Tag: christianity

Holiness is a word used an awful lot in Christian theology — “holy,” “holiness,” “be holy,” etc. The problem is that it’s clear many people who throw the word around don’t actually know what it means, including some well-known and respected theologians (I’ll not name the one I’m thinking of… but boy, he’s pretty far off base).

I was ordained in the Nazarene tradition, a Wesleyan-Holiness denomination. Holiness — specifically the doctrine of Entire Sanctification — is a major distinctive in the Church of the Nazarene. I still believe this emphasis is thoroughly biblical, and dismissing holiness as unimportant is simply contrary to Scripture.

Leviticus makes it plain: “Be holy, because I am holy” (Leviticus 11:44-45; 1 Peter 1:15-16).

Ah! So we’re supposed to be perfect like God? Got it.

…No. That’s not what it means.

At its root, “holy” means set apart. Distinct. Different. It means your life is increasingly marked by the character of God rather than the patterns of the world around you. People should be able to tell something is different about you — not primarily by what you say, but by how you live, especially when you don’t think anyone is watching.

Where I Diverge from Some Holiness Traditions

This is where the Church of the Nazarene and I began to diverge in practice. Too often, holiness got reduced to a list of external rules: no movies, no dancing, no alcohol, no “shiny objects,” no fun. (I may be exaggerating slightly, but not by much.)

That’s not holiness.

Going to see Gnomeo and Juliet isn’t inherently evil (unless we’re counting terrible movies as a sin). Enjoying a single beer with dinner or after mowing the lawn isn’t sinful either. Scripture doesn’t say “never drink alcohol.” It says don’t get drunk (Ephesians 5:18; Proverbs 23:29-35). Paul even told Timothy to drink a little wine for his stomach (1 Timothy 5:23).

The obsession with external rules was often more about maintaining a certain image than about heart transformation. Jesus had strong words for that kind of religion:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness.” (Matthew 23:27)

Performative Christianity — looking holy on the outside while the inside remains unchanged — is not holiness. It’s exactly what Jesus condemned.

Real-World Examples of Confusion

We see this confusion played out publicly today.

Take Sophie Rain, the OnlyFans creator who claims she can do porn and still “love Jesus” with no need for repentance. She says things like “God is very forgiving,” which is true — God is very forgiving. But forgiveness is not a license to keep sinning. Jesus never said “come as you are and stay as you are.” He said “come as you are and follow me” — which includes repentance and transformation (Mark 1:15; Luke 5:32). Any porn actress (or anyone else) who argues that God is cool with porn is simply ignoring the clear biblical call to holiness and repentance. That’s not freedom. That’s self-deception.

On the other side, some churches (like Xenos, now Dwell) have dismissed any strong call to repentance as “legalism,” while simultaneously practicing church discipline against members struggling with same-sex attraction. That’s inconsistent at best. You can’t preach “no rules, just grace” and then selectively enforce rules when it suits you. True holiness avoids both cheap grace and harsh legalism.

What Holiness Actually Is

Holiness is being set apart for God.

It is the Holy Spirit progressively making us more like Jesus in character, love, integrity, purity, and obedience. It has two inseparable sides:

• Separation from the sinful patterns of this world.
• Consecration to God — heart, mind, will, and body.

Christian perfection (or Entire Sanctification) is not absolute perfection. That won’t happen until we are in God’s presence (Philippians 3:12; 1 John 1:8). Think of it like lane assist in a car: the Spirit gently nudges you back when you start to drift, but you can still override it if you’re determined to drive into oncoming traffic. Holiness is that ongoing nudging toward Christlikeness.

My mentor Dr. Rob McCorkle has described it well: when we’re born, we’re rooted in depravity. After salvation, the “bungee cord” that pulls us toward sin is gradually replaced by a new default — being drawn toward what is holy. We can still override it, but we’re more naturally compelled toward goodness.

In other words, true holiness is a reflection of God’s character — however imperfectly we live it out. It is not something we try our way into through sheer willpower. It is a work of grace that resets our default nature.

Holiness is not the enemy of joy — it is the path to real joy. It is not opposed to love — it is love’s fullest expression. It is not about earning God’s favor — it is the grateful response to the favor we’ve already received in Christ.

We will never be perfect in this life, but we are called to grow in holiness until the day we see Him face to face (1 John 3:2-3).

That’s what holiness is.

Everything else is just noise.

It’s been quite a while since I last posted. I haven’t abandoned the blog, but I stepped away to get some things clear in my mind. A lot has happened.

First, as I shared in my last post, my position at my employer of eight years was eliminated. That came as a complete shock, and I’m still processing it. In the aftermath, I also learned that some people I considered friends spoke about me in ways that were unkind. Gossip has a way of doing damage, whether intended or not. It’s unfortunate when people elevate themselves by diminishing others—especially those who aspire to leadership. A true leader lifts the people around them.

I also resigned from Redemption City Church in December. To be fair, I wasn’t serving in any meaningful capacity at that point. I stepped away from the worship team in 2024 and resigned as youth pastor in spring 2025 after being told I would be used more in a teaching role. That did not happen.

This isn’t a gripe post. It’s an effort to clear the air for those who still follow along.

From 2012 through 2021, I was in continuous schooling—earning an AA, BA, and MA from Ohio Christian University, followed by an MA(TS) from Nazarene Theological Seminary. I completed the Church of the Nazarene Course of Study for ordination, along with the required service. I served as youth pastor beginning around 2016–2017, was on the worship team from 2011 through 2024, and built a career in insurance while pursuing a CPCU designation.

I was ordained in 2022, and for a time things seemed positive. But after we moved out of our shared building, my role became increasingly unclear—until it effectively disappeared. Youth attendance dropped from more than twenty per class to just a handful. A major factor was the lack of consistent support and participation needed to sustain it.

My resignation as youth pastor was formally accepted in March 2025. I was again told I would have more teaching opportunities—more than once a year. That did not materialize.

Over time, repeated unfulfilled commitments took their toll. After a while, that wears on anyone. I reached a point where I had had enough and chose to step away entirely. My last Sunday ended early after an interaction with someone in authority that I found deeply unkind. I left that day and have not returned.

Plans for a send-off fell through. My wife, who served as Compassionate Ministries director, was informed that a board meeting she had scheduled was canceled because “numerous people” had told the pastor she was leaving. The issue was simple: she had told no one that—she had planned to stay. At that point, only I (and our youngest) had decided to leave. My youngest expressed it this way: “They treat me like an employee, not someone who belongs here.”

Given all of that, we declined any kind of send-off.

I do have concerns and criticisms, but I’m not convinced this is the right time to fully share them. What I will say is that I did not feel heard, even when I made intentional efforts to communicate. I had a direct conversation with our pastor outlining reasonable requests: to teach at least once per quarter, to serve as primary substitute as previously discussed, to be used in teaching more than once every year or two, and to publish this blog as part of that effort. I had also been told I would write a newsletter.

None of those things happened. Instead, I was told that taking notes during sermons should be viewed as a significant opportunity.

At some point I made a decision I never expected: I resigned my credentials.

This was not a loss of faith. I remain as committed as ever. But in that environment, the credentials felt functionally meaningless. I did not feel respected, valued, or utilized in a way that reflected the investment made.

For context, I was never under church discipline, nor was I given any indication—despite asking—that I had done something wrong. I was also the only other ordained elder in regular attendance. That reality made the disconnect even harder to understand.

Am I bitter? A little, yes. I think that’s honest. But more than anything, I have very little tolerance left for inconsistency, lack of communication, favoritism, and broken commitments.

My faith remains intact. My willingness to engage in environments where those patterns persist does not.

I plan to return to writing here more regularly, starting tomorrow.

I don’t need a pocket full of gravel if I have a few gems.

I wrote this as encouragement to a former coworker the other day while expressing gratitude for her friendship. Even I’m surprised that I can occasionally be poetic—as this just came from my fingers to my phone while texting.

If we pause to think about this, we often find ourselves collecting something—anything—including “friends.” I use quotes because we have to realize that not everybody we are seemingly friendly with is actually a friend. Most of us probably think, “Yeah, that’s common sense,” even as we collect them as tokens via Facebook or other social platforms, still referring to them as friends. Probably much less rude than saying, “This guy I know, Joe,” but honestly, not terribly realistic.

Humans are social creatures, to be sure, though we all need solitude as well—even the most outgoing of extroverts. I tend to be very outgoing, but I find myself becoming increasingly guarded. I’m not a cynic, I don’t think—but I’m finding that I resonate more with stoicism these days.

Tracy Lawrence recorded a song called “Find Out Who Your Friends Are” (written by Casey Beathard and Ed Hill¹) in which he expresses a truth we all recognize:

“Everybody wants to slap your back Wants to shake your hand When you’re up on top of that mountain But let one of those rocks give way Then you slide back down Look up and see who’s around then… This ain’t where the road comes to an end This ain’t where the bandwagon stops This is just one of those times when A lot of folks jump off.”

We’ve all experienced it, and the number-one place it happens is often work. I’ve started to categorize these folks as “work friends.” Maybe this is obvious to everyone else and I’m just learning, but I’m pretty outgoing. I even joked with a friend (ironically, a true friend I met at work) that I’m about to be: “Wife, child, child, orange cat, cat with thumbs, clingy female cat, and to heck with everybody else.”

Why?

On November 3, 2025—just a couple of days before my birthday—I was called into an unexpected meeting and informed that my role was eliminated. I was about 90% surprised, given some of the reorganizations that had already been happening, but I had assumed my specialized licenses would protect me.

I was wrong.

I was simply told, “You’re done. Here’s HR, severance information, get off our network, goodbye.”

I get it—corporations, even those that talk about being compassionate and caring, are cold-blooded. I have opinions on all of this, but I will keep them to myself for several reasons, as they are very uncharitable.

I sat for a few moments to gather my thoughts, told my wife, and then texted a couple of people I thought were on my side. Then I sat on my couch in disbelief. I had believed I was at the company I was going to retire from, in a role I was good at, with solid support. This was not to be, and that’s fine—I won’t lie and say I hold no ill will, as I am puzzled why I was selected. Those who remained simply are not qualified—literally—to do my job.

Please note: I was almost immediately offered three positions at three different places and was hired very quickly. I chose to stay away from work until December 1 to reset, to make sure I didn’t carry forward any bitterness. The only downside is that my body had become accustomed to, “I’ll get up whenever I darn well please, thank you,” so waking up for my first day at the new company was a bit of a struggle. While I actually took the lowest offer, which was a substantial cut from my previous role, I should end up earning more overall.

I initially heard from nearly everybody I reached out to. Then reality slapped me in the face—they stopped. Not all, but the ones I thought were my closest allies, including one who claimed I was their best friend.

I know the usual excuse: “It’s awkward.” I reached out and said, “I’m the same dope I was at 2 this afternoon (the meeting was at 2:15), no reason to be weird.” Several didn’t respond—somewhat surprising.

Even worse, the majority of these folks claimed to be my biggest supporters… and worse still: “Christians.”

I’ve long since realized that those who make it a point to talk “Jesus this” and “God that” in a work context are often disingenuous—especially when it’s clear that their faith is performative. The most verbal abuse I ever got from customers often came from emails like ILoveJesus@God.com or PastorJimmy@FirstChurchofKindleCounty.net. I wish I were kidding, but I am not.

Look, I wasn’t the company pastor, and none of these folks were my congregation. If they’d said, “You suck, hail Cthulu,” it wouldn’t have bothered me. But sadly, performative faith is real. As Craig Groeschel said in The Christian Atheist, people love to talk about how spiritual they are when they find out they’re with clergy, yet give clear indications that they do not truly know Jesus.²

In my case, it showed in attitude and behavior—only treating me kindly if they needed something, bragging about nightly inebriation, and so on.

But the worst were the liars—and I’m not talking about spiritual things, but provable lies about others. All the while, they smiled in your face… meaning they were almost certainly bashing you behind your back.

The “best friend” did this to me, and while I cannot prove it, I’m confident it was a primary reason I was selected for elimination. (Note: I am taking steps to ensure accountability. I have zero interest in returning to the company, but if there isn’t any accountability, who knows who else might be damaged?)

I won’t go into too many details, other than to say a letter was received and it seems I was accused of being its sender—and I was called “irate” in a meeting when no such thing occurred. The problem is this is the epitome of “he said, she said,” and since no investigation was completed, their word was taken as truth. (Please note: I rarely lose my temper, and when I do, it’s likely because WVU is playing poorly because, you know, reasons.)

I do have a point to all of this, and it may sound like a pitch for stoicism: when I was injured at the U.S. Air Force Academy, I learned that nobody has your best interests at heart except YOU. This isn’t strictly true—my wife, children, parents, in-laws, and our collective grandparents do—but work folks? Not a chance. And this shouldn’t surprise anyone.

Want to know who knows this best? Yeah…Christ.

I am not saying this is identical to my situation, but consider the track of Jesus’ relationships:

1. Jesus fed thousands with a few loaves and fish . He had thousands wanting to see and hear Him.
2. That number diminished to hundreds when things got difficult (see the aftermath of the Transfiguration and the hard teachings, e.g., John 6:60–66).
3. Then there were twelve—His original apostles .
4. Then three in the Garden of Gethsemane .
5. And only one—John—at the foot of the cross .

Top of the mountain? People will want to be with you. But when it gets hard? Not a chance.

So, while I write this partly for catharsis, I caution you as a man of faith to protect yourself: yes, we serve, love (agape), teach, and reach out. Just don’t pretend that everyone you contact is your friend. And this is biblical—you must be willing to brush the dust off and leave .

Remember:

• Proverbs 13:20: “Walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harm.”
• 1 Thessalonians 5:11: “Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.”
• Galatians 6:9: “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.”

Choose your companions wisely, guard your heart, and continue to walk in faith. True friends—those grounded in Christ—are gems worth holding onto.

¹ “Find Out Who Your Friends Are” – Words and music by Casey Beathard and Ed Hill, © 2006 (Sony/ATV Music Publishing). ² Craig Groeschel, The Christian Atheist: Believing in God but Living as If He Doesn’t Exist (Zondervan, 2010).

Romans 15:4 – “For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.”

There’s a mistake many well-meaning Christians make—especially when they’re new to reading the Bible:

They treat it like it was written to them—directly, personally, in modern English, with all the nuance of their own culture.

But here’s the truth:

The Bible wasn’t written to you.
It was written for you.

That’s not just a clever turn of phrase—it’s a critical distinction.

The Bible Is a Library, Not a Letter

The Bible isn’t a single book—it’s 66. Written over 1,500+ years, by dozens of authors, in three languages, across multiple genres, and addressed to real people in real historical contexts.

• Genesis wasn’t written to Americans.
• Leviticus wasn’t written to your youth group—so stop using it to condemn people.
• Jeremiah 29:11 wasn’t written to your graduating class.
• 1 Corinthians wasn’t written to you—it was written to a messy, chaotic first-century church trying to live for Christ in a culture that didn’t understand them.
• Revelation doesn’t exist to make us the star of the show. It’s apocalyptic literature—symbolism written to comfort persecuted believers, not a codebook for modern politics or conspiracy theories.

But even though these books weren’t written to you—they were written for you.

They show how God works, what God values, how humans respond, and how we’re invited to live. But to apply them rightly, you must understand the context.

Context Isn’t Optional—It’s Obedience

2 Timothy 2:15 says to rightly divide the word of truth. That means we don’t get to twist Scripture to fit our preferences or reduce it to motivational soundbites. Doing the work isn’t legalism—it’s discipleship.

A few common examples:

• Jeremiah 29:11 isn’t a promise that God has “great plans” for your next job interview. It’s a message to exiles in Babylon, assuring them of restoration after 70 years. It’s about long-haul hope, not quick fixes.
• Philippians 4:13 doesn’t mean you’ll win the big game. Paul wrote it from prison, saying he had learned to be content in every circumstance. It’s not about strength to achieve—it’s about strength to endure. And not minor inconveniences—Paul was in chains, literally in a Roman sewer.
• Matthew 7:1 says, “Judge not, that you be not judged,” but the passage goes on to teach how to judge rightly. Jesus doesn’t ban discernment—He bans hypocrisy.

When we ignore context, we don’t just misunderstand the Bible—we risk misrepresenting God.

Why This Matters

When we treat the Bible like a self-help book or a grab bag of quotes, we make it smaller than it really is. Worse, when we cherry-pick verses to prove our narrow points, we misuse Scripture to reinforce our image instead of being conformed to His.

Context always matters.

But when we ask, “What did this mean to them?” before “What does this mean to me?”, we unlock the power and beauty the Holy Spirit embedded in every passage.

The Bible has authority—but we must handle it with humility.

• We are not the center of Scripture—Jesus is.
• We are not the heroes—we are the rescued.

So What Do We Do?

1. Study faithfully. Don’t just read devotionally—read intentionally. Ask who wrote it, to whom, why, and when.
2. Use tools. A good study Bible, commentary, or Bible dictionary can help you go deeper.
3. Ask better questions:
   • What does this teach me about God?
   • What does this reveal about human nature?
   • How does this point to Jesus?
4. Live it. Scripture isn’t for winning arguments—it’s for shaping lives. Your life may be the clearest “translation” some people ever read.

You are the living testimony. People see Jesus more clearly (or more distorted) through you.

The Bible wasn’t written to you—but by God’s grace, it was absolutely written for you.

Handle it well.
Learn it deeply.
Live it truthfully.

And let it shape not just your answers—but your heart.

Titus 1:9

He must hold firm to the trustworthy word as taught, so that he may be able to give instruction in sound doctrine and also to rebuke those who contradict it.

1 Timothy 4:13–16

Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching. Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given you by prophecy when the council of elders laid their hands on you. Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress. Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching. Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers.

2 Timothy 4:1–4

I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead… preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching… they will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths.

There are times when I like to ask people, “What is the primary job of the Secret Service?” or “Why were they created in the first place?”

Almost everyone answers: “To protect the president.”

Yes, they do protect the president and other officials. That’s the job most people recognize—ironically, because it’s supposed to be invisible. But even that duty largely involves coordinating with other agencies: local police, National Guard, etc.

So what is their original, primary function?

Protecting the United States’ financial system.
The Secret Service was founded shortly after the Civil War to combat the rampant counterfeiting that threatened to destabilize the economy.

Here’s the key insight: to learn how to detect counterfeit money, agents don’t study the fakes—they study the genuine article. Fakes come in endless varieties, but there’s only one authentic. Know it intimately, and the phony versions become obvious.

The same goes for Scripture.

We’ve all heard people quote, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

Can you find that verse?

Take your time—I’ll wait.

You won’t find it. It’s not there.

Same with Matthew 7:1. People love to quote, “Don’t judge, or you will be judged,” but they often ignore the rest of the passage. While the command is indeed a caution about judging, Jesus adds a qualifier: You’ll be judged by the same standard you use on others.

So if you’re hyper-focused on someone else’s sexual sin, maybe keep your own browsing history accountable. If you’re vocal about alcohol, take stock of your own intoxicants—whether that’s prescription meds, food, social media, or even your pride.

This isn’t about being flippant, and it’s not an argument for moral relativism.
But it is a reminder: these verses are directed first and foremost at believers.

Let’s get real: if your way of expressing love to someone is by metaphorically beating them with a Bible-bat, don’t be surprised when they recoil. Many people who are far from Christ already know they’re off-track. Most don’t feel great about it. They don’t need help feeling worse.

They need to see hope, mercy, and truth—and those only come from someone who has been changed by the Word.

Before we go around correcting people, shouldn’t we first have a real encounter with Scripture ourselves?

Being “ready in and out of season” isn’t just a catchy phrase—it’s a calling that takes work.
Daily study. Daily surrender. Daily transformation.

The beautiful part? When you immerse yourself in God’s Word, it changes you. You become spiritually saturated—“baptized” in the truest sense of the word (Greek: baptizó means “to submerge, to dip into”). You begin to carry His aroma, and that becomes attractive to others without you forcing it.

And when error comes—and it will—you’ll be ready. You’ll recognize twisted truth, ear-tickling messages, and shallow clichés because they won’t sound like your Shepherd.

That’s why I encourage people to ask others to show them chapter and verse when a “scripture” is quoted. You’d be amazed how many so-called “verses” simply don’t exist. What’s even more concerning is how often real Scripture is weaponized—used not to convict or correct in love, but to abuse, exclude, or control.

If your use of Scripture is about keeping people down—women, LGBTQ individuals, alcoholics, whoever—you’re using it wrong.

What’s the overarching message of Scripture?

Love God. Love people.

Immerse yourself in that truth, and the counterfeits won’t stand a chance.