightless. What we do returns to shape us and the world around us.

But karma leaves me with a question. What grounds this moral order? Buddhism can describe the law without identifying a lawgiver. The Buddha declined to answer questions about the origin and final shape of the universe because he considered them distractions from the end of suffering.

Christianity gives the moral order a face. Consequences are not produced by a machine balancing an account. They unfold within the providence of a God who judges, teaches, restores, and loves His creation. Karma is a partial glimpse of that truth.

The Four Unanswered Questions of the Buddha

Buddhist tradition preserves a set of avyākata, or undeclared questions. Four of the central questions are:

  1. Is the universe eternal, or is it not eternal?
  2. Is the universe infinite, or is it not infinite?
  3. Is the soul the same as the body, or is it different from the body?
  4. Does a liberated person exist after death, or do they not exist, or do they both exist and not exist, or do they neither exist nor not exist?

The Buddha refused to make these questions part of his path because they did not lead to enlightenment or the cessation of suffering. Karma could do its practical work without a theory of creation or a final account of reality.

That is exactly where Christianity presses. A moral order without an origin can tell us that actions bear fruit, but not why moral reality exists or what its consequences are for. Christianity grounds the order in God Himself.

Divine Justice: Personal and Restorative

Karma is often described as cause and effect: good actions bring good results, and bad actions bring bad ones. Christian justice is personal. God acts as a Father who disciplines His children to bring them back into right relationship with Him and one another.

The consequences of sin remain real. Christianity does not make evil harmless. God can use those consequences to correct, heal, and restore rather than balancing the scales and walking away.

Here we go beyond the Buddha. Beyond the silence is a Father who guides His children toward His likeness. The moral order is not a ratio. It is the wise discipline of a parent.

Shadow and Substance

Sacramental penance gives this distinction a concrete form. We repent, confess our sins, receive absolution, and undertake the satisfaction assigned to us. Those acts do not buy forgiveness or mechanically settle a spiritual debt. Christ gives forgiveness; penance is our graced response to that mercy and a real work of repair.

It also does more than teach us a lesson. By grace, penance becomes part of theosis, the long work by which God shapes us into the likeness of Christ. We face the truth about our sins, make what reparation we can, and take up the cross. That is different from treating every painful consequence as a punishment assigned by God.

Karma sees that actions have consequences. Christianity reveals the Father within that order. He restores His children and leads them into eternal life.

God’s Love Is Without Fear

Human love is rarely pure. We love a spouse, child, friend, or cause, but fear enters with the love. We hold something back because we remember betrayal. We try to control the response because rejection would hurt. We want the other person’s good, but we also want to be affirmed, safe, and obeyed.

That does not make human love false. It makes it wounded. We can give ourselves honestly while still carrying habits of pride and self-protection that limit the gift.

God Does Not Love From Fear

God’s love is different because God does not love from fear, need, or insecurity. He does not wait for us to become safe enough to approach. In Christ, He gives Himself to sinners who can reject Him. The Cross is not a metaphor for divine affection. It is the act by which God shows what His love costs and what it intends to heal.

This does not mean that God is indifferent to our response. Love calls the beloved toward communion, obedience, and life. Grace is not earned, but neither is it aimless. God loves us as we are and refuses to leave us as we are.

Romans 8 and the Fear of Being Abandoned

Romans 8 names the pressures that make human beings doubt love: suffering, accusation, danger, death, and powers beyond our control. Paul’s answer is not that believers will avoid those things. It is that none of them can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

That claim is stronger than a feeling of reassurance. Human affection can cool when circumstances change. God’s purpose in Christ does not depend on our ability to keep ourselves emotionally steady. We can falter without discovering that He has become another frightened or withholding lover.

Learning to Receive Before We Imitate

The first response to God’s love is not to promise that we will imitate it perfectly. It is to receive it. A person who believes he must earn affection will turn even selfless love into another performance. Romans 8 interrupts that performance with the prior action of God.

From there, imitation becomes possible. We can confess the fear that makes us guarded, release some of our demand for control, and seek the good of another person without requiring an immediate return. We will do it imperfectly. The point is not to become fearless by force of will. It is to let God’s steadfast love make us less governed by fear.

Human love remains mixed. God’s love in Christ is not. That is why it can expose our limits without condemning us to them.

What the Rule of Saint Benedict Offers an Uncertain Age

Peter Zeihan argues that a retreat of American naval power would fracture the trade system built under U.S. protection. Sea lanes would become less secure, regional powers would act with fewer restraints, and countries dependent on long supply chains would face serious pressure. His book treats that scenario as the end of one world and the beginning of another.

That is a forecast, not a settled future. But it raises a useful Christian question: what kind of household and community can remain faithful when large systems become less reliable?

The Rule of Saint Benedict offers one answer. It was written for monasteries, not suburban households or geopolitical collapse. Its habits of prayer, work, stability, obedience, hospitality, restraint, and common life nevertheless show how a community can endure without making power or consumption its center.

What the Benedictine Example Can and Cannot Prove

The story is often told too neatly: Rome fell, Benedictine monks appeared, and the monasteries saved European civilization through the Dark Ages. The actual history stretches across centuries and many regions. Monasteries were not the only institutions that preserved learning, fed travelers, cultivated land, or held communities together.

Still, the Benedictine witness matters. A monastery orders ordinary life around worship rather than panic. People pray at fixed times, share work, receive guests, submit appetite to rule, and remain in place long enough to become responsible for one another. Those practices do not stop an empire from falling. They make a different kind of life possible inside the ruins.

Moderation

The Rule refuses both luxury and theatrical deprivation. For a modern household, moderation means learning to live below the limits of income and appetite. It means buying fewer things, wasting less, keeping useful skills, and refusing to let convenience become a necessity.

Gardening, supporting local businesses, and learning local sources of food can be good disciplines. They do not make a family independent of global trade. Their first value is moral: they teach patience, limits, and attention to the place where we live.

Community

Resilience is not a stockpile assembled by one anxious household. It is a network of obligations. Family meals, neighbors who know one another, parish life, shared tools, practical service, and care for the old and young create relationships that can bear weight in a crisis.

Luke 16:9 warns against treating wealth as an end and points toward relationships that outlast it. The passage should not be reduced to a disaster-preparedness slogan. It does, however, challenge the person who has money but no friends able to welcome him.

Christ-Centered Humility

Benedictine life is not a technique for surviving decline. It is a school of service under Christ. Prayer gives the community its center. Humility keeps competence from becoming domination. Hospitality prevents local loyalty from hardening into fear of outsiders.

A household preparing only to preserve itself has missed the Christian point. The aim is to become steady enough to serve: to feed someone, receive a guest, teach a child, care for a neighbor, and continue worship when the surrounding culture is frightened or disordered.

Zeihan may be wrong about the scale or timing of American retreat. The Benedictine lesson does not depend on his forecast coming true. A life ordered by prayer, restraint, work, hospitality, and durable relationships is worth building now. If harsher years arrive, those habits will already be in place.

Why I Preferred Cursor in July 2024

This comparison records my experience in July 2024. AI products, prices, models, and adoption figures change quickly.

Cursor was the best AI coding assistant I had used because it kept the two things I needed in one place: a capable coding chat and direct access to the files in my project.

I reached that judgment while building a life-coach AI app. Cursor could work across routes, controllers, services, repositories, and database files without forcing me to move every snippet between a browser and an editor. It handled much of the syntax and boilerplate while I stayed focused on architecture and behavior. That concrete workflow mattered more to me than a leaderboard.

The July 2024 Field

ChatGPT: ChatGPT was useful for generating snippets, debugging, and explaining concepts. In the workflow I was using, it still required a great deal of copying and pasting. A reported acceptance figure of roughly 26 percent needs its original source and study conditions before it carries much weight 1.

Codium: At the time, published product summaries claimed more than 300,000 monthly active users, support for more than 40 IDEs and 70 languages 2, and a team plan priced at $19 per month 3. Reviews highlighted multiline completion and chat 4. Those numbers were a snapshot, not a permanent comparison.

Cursor: Cursor advertised use by engineers at companies and institutions including Tesla, IBM, Harvard, and MIT 5. A third-party source claimed that its GPT-4 workflow ran three times faster than direct API use 6. Cursor also advertised compatibility with Visual Studio Code extensions 7, while a contemporary pricing summary listed a free plan and a $30-per-month Pro plan 8. Each is a dated vendor or third-party claim, not the reason I preferred the product.

GitHub Copilot: GitHub reported adoption by more than 20,000 organizations 9. A study summary reported that participants completed a defined coding task 55 percent faster 10. Other published figures included suggestion acceptance near 30 percent, an 8.69 percent increase in pull requests, a 15 percent increase in merge rates 11, and a survey result in which 75 percent of developers reported feeling more fulfilled 12. These measures describe different samples and outcomes. They do not by themselves settle which assistant is best for a particular project.

Experimental agents: AIDR and OpenDevin aimed at greater task autonomy. One contemporary summary assigned such agents roughly 13 percent “efficiency” 13, but the term needs a defined benchmark. In my use, orchestration and memory were not yet dependable enough for unsupervised work.

Why Cursor Won for Me

  • Autocomplete: Cursor’s suggestions were more useful to me than Copilot’s on the project I was building.
  • Available models: In July 2024, Cursor offered access to Claude 3.5 Sonnet and GPT-4-class models, according to its product material 5 7.
  • Project context: It made adding and managing files easier than my browser-based ChatGPT workflow.
  • One workspace: It joined completion, chat, and file editing in the editor I was already using.

Agents will become more useful as context retrieval, file management, and task orchestration improve. In July 2024, they were not ready for me to trust them alone 13. Cursor was valuable for the opposite reason: it increased my reach while keeping me in the loop.

Holiness as an Offensive Operation

In the conservative circles I knew, holiness often meant separation: avoid impurity, withdraw from corrupt culture, and remain morally unlike the world. Separation from sin is real. But my former professor Peter Gentry persuaded me that it is not the whole meaning of holiness.

Holiness is consecration. Something holy is set apart for God. The purpose matters as much as the boundary.

Consecrated to God

Gentry’s study begins with the Hebrew qadosh and the Greek hagios. Both words carry the sense of something sacred, devoted, or set apart for a divine purpose. The lexical point does not erase moral purity. It explains what purity serves.

In the Old Testament, people, places, and objects are holy because they belong to God in a particular way. Israel is called a holy nation in Exodus 19:6 because God has claimed the people for His covenant purpose. Their difference from the nations is not a private achievement. It is a vocation.

This is where the definition becomes an argument. If holiness meant only distance from contamination, withdrawal could become its own end. But consecration asks what a holy people has been set apart to do.

The Direction of the Covenants

The covenants face outward. Abraham is blessed so that the families of the earth may be blessed through him. Israel is distinguished from the nations so that God’s reign, justice, and mercy may become visible among them. In Isaiah, judgment does not end with a protected enclave. The dead-looking stump of David produces new life, and the promised kingdom reaches beyond Israel.

This mission was primarily an offensive operation, not a defensive one. By “offensive” I do not mean coercion or conquest. I mean that holiness moves toward the world in blessing, witness, justice, and service. It does not merely hold a line against corruption.

Gentry’s account also helped me see why God’s holiness cannot be reduced to aloof transcendence. God is unwaveringly devoted to His own character and purposes. His holiness appears in His fidelity, His justice, and the fulfillment of His promises. The covenant people imitate that holiness by belonging wholly to Him and carrying His purposes into the world.

Separation Has a Purpose

This does not make separation worthless. Some habits, institutions, and influences deform us. Consecrated communities and periods of withdrawal can train attention, prayer, and obedience. The mistake is treating distance itself as proof of faithfulness.

A Christian can avoid the world’s vices and still fail to love a neighbor, seek justice, welcome a stranger, or bear witness to Christ. That life may be insulated without being holy. The biblical question is not only, “What have you refused?” It is also, “What has God claimed you for?”

Holiness therefore shapes both identity and mission. We are set apart from sin because we are set apart for God. Work, family, church, public life, and cultural encounter become places where that devotion is tested. Engagement must not become compromise, but fear of compromise must not become an excuse for sterility.

The Church is holy when it belongs to God and spends itself on His purposes. Moral purity is part of that life, not its final horizon. The final horizon is a people whose common life reveals the character of the God to whom they belong.

For further reading and to explore the detailed insights presented by Professor Peter Gentry, you can access his paper, “No One Holy Like the Lord,” published in the Midwestern Journal of Theology.

Affirmation as a Closed-Loop Illusion

Talk can feel like work. That is why it can become a closed-loop illusion.

You announce a goal. Friends praise the intention. A meeting produces a detailed plan. Everyone leaves encouraged. Nothing has been built, practiced, shipped, or finished, but the social reward arrives anyway.

The danger is not affirmation itself. Encouragement can strengthen a person who is doing difficult work. The danger is letting recognition for an intention stand in for the work that the intention was supposed to produce.

When the Signal Replaces the Result

This happens easily because talk produces real social consequences. A person who announces a marathon receives praise as an aspiring runner before completing the daily runs. A team that holds a planning meeting can feel coordinated before anyone owns the next action. The feeling is real. The competence is not yet there.

Research on goals makes the picture more careful than a slogan about dopamine. Implementation intentions can help when they connect a specific situation to a specific action. Research on self-regulation also asks whether attention to progress increases commitment or gives a premature sense of release. The effect depends on what the person does with the signal. A plan that governs action is useful. A plan that earns applause and then becomes a substitute for action is not.

Social media makes the substitution easy to repeat. The post about a new diet, project, or career move is public and measurable: it receives likes and comments. The private repetition required to become competent is slower and often invisible. A person can therefore keep producing signs of progress instead of progress itself.

Reality Gives Better Feedback

Physics, deadlines, and tangible results do not lie. The weight either moved or it did not. The code runs or it fails. The paper survives criticism or it does not. Reality returns information that affirmation cannot provide.

This is why competence grows through repeated contact with the task. Planning matters. Encouragement matters. Honest feedback matters. But each one must lead back to action. Otherwise the support system becomes a padded room in which intention is mistaken for achievement.

The practical discipline is modest. Speak about a goal only as much as the work requires. Turn plans into named next actions. Measure output rather than enthusiasm. Seek praise less often than correction. Let the result tell you what you can do.

John the Baptist’s willingness to decrease and Christ’s refusal of empty acclaim point toward the same moral posture: substance before appearance. Humility does not mean denying good work. It means refusing to claim the fruit before it grows.

Citations

Gollwitzer, P. M. (1999). Implementation Intentions: Strong Effects of Simple Plans. American Psychologist, 54(7), 493-503. Available at APA PsycNet.

Fishbach, A., & Koo, M. (2014). The Dynamics of Self-Regulation: When Goals Commit Versus Liberate. Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, 50, 207-261. Available at ScienceDirect.