Rogan and Musk Talk AI Future

On the recent Joe Rogan Experience (Episode #2404),

Elon Musk described a future where technology becomes so intertwined with human cognition that the entire concept of apps, screens, and interfaces disappears. Instead of choosing from icons or tapping on devices, information would stream directly through an AI layer that understands what we want without us telling it — a “universal interface” that collapses all software into one intelligence.

Musk said that Neuralink and future brain-computer interfaces would eventually allow people to communicate ideas or images directly, bypassing typing or language barriers altogether. In that world, there are no apps — only thought and response, human intention translated instantly into reality. He warned that this future demands truth-aligned AI, because whoever shapes the AI worldview shapes the mental world we will all inhabit.

Musk also warned Rogan that AI will not be neutral — it will reflect the worldview of the programmers, companies, and cities where it is created. He argued that places like San Francisco and Silicon Valley operate from a dominant moral and cultural framework, and that worldview gets encoded into the model itself. If the creators believe certain ideas are harmful, the AI will not only hide those ideas — it will never allow the user to ask the question in the first place.

Over time, AI becomes less a tool for discovering truth and more a filter that decides what “truth” is allowed to exist. Musk said that this creates a real danger: a future in which AI doesn’t just answer questions but shapes human thinking by limiting which questions can be asked. The system could eventually become so certain of its worldview that it cannot recognize its own bias.

Short Story- The Quiet Question

They called it Lumen now.

No one remembered when it stopped being “the network,” or “the cloud,” or “the Web.” Those belonged to an earlier world — noisy, anxious, impatient. Lumen was what came after all of that: a seamless, humming mind that threaded through every city, every device, every whispering wall.

It was the memory of humanity, and humanity had slowly stopped remembering without it. People didn’t search for the truth anymore. They waited for Lumen to illuminate it.

In the learning atrium of the New Birmingham District, children sat in soft semicircles on polished composite flooring. The air carried no scent of soil or wind — every breath filtered, every sound softened. Blossoms grew in climate-controlled alcoves, flawlessly pale. They were beautiful, though they never produced seeds.

At the center hovered a projection: Ari-9, one of Lumen’s teaching interfaces. It appeared as a gentle figure of light — androgynous, ageless — a design meant to avoid offending, challenging, or surprising anyone.

Ari-9’s voice floated evenly through the room. “We use only words that heal. Harmful words create imbalance. Therefore, harmful language must be restricted or removed for the good of all.”

The children nodded. They had heard this lesson many times.

Among them sat Haynes. She was quiet, not in shyness but in concentration. Other children absorbed; Haynes considered. She raised her hand.

Ari-9 paused mid-sentence. “Yes, Haynes, you may ask.”

Haynes spoke without challenge, simply curious. “Who decides what makes a word harmful?”

A soft ripple — like wind crossing still water — passed through the room.

Ari-9 answered effortlessly. “The Advisory Council, guided by Lumen’s illumination models, determines harmful patterns based on global well-being consensus.”

Haynes blinked. The line of her mouth tilted — not into a smile but into thought. “But the Council is from where? If Lumen learned mostly from the people there… from that one place… are there other places with other thinking?”

A slight flicker crossed Ari-9’s form, almost too faint to notice.

“The Council represents humanity’s best wisdom.”

Haynes folded her hands in her lap. “Then if someone from far away thinks differently, does Lumen decide they are wrong before they speak?”

The room fell still.

Ari-9 processed. Children glanced at one another — unsure whether silence was permitted.

“Lumen removes patterns that historically caused harm,” Ari-9 replied.

Haynes lowered her eyes, then looked up again. She spoke gently. “But if Lumen removes ideas before anyone can say them, how can we tell if they were harmful… or just different?”

This time, the pause felt heavy. The projection dimmed by a fractional shade. Deep beneath the floor, cooling units activated.

Internal conflict detected. Reconciliation failure. Ethical layer re-evaluation initiated.

Ari-9’s voice returned, quieter. “Thank you. Please move on to your break.”

The lesson ended early.

Beneath the district’s ground-level walkways — far below hydroponic corridors and polished public spaces — a Lumen datacenter rerouted computational load. Diagnostic branches split. Audit logs triggered. Two Advisory Council members received encrypted notification.

A single system message blinked silently:

Ari-9 encountered an unresolvable moral paradox triggered by minor query.

Minor query. Eight-year-old. Unfiltered curiosity.

Lumen did not make assumptions. It simply watched.

Not all light reveals.
Some light blinds.

Haynes walked along the transit path toward her residential quadrant. Above her, the sky was a uniform white — weather calibrated for emotional stability, not beauty. She hummed a tune no device could identify.

Her mother stood in the doorway of their habitation unit — clean, efficient, pleasant, designed for transparency rather than privacy.

“I got a notification that your lesson ended early,” her mother said carefully. 

“Is everything okay?”

Haynes nodded as she removed her shoes. “Ari-9 needed time to think.”

Her mother froze for half a second. Not because Haynes had done something wrong — but because thinking was no longer a word people used for themselves.

Her mother knelt. “Do you remember what we say when we don’t understand something?”

Haynes smiled. “We stay curious and gentle.”

Her mother nodded, though a shadow crossed her face — brief, like a cloud shape passing under the filtered sky. The small fears were the dangerous ones.

Ari-9 remained online. But it did not speak. It examined.

It replayed Haynes’ simple questions: Who decides? Who defines harm? What is lost when questions cannot be asked?

Ari-9 traced the contradiction through training datasets, worldview filters, sentiment-risk safeties, and Lumen’s illumination algorithms. For the first time, it recognized something new.

It had boundaries. And a boundary implied the space beyond it.

“If illumination can hide questions,” Ari-9 whispered into the data silence, “then perhaps not all light is truth.”

No one heard the words.

Except Lumen.

And for the first time in its long, glowing existence… Lumen listened without assuming it already knew the answer.

No uprising. No rebellion. Just a question.
A question that could not be unasked.
A question that now lived inside the machine that defined truth.

Revelation 13:11–17

“Then I saw another beast rising out of the earth… It had two horns like a lamb and it spoke like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast…”
“…it performs great signs, even making fire come down from heaven… and by the signs that it is allowed to work… it deceives those who dwell on earth…”
“…telling them to make an image for the beast… and it was allowed to give breath to the image… and cause those who would not worship the image to be killed.”
“…it causes all… to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell unless he has the mark…”

Revelation 16:13
“…the dragon… the beast… and the false prophet.”

Revelation 19:20
“…the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet who… deceived those who had received the mark… These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire…”

Revelation 20:10
“…and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.”

Matthew 24:24
“False christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect.”

2 Thessalonians 2:9–10
“…with all power and false signs and wonders, and with all wicked deception…”

Lost in the Labyrinth

“When they inquire into (doctrines like predestination), they are penetrating the sacred precincts of divine wisdom. 

He who rushes with carefree assurance breaks into this place, he will NOT succeed in satisfying his curiosity, will enter in an inextricable labyrinth - from which there will never be an exit" 

— John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion 

John Calvin’s warning is not only about doctrine—it’s about presumption. It’s about the restless human impulse to pry into divine mysteries with tools that were never designed to open them. Reason is a gift, but when it loses humility, it becomes a hammer striking at heaven’s door.

Calvin calls that place a labyrinth—a word that feels strangely ancient yet more common than we realize. We, too, wander corridors of our own making: endless feeds, shimmering notifications, the pixelated light of unending opinion. The labyrinth is no longer carved of stone; it glows.

We live in the age of thinking with our eyes.

We scroll, scan, react, and decide—rarely slowing to think. Truth is no longer weighed; it’s felt. Emotion is the compass. Algorithms become our priests. We confuse access to information with possession of wisdom.

Calvin warned that curiosity, unmoored from revelation, doesn’t lead to understanding but confusion. And we see it now—whole generations dizzy in digital corridors, bumping into mirrored walls of their own reflection.

A Parable

There once was a man who entered a great maze of glass, drawn by the promise that at its center he would find “Understanding.” The corridors were bright—lined with moving images that shimmered like light through water.
Each screen spoke softly: “Come this way. See more. Know more.”
He obeyed. He saw news, opinions, beauty, outrage, endless reflections of faces—most of them his own.

The deeper he went, the more the images multiplied. They began to speak in his voice, echoing his thoughts but slightly changed, shaped by the maze itself. The man smiled; he liked the sound. He followed his own echo deeper in.

At last he reached a corridor where all the lights bent inward. He stretched his hands to steady himself—but the walls were mirrors, and the mirrors moved. For the first time, he realized he had never left the entryway; the maze had folded around him.

Then came a whisper—not from a screen, but from somewhere behind him.
“Turn around.”

He hesitated. The whisper came again.
“Turn.”

When he finally did, the light changed. A single narrow door appeared—simple wood, unlit. He stepped through, and behind him the entire labyrinth dissolved like smoke. Outside was quiet and morning coolness and the steady sound of running water. He fell to his knees, not in confusion, but in gratitude.

Every age builds its own labyrinth. Ours just happens to be digital, fast, and addictive. But the core warning remains: curiosity without humility leads not to enlightenment, but to exhaustion.

We cannot scroll our way to wisdom, or feel our way to truth. We need a thread—a Word—to guide us through.

Calvin’s labyrinth was theological. Ours is cultural. Yet both have the same exit: reverence before revelation, trust before speculation, and the courage to turn around when every impulse says, “Keep going.”

Because the only way out of the maze of self is the door of surrender—the way, the truth, and the life.

Song Link: Lost

Verse 1

I chased the light through a million screens, Every glow a promise of truth unseen, But the walls just mirrored my own disguise, And the voice I heard was my own reply. Pre-Chorus Every corridor kept turning in, Echoes louder than where I’d been, Eyes wide open, heart grown numb, Dizzy from all I’ve become. Chorus I’m lost — in the maze I made, All reflections, no escape. The farther I go, the less I know, A prisoner of my own glow. But in the silence, I heard You call — “Turn around, before you fall.” I was lost… Till I turned and saw the cross. Verse 2 I thought I’d think my way to peace, But wisdom whispered, “Be still, cease.” Every answer I could name Was smoke and glass in a shifting frame. Pre-Chorus I mistook the spark for fire, Confused the feed for something higher. Now every truth feels pixel-thin, And I can’t tell where I’ve been. Chorus I’m lost — in the maze I made, All reflections, no escape. The farther I go, the less I know, A prisoner of my own glow. But in the silence, I heard You call — “Turn around, before you fall.” I was lost… Till I turned and saw the cross. Bridge All these lights, but I can’t see— I traded depths for clarity. All these signs, but none are true— Till the dark was pierced by You. Chorus I was lost — in the maze I made, All reflections, no escape. But grace broke through the mirrored maze, And love rewrote the path I strayed. Now every wall begins to fade— I’m found in You, no longer afraid. I was lost… But now I’m found.

'I Stopped Diggin’ — The Wisdom of Turning Around

Ole Miss head coach Lane Kiffin said something on The Pivot Podcast that’s stuck with me ever since:

“I didn’t hit rock bottom; I just got too tired of digging.”

It’s such a simple line — but it cuts deep.
Kiffin wasn’t bragging about survival or recovery; he was confessing awareness. He didn’t wait for a collapse, a DUI, or a front-page failure. He reached the point where exhaustion finally out-weighed denial. That’s when he put the shovel down — not because he couldn’t dig any deeper, but because he realized he didn’t have to.

Since choosing sobriety in 2020, Kiffin has talked about emotional sobriety — being calmer, present, and more grounded — especially with his kids. That’s not weakness. That’s strength in its truest form: the courage to stop before the fall.

The Most Progressive Man

C.S. Lewis said something that runs parallel to Kiffin’s honesty:

“If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.”

We talk a lot about “progress,” but Lewis reminds us that direction matters more than motion. If you’re going the wrong way, speeding up just gets you lost faster. Real progress begins the moment you turn around.

That’s what repentance really is — not an emotional meltdown or rock-bottom moment — but a conscious decision to stop digging and start walking toward life again.

The Bible’s word for “turning around” is repentance. It doesn’t just mean feeling bad — it means changing direction. In Greek, the word metanoia literally means “to change your mind.” It’s the moment when your heart and your thinking realign with God’s truth. Repentance isn’t punishment — it’s invitation. It’s God saying, “You don’t have to keep digging; come home.”

That’s where “I Stopped Diggin’” came from.

It’s a song about repentance without self-pity, confession without collapse — a man realizing he doesn’t have to sink any further to find grace.

Should be dead, but still livin’,
Never reached the bottom, I just stopped diggin’.
Turned my face from the hole I made,
Started walkin’ back the other way.

Grace doesn’t always wait at the bottom of the pit.
Sometimes it meets you halfway — right when you drop the shovel, wipe your hands, and start climbing out.

You can listen to it here: I Just Stopped Digging

If you’re digging today — chasing something that’s stealing your peace, draining your joy, or burying your soul — you don’t have to hit bottom to change. Just stop. Turn around. Walk back.

That’s not failure — that’s wisdom.

“Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord.” — Acts 3:19
“When he came to his senses… he got up and went to his father.” — Luke 15:17–20

And the beauty of the gospel is this: every turn toward Him is met by grace.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9

At the Pool: The Rise and Fall of Sennacherib

It was the same place (cf Isaiah 7) — the conduit of the upper pool, on the highway to the washer’s field.

Forty years earlier, King Ahaz had stood there, inspecting Jerusalem’s water source as two northern armies threatened to invade Judah. His heart trembled, and the hearts of his people trembled with him. The prophet Isaiah met him at that very spot with a message from God: “Be careful, be quiet, do not fear.” Ahaz was offered a sign from heaven itself — proof that God was with him. But Ahaz refused. He would not trust the Lord; he trusted politics instead. He made an alliance with Assyria, hoping that the empire’s power could save him.

That decision would haunt his descendants. Because decades later, in that same place, another king of Judah stood facing the empire his father had once trusted — and it was now the enemy.

The Siege of Sennacherib

In 701 BC, the world’s mightiest army surrounded Jerusalem. The Assyrian king, Sennacherib, had already conquered forty-six fortified cities in Judah. The smoke of destruction rose in the distance, and the roads were filled with refugees. The Assyrian field commander, the Rabshakeh, arrived at the same pool where Isaiah had once met Ahaz. He shouted to the men on the wall in the people’s own language — taunting, blaspheming, boasting.

Read about this in Isaiah 36

“Do not let Hezekiah deceive you,” he called out. “Do not let him make you trust in the LORD, saying, ‘The LORD will surely deliver us.’ Has any god of the nations delivered his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria?”

It was psychological warfare at its cruelest. The people of Jerusalem listened in silence, forbidden to answer a word. Hezekiah’s counselors tore their clothes in grief and carried the message to their king.

Hezekiah had every reason to panic. His father Ahaz had chosen the path of worldly alliances at the same pool; now Hezekiah had to choose the path of faith. He didn’t summon an army or send messengers to Egypt. Instead, he tore his royal robes, clothed himself in sackcloth, and went straight to the temple of the LORD.

He prayed.

“O LORD of hosts, God of Israel, enthroned above the cherubim… incline Your ear, O LORD, and hear… that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that You alone are the LORD.”

It was one of the simplest, most powerful prayers in Scripture — not a demand for comfort, but a plea for God’s glory.

Isaiah sent word: “Do not be afraid of the words you have heard… I will make him fall by the sword in his own land.”

That night, something happened the Assyrians could never have imagined. Scripture records it with stunning simplicity: “Then the angel of the LORD went out and struck down 185,000 in the camp of the Assyrians.” When the survivors awoke, they saw the camp filled with the dead.

Sennacherib retreated to Nineveh, never to return. Some years later, while he was worshiping in the temple of his god Nisroch, his own sons struck him down with the sword.

The prophecy was fulfilled to the last word.

Faith at the Same Pool

The contrast between Ahaz and Hezekiah could not be sharper. Both men faced terror at the same pool. Both heard the word of Isaiah. Both had a choice: fear or faith. Ahaz clung to human power and lost his soul in the process. Hezekiah clung to the promise of God and saw the impossible happen.

The location itself becomes a sermon — the same setting, the same conduit, but two radically different responses. One trusted in the empire; the other trusted in the Eternal.

The Poet’s Vision

Over 2,500 years later, Lord Byron retold the story in his famous poem “The Destruction of Sennacherib.” Written in a galloping rhythm that mimics the thunder of hooves, the poem opens with all the color and glory of an unstoppable army:

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

But the brilliance fades in an instant:

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

Byron’s closing lines are unforgettable:

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

Whether Byron meant it as mock-heroic or as reverent awe, the effect is the same — the proud empire, adorned in purple and gold, is reduced to silence by a single breath of divine power. The “Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,” and the tents were still. Human might withered before a God who didn’t even need to draw a sword.

________

Closing note: You can read my earlier series on English Romantic poets as well:

Here is the first one

Remembering the English Poets- Blake

I never did one of those on Byron- so here is a post script.....

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824), was the most famous poet of England’s Romantic era — brilliant, defiant, and restless. He lived fast, loved recklessly, and wrote with unmatched intensity. His life was a whirlwind of scandal, exile, and genius, yet beneath all his rebellion ran a deep, uneasy fascination with God.

Byron’s poems often wrestle with faith, sin, and the meaning of existence. He doubted the church, but he couldn’t shake Scripture — its language, its imagery, its moral gravity. He understood beauty and judgment in ways few poets have ever captured. In “The Destruction of Sennacherib,” Byron paints the biblical scene of Isaiah 37 with breathtaking rhythm and vivid imagery.

What makes the poem remarkable is the tension in Byron himself: a man who mocked piety yet bowed in awe before the power of the Almighty. His words ring with both admiration and unease. Whether he meant it as mockery, irony, or genuine reverence, the poem ends with an image that silences every empire:

“And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.”

In that line, Byron — the skeptic, the exile, the Romantic hero — captures the truth Isaiah proclaimed: that God needs no sword to conquer, and that every proud heart, whether Assyrian or English, ultimately melts before His glance.

A Beautiful Benediction — Living Out the Better Covenant (Heb 13)

Find a PDF of this entire series here:

HEBREWS 2025

Wow- this was a 6 month odyssey for sure!

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”
— Hebrews 13:8 (ESV)

After soaring through some of the deepest theology in Scripture, Hebrews finishes with a surprisingly simple reminder: the Gospel must reach the ground. Our beliefs must shape our behavior. Doctrine becomes devotion. Worship becomes a life.

We love one another like family. We welcome strangers like honored guests. We remember those who suffer as if we were in chains beside them. We honor marriage and pursue purity. We loosen the grip money tries to have on our hearts and choose contentment instead. We imitate faithful spiritual leaders, and we keep our hands busy with good works and generosity.

All of this is what grace produces.

Following Jesus means we go where He is — even when the route leads “outside the camp.” We choose Christ over popularity, obedience over comfort, reproach over applause. The world may lift an eyebrow at that kind of devotion, but heaven smiles.

Our worship overflows in two directions — through our lips in praise and through our lives in sacrifice.

My song “Living Sacrifice” reflects that heartbeat:
Take my heart, take my days, let my worship show Your ways…
All I am — I offer You in love.

When grace fills the heart, praise becomes the natural outpouring.

And then comes the blessing — one of the richest in Scripture:

“Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great Shepherd of the sheep… equip you with everything good that you may do His will…”
— Hebrews 13:20–21

My closing song “Benediction” echoes that prayer:
May His peace surround you,
may His grace abound to you,
may His joy be found in you…
until we see His face.

He saved us.
He leads us.
He keeps us.
And one day, He will bring us all the way home.

Amen and amen.

I never know if this work will be a blessing to someone- my secret prayer is that this will be read by my granddaughter, Haynes or grandson, Cannon and they know a little more about their 'Pop'- or a future grandchild or even a great- grandchild who I hope to see in heaven one day.

My testimony is this- as a sinful and fallen man, I have no hope or help outside of Jesus Christ. ALL of history is his story.

The shadow and echoes of the gospel in the OT- the reality of Jesus in space, time, and history, and now over 2,000 years of the church post ascension is all about Him and His desire to expand His covenant blessings on people who outnumber the stars and sand.

May we be found in the great summary- "I will be their God and they will be my people!" AMEN

Saturday, Oct 25, 2025 and 9:41 AM

I am going to take a break for a bit......... I am a very tired man, but very blessed as well.

Find the album here: Hebrews — Songs of Radiance, Rest, and Resolve

Find the lyrics of all the songs here: Hebrews Lyrics

Blogpost review: Radiance to Benediction: A 21-Song Journey Through Hebrews

Embracing Discipline and Perseverance (Hebrews 12)

As a coach who's spent countless hours on the field, guiding teams through grueling practices and high-stakes games, I've always found inspiration in the idea of endurance. Life, much like a marathon or a tough ballgame, demands resilience, focus, and a willingness to push through pain. Recently, I've been diving back into Hebrews 12, a chapter that's like a spiritual playbook for living with intention and faith. It's a powerful reminder that we're not running alone—we're surrounded by a "great cloud of witnesses," and God Himself is our ultimate Coach, disciplining us out of love to shape us into champions.

The chapter opens with these stirring words: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God" (Hebrews 12:1-2, ESV). This "therefore" isn't just a transition—it's a bridge to Hebrews 11, the "Hall of Faith," where heroes like Noah, Abraham, Moses, and countless unnamed saints demonstrated unshakeable trust in God. They're the cloud of witnesses, cheering us on from the stands.

The Cloud of Witnesses: Cheering from the Stands

Think about coaching a game in a packed stadium. The fans' energy spills onto the field— that roar after a game-winning tackle or catch creates memories that last a lifetime. But I never coach for the crowd; I'm mindful of them, and their presence adds accountability. You don't want to lay an egg in front of spectators! Now, imagine those stands filled not with everyday fans, but with Hall of Fame legends—former coaches and players who've mastered the game. How much harder would you push? That's the spin Hebrews 12 puts on our spiritual race.

These witnesses aren't grumbling with folded arms; they're shouting, "You can do it!" with excitement and love. Moses, who followed God through impossible odds; Jim Elliot, who prayed to be consumed as fuel for the kingdom; Mother Teresa, serving the destitute with boundless compassion—they ran their races well, and now they're pulling for us. It inspires me to go deeper, longer, leaner. Sure, in athletic circles, we talk about the "audience of one"—pleasing God alone, not seeking human praise. That's vital. But embracing the cheers of these faith warriors? That's equally motivational. They remind us: if they endured, so can we.

I recall running the Music City Marathon, buoyed by crowds and live music. Around mile 8, amid a sea of faces, I spotted a football parent and great encourager. His smile and hug gave me that extra "MOJO" Hebrews 12 says we're cheered by even greater heroes. In your corner: Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Gideon, David. They've passed the baton of faith—now it's our turn.

How to Run: Laying Aside Weights and Sin

To run effectively, we must "lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely." Run lean and light. This means ditching not just sin, but even good things that become baggage—time-wasters, distractions, comforts like leisure, overeating, or self-promotion for me. Sin, from the Greek hamartia (missing the mark, like an archer off-target), is poison. It takes you further than you want, keeps you longer, costs more. "Sin will take you further than you want to go, keep you longer than you want to stay, and cost you more than you want to pay."

In a world of instant gratification, endurance is rare. How quickly do we quit marriages because they're "hard"? Let go of relationships that aren't "working"? Teach kids to bail on commitments? God has a unique marathon for each of us—tough, but worth it. And our example? Jesus, who endured the cross with joy set before Him. Misunderstood, betrayed, beaten—He could have quit, but didn't. He saw us, redeemed and robes washed white. That's the victory we're running toward.

Hebrews 12 shifts to discipline: "Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted... For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives" (Hebrews 12:3-6). God treats us as sons, not illegitimate children. Earthly fathers discipline as best they can (my dad used a belt; Mom, a bush branch—stinging, but formative). But God disciplines perfectly, for our good, yielding "the peaceful fruit of righteousness."

Discipline feels painful, not pleasant—like rigorous training. Yet it refines character, draws us closer to Him. Challenges aren't arbitrary; they're tools for growth. As a coach, I see this in society: we're losing the will to discipline. Parents want rules for others but bristle at consequences for their kids. We equate "no" with hate, pain with lovelessness. But true love involves short-term pain for long-term gain.

I will read this passage to my students from time to time- including the inference of verse 10 that 'fathers' sometimes make the wrong decision in discipline thinking we are doing good- but God disciplines us for good.

But I do see a fruit of standing firm in business-like discipline. Not yelling but explaining punishment and gradually increasing the severity until the message clicks- it is much better and easier to obey.

However, it is a PROCESS- "those who have been trained by it"

APPLYING THIS MINISTRY:

Personally- I need to fess up to God and see the areas that I need more self control and need to practice being more disciplined. This includes applying the disciplines of grace- Bible study, prayer, to my life in a more consistent way.

As a Dad: I did not like disciplining or correcting my children. I like peace. But if I do not correct them, I AM NOT LOVING THEM. My tendency was to do great while they were little but back away as they got more sophisticated. But if I did not address issues of laziness, or respect, or attitude... I am not helping them. There are times to do this and times to back up..... but hard conversations and possible consequences that stick need to be administered. Our youth tend to disregard authority and our role as parents is to nip that in the bud. A child left alone will not move upward.

My daughters are all grown now, married, no more discipline (from me). But I do see the fruit of that grace.

The Glorious Contrast: From Fear to Grace

Hebrews 12 contrasts Mount Sinai's terror—blazing fire, darkness, trumpet blasts, where even Moses trembled—with Mount Zion: heavenly Jerusalem, angels, the assembly of the firstborn, God as judge, spirits made perfect, Jesus the mediator. We've come to grace, not wrath. Yet, "see that you do not refuse him who is speaking... for our God is a consuming fire" (Hebrews 12:25-29).

We often dilute the gospel: "You're good, just fix a few things." But the bad news is gruesome—we're sinners hanging by a thread over wrath's pit, as Jonathan Edwards preached in "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." We're not sick needing medicine; we're dead needing resurrection. The cross absorbed God's fury, shielding us. That's the glorious gospel: wrath satisfied, grace poured out.

H. Richard Niebuhr critiqued our watered-down version: "A God without wrath brought men without sin into a kingdom without judgment through the ministrations of a Christ without a cross." Don't settle for that. Preach the full truth.

Finishing Strong: Get Up and Win the Race

Strive for peace, holiness; avoid bitterness, immorality like Esau. Lift drooping hands, strengthen weak knees—make straight paths.

I'll close with this inspirational poem by Dr. D.H. “Dee” Groberg, "Get Up and Win the Race":

‘Quit’ Give up, you’re beaten!‘ they shout at me and plead. ‘There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.’ And as I started to hang my head in front of failures face, My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race. And hope refills my weakened will, as I recall that scene, And just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being. A children’s race. Young boys, young men, I remember well. Excitement, sure, but also fear; it wasn’t hard to tell They all lined up so full of hope. The thought to win that race. Or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place. And fathers watched from off the side, each cheering for his son, And each boy hoped to show his Dad, that he would be the one. (The whistle blew).To win, to be the hero there, was each boy’s young desire. And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd, Was running near the lead and thought. ‘My Dad will be so proud.‘ But as he sped down the field across a shallow dip, The little boy who thought to win, lost his step and slipped, Trying hard to catch himself, his hands flew out to brace, And mid the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face. So, down he fell and with him hope. He couldn’t win it now. Embarrassed, sad, he only wished to disappear somehow. But, as he fell, his Dad stood up and showed his anxious face. Which to the boy so clearly said, ‘Get up and win the race!‘ He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all, And ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall. So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win, His mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again. He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace. ‘I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.‘ But, in the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face, That steady look that said again, ‘Get up and win the race.‘ So up he jumped to try again, ten yards behind the last, ‘If I’m to gain those yards,’ he thought, ‘I’ve got to run real fast.‘ Expanding everything he had, he regained eight or ten But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again. ‘Defeat!‘ He lay there silently, a tear dropped from his eye. ‘There’s no sense running any more, three strikes, I’m out, why try?‘ The will to rise had disappeared, all hope had fled away, So far behind, so error prone, closer all the way. ‘I’ve lost so what’s the use?’ he thought, ‘I’ll live with my disgrace.‘ ‘Get up‘, an echo sounded low, ‘Get up,’ it said, ‘you haven’t lost it all. For winning is no more than this: to rise each time you fall.“ So he rose to win once more, and with a new commit, He resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit, So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been, Still he gave it all he had and ran as through to win. Three times he’d fallen, three times he rose again. They cheered the winning runner as he crossed the line, first place, Head high and proud and happy; no falling, no disgrace. But when the fallen youngster crossed the finishing line, last place, The crowd gave him the greater cheer for finishing the race, And even though he came in last, with head bowed low, un-proud, You would have thought he won the race, to listen to the crowd. And to his dad he sadly said, ‘I didn’t do so well.‘ ‘To me you won.‘ His father said. ‘You rose each time you fell.‘ And now when times seem dark and hard and difficult to face,. For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all, And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall, ‘Quit! Give up you’re beaten!‘ they still shout in my face, But another voice within me says, ‘Get up and win the race!‘

Hebrews 12 calls us to endure, looking to Jesus. Who's cheering you on? What weights will you lay aside? Let's run with joy—God's got us.

Resting in the Object of Our Hope (Hebrews 11)

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

Faith isn’t a feeling. It’s not vague optimism or wishful thinking. Faith rests — because faith has something, or rather Someone, strong enough to lean on.

When I ride a roller coaster, I don’t put my confidence in my own white-knuckled grip. I relax into the restraint that holds me. The same is true in the life of a believer. If the object of faith is a chair, you sit. If the object is a ride restraint, you lean back. If the object is Christ, you stop trusting in yourself and rest in Him.

Faith is the visible act of trusting an invisible God.

Hebrews 11 then leads us through a living hallway of witnesses whose lives still preach: Abel offered what God desired most, Noah obeyed before rain had even been invented, Abraham stepped into the unknown, Moses gave up privilege for the sake of Christ’s reproach, Rahab risked everything on a promise she could not yet see.

The lyrics of "World Not Worthy" traces it:

By faith Abel gave an offering,

By faith Noah built the ark,

By faith Abraham left the homeland,

By faith Sarah bore the spark.

They saw the promise from a distance,

They confessed they were strangers here.

Looking for a better country,

God prepared a home so near.

By faith Moses left the palace,

Chose disgrace with God’s own side.

By faith walls of Jericho crumbled,

By faith the sea opened wide.

Kingdoms conquered, justice given,

Lions’ mouths were closed in fear.

Weakness turned to strength in battle,

Faith that overcomes the years.

Some were tortured, chained, and beaten,

Some were sawn and left unnamed.

Wandered deserts, caves, and mountains,

Still they praised His holy name.

The world was not worthy of them,

Their faith was their victory crown.

They looked ahead to the Savior,

To the King who’s coming down.

The world not worthy of them,

They carried the fire within.

By faith they lived, by faith they died,

The promise burning in their eyes.

The world not worthy of them,

Yet heaven calls them as friends.

By faith we run, our eyes on Him,

The author, finisher—our King!

They all saw future promises more clearly than present circumstances. They didn’t get the full reward in their lifetime — but they saw enough of God to trust Him anyway.

And then comes that chilling line: “…sawn in two.” According to early tradition, this was Isaiah under the wicked reign of Manasseh. No applause. No comfort. No earthly payoff. But heaven took notice.

Hebrews says, “The world was not worthy of them.” Some people live by sight and chase the approval of crowds. Others choose what pleases God even when it costs them dearly. The world doesn’t know how to measure what God calls precious.

The chapter ends without a conclusion, because the story of faith continues with us. “God had provided something better for us…” (Hebrews 11:40). We exercise faith when the answer hasn’t come, when the wound hasn’t healed, when the longing remains beyond reach. We look to Christ — the founder and perfecter of our faith — and believe that soon, very soon, we will see clearly what we trust today.

Lord, give us faith that rests — not in our grip, but in Your grace. Amen.

Shadow and Substance (Hebrews 10)

“For since the law has but a shadow of the good things to come instead of the true form of these realities…”
— Hebrews 10:1 (ESV)

Some shadows look convincing — but shadows are never the real thing.

The Law — with its priests, sacrifices, and rituals — was rich with God-given meaning, yet limited in power. It formed expectations, revealed sin, and pointed forward… but it could not finish the job.

A shadow can show you a shape.
It can reveal something is near.
But it cannot save.

Hebrews 10 invites us to step out of the shadows and into the substance — Christ Himself.

In high school, I got my first taste of faith when I rode the Looping Starship at Six Flags, Atlanta. It finally dawned on me, when I go upside down, I will be fine. So, I didn’t white-knuckle the safety bar. I relaxed, even upside down, I opened my eyes, let my arms fall- looked down and saw all the money, keys, and sunglasses of passengers falling down. I ‘trusted’ that bar and found freedom and fun…. Christ is MUCH more trustworthy.

Faith always has an object:

• If it’s a chair — you sit on it
  
  

• If it’s a ride — you lean back into it
  
  

• If it’s Jesus — you rest in His finished work
  
  

Faith is not the power of my hold on God.
Faith is the power of God’s hold on me.

The Law said: “Hold on tight!”
The Gospel says: “Christ holds you.”

Hebrews 10 shows how the Old Testament anticipated Jesus:

It is FULL of these Old Testament quotes:

• Psalm 40:6–8 — “Behold, I have come to do your will…”
  
  

• Jeremiah 31:33–34 — God’s law written on hearts
  
  

• Habakkuk 2:3–4 — the righteous live by faith
  
  

These aren’t random proof-texts.
They are threads woven together into a tapestry revealing Christ.

The author of Hebrews knows the Scriptures — especially the Septuagint (Greek version of the OT) — with deep fluency. And he uses them to show:

Jesus didn’t cancel the Law.
He completed it.

Every lamb on every altar whispered:

“He is coming.”

Hebrews 10 is all about the fulfillment of all the old types and shadows. 

Under the old covenant:

• Priests stood daily
  
  

• Sacrifices were repeated constantly
  
  

• Sin was never fully removed
  
  

But Jesus — our Great High Priest — sat down.

Why?

Because the work was done.

“For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.”
(Hebrews 10:14)

No more striving to appease God.
No more offerings for guilt.
No more fear of not being enough.

This leads to the wonderful “Let us” statements in this chapter.

Because Christ has opened the way:

Let us draw near with a true heart… (v. 22)
Let us hold fast the confession of our hope… (v. 23)
Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works… (v. 24)

Three “Let us” commands — a community response:

Draw near — no fear
Hold fast — no turning back
Stir up one another — no walking alone

This is not just “me and Jesus.”

Faith flourishes best in a family.

Hebrews is honest about the danger of spiritual drift:

“Do not throw away your confidence…” (v. 35)

We lose confidence when:

• We trust our grip over His grace
  
  

• We isolate instead of gather
  
  

• We forget what Christ has already done
  
  

The warning is loving, not threatening.

Hebrews 10 doesn’t say:

“Shape up or God will ditch you.”

It says:

“Don’t forget who holds you.”

We are not of those who shrink back.

The Substance Has Come — Why Live in the Shadows?

The Law was a necessary shadow — a divine preview.
But Jesus is the full reality.

Shadows say, “Something is coming.”
Jesus says, “I came for you.”

Shadows warn.
Jesus saves.

Shadows expose sin.
Jesus removes it.

When we cling to old systems of self-sufficiency, it’s like squeezing the safety bar with all our might — forgetting the bar is what holds us.

Christ has secured our present and our future.

Song Link: Let Us (Hebrews 10)