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The blush of embarrassment, the reddening cheek, have you ever wondered at the power of it? Our lives, when all is done and told, can be summarized in what we held firm to the end, and what we let slip for fear or shame.
The wonder may be nowhere more pronounced than in the words of Jesus: “Whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels” (Luke 9:26).
Try to imagine it.
The day has come suddenly, like a thief in the night. The angels, too numerous to count, too wonderful to anticipate, too “other” to feel at ease among, now encompass the earth. Some surround Christ, blazing as forest fires. Others bellow loud praises to God and to the Lamb. Still others flash forth as lightning, blowing trumpets and summoning the world to account.
And then you see him. The King of kings, the Lord of lords draped in the glory of his Father. Charioting the clouds, he approaches the world of men. He is adorned in blinding light, dressed for war, a sword protruding from his mouth. The great Spectacle, the great Reckoner, the One by whom and for whom all exists docks his boat upon the shore. The eyelids of this world will pull back. Every eye will see him — even those who pierced him. All activity apart from him will stop. Atheism and paganism and false religion will cease to be. He has come.
Blushing Before God
In this landscape filled with angels, God, and men, slumped between the true saints and the brazen unrepentant, will be those who knew enough to truly follow him, but never did: the blushers.
They knew Jesus to be who he said he was, but they did not own him. They visited him only at night, but wouldn’t appear with him in the daylight. When the question was put to them before men, devils, those they admired or feared, they could not speak with Luther, “Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. God help me!” They kept what they took to be their personal convictions and would not confess him.
And there they stand, alongside the great gathering of all who ever lived. The King looks down at them as they looked upon him, with holy embarrassment and godly shame. They lived ashamed of him, and now Jesus is ashamed of them before his Father and this heavenly assembly. They denied him, and now they are denied (2 Timothy 2:11–13). “Depart from me, you cursed,” he will say, “into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels” (Matthew 25:41).
Even Though All Fall Away
Some cannot imagine being ashamed of our Lord or denying him. But lest we think ourselves beyond this temptation, saying in our hearts to Christ, “Even though they all fall away, I will not” (Mark 14:29), may we remember that the rock, Peter, nearly shattered beyond mending at this quake.

“Live like you know Christ, like you love Christ, like you are waiting unashamedly for Christ to return.”

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Fresh off of fleeing from his Shepherd in Gethsemane, Peter now followed Jesus at a distance “to see the end” (Matthew 26:58). As he sat outside in the courtyard, one of Caiaphas’s servant girls caught a glimpse of him warming himself around the fire. “This man also was with him” (Luke 22:56). Once, twice, three times: “I do not know him!” — even invoking a curse upon himself to prove it (Mark 14:71). After the third denial, “the Lord turned and looked at Peter” (Luke 22:61).
That look — whatever pity, disappointment, or shame it contained — sent Peter away weeping. He only barely survived this dark denial, narrowly escaping Satan’s sifting and Judas’s judgment, because Jesus had prayed for Peter, that his faith would not fail (Luke 22:32). Let us all beware self-satisfied assertions of untested fidelity. A rooster may yet crow, even for the strongest of us. Perhaps especially for the “strongest.”
Soothing Slopes of Compromise
Furthermore, this temptation to be ashamed of Jesus appears prebaked into our seemingly post-Christian culture.
I have sometimes wondered if many of the cowardly, those who were ashamed of Christ and refused to pick up their crosses to follow him, ever considered themselves so. Certainly, if the grand moment of decision arrived, the gun is pointed at the head or the servant girl raises her voice in public accusation, compromise is obvious. But how many of “the cowardly” (Revelation 21:8) go to the second death unrealizing because they did not feel the thud at the bottom of the cliff, but walked the scenic, gentler slope of a quiet, more habitual compromise?
Most of us do not face a cliff, but this soothing slope of small denials. Instead, we deny him in peaceful conversations around many fires. Our embarrassment is the fixed blush on the cheek, the accumulation of small moments in which we harmlessly choose love for reputation, love for esteem, love for ease, for money, for our own lives, over the love for Christ and love for souls. We don’t speak much of Jesus. We take the path of less awkwardness, we fit in more and more with unbelieving friends and coworkers. We don’t “go there” with our unbelieving family as we did before. Our neighbors don’t know we are Christians, and our own family often wonders.
This gentle path is not new. In Jesus’s day, many, including many of the authorities, were said to “believe” in him, but loved their seats in the synagogue and their glory before men above the glory that comes from Christ (John 12:42–43). They believed true things about Jesus, just not that he was worth following at any cost.
He was not their treasure hidden in a field that they in their joy went and sold everything to have (Matthew 13:44). He was not worth following when crosses were involved (Luke 9:23).
Are We Half Asleep?
It wasn’t that the blushers cared nothing for Jesus nor disbelieved what he claimed. It’s just that when other loves were threatened, they thought it best to keep things to themselves and not go too far.
Does this spirit of disavowal dress up in a suit and tie today? How much have we believed that Jesus is not for polite conversation, not for the public square, not for the family dinner table? How much is normal life about keeping the status quo of unbelief while all around us walk over the rickety bridge into judgment day?

“Do not blush to speak the name of Jesus or to stand next to every word he has spoken.”

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Have we muted the intrusive commission to go (to places we are uninvited) and make disciples of the nations (full of people who don’t want us there), baptizing them in the Trinitarian name of God (who they have rejected in their sin), and teaching them to obey everything Christ taught us (Matthew 28:18–20)? Will the Son be ashamed of us before his Father because we have lived lusting and neglectful lives ashamed of him?
How many of us live, even now, instinctively hiding the colors of our uniform, too prone to maintain a secret life of a disciple — as if there truly were such a thing?
Limping Between Gods
Indistinct and worldly “Christianity” is worthless. Salt that is no longer salty is not “good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet” (Matthew 5:13). Roads must part, decisions must be made: Christ or this world?
The narrow path leads away from the broad, Lot cannot remain always in Sodom, the jealous masters vie for full allegiance. The prophet’s inescapable question finds all of us out eventually: “How long will you go limping between two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him” (1 Kings 18:21).
Give up spiritual indecision, renounce this saltless Christianity, flee from this halfway house of commitment between Christ and the world. Have done, in reliance upon the Spirit, with what James Stewart calls an “amphibian existence that lacks the courage to decide.” Live like you know Christ, like you love Christ, like you are waiting unashamedly for Christ to return — if you have tasted and seen how precious he is.
Resolve now, God helping you, to live for Christ and nothing but Christ — no matter the cost. Do not blush to speak his name or to stand by every word he has spoken. For what does it profit a man to amass the whole world — celebrity, admiration, the dream spouse, a thrilling career, safety from persecution — if, having had them all, Christ is ashamed of him? […]

“No one ever spoke like this man!” Even his enemies had to admit it.
Jerusalem was teeming with travelers during the Feast of Booths, and Jesus was teaching in the temple. A new excitement was in the air. And controversy. Some said he was a good man; others thought he was leading people astray (John 7:12).
The Pharisees overheard the muttering and conspired with their political rivals, the chief priests, to send officers to arrest Jesus, if he were to misspeak. The officers were there, on the last day of the feast, when Jesus stood up and cried out, like no one else would dare,

If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, “Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:37–38)

The people were first stunned, then divided. Some wondered if this was the Prophet who was to come. Or even the Christ himself. Others argued back that David’s heir would not come from Galilee. The officers, equally stunned, returned with empty hands, and open mouths, to the chief priests and Pharisees who ask, “Why did you not bring him?”
John then reports, as he loves to do, a word on the lips of Jesus’s enemies that is even more true than they know: “No one ever spoke like this man!” (John 7:46).
All Things Well
Indeed, the words and teaching of Jesus are unparalleled, even as a tension runs through his ministry, from start to finish. Time and again, his fame spread because of his miracles. Word spread like wildfire because of his works. People wanted to see what the Gospel of John calls “signs.” Yet Jesus never self-identified as a miracle-worker. He was a teacher whose words amazed his hearers as much as his healings. And more.

“We are stewards and heralds of the message of another.”

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Nicodemus captures it well, even though he still has much to learn, when he comes to Jesus at night in John 3: “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with him” (John 3:2). The signs point. The works that dazzle the eyes are meant to open ears to words from a teacher come from God.
Himself the Word of God, Jesus’s words were like the words of no other man, before him, in his day, or since. He opened his mouth to teach, and soon “all the people were hanging on his words” (Luke 19:48).
Amazed and Astonished
Even at age twelve, two decades before he went public as a teacher, his words amazed and astonished as he sat among the teachers in the temple: “all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when his parents saw him, they were astonished” (Luke 2:47–48).
When Jesus spoke, his words, not just his works, were arresting. Not only did he “amaze” the crowds with miracles (Mark 1:27; 2:12; 5:42), but he “amazed” his disciples with his teaching (Mark 10:24, 32). As the masses were “astonished” at his works (Mark 7:37; Luke 5:9; 9:43; 11:38), so even more, for those with ears to hear, they were “astonished” at his words (Mark 1:22; 6:2; 10:26; 11:18).
Significantly, Matthew reports, at the end of his famous Sermon on the Mount, “when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes” (Matthew 7:28–29). And when he taught in his hometown, Nazareth, “they were astonished, and said, ‘Where did this man get this wisdom and these mighty works?’” (Matthew 13:54).
When he moved on to the next town, Capernaum, “they were astonished at his teaching, for his word possessed authority” (Luke 4:32). And when it seemed to matter most, during his passion week, with the chief priests trying to trip him up, he not only answered flawlessly but went on the offensive. “And when the crowd heard it, they were astonished at his teaching” (Matthew 22:33).
They Marveled
Even more than “amazed” and “astonished,” the Gospels report that Jesus’s hearers often marveled. The people, and his own men, “marveled” not only at his displays of power (Luke 8:25; 9:43; 11:14) but also his teaching. They “marveled at the gracious words that were coming from his mouth” (Luke 4:22).
When the Pharisees “plotted how to entangle him in his words” (Matthew 22:15), they did not yet know what a fool’s errand that would be. They thought they might get him with the politically dangerous question, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?” (Matthew 22:17). Jesus, aware of their malice, called them on it: “Why put me to the test, you hypocrites?” (Matthew 22:18).
Then he undid them with three succinct words: an object lesson, a leading question, and one of the single greatest lines in the history of the world. Object lesson: “Show me the coin for the tax” (Matthew 22:19). They brought it to him. Then leading question: “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” (Matthew 22:20). All knew the answer: “Caesar’s.” Finally, the word that made even enemies “marvel” (Matthew 22:22; also Mark 12:17): “Therefore render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21).
Luke reports the upshot: “they were not able . . . to catch him in what he said, but marveling at his answer they became silent” (Luke 20:26). He could open his mouth and make them put their hands over theirs. Which brings us back to John 7 and the clearest teaching from Jesus as to what made his teaching so marvelous.
What Was It About His Words?
In John 7, as Jesus taught during the feast, the establishment “marveled” and asked, “How is it that this man has learning, when he has never studied?” (John 7:15).

“For Christians, ‘for the glory of God’ is not a throwaway phrase.”

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Jesus then answers with the most focused and penetrating words he has to say about his words. Here he pulls back the curtain, as it were, and teaches about his teaching. In doing so, he gives us a profound insight, in three layers, as to what sets his words and teaching apart. His teaching, he says, is not from me, not of me, and not for me.
Not from Me: Teaching Not His Own
First, Jesus’s not operating under his own authority is a pronounced theme in the Gospel of John. “The Son can do nothing of his own accord,” he says (John 5:19). Again, “I can do nothing on my own” (John 5:30). He is not autonomous, as modern people like to pretend. “I do nothing on my own authority,” he says in John 8:28, “but speak just as the Father taught me.” So also in his coming — from above — he does not come “of my own accord” (literally, “from myself,” John 7:28; 8:42). Rather, his words as a teacher are rooted in the mission of the one who sent him.
Jesus does not teach “from himself” — from his own authority, as his own source — but in the authority of another: his Father. And so, here in John 7:17, he makes it clear that he is not “speaking on my own authority.”
Pastors and teachers today do well to take note. If Christ himself speaks not on his own authority, then how much more do we not? The call to Christian teaching — to teach as the God-man did — is not a call to share our opinions or preferences or latest hot take. Christian teaching is increasingly at odds with the pattern of teaching in the world and its penchant for self-expression. God gave us a Book. Like Christ himself, we do not teach “from ourselves.” We are stewards and heralds of the message of another, of Christ, just as he modeled for us in receiving, and teaching, the words of his Father.
Not of Me: Teaching Not Even His
The distinction between “not from me” and “not of me” is subtle but presses the issue to another degree. Jesus opens in John 7:16 with this puzzling statement: “My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me.” How could your teaching not be yours?
The question in verse 16, we might say, is not authority but ownership. It’s one thing to point to a source (or authority) outside oneself; it’s another to then take it a step farther. Not only is my teaching not from me, Jesus says; but my teaching isn’t even mine. A teacher might point to another as the source of his teaching and yet still claim his teaching, once it has come from his mouth, to be his. Jesus does not.
Again, if true for Jesus, how much more so for us today who teach in his name? We might readily admit that our teaching is “not from me” — but from God, from Christ, from the Book — and then feel a good deal of ownership about my teaching, my content, my “intellectual property.”
How prone are we to assume that once we have received God’s words, and studied them, and found our way to teach them, that then in some sense, even admitting they’re not from us, our teaching is ours. But not so for Jesus. Here is a kind of openhandedness about “his teaching” that is unusual, even strange — though it comes into focus once he takes us to the bottom.
Not for Me: Teaching Not for His Own Glory
Finally, in John 7:18, Jesus bring us to the bedrock: “The one who speaks on his own authority seeks his own glory; but the one who seeks the glory of him who sent him is true, and in him there is no falsehood.”
Beneath this enigma of “his teaching” not being “his,” in some sense, is bracing clarity: who gets the glory? Whose honor is it for? Whose glory do I seek with my words, my teaching? In the world, the answer is often painfully plain: the teacher seeks his own. He teaches for his own glory, his own benefit, his own advancement, his own self-expression. Tragically, even among some teachers in the church, the same can be true. Our hearts are prone to wander, pastors included, and gravitate to the pursuit of our own private benefit and selfish interests.
Yet the God-man himself — fully God, yes, and among us as fully man — seeks not his own glory in his teaching but pursues the glory of the one who sent him. And again, if so for Christ, how much more for those today who teach in his name?
The Man Christ Jesus
John 7:18, from the lips of Christ himself, may well be the single most important insight into what made the words and teaching of Christ so powerful. Why were the crowds so often amazed and astounded, why did they marvel, why did they hang on his words, and say, “No one ever spoke like this man”? Because no man ever lived for the name and glory of God like the man named Jesus (John 17:4, 6, 26). And what that consecration of mind and heart brought to his words made a difference everywhere he went, and every time he taught.
At bottom, Jesus, as the ultimate human, did not seek “his own glory” but the glory of him who sent him. On this, then, he professed that even his teaching was not his but his Father’s, even as he did not teach “from himself” but on his Father’s authority.
For Christians, “for the glory of God” is not a throwaway phrase. It is profoundly relevant, and transforming, on a daily and weekly basis in how we live, and how we speak. Jesus’s teaching — even more convincingly than his spectacular works — demonstrated to the world that he was true. His enemies could sense it, and couldn’t help but admit, “You are true and do not care about anyone’s opinion. For you are not swayed by appearances, but truly teach the way of God” (Mark 12:14). “Teacher, we know that you speak and teach rightly, and show no partiality, but truly teach the way of God” (Luke 20:21).
So too for true teachers today. Their words are not from them, not of them, and not for their own glory, which in time may well make God’s people marvel as he gives them ears to hear. […]

The Bible is a blood-earnest book. It’s a book about reality. And reality, as we know all too well, is often brutal and bloody. The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat this fact at all, but describes reality with disturbing forthrightness. Much of Scripture was written during brutal, bloody times by embattled, distressed, weary, even depressed authors. And at the pinnacle of the Bible’s story, at the core of the Bible’s message, is the Son of God dying a bloody death on a brutal Roman cross.
So, when we open our Bibles, rarely are we going to find a little light reading.
Even in the book of Psalms, this collection of inspired spiritual poetry that has brought immeasurable comfort to an incalculable number of saints across the centuries, we are frequently faced with distressing themes. In numerous psalms, we read writers’ wrestlings over what it means to trust the God they treasure as they witness some brutal and bloody reality, a reality that challenges their understanding or expectations of God’s promises and purposes.
These psalms fit into a category we call psalms of lament. In certain lament psalms, like Psalm 10, we’re reading an inspired author’s faith crisis captured in verse.
Can We Say That to God?
We see this immediately in the opening verse:

Why, O Lord, do you stand far away?     Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (Psalm 10:1)

That’s a remarkable thing to say to God. Could a Christian Hedonist actually pray this way?
Why would I ask that question that way? We at Desiring God believe that the Bible teaches an approach to life we call Christian Hedonism. We see in Scripture that a Christian is not someone who assents merely intellectually to core Christian propositional truth claims. A Christian loves God with all his heart (Matthew 22:37), values God as his greatest treasure (Matthew 13:44–46; Philippians 3:7–8; Hebrews 11:24–26), and seeks God as the source of his greatest and longest-lasting pleasure (Psalm 16:11). The triune God of the Bible is to be a Christian’s “exceeding joy” (Psalm 43:4). Summarized in a sentence, Christian Hedonists believe Scripture teaches that God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.
We can certainly find lots of Christian Hedonistic prayers in the Psalms, like Psalm 73:25–26,

Whom have I in heaven but you?     And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.My flesh and my heart may fail,     but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

But what about Psalm 10, where the writer laments his agonizing bewilderment over unjust, greedy, violent acts against innocent, helpless people? He’s not only disturbed by the wicked acts he’s witnessed; he’s disturbed that the wicked are prospering from their wickedness. And God, the righteous Judge, appears to be letting it happen. So, in typical biblical candor, he asks God, “Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” If a person truly loves, trusts, and treasures God above all else, can he pray like that? Can someone who rejoices in God ever lament God’s apparent distance and disregard?

“A faith crisis should not be confused with faith abandonment.”

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In short, yes. In fact, Christian Hedonists pray to God this way at certain times because he is our “exceeding joy,” because we treasure him, because we love him. And because sometimes God’s ways and timing are agonizingly difficult to grasp. We see this sorrowful-yet-rejoicing dynamic in the brutal realities of Psalm 10.
Why Did God Feel Far?
First, we need to understand what was troubling this psalmist. He pours out his distress:
“In arrogance the wicked hotly pursue the poor [because he is] greedy for gain” (Psalm 10:2–3).
He “curses and renounces the Lord” (even denies God’s existence) (Psalm 10:3–4).
“His mouth is filled with cursing and deceit and oppression” (Psalm 10:7).
“In hiding places he murders the innocent” (Psalm 10:8).
“He seizes the poor when he draws him into his net” (Psalm 10:9).
The poor are being exploited and even slaughtered by someone in a position of power (perhaps more than one) for the sake of financial benefit. The victims are in a “helpless” or defenseless position and so “are crushed, sink down, and fall by [the wicked person’s] might” (Psalm 10:10). These would be unspeakable deeds, except that silence would only compound the injustice of it all. Therefore, like Jeremiah, the psalmist “cannot keep silent” (Jeremiah 4:19).
What Faith Sounds Like in Crisis
The psalmist strives to put the wickedness he sees into words. We can sense his righteous anger. Such horrible oppression and injustice should make him (and us) angry.

“Sooner or later, every Christian experiences a faith crisis — some of us numerous ones.”

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But though the psalmist is addressing God with urgent earnestness, I don’t believe his anger is directed toward God. It’s directed toward the wicked who are wreaking such destruction. The psalmist is turning to God with his burning indignation toward evil perpetrators, and his tearful compassion toward victims because his hope is in God to bring justice and deliverance to bear. That’s why he prays.
We too witness, and sometimes are victims of, such wicked injustices. In our day, innocent, defenseless unborn babies are legally murdered, and children as well as vulnerable or entrapped adults are trafficked for sex, all financially profiting those perpetrating the injustices. In the face of such things, we cannot keep silent. First and foremost, before God. Out of compassion for afflicted ones and righteous anger toward perpetrators, we pour out our lamenting hearts to the God in whom we hope (Psalm 43:5) and from whom we receive hope (Psalm 62:5).
Learning to Cry Out in Crisis
But still, those opening lines of the psalm sound like God is the recipient of at least some of the psalmist’s anger:

Why, O Lord, do you stand far away?     Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (Psalm 10:1)

If that’s not anger or disillusionment or disappointment, what is it? It’s putting into words the painful perplexity of a crisis of faith.
Now, a faith crisis should not be confused with faith abandonment. Nearly every saint experiences faith crises of different kinds, and typically we must endure faith crises in order for faith to grow and strengthen — more on that in a moment. But the clearest evidence that this psalmist is not forsaking God is the presence of this psalm — the psalmist is praying! And in his prayer, he’s doing with God what all of us do with those we love and cherish deeply who act (or seem not to act) in ways we don’t understand: he’s honestly expressing his confusion and pain.
The psalmist’s soul is troubled that his biblically informed knowledge of God’s character does not seem to match the reality he’s observing. He believes “God is a righteous judge” (Psalm 7:11) who “executes justice” for the helpless and vulnerable (Deuteronomy 10:18). But he’s not seeing justice executed for the helpless and vulnerable. He’s seeing the wicked oppressor of the helpless “prosper at all times” (Psalm 10:5). Why God isn’t immediately stopping this injustice is beyond him. It’s a moment of crisis for him, and he’s telling God so.
I think it wrong, however, to assume that, because the psalmist asks God why he seems distant or hidden, he’s blaming God or scolding God for neglecting his responsibilities. What he’s doing is describing his experience of reality — the way the situation appears to him through his finite senses. And the reason he’s praying this way is precisely because he cares so deeply for God, because he loves and trusts God.
This is a faithful Christian response to a faith crisis. When we are painfully perplexed by the apparent discontinuity between what we know of God from the Scripture and what we observe in the world, when the mystery of God’s providential purposes meets the finiteness of our understanding, and it doesn’t make sense to us, God wants us to cry out to him. He wants us to cry out to him precisely because we love and trust him, even when our experience challenges what we believe.
Forging Christian Hedonists
The fact that the Bible speaks so honestly about reality is part of its self-authenticating quality; unvarnished honesty is one sign of sincerity and truth. And the fact that the Bible features a psalmist’s faith crisis over the problem of evil is part of why the Psalms have comforted so many for so long; we experience such crises too.
Sooner or later, every Christian experiences a faith crisis — some of us numerous ones. But a crisis of faith does not mean a loss of faith. In fact, it is often through faith crises that we learn what faith really is.

“The forging of a Christian Hedonist often occurs in the fires of a faith crisis.”

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Scripture is full of accounts of saints enduring many kinds of faith crises, where the God who governs reality, in all its bloody brutality, does not meet the saints’ understanding and expectations, leading those saints to wrestle deeply. The Hebrews 11 “Hall of Faith” is lined with such saints, who through crises learned what it really means to “walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7).
I mentioned earlier that Christian Hedonists love to pray Psalm 73:25–26:

Whom have I in heaven but you?     And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.My flesh and my heart may fail,     but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

What I didn’t mention is that Psalm 73 is another account of a faith crisis, and this prayer is part of the fruit of that crisis. So, when your own crises come, don’t assume your faith, love, and joy are gone, but that God wants to grow them in the furnace of affliction. Because the forging of a Christian Hedonist often occurs in the fires of a faith crisis. […]

Editor’s note: Bunmi is deeply honest with God. She’s funny and poignant. In these often short and sweet, funny, heart-felt, sometimes sad or angry prayers you’ll feel like you’ve met a friend who gets it.
*
Dear God,
I know you do a lot. They say you hold the atmosphere together with your hands and command the sun to rise each morning. You know what I’d trade for all of that? Knowing without a doubt that you care. Drop the atmosphere and hold me.
Me
*
Dear God,
Why did you make spiders? Were you mad? Did you think they were cute with all those legs? I respect you, but I don’t think spiders were your best work. Unless you wanted us to live in fear, in which case, I say, “Mission accomplished.”
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
This broken, bloody world, my broken, bloody life. Is this your masterpiece? Are our tears and bones your mediums? How can I pretend you care about me in a world where innocents suffer? How can I pretend to matter? You don’t know how badly I crave your attention, or maybe you do. I hate it here.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
Why can’t butter be healthy? Are mushrooms really even food? Why didn’t you make seedless pomegranates? You know we’d love that. It’s like a puzzle. Isn’t life hard enough? Why is the mango seed so big? Like, really big? It easily takes up half the mango. Is there a lesson in that?
Like, for every mango in life, is there a big seed? Sorry, I’m hungry.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
I decided not to believe in you. I was upset. Devastated, actually. Tired of feeling like I’m speaking into empty air. But that’s not true. I can feel you almost all the time. I was tired of being in pain. You could have rescued me if you wanted to, but you didn’t. That made me so sad. And angry. So I renounced you in my soul and turned my back. For three solid hours.
Did you miss me? I’m still kind of mad.
Me
*
Dear God,
Thank you for
good hugscups of teabonfiresthe sound of rainthe kind of laughter that only gets more intense when youtry to stop brick wallsgood graffitistrangers with kind eyesstrangers who don’t look at you when you’re crying in public quiet, deep peopleloud, animated peopleresponsible peoplemessy people (Hi)my beduntouched snowhoodiesbuttered popcorncrisp applesiced coffeefresh doughnutssocks of all kindsolive oildistressed woodblankets
Me
*
Dear God,
Assuming I get to heaven, I don’t want neighbors.
Me
*
Dear God,
Forgiving someone who isn’t sorry feels like washing a car that isn’t mine. Why should I do it? Because you forgive me over and over? You’re literally God though. I’m a trash human. Please help me forgive. If only because the anger is slowly but surely choking me.
Me
*
Dear God,
Why do you hide? Is it because you want me to seek? I’m tired. And lost. And tired. Come out.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
Caterpillars are gross. Butterflies are beautiful. I see what you did there.
Love,
Me
*
Dear God,
You saved me. You’ve saved me more than once, and I don’t know why. I go back and forth between gratitude and sadness. The pain could’ve been over, but it would have just begun — like the worst baton pass of all time — for the ones I love the most. So I’m here. Why me? There have been so many others you didn’t save, whose souls you didn’t give another chance, so why me?
A blanket of thankfulness and nothingness is draped over me. Nothing feels right. You brought me back, but where are you? I’m alone.
Me
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Dear God,
Thanks for coffee.
That is all.
Love,
Me

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Dear God,
I can feel your compassion surrounding me. In these moments when I feel your gentle eye on me, I know you’re my father, and I’m not afraid. Stay.
Me
Excerpted with permission from Dear God by Bunmi Laditan, copyright Bunmi Laditan.

Watch Bunmi on Hoda and Jenna

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Your Turn
These prayers are so honest and simple. Sometimes, we make prayer too complicated. We don’t say what we mean, we try to keep secrets from God as if that’s possible. He already knows, so just tell Him about it. Let’s commit today to start speaking to Him about everything we’re thinking about and ask Him for a new nearness, a new sweetness. We need Him! ~ Devotionals Daily […]

Lord, You know the pain I’ve endured at the hands of others.I give myself to You, the Healer.I also submit to Your command to love everyone around me,including my enemies.May I not repay evil for evil.May my heart not wish harmfor those who have hurt me.Instead, I pray for Your blessing on them.Make me generous in grace and compassion,and strong enough to live at peace with everyone. I praise You because justice is in Your nature, and I trust You to carry out justice as You see fit, when You see fit.
You are God, and I am not.You are on the throne, and You say,“It is mine to avenge; I will repay” (Romans 12:19 NIV).
I give You honor, God,and leave room for You to dowhat Your wisdom says is just and right.
~C. M.

God, You’ve shown us what is good:to act justly and to do what is fair to others. You’ve sent Your Son to provide peaceand the bond of true fellowship.Open our eyes to the needs of others —of all the different types of people in this world. Lead us out of our comfort zonesso we can bless and build bondswith people who are different from us.Lead us in respectful service toward one another, treating each other as brothers and sisters.May we be instruments in Your handsas You bring Your kingdom of justice and peace. May we spread Your goodnessand bring many to join usin living close to You in Your glory and love.
~C. M.

O God, the King of righteousness,lead us in the ways of justice and peace,inspire us to break down all tyranny and oppression, to gain for every person what is due to them.May each live for all and all care for each.
~William Temple (1881–1944), adapted

Grant, O God, Your protection;and in Your protection, strength;and in strength, understanding;and in understanding, knowledge;and in knowledge, the knowledge of justice; and in the knowledge of justice, the love of it; and in the love, the love of existence; and in the love of all existence, the love of God and all goodness.
~Ancient Welsh prayer

God of love,You see all the suffering, injustice, and misery in this world.Have pity on what You have created. In Your mercy look upon the poor, the oppressed, the destitute,and all who are heavy-laden.Fill our hearts with deep compassion for those who suffer,and hasten the coming ofYour kingdom of justice and truth.
~Eugène Bersier (1831–1889)
Excerpted with permission from A Prayer for Every Occasion by Carrie Mars, copyright Zondervan.
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Your Turn
If you’ve suffered injustice at the hands of others, these prayers are for you to give to God. If you’re watching this hurting world and aching for the pain you see, these are prayers for you to cry out. Thy Kingdom come! ~ Devotionals Daily […]

What is more difficult than sharing the gospel for the first time with someone you love? Sharing the gospel for the tenth time with someone you love — even after they’ve already (repeatedly) responded with rejection or indifference.
At that point, we often feel stuck, as though we’ve played to a stalemate with our friend, child, neighbor, or spouse. We’ve prayed faithfully, spoken the gospel clearly, and loved patiently. But there’s been no sign of movement or progress. What more can we do?
We don’t plan on giving up. Too much is at stake. But we know that unwanted repetition of the same gospel words may repel rather than attract, harden rather than soften. So, what to do next? Tiptoe around in conversation? Settle for pleasantries? We’re left feeling weary and discouraged. We might grow cynical and resign ourselves to what feels like the inevitable reality that the person we care about won’t ever follow Jesus.
What do we say when we’ve already said it all? How can we persevere in pursuing the lost we love?
How to Get Unstuck
There are several helpful responses to those of us who struggle in this way. First, it may be that we’re too focused on our own ability (or lack thereof) to win the person we love.
Jesus points us away from ourselves and to the sovereignty of God. We can trust that, in his time, God will draw his people to his Son (John 6:44). It may be that we’re too absorbed with our present lack of success. The apostle Paul points us instead to the future: “Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9).
Another cause of our despair and confusion may be Satan’s lie that we’re dealing with a static situation. Deep down, we’re convinced nothing’s ever going to change. Our reason for feeling this way may be an unspoken belief that runs something like this: I have an unchanging gospel to share, and I’ve already shared it (multiple times!). I have nothing more to offer. I’ve done all I can. Nothing’s going to change.

“What if the situation with our lost loved one is more dynamic than Satan would have us believe?”

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But what if evangelism is about more (not less) than sharing the content of the gospel? What if people are more complex and unpredictable than we may think? And what if the situation with our spouse, friend, child, parent, or neighbor is more dynamic than Satan would have us believe? In the face of an apparent stalemate, it’s refreshing and encouraging to remind ourselves of three dynamic realities in any relationship with a lost loved one.
This Person Will Change
It’s all too easy to believe that the loved one who has repeatedly brushed you off or beaten you down will always reject the gospel. But people change. There’s a popular myth that every cell in our bodies is replaced every seven years, so that we’re literally different people every 84 months. While untrue, it’s a helpful metaphor for what really is the case. A 45-year-old you is (or will be) a different person from the 35-year-old you (who was different from the 25-year-old you). And this should make us hopeful.
I have a friend who shares the gospel with hundreds of nursing-home residents every year. The pandemic has radically altered his ministry, but he’s been creative, often visiting residents over an iPad held by a nursing home attendant. Not long ago, my friend asked supporters to pray for a resident named Bob. Pre-COVID Bob wasn’t terribly interested in the gospel. But there’s been a dramatic change. Now Bob is wide open to the gospel, eager for visits, prayer, and Bible reading.
God used a virus to do that. Who could have predicted that? None of us knows what life changes are next for those we love. When their circumstances change, so may they. Suddenly, they may see the gospel as no longer worthless or irrelevant, but as precious and essential.
You Will Change
During my graduate studies, I shared a house with several other students, one of whom was an Englishman. We saw each other fairly often in the kitchen while preparing meals, and in the course of our many conversations, it was often natural for me to say things like, “I was reading something interesting in the Bible this morning,” or, “I was really challenged by what I heard at church today.” This was just me being me, sharing my own life (as friends do).
Over time, I was able to share the gospel with my friend through these kitchen conversations. At the time, I didn’t realize all that was happening in his life. He was hurting and searching, and the gospel came to be attractive to him. One particular evening, one I’ll never forget, he stopped me in the living room of the house we shared and told me that he had become a Christian.
One of the reasons we feel stuck in our evangelism may be that we’ve wrongly narrowed down our task to sharing a message about how to be saved. That message is crucial and central, but if it’s all we have to share, and we’ve already shared it, and it’s already been rejected, we might feel stuck. But our task is richer, deeper, and fuller than that. We’re to share the gospel and our own selves (1 Thessalonians 2:8), because a life redeemed by the gospel retells the gospel but with unique, personal, and relatable details.
So, there are many additional fruitful gospel conversations to be had even after our loved one has rejected the gospel. For instance, we can continue to express what the gospel means to us. We can share how new struggles and setbacks are helping us to trust Christ more. It’s entirely possible to do this in a way that is natural, unforced, and not preachy. As we experience more of the Christ we love, we can express this to the people we love. We’re never stuck with just one thing to say.
Your Friendship Will Change
I have a longtime friend who doesn’t know Jesus. I’ve frequented his business establishment for many years, not so much because I think I need what he’s selling, but because I know he needs what I’m giving away.

“Don’t believe the lie that nothing will ever change, that there’s nothing more for you to say or do.”

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Early on in our friendship, we chitchatted about the weather and sports. Then we started sharing about our kids and families. In the years since, we’ve talked about things like church, the gospel, death, and friendship. When I’m in his shop by myself, the conversation can go very deep very quickly. I’ve invited him to church numerous times and he’s never accepted. I’ve explained the gospel, and he hasn’t believed. But I have hope, in part because our friendship isn’t static.
I can say more to him now than I could five years ago. What might I be able to say five years from now? Don’t assume your relationship with your friend, child, neighbor, or spouse will always be where it is today. In fact, assume it will change. And ask God to open doors through those changes.
Don’t Give Up
My friend who ministers in nursing homes told me about a man named Rich, a former engineer, living in a nursing home. One July afternoon a year or two ago, after a conversation in his room, Rich decided that he wanted to know Jesus. He prayed and invited Jesus to be his Savior. Soon afterward, he began a course of discipleship with my friend, reading through the Gospel of John together. Rich was 98 years old.
I wonder how many people had shared the gospel with Rich over the course of many years and not broken through? I wonder how many had given up hope? But after 98 years, God saved him.
Please don’t lose heart. Don’t believe the lie that nothing will ever change, that there’s nothing more for you to say or do. Don’t settle into the conviction that your spouse, child, neighbor, or friend will never come to know Jesus. Keep praying. Keep patiently speaking as you have opportunity. Keep loving with the love of Jesus. Keep sharing the twists and turns of your own life as you cling to Jesus and grow in him. Keep persevering in pursuing the lost you love. […]

My Dear Globdrop,
Regretfully, I have received your last letter.
Centuries serving his Lowliness — lifetimes damning souls and training young devils — and yet you still find ways to surprise me. Are you or are you not but one soul away from active duty, from wearing our legion’s darkest colors on the frontlines?
If so, what should I expect to find you consumed with? Trapping? Spoiling? Sabotaging? Or, should I — with so much at stake — expect to find you playing with your food like a human child, giggling girlishly about? You have not tasted any meat pierced with your own spear, yet you trifle with the chase.
Whatsoever do you mean? I can hear your simple mind ask.
Your man, you report, went in for a routine shoulder surgery where, inexplicably, they pierced his lung. This alone causes you great joy, does it? You take great pride that “the fork pierced the prey.” You leave him unattended to tell me all about the victory.
Yes, the doctor’s blade took an unexpected (and delicious) detour, but tell me, has the blade yet punctured his soul? Has the wound brought forth an infection of spirit? Are you so lazy as to hope that the doctor has done your work for you?
You have failed miserably to realize that it is not the surgeon’s miscalculations but your patient’s response that gets at the vital thing, the eternal thing. Pierced spirits, seared consciences, scarred hearts, burnt beliefs — these we bend our dark labors toward. Tantalizing trials and savory sufferings serve as an opportunity for this, the real work.
Collapsed lungs — or more commonly: sick children, diseased spouses, faltering friendships, ruined romances, cursed careers, even the occasional dead pet — are mere playthings compared to what they can produce: a collapsed faith. This is to strike at the jugular, to slice the major artery. We love the vermin’s squeals and agonies, but never at the expense of our filled bellies.
Unpredictable Flame
At the expense? you wonder.
Suffering, you should know by now, is most unpredictable. Most assuredly it can harden the heart — pushing out the very possibility of a kind, powerful, all-knowing God. Or (as you better hope is not your case) it can be the very thing used by the Enemy to rob our knives and forks of their roast.
Have you not glanced over the apostle’s shoulder lately? Not all suffering ends up advancing our cause.

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. (Romans 5:3–5)

Who means for suffering to encourage such a horrid thing as endurance, nephew? Do we mean for suffering to produce in them — and I struggle to even write the word — hope? The punctured lungs, the groans and pains, at every turn, threaten to terribly backfire.
The Enemy knows this well enough, and for all his talk, he is as underhanded as any devil. Often, we think we have set the perfect trap, until we discover (too late) that he had tampered with our afflictions and temptations to fit his designs. Making them squeal is pleasurable, watching them squirm under torments make us howl and snort, but it amounts to a mere play if they escape to the Enemy and further enact his dreadful purposes. This, you must ensure, does not happen with your man.
Adding Iniquity to Injury
Have done, at once, with your prepubescent squeaks and premature gloating. The game is afoot, and the Enemy means to have him as surely as we do.
First, make his suffering personal.
The question of “How could a good God allow bad things to happen?” is not nearly as useful a question as “How could God allow this bad thing to happen to me?” This, of course, is the precise question to ask. The Enemy parades himself as the “personal God” at every turn; well, then, let him give his personal defense to the charges.
Where was this personal God during his surgery? Give no cover to the Enemy on this point. Press your man, as we have pressed for centuries: Of all people to face this loss, this pain, this nightmare — why me? Casually point out to your man that his “loving God,” his “refuge,” plays terrible favorites. None of the Christians he knows is facing such “lifelong complications” from such an improbable miscue.
Perish any consideration that the Enemy is attempting, at any rate, to twist our bed of thorns into an eternal crown of glory. Hide the Enemy’s lies that such afflictions are precisely measured for their eternal good or in any way purposeful.
Second, attend every stab.
Never overlook the power of the small inconveniences and stings of discomfort. You must be always on standby for your patient — ready to nurse every flicker of pain toward self-pity, anger, or delectable despair. When he goes to reply to that email one-handed, or has to ask his wife for help to put on his socks, or feels the residual irritations and distresses that will accompany him to the grave — be ready to sow bitterness and pour salt on the wound. No crack, never forget, is too small to exploit.
As you attend to his every moan, understand you will not be alone. The Enemy stands by them, always at their beck and call, like a drooling terrier, ready to remind them of his lies and calm them with his presence. In his embarrassing commitment to his fictions, his Spirit stands by to whisper to them. We can’t overhear most of it, but undoubtedly it has to do with Scripture telling them something like he “lovingly” designs their aches, pains, diseases, and deformities in this world, and to persuade them that he is their true comfort, and that this is not their true home. Fight whisper with whisper to keep the dogs from returning to their vomit.
Third, hide Tomorrow from him.
Finally, conceal any fictions about a Tomorrow that will make all sufferings “untrue.” Of such a Day that beaten, bruised, and bloodied apostle made consistent (and irritating) appeals to, calling the summation of his manifold (and mouthwatering) sufferings as nothing — nothing! — not even worth comparing to that Day of an “eternal weight of glory” which lies ahead (2 Corinthians 4:17) — a “glory” our Father Below weighed and found greatly wanting.
Curse God and Die
Affliction, nephew, is an uncertain flame, certainly not one to be trifled with. Job and his most useful wife prove a great illustration. Crushed with the fatal blows to property and household, this “upright” man tried to make our Father the fool, shaming us all by responding to murder, devastation, and destruction in such a servile and groveling way: “Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped” (Job 1:20).
But not all responded in kind. Job’s wife, whom our Master most mercifully and wisely preserved, responded most excellently: “Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die” (Job 2:9). Curse God and die — I couldn’t have said it any better.
Here lies the battlefield, nephew. Not the inflicting of affliction, but the infecting of the soul. We want each man, woman, and child to renounce such a Poser, to spit upon their former loyalties, and curse him before heaven’s eyes. This, nephew, this, is where your man must be led:

To much more than a punctured lungBut to a depleted faith and denouncing tongue.To teeth tightly clenched and fists held highIn flames to curse his god and die.

Damnation, Globdrop, damnation. Nothing less.
Your most expectant Uncle,
Wormwood
In The Globdrop Letters, a senior demon (Wormwood) corresponds with a junior demon (Globdrop) to advise him in the evil art of subtle deception. The series follows in the large footsteps of C.S. Lewis in his classic work, The Screwtape Letters. […]