Tag: Faith

Nathan and the Courage to Speak Truth to Power

.Reading time 11 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Few moments in ancient literature capture the moral courage required to speak truth to power as vividly as the encounter between the prophet Nathan and King David. The scene is brief, almost understated, yet it exposes a problem as old as authority itself: what happens when power no longer hears the truth.

David, at this point in the biblical story, is not a fragile leader. He is Israel’s greatest king—military hero, national symbol, and political success. His reign is stable. His enemies are subdued. His legitimacy is unquestioned. That success, however, has begun to insulate him from accountability.¹

The Bible does not soften what happens next, and it is worth telling plainly.

What David Did

One evening, David notices a woman bathing from the roof of his palace. He learns she is married to one of his own soldiers, a man currently fighting on the front lines. David summons her anyway. As king, his request carries force whether spoken gently or not. She becomes pregnant.²

David now faces exposure. Instead of confessing, he attempts to manage the situation. He recalls the husband from battle, hoping circumstances will hide the truth. When that fails, David escalates. He sends the man back to war carrying a sealed message to the commanding general—an order placing him where the fighting is fiercest and support will be withdrawn.³

The man is killed.

The machinery of power functions smoothly. No inquiry follows. David marries the widow. From the outside, the matter disappears. Politically, the problem is solved. Morally, it has only been buried.

This is the danger Scripture names without hesitation: power does not merely enable wrongdoing; it can normalize it.

Why Nathan Matters

Nathan enters the story not as a revolutionary or rival, but as a prophet—someone whose authority comes from obedience to God rather than proximity to the throne. He is not part of David’s chain of command. He does not benefit from David’s favor. That independence is everything.⁴

Nathan does not accuse David directly. Instead, he tells a story.

He describes two men in a town. One is rich, with vast flocks. The other is poor, possessing only a single lamb—so cherished it eats at his table and sleeps in his arms. When a guest arrives, the rich man does not draw from his abundance. He takes the poor man’s lamb instead.⁵

David is outraged. As king, he pronounces judgment swiftly and confidently. The man deserves punishment. Restitution. Consequences.

Then Nathan speaks the words that collapse the distance between story and reality:

**“You are the man.”**⁶

In an instant, David realizes he has judged himself. Nathan names the facts plainly: David used his power to take what was not his, destroyed a loyal man to conceal it, and assumed his position placed him beyond accountability.

This is not a trap meant to humiliate. It is truth delivered with precision. Nathan allows David’s own moral instincts—still intact beneath layers of authority—to render the verdict.

Speaking Truth to Power Is Dangerous

Nathan’s courage should not be underestimated. Kings do not respond kindly to exposure. Many prophets were imprisoned or killed for far less. Nathan risks his position, his safety, and possibly his life. He cannot know how David will react. Faithfulness here is not measured by outcome but by obedience.⁷

Speaking truth to power is rarely loud. It is rarely celebrated. It requires proximity without dependence, clarity without cruelty, and courage without illusion. Nathan does not shout from outside the palace gates. He walks directly into the seat of power and speaks.

David’s response is remarkable precisely because it is not guaranteed:

*“I have sinned against the Lord.”*⁸

Repentance does not erase consequences. Nathan makes that clear. Forgiveness and accountability coexist. The Bible refuses to confuse mercy with immunity.⁹

Why This Story Still Matters

This encounter reveals something essential about power: authority tends to surround itself with affirmation and silence. Over time, wrongdoing becomes justified, then invisible. Institutions close ranks. Loyalty replaces truth. Image replaces integrity.

Nathan represents the indispensable outsider—the one who loves truth more than access and justice more than comfort. He does not seek to destroy David. He seeks to save him from becoming a king who can no longer hear.

Scripture does not present leaders as villains by default. It presents them as dangerous precisely because they are human. Power magnifies both virtue and vice. Without truth, it corrodes.¹⁰

The Broken Hallelujah

This is where Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah belongs—not as ornament, but as interpretation.

The song opens with David’s musical gift, his calling, his nearness to God:

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord…”

But Cohen does not linger there. He moves quickly to the roof, the bath, the fall:

“You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.”

Cohen refuses to romanticize David any more than Nathan does. He understands that David’s story is not primarily about victory, but about collapse and confession. And he understands something many listeners miss: praise spoken after exposure cannot sound the same as praise spoken before it.

That is why the refrain matters:

“It’s a broken hallelujah.”

A cheap hallelujah is easy—praise without truth, worship without repentance, confidence without cost. It thrives where power is affirmed but never confronted.¹¹

A broken hallelujah is what remains when illusion is stripped away. It is praise that has passed through judgment. It is faith no longer dependent on image, position, or success. It is what David offers in Psalm 51, after Nathan leaves and the consequences remain.¹²

Nathan does not end David’s worship. He saves it from becoming hollow.

For Our Time

Nathan’s story is not ancient trivia. It is a permanent challenge.

Every generation builds systems that reward silence and discourage dissent—governments, corporations, churches, universities, families. Power still resists accountability. Truth still carries a cost. And praise without honesty still rings empty.

Speaking truth to power does not guarantee reform. It guarantees integrity.

Nathan spoke. David listened. And centuries later, a songwriter captured what that moment sounds like from the inside—not triumphant, not resolved, but honest.

Not every hallelujah is joyful.
Some are whispered.
Some are broken.
And those may be the ones worth hearing most.

Scripture References & Notes

  1. David’s power and success: 2 Samuel 5–10
  2. Bathsheba episode begins: 2 Samuel 11:1–5
  3. Uriah’s death order: 2 Samuel 11:14–17
  4. Nathan as prophet to David: 2 Samuel 7; 2 Samuel 12
  5. Nathan’s parable: 2 Samuel 12:1–4
  6. “You are the man”: 2 Samuel 12:7
  7. Prophetic risk: cf. 1 Kings 18; Jeremiah 20:1–2
  8. David’s confession: 2 Samuel 12:13
  9. Consequences despite forgiveness: 2 Samuel 12:10–14
  10. Power and accountability theme: Proverbs 29:2; Psalm 82
  11. Empty worship critique: Isaiah 1:11–17; Amos 5:21–24
  12. David’s broken praise: Psalm 51:16–17

Hallelujah

Song by Leonard Cohen ‧ 1984

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor falls, the major lifts
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well, really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light in every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Leonard Cohen / Theresa Christina Calonge De Sa Mattos

When Faith is Slipping

.Reading time 10 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI
A long answer to a short question from Tuesday Morning Men’s Bible Study

“Granddad… my faith is slipping.”

“Granddad, can I tell you something and you won’t think less of me?
I feel like my faith in God is slipping away. I’ve prayed—truly prayed—for our family to heal, for hearts to soften, for conversations about the Lord to open again. These aren’t selfish prayers. They’re for relationships to be mended, for love to return, for estrangements to disappear.

But nothing changes.
Some hearts grow colder.
And any mention of God shuts everything down.

Why doesn’t God answer these good prayers?
Why is He silent when the need is so great?
I don’t want to lose my faith, Granddad…
but I don’t know how much more silence or tension I can take.”

**THE GRANDFATHER’S ANSWER:

A Loving Reassurance About the Awakening—The Kairos Moment God Has Appointed**

Come here, child. Sit beside me.
I want to tell you something about God’s timing, something Scripture calls kairos—the appointed moment, the perfectly chosen hour when God reaches the heart in a way no human effort ever could.

Before any other story, let’s start with the one Jesus Himself told.

THE PRODIGAL SON: THE PATTERN OF ALL AWAKENINGS

(Luke 15:11–24)

A young man demands his inheritance, leaves home, and wastes everything in reckless living (vv. 12–13). When famine comes, he takes the lowest job imaginable—feeding pigs—and even longs to eat their food (vv. 14–16).

Then comes the sentence that describes every true spiritual awakening:

“But when he came to himself…” (Luke 15:17)

That is the kairos moment.

What exactly happened in that moment?

  1. Reality shattered illusion.
    He saw his condition honestly for the first time.
  2. Memory returned.
    He remembered his father’s goodness.
  3. Identity stirred.
    He realized, “This is not who I am.”
  4. Hope flickered.
    “My father’s servants have bread enough…”
  5. The will turned.
    “I will arise and go to my father.” (v. 18)

Notice something important:

  • No one persuaded him.
  • No sermon reached him.
  • No family member argued with him.
  • No timeline pressured him.

His awakening came when the Father’s timing made his heart ready.

The father in the story doesn’t chase him into the far country.
He waits. He watches. He trusts the process of grace.

And “while he was still a long way off,” the father sees him and runs (v. 20).

Why this matters for your prayers:

You’re praying for the very thing Jesus describes here.
But the awakening of a heart—any heart—comes as God’s gift, in God’s hour, through God’s patient love.

The Prodigal Son shows us:
God can change a life in a single moment.
But He decides when that moment arrives.

This is the foundation.
Now let me walk you through the other stories that prove this pattern again and again.

1. Jacob at Peniel — The Wrestling That Revealed His True Self

(Genesis 32:22–32)

Jacob spent years relying on himself. But his heart did not change—
not through blessings,
not through hardship,
not through distance.

Only when God wrestled him in the night and touched his hip (v. 25) did Jacob awaken.

This was his kairos:

When his strength failed, his faith was born.

He limped away, but walked new—
with a new name, a new identity, and a new dependence on God.

2. Nebuchadnezzar — One Glance That Restored His Sanity

(Daniel 4:28–37)

After years of pride, exile, and madness, his turning point wasn’t long or gradual. It happened in one second:

“I lifted my eyes to heaven, and my sanity was restored.” (Dan. 4:34)

The moment he looked up was the moment God broke through.

Kairos is when God uses a single upward glance to undo years of blindness.

3. Jonah — The Awakening in the Deep

(Jonah 2)

Jonah ran from God’s call until he reached the bottom of the sea. Only there, trapped in the fish, did Scripture say:

“When my life was fainting away, I remembered the LORD.” (Jonah 2:7)

That remembering?
That was kairos.

When every escape ended, God opened his eyes.

4. David — Truth Striking in One Sentence

(2 Samuel 12; Psalm 51)

Nathan’s story awakened what months of hidden sin could not.
When Nathan said, “You are the man” (2 Sam. 12:7), David’s heart broke open.

He went from blindness to confession instantly:

“I have sinned against the LORD.” (v. 13)

Psalm 51 pours out the repentance birthed in that moment.

Kairos often comes through truth spoken at the one moment God knows the heart can receive it.

5. Peter — The Rooster’s Cry and Jesus’ Look

(Luke 22:54–62)

After Peter’s third denial, Scripture says:

“The Lord turned and looked at Peter.” (v. 61)

That look shattered Peter’s fear and self-deception.

He went out and wept bitterly—
not because he was condemned,
but because he was awakened.

Kairos can be a look, a memory, a sound—something only God can time.

6. Saul — A Heart Reversed on the Damascus Road

(Acts 9:1–19)

Saul was not softening.
He was escalating.

But Jesus met him at the crossroads and asked:

“Why are you persecuting Me?” (v. 4)

That question was a divine appointment—the moment Saul’s life reversed direction forever.

Kairos is when Jesus interrupts a story we thought was going one way and writes a new one.

7. What All These Stories Teach About Kairos Moments

Across all Scripture, kairos moments share the same attributes:

1. They are God-timed.

We cannot rush them. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

2. They are God-initiated.

Awakenings are born of revelation, not persuasion. (John 6:44)

3. They break through illusion and restore reality.

“Coming to himself” means the heart finally sees truth. (Luke 15:17)

4. They lead to movement toward God.

Every awakening ends with a step homeward.

Your prayers are not being ignored.
They are being gathered into the moment God is preparing.

8. Why This Matters for Your Family

You are praying for softened hearts, restored relationships, spiritual awakening.
Those are kairos prayers, not chronos prayers.

Chronos is slow.
Kairos is sudden.

Chronos waits.
Kairos transforms.

You can’t see it yet, but God is preparing:

  • circumstances
  • conversations
  • memories
  • encounters
  • turning points

just like the father of the prodigal knew that hunger, hardship, and reflection would eventually lead his son home.

The father didn’t lose hope.
He didn’t chase the son into the far country.
He trusted that God’s timing would bring his child to the awakening moment.

You must do the same.

**9. Take Courage, Sweetheart:

The God Who Awakened Prodigals Will Awaken Hearts Again**

The Prodigal Son’s turning point didn’t look like a miracle.
It looked like ordinary hunger.

David’s looked like a story.
Peter’s looked like a rooster.
Saul’s looked like a question.
Nebuchadnezzar’s looked like a glance.
Jonah’s looked like despair.
Jacob’s looked like a limp.

Kairos moments rarely look divine at first.
But they are.

And when God moves, hearts—no matter how hard—can turn in a single breath.

Don’t lose faith, child.
The silence is not God’s absence.
It is God’s preparation.

And when your family’s kairos moment comes,
you will say what the father in Jesus’ story said:

“This my child was dead, and is alive again;
was lost, and is found.” (Luke 15:24)

Until then, hold on.
Your prayers are planting seeds that God will awaken in His perfect time.

Giving Thanks: A Biblical Theology of Gratitude

.Reading time 12 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Thanksgiving is more than a polite gesture in Scripture—it is a spiritual practice rooted in truth, memory, and worship. Gratitude pulls the believer’s heart away from fear and entitlement and redirects it toward trust, humility, and joy. It is one of Scripture’s most repeated teachings because it shapes the soul. Through thanksgiving, we learn to see God’s hand in our lives, remember His faithfulness, and live with open eyes and open hearts. These ten biblical groupings reveal a complete and interconnected theology of gratitude, showing why thanksgiving is essential for the Christian life.

1. Direct Commands to Give Thanks

The Bible does not treat thanksgiving as optional. It is commanded repeatedly because gratitude is a safeguard for the soul—it breaks pride, counters anxiety, renews memory, and keeps the heart anchored in God’s goodness. God commands thanksgiving not because He needs praise, but because we need the spiritual clarity that thanksgiving produces.

Key Scriptures:

  • 1 Thessalonians 5:18 — “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”
  • Psalm 107:1 — “Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.”
  • Psalm 136:1 — “Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good. His love endures forever.”
  • Colossians 3:15–17 — “Be thankful…with gratitude in your hearts…giving thanks to God the Father.”

Thanksgiving here is obedience shaped by trust.

2. Thanksgiving as Worship

Thanksgiving is not separate from worship—it is the doorway into it. In Scripture, gratitude is how the Believer approaches God. It is how we acknowledge His greatness and His character before asking for anything else. Thanksgiving reminds us of who God is, long before we focus on what we need.

Key Scriptures:

  • Psalm 100:4 — “Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise.”
  • Psalm 95:2 — “Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him with music and song.”
  • Hebrews 13:15 — “Let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise.”

Thanksgiving becomes the worshiper’s first act of reverence.

3. Examples of Thankfulness in Action

Scripture gives concrete stories showing gratitude practiced in real life: under pressure, in danger, during scarcity, after healing, and before miracles. These examples reveal that thanksgiving is not dependent on circumstances but grows out of faith, memory, and relationship with God.

Key Scriptures:

  • Daniel 6:10 — Daniel “gave thanks to his God” though it might cost him his life.
  • Luke 17:15–16 — One healed leper returned to thank Jesus—gratitude sets him apart.
  • John 6:11 — Jesus gives thanks before the loaves multiply, teaching that gratitude comes before abundance.
  • Acts 27:35 — Paul gives thanks publicly during a storm to strengthen others.

These examples show thanksgiving is a testimony—seen, heard, and influential.

4. Thanksgiving for God’s Works and Deliverance

Thanksgiving in Scripture is deeply tied to remembrance—remembering rescue, answered prayer, protection, healing, and God’s hand in crisis. Gratitude becomes the believer’s way of proclaiming what God has done.

Key Scriptures:

  • Psalm 118:21 — “I will give you thanks, for you answered me; you have become my salvation.”
  • Psalm 30:12 — “I will give you thanks forever.”
  • Psalm 34:1 — “His praise will always be on my lips.”
  • Revelation 11:17 — “We give thanks to you, Lord God Almighty,” for His victories.

Thanksgiving becomes memory turned into worship.

5. Thanksgiving and Prayer

Prayer and thanksgiving are inseparable in Scripture. Gratitude in prayer shifts the heart from fear to trust, from restlessness to peace. Thanksgiving acknowledges God’s past faithfulness as the foundation for today’s requests.

Key Scriptures:

  • Philippians 4:6 — Present your requests “with thanksgiving.”
  • Colossians 4:2 — “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.”
  • Ephesians 5:20 — “Always giving thanks…for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Thanksgiving deepens prayer by transforming it from a list into a relationship.

6. Thanksgiving for Salvation and Redemption

At the center of Christian gratitude stands the cross. Scripture repeatedly links thanksgiving to the saving work of Christ—victory over sin, death, and bondage. Every spiritual blessing, every promise, every hope flows from this gift.

Key Scriptures:

  • 2 Corinthians 9:15 — “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”
  • 1 Corinthians 15:57 — “Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
  • Romans 6:17 — “Thanks be to God” that believers are freed from sin.

Thanksgiving is the ongoing response to the Gospel.

7. Thanksgiving as a Mark of a Renewed Life

Gratitude is not merely something Christians do—it is something God forms in us. Scripture shows that a thankful heart is evidence of spiritual maturity, spiritual memory, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.

Key Scriptures:

  • Colossians 2:6–7 — Those rooted in Christ “overflow with thankfulness.”
  • Psalm 103:1–2 — “Forget not all his benefits.”
  • 1 Chronicles 16:34 — “Give thanks…for his love endures forever.”

Thankfulness reveals a soul awakened by grace.

8. Thanksgiving in the Psalms — Hymns of the Heart

The Psalms give us the Bible’s most beautiful language of thanksgiving. They model gratitude that is poetic, passionate, honest, and overflowing. The Psalms teach us that thanksgiving is not rigid—sometimes it is quiet and reflective; other times it is loud and exuberant.

Key Scriptures (each now explicitly included):

  • Psalm 9:1 — “I will give thanks to you, LORD, with all my heart.”
  • Psalm 28:7 — “My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him.”
  • Psalm 92:1 — “It is good to give thanks to the LORD.”
  • Psalm 69:30 — “I will praise God’s name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving.”

The Psalms teach us how to pray, sing, and feel our gratitude.

9. Thanksgiving in Community Worship

Thanksgiving is most powerful when the people of God do it together. Corporate gratitude strengthens unity, lifts weary hearts, and testifies to God’s faithfulness across generations. Scripture repeatedly shows the people gathered in unified thanksgiving during moments of rebuilding, dedication, victory, and revival.

Key Scriptures:

  • Ezra 3:11 — “With praise and thanksgiving they sang to the LORD.”
  • Nehemiah 12:27 — The dedication of Jerusalem’s wall included choirs and songs of thanksgiving.
  • 2 Chronicles 5:13 — Unified thanksgiving filled the temple with God’s glory.

Gratitude becomes contagious when the people of God raise their voices together.

10. Warning About the Absence of Thankfulness

The Bible does not only encourage gratitude—it warns against its absence. Ingratitude leads to spiritual dullness, forgetfulness, entitlement, and eventually rebellion. A thankless heart loses sight of God.

Key Scriptures:

  • Romans 1:21 — They “neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks”—and their hearts darkened.
  • 2 Timothy 3:2 — “Ungrateful” is listed among serious end-times sins.

Where thanksgiving fades, spiritual decline begins.

Reflection Questions

  1. What blessings am I overlooking or rushing past today?
  2. How can Thanksgiving become the first step of my worship each day?
  3. Which biblical example of thanksgiving most challenges me?
  4. What deliverances in my life deserve renewed thanks?
  5. What would change in my prayer life if thanksgiving came first?
  6. How does Christ’s salvation inspire gratitude in me right now?
  7. Where has thanklessness crept into my thinking or habits?
  8. Which Psalm best expresses my current gratitude?
  9. How can I strengthen others through shared thanksgiving?
  10. What spiritual danger might ingratitude be creating in my heart?

Closing Prayer

Father, we give You thanks.
You are good, and Your love endures forever.
Teach our hearts to remember Your mercies,
to see Your hand at work,
to recognize Your gifts,
to trust Your purposes,
and to praise You in all circumstances.
Forgive us for forgetfulness, for worry, and for ingratitude.
Form in us a spirit that overflows with thanksgiving—
in worship, in prayer, in suffering, and in joy.
May our gratitude reflect the grace of Christ
and become a light to those around us.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Post-Note — A Personal Thanksgiving Message

From Lewis

To all of you—my clients, friends, family members, neighbors, mentors, and church family—I want to offer a heartfelt word of thanks.

To my clients:
Thank you for your trust, your collaboration, your patience, and your willingness to let me walk beside you through complex decisions and meaningful work. Your confidence honors me, and your dedication strengthens me. Working with you is a privilege I do not take lightly.

To my friends:
Your loyalty, humor, encouragement, and companionship have carried me through seasons both light and heavy. Thank you for bringing joy into ordinary days and wisdom into difficult ones. Life is richer because of your presence.

To my family:
Thank you for love that never quits, for understanding when life gets busy, for prayers whispered on my behalf, and for believing in me even on the days I do not believe in myself. You are God’s greatest earthly blessing to me. Special thanks to Linda, the love of my life, for standing with me for almost 60 years.

To my neighbors:
Thank you for kindness, shared community, watchful care, and genuine friendship across fences, streets, and sidewalks. A neighborhood becomes a family because of people like you.

To my church family:
Thank you for prayers, for meals, for conversations, for fellowship, for spiritual guidance, and for walking this journey of faith alongside me. Your encouragement strengthens my soul; your faith inspires mine.

To all of you together:
Thank you for the grace, guidance, blessings, loyalty, and love you have poured into my life. I see the fingerprints of God in every interaction. I thank Him for you—and I thank you for being who you are.

The Night Before the First Thanksgiving

.Reading time 17 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Suggestion: if you have kids or grandkids of the right age, read as a play to set the tone for tomorrow. Also, use the opportunity to teach them about the Caravaggio-style paintings. You can describe a scene to ChatGPT and ask for this style of painting. It does a really nice job! LFM

Plymouth Colony, late autumn, 1621.
A cold wind slides under the poorly sealed door of a small timber-framed house. A fire crackles. The smell of roasting cornmeal and dried herbs hangs in the air. A father, Thomas, mends a wooden plate near the hearth. A mother, Alice, stirs a pot of broth.

Their two children—John (12) and Elizabeth (10)—are bundled together under a wool blanket made from whatever scraps their mother could stitch together during the previous winter, the one that took half their company.

Outside, the colony gathers quietly, preparing for the great feast planned to begin the next day.

Dialogue

JOHN:
Mother, Father… is it true what everyone says? That tomorrow shall be a day of thanksgiving? A real feast? After everything?

ALICE:
Aye, John. ’Tis true. A feast to thank the Lord for what He hath provided—after such a year as we have endured.

ELIZABETH:
But why tomorrow? Why now? We have never had such a thing before.

THOMAS (smiling gently):
Because this harvest—modest as it is—came only through God’s mercy, long labor, and the kindness of our Wampanoag neighbors. And because Governor Bradford and Captain Standish wished for a time of rejoicing after months of toil. We sowed in the spring, we reaped in the fall, and now we pause to give thanks.

JOHN:
Who will come? Only our own people? Or… the Wampanoag too?

THOMAS:
Massasoit, their great sachem (leader), and many of his men shall join us. They helped us plant corn when we knew not how, and showed us what herbs might heal the sick. We invited them, for without their aid, we might all have perished as many did last winter.

ELIZABETH (softly):
Like Mistress Carver… and the young ones who came on the Mayflower but never saw the spring.

ALICE (puts a hand on her daughter’s shoulder):
Yes, my girl. We remember them tomorrow as well. A thankful heart remembers sorrow too. It gives thanks even through it.

JOHN:
Will we have enough to feed so many? I hear Governor Bradford asked for a day of “recreation,” but recreation requires a full belly, does it not?

THOMAS (laughs):
Recreation is but his word for shooting games, races, and displays of skill. As for food—well, we have what the land gave us. Not much bread, for wheat grows poorly here. But there is corn, venison, fowl, and perhaps wild turkey if we are blessed to catch one. And the Wampanoag come with what they will bring.

ELIZABETH:
Will there be pie? Mistress Alden says in England there was always pie.

ALICE (smiles):
Pie? Nay, sweetheart. Not without sugar, nor much butter, nor proper ovens. But we shall have stewed pumpkin, perhaps sweetened with what little maple we bartered for. A sort of pudding, if you wish it so.

JOHN:
And how long will this thanksgiving last?

THOMAS:
Some say one day. Others say three. Truth be told, none know for certain, for such a feast has never been held here before. Governor Bradford says we shall feast “after the harvest,” and that implies more than one meal. And if Massasoit brings ninety men—as rumor has it—then three days may hardly suffice!

ELIZABETH:
Ninety? All warriors?

THOMAS:
Warriors, hunters, friends. Men who stand with us. They come not for battle but fellowship. After the treaty we made with Massasoit in the spring, we owe one another peace and aid. And so far, that peace has held.

JOHN (leaning forward eagerly):
Will there be musket firing? Captain Standish promised a demonstration!

THOMAS:
Aye, he means to show the Wampanoag our marksmanship. Though I tell you, their scouts can track deer in the dark better than any Englishman. It will be sport, not contest.

ELIZABETH:
Mother, what do you look forward to tomorrow?

ALICE (pauses thoughtfully):
Seeing our people sit together, not mourning but rejoicing. Hearing laughter where there was once only coughing. Knowing that for one night, none shall go hungry. And seeing you two children grow in a land that is finally giving us hope.

JOHN:
Father, what do you expect?

THOMAS:
I expect gratitude. Not for a grand table—for our table will be modest. But for the simple truth that we lived to harvest this year. That God preserved us when the sickness swept through our homes. And that the Wampanoag, once strangers, now promise to stand with us.

ELIZABETH:
Will we pray?

ALICE:
We shall pray before the meal, after the meal, and whenever our hearts are moved to. We owe the Lord that much and more.

JOHN:
But why do we call it a thanksgiving? Is it because we are giving thanks to God for the food?

THOMAS:
For the food, yes—but more than that. For survival. For friendship. For peace. For the chance to build a life here. Our people left Leiden and England to worship freely. That longing cost us dearly. Tomorrow we honor that sacrifice.

ELIZABETH:
Mother… do you think we shall still be here next year? All of us?

ALICE (pulls her close):
If the Lord wills it. But listen, child: tomorrow is not about fear of what may come. It is about thanks for what has been given already. Every day we survive here is a kind of miracle.

JOHN:
Father… will you tell the story again? The story of how we came to be here?

THOMAS (sets aside the wooden plate, voice solemn):
Very well. One last time before the feast.

He clears his throat.

The Mayflower brought us across the sea for sixty and six days. Tempests tossed us, food spoiled, and sickness spread. When we reached Cape Cod, we thanked God though we were far from where we meant to settle. We found no houses built, no fields plowed—only the wilderness.

Half our company died that winter. Yet by spring, God sent Samoset to our door—speaking English! And through him came Squanto, who taught us how to plant corn in this poor soil, with fish for fertilizer, and how to find eels and clams. Through Squanto we met Massasoit, and peace was made.

This harvest—our first—is the fruit of all those mercies.

ELIZABETH (quietly):
So tomorrow we thank God… for all the ways He saw us through.

THOMAS:
Aye, my girl. That is the heart of it.

JOHN:
And will we feast like kings?

ALICE (laughs warmly):
Like pilgrims, my son. Which is to say—we shall feast gladly, even if not grandly.

ELIZABETH:
Will you sing, Mother?

ALICE:
If the spirit moves me. Perhaps Psalm 100. “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.”

JOHN:
And what shall we children do?

THOMAS:
Eat. Play. Give thanks. And remember. One day, your children’s children may ask you what the first Thanksgiving was like. You shall tell them.

ELIZABETH:
Will they believe us?

THOMAS (with a grin):
Only if you describe it better than I ever could.

JOHN:
Then tomorrow, I will sit beside Massasoit himself and see how he smiles when he tastes roasted duck!

ALICE:
Mind your manners, John.

JOHN:
Yes, Mother.

ELIZABETH:
Father… do you think the Wampanoag give thanks too? Not just us?

THOMAS:
Oh yes. They thank the Creator for the harvest, the deer, the rivers, the berries, the corn. They celebrate their own harvest ceremonies. Tomorrow, in a way, both our peoples shall give thanks side by side.

ELIZABETH (leans against her mother):
That sounds… beautiful.

ALICE (softly):
It is.

A long, peaceful silence follows. Only the fire crackles.

THOMAS (whispering as he looks at his sleeping children):
Let them remember this night, Alice. The night before our first thanksgiving.

ALICE:
And let tomorrow be the beginning of many more.

The father places another log on the fire. Outside, the moon sits above the humble colony. Inside, the family sleeps—warm despite the cold—waiting for the dawn of a day that history will one day call The First Thanksgiving.

**After the Three Days:

What the Children Remember**

Three days later, the feast had ended. The fires had cooled. The sounds of musket volleys, laughter, drumming, and cheering had faded into memory. Plymouth had settled back into its quiet rhythm. But in the small timber house at the colony’s edge, the family gathered again near the hearth as the evening wind rattled the shutters.

JOHN (12) and ELIZABETH (10) sat cross-legged on the floor, shivering slightly in the early winter chill. Mother Alice was mending a torn sleeve. Father Thomas was binding two arrowheads to wooden shafts—gifts from a Wampanoag boy he’d met at the feast.

A comforting silence lingered, until Elizabeth finally spoke.

Dialogue: “What We Saw”

ELIZABETH:
Father… was that truly the end of it? The feast is done?

THOMAS:
Aye, sweetheart. Three days was enough for even the strongest among us. I dare say we shall not eat like that again until next year—if next year is as kind as this one.

JOHN (still full of restless excitement):
But Father—did you see Massasoit when he laughed at Standish’s musket misfire? He nearly dropped his plate! And the way his men cheered when the shooting contest was done!

THOMAS (smiling at the memory):
Aye, I saw it. ’Twas rare joy to see our peoples laugh together instead of watching one another in worry.

ELIZABETH:
The Wampanoag women brought so much food… more berries and corn cakes than I had ever seen. Why did they bring so much?

ALICE:
Because they wished to honor the peace between us. And perhaps because they saw our stores were not so plentiful as theirs. It was kindness, child. A generous kindness.

JOHN:
And the venison! I never saw so much meat in all my life. Five whole deer! They shared it freely.

THOMAS:
It is part of their custom. When a great meal is held, the hunters bring what they have. Hospitality, they call it—much like our own ways, though expressed differently.

ELIZABETH (looking into the fire):
I liked listening to their singing. It sounded like the wind through the trees.

ALICE (softly):
Yes. I thought it beautiful. Some said they sang thanks to the Creator, much as we did. Different words, different ways—but thanks all the same.

JOHN:
Father… do you think this peace will last?

THOMAS:
I pray it shall. Massasoit has kept his word. We have kept ours. We are two peoples sharing one land, and God willing, we shall find a way to live as neighbors.

ELIZABETH:
Do you think we will feast with them again next year?

THOMAS:
If the harvest is good, perhaps. But remember, my children—this first feast was not just celebration. It was relief. It was a breath drawn after hardship. It was the first time since we came here that joy outweighed sorrow.

ALICE (nodding):
These three days fed our spirits as much as our bodies.

JOHN:
I shall never forget it. The races, the shooting, the laughter, the dancing… I never thought so many people could smile at once.

ELIZABETH (gazing dreamily):
Or that strangers could feel like friends.

ALICE:
Hold fast to that thought, my girl. In this wild new land, friendship may be the difference between life and death.

THOMAS:
And between fear and hope.

A soft wind whistled through the cracks as the fire hissed. The children leaned against their parents.

JOHN:
Father… will history remember this? Will they write of these days?

THOMAS (looking thoughtfully into the flames):
Perhaps. Or perhaps only families like ours will remember. But even if no one writes a single word, it was still worth living. And worth giving thanks for.

ELIZABETH:
I want to remember every moment.

ALICE:
You shall. And someday, when your own children ask, you will tell them of the time when Pilgrims and Wampanoag sat at one table, shared one fire, and gave thanks together.

The fire crackled, warming their tired faces. The children drifted to sleep with memories of laughter, feasting, and newfound friendship—memories that would stay with them long after the wilderness around them grew quiet again.

The Spirit of the Texas Way: Common Sense Over Cynicism

.Reading time 8 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

https://www.utexas.edu/academics/texas-statement-academic-integrity

When the University of Texas faculty released “The Texas Way: Academic Freedom and Its Responsibilities,” the intent was unmistakable. It was not a legal document, a political maneuver, or a coded message. It was a straightforward declaration of principle — that teachers should pursue truth, teach honestly, avoid indoctrination, and respect differing views. In an age that seems to doubt everything, that message should have been unifying. Instead, predictably, it became a target for some.

Almost as soon as it appeared, a familiar cycle began. Commentators dissected every phrase, searching for a hidden agenda. Lawyers and critics combed through the text, parsing its meaning like a contract instead of a creed. Words such as “balanced,” “germane,” and “indoctrination” were treated not as plain appeals to fairness but as traps waiting to be sprung. What should have been seen as a reaffirmation of trust was instead viewed with suspicion. The irony is that the statement itself warned against exactly that — the habit of turning open discussion into a minefield of motives. Why can’t a person say to another, “Be Good!” and more explanation be required?

There is a deeper issue here, and it goes far beyond one university document. We are living in a time when moral clarity itself is treated as a threat. The more plainly something is said, the more certain people become that it must be hiding something. Cynicism has become a reflex. Clarity invites attack, and sincerity is mistaken for strategy. The result is a culture where even the simplest affirmations of integrity are smothered under layers of analysis and doubt.

Reflection: The Spirit of the Texas Way

There is something discouraging about watching a plain statement of good sense be treated like a crime scene. The University of Texas faculty’s “Texas Way” declaration could hardly be clearer: pursue truth, teach honestly, avoid indoctrination, and respect differing views. That’s not controversial; that’s civilization. Yet the moment such a statement appears, a familiar pattern unfolds — analysts dissect every word as though it hides an ulterior motive, and critics line up to prove offense where none exists.

This reflex to litigate language before listening to meaning reveals more about the critics than the text. The urge to find fault, to anticipate grievance, to pre-arm for battle — these are habits of distrust, not of scholarship. They reduce moral principles to procedural puzzles. Academic freedom, like integrity, cannot be safeguarded by endless disclaimers; otherwise, it turns into an extended shelf of IRS-type regulations. It thrives when communities act in good faith, understand the plain meaning of words, and hold one another to standards of fairness and honesty without needing a lawyer present.

The “Texas Way” speaks to the better side of our civic character — one that assumes clarity of intent and answers good faith with good faith. The critics would do well to read it not as a legal brief, but as a declaration of shared trust: that we can teach, learn, and reason together without the perpetual suspicion that every word hides a trap. Common sense, not cynicism, is what keeps academic freedom alive. Is a professor who doesn’t know the difference between teaching and proselytizing really qualified to be in the position? Can they teach a course on Political Science and still have the students guessing their political affiliations by the end of the semester?

That reflection captures something essential — not only about the Texas Way but about the times in which we live. Academic freedom, like public trust, cannot be preserved by contracts alone. It depends on the willingness of people to take each other at their word. When faculty, students, and citizens stop doing that, no number of policies will save the principle. Legal language can define conduct, but only good faith sustains community.

The tendency to attack rather than understand reveals a deeper insecurity — a loss of confidence in our shared moral vocabulary. Once upon a time, we knew what words like integrity, fairness, and truth meant without needing to footnote them. We trusted that an honest statement of intent was just that: honest. Today, however, clarity is treated as provocation, and good intentions are met with preemptive suspicion. It’s a disease of doubt masquerading as vigilance.

The Texas Way stands as a modest antidote to that cynicism. It does not demand agreement on every issue; it asks only for honesty, humility, and respect in how disagreement occurs. It reminds educators — and the public — that freedom and responsibility are two sides of the same coin. One without the other leads to either tyranny or chaos. It also reminds us that universities, like democracies, depend on trust as their unseen infrastructure. When that trust collapses, rules multiply — and meaning drains away.

We would do well to recover the older Texas instinct: to take words at face value, to assume good faith until proven otherwise, and to remember that plain speech is not a flaw but a virtue. Texans once built towns, companies, and churches on a handshake — not because they were naïve, but because they believed a man’s word was his bond. That same cultural DNA can still guide the life of the mind.

The Texas Way doesn’t need to be “interpreted.” It needs to be lived. Its call to pursue truth, teach honestly, avoid indoctrination, and respect differing views is not a political statement. It is a cultural one — an appeal to rediscover our shared sense of fairness and restraint. If every reader applied those words in spirit, rather than searching for loopholes, the meaning would be self-evident and the controversy nonexistent.

Common sense is not beneath academia; it is its foundation. The more we replace trust with suspicion, the more we destroy the very freedom we claim to defend. Let the lawyers have their policies and the cynics have their doubts. The rest of us can still recognize a plain truth when we see it — and honor it for what it is.

How Do You Know?

.Reading time 7 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI
(Please share my blog site with your friends and family and ask them to subscribe for free at http://www.citybaseblog.net)

A dialogue between a granddaughter and her grandmother

Scene:
The kitchen is quiet now, the light outside turning golden. The teapot is empty, but the warmth between them lingers. The grandmother leans back, smiling softly at her granddaughter — the kind of smile that carries both memory and hope.

Granddaughter:
Grandma, you’ve told me what love feels like when it’s real. But how do you really know if it’s right before you say “I do”?

Grandmother:
That’s a wise question, sweetheart — wiser than most your age ask. Knowing isn’t about a single moment. It’s about the patterns you see when the emotions calm down.

Granddaughter:
What kind of patterns?

Grandmother (counting gently on her fingers):
Start with faith. If your heart is anchored in God, make sure his is, too. You can’t walk together if one’s following the light and the other’s still chasing shadows. Shared faith doesn’t guarantee an easy life, but it gives you the same foundation when the storms come.

Granddaughter:
So religion really does matter?

Grandmother:
It matters more than you think. It shapes how you forgive, how you raise children, how you see the world. Without that common ground, even small differences start to feel like miles.

Granddaughter:
Okay… what else?

Grandmother:
Money. Not how much he earns, but how he treats it. Does he plan, save, and give? Or does he spend like there’s no tomorrow? Marriage magnifies everything — especially money habits. You want to face life as partners, not as each other’s accountant.

Granddaughter:
That’s practical, Grandma.

Grandmother (grinning):
So is love, darling. It’s not all candlelight and violins. It’s budgets, calendars, and choosing to be kind when you’re both tired.

Granddaughter:
And I guess it matters how you treat each other in public too?

Grandmother:
Oh yes — never, never speak badly about each other to anyone. The minute you let criticism slip into someone else’s ears, you give them power over your marriage. Protect one another’s reputation like it’s your own.

Granddaughter:
What about family?

Grandmother:
You marry more than the person — you marry their whole world. Watch how he treats his parents and siblings, and how they treat him. Family is the soil that shaped him. And when you bring him home, see how he fits among your people. If there’s no respect both ways, there’ll be cracks later.

Granddaughter:
That’s a lot to think about.

Grandmother:
It should be. Also, watch how he treats strangers — the waitress, the cashier, the stray dog. The smallest gestures reveal the biggest truths.

Granddaughter:
What about when life gets stressful?

Grandmother:
That’s when the real person comes out. See how he reacts under pressure — with patience or temper, faith or fear. The right one won’t crumble at every hardship. He’ll steady you when you start to shake.

Granddaughter:
And kids?

Grandmother:
Talk about it early. Whether he wants them, how he imagines raising them, what he values in a home. You can’t build together if you’re dreaming in opposite directions. You will be married singles.

Granddaughter:
You always say habits tell the truth.

Grandmother:
They do. Look for balance. Someone who knows moderation — with food, drink, work, and even opinions. Extremes wear people out. Balance keeps peace alive.

Granddaughter:
What about his purpose — like, his job or calling?

Grandmother:
A man who feels called to something greater than himself carries a steadier joy. It doesn’t have to be glamorous. But it has to mean something. When life gets heavy, purpose keeps him from drifting. How does he handle disillusionment? It WILL come.

Granddaughter:
Can he talk about emotions? Like fear, grief, or joy?

Grandmother:
He needs to. If he can’t name what he feels, he’ll turn silence into walls. Find someone who can talk through pain, who can admit fear, who can celebrate joy without shame. That’s emotional honesty — and that’s love’s backbone.

Granddaughter:
What about his heroes?

Grandmother:
Ask who he admires. A man’s role models are the map to his values. If he looks up to people of integrity — who serve others quietly — that’s a good sign.

Granddaughter:
And self-awareness?

Grandmother:
Oh, that’s gold. Can he say, “I was wrong”? Can he admit when he’s hurt someone and try to make it right? Pride destroys more love stories than infidelity ever could.

Granddaughter (pausing):
Grandma, this is a lot to remember.

Grandmother (smiling warmly):
It is — because marriage isn’t luck. It’s wisdom, patience, and prayer. But I’ll tell you one last thing — maybe the most important of all.

Granddaughter:
What’s that?

Grandmother (leaning close):
If the boy — or the man — isn’t just as curious about you… your faith, your family, your hopes, your habits, your fears, your calling — if he doesn’t want to know your story and your soul — then make sure he knows without any doubt: you are not someone to be half-known. You are someone to be understood, cherished, and respected in full — or not at all.

Oh, one more thing: No regrets. Strive to make wise choices. The best thing you want to be able to say when you get to be my age is “No regrets!”

(The granddaughter nods slowly. The kettle whistles again, and her grandmother rises to refill it — calm, steady, radiant with the kind of wisdom only a lifetime of love can teach.)

The Divine Conspiracy: The Beatitudes and the Blessed Life in God

.Reading time 13 minutes.

✨ Suggested by Dr Bobby Waite; Written by Lewis McLain & AI

A Study Edition Inspired by Dallas Willard

🌄 I. Setting the Scene — The Mountain and the Message

It was early in the ministry of Jesus. Word of His healings and authority had spread through Galilee. Crowds followed—farmers, fishermen, soldiers, widows, and scholars—all hungry for something more than spectacle.

When He saw them gathering by the Sea of Galilee, Jesus withdrew to a hillside. The slope formed a natural amphitheater where sound carried on the breeze. He sat down, the posture of a rabbi ready to teach, and His disciples drew near. Behind them stood the multitudes—hopeful, skeptical, wounded.

This is the setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7), the heart of the Gospel story where the Teacher begins to describe life under the rule of God. Like Moses ascending Sinai, Jesus now delivers a new law—not on stone tablets, but upon human hearts. Yet this Lawgiver does not shout from thunderclouds; He speaks softly, face to face.

The sermon opens not with command but with blessing. The Master looks at His disciples—men and women of no special rank—and calls them the seed of a new creation.

“Seeing the crowds, He went up on a mountain, and when He sat down, His disciples came to Him. Then He began to teach them.” (Matthew 5:1–2)

Thus begins what Dallas Willard calls “the divine conspiracy”—the quiet, redemptive invasion of heaven into the ordinary world through those who choose to live as Christ’s apprentices.

🕊️ II. The Heart of the Divine Conspiracy

Willard writes that Jesus’ teaching unveils a simple but radical truth: the Kingdom of God is available now. It’s not about escape to heaven later, but participation with God in the present moment. The Sermon on the Mount is therefore the curriculum for life in the Kingdom—not rules for unreachable saints, but descriptions of ordinary people transformed by extraordinary grace.

“Jesus’ teaching about the kingdom is not an invitation to wait for heaven later; it’s a call to live under heaven’s rule now.” — Dallas Willard

📖 III. The Beatitudes — The Great Reversal

Each Beatitude opens with Blessed—the Greek makarios, meaning deeply happy, whole, or flourishing. Jesus pronounces God’s favor upon those the world overlooks or despises. Willard teaches that these are not virtues to attain, but conditions where grace appears. They describe what life looks like when heaven’s power meets human weakness.

1. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:3)

To be poor in spirit is to know your need of God.
The self-sufficient rely on their own strength; the poor in spirit rely on grace.

Willard’s Insight:

“The poor in spirit are those who have learned that their life is not manageable on their own. They stand ready to receive the Kingdom as a gift, not as a wage.”

Reflection:
When have you discovered that self-reliance is not enough?
How did that humility become a doorway to grace?

2. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4)

Mourning is not weakness—it is sacred honesty.
Those who grieve over loss, sin, or injustice open their hearts to God’s healing compassion.

Willard’s Insight:
“The world says, ‘Get over it.’ Jesus says, ‘Bring it to Me.’ Mourning becomes holy when it leads us into the arms of divine comfort.”

Reflection:
What sorrow has drawn you closer to God?
How might you become an instrument of comfort to others?

3. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

Meekness is not weakness but power under control.
The meek trust God’s care more than their own control.

Willard’s Insight:
“The meek live without the need to manage others. They inherit the earth because they are content to let God govern it.”

Reflection:
Where do you sense God calling you to release control and rest in His authority?

4. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” (Matthew 5:6)

This is the longing for the world to be set right—within and without.

Willard’s Insight:
“This hunger is evidence of life with God already stirring within you. He alone satisfies the appetite He awakens.”

Reflection:
What injustices make your spirit ache?
How can you channel that hunger into faithful prayer and action?

5. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” (Matthew 5:7)

Mercy interrupts the world’s cycle of revenge.

Willard’s Insight:
“The merciful dwell in a rhythm of grace—they forgive because they live forgiven.”

Reflection:
Who in your life needs mercy from you today?
How can compassion replace resentment?

6. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.” (Matthew 5:8)

Purity of heart means singleness of desire—the will set wholly toward God.

Willard’s Insight:
“To be pure in heart is to will one thing: the good of God. When the eye of the soul is clear, everything becomes luminous with His presence.”

Reflection:
What distractions divide your heart?
How can simplicity of purpose restore your spiritual sight?

7. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

Peacemakers are builders of reconciliation, bearers of God’s family likeness.

Willard’s Insight:
“The peace of Christ is not the absence of conflict but the presence of creative goodwill.”

Reflection:
Where can you build bridges instead of walls?
How might you embody the Father’s peace in tense spaces?

8. “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 5:10)

Faithfulness invites friction with the world’s systems—but God’s presence sustains the faithful.

Willard’s Insight:
“Persecution is not failure; it is confirmation that the Kingdom has taken root.”

Reflection:
When has standing for truth cost you something?
What courage grows in hardship?

9. “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.” (Matthew 5:11–12)

Now the blessings become personal—addressed to every follower.

Willard’s Insight:
“Joy in persecution is not denial of pain but recognition of purpose. You are living from an eternal horizon.”

Reflection:
How can you keep joy alive when misunderstood or maligned?
What eternal perspective steadies your heart?

🧭 IV. Discipleship as Apprenticeship

To Willard, discipleship means apprenticeship—learning to live your actual life as Jesus would live it if He were you. It is not belief alone but training of the heart. He outlines three essentials:

  • Vision – seeing the Kingdom as real and desirable.
  • Intention – deciding to live as Christ’s student.
  • Means – practicing disciplines that reshape the inner life (prayer, solitude, service, study).

This “curriculum for Christlikeness” transforms not just conduct but character.

🌿 V. The Hidden Life in God

The “divine conspiracy” is that God’s revolution happens quietly—from the inside out.
It unfolds in unseen obedience, ordinary kindness, unseen faithfulness. It is “hidden” because the Kingdom’s greatest victories are inward: forgiveness over hatred, humility over pride, patience over fury.

“The revolution of Jesus is one of character, and it proceeds in secret until it transforms everything.” — Willard

Those who live this way already share in eternal life—the with-God life that begins now and never ends.

💬 VI. Discussion & Application

  1. Which Beatitude most challenges your current view of “success”?
  2. How might the Kingdom of God reshape your response to suffering or insult?
  3. What practice could you begin this week to strengthen mercy, purity, or peace in your daily routine?
  4. How does Jesus’ personal instruction of His disciples encourage your own apprenticeship today?

🕊️ VII. Poetic Reflection — The Quiet Kingdom

On a hill above the waters, where Galilee’s winds still sigh,
He sat upon the green earth, as heaven leaned close by.
No trumpet sounded His Kingdom, no banners caught the sun—
Yet love began its quiet reign, and the world was being won.

He spoke not to princes or scholars, but to hearts that barely stand,
To fishermen, widows, wanderers—the dust of a weary land.
He called them blessed, not broken; He named them heirs of grace,
And light began to shimmer on each upturned face.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, who bring nothing but their need;
For God will clothe their emptiness and sow His living seed.

Blessed are the mourners, whose tears the Father keeps;
For He will bend beside them, and comfort while they weep.

Blessed are the meek, whose strength is calm and mild;
The earth will bloom beneath their hands, the humble reconciled.

Blessed are the hungry hearts, that crave for what is right;
They’ll taste the bread of justice baked in heaven’s light.

Blessed are the merciful, who let forgiveness flow;
They drink the cup of kindness only mercy knows.

Blessed are the pure in heart, whose eyes are clean and still;
They’ll see the face of God in every field and hill.

Blessed are the peacemakers, who end the ancient fight;
Children of the Father, they walk in holy light.

Blessed are the persecuted, whose faith the world disowns;
Their crowns are forged of suffering; their thrones are living stones.

And still He whispers softly above the clash and din:
“My Kingdom is among you; it grows from deep within.”

Not built of force or empire, not won by sword or gain—
It rises where the heart surrenders, and love alone shall reign.

The crowd went home in silence, but heaven had begun;
The meek looked tall, the mourners sang, the poor outshone the sun.
And though the ages darken, His promise still is true—
The Kingdom’s quiet power still moves in me and you.

🌅 VIII. Closing Thought

The Divine Conspiracy is the Gospel’s hidden heartbeat:
God’s Kingdom is not far away—it is available now.
To live as Jesus’ apprentice is to walk daily in the light of that reality,
to join the ongoing miracle of heaven quietly transforming earth.

Morning Has Broken: The Song That Welcomed the Dawn

.Reading time 9 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Oh, how I loved Cat Stevens from the first time I heard him. I saw him the first time when he performed in Fort Worth in the 1970s. It listened to his albums over and over. It was clear he was searching for spiritual clarity. He apparently found a solution for himself after his brother gave him a copy of the Quran. After his conversion, he gave away or destroyed all of his awards and guitars. He changed his name to Yusuf Islam. Decades later, his adult son found his guitar on the market and bought it. It is said that Yusuf immediately started playing. A few years ago, Linda and I flew to Washington, DC, where he played to an audience at the Kennedy Center. It was a wonderful trip back to hear his classics again. LFM

Morning Has Broken: The Song That Welcomed the Dawn

I. A Hymn Born in Simplicity (1931)

In 1931, British author Eleanor Farjeon was asked to craft new words for the traditional Scottish-Gaelic tune Bunessan (from the Isle of Mull). She wrote Morning Has Broken—three short stanzas that treat each sunrise as a fresh echo of Creation. Birds, dew, gardens, and “the Word” cast ordinary morning light as a sacrament of renewal. First printed in Songs of Praise (1931), the hymn traveled quietly through hymnals for decades.

II. Steven to Cat Stevens: Crisis, Silence, and Re-making (1968–1970)

Steven Demetre Georgiou—later known as Cat Stevens and today as Yusuf Islam—grew up over his father’s Greek-Cypriot restaurant in London, with a Swedish mother, a pencil and sketchpad never far from reach. By 18 he had a record deal; by 1967 he’d had pop hits and relentless touring. Then, in 1969, illness struck hard: tuberculosis with a collapsed lung. He was hospitalized for months and then sent into nearly a year of convalescence and isolation.

That enforced stillness became a hinge in his life. He read widely (mysticism, philosophy, scripture), sketched and wrote, questioned fame, and began composing the introspective songs that would define his second career: “Father and Son,” “Wild World,” “On the Road to Find Out,” “Into White.” When he returned, it was with a new sound—acoustic, intimate, spiritually searching—and a new partnership with producer Paul Samwell-Smith. The comeback albums followed in quick succession:

  • Mona Bone Jakon (1970): the quiet re-entry.
  • Tea for the Tillerman (1970): a masterpiece of spare folk-rock and spiritual longing.
  • Teaser and the Firecat (1971): the companion volume—gentler, sunlit, and home to “Moonshadow,” “Peace Train,” and “Morning Has Broken.”
    Stevens even painted the cover art—a child (Teaser) and a cat (Firecat)—an outward sign of the homemade sincerity of the era.

III. Finding a Hymn in a Hymnal (1971)

As Teaser and the Firecat neared completion, Stevens and Samwell-Smith wanted one more track that sounded like gratitude. Leafing through a hymnbook, Stevens found Farjeon’s Morning Has Broken. The text was brief, without a pop chorus, but it said exactly what his convalescent soul had learned: each day is a divine fresh start. “It fell into my lap,” he later said—less an idea than a gift arriving right on time.

IV. The Recording: Piano Like First Light

The arrangement needed light. Enter Rick Wakeman, a young session pianist (soon to join Yes). He improvised the now-famous piano prelude and interlude—those flowing, ascending figures that feel like sun lifting fog. Acoustic guitar, a modest rhythm bed, and Stevens’ hushed vocal kept the hymn’s humility while giving it living warmth. (Wakeman was initially uncredited, a footnote he’s mentioned ever since—ironically fitting for a song about unadorned grace.)

V. Release, Reception, and Reach (1971–present)

Issued late in 1971, the single bloomed slowly and then everywhere—Top-10 in the U.K., No. 6 on the U.S. Hot 100, and No. 1 on Adult Contemporary radio. It became a rare bridge between sacred hymnody and popular song, sung at school assemblies and charting on secular stations; used at weddings, dedications, and memorials; and re-introducing Farjeon’s text to churches that had forgotten it. For Stevens, the song sits on the arc that runs from illness → inward search → art as gratitude → later faith commitments and humanitarian work. For listeners, it proved a pop song can simply be thank you and still move the world.

VI. What the Verses Say (Paraphrased and Interpreted)

Verse 1 — The first morning, again
Morning opens like the world’s first dawn; birds break the silence like that first bird. Let all our singing and this very dawn become praise—new life springing from God’s speaking.

Verse 2 — Rain, light, and the garden
New rain gleams in sun; first dew pearls on fresh grass. Praise for sweetness in the watered garden—made whole where the Holy One has walked.

Verse 3 — Light we share, life we begin
Sunlight is ours; morning is ours—children of the same Light seen in Eden. So let joy rise with each dawn: every morning is God’s re-creation of the day.

Coda (Stevens’ reprise on record)
The album performance circles back to the opening stanza—musically and theologically saying: the first morning returns with every sunrise.

VII. Why It Endures

  • Simplicity that shelters depth: Three small verses, vast theology—creation as ongoing gift.
  • A voice recovered from silence: After TB and a season of doubt, Stevens chose wonder. You can hear recovery in the restraint.
  • Piano that paints light: Wakeman’s intro has become the sound of “daybreak” for multiple generations.
  • Common grace: It belongs equally to church pews and kitchen radios, to choirs and children.

VIII. Closing

Morning Has Broken is the sound of someone who nearly lost breath learning to love breath again. Farjeon’s parish hymn found its pilgrim singer; Stevens’ long quiet found its prayer. And the rest of us found a way to say, with the first bird and the last chord: thank You for today.

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

Sweet the rains new fall, sunlit from Heaven
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

Come to Me as a Child: The Invitation from Christ and Its Meaning Today

.Reading time 8 minutes.

A collaboration between Lewis McLain & AI

Introduction: The Most Disarming Invitation

Of all the invitations Jesus ever gave, none is more tender or more revealing than His call to “Let the little children come to Me.” In a world that prized power, rank, and age, Jesus placed a child in the midst of grown men and declared that the way into His Kingdom was not through merit, intellect, or strength—but through simplicity of heart. The Gospels record this lesson several times (Matthew 18:1-5; 19:13-15; Mark 10:13-16; Luke 18:15-17), which tells us how central it is to the heart of the Christian life.

The Scene: Greatness Redefined

In Matthew 18, the disciples were debating who would be greatest in heaven. Their conversation revealed an adult obsession with comparison and hierarchy. Jesus interrupted their ambitions by calling over a small child—someone overlooked, unranked, and powerless.

“Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3)

In one sentence, Jesus inverted the value system of His listeners. Greatness, He said, begins with humility. To “become like children” is to admit dependence and trust rather than display status. The Kingdom of God is not climbed into; it is received with open hands.

Reflection Questions

  1. What ambitions or comparisons most distract you from a childlike faith?
  2. How do humility and dependence challenge our culture’s idea of success?
  3. In what ways might “becoming smaller” actually enlarge your soul?

The Heart of the Matter: Childlike, Not Childish

Jesus did not praise immaturity, ignorance, or naivety. He praised childlikeness—qualities of heart that adults tend to lose: trust, wonder, forgiveness, curiosity, and the ability to be taught. A child depends without shame, asks without hesitation, and forgives without keeping score. These traits mirror the faith that connects us to God.

When He said, “Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:15), Jesus was describing an approach, not an age. The requirement is not to remain small but to remain soft—humble enough to receive grace instead of earning it.

Reflection Questions

  1. Which childlike quality—trust, wonder, forgiveness, curiosity—do you find hardest to retain?
  2. How can you cultivate teachability before God this week?
  3. What would your worship look like if you came with that childlike heart?

The Blessing: His Hands on the Children

In both Mark 10 and Matthew 19, people brought children to Jesus, and the disciples tried to push them away. Perhaps they thought He had more important work to do. But Jesus became indignant—a rare word for His righteous anger. He insisted, “Do not hinder them.” He gathered the children into His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them.

That gesture still defines the heart of Christian ministry. To hinder a child—by neglect, cynicism, or hardness—is to obstruct the very image of faith God desires. Every time the Church welcomes the least, protects the vulnerable, or teaches with gentleness, it reenacts that moment of blessing.

Reflection Questions

  1. Who in your life might be “hindered” from coming to Jesus by neglect or discouragement?
  2. How can your words or presence become an open invitation instead?
  3. What practical steps could your church take to bless children and the childlike?

The Application: What It Means Today

1. Trust Over Control

Modern life prizes control—plans, schedules, data, mastery. Yet the Gospel calls us to trust. A child steps forward because the parent’s voice is enough. To follow Jesus is to release the illusion of control and to rest in His character.

2. Wonder Over Cynicism

Children see beauty where adults see routine. Faith flourishes when we regain our sense of wonder—when sunrise, Scripture, and song awaken gratitude instead of fatigue. Cynicism may sound sophisticated, but it cannot worship.

3. Relationship Over Performance

Children do not earn their place at the table; they belong by birth and love. In the same way, believers are accepted not by performance but by adoption into God’s family. Our worth is not negotiated—it is bestowed.

4. Presence Over Hurry

A child notices the moment; an adult is often elsewhere. Jesus invited children to come to Him—a call to be present. Prayer and worship are not tasks but encounters. To come as a child is to arrive unhurried, eager, and attentive.

Reflection Questions

  1. Where in your life are you trying to control what only God can direct?
  2. When was the last time you paused to experience pure wonder before God?
  3. How can you practice “presence over hurry” in your daily prayer or worship?

The Challenge: Becoming Small in a Big World

It is striking that Jesus did not tell the children to become like the disciples, but the disciples to become like the children. In every generation, the Church is tempted to mirror worldly hierarchies—titles, influence, eloquence, size. But the Kingdom belongs to those who kneel, not to those who climb. To be childlike is not to be weak but to be free from pretense. It is the posture that allows grace to enter.

Reflection Questions

  1. Where might pride or performance still keep you from kneeling?
  2. How does God invite you to rest in grace rather than achievement?
  3. What would your leadership, parenting, or ministry look like if shaped by childlike humility?
I love you, Ben, and will always be by your side.

Conclusion: The Open Arms of Christ

When Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me,” He was not limiting His invitation to a specific age. He was revealing the doorway of heaven. The arms that once cradled children on a Galilean hillside would soon stretch open on a cross to welcome all of God’s children home.

To come as a child is to come with empty hands, honest eyes, and an open heart. In that humility, we find not only the entrance to the Kingdom—but the embrace of the King Himself.

A Prayer of Childlike Faith

Lord Jesus,
Teach me to come to You not with pride but with peace,
not with credentials but with curiosity.
Make my heart soft again—able to wonder, to trust, to forgive.
Strip away the layers of cynicism that I have called wisdom,
and restore to me the joy of simple belief.
As a child finds rest in a father’s arms,
let me find rest in Yours.
Amen.

The Hands That Speak: The Ministry of Those Who Serve the Deaf

.Reading time 6 minutes.

Based on a letter from Lewis McLain to Pastor Sam One Year Ago Today.

Jenna Glory

Across sanctuaries, classrooms, and living rooms, there are remarkable people whose work often goes unnoticed yet speaks as loud as any sermon. They are the ones who serve the deaf — interpreters, teachers, and companions who translate not only words but compassion, joy, and the very movement of the Holy Spirit into a living language of hands and heart.

These servants of God live in a world where communication is not limited to sound but expanded by sight, rhythm, and spirit. Their hands become instruments of connection, conducting a symphony of faith that transcends the barriers of silence. In every gesture and facial expression, they proclaim that God’s voice cannot be confined to a single sense. They embody the truth that faith comes not only by hearing, but by believing — and by seeing love made visible.

Those who minister to the deaf practice a form of worship that requires complete presence. To interpret a sermon, a hymn, or a prayer is to listen deeply and respond with the whole body. It is worship in motion. Each word must be felt, understood, and then released through graceful precision. That requires more than technical skill — it takes empathy, reverence, and a heart completely surrendered to the Spirit.

Many of us in church may not realize that while we experience the service through sound, others around us are experiencing the same Spirit through light, touch, and motion. The same gospel is preached in two languages — voice and hand — yet both point to the same God who speaks to every heart.

A Living Example: My Church in McKinney

I have seen this truth with my own eyes. We often sit behind the deaf seating section. The Holy Spirit is all over, in, around, and through our church in McKinney. You can’t listen to the musicians play and the choir and worship leaders sing without being moved by the Holy Spirit. You can’t listen to Pastor Sam preach, or to any of our ministry staff speak, without feeling that the words of the Holy Spirit are flowing through them. The genuineness is visible.

There is no doubt in my heart — He’s real. He is a Spirit made tangible through our gifted leaders. Almost touchable, and certainly able to be breathed in.

But if there ever were a doubt, that doubt would disappear the moment you looked over at the Living Spirit working through the special people like Jenna Glory, signing for the deaf. They glow with a light not often seen in this world. They move with a rhythm that surpasses even the songs and words. It is God alive — vibrant, warm, and powerful.

A Conversation with Luella

Just yesterday, I sat next to a wonderful person named Luella Funderburg at an afternoon church gathering while we watched the Cowboys play. I asked her a few questions, and before long, I learned something extraordinary. She and her husband Ken drive in from Sherman, about thirty miles away. Their former church didn’t have a deaf ministry — but ours does.

Louella told me she teaches a Sunday school class for deaf members of our congregation, ranging from teenagers to senior adults. She even earned a college degree in ministering to the deaf. Truly amazing!

As she shared her story, I couldn’t help but see how her quiet faithfulness mirrors the Spirit I see every Sunday on the stage — hands alive with meaning, faces radiant with joy. Through her, and through all who serve like her, the Spirit continues to speak. The experience is a blessing. I was enriched by our conversation.

A Prayer of Gratitude

Lord, bless Your servants — Sam, Justin, Hollye, the choir, the musicians, and especially those wonderful signers who bring Your Word to life in ways that transcend hearing.

Thank You for people like Louella, who devote their lives to ensuring that every person, regardless of hearing, can feel Your presence fully.

Their ministry reminds me that worship is not limited to sound waves — it’s about Spirit waves. The Holy Spirit doesn’t just fill the air; He fills the heart.

Poem: “The Hands That Praise”

They do not shout, yet mountains move,
Their silence hums a holy groove.
Each motion breathes what words can’t say,
The gospel seen in hands that pray.

They catch the rhythm of unseen choirs,
Their fingers blaze like tongues of fire.
Each sign a psalm, each glance a hymn,
Each movement light, not shadow, dim.

For where we hear, they see the song,
And teach us where our hearts belong.
Through them, the Spirit softly sings,
With holy breath upon their wings.

O ministers whose hands reveal
The love no voice could e’er conceal,
May God renew your strength each day—
The world is blessed by what you say.