God, the Divine Pursuer: Reflections on Muggeridge

There’s a passage I’ve returned to over and over again — written by British journalist and Christian convert Malcolm Muggeridge. 

I first read it years ago, and it hit me like a floodlight. He titled it simply, "Is There a God?" But don’t be misled by the simplicity — what follows is one of the most honest, piercing meditations on belief I’ve ever encountered.

 
Why Muggeridge Still Matters

Malcolm Muggeridge (1903–1990) lived one of the most interesting lives of the 20th century — a war correspondent, BBC commentator, author, and eventually a surprising voice for Christianity. He was never a sentimental believer. In fact, part of what makes him so compelling is that he came to faith reluctantly, even begrudgingly.

Some of his more memorable quotes:


“The depravity of man is at once the most empirically verifiable reality but at the same time the most intellectually resisted fact.”


“Only dead fish swim with the stream.”


“I never wanted a God, or feared a God, or felt under any necessity to invent one. Unfortunately, I am driven to the conclusion that God wants me.”

That last line is from the passage I keep coming back to. Here's what it means to me.

Muggeridge admits right away: he never wanted God. The pleasures of this world — nature, relationships, thinking, working — they were enough for him. He wasn't hunting for God. In fact, he would have preferred that God not exist at all.

God comes padding after me like a Hound of Heaven.

That line guts me. It's the recognition that no matter how comfortable we get, no matter how self-sufficient we feel, we are not the seekers. We are the sought.

I’m reminded of Martin Luther, who during a time of deep spiritual anguish was asked by his confessor, “Do you love God?” Luther replied, “Love God? Sometimes I hate Him.” It’s a raw, honest confession—one that echoes Muggeridge’s sense of being hunted down by a God he never sought, yet could not escape.

When Muggeridge wrote that God is pursuing him like a hound, it was known to be a reference to Francis Thompson’s poem, The Hound of Heaven. God is not content to let us be. He comes after us in our sunshine moments and picnics, casting a shadow. Not to ruin our joy, but to reveal how flimsy it all is without Him.

He describes how the divine light exposes everything — our vanity, our mortality, even our carefully constructed happiness.


Our distractions lose their flavor.


Our achievements crumble under divine scrutiny.


Even our highest joys can't withstand eternity’s gaze.

It's raw, almost painful. But deeply true.

 

One image that sticks with me is Muggeridge’s idea that, under God's direction, history becomes a kind of soap opera — full of bad acting, fake props, and threadbare storylines.

Now, soap opera might feel a bit dated as a term (though it's still around). But the idea still lands: our self-important dramas and manufactured narratives look ridiculous when exposed to eternal light. You could swap in reality show, Instagram story, or even political theater — the effect is the same. God sees through all of it.

Muggeridge also quotes Kierkegaard, who said that what we naturally love is finitude — the safe, manageable life. But when God confronts us with infinitude — eternity, holiness, ultimate truth — it undoes us. It pulls back the curtain on everything we try to hide behind.

We long for comfort and control. But God wants truth and transformation. No wonder we resist Him.

 
No Escape — But That's Good News

Muggeridge ends with a bleak honesty: “There is no escape.” We twist and turn, try to replace God with politics, pleasure, or philosophy. We’d rather follow D.H. Lawrence or Marx or Roosevelt — anyone but the real God.

But in the end, dead or alive, He is still God. And strangely, that’s where the hope lies. Not in our illusions. Not in our performances. But in the relentless, loving pursuit of the One who won't leave us alone.

This passage has meant so much to me over the years because it reminds me that faith isn't always tidy or desired — but it’s real. God isn’t something we add to an already full life; He’s the light that reveals what’s really there.

And in that light — even when it hurts — is the only kind of life that lasts.

I have pasted the original piece below:

"IS THERE A GOD ?


Well, is there? I myself should be very happy to answer with an emphatic negative. Temperamentally, it would suit me well enough to settle for what this world offers, and to write off as wishful thinking, or just the self-importance of the human species, any notion of a divine purpose and a divinity to entertain and execute it. The earth's sounds and smells and colours are very sweet; human love brings golden hours; the mind at work earns delight. I have never wanted a God, or feared a God, or felt under any necessity to invent one. Unfortunately, I am driven to the conclusion that God wants me.


God comes padding after me like a Hound of Heaven. His shadow falls over all my little picnics in the sunshine, chilling the air; draining the viands of their flavour, talk of its sparkle, desire of its zest. God takes a hand as history's compere, turning it into a soap opera, with ham actors, threadbare lines, tawdry props and faded costumes, and a plot which might have been written by Ted Willis himself. God arranges the lighting —Spark of Sparks—so that all the ravages of time, like parched skin, decaying teeth and rotting flesh, show through the makeup, however lavishly it may be plastered on. Under God's eye, tiny hoarded glories—a little fame, some money . . . Oh Mr M! how wonderful you are!—fall into dust. In the innermost recesses of vanity one is discovered, as in the last sanctuaries of appetite; on the highest hill of complacency, as in the lowest burrow of despair. One shivers as the divine beast of prey gets ready for the final spring; as the shadow lengthens, reducing to infinite triviality all mortal hopes and desires.


There is no escape. Even so, one twists and turns. Perhaps Nietzsche was right when he said that God had died. Progressive theologians with German names seem to think so: Time magazine turned over one of its precious covers to the notion. If God were dead, and eternity had stopped, what a blessed relief to one and all! Then we could set about making a happy world in our own way—happy in the woods like Mellors and his Lady Chatterley; happiness successfully pursued, along with life and liberty, in accordance with the Philadelphia specification; happy the Wilson way, with only one book to take to the post-office—one book, one happiness; happy in the prospect of that great Red Apocalypse when the State has withered away, and the proletariat reigns for ever more. If only God were D. H. Lawrence, or Franklin D. Roosevelt, or Harold Wilson, or Karl Marx!


Alas, dead or alive, he is still God, and eternity ticks on even though all the clocks have stopped. I agree with Kierkegaard that 'what man naturally loves is finitude' and that involvement through God in infinitude 'kills in him, in the most painful way, everything in which he really finds his life . . . shows him his own wretchedness, keeps him in sleepless unrest, whereas finitude lulls him into enjoyment.' Man, in other words, needs protection against God as tenants do against Rachmanism, or minors against hard liquor."

Here is an analysis of the poem, The Hound of Heaven

The Hound of Heaven: A Poem of Relentless Grace

Among the great spiritual poems of the modern era stands The Hound of Heaven, a work of profound beauty and theological depth. Written by English poet Francis Thompson (1859–1907), this poem has stirred hearts for over a century with its portrayal of God’s tireless pursuit of the human soul.

Who Was Francis Thompson?

Thompson’s life was marked by pain and paradox. Born into a devout Roman Catholic family in England, he showed early promise in both medicine and literature. However, his adult life spiraled into years of poverty, illness, and opium addiction on the streets of London. It was during these darkest days that he wrote The Hound of Heaven, a deeply personal reflection of his spiritual journey.

Despite his hardships, Thompson's poetic gift eventually caught the attention of the publishers of Merrie England, and his work—especially this poem—was embraced for its powerful imagery and spiritual insight.

What Is The Hound of Heaven About?

The title itself is striking. A “hound” suggests a dog trained to pursue with unswerving focus. In this poem, the “Hound of Heaven” is a metaphor for God—persistent, patient, and full of grace. Far from a predator, this divine pursuer is a loving Father who follows the soul with unwavering purpose, even as the soul runs from Him.

The poem explores the futility of fleeing God through earthly distractions, pleasures, and self-reliance. In the end, it is not wrath that catches the fleeing soul, but love.

THE HOUND OF HEAVEN- Francis Thompson

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
   I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
   Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
             Up vistaed hopes I sped;
             And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
   From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
             But with unhurrying chase,
             And unperturbèd pace,
     Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
             They beat—and a Voice beat
             More instant than the Feet—
     'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me'.

“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”
God tells the fleeing soul that all the things he turns to instead of God—pleasures, hopes, dreams, people—ultimately betray him. Why? Because he has betrayed his Creator. When the soul flees God, even good things lose their ability to satisfy. They become hollow.

             I pleaded, outlaw-wise,

By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
   Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followed,
             Yet was I sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)
But, if one little casement parted wide,
   The gust of His approach would clash it to:
   Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
   And troubled the gold gateway of the stars,
   Smiting for shelter on their clanged bars;
             Fretted to dulcet jars
And silvern chatter the pale ports o' the moon.
I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;
   With thy young skiey blossom heap me over
             From this tremendous Lover—
Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!
   I tempted all His servitors, but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him their fickleness to me,
   Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;
   Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
          But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
     The long savannahs of the blue;
            Or, whether, Thunder-driven,
          They clanged his chariot 'thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o' their feet:—
   Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
             Still with unhurrying chase,
             And unperturbed pace,
      Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
             Came on the following Feet,
             And a Voice above their beat—
'Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.'

“Nothing can protect you, because you refuse to give Me a home in your soul.”
It echoes the  theme: God desires to dwell with His people (e.g., Revelation 3:20, John 14:23), but if He is shut out, no other refuge will suffice.

It flips the roles. Just as we seek shelter in God, God also seeks a place to dwell—in the heart of the human soul. If the soul refuses to “shelter” God (through faith, surrender, love), then that soul has no true refuge from the storms of life, fear, guilt, or eternity.

I sought no more after that which I strayed
          In face of man or maid;
But still within the little children's eyes
          Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me!
I turned me to them very wistfully;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
         With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
Come then, ye other children, Nature's—share
With me' (said I) 'your delicate fellowship;
          Let me greet you lip to lip,
          Let me twine with you caresses,
              Wantoning
          With our Lady-Mother's vagrant tresses,
             Banqueting
          With her in her wind-walled palace,
          Underneath her azured dais,
          Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
             From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.'
             So it was done:
I in their delicate fellowship was one—
Drew the bolt of Nature's secrecies.
          I knew all the swift importings
          On the wilful face of skies;
           I knew how the clouds arise
          Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;
             All that's born or dies
          Rose and drooped with; made them shapers
Of mine own moods, or wailful divine;
          With them joyed and was bereaven.
          I was heavy with the even,
          When she lit her glimmering tapers
          Round the day's dead sanctities.
          I laughed in the morning's eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
          Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine:
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
          I laid my own to beat,
          And share commingling heat;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
For ah! we know not what each other says,
          These things and I; in sound I speak—
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth;
          Let her, if she would owe me,
Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me
          The breasts o' her tenderness:
Never did any milk of hers once bless
             My thirsting mouth.
             Nigh and nigh draws the chase,
             With unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;
             And past those noisèd Feet
             A voice comes yet more fleet—
          'Lo! naught contents thee, who content'st not Me.'

Naked I wait Thy love's uplifted stroke!
My harness piece by piece Thou has hewn from me,
             And smitten me to my knee;
          I am defenceless utterly.
          I slept, methinks, and woke,
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
          I shook the pillaring hours
And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears,
I stand amidst the dust o' the mounded years—
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
          Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.
          Ah! is Thy love indeed
A weed, albeit an amarinthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?

Yes, it is sensual. But not because the speaker is seeking physical or erotic love per se—it’s because he’s pouring spiritual hunger into the wrong vessel. It shows the misdirected but honest longing of a soul, trying to find love and rest in Nature when it was made for God.

          Ah! must—
          Designer infinite!—
Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?
My freshness spent its wavering shower i' the dust;
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
          From the dank thoughts that shiver
Upon the sighful branches of my mind.
          Such is; what is to be?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;
Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity;
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsed turrets slowly wash again.
          But not ere him who summoneth
          I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned;
His name I know and what his trumpet saith.
Whether man's heart or life it be which yields
          Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields
          Be dunged with rotten death?

             Now of that long pursuit
             Comes on at hand the bruit;
          That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
          'And is thy earth so marred,
          Shattered in shard on shard?
          Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!

          'Strange, piteous, futile thing!
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught' (He said),
'And human love needs human meriting:
          How hast thou merited—
Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot?
          Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
          Save Me, save only Me?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
          Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms.
          All which thy child's mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
          Rise, clasp My hand, and come!'

   Halts by me that footfall:
   Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
   'Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
   I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.'  

Why It Still Matters

In a time when many are restless, hurting, or hiding behind distraction, The Hound of Heaven offers hope: God pursues not to condemn, but to rescue. His grace is not forceful but faithful. And even when we run, His love is faster. 

Ask Me Dangerous

We live in a world of shallow talk. We scroll, we nod, we say “I’m good” — but rarely do we ask, or get asked, anything that might disrupt the carefully curated masks we wear.

I’ve often thought about that old Lynyrd Skynyrd line:
"Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies."
It’s catchy — and sadly, accurate for most of us. We avoid asking because we don’t want to hear. We avoid answering because the truth might crack the mirror we’ve built around our image. And somewhere along the way, we've agreed to a kind of unspoken pact — don’t dig too deep, and I won’t either.

But then I read the Bible — and I see something different.

God asks questions.
Not because He doesn't know the answers — but because we don’t.
To Adam: “Where are you?”
To Elijah: “What are you doing here?”
To Nicodemus: “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?”
To the woman at the well: “Where is your husband?”
To Peter: “Do you love me?”
To Pilate: “Do you say this of your own accord?”

These are not safe questions. They are not polite.
They are dangerous.
They pierce. They expose.
And in the hands of God — they heal.

I’ve been thinking about why we avoid these kinds of questions with each other.
Maybe it’s self-protection.
Maybe we’ve grown too used to performance and pretense.
Or maybe it’s fear — that if I ask you something real, you might turn the spotlight back on me.
Mutual Assured Destruction: I won’t ask you anything that matters if you won’t ask me.

But what if the truth really could set us free?
What if asking dangerous is the only way to actually know and be known?

That’s the heart behind this song — “Ask Me Dangerous.”
It’s a confession.
It’s an invitation.
It’s a challenge to myself and maybe to you:

Stop playing safe.
Start asking dangerous.
And be brave enough to answer.

Ask Me Dangerous

Verse 1 I know the script, I wear the mask, Every glance — a practiced task. I’m the duke of polished lies, A thousand faces, none are mine. Pre-Chorus But it’s just noise, a mirrored screen, Hiding truths I’ve never seen. Chorus Ask me dangerous, Don’t play safe with me. Pull that question like a knife — Cut beneath what you can see. Ask me what I’m running from, Ask me who I tried to be — Ask me dangerous, And the truth will set me free. Verse 2 We trade small talk, we dodge the weight, Circling truths we’re scared to face. But I’m unraveling in this quiet storm, Waiting for someone to break the form. Pre-Chorus So don’t hold back, don’t let it fade, Shatter the walls I’ve learned to raise. Chorus Ask me dangerous, Don’t play safe with me. Pull that question like a knife — Cut beneath what you can see. Ask me what I’m running from, Ask me who I tried to be — Ask me dangerous, And the truth will set me free. Bridge There’s a fracture running through my bones, In every crowd, I stand alone. Will you risk the spark, or cut the wire? Help me light the truth — face the fire. What would you ask… don’t hold back. And don’t let me just add God in the gap. Chorus Ask me dangerous, Don’t just skim the sea. Ask the questions that could break, And pull the real from me. Ask me what I’m made of, Ask me who I’ll never be — Ask me dangerous, Ask me dangerous, And the truth will set me free.

The Blood Libel Myth and Its Modern Echoes: A Review Inspired by Malamud’s The Fixer

Note: final post inspired by a reading of "The Fixer" by Bernard Malamud- one that I just happened to pick up randomly in a stack of free books at the Hayden, Colorado library...what are those odds?

Bernard Malamud’s The Fixer vividly portrays the devastating impact of the blood libel myth—a dangerous conspiracy theory that accused Jews of ritually murdering Christians, often children, for religious purposes. Set in Tsarist Russia, the novel draws on the real-life case of Mendel Beilis, falsely accused in 1913. Through this lens, Malamud reveals how false narratives can be weaponized to frame and scapegoat individuals or groups, a pattern that tragically still echoes today.

The Blood Libel Myth: A Historical Conspiracy Theory

The blood libel originated in medieval Europe, beginning in 12th-century England with the case of William of Norwich. Though entirely baseless, the accusation spread for centuries, fueling violence, persecution, and deep societal fractures. The 20th-century Beilis trial exposed how such myths could be reinforced by state interests, media manipulation, and institutionalized bigotry. In The Fixer, Yakov Bok becomes a symbol of this injustice, enduring false accusations, imprisonment, and torture—all rooted in prejudice.

The enduring power of the myth lies in its pattern:

• False Accusation: A fabricated claim, often tied to tragedy, targets a vulnerable or unpopular group.

• Amplification: Institutions or influencers spread the claim, granting it false credibility.

• Framing: Evidence is manipulated or manufactured to fit the narrative.

• Destruction: The accused suffer violence or exile, while society internalizes the lie.

This cycle contributed to countless tragedies—pogroms during the Black Death, the Kishinev massacre, and systemic antisemitism.

Modern Parallels: The Arc of Targeted Hatred

While the blood libel itself may seem antiquated, the pattern it exemplifies remains potent. In today’s hyperconnected world, conspiracy theories and coordinated hate campaigns follow similar arcs—only now they spread faster and wider through digital platforms.

False Information and Framing

Across the political spectrum, we've seen false or exaggerated narratives gain traction. From conspiracy theories like QAnon to disinformation campaigns about public figures or corporations, the tactics remain similar: fear-mongering, cherry-picked “evidence,” and emotional manipulation.

While many point to examples like anti-vaccine misinformation or election denialism, others highlight how certain media campaigns target businesses or individuals—such as attacks on Elon Musk and Tesla—as part of a broader strategy to discredit or deplatform perceived ideological opponents.

Targeted Destruction

Those caught in the crossfire—whether election officials, scientists, CEOs, or marginalized groups—face doxxing, swatting, harassment, and reputational destruction. These aren’t isolated incidents but systemic phenomena, driven by narratives that oversimplify complex issues into binary conflicts. The chilling effect is real: people grow fearful of public engagement, and civil discourse suffers.

Societal Consequences

This cycle polarizes societies, corrodes trust, and weakens institutions. As in Malamud’s novel, the personal toll is enormous—social isolation, anxiety, and a sense of powerlessness. And disturbingly, many of these campaigns are profoundly irrational. Hate spreads not by reasoned argument, but by emotional contagion. The poison of lies clouds judgment, reducing our ability to think clearly, discern truth, or even engage in civil disagreement.

Rationality itself becomes a casualty.

A Warning and a Call to Action

The Fixer reminds us that the damage done by lies and hate—whether ancient or modern—can leave deep, lasting scars. We must remain vigilant:

• Verify and Challenge: Seek credible sources and confront falsehoods with clarity and reason.

• Support the Targeted: Offer legal, emotional, and public support to those unfairly attacked.

• Foster Resilience: Educate ourselves and others in critical thinking and empathy.

• Balance Responsibility: Encourage platforms and institutions to limit the spread of harmful content while safeguarding free expression.

• Prayer: I know this one seems useless or ineffective, but I find myself praying often for people who seem to be under constant attack and I pray they will be sustained in the storm.

People of faith—especially Christians—have a biblical responsibility to stand against gossip, slander, and false witness. The same Scriptures that call for truth in love also warn repeatedly against stirring division through careless or malicious words. Yet how often do we hear sermons about gossip? How often do we see Christians becoming passive in the face of viral falsehoods, hoping “someone else” will defend the truth?

This silence can be complicit. And in today’s world, it’s no longer enough to quietly disapprove—we must be willing to speak clearly and courageously.

The blood libel teaches us that unchallenged lies metastasize. By recognizing modern parallels—regardless of political alignment—we can work to stop the cycle before it harms more lives. Malamud’s Yakov Bok survives, but at great cost; our responsibility is to learn from that pain and stand for truth before the cost becomes our own.

Framed to Maximize Outrage: A Forgotten Paperback and a Civilization in Crisis

Last week, I traveled to Hayden, Colorado to visit my daughter and son-in-law. It’s a quiet town nestled in the Yampa Valley—unassuming, peaceful, and easy to love. One afternoon, we stopped by the local library, where a table of worn paperbacks was labeled “Free to Good Home.” I picked up one I’d never heard of before: The Fixer by Bernard Malamud. The title was intriguing, and the spine was cracked in a way that suggested it had been read more than once.

I didn’t expect much. But as I flipped through the pages at various times and places (morning coffee- Denver airport), I was surprised—not just by how well-written it was, but by how uncomfortably relevant it felt. Set in 1911 Kyiv, The Fixer follows Yakov Bok, a Jewish handyman falsely accused of a ritual murder in a case eerily modeled after a real-life trial - the Mendel Beilis case.

What begins as a tragic historical novel quickly becomes a mirror reflecting modern dysfunction—framed accusations, tribal narratives, and outrage engineered to divide.

Later, I learned the book had been banned in some circles—too graphic, too unsettling. But maybe that’s why it hit me so hard: not because it was inappropriate, but because it was too appropriate.

The Anatomy of Outrage

In The Fixer, a grieving community is manipulated into rage. The accusations against Bok are framed to maximize emotional reaction and political utility. A corrupt system doesn’t just allow it—it demands it.

 As I read, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we’re living out a modern version of this script in 2025.

Consider the public treatment of figures like Elon Musk. From outrageous attacks on Teslas and dealerships to constant venomous posts against him on his own platform, X, narratives are selectively shaped to generate maximum outrage. 

A 2024 Media Research Center study showed that 60% of Musk-related news was negative, disproportionately emphasizing scandal over success. Much like the authorities in Bok’s case, today’s media culture often seeks not the truth, but the narrative that draws the most attention—and outrage.

We see this dynamic playing out globally. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict, for example, is reduced online to tribal soundbites, with nuance sacrificed for slogans. Social media amplifies emotion over reason, collapsing centuries of complexity into 280-character pogroms.

A Civilization in Crisis

What we’re witnessing isn’t just poor journalism or platform dysfunction. It’s a deeper sickness—a civilization losing its grip on truth. 

In one scene in The Fixer, a priest’s pseudo-religious theories (so called 'blood libel myth') to a baited crowd are treated as gospel, leading to state-sponsored persecution. Today, conspiracy theories and ideological dogmas do the same—dressed in the garb of activism or authority.

Whether it's the nationalist fervor of the Black Hundreds in Kyiv in 1911 or the hashtag crusades of digital tribes today, the root is the same: illogical and unrelenting scapegoating. 

And the results are equally devastating. 

As Proverbs 18:17 reminds us, “The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him.” But we’re losing that second examination. We’re losing the tools of discernment, or as long form podcasts remind us.... the follow-up question that few in legacy media are willing to ask.

That’s why I keep returning to the metacognitive tools I’ve developed over the years—things like the Bias Barometer, which helps me weigh claims with Scripture and logic. It's not just about staying informed—it's about staying sane, and faithful.

A Call to Rise Above

Malamud didn’t write The Fixer just to expose antisemitism. He wrote it to show what happens when society replaces truth with tribalism. The book ends with Bok totally worn down by the unjust accusations and campaign of destruction—he stays strong and steady but at what cost? Yes, in the end truth shows a promise to win... "freedom exists in the cracks of oppression" but that isn't the world I want to live in... come Jesus come.

In this age of algorithmic outrage, the church has a rare chance to be something different. Not louder. Not trendier..... Truer. The gospel isn’t a tribal chant—it’s the invitation to grace and truth. But we must choose it, daily, in how we respond to the noise.

Let’s challenge poor ideas with reason. Dismantle tribalism with love. And remember that even a forgotten paperback from a small-town library can be a timely prophet. The cycle may be old—but our response doesn’t have to be.

What are things we have forgotten that are foundations and cornerstones of our civilization? I think the biggest ones are God, the value of human beings, and the beauty of the gospel message. I'm tired of the cold dark air.... let there be light!

Time is Ticking Toward the Cross

An Easter Journal

Holy Week is a slow, deliberate journey—and now we feel the pace quicken. Yesterday, shadows began gathering; today, the clock speeds toward the darkest and brightest moments of all time.

Spy Wednesday: The Betrayal Set in Motion

Yesterday, we remembered the chilling events of what is often called "Spy Wednesday."

Scripture: Matthew 26:14-16
"Then one of the Twelve — the one called Judas Iscariot — went to the chief priests and asked, 'What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?' So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver. From then on Judas watched for an opportunity to hand him over."

Conspiracy. Betrayal. Greed. Hate. All the darkest forces of the human heart came together. Judas, a trusted companion, gave in to disillusionment or greed (or perhaps both) and agreed to sell out the Savior for the price of a slave.

But even here, the Sovereign Hand of God was at work. Evil thought it was winning, but God was weaving redemption.

Some Methodists celebrate a Tenebrae Service- The word "tenebrae" is Latin for "darkness" or "shadows"- and they tend to include a dark service with candles that are extinguished.

Maundy Thursday: The Final Evening Before the Cross

Today, Maundy Thursday, the clock ticks louder. Jesus spends His last full evening with His disciples, and each moment is packed with eternal meaning.

1. The Last Supper:

Scripture: Luke 22:19-20
"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.'"

At the table, Jesus transforms the ancient Passover into a new covenant meal. The bread and cup become living symbols of His body and blood, soon to be broken and poured out for the sins of the world.

2. The Washing of Feet:

Scripture: John 13:14-15
"Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you."

In a breathtaking act of humility, the Lord kneels to wash the dirty feet of His disciples. The King of Kings chooses the role of the lowest servant, teaching us that greatness in His kingdom always looks like love in action.

3. The New MANDATE:(Maundy)

Scripture: John 13:34-35
"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."

The "Maundy" of Maundy Thursday comes from "mandatum" — mandate, command. Love is not optional for those who follow Christ. It is our mark, our mission, and our testimony.

4. Gethsemane:

Scripture: Matthew 26:39
"Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, 'My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.'"

In the Garden of Gethsemane, we see Jesus' raw anguish. The weight of the coming cross crushes down, yet He chooses obedience. His yes in the garden undoes the no of Adam and Eve.

5. The Betrayal and Arrest:

Scripture: Luke 22:47-48
"While he was still speaking a crowd came up, and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, but Jesus asked him, 'Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?'"

The traitor acts. The soldiers seize Jesus. The long night of trials, mockery, and torture begins.

Here is Jesus- washing MY feet, Drinking the Cup of MY deserved wrath, Giving His body to be broken for ME!

Is it too much to ask for me to simply love Him and love others?

Time is Ticking

Every moment carries us closer now — to the scourging, the nails, the cry of abandonment, the final breath.

But every moment also carries us closer to victory.

Stay awake. Stay near. The cross is coming—and after it, an empty tomb.

From Hero to Villain, and the One Who Never Changed

An Easter journal- 

There’s a quote from The Dark Knight that’s haunted me for years:

“You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

When I first heard it, I thought it was just a clever line. But the older I get, the more it feels like a mirror.

I didn’t set out to be a villain.
I just kept living.
And life, as it turns out, has a way of changing you.

Somewhere along the road, you gather enemies just by existing.
You make choices you regret.
You lose your innocence in bits and pieces—rarely all at once.
And eventually, you start to wonder if you’ve become what you once feared.

That’s when I stumbled across Nietzsche’s words:

“He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.
And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”

And I knew exactly what he meant.

Because the longer in my mind.....I think I am fighting to stand for what’s right, the more I’ve seen shadows form around me—outside, yes, but also within.

I’ve grown harder. Less trusting. Less patient.
I see through illusions quicker now—but I miss the comfort of having them.

There’s an enigmatic dichotomy at work in me.
I want to be good, but I see more clearly how often I fail.
I want to be a light, but I’ve been shaped by darkness, too.
And somehow, through it all... 

Jesus becomes more radiant.

He’s the only One I’ve ever seen stare into the abyss and come out pure.

Not bitter. Not jaded. Not compromised.
He walked through betrayal, cruelty, injustice, abandonment, and death itself—and He never became the villain.
He stayed tender.
He forgave when I would’ve cursed.
He trusted the Father when I would’ve run.
And when He rose, it wasn’t with vengeance, but victory.

As I age and see more of the world’s ugliness—and my own—I find myself drawn not away from Easter, but toward it.

Not because I’ve become stronger or better.
But because I finally understand just how much I need resurrection.

The promise of eternal life doesn’t feel abstract anymore.
It feels necessary.
And the grace of God?
It’s not a sweet idea—it’s 100% oxygen.

So yes, I’ve lived long enough to feel more like the villain.
But I’ve also lived long enough to know this:

Jesus never became one.
And because of that, there’s still hope for someone like me.

Here are some of those promises:

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

---

Isaiah 53:5
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

---

2 Corinthians 4:16–17
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

---

Hebrews 4:15–16
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses,
but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin.
Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

and of course a song: Staring Into the Abyss

Easter Week Resources

This is such an important week for Christians all over the globe. I have gathered links for content that I published over the years and hope these help you gather inspiration and encouragement this week.

First of all- here is a timeline for Good Friday

A Good Friday Timeline

Song: Why Still The Wound?

The next link is an audio- with graphics of a presentation I gave on Easter Sunday a few years ago

Why I Believe in the Resurrection:

Here are updates on the Shroud of Turin

Updated- Shroud of Turin

Shroud of Turin and the Sudarium of Oviedo

Song Link: Something Happened

This is a great week to reconnect with Christ. 

For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.
1 Thessalonians 4:14

But God has helped me to this very day; so I stand here and testify to small and great alike. I am saying nothing beyond what the prophets and Moses said would happen— that the Messiah would suffer and, as the first to rise from the dead, would bring the message of light to his own people and to the Gentiles.
Acts 26:22-23

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

John 11:25-26

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.
1 Peter 1:3

For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.
1 Corinthians 15:3-4

Blessed and holy are those who share in the first resurrection. The second death has no power over them, but they will be priests of God and of Christ and will reign with him for a thousand years.
Revelation 20:6

Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
Hebrews 13:20-21

jayopsis@gmail.com

Let's keep climbing to the glory of Christ!

See you back in a short time.

When Love Grows Cold: Recovering Honor in a Mocking Age

I don’t know if it’s just me getting older, or maybe a bit of nostalgic haze creeping in, but the world just feels… colder these days.

Not temperature-wise—but relationally. Emotionally. Spiritually.

Not just in others...it is also in me. I too laugh at the jokes that are increasingly more jaded. I too lean into to creature comforts that satisfy me first without regard to others.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just misremembering the “good ole days” that maybe weren’t all that good. But I do remember people loving differently—fervently, even. It felt like there was more honor back then.

 Coaches were revered. Pastors were admired. Teachers were respected. I remember people telling stories of gratitude, tearing up over how a mentor changed their life, writing letters of thanks, standing to applaud someone’s influence.

Now? Not so much.

These days, I hear more mocking than memory. Critique comes faster than gratitude. It’s easy to tear someone down with a tweet or meme, but rare to hear someone rise to speak a heartfelt word of honor. We’re suspicious of sincerity. Everything’s ironic. And I have to wonder—has our love grown cold?

Then I remember Jesus warned us about this.

“Because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold.” – Matthew 24:12

He said it in the context of the last days, when deception and disorder would rise like a tide. The word Jesus used for love here was agape—that selfless, sacrificial kind of love. And He didn’t say it would disappear altogether. But it would grow cold. Chilled. Numbed. Faded.

That sounds about right.

When lawlessness increases—not just in the streets, but in hearts, homes, churches—we lose something sacred. We lose trust. We lose reverence. We lose patience with one another. And that old-fashioned kind of love that’s rooted in humility and honor? It gets buried in sarcasm and suspicion.

The apostle Paul painted a picture of this cultural cold front in 2 Timothy 3:

“In the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money… proud, arrogant… disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy… slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good… lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God…”
— 2 Timothy 3:1–4

It's not hard to read that and think of things we've all seen, maybe even felt. Gratitude is harder to find. Humility looks weak. Correction is seen as abuse, and authority is treated like a punchline. It’s no wonder love struggles to survive in that climate.

But here's the thing: it can be rekindled.

There’s still a choice—to be the one who remembers. We can be the one who thanks the old coach, or tells a teacher what their words meant, or sits with a pastor and says, “You helped me.” That kind of warmth still matters. It still counters the cold.

Jesus told the church in Ephesus something sobering in Revelation 2:

“I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance... But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.”
— Revelation 2:2,4

They were busy. They were doctrinally sound. But their love had faded. That hits close to home. It’s easy to let love slip while staying “active.” But without love, the fire dims. And Jesus calls them—and us—back: “Do the works you did at first.”

So maybe it starts there. Small acts of recovered honor.

• Tell a story that lifts someone up instead of tearing someone down.

• Write the thank-you text that’s overdue.

• Teach your kids to honor their elders—not because elders are perfect, but because honoring is good for them.

• Resist the temptation to join in the mockery, the sarcasm, the icy humor that chips away at love.

I don’t want to be part of the “many” Jesus said would grow cold. I want to be part of the few who keep the fire—who still believe in honor, who still give thanks, who still love in the old ways that never really go out of style.

It may feel colder out there. But we can still build a fire in here.

Song: Cold Love

Implied Hope in the Book of James

The word "hope" is notably absent from the Book of James. Yet as we read his compact, punchy, and pastoral epistle, we encounter a persistent thread of hope woven into the heart of his exhortations. James, writing to believers scattered and suffering, doesn't use the word itself, but he builds an entire framework of Christian endurance, godly wisdom, and steadfast faith that leans heavily on the unseen reality of hope in Christ.

Hope, in James, is implied in the way he calls believers to live in the tension of trial and triumph. It’s there when he says, "Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life" (James 1:12). This crown is a future reward. It is promised. It is anticipated. And anticipation, anchored in God’s character and promises, is the very soil of biblical hope.

He tells us to be patient and establish our hearts (James 5:8), to not grumble (James 5:9), and to pray in faith (James 1:5–6; 5:13–18). Why? Because something is coming. The Judge is at the door. The rain is on its way. The fruit will come. The Lord is compassionate and merciful (James 5:11). All of these are hints and shadows of hope pointing forward.

Church history and biblical consensus attribute the letter to James, the half-brother of Jesus. He didn’t always believe—John 7:5 tells us that during Jesus’ earthly ministry, His brothers did not believe in Him. But post-resurrection, everything changed. Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 15:7 that Jesus appeared specifically to James after rising from the dead. That personal encounter seems to have transformed him.

James became a key leader in the Jerusalem church. Paul refers to him as a "pillar" (Galatians 2:9), and Acts 15 records him presiding over the Jerusalem Council with wisdom, humility, and authority. He was deeply respected, known for his piety, prayer life, and justice. Early church tradition even nicknamed him "James the Just."

Though he didn’t flaunt his relationship with Jesus (he introduces himself only as "a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ"), James’s letter reflects a deep intimacy with Christ’s teachings. His tone is pastoral, his words prophetic, and his aim practical—faith must be lived out.

Echoes of Hope and Echoes of Jesus

Some scholars note that James's epistle feels like a commentary on the Sermon on the Mount. Though he never quotes Jesus directly, he echoes Him constantly. From the call to be doers and not just hearers (James 1:22 // Matthew 7:24), to his teaching on mercy (James 2:13 // Matthew 5:7), and his rebuke of swearing oaths (James 5:12 // Matthew 5:34–37), James is deeply shaped by the voice of his older brother.

Jesus taught, "Blessed are the peacemakers," and James urges believers to sow peace and reap righteousness (James 3:18). Jesus said not to lay up treasure on earth, and James cries out against the corruption of the rich and the exploitation of the poor (James 5:1–6).

The Sermon on the Mount and the letter of James share a vision of the upside-down kingdom—a life where meekness is strength, trials refine, mercy triumphs over judgment, and true religion cares for the vulnerable. That kind of life requires hope. Even if James never says the word, his whole letter points to it.

James gives us a gritty, grounded hope. It’s not pie-in-the-sky optimism or vague positivity. It’s a hope that works—through suffering, through injustice, through the grind of real life. James tells us that such hope, though unspoken, is lived. And when it is lived, it transforms everything.

So while James may not say hope, he most certainly preaches it.

And we who live in this tension—between trials and triumph, sowing and reaping, groaning and glory—can read James and hear a steady voice urging us on: "Be patient. Establish your hearts. The Lord is coming."

Using Logic to 'Prove' God

Logic is one of the most powerful tools we have for evaluating truth. It operates through unchanging principles, such as:

• The Law of Identity (A is A)
• The Law of Non-Contradiction (A cannot be both A and not-A)
• The Law of the Excluded Middle (A is either A or not-A)

These universal laws govern not only reasoned thought but also meaningful communication. But where do they come from?

When we label something 'logical' or 'illogical', we appeal to a standard beyond ourselves—a standard that applies across all cultures, times, and circumstances. Unlike human customs or conventions, the laws of logic do not change or evolve. They are discovered, not invented.

But if logic is not a product of human invention, what explains its existence? If the universe were merely the product of matter, time, and chance, could something as immaterial, precise, and universal as logic arise from it?

A purely materialistic worldview holds that everything can be explained by physical processes alone. But can such a framework account for immaterial absolutes like logical laws? If logic were just neural firings, why does it hold true beyond individual brains, binding even the cosmos to its rules?

Imagine a spider randomly spinning silk and, through millions of years of trial and error, developing the perfect web. In evolutionary biology, such adaptations are attributed to natural selection. Natural selection refines physical traits, but logic isn’t a trait; it’s a framework that governs thought itself, transcending biological adaptation. To credit randomness with its precision strains credulity.

Could mere physical processes, governed by chance, produce unchanging, universal laws of thought? The leap defies calculation.

If logic were merely a byproduct of neural activity or social convention, it would be subject to change. But logic does not change—it remains constant, pointing to something beyond the physical world.

Logic isn’t alone in this; its close cousin, mathematics, also hints at a reality beyond the physical. Numbers are not tangible objects, yet they are essential for describing reality. No one has ever seen the number “2,” yet its properties remain consistent. Even more intriguingly, mathematics often reveals truths about the universe before they are observed empirically.

For example, imaginary numbers (like the square root of -1, denoted i) were once considered theoretical but later became indispensable in physics and engineering.

What if God is like that—an unseen yet necessary reality, foundational to everything we experience? Just as mathematical laws require a rational framework to exist, so too does logic. And a rational framework implies intention, suggesting a Mind, not just a force. Could that Mind be personal, engaging with what it has made?

Many skeptics dismiss this idea, pointing to contradictions among religious believers or failings within religious institutions. That’s fair—human imperfections exist.

But what if the question of God isn’t about flawed people, but about ultimate reality? If logic suggests a rational, unchanging foundation, wouldn’t it make sense to explore whether that foundation is personal?

If there is even a possibility that God is real, would it not be worth investigating? Here’s a simple challenge:

Humbly ask:
"God, if You are real, show Yourself to me in a way I can understand."

Then, approach the Bible not as myth, but as a potential window into truth. Read with an open mind.

Humbly ask again:
Does this explain reality better than its alternatives?

My prayer for you:
"Father, You have revealed Yourself powerfully to those who seek You. Please do the same for anyone reading this today. Let them see what is true. Amen."

No doubt, no sin, no past is beyond Christ’s forgiveness for those who turn to Him. If logic itself points beyond the material world, perhaps truth is not just an abstract principle—but a Person. Seek with an open heart, and follow the truth wherever it leads.