Unrelenting and Restorative

Unlike the doctrine of hell, which is never clearly spelled out in the Bible, the unrelenting, restorative love of God – which does not count our sins against us but instead works all things together for good in order not only to redeem people from every tribe, tongue, and nation but also to liberate all of creation – is spelled out in the Bible time and time again. It is arguably the unifying theme of the whole book. Over and over, the people of the Bible are drawn into the unrelenting love of God on the other side of their failures.

— Brian Recker, Hell Bent, p. 106

Photo: Mont Saint-Michel, seen from across the bay, June 20, 2026

Not About Being Right

And lest you think I count myself finished, know this: When I was a Bible-thumping, church-going, know-it-all Republican, God used bleeding-heart, politically correct, question-everything liberals to teach me to be human, to challenge my notions of who the enemy is. But now that I’m a bleeding-heart, politically correct, question-everything liberal, God insists on using Bible-thumping, church-going, know-it-all Republicans to teach me to be human, to challenge my notions of who the enemy is.

God, it seems, is rather stubbornly committed to extracting me from the notion that this is all about being right.

— Rachel Held Evans, Braving the Truth, p. 62

Photo: Front walk to Château de Chantilly, France, June 25, 2026

Flourishing

I firmly believe that God wants us to leave sin behind, but not because he is some malicious legalist holding every human to an impossible moral standard or because he flies off the handle in anger anytime we do something wrong. God hates sin because sin hurts us. And God hates to see us get hurt.

— Zach W. Lambert, Better Ways to Read the Bible, p. 92

Photo: Parc Botanique de Haut Bretagne, France, June 18, 2026

God’s Surprises

I thought God wanted to use me to show gay people how to be straight. Instead God used gay people to show me how to be Christian.

I thought the world needed my answers, but as it turns out, I needed the world’s questions. I needed to learn how to doubt well, listen better, and be humbled by how little I know. I needed to discover that evangelicalism is just one table in Christ’s banquet hall, the Great Cloud of Witnesses far more sprawling and diverse than I’d ever imagined.

— Rachel Held Evans, Braving the Truth, p. 61

Photo: Dipladenia flowers, June 13, 2026

Finding Enchantment Here

Here’s our problem: it’s easy to experience enchantment on vacation. Anyone can feel a bit Celtic visiting Ireland or Wales. Anyone can feel closer to God on a beach or hiking in a national park. I don’t want to dismiss the restorative, spiritual magic of these beautiful places. We need these natural wonders and how they help us find God in nature. Redwood forests are life changing, inspiring, and holy. So is Llanddwyn Island. But if we only experience the enchantment of the natural world on vacation, I think we’ve missed the lesson the Celtic saints were teaching us. West Texas, where I live, is a long way from Wales. And way less enchanted, in the opinion of many people. Tumbleweeds aren’t as magical as shamrocks, I guess. But no matter where you live, the encouragement of the Celtic saints is this: enchant the place where you find yourself, right where you are standing. “Lord of all places,” the Celtic Christians prayed, “how good you are to praise.”

This is an enchanted world. God is the “Lord of all places.” In West Texas, in Wales, and where you are sitting right now. So let’s all declare, like Jacob, that our place – right here, right now – is the gateway to heaven. No matter where you find yourself, in sunshine and in rain, the grace of God enchants the day.

— Richard Beck, Hunting Magic Eels, p. 194-195

Photo: Yellow iris, South Riding, Virginia, April 24, 2026

On the Wandering Path

“Not all who wander are lost,” writes J.R.R. Tolkien. You’re not lost, you’re right where you belong on this wandering path. It might be disorienting, there may be danger, but you’re not lost. You’re on the right journey. It’s just a different path than you were expecting when you were handed a brand of faith and told to cultivate and protect it at all costs. You’re becoming someone who is more loving, someone who is healing, who is more acquainted with the fragility and belovedness of us all. The deliverance that’s waiting on the other side of the wilderness isn’t a tidier, nicer version of you with new and better answers: your deliverance was always going to be more Love.

— Sarah Bessey, Field Notes for the Wilderness, p. 43

Photo: Bluebell Trail, Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 3, 2026

Image Bearers

Adam and Eve walked out from the garden loved, called, and chosen. Their eyes were firmly fixed on God’s promise to make all things new. They weren’t wandering, and they weren’t lost, and we don’t need to be either. We are image bearers of God. We are created out of his abundant love, we were called with a purpose, and we have been equipped to imitate him! We live out the image of God together and in every sphere of our lives. We imitate him at home, at work, and at church. We fill and subdue; we create and bring order both in the secular and spiritual realms. We have been called to bring the fullness of God to the world, and we do that by living as his image.

We have been freed to live as image bearers of God.

— Elizabeth Garn, Freedom to Flourish, p. 138-139

Photo: Cherry blossoms, South Riding, Virginia, March 31, 2026

Whoever

By using the word “whoever,” Jesus expands the borders of who’s in and who’s out, scrambling their notions of who gets to receive the grace of God and how they get to receive it. By opening eternal life to “whoever eats of this bread,” Jesus begins to deconstruct that old bureaucratic system of circles and opens up eternal life to . . . well . . . whoever! It isn’t about blood or lineage or culture or tradition. It has nothing at all to do with any of the circles the people of God had previously drawn. Perhaps the disciples were scandalized because they wondered, “Could it be just anybody who eats the bread?” Maybe they even worried, “Could it be . . . everybody?”

Exclusion is easy. Walking around thinking that we are the special ones, that we are justified simply by virtue of who we are or what we believe, some identity or another, is comforting. Cutting more and more people out of that circle isn’t a problem as long as we stay nestled safely inside of it.

Expanding the circle, however, is a “hard teaching.” Expand it too far and we start to wonder if there’s anything special about us at all.

By that measure, universalism might just be the hardest teaching because it expands the circle all the way.

— Derek Ryan Kubilus, Holy Hell, p. 126

Photo: South Riding, Virginia, March 21, 2026