Tag: god

Creativity as the Calling of Christians

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God’s Poetry and the Call to Create

N.T. Wright once pointed out something in Ephesians 2 that struck a chord with me. The passage tells us that we are God’s handiwork—it’s a word, he says, that conveys the idea of His poetry or artwork. It’s a stunning image, isn’t it? Not just the idea that God made us, but that He made us with the same care and creativity He put into everything else in creation. We are not afterthoughts or assembly-line products. We are intricate, intentional, and unique expressions of His divine craftsmanship.

But if that’s true, what does it mean for us? What does it mean to be the poetry of God in a world that feels more broken than beautiful most days? And what does it mean to imitate Christ, who Himself reflected God’s creative genius? It can’t mean sitting around and waiting, can it? Surely it means more than that. Wright’s point reminds us that we’re meant to be active participants in God’s unfolding plan, not just spectators on the sidelines. And this calls us to reject the idea that we should pass the time idly, waiting for God to “come back and fix it all.”

A Creative God, A Creative People

When N.T. Wright says we are God’s poetry, he’s pulling us into a deeper understanding of what it means to belong to a creative God. Look around at creation: there’s nothing random or careless about it. From the vastness of the stars to the smallest atom, everything is crafted with intention and beauty. That same creativity pulses in us because we are made in the image of that Creator.

But it doesn’t stop there. When we look at the person of Christ, we see the ultimate expression of God’s creative work. Jesus didn’t just come to patch up a broken system. He introduced something radically new—He made a way for us to be new creations. And as Paul tells us in Philippians 2, we’re meant to have the mind of Christ, to follow in His steps.

To me, that means more than just a call to holiness; it’s a call to creative action. We are meant to reflect God’s craftsmanship in the way we approach our work, our relationships, and the world around us. Being a Christian isn’t about living in default mode. It’s about letting the same creativity that built the universe flow through us into everything we do.

Creativity is a Christian’s Calling

In a way, this creative call is woven into the fabric of Scripture. Genesis doesn’t just describe God creating; it describes Him inviting us into that process of cultivation and stewardship. Even in the New Testament, we see that living in the Spirit means bearing fruit, producing something with the life God has given us.

C.S. Lewis once said that being in God’s image means we are made to “create in the same sense that He creates.” Not on His scale, of course, but in the same spirit. We’re not called to idleness, to repetitive or menial tasks just to get by until the end comes. Instead, we are to take up the same role Jesus did—creating, redeeming, and restoring wherever we go. This isn’t something we do because we have to; it’s something we do because it’s in our DNA as God’s children.

Rejecting the Fatalistic View

But here’s where we run into a problem. Too often, we fall into a sort of spiritual fatalism. We buy into this idea that God will one day destroy everything and remake it from scratch, so why bother doing anything now? We can fall into thinking that our job is just to keep our heads down, mind our own business, and bide our time until Christ returns.

This, as N.T. Wright and others have pointed out, is a massive misunderstanding of what it means to follow Jesus. The kingdom of God isn’t something we sit around and wait for—it’s something that has already broken into the world through Christ. We’re called to participate in that kingdom now. Yes, we await the fullness of it, but in the meantime, we’re meant to be His agents of renewal, His poets in action.

Wright is pushing back against a simplistic eschatology that promotes disengagement. If we think the endgame is just God wiping the slate clean, then of course we won’t bother trying to bring beauty, order, or justice to the world now. But that’s not how the New Testament frames things. The world is already being redeemed, and we’re invited to partner with God in that work. To sit on our hands is to deny our role as stewards of creation.

Creative Genius for Modern Challenges

If ever there were a time to embrace this creative calling, it’s now. The challenges we face today are like nothing the world has ever seen before. We’re dealing with environmental crises, technological upheaval, and societal fractures that demand new, creative solutions. And as Christians, we have the mind of Christ—that same divine creativity that brought order out of chaos at the beginning of time. We’re not meant to shrink back or wait for the world to get worse. We’re meant to lean into these challenges with the boldness of people who know that God is making all things new.

This is where N.T. Wright’s vision hits home for me. The idea that we are God’s poetry calls us to reject the passive, nihilistic mindset that has infected too much of our thinking. We need the creative genius of Jesus Christ working in and through us to face these challenges. And that doesn’t mean grand, sweeping gestures necessarily. It might mean small, faithful acts of creativity and care in our daily lives, but those things matter because they reflect God’s ongoing work in the world.

A Life of Creative Engagement

So, where does that leave us? If we are truly God’s handiwork, His poetry, then we can’t afford to live as if we’re just killing time until the end comes. We’re called to more than that. We’re called to reflect the creative genius of our Maker and to embody the care and intentionality that He pours into everything He makes.

It’s easy to fall into fatalism, to think that our efforts don’t matter because God is going to “fix” everything later. But N.T. Wright helps us see that this is a distortion of the Christian hope. The kingdom of God has already come in part, and we’re invited to participate in its unfolding here and now. So let’s be about that work, in whatever way God has gifted us, knowing that even our small acts of creativity are part of His grand, redemptive plan.

As God’s poetry, we have the privilege of being both His creation and His co-creators. Let’s not waste that gift. Let’s allow His creativity to flow through us as we face the challenges of today, knowing that our work is not in vain.

Why Ambition is Misunderstood, and How Gregory the Great Redeems It

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There’s an unspoken rule in some Christian circles: ambition is dangerous. If you’re a person with energy, drive, and a desire to excel, chances are you’ve already been silently or outrightly labeled as a prideful person. It appears to be a quiet, undercurrent belief that ambition is pride manifest.

But ambition itself is not the enemy. Pope Gregory the Great, one of the Church’s most influential leaders, offered words that changed my perspective when he said: “Do not fear to set your ambition to become a saint.”

This quote broke something loose inside me. For too long, I felt stifled by the messaging that my ambition—my drive to push myself and test my limits—was something dangerous. But Gregory’s words reframed it all. Ambition is not something to fear. Ambition, when aimed at holiness, is one of the most powerful forces a person can wield. It can lift the weak, serve the poor, and glorify God.

A Brief Example

When I was a pastor, I made a habit of running to the gym instead of driving—about a mile away from my house. It wasn’t vanity; it was about keeping my heart healthy, pushing my body to its limits, and keeping my temple strong. It was part of my way of giving life my best effort.

One day, my wife mentioned this routine to a pastor’s wife, and the response was immediate: “What, is that a pride thing?” It was the kind of sneer that implied that my desire to push myself physically—to take care of my body—was prideful.

This wasn’t the first time I’d felt that underlying suspicion. Whether at church or in other Christian settings, the idea of being ambitious, of wanting to excel, was constantly questioned, as if ambition in itself was something wrong.

But here’s where Pope Gregory’s words helped me realize a deeper truth. It’s not ambition itself that’s dangerous. Every virtue has an opposite vice. The real issue is how we use our ambition. Ambition can be selfish, yes, but it can also be consecrated. It can be used to build ourselves up, or it can be channeled to build others up.

Gregory’s challenge is simple: “Do not fear to set your ambition to become a saint.” This was a message that changed how I viewed ambition. I didn’t need to bury it. I needed to aim it toward the greatest goal: sainthood. Holiness.

The Example of Judas in The Chosen

This tension between ambition and humility is perfectly illustrated in the latest season of The Chosen. Judas, the disciple most often seen as the ultimate symbol of betrayal and pride, is portrayed early on as someone with bold ideas. He comes into Jesus’ ministry with suggestions—taking collections, setting up reward systems, and thinking creatively about how to expand the mission. He encourages the disciples to think bigger and bolder.

But the reaction from the other disciples is clear: they push back. They tell Judas to quiet down, to “just do the work you’re told.” There’s an undercurrent of suspicion toward his ambition that is plainly told by the director, toward the fact that he’s thinking outside of the box or thinking too greatly.

This reflects a broader attitude in Christian culture—one that often views ambition with suspicion. The idea is that if you’re too bold, if you dream too big, you must be prideful. But Judas’ problem (at least on screen) wasn’t that he had big ideas. The problem was that his ambition wasn’t rooted in serving others. It wasn’t grounded in love or humility. I wish that the writers had baked this into the script.

Pope Gregory’s message could have been a balm for the Judas we see on screen. Don’t fear ambition—just consecrate it serve. Judas didn’t need to stifle his ambition. He needed to reframe it according to the Beatitudes. If his ambition had been channeled toward truly helping the poor, lifting the downtrodden, or glorifying God, things might have turned out differently.

Ambition as a Gift

What Pope Gregory understood is that ambition can be a gift when it’s channeled for good. Gregory didn’t shy away from encouraging Christians to pursue greatness. In his time, he saw the potential in strong, driven people to do great things for God’s Kingdom. He knew that ambition for sainthood was not only acceptable, it was necessary.

St. Paul echoes this idea in Philippians 2:3, where he tells us to “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.” Paul doesn’t condemn ambition. He condemns selfish ambition. The difference is key. Ambition, when directed toward others, toward service and love, becomes one of the most powerful tools we have as Christians. As he says elsewhere, outdo one another in love.

In fact, ambition should be redeemed, not suppressed. The world doesn’t need people who are afraid to be strong. It needs those who are willing to use their strength for the right reasons.

Pope Gregory saw this clearly. He understood that ambition, when rooted in love, can change the world. He once wrote, “Where love exists, it works great things.” This is the key to understanding holy ambition: love must guide it. Ambition that is grounded in love is not selfish. It serves. It builds. It protects. It glorifies God.

A Call Back to Ambition

The world often pushes us to believe that ambition is something to be stifled, something that should be kept in check to avoid pride. But this approach fails to recognize the potential that God has given us. God gave you ambition for a reason. There’s no need to bury it or be ashamed of it.

Like Pope Gregory said, set your ambition on becoming a saint. That is the highest goal, and it’s one that requires boldness. You are allowed to aim high. You are allowed to dream big and strive for greatness, as long as your ambition is rooted in love and service to others.

Ambition isn’t the problem. It’s how we use it. Ambition, when directed toward holiness, can change the world. It can build up the Church, strengthen the weak, protect the vulnerable, and serve the poor. God created us with the drive to do great things—not for our own glory, but for His.

So don’t fear your ambition. Use it. Let it push you toward holiness, toward serving others, and toward making a lasting impact for God’s Kingdom.

Pope Gregory’s words—“Do not fear to set your ambition to become a saint”—reminded me that it’s not ambition that’s the problem; it’s what we do with it. So don’t be afraid to aim for sainthood. Don’t be afraid to consecrate your passion and your dreams of higher things to serve the lower things. Let your ambition drive you toward lifting up the Lord Jesus, and with him, our neighbor.

The Prodigal Son and the Hope of Universal Reconciliation: A Reflection on Origen’s Vision

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The Parable of the Prodigal Son has long been understood as a simple story of forgiveness, a tale where a rebellious son finds his way home and is welcomed by his loving father. But what if this story holds something deeper, a hint at a far-reaching truth about God’s ultimate plan for all of humanity? Christian Universalism, particularly as Origen taught, offers a compelling vision: that all souls, no matter how lost, will one day be restored to God. By revisiting this parable through the lens of Origen’s apokatastasis—the restoration of all things—we may uncover the subtle hints Jesus left about the fate of humanity.

The Younger Son: Rebellion, Return, and Redemption

At the heart of the parable is the younger son, who embodies humanity’s fall into sin and separation from God. His rebellion, fueled by selfish desires, leads him far from his father’s house. Yet, his story doesn’t end there. Broke and broken, he returns home, expecting judgment but instead receiving grace.

The father runs to him, embraces him, and restores him to his rightful place as a son. This moment illustrates the core of the Christian message: no matter how far we stray, God’s grace is always ready to restore us. The younger son’s return and his father’s reaction mirror the hope that Origen saw in the gospel—the idea that God’s love is so powerful that even the most wayward soul can find a way home.

But this isn’t the full story. The younger son’s restoration is only part of the picture. There’s another figure lingering outside the feast—the older brother.

The Older Brother: Resistance and the Open Door

The older brother represents another side of humanity: those who resist grace, whether out of pride, jealousy, or self-righteousness. He stands outside the celebration, bitter and judgmental. He cannot understand how his younger brother, after squandering everything, could be welcomed back with open arms. This character is often overlooked, but in the context of Christian Universalism, his story holds great significance.

While the parable ends without telling us what happens next, Jesus leaves us a critical clue. The father doesn’t reject the older son or condemn him for his bitterness. Instead, he offers a gentle reminder: “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” The father leaves the door open, both literally and figuratively. He invites the older son to step inside and join the celebration, just as he invited the younger son to return home.

This open-ended conclusion is key. It doesn’t end with the older son permanently outside; it ends with an invitation. In this way, the parable hints at a broader hope—that even those who resist or stand in judgment are not beyond God’s reach. The father’s posture is one of eternal patience, a reflection of the belief that, ultimately, all will be reconciled to God.

The Father’s Posture: A Symbol of God’s Endless Grace

The father in the parable symbolizes God’s unchanging nature: ever loving, ever patient, and ever open to reconciliation. He doesn’t slam the door on the older brother, just as God never closes the door on anyone. This is where Origen’s vision of apokatastasis—the belief that all things will be restored to God—comes into play. For Origen, the open-endedness of this story suggests that no soul is irredeemable.

God, like the father in the parable, continues to extend His hand to both the rebellious and the self-righteous. The lack of final resolution in the story is not a narrative flaw, but rather an invitation to see the larger picture—that the offer of grace never expires. This posture of the father reflects Origen’s conviction that God will ultimately draw all people to Himself, even those who initially refuse His grace.

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

To further understand this universal hope, it helps to look at other parables that carry similar themes. The parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin, for example, both center on the relentless pursuit of what is lost. In each case, the story ends in joy, not because the lost object deserved to be found, but because the one who lost it never gave up searching.

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 implication is clear: God seeks out the lost until they are found. The same can be said for the Prodigal Son. The father’s joy is not conditional on the younger son’s perfection; it is purely the result of his return. The same joy is extended to the older brother, if only he would step inside.

These parables, when read together, paint a picture of a God whose mercy knows no limits, a God who will not rest until all are brought home. Origen, in his reflections, saw these parables as evidence that in the end, no soul would remain lost forever.

The Open Ending: A Clue to the Final Restoration

Returning to the Prodigal Son, we see that its unresolved ending invites us to consider a deeper truth. The story doesn’t tell us what happens next, but it leaves us with a hopeful expectation: the father’s love, represented by the open door, remains available. The older brother is not condemned to remain outside forever. The door remains open, the invitation extended.

For those who, like Origen, look closely at the nature of God, this open ending suggests the ultimate reconciliation of all people. The parable invites us to believe that, just as the younger son was restored, so too will the older son—and, by extension, all of humanity—eventually join the feast. The parable leaves us with hope, not only for individual salvation but for the final restoration of all creation.

Conclusion: Origen’s Vision and the Gospel’s Universal Promise

Origen’s vision of apokatastasis wasn’t a fringe idea but a natural outflow of the gospel message. The Prodigal Son, when read in light of this broader hope, hints at the universal reconciliation of all souls. The father’s open invitation to the older brother stands as a symbol of God’s endless grace, always extended, never revoked.

As the parable suggests, the final act is yet to come, but the direction is clear: God’s love will ultimately prevail, and His children—both the wayward and the resistant—will be restored. The Prodigal Son is a reminder that the story of humanity is still unfolding, and the God who welcomes the younger brother home is the same God who keeps the door open for the older brother, waiting for all to return.

Don’t Reinvent the Liturgical Wheel

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The Mass is the Pinnacle of Western Christian Worship

For 2,000 years, Christians have worked tirelessly to perfect their public worship. Through councils, theological writings, and centuries of refinement, the Catholic Mass has emerged as the summit of that long, collective journey. It is the distilled essence of worship—a refined gemstone that balances theological depth with simplicity.

While the Orthodox Divine Liturgy is undeniably beautiful and rich, the Mass offers something uniquely suited to the West. It is less elaborate but no less profound. It’s a structure that holds within it the wisdom of the early Church, the influence of the Church Fathers, and the contributions of theologians who sought to reflect the glory of God as fully as possible in public worship. And it’s this structure, perfected over millennia, that I believe all Western Christians—Protestants included—should adopt.

The Search for the Perfect Liturgy

Protestants have long struggled with how to structure their public worship. Some traditions opted for simplicity, rejecting formal liturgy altogether, while others sought to create their own forms, borrowing from the past but often doing so inconsistently.

In this search, Protestant churches have wrestled with the question of how to balance spontaneity with structure, emotion with theology. Some communities have embraced a free-flowing style of worship, focused on preaching or praise music, but lacking the rhythm and depth that liturgical forms offer. Others have clung to pieces of liturgy but without the theological grounding and consistency that make it feel complete.

But there is no need to reinvent the wheel. The Mass provides a solution, offering a perfected form of worship that has been shaped by centuries of Christian thought. It addresses every aspect of public worship, from confession to the reading of Scripture to the sacrament of the Eucharist, drawing the congregation into a deeper encounter with the divine.

The Mass as the Pinnacle of Christian Wisdom

What makes the Mass so powerful is that it is not merely a tradition; it is the embodiment of Christian wisdom, distilled and purified over time. Every element, every word, and every action in the Mass has been considered and shaped by the early Church and generations of Christian leaders. It is theologically rich yet accessible, focused on Christ’s sacrifice yet inviting to all believers.

At its core, the Mass centers around the Eucharist, the memorial of Christ’s death and resurrection. It reflects the biblical foundations of Christian worship, particularly the Last Supper, and integrates them into a structure that has endured throughout Christian history. The Mass, in this sense, isn’t just a service; it is a living tradition, a sacred rhythm that draws the worshipper into the heart of God’s redemptive plan.

Over centuries, councils have debated and shaped the Mass into what it is today. It’s not the product of any one person or period but a collaborative refinement that has survived the tests of time, persecution, and cultural shifts. That’s why, for Catholics, the Mass is non-negotiable. It is the weekly, even daily, gathering point of the faithful—an act of worship that is mandated not by custom but by divine inspiration.

Protestantism and the Struggle with Liturgy

In contrast, Protestantism has often been fragmented in its approach to public worship. The Reformation rightly brought many vital theological corrections, but in its break from Catholic tradition, much of the structure that had formed the backbone of Christian worship was lost.

Many Protestant churches, especially in their early days, abandoned liturgy entirely, opting for an unstructured, spontaneous approach. While this can lead to passionate and heartfelt worship, it often lacks the theological grounding that ensures the entire community is drawn into the fullness of Christian teaching and experience.

Other Protestant communities have sought to reintroduce liturgical elements, often borrowing from Anglican, Lutheran, or even Catholic traditions. However, without the centuries of theological and spiritual refinement behind them, these attempts can feel incomplete. The structure might be there, but the depth and meaning that the Mass offers often remain elusive.

A Surprising Discovery: Protestant Hymns in the Mass

When I first went to Mass, I was shocked to hear evangelical hymns—songs I knew from my teenage years, Bible college days, and even my time in Baptist ministry. I didn’t expect that. I thought Catholic music was totally different from what I knew growing up.

But there we were, singing the same songs I’d heard for years. The big difference? The Mass took what I was used to and made it more complete. The prayers were thoughtful, the structure was solid, and everything was deeply rooted in scripture. It felt more intentional than the extemporaneous way we’d do things in evangelical services. There was a depth to it that went beyond anything I had experienced before.

A Path Forward: Adopting the Mass

For Protestants, the Mass offers an ideal model for worship. Not only does it provide a consistent and deeply theological structure, but it also unites the congregation in a common purpose: to worship God through Christ’s sacrifice. Adopting the Mass, or at least its core elements, would not mean forsaking Protestant theology but rather embracing a form of worship that has already stood the test of time.

In many ways, the Mass is a gift that Protestants have overlooked. It is a perfect aggregation of centuries of thought, prayer, and theological development, all aimed at drawing believers closer to God. It provides a framework that ensures the essentials of the faith are present in every service: confession, Scripture, prayer, and the sacrament.

This doesn’t mean every Protestant church must adopt the Catholic Mass in its entirety, but incorporating its rhythm and structure could bring about a richer, more theologically grounded worship experience. The Mass offers a way to ensure that public worship is not just an expression of personal faith but a communal participation in the great story of salvation.

Conclusion: Unity Through Worship

By adopting the Mass or its essential elements, Protestants can rediscover the beauty and depth of liturgical worship. It offers the best of Christian tradition, refined through centuries of wisdom and forged in the fires of theological debate.

The Mass is a reminder that worship is not merely a personal act but a communal one, rooted in the story of Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection. And in embracing the Mass, we find a form of worship that not only honors God but also unites believers across time and space in the grand narrative of redemption.

The Pure Love of God

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Love, But Not Quite

Love is a word we use often, but its true depth is something many of us never fully grasp. We experience love in various forms—toward a partner, a friend, a child, or a cause we’re passionate about. Despite its beauty, however, human love often feels incomplete. There’s always something holding us back, a sense that we’re not able to fully give ourselves to the people we care about. This isn’t necessarily because we lack the desire to love completely, but rather because our very nature, shaped by past experiences and deep-seated fears, often prevents us from fully opening our hearts.

Why Can’t We Love Like We Mean It?

Our ability to love is often compromised by our own psychological limitations. The fear of vulnerability can be paralyzing. To love deeply is to expose ourselves, to risk being hurt or rejected. This fear leads us to build walls around our hearts, holding back parts of ourselves to avoid the pain that might come with true openness.

Instead of embracing love with open arms, we approach it cautiously, protecting ourselves from the very thing we most desire. Our instinct for self-preservation, hardwired into us by years of emotional conditioning, makes us wary of giving too much, lest we lose ourselves or get hurt in the process. The traumas of our past, whether they involve betrayal, loss, or abandonment, leave lasting scars that create emotional blockages. These wounds linger in our psyches, silently shaping how we engage in relationships, often making it difficult to trust or to love without fear. Even when we want to love fully, these unresolved pains keep us tethered to old wounds, limiting our ability to give ourselves completely.

And then there’s the issue of ego. We want to be loved, but often on our own terms. We cling to control, wanting to protect our sense of self and maintain our own interests. This pride can make it difficult to truly surrender to love, as we hold back, giving conditionally rather than fully. These psychological barriers—fear, self-preservation, past traumas, and ego—are deeply rooted, and they make it nearly impossible for us to love with the selflessness and purity that we might aspire to.

A Love That Knows No Limits

But there is a love that knows no such limitations—a love that is completely untainted by the flaws that hold us back. God’s love stands in stark contrast to our own. Where we are afraid, God’s love is bold and unreserved. Where we hold back out of self-preservation, God gives of Himself fully and without hesitation. Unlike our love, which is often shaped by past hurts, God’s love is pure and unchanging, not swayed by fear or the need to protect Himself. It is a love that pours out endlessly, without expectation or condition, without even a hint of self-interest. In God, there are no walls, no barriers, no ego—just a fierce, passionate love that seeks only to give, to heal, and to embrace.

To imagine what it would be like to love as God loves is to step into a realm of love that is beyond our human understanding. It is a love that is entirely selfless, a love that does not waver or withdraw, even when faced with rejection or pain. To love like God is to love with a heart that is wide open, unguarded, and unafraid—a heart that seeks only the good of the other, without any thought of self. This is a love that we, as humans, can only strive to imitate in small ways, as we work to transcend the limitations that hold us back. Yet, even in our imperfect attempts, we can catch glimpses of this divine love, and these glimpses can be transformative, guiding us toward a greater capacity to love others more selflessly.

The Kind of Love That Changes Everything

But perhaps more important than our attempts to imitate this love is the recognition of how deeply we are loved by God. Reflecting on this love should leave us in awe—it’s a love that is so different from our own experiences that it can be difficult to fully comprehend. Romans 8 reminds us of the unbreakable, unyielding nature of this love, a love that is life-changing and edifying. Yet, despite its constancy, we often need to refresh our minds and hearts to truly grasp the magnitude of God’s love for us. We need to continually remind ourselves that God’s love is not like human love, with its flaws and limitations. It is a love that showers us with grace, that pursues us relentlessly, and that remains steadfast even when we falter.

A Love Worth Dwelling On

Contemplating on this divine love will allow it to renew our spirits and transform the way we love others. Let us strive to love more selflessly, to break free from the chains of fear, ego, and past pain. And let us dwell on the truth that we are already loved beyond measure by a God whose love knows no bounds—a love that is worth reflecting on, worth striving for, and worth celebrating every day.

The End of the World is Just the Beginning, a New Dark Age, and the Benedictine Rule

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A World in Transition: Waning U.S. Influence and the Rise of New Powers

In an era where the United States’ global influence appears to be waning, one can’t help but draw parallels to the fall of the Roman Empire. Such shifts often usher in periods of uncertainty and upheaval. Yet history provides us with a blueprint for resilience. When Rome fell, the Benedictine communities emerged as beacons of stability, preserving and nurturing European culture through the Dark Ages. Today, their principles offer valuable lessons for navigating our own uncertain future.

The Implications of Waning U.S. Influence

Peter Zeihan, geopolitical analyst, argues that the decline of U.S. naval power and the rise of competing powers will lead to a reconfiguration of global dynamics. Historically, the U.S. has maintained open sea lanes for international trade, ensuring a level of global stability. Without this stabilizing force, we could see increased regional conflicts, piracy, and disruptions in global trade routes​ (Zeihan on Geopolitics)​.

Zeihan suggests that the U.S. might retract from its extensive international commitments, leading to a more fragmented and unstable world order. This retraction could force many nations to fend for themselves, resulting in economic downturns and political unrest. The interconnected global economy, reliant on U.S. protection and trade, may struggle to adapt to this new reality.

The potential for such a fragmented global landscape mirrors the chaos following the fall of the Roman Empire. Europe, once unified under Roman rule, splintered into isolated and often warring states. And from this chaos emerged the Benedictine communities, the rich soil from which European culture through the Dark Ages emerged.

The Benedictine Blueprint: A Guiding Light for Modern Times

The Benedictine Rule offers principles that I believe can help modern communities thrive amidst uncertainty. Saint Benedict of Nursia established this rule in the 6th century to guide monastic life, emphasizing moderation, community, and a Christ-centered existence. These principles proved vital in stabilizing and rebuilding society during the Dark Ages, and they can offer valuable lessons for us today.

Moderation: The Key to Stability

The Benedictine Rule emphasizes a balanced life, advocating for neither excess nor deprivation. In a world obsessed with consumption, this principle of moderation is a refreshing counterbalance. By focusing on essential needs and sustainable living, communities can build resilience against economic shocks and maintain a sense of stability.

For modern Christians, practicing moderation means reducing dependency on global supply chains and focusing on local, sustainable resources. It involves a shift from a consumer-driven lifestyle to one that prioritizes long-term well-being over short-term gratification. This approach not only fosters personal contentment but also strengthens the community as a whole.

If the supply chain and trade routes are vulnerable, why would you not begin to practice moderation and self-sufficiency today at least as an effort to hedge?

Community: The Foundation of Resilience

The Benedictine emphasis on community living provides a framework for building strong, supportive networks. Benedictine monks thrived in close-knit communities where mutual aid and cooperation were paramount. This sense of belonging and mutual support was the glue that held everything together, enabling them to withstand external pressures and internal challenges.

In today’s context, fostering community means investing time and effort in building local networks. This can be through family gatherings, neighborhood groups, or church activities. Strong local ties create a safety net that can provide support during times of crisis. By nurturing these connections, modern Christians can create resilient communities capable of facing an uncertain future.

Christocentric Humility: A Path to Unity

Central to the Benedictine lifestyle is a focus on humility and living a life centered around Christ. This wasn’t merely personal piety but a community-wide ethos that valued every member and sought to live out Christian teachings in daily life. Humility fostered a culture of service and compassion, ensuring that the needs of the community were always prioritized over individual desires.

For modern Christians, maintaining a Christ-centered focus in community activities is essential. Encouraging practices that promote humility, service, and compassion can help communities stay grounded and united. This spiritual foundation is crucial for maintaining cohesion and purpose, even in the face of adversity.

Building Resilient Communities

Drawing inspiration from the Benedictine Rule, modern Christians can take practical steps to build resilient communities:

  1. Local Networks: Invest in building strong local networks. This can be through family gatherings, neighborhood groups, or local churches. Strong local ties create a safety net so that you can have friends to welcome you into eternal dwellings (Luke 16:9)
  2. Sustainable Living: Embrace a lifestyle of moderation and sustainability. Reduce dependency on global supply chains by supporting local businesses and adopting self-sufficient practices like gardening, local trade, and permaculture practices like food forestry.
  3. Spiritual Focus: Maintain a Christ-centered focus in community activities. Encourage practices that promote humility, service, and compassion. This spiritual foundation can help communities remain cohesive and purpose-driven.

Rising from the Ashes: The New Benedictine Age

When the Roman Empire crumbled, it wasn’t the end—it was a messy, chaotic beginning. The Benedictine monks stepped into this chaos with a revolutionary idea: that even in the darkest times, principles of moderation, community, and humility could spark renewal and growth. As we stand on the brink of our own geopolitical upheaval, there’s a lot we can learn from their playbook.

Imagine a world where communities are built not on the shifting sands of power and wealth, but on the solid ground of shared values and mutual support. These are the bedrocks of resilience. By embracing moderation, fostering tight-knit communities, and living with humility, we can weather whatever storms come our way.

Periods of decline don’t have to spell disaster; they can be opportunities for profound transformation. As global dynamics shift, it might feel like we’re witnessing the end of an era. But more likely, we’re at the dawn of something new. Embracing these changes with wisdom and practical action will help us not just survive, but thrive, paving the way for a resilient and flourishing future.

Holiness as an Offensive Operation

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In many conservative circles, holiness is often viewed as a call to separate oneself from the world, to avoid its impurities, and to maintain an “otherness” moral purity. This perspective can sometimes lead to a lifestyle that is reclusive, disengaged from culture, and, in many cases, reminiscent of communities like the Amish.

Is this what it means to “be holy as I am holy?” What does the word holy even mean? Here, I’ve been thoroughly convinced by my old Professor, Dr. Peter Gentry, and his exploration of holiness that invites us to rethink these traditional views.

Holiness as Consecration and Devotion

I first heard of Gentry’s position while taking one of his classes at SBTS. I was floored by the implications of what he argued for because I was deeply embedded in conservative circles, and it was easy to understand what he was getting at.

Gentry’s paper for this (linked at the bottom of this post) dives into the biblical concept of holiness, moving beyond the simplistic equation of holiness with mere separation from sin.

He explains that the Hebrew term for holy, קָדוֹשׁ (qadosh), and its Greek counterpart, ἅγιος (hagios), fundamentally mean “consecrated” or “devoted.” This understanding shifts the focus from a defensive stance against worldly influences to a proactive commitment to God and His purposes.

In my view, this broader definition challenges the narrow perspective that holiness is solely about setting oneself apart from the world. Instead, it emphasizes a wholehearted dedication to God that actively seeks to align our lives with His will. It’s about participating in His redemptive mission and living out our faith in a way that impacts the world positively.

The Lexical Background of ‘Qadosh’: Understanding Holiness

Peter Gentry’s examination of the Hebrew term קָדוֹשׁ (qadosh), often translated as “holy,” offers a crucial foundation for rethinking our concept of holiness. Parsing the lexical background of qadosh, Gentry reveals that the term carries a depth of meaning that extends beyond the traditional associations of moral purity or separation from sin.

Qadosh: Beyond Mere Separation

The term qadosh, Gentry explains, originates from a root that fundamentally means “to set apart” or “to consecrate.” While this certainly includes the idea of being separate, especially from what is common or profane, Gentry emphasizes that this separation is not an end in itself. Instead, it is a means to a deeper purpose—being devoted or dedicated to God.

In his analysis, Gentry references the broader Semitic linguistic family, where similar terms in other languages also denote the idea of dedication or consecration rather than just separation. For instance, the Akkadian term “qadashu” and the Ugaritic “qds” align closely with this notion of being set apart for a specific, divine purpose.

Consecration and Covenant Relationship

Gentry’s exploration of qadosh within the context of the Old Testament shows that its primary usage relates to objects, places, and people that are consecrated to God. This consecration involves a covenantal commitment that marks them as belonging to God in a special way. For example, the nation of Israel is called to be holy because it is chosen and set apart by God to fulfill His covenantal purposes (Exodus 19:6).

The holiness of God, therefore, signifies His absolute dedication to His covenant with His people and His purposes. Gentry points out that this devotion is not just about moral purity but about God’s unwavering commitment to justice, righteousness, and the fulfillment of His promises. This understanding shifts the focus from a legalistic purity to a relational and purposeful consecration.

Holiness and Devotion in Greek Thought

In examining the Greek counterpart of qadosh, Gentry notes that the Greek word ἅγιος (hagios) similarly carries the connotation of being devoted or dedicated. He references the Greek-English Lexicon by Liddell, Scott, and Jones, which defines ἅγιος primarily as “devoted” or “dedicated.” This aligns with Gentry’s argument that both the Hebrew and Greek terms for holiness emphasize a relationship of commitment and devotion rather than merely being separate from impurity.

These linguistic roots, once understood, provide the foundation for correct theology and human flourishing. But there are theological and historical roots that leave us with no doubt about the meaning of the word.

Holiness in the Context of Covenant

Throughout the Old Testament, Gentry points out that holiness is deeply rooted in the concept of covenant. Israel’s call to be a holy nation was not merely about avoiding contamination but about being a people devoted to God’s covenantal mission. This mission was primarily an offensive operation, not a defensive one. Note that the telos of the covenants is outward-facing. Abraham was to receive God’s unconditional covenant so that he could be a blessing to the world.

In the book of Isaiah, for example, God’s holiness is portrayed through His unwavering commitment to justice and righteousness. This divine commitment in Isaiah is not about withdrawing his people into stagnant colonies but about expanding the reign of a kingdom that would stretch over the four corners of the earth.

Without reflecting on the bend of the covenants which form the arc of the Old Testament narrative and what God is doing in the heavens and the earth, one might misunderstand what it means to be holy as God is holy.

Challenging Reclusive Interpretations

Gentry’s analysis has significantly challenged my previous understanding of holiness. Traditionally, I associated holiness with transcendence and moral purity, often leading to an inward-focused and withdrawn stance. However, Gentry argues for a holistic understanding of holiness that includes a relational fidelity to God and His purposes.

This perspective has reshaped my view of how holiness should manifest in our lives. It’s not about cultural isolation or being anti-social—although, I don’t want to downplay the virtues of consecrated isolation. Instead, it’s about being a transformative presence in the world, committed to God’s justice, love, and righteousness. Holiness calls us to engage with culture and society actively, rather than withdrawing as a virtue in itself.

The Messianic Hope: Renewal and Engagement

Gentry uses the powerful metaphor from Isaiah’s vision, where a seemingly dead tree represents the Davidic dynasty, yet out of its stump springs new life. This imagery captures the essence of the messianic hope—a future renewal and fulfillment of God’s promises. It illustrates that holiness involves not just judgment and separation but also hope, renewal, and active participation in God’s redemptive work.

For modern believers, this means living out holiness in a way that brings new life and hope into our interactions and engagements. It’s about being involved in our communities, advocating for justice, and reflecting God’s character in our daily lives.

Living Out Holiness Today

So, how do we live out this broader, more engaged understanding of holiness today

Expanding on these points, let’s delve into two more themes that Gentry’s insights bring to light: Holiness as Identity and Mission and Holiness in the Modern World.

Holiness as Identity and Mission

Holiness is not just a state of being but also a defining aspect of our identity and mission as believers. Gentry’s interpretation suggests that holiness should shape how we see ourselves and our purpose in the world.

  • Identity: Being holy means understanding that we are set apart not for isolation but for a distinct purpose. Our identity in Christ as a holy people calls us to live differently—not by retreating from society but by engaging with it in ways that reflect God’s kingdom values.
  • Mission: Our mission as holy people is to embody God’s love and justice in tangible ways. This means being proactive in our communities, addressing needs, and being a voice for the voiceless. It’s about living out our faith in action, showing that true holiness involves transformative engagement rather than passive separation.

Holiness in the Modern World

In today’s fast-paced and often polarized society, the call to holiness can seem challenging. However, Gentry’s perspective offers practical ways to navigate this.

  • Integrating Faith and Life: Holiness means that our faith should permeate every aspect of our lives—from our work and family to our interactions and decisions. This integrated approach prevents the compartmentalization of our beliefs and encourages a consistent witness in all we do.
  • Balancing Separation and Engagement: While holiness involves a certain level of separation from sin, it doesn’t mean avoiding the world. It’s about engaging with society from a place of integrity and commitment to God’s standards. This balance allows us to be in the world but not of it, influencing culture positively without compromising our values.
  • Embracing Cultural Diversity: Holiness doesn’t mean rejecting cultural diversity but celebrating it within the framework of God’s kingdom. Engaging with different cultures can enrich our understanding and practice of faith, helping us to reflect God’s love and justice more fully in diverse contexts.

Gentry’s exploration of holiness challenges us to move beyond the narrow view of holiness as mere separation. Instead, it calls us to a deeper, more engaged understanding of what it means to be holy. By embracing this holistic perspective, we can live out our faith in a way that is devoted to God and actively involved in the world, reflecting His justice, love, and transformative power in all we do.

Holiness, therefore, is not about retreating from culture but about engaging with it in a way that reveals and honors God’s character. It’s a call to be fully committed to God and to reflect His holiness in every aspect of our lives. Whether through our personal interactions, community involvement, or advocacy for justice, living out holiness means being a transformative presence in the world, dedicated to God’s purposes and embodying His love and righteousness.

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.