The subject of the Antichrist has always carried a strange weight in the human heart, a blend of dread, curiosity, and an almost instinctive recognition that something in this world is moving toward a climax far larger than politics, global instability, or the predictable cycles of human history. Every generation
There are certain chapters in Scripture that do not simply speak; they arrest you. They stop you in your tracks with a weight that presses on the soul in a way that feels both unsettling and comforting, both demanding and compassionate, both convicting and healing. Luke 17 is one of
There is a moment in every person’s life when the mirror of truth becomes unavoidable, when we must face the reality that at one time or another, we have all let someone down. It might not be something we say out loud, and it might not be something we
There is a particular kind of confidence that comes from disbelief, a steel-framed certainty that declares the universe an accident and faith a crutch, and for many years the man whose story I am about to unfold lived inside that certainty as if it were a fortress no argument could
When most people approach Luke 16, they feel as though they have stepped into one of the most uncomfortable chapters in the entire Gospel narrative, because Jesus does something here that refuses to sit neatly inside our modern categories of fairness, comfort, or sentimental religion. He tells the parable of
There is a subtle danger that does not announce itself as rebellion, doubt, or disbelief, and because it does not look dramatic, most people never recognize it for what it is. It sounds responsible. It feels intelligent. It even disguises itself as spiritual maturity. Yet underneath the polished language and
There are moments in Scripture that feel familiar to the point of invisibility, words so often repeated that they begin to pass through the mouth without truly passing through the heart. The Lord’s Prayer is one of those sacred passages that many can recite from memory, yet few have
Luke 15 is not simply a chapter in the Bible; it is a window into the heartbeat of God, and if we sit with it long enough, it begins to dismantle every shallow assumption we have ever carried about sin, grace, belonging, and worth. When Jesus tells the three parables
There is a fragile place in the human heart that rarely gets talked about publicly. It is the place that aches the day after a mistake. Not during it. Not before it. The day after. When the adrenaline fades. When the excuses grow quiet. When the weight of what happened
There are few subjects that stir the human heart more deeply than Heaven. Even people who claim no faith at all find themselves wondering about it in quiet moments. What happens when the body fails. What waits beyond the hospital room. Whether the ache of loss will ever be healed.
Luke 14 is not a gentle chapter. It does not pat us on the back or hand out spiritual participation trophies. It dismantles illusions, confronts pride, and invites us into a kind of discipleship that feels less like self-improvement and more like demolition. If we read it casually, we might
There are moments in every believer’s life when the question rises quietly, almost reluctantly, from somewhere deep within the soul: What if my doubt is bigger than my faith? It is not a question asked by rebels or cynics. It is asked by sincere hearts who desperately want to