Wrestling with Hebrews 4–7

Note: Also a shout out to Pastor Greg Corbin, Senior Pastor of Lakeside Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama for a little 'nugget' he passed on as well.

 I’ve always had a hard time reading Hebrews 4–7. It’s some of the richest Christ-centered theology in the New Testament, but the way it’s written feels… choppy. The author will start a thought, interrupt himself, wander into a warning or exhortation, and then return again later—only stronger, deeper, more breathtaking.

When I first read it years ago, it frustrated me. “Why not just say what you mean?!” But over time I’ve come to appreciate that this very choppiness is part of the inspired genius of Hebrews.

In Hebrews 4:14, we’re told that Jesus has “passed through the heavens.” That little phrase has become a kind of portal for me, a rhetorical gateway through which the writer is carrying us. The high priest in Israel walked through veils and shadows into a man-made holy of holies. Jesus, our great High Priest, has passed through the heavens themselves, entering the real Holy of Holies—not for His sake, but for ours.

And in a sense, the author’s rhetoric is doing the same thing. He doesn’t just lay it out in a clean, linear essay. He moves us step by step, almost like taking us through veils—pausing, warning, then pressing us deeper. It feels like a spiral staircase more than a straight path.

Luther, Calvin, Warfield

The Reformers noticed this in their own way.

• Luther saw Hebrews as a collection of urgent exhortations wrapped around lofty doctrine:

  “The Epistle to the Hebrews is not an orderly work but a set of admonitions. It interrupts itself with warnings because the doctrine is so great and the people are so weak.”

• Calvin was even more explicit. On Hebrews 5:11, where Melchizedek is first mentioned and then postponed until chapter 7, he wrote:

  “He now digresses somewhat, for he checks himself in order to add an exhortation, and then returns to what he had begun.”
  Calvin understood this not as disorder, but as pastoral wisdom: slow down, warn the reader, then resume at greater depth.

• Warfield, writing from old Princeton, described Hebrews as a progressive unveiling:

  “The author of Hebrews leads us gradually, step by step, from the shadows of Aaron to the reality of Christ, until at last we behold Him in the full perfection of His eternal priesthood.” (The Person and Work of Christ)

So even though they didn’t call it a “rhetorical circle,” they all recognized what we’re seeing: Hebrews is intentionally leading us upward through its very structure.

For me, the crescendo comes in Hebrews 7:25:

“Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.”

That word consequently (or “therefore”) is like a drum roll. After all the starts and stops, after the warnings and the waiting, after passing through the heavens with Jesus and walking with Him past the veil, we finally arrive at the Holy of Holies.

And the contrast is stunning: weak men, Levitical priests, had to offer sacrifices even for themselves. But Jesus, exalted above the heavens, holy, innocent, undefiled, lives forever—not needing intercession, but giving it. To the uttermost.

Hebrews 4–7 may still feel choppy to me when I read it. But I’ve come to see that the choppiness is part of the climb. We’re being carried along through the heavens, layer by layer, until we finally stand in awe at the great High Priest who never fails, never grows weak, and never stops praying for us.

And maybe you’re like me—my background doesn’t help me relate to the significance of a priest. But for the writer of Hebrews, who knew his Old Testament in Greek and was urging a persecuted church to hang on, the picture of Jesus as High Priest was life-saving. The temple system they grew up with wasn’t lost—it was fulfilled. The high priest they once depended on wasn’t gone—they had a better one, eternal and exalted. That truth gave them courage to endure. And it gives us the same anchor today: Jesus, the Great High Priest, saves to the uttermost.

There was no need to go back.... it has to be onward and upward.

Song: Can't Go Back (Hebrews 4-7)

To the Fall

This is the time of year in the South where seasons don’t quite know what to do.

A drip, a drop of leaves here and there, but the heat still clings, stubborn and unrelenting. The land is thirsty—dry to the bone. The stars themselves even feel muted, Orion slipping low, almost hidden below the horizon.

It’s an in-between time: summer doesn’t want to let go, but the days keep getting shorter. Fall is on the doorstep.

And I feel it—not just in the air, but in my own heart.

We humans are fickle.
We longed for summer when the chill of winter lingered too long, and now—tired of the heat—we ache for cool breezes and crisp mornings.

As I watch the leaves fall, one at a time, I sometimes wonder: How many more of these seasons do I get to see? Why do we get so discontent? Why can’t we rest in the moment we begged for only months ago?

The truth is, our steps are not unlimited. But our hearts are always moving on.

A song that has always stuck with me is George Strait’s “The Chill of an Early Fall.”
It’s not just about weather; it’s about the change of seasons in the heart—the cold that sneaks in when something once warm begins to fade. There’s both a beauty and a sadness in that song. The early fall he sings about carries the weight of loss, of love slipping through, but also of time moving forward whether we’re ready or not.

When I hear it, I feel that tug: every season we live through is precious, but none stay forever. The chill comes whether we welcome it or resist it.

So here I am, caught in this in-between time. The days are still hot, but the signs are there. Change is coming. The leaves drip one by one, the light slips away a little earlier each evening, and my restless spirit shifts with it.

Maybe the call of fall is more than just cooler air or shorter days. Maybe it’s a reminder to number our steps, cherish what’s here, and trust the rhythm of change.

Yes, summer will fade.
Yes, another fall will come.
But each one is a gift, and I don’t want to waste it in discontent.

So, to the fall… I lift my eyes, my heart, and my hope.

To the Fall (song lyrics)

Verse 1
Drip, drop—just a few leaves fall,
But the heat still lingers, hanging over all.
The sky feels heavy, the night turns small,
Orion fading, sinking past the wall.
Summer’s holding on too long,
But the season’s changing song.

Chorus
To the fall, to the fading light,
Days grow shorter, and the air feels right.
We begged for summer, now we’re weary of it all—
So we sail our restless hearts to the fall.

Verse 2
One by one, the colors start to fade,
Golden fire where the green was laid.
And I can’t help but wonder, as they drift and stall,
How many more will I get to see at all?
Steps are numbered, shadows tall,
Yet I’m drawn into the fall.

Chorus
To the fall, to the fading light,
Days grow shorter, and the air feels right.
We begged for summer, now we’re weary of it all—
So we sail our restless hearts to the fall.

Bridge
Why do we chase what slips away?
Why can’t we rest in the gift of today?
The heart keeps moving, seasons call,
And every step just leads me…

Chorus

To the fall, where the shadows grow long,
To the fall, where endings make us strong.
Every drip, every drop, is a whispered call—
To number our days,
And lean into the fall.

Song Link: To The Fall

George Strait gave us a picture of autumn that chills the heart, a season of loss and longing. My own song is more of an answer to that—less about love slipping away and more about learning to rest in the rhythm of change.

Both songs, though, remind me of the same truth: the seasons move on, and so must we. And in that movement, there’s both a gift and a call—to cherish what is here, and to live every step fully, before the leaves fall again.

If We Don’t Cry Out, the Stones Will

I’ve always loved that moment in Luke 19 when Jesus rides into Jerusalem and the Pharisees demand that He silence the crowd. They’re angry at all the shouting and palm branches and hosannas. But Jesus just shakes His head and says, “I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

That line has always stopped me. It feels both beautiful and haunting at the same time. Beautiful, because it tells us that praise is inevitable—the whole world is built to respond to the glory of God. Haunting, because if people won’t testify, then the inanimate, the lifeless, even rocks will take our place.

Joshua 24:27 – “Behold, this stone shall be a witness against us, for it has heard all the words of the Lord that he spoke to us.”

And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I realize the Bible has been whispering this theme all along. Joshua once set up a stone as a covenant witness and told Israel, “This stone has heard all the words of the Lord.” 

Habakkuk 2:11 – “For the stone will cry out from the wall, and the beam from the woodwork respond.”

Habakkuk went even further, saying that a stone in the wall would cry out against injustice and the beam of the wood would answer it. That’s where my mind drifts to Edgar Allan Poe’s dark little tales—The Tell-Tale Heart or The Black Cat—stories where guilt gets nailed behind a wall, boarded up, and sealed off. Yet somehow the silence can’t hold. The floorboards throb, the plaster groans, and the very structure testifies against the man who thinks he has covered everything. Poe gives us fiction, but Habakkuk gives us truth: the stones will not stay silent.

But the Bible doesn’t just use this image in judgment. The Psalms and Isaiah turn it into music. The seas roar, the rivers clap their hands, the trees sway and sing, the mountains burst into joy. Creation itself is a choir, rehearsing day after day. It’s like every sunrise is a solo and every wave is an ovation. The world is alive with praise, even when we walk by deaf to the sound.

Isaiah 55:12 – “The mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

Psalm 19:1 – “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.”

Psalm 98:7–8 – “Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who dwell in it! Let the rivers clap their hands; let the hills sing for joy together.”

So when Jesus says the stones would cry out, He’s not spinning poetry. He’s stating reality. If His disciples hushed their mouths, if the whole city went silent, the ground itself would split open in song. That’s how undeniable He is. That’s how true His kingship is.

And it leaves me with a question: am I letting the world do my praising for me? Do I walk through life too distracted, too self-absorbed, too busy to join in the chorus? Too fearful? Because truth has a way of finding a voice—through judgment, through joy, through waves, through stones. The only question is whether I will join in, or whether I’ll leave it to the rocks.

As for me, I don’t want to be out-sung by the stones.

This week, Isaiah 40:9–11 has been pressing on my heart. “Go on up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good news; lift up your voice with strength… say to the cities of Judah, ‘Behold your God!’” That passage holds together both courage and tenderness—the mighty arm of God in verse 10 and the shepherd’s heart in verse 11. 

In the wake of the shocking assassination of Charlie Kirk, I’ve felt the weight of that tension. It is so tempting to either lash out in anger or to retreat into silence. But God calls us to something better: to lift up our voices without fear, to speak truth with strength, and to do it with the gentle tone of a shepherd.

I’ve been challenged to speak up more—not to be combative, not to join the noise, but to testify with civility and grace, even toward those who disagree with me. The rocks shouldn’t have to do my talking. My prayer is that I can lift my voice clearly, kindly, and consistently, so that in my own small way I’m pointing people to the Shepherd who carries lambs close to His heart.

Sadly, enemies may throw stones, we should not- we need to fear not and speak up.

Let Them Throw Stones (2 Sam 16)

In Memory of Charlie

Hebrews 4 and the Journey Ahead

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience… For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword… Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession… Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
– Hebrews 4:11–16

This passage is like a threefold summons for the Christian life:

Strive to Enter His Rest (v. 11)

The call to “strive” feels contradictory—how can we strive to rest? But Hebrews is showing us that entering God’s rest isn’t passive. It means resisting the pull of unbelief, distractions, and disobedience. It takes intentional faith to stop grasping for control and instead trust fully in Christ’s finished work.

Listen to His Living Word (vv. 12–13)

We cannot enter that rest without being searched by God’s Word. It is alive and sharp, cutting past the surface to the heart. This can be painful—it exposes motives, intentions, and sins we would rather hide. Yet God doesn’t expose to destroy; He exposes to heal. His Word wounds to bind us back to Himself.

Draw Near to His Throne of Grace (vv. 14–16)

The passage ends not with despair but with invitation. We have a Great High Priest who knows our weakness, feels our struggles, and yet reigns victorious. Because of Him, we can draw near with confidence—not shrinking back in fear, but stepping forward to receive mercy and grace right when we need it most.

Together, these verses teach us a rhythm: striving faith, listening hearts, and confident prayer. We strive against unbelief, we let His Word do its deep work, and we come boldly to His throne, finding in Jesus both rest and strength.

One of the unexpected joys of walking slowly through Hebrews has been how naturally the text pushes me toward worship. What began as study notes often blossoms into lyrics and melody. 

I’ve been working to bring these pieces together—my blog at Jayopsis.com and my SoundCloud page. They now link back and forth, so that Scripture study and song can live side by side. My larger goal is to finish a manuscript of devotions from Hebrews and release a companion album inspired by the text.

The Songs from Hebrews 4

• Strive to Rest – inspired by Hebrews 4:11, exploring the paradox of striving to enter God’s rest.

• Sharp Blade – built on Hebrews 4:12–13, reflecting on the piercing, healing work of God’s living Word.

• High Priest – drawn from Hebrews 4:14–16, lifting our eyes to Jesus, the priest who suffered, sacrificed, and now intercedes for us.

All three are now live on SoundCloud and part of a playlist of songs I am developing from Hebrews

Hebrews

Chapters 1–3 have set the stage: Christ is greater than angels, greater than Moses, the builder of God’s house, and the One we must hear lest we drift away. The warnings are sobering: “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.”

Chapter 4 pulls those threads together. The promise of God’s rest remains open, and the failure of Israel in the wilderness serves as both a warning and an invitation. God’s Word cuts to the core of who we are, exposing us completely. And yet, instead of despair, we are called to draw near with confidence because we have a Great High Priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses.

Looking Ahead

Chapter 5 will carry the theme of priesthood further. Christ, appointed by God, learned obedience through suffering and became the source of eternal salvation. The writer of Hebrews will open a rich treasury of Old Testament imagery—Melchizedek, sacrifice, and covenant—all pointing to Jesus as the fulfillment of every shadow.

The Project

Here’s the journey I’m on:

• Blogging through Hebrews – letting study become devotion.

• Writing songs – letting devotion become worship.

• Linking platforms – so that words and music meet, and anyone who reads can also listen.

• Working toward a manuscript and an album – two different expressions of the same truth.

Love to hear your comments- feel free to like and share as well.

Some Say There Will Never Be Another Charlie Kirk

Yesterday’s news broke my heart. The tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk is a moment that leaves a deep wound in our nation. For many, the immediate thought is, “There will be another Charlie.” And in one sense, that’s true. But in another sense, it’s not true at all. There will never be another Charlie Kirk, just as there will never be another Billy Graham. Each man of God is unique, and their absence leaves a void our culture feels sharply. God always raises up new voices in every generation.

Isaiah 40 offers us a kind of recipe for how men like Charlie come to be.

“Go on up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good news;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good news;
lift it up, fear not;
say to the cities of Judah,
‘Behold your God!’”
—Isaiah 40:9

The command is simple but profound: Get up as high as you can. Proclaim good news without fear.

Why? Because proclamation flows out of pondering. 

To be a Charlie Kirk- you have to be filled with the curiosity he had- to PONDER.

The word "Behold" in Hebrew means - PAY ATTENTION- BE ASTONISHED- STOP AND STARE

 And as Charlie did that, he found AWE of the presence of the truth of God. 

The cry of Isaiah is not “Behold the messenger,” but “Behold your God!” To behold Him—really see Him—is to be astonished. And astonishment leads naturally to proclamation: lift up your voice, fear not, and tell the world.

This is why Charlie’s light cannot be extinguished. You can silence the man, but you cannot silence the God he proclaimed. You can gun down the man, but you will never turn off the light.

Isaiah 40 is too rich to cover in one post, but let me point to a few promises that comfort us in this dark hour:

• Verse 5: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.” The story of God is not ending—it’s unfolding. His glory will be seen by all.

• Verse 10: “Behold, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him.” The arm of the Lord is strong enough to carry justice and victory.

• Verse 11: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms.” And yet the same strong arm is also the tender arm of a shepherd, carrying the brokenhearted close to His heart.

So today, yes—we mourn. But we do not grieve as the world grieves. As Paul wrote:

“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”
—1 Thessalonians 4:13

We grieve with hope. Because the glory of God will be revealed. His arm is strong. His heart is gentle. His light shines on.

Get up- rise up- and keep sharing the message without fear... we can't replace him with one voice, we have to replace him by thousands of voices. 

In Memory of Charlie

Striving to Rest? (Hebrews 4)

Hebrews 4:11 – “Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience.”

The book of Hebrews is dense and layered, and sometimes I feel like I’m just plodding along phrase by phrase. But in Hebrews 4, one line stopped me in my tracks: “Let us strive to enter that rest.”

Strive… for rest?
That feels backward. Rest should be effortless, shouldn’t it? Yet the writer of Hebrews insists that true rest takes effort. The more I sat with that paradox, the more sense it made.

Weary Souls

First, let’s be honest: without Jesus, there is no peace, no rest. Sin wears us out. It complicates everything—our relationships, our thoughts, our hopes. The noise of the world, the constant letdowns, the disappointments… it leaves us drained. Depression itself can be described as exhaustion, a heaviness that sinks deep into the bones. If ever we needed rest, it’s now.

As I write this... I feel exhausted- not physically tired, just worn down on a quiet Labor Day morning.

Fighting Rest

But rest doesn’t come easily. In fact, we fight it. I remember when my oldest daughter was little—she was a master at resisting naps. She had a thousand excuses and requests. Even when I finally rocked her, she kicked her legs and squirmed until, under gentle and loving pressure, she finally surrendered to sleep.

Aren’t we the same with God? We kick, resist, and argue—even when He is offering us peace. To rest in Him means to stop striving in our own strength, and that surrender feels like loss of control.

Striving to Enter

So what does Hebrews mean by striving for rest? It means rest in Christ is not passive. It doesn’t come by drifting. We must actively set aside unbelief, pride, and disobedience. We must seek Him in prayer, steep ourselves in His Word, lift our hearts in worship, and soften our hearts to His correction.

Rest is not laziness—it’s trust. It’s an active laying down of our burdens at His feet.

 Eternal Rest

And one day, the striving will end. Even our final rest—death—is something people fight against, kicking and screaming. Yet for the believer, death is not defeat. It’s graduation into the eternal Sabbath of God.

Heaven is not an endless sleep—it’s the joy of God’s presence, freedom from the pain and frustrations of this broken world. It’s rest at last, the fulfillment of every longing.

The most human thing is rest, and yet it’s the hardest thing for sinners. But in Christ, God invites us:

“Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).

Our striving, then, is simply this: to keep clinging to Him until the day He brings us safely home.

So let me STRIVE to REST .... as ironic as REST on LABOR DAY.

Strive to Rest (Hebrews 4)

"God Loathes You and Offers a Terrible Plan for Your Life"- Hebrews

Sorry for the 'jarring' title- I hope you read ALL the thoughts here before firing off an angry response...

When I was a junior in high school, Benny Parks (now a pastor at Briarwood) took time one evening to walk through with me me a little yellow booklet called The Four Spiritual Laws. I took it home, read it, and that night dropped to my knees and asked God to save me.

As I began reading the Bible, going to studies, talking to others- it didn't take long for some of my more "truly reformed" friends to attack the booklet- some even went as far to warn me I was brought to Jesus by a 'false gospel message'- and they told me to stop using it. It's funny because as I stopped using it, I also stopped evangelizing...hmmmm.

These memories came alive again this morning as I read Hebrews 4:2: “For good news came to us just as to them, but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened.”

When you link that with what I read and posted about from Hebrews 3 (which linked to Psalm 95)..

 For forty years I loathed that generation

and said, “They are a people who go astray in their heart,

and they have not known my ways.” (Psalm 95:10 ESV)

So that is the juxtaposed title- Law #1 in the 4 Spiritual Laws booklet is "God loves you and offers a wonderful plan for your life"- and then you have this unhelpful skirmish of whether God loves some or all- and we go to theological war. What a waste.

But here is what the critics sometimes miss. The true power of that tract wasn’t the marketing hook. It was the confrontation it forced: a self-directed life that leads to chaos or a Christ-directed life that enters rest. The Spirit used that simple picture to pierce my heart. And the tract itself did not end with a shallow promise. It contained a follow-up plan: urging the reader to join a community of believers, to begin discipleship, and to grow under the whole counsel of Scripture.

Look at the image below—it was the picture of two circles. One represented a self-directed life, with self on the throne and chaos in every corner. The other showed a Christ-directed life, with Him on the throne and the pieces of life in order. I didn’t need to be convinced; I knew which circle was mine. My life was already unraveling under the weight of my sin and selfishness. For the first time, I saw clearly that what I longed for—rest, peace, wholeness—was only found in Christ.

Let's go back to Hebrews now- the writer trying to warn us from the failings in the past to NOT MISS THE REST!

The writer is thinking of Israel at Kadesh-Barnea. Twelve spies entered the land. Ten came back with fear and negativity; two—Joshua and Caleb—believed God’s promise. The people listened to the majority report and grumbled, and they never entered God’s rest. The good news was proclaimed, but it wasn’t mixed with faith, nor united with the faithful.

Hebrews 4 reminds me that the call of the gospel is not merely to hear good news, but to be “united by faith with those who listened.” Faith is not private possession; it is joining my voice to the minority report of Joshua and Caleb, standing with the faithful, and walking into God’s promises together. That is discipleship. That is the circle of rest.

So yes, the yellow booklet was limited. No single pamphlet could ever carry the full depth of the gospel or the sovereignty of God. But the very criticism that it presents a “false gospel” underestimates the sovereignty of God Himself. If God can use Balaam’s donkey to speak truth, He can use a small booklet to awaken faith.

So today, I am thankful for that little yellow booklet. Not because it was perfect, but because God was sovereign to use it. And I am thankful for the community of believers who have since surrounded me, teaching me, correcting me, and keeping me among “those who listened.” The real “wonderful plan” is not a painless life, but a Christ-directed life—united with His people, resting in His finished work.

The call ultimately isn't just a call of salvation but a call to "Follow" Jesus in discipleship- where we learn over time the truth in God's Word.

________________________

Chat GPT provided some information to help we write this blog- See the added info below:

Bill Bright (Campus Crusade for Christ, later Cru) wrote The Four Spiritual Laws in 1952, and it became one of the most widely distributed gospel tracts of the 20th century.

It starts with the line: “Just as there are physical laws that govern the physical universe, so there are spiritual laws which govern your relationship with God.” Then it lays out:

1. God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.

2. Man is sinful and separated from God. Therefore, he cannot know and experience God’s love and plan for his life.

3. Jesus Christ is God’s only provision for man’s sin. Through Him you can know and experience God’s love and plan for your life.

4. We must individually receive Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord; then we can know and experience God’s love and plan for our lives.

It was massively influential—millions came to faith or were at least introduced to the gospel through it. But as you said, it sparked debates:

• Some saw it as too formulaic or reductionistic.

• Others worried the opening line—“wonderful plan for your life”—could mislead people into a prosperity or comfort-driven faith.

• Reformed voices often critiqued it as man-centered, too light on God’s sovereignty and the cost of discipleship.

And yet, it was also a clear, earnest attempt to help ordinary believers share the gospel confidently.

Take Care- Hebrews 3

 

I’ve been reading R. Kent Hughes’s commentary on Hebrews, and he offers a sobering biblical trail on the danger of a hardened heart. Drawing from Psalm 95, he traces the words “rebellion” and “testing” back to Meribah and Massah—those wilderness flashpoints in Exodus 17 and Numbers 20 where God’s people quarreled and tested Him despite His faithful provision.

What grips me is the jarring refrain in Psalm 95: “For forty years I loathed that generation.” Those are not light words. The Lord looked at His redeemed people and saw hearts that were perpetually bent toward unbelief.

Hughes notes the repeated characteristics of that generation:

• Negativism – always seeing what they lacked, never what God provided

• Grumbling – murmuring dissatisfaction instead of offering gratitude

• Quarreling – quick to stir up disputes rather than pursue peace

• Disobedience – ignoring clear commands in favor of self-will

• Rebellion – resisting the very God who rescued them

• Resistance – stiffening their necks against God’s leading

All of these flow from one poisoned root: unbelief. A heart that refuses to trust God inevitably grows cold in love, thankless in spirit, and closed off to His voice.

The writer of Hebrews, quoting Psalm 95, presses the warning directly into the life of the church: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” The danger is not just Israel’s danger; it is ours.

And here is where I must pause to preach to myself. It is easy to shake my head at the wilderness wanderers, but their sins are not alien to me. Negativity, grumbling, resistance, a thankless spirit—those can creep into my life whenever I stop trusting God’s goodness in the present moment.

The warning of Psalm 95 and Hebrews 3 is meant to keep us awake: We just can’t go there. The call of God is urgent and present—Today. The antidote is trust, gratitude, and soft hearts that respond to His voice.

May we learn from their failures, not repeat them. May we walk by faith, not by sight. And may our lives be marked not by hardened unbelief, but by tenderhearted trust in the God who saves.

TAKE CARE

COLD LOVE

Too Fast to Listen, Too Slow to Tell

Shakespeare was not wrong when he sketched the “seven ages of man.” The image of the “lean and slippered pantaloon” with spectacles on nose and a world grown deaf to his words feels uncomfortably close these days. I catch myself wanting to “tell the tale”—a story from long ago that still burns in my memory, one bought with blood, sweat, tears, and sometimes humiliation. In my mind, these stories are not entertainment but warnings, lanterns on a trail, hard-earned lessons I would spare another if I could.

But the world has sped past the storyteller. Young men and women live in a torrent of content, voices, and noise. A story, even a short one, can feel to them like an intrusion on already fractured attention. I can feel their eyes glaze as I begin, and I ask myself: is the fault mine, for not knowing how to speak in their dialect of brevity, or is it theirs, for not knowing how to listen?

There is a tension here. I don’t want to be the tedious sage who drones on about “back in my day.” Nor do I want to keep my mouth shut when experience has carved out truths in me that could save someone else years of heartache. How do you honor the past without becoming a bore? How do you steward the wisdom of scars without pressing it where it is unwanted?

Sometimes I think the balance is not to insist on being heard, but to wait for the question. The younger generation often doesn’t need a lecture, but they may someday need a companion who has been through the fire and lived. A story offered at the right moment—short, sharp, and humble—may go further than a library of long recollections.

So I live in this in-between. Too old to tale the tale with the expectation of rapt attention, but not too old to keep the lantern lit, waiting for when someone needs to borrow its light. Shakespeare’s pantaloon may shuffle and sigh, but perhaps he still has a role: not to demand the stage, but to be a quiet keeper of stories until the world slows down enough to ask for one.

click to hear:
Too Fast to Listen, Too Slow to Tell

Verse 1

I’ve got a pocket full of stories, Bought with blood and tears and years, But when I open up my mouth, The room has tuned to other gears. The world is scrolling, flying by, I stumble searching for the word— The silence says it all: They’ve no time to hear what I’ve endured. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’m caught between the wisdom and the wishing well. I’ve got a lantern, but they’re chasing the sun, By the time I strike a match, the moment’s gone. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, The stories fade before they’re ever spelled. Verse 2 I don’t want to be a burden, Or the fool in slippers worn, But I know a scar can be a teacher Better than a page that’s torn. So I hold my words like embers, Waiting for the night to fall— If the question ever rises, Maybe then they’ll hear it all. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’m caught between the wisdom and the wishing well. I’ve got a lantern, but they’re chasing the sun, By the time I strike a match, the moment’s gone. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, The stories fade before they’re ever spelled. Bridge Maybe it’s not my fault, Maybe it’s not theirs, Maybe truth is only heard When the heart is ready to care. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’ll keep the stories burning where the old ones dwell. And if the silence breaks, I’ll be ready to share, The lessons carved in sorrow, the burdens we bear. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell... But the tale still lives, and I carry it well.

Trump, Watters, and Questions of Salvation

Yesterday’s news cycle offered one of those fascinating moments where politics, personality, and theology all collided on live TV.

On Fox & Friends, Donald Trump was reflecting on his desire to end wars and save lives. Then he said this:

“If I can save 7,000 people a week from being killed... I want to try and get to heaven if possible. I'm hearing I'm not doing well... I hear I'm really at the bottom of the totem pole.”

Later that evening on The Five, Jesse Watters offered commentary on Trump’s words:

“He has this childlike spirit… that if you just do good things, there's a chance... I read a little bit about Christianity this afternoon. Apparently you actually can't just do good things to get into heaven. There has to be more about faith.”

Both of these reactions are revealing, and they both orbit around the same common misunderstanding: salvation by merit.

Trump’s Fear: Too Bad for Heaven

Trump’s worry is that he’s “at the bottom of the totem pole.” He imagines heaven as a ranking system where some saints sit on the top rung and others barely hang on at the bottom. His concern is that he’s done too much wrong, that he’s too bad to qualify for eternal life.

That instinct is common. When people feel the weight of sin and failure, they assume the bar is too high and they’ll never clear it.

Watters’ Hope: Good Enough for Heaven

On the other hand, Jesse Watters voices the opposite instinct: maybe if you do enough good, you’ll get in. He admits he skimmed some Christian teaching and learned that it’s not quite that simple—but his reflex shows the “default mode” of the human heart: work hard, do good, try to tip the scales in your favor.

That too is common. Many people don’t feel crushed by guilt—they feel buoyed by their own decency.

The Real Issue: God’s Holiness

Both perspectives make the same mistake: comparing ourselves to other people. Trump fears he’s worse than others; Watters assumes he’s better than most. But the Bible doesn’t measure us against other sinners—it measures us against God’s holiness.

And against His perfect standard, no one passes muster:

• “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

• “By works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight.” (Galatians 2:16)

The standard is perfection. None of us make it. Not Trump. Not Watters. Not me. Not you.

Two Roads of Salvation

When you boil it down, there are only two possible plans of salvation:

1. Works. Live perfectly, never sin, meet God’s standard on your own. (Spoiler: impossible.)

2. Grace. Admit your inability, cry out for mercy, and receive the righteousness God provides through Jesus Christ.

That’s why Paul could say: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God—not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8–9)

The Good News for Both Trump and Watters (and Us)

The good news is that Christ came for both types of people—for the one who feels too bad and the one who feels good enough. He came for the guilty conscience and the self-confident spirit alike.

The real issue is not our relative standing on a “totem pole,” but our desperate need for a Savior. And in Christ, God has provided one.

Take some time to pray today, read Scripture, speak to someone who knows the Bible well enough to walk you through understanding and receiving the gift of eternal life.

The Gift

Another Great 'Oun' — The Logic Chain of Hebrews

I’ve been reading through Hebrews, and that powerful, one little Greek word keeps jumping out at me: οὖν (oun), usually translated “therefore.”

I like to smile and say to myself: “Another great oun.” Because in Scripture, the “therefores” are never filler words. They are hinges. And every time the writer of Hebrews uses one, it swings open a big door: since this is true about Jesus… therefore, this is how I live.

When I slow down and trace them, a pattern emerges:

• Hebrews 2:1 — Jesus is greater than angels. Therefore pay close attention; don’t drift.

• Hebrews 3:1 — Jesus is greater than Moses. Therefore fix your thoughts on Him.

• Hebrews 4:1 — God’s promise of rest still stands. Therefore fear unbelief; strive to enter His rest.

• Hebrews 4:14, 16 — We have a great High Priest. Therefore hold fast and draw near with confidence.

• Hebrews 6:1 — The foundation is laid. Therefore press on to maturity.

• Hebrews 10:19–22 — Jesus has opened the way into God’s presence. Therefore draw near, hold fast, stir one another up.

• Hebrews 12:1 — We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. Therefore run with endurance, eyes fixed on Jesus.

• Hebrews 12:12 — God disciplines for our good. Therefore strengthen weak hands and keep walking straight.

• Hebrews 12:28 — We are receiving an unshakable kingdom. Therefore worship with reverence and awe.

• Hebrews 13:13, 15 — Jesus suffered outside the camp. Therefore go to Him, bear His reproach, and offer Him continual praise.

It’s like the author is building a staircase of logic. Step after step:

Christ is supreme → Christ is sympathetic → Christ is sufficient → Christ’s kingdom is sure.

And every step ends with a “therefore.”

I find that powerful. It reminds me that the Bible doesn’t just give me abstract theology; it gives me a living Savior and a living call. Every “therefore” is a summons. Every “oun” points me back to Jesus and pushes me forward in faith.

So now when I read Hebrews (or anywhere in Scripture) and bump into a “therefore,” I stop and whisper—“another great oun.” Because it’s one of the Spirit’s favorite ways to move me from truth to obedience.

Here is an interesting way to consider these:

All the “Ouns” Together

• Pay close attention so you don’t drift.
• Fix your thoughts on Jesus.
• Fear unbelief and strive to enter His rest.
• Hold fast your confession and draw near with confidence.
• Press on to maturity.
• Draw near, hold fast, and stir one another up in love.
• Run with endurance, eyes fixed on Jesus.
• Strengthen weak hands and keep walking straight.
• Worship with reverence and awe.
• Go to Him outside the camp, bear His reproach, and offer Him continual praise.

'HAD TO' Be Made Like His Brothers (Hebrews 2:17-18)

[17] Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. [18] For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. (Hebrews 2:17–18 ESV)

I can’t get away from those two words in Hebrews 2:17: “He had to.”

Jesus had to be made like me—fully human in every respect. Not just taking on flesh, but stepping into the weakness, the weariness, the limitations of human life. He grew tired, He grew hungry, He asked questions, He wept. He didn’t walk through this world with a pretend humanity. He truly shared in mine.

And He did this for a reason: so He could be the sacrifice for me. Hebrews says He became like His brothers “to make propitiation for the sins of the people.” That word, propitiation, is weighty but precious. It means that Jesus Himself turned aside the just wrath of God. In the Old Testament, the Hebrew word kaphar carried the idea of covering sin through sacrifice. When the Hebrew Scriptures were translated into Greek (the Septuagint), the translators often used the word family built on hilaskomai. One of those words, hilastērion, was the name for the mercy seat—the golden cover of the Ark of the Covenant, where the high priest would sprinkle blood on the Day of Atonement. That place, the hilastērion, was where God’s wrath against sin was satisfied and His mercy was revealed.

But I have to admit—this doesn’t always strike me the way it would have struck a first-century Jewish convert. They knew the smell of sacrifices, the sight of blood, the weight of the temple rituals. They felt, in a way I don’t, the seriousness of sin and the wrath of God against it. I can grow dull to it, even weary of hearing about the cross. A man suffered, bled, and died so I did not have to. A holy man died like a criminal, so that I—the criminal—could live free. I need to keep that reality before me, because without it, the message of propitiation feels abstract. With it, it becomes the most urgent truth in the world.

And because of that, He is now merciful, faithful, and able to help me in every way. Verse 18 drives it home: “Because He himself has suffered when tempted, He is able to help those who are being tempted.” That means when I cry out in weakness, He doesn’t look down on me with detached pity. He comes alongside as one who has been there. The One who “had to” become like me is the same One who now helps me, faithfully, mercifully, without fail.

In some ways, all of this comes full circle to the beginning of Chaprer 2- I need to 'pay much closer attention'... So I don't drift.  

This latest journey though Hebrews illustrates how dull I can become to this incredible gospel message I first heard so clearly as an 8th grader in 1977 and again more clearly in 1980... and all these 45 years later- after reading, telling, studying, teaching..... sadly, I can grow dull to Jesus.

And the crazy thing is, He understand that. He loves me as a merciful and faithful brother.

May we all pay much closer attention lest we drift.....

Deliverance: Hebrews 2:14–17

This passage hit me hard today:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. — Hebrews 2:14–15

I realized something I’ve known in theory, but not always in practice — slavery to fear is real. The writer isn’t talking about a metaphorical fear that occasionally visits. This is a deep, binding reality: we can spend our whole lives letting the inevitability of death rob us of the joy of life.

I’ve done it. I’ve let that shadow creep into my thoughts — sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes in subtle ones. It shapes decisions. It whispers, “Hold back. Play safe. Protect yourself.” That’s slavery.

And last year when I turned 60- time turned up the volume on that reality for some reason- 

But the Lord was so gracious to walk me through that... and truth is a big part of it- don't be a slave... be free!

Jesus doesn’t just comfort me in my fear — He destroys the source of it.

He stepped right into my condition — flesh and blood, weakness and pain — and then went all the way to the grave. And by doing that, He took the weapon out of the enemy’s hand. Death is still real, but it has no claim of terror anymore. The sting is gone. The verdict is reversed.

When I remember this, I feel lighter. I breathe differently. Fear is not my master. I’m not bound by the dread of “non-life” — I’m free to actually live, love, risk, and serve without that storm always looming in the distance.

That’s true freedom. Not pretending death doesn’t exist, but knowing it has been defeated. And that changes everything about how I live today.

So here’s my question — if Jesus has broken our chains, why keep wearing them?

Here is a truth- if we waste time agonizing over the inevitable reality of death- aren't we wasting a precious commodity called life.

Be free-

When you play- play hard

When you work- work hard

When you pray- pray hard

Swim in the ocean of beautiful grace!

Song Link: Deliverer

Deliverer — You broke the chain of fear
The grave can’t hold me here
You stormed the night and the tyrant fell
Deliverer — You tore the veil apart
You put courage in my heart
Now I’m living like I’ll never die
Because You’re alive

I won’t bow to the shadows anymore
The cross is my freedom, the grave is no more
The war is over, the chains are gone
I’m running in the light where I belong

Bringing MANY Sons to Glory (Hebrews 2:10)

“For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.” —Hebrews 2:10

Hebrews 2:10 is one of those verses that can easily slip by if you're not paying attention. It’s a densely packed theological stick of dynamite—exploding with implications about God’s justice, suffering, salvation, and ultimate glory.

In this one sentence, we are invited into the profound mystery of theodicy—the justice of God in the face of evil and suffering. It’s not just a philosophical puzzle—it’s the question that haunts every hospital room, battlefield, funeral, and sleepless night:

“If God is good and all-powerful… why is there so much pain?”

The skeptics paint it in much darker declarations when looking at suffering and evil-

Either He is NOT good or He is NOT God 

Hebrews doesn’t give us a simple answer. Instead, it gives us something far better: a Savior who suffers.

What Is Theodicy?

The word theodicy comes from two Greek words: theos (God) and dike (justice). It refers to the attempt to understand how a just and loving God can allow suffering in the world.

Rather than sidestepping the problem, Hebrews 2:10 places suffering right at the center of salvation history—and shows us that God’s justice is not compromised by pain. In fact, His justice is revealed in how He enters it.

“It was fitting…”

The verse opens with a staggering phrase:

“It was fitting…”

Not just necessary. Not just unavoidable.
But fitting—appropriate, right, consistent with the very character of God.

This turns theodicy on its head. We usually ask, “Why would God allow suffering?” But Hebrews says: This is what makes God so beautifully just and good—He doesn’t exempt Himself from suffering. He embraces it.

The God who is “for whom and by whom all things exist” could have redeemed us any way He chose. And yet He chose to suffer—not because He had to, but because love demanded it.

“He, for whom and by whom all things exist…”

Ok- this is what REALLY made this verse jump off the page to me.... The God of salvation IS the God of creation... He just SPOKE and the universe was created -... BOOM- why couldn't He just speak SALVATION?

And I actually had to wrestle with this.....

Let’s remember who we’re talking about.

This is the Creator—the One who spoke the universe into being. Stars, galaxies, time, space, energy—all at His command.

He created everything by a Word.
But He didn’t speak salvation into being.
He became salvation.

The same power that said “Let there be light” could have said “Let them be saved.” But He didn’t. Instead, He entered into time, pain, and death itself.

That takes us deeper into the mystery—and deeper into the heart of God.

And it made me think... this is a REALLY important verse....

“In bringing many sons to glory…”

Now we arrive at the why. This is the destination of redemption.

God is bringing us—not sending us—from brokenness to glory.

• Bringing — implies leadership, presence, guidance. He walks with us, not just ahead of us.

• Many sons — this is family language. Not just a lone hero on a cross, but a whole family being rescued and restored. Right after this we read the word "brother" or "children" 6 times in just 6 verses.

• To glory — this is not just survival or forgiveness. This is full restoration. The radiance of God’s image in us—renewed, healed, and eternal.

You and I are the recipients of this beautiful salvation.
We’re not climbing to glory. We’re being brought.

“Should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.”

Here lies the core mystery.

Jesus is the founder (Greek: archēgos)—the trailblazer, the pioneer, the one who leads the way.

But what does it mean that He was made “perfect through suffering”?

Not that Jesus lacked moral perfection—but that through suffering, He became the fully qualified Savior. He didn’t save us by remaining above the pain. He saved us by stepping into it.

He wept. He was betrayed. He was pierced. He died.
And in doing so, He showed us what love actually means.

Again, just kept reading this small little verse, pondering it, praying and then it just materialized.

Saying “I Love You” — and Proving It

Saying “I love you” is powerful.
But proving that love—especially through pain or sacrifice—is where love becomes real.

In any deep relationship, we know this:
It’s one thing to say the words.
It’s another thing to give your time, energy, even your life for someone else.

“But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” —Romans 5:8

He didn’t just say it.
He proved it—with thorns, nails, and blood.

Creation came by a Word.
Salvation came by wounds.

I'm sorry, but if you are rejecting God because you feel any place to judge Him over "theodicy" - you are totally lost in your elite pride.....

Yes- suffering is still a mystery....

It leaves us not with an answer, but with a person.

Jesus doesn’t explain suffering—He enters it.
He walks with us through it.
And ultimately, He leads us out of it.

He is bringing many sons and daughters to glory.

That includes you.
That includes your pain.
That includes every unanswered question and every sleepless night.

And if you are still mad at the God who in your mind even isn't there (kind of strange isn't it?) it is never to late to be 'brought' to glory.... all it takes is a bowed knee and an honest cry.. 'Jesus I need you'... come home today my son.

Link: Heart for Home

In the Cusp: Still Young at 61

August 6, 2025

I just turned 61, and I can’t think of a better way to mark the moment than the trip I just returned from—Colorado, to see my daughter. It was more than a visit; it felt like a pilgrimage.

We hiked three unforgettable trails:

• Thunderhead Trail at Steamboat Springs Resort: 3.6 miles climbing 2,244 feet—straight up into the sky.

• T-Bar Trail via the Blackmer trailhead: 3.88 miles, 964 feet of vertical grit and beauty.

• And finally, the crown jewel: the Zirkel Circle—11.43 miles with a 2,680-foot elevation gain, winding past alpine wonders like Gold and Gilpin Lakes. It was majestic. Soul-satisfying. The kind of hike that makes your legs scream and your heart sing.

We also took on a 60-mile gravel bike ride from Hayden to Craig and back—an unrelenting 3,576 feet of elevation gain. My e-bike battery gave out at mile 40. That last 20 miles? All me, a heavy frame, and a headwind that wouldn’t quit. I rolled into town spent—and strangely proud. The rental shop didn’t even charge me. They said, “You’ve paid enough.” I believed them.

But here’s what I came away with: this was a birthday season, not just a day. One full of beauty, effort, family, and awe. And it got me thinking—not just about where I was, but where I am.

I was born on August 6, 1964, in Birmingham, Alabama—a city still smoldering from the civil rights fires, both literal and spiritual. I don’t remember those early years, but the atmosphere lingered. My earliest memories—maybe 1969 or 1970—were shaped by echoes of unrest. The air carried tension, hope, and fear.

We were a blue-collar family. We didn’t shape the headlines—we lived beneath them.

By the numbers, I’m a Baby Boomer. But I’ve never quite felt like one.

I wasn’t born into post-war prosperity. I didn’t grow up in the glow of Leave It to Beaver—I just watched reruns and wondered if anyone actually lived like that. My experience was more like Gen X: skeptical, restless, raised on the edge of institutions that seemed solid… until they cracked.

I’ve come to learn there’s a name for people like me: “cuspers.” Born in the in-between. Not quite Boomers, not quite Gen X. We borrowed language from both sides but never quite found a home.

We remember rotary phones and typewriters, but we’ve outlived them all. We were taught to respect authority—then watched Watergate, Vietnam, and televangelist scandals undo that trust. We were promised stability, then handed reinvention.

Sometimes I feel like I’m holding a translator’s pen—explaining one generation to another, while not fully belonging to either. And now, at 61, I still ask: Where is my voice? Where is my place?

To be honest, I worry that my own brand of stoicism and selfishness is the worst of both labels. That in the cusp, the danger is inheriting the shadow without the shine.

You’d think I’d have found the answer by now—carved out a niche, felt settled in my skin. But I still wake up with questions:

Am I doing what I’m called to do?

Have I used my time well?

Is my voice making any difference?

Am I declaring with my life that Jesus is Lord of All?

There’s an ache in still searching at 61. But I’m learning not to despise it. In a world noisy with opinion and echo, maybe those of us who’ve lived in both silence and sound are uniquely positioned—not to shout, but to sing something true.

I don’t want to find my voice just to leave a mark. I want to use it to build a bridge. Between generations. Between the world I inherited and the world I see coming. Between the faith I was handed and the faith I’ve wrestled with in the wilderness.

Maybe being lost in the cusp is exactly where I need to be. Maybe that edge is the place where poets speak, where tension gives birth to traction, and where a clearer perspective grows.

So here I am. Still hiking. Still writing blog posts and lyrics for songs, Still wondering. Still trusting that God isn’t finished with me yet. And loving life because of God's promises and His presence.

If you feel caught between eras, ideas, or expectations—welcome. There’s room in the cusp. And maybe, just maybe, we’re the ones who get to build something lasting. Because we’ve lived through so many shifting sands.

I’m still searching.

But the search?

It keeps me young.
It keeps me moving.
And it keeps me hoping.

What would be a good birthday present? Just visit this blog and read. Find my songs on SoundCloud and see if you hear the message- it is all designed to proclaim that God is good and I am a sinner saved by grace. Then write a note and tell me what you think, even if you hate it. Let's talk about it. Ask me dangerous.......

Watch me long enough and I will disappoint you- but Jesus never will.

Music: Jayopsis

Blog: Jayopsis.com

YouTube: Winning Edges