When we discuss church history, it’s important to remember that what we call the “modern missions movement” is indeed just that — modern. The church has always carried the gospel, but the organized, global missionary efforts we know today have not always been around.

      For centuries, the work of missions was sporadic and localized. Bright moments shine as we look to the shadows of the past. Boniface brought the gospel to Germanic tribes. The Moravians sold themselves into physical bondage for an opportunity to see spiritually imprisoned people set free. What we think of with global missions today (boards, societies, sending networks) is a recent development.

I’ve heard well-meaning Christians try to make sense of sorrow by saying, “The world is broken. Evil exists because of human disobedience. God has nothing to do with it.” I understand their intentions to defend the goodness of God. Nevertheless, in doing so, they unintentionally push Him out of the place where we need Him most — our pain.

        Our God is not absent from our grief. He is not wringing His hands in Heaven, wishing things had gone differently. The God of the Bible isn’t navigating a chess game against wickedness. He remains in control even over the darkest valleys we walk through. That truth sustains hope.

One of the greatest treasures God has given us is our heritage. We are the heirs of a legacy forged in sacrifice and seasoned with prayer. Ours is a story of men and women who believed the gospel enough to live for it, and in some cases, to give their lives for it.

      People with such a legacy live in a kind of tension. Heritage can be a root system that nourishes fresh growth and keeps us firmly planted in the truth. But, if we hold onto only the outward form of what once was, it can also become something menacing, tangled roots that choke out gospel vitality.

      I have seen both extremes. Understood heritage becomes a living testimony, a foundation for mission, evangelism and discipleship. Boilerplate nostalgia preserves memories while losing momentum.

Pastoral leadership must be rooted in resurrection logic. The cross teaches us to take sin seriously, while the empty tomb teaches us to take grace even more seriously. We do not lead with shallow slogans or borrowed positivity. Instead, we lead from the deep wells of a gospel that defeats death and makes all things new.

We do no favors by withholding the truth. If we care for people, we will share the difficult realities gracefully and without compromise. There’s no room for flattery — only faithfulness in the pursuit of truth.

Reflecting on how my view of a familiar Bible story has changed as I’ve matured in my walk with God.

Many believers know how to follow Christ but have never truly understood why. We teach spiritual disciplines—Bible reading, prayer, service—but too often disconnect them from their divine purpose. Without intimacy, discipline becomes drudgery. Without awe, even obedience can harden the heart. Discipleship isn’t about perfect habits — it’s about persistent hunger for the presence of God. The goal is not a polished routine, but a restored relationship. In the end, we are not meant to manage spiritual motions but to meet with the living God who restores the soul.

AI is here, and it’s not going away. Just as people once resisted email and text messaging, AI will soon become a regular part of our daily tasks and productivity. The problem users will face in adopting new technology will likely concern ensuring our professional ethics keep up with technological advancements. Just because a tool can be used doesn’t mean it should be used.

      How do leaders, still learning and growing, navigate to the greener pastures AI potentially provides? By clearly articulating our values as shaped by Scripture, we can wield the tool of technology wisely. After all, success in ministry goes beyond efficiency and ultimately concerns our faithfulness to the path God has set before us.

We often study the Bible with a magnifying glass. We look at portions of Scripture in digestible and manageable pieces. The bigger picture evades us if we neglect committing ourselves to reading large portions of Scripture in a single sitting, as we would with any other book. In the early chapters of Genesis, we find the roots of our own family stories. We see pain and promise. We see sin’s reach and God’s rescue. Tucked alongside the brokenness of humanity’s fallen condition, we find a truth that gives every family hope — God works through generations, blesses through faithfulness and carries out His redemptive plan through imperfect but surrendered families.

the past generation of church leadership focused on strategy and execution, the future will belong to visionaries. The church needs leaders who can imagine, not just manage.

      This shift will elevate the quiet artist, the deep thinker and the unconventional innovator. Their ability to imagine what the church can become will make them more influential than traditional executive-style leaders. Those who have tethered their identity to “leadership” must begin to untangle themselves from that narrative. It’s time to embrace something more eternal. We don’t need more church CEOs. We need theologians who can communicate profound truth compellingly. We need poets and storytellers who can capture the beauty of the gospel. We need shepherds who don’t just manage people but create culture — forming communities of faith that reject corporate models and embody the Spirit-driven life of the church.

Discipleship is a living melody, a lifelong song of faith that moves forward without pause. Like the bagpipes, discipleship requires grace notes — small, intentional acts of patience and gentleness that soften transitions and make the journey more beautiful.

Paul writes in II Tim. 2:24-25, “And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful. Opponents must be gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance, leading them to a knowledge of the truth” (NIV). Gentleness and patience are not mere suggestions but biblical hallmarks in spiritual formation.

Without patience and gentleness, discipleship risks becoming a harsh and rigid process. We can’t risk speaking the truth without love, correcting without compassion or demanding growth by human will instead of trusting the Spirit’s timing. When we play the grace notes, we create a melody that reflects the kindness of Christ and a dependence in our ministry upon God’s provisions for spiritual growth.

I have a confession: I don’t like devotionals. That might sound odd from a pastor — especially one posting devotional reflections on Facebook. Ironically, just a couple of months ago, I preached on the discipline of Bible study and casually mentioned my disdain for most devotionals. A week later, I started writing them.

Many devotionals on Christian bookshelves are shallow and hollow. Most devotionals I’ve encountered seem more concerned with making me feel good about myself than leading me to wrestle with the weight of God’s Word. Scripture calls us not merely to be encouraged but transformed (Rom. 12:2). The ministry of the Word should strive for transformation over mere inspiration. But what if devotionals, when done well, could be a tool for this kind of renewal?

I realized my disdain may have been misguided as I sat down to write my own. Devotionals are popular because they provide a structured way for believers to engage with Scripture daily. They fit into the hectic lives of modern Christians. While devotionals feel thin, they serve as an entry point. If they draw people to Scripture, they serve a purpose.