Category: Articles

The Master Who Serves His Servants

Dear Theo,

I have waited up late at night before. Most of us have. The house is quiet, the lamps are on, and you are listening for the car in the driveway or the key in the lock. You are not waiting because you are anxious. You are waiting because someone is coming home, and you want to be awake to open the door.

Jesus asks His disciples to picture exactly that scene, and then He turns it upside down.

“Stay dressed for action and keep your lamps burning, and be like men who are waiting for their master to come home from the wedding feast, so that they may open the door to him at once when he comes and knocks. Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes. Truly, I say to you, he will dress himself for service and have them recline at table, and he will come and serve them” (Luke 12:35-37 ESV).

Read that last sentence slowly. The servants stay up so they can serve the master. The master comes home, finds them awake, and then He does the unthinkable. He dresses Himself for service. He seats them at the table. He serves them the meal.

In the first-century world, that did not happen. A master did not gird himself. Girding up your robe, tucking it into your belt so you could move freely, was the posture of a servant about to work. For the master to take the servant’s posture was a reversal so complete that the disciples must have felt the floor tilt under them. The one who was waited on becomes the one who waits on others.

And Jesus says this is not a fantasy. He puts His own solemn weight behind it: “Truly, I say to you.” This is what the returning Master will actually do.

This Is Who He Has Always Been

The strange thing about Luke 12:37 is that it should not have surprised them. By the time Jesus told this parable, the pattern was already the story of His life.

He had told them plainly, “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45 ESV). In the upper room, on the night He was betrayed, He rose from supper, tied a towel around Himself, and washed His disciples’ feet, every one of them, including the one who would hand Him over (see John 13:4-5 ESV). Paul would later sum up the whole incarnation in the same servant language: Christ Jesus “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2:7 ESV).

The God who made all things put on the towel before He put on the crown. Luke 12:37 is not Jesus inventing a new idea about the last day. It is Jesus telling us that the last day will look like every other day of His ministry, only more so. The Master who served in Galilee will serve at the feast.

Revelation gives us the other end of the same picture. An angel tells John, “Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb” (Revelation 19:9 ESV). The wedding feast the master returns from in the parable becomes, in the end, the wedding feast the servants sit down at. They waited through the night so they could open the door. The reward is that they recline at the table, and the Master brings the meal.

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The Day Opens With Grace

I think many Christians carry a quiet dread about the day of judgment that Jesus never intended. We picture a courtroom where we hope for acquittal, or a performance review we are sure we will fail. And Scripture does teach that there will be an accounting. God “has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed” (Acts 17:31 ESV), and the 1689 London Baptist Confession states it plainly: God has appointed a day of judgment, in which He will manifest His justice and His mercy to all (1689 London Baptist Confession 32.1).

But notice the order in Luke 12. Before the parable reaches the warnings about the unfaithful servant, before it reaches the sobering principle that to whom much is given much will be required, it stops at verse 37 and pronounces a blessing. “Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes.” Blessed is the same word Jesus uses to open the Sermon on the Mount. It is pronounced on the watchful before anything else is said about the careless.

For those found in Christ, awake at their post, the day of judgment opens with grace, not terror. The accounting is real, and we should not pretend otherwise. The parable keeps its warnings, and we should keep them too. But the first thing the returning Master does for His faithful servants is not cross-examine them. He seats them, girds Himself, and serves them. Justice and mercy are both manifested on that day, as the confession says, and for the watchful servant, mercy comes to the table first.

This is why watchfulness in this passage is confidence, not anxiety. The servants in the parable are not wondering whether the master will return. They are sure of it, and their lamps are lit because of that certainty. Jesus is not calling us to decode timelines or to argue about the details of the end. He is calling us to live like people who know the Master is coming home and who know what He is like when He arrives.

Waiting Like This Changes the Waiting

Here is where the parable reaches into an ordinary Tuesday. If the God we wait for is a Master who serves, then waiting for Him should make us servants too.

Think about it. We spend our days deciding whom we will serve and whom we expect to serve us. At work, at home, in the church, the quiet calculation runs underneath everything: is this my job, or is this beneath me? The servant of Luke 12:37 has no such calculation, because his Master has none either. The Master girded Himself. The least we can do is pick up the towel.

This does not mean we earn the feast by our serving. The servants in the parable did not purchase the master’s kindness by staying awake; the kindness was the master’s own character, freely given. But those who truly believe the serving Master is coming home will spend the night the way He would spend it: lamps lit, sleeves rolled, doing the work He left for them. “Blessed is that servant whom his master will find so doing when he comes” (Luke 12:43 ESV).

So the question the parable leaves with us is not only whether we are ready, but what we think readiness will meet. If you secretly believe the last day is a trap, you will wait in fear. If you believe Jesus, you will wait in hope. The Master is coming home from the wedding feast. Stay dressed for action. Keep your lamps burning. And take heart: when He finds you awake, He will not ask you to serve Him first. He will seat you at His table, dress Himself for service, and come and serve you.

That is the God we are waiting for. Wait for Him like it.

Photo by Filipp Romanovski on Unsplash

Sincerely, your friend

October 23, 2026
To Whom Much Is Given

Dear Theo,

When my daughter was small, she owned one basket for carrying groceries in from the car. One trip was all it took, because a small basket holds only so much. I owned two larger bags and made several trips. The measure of faithfulness was not the size of the load. It was whether each of us carried what we had been given.

Jesus makes the same point in a much more serious setting. Near the end of His teaching on watchfulness in Luke 12, He says, “Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more” (Luke 12:48 ESV).

For years that sentence sounded to me like a threat aimed at people like me, people raised in the church with shelves of Bibles and years of sermons under our belts. I have come to see it as something better: a sober kindness. It is Jesus telling us exactly how He will judge our work, so we can get the work right while there is still time.

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The Direction of the Trust

The sentence sits at the end of a long passage, Luke 12:35-48, where Jesus gives illustration after illustration of one truth: the greater the stewardship God entrusts to His people, the greater the faithfulness He expects from them. Waiting servants with lamps lit. A watchful homeowner. A wise manager put in charge of the household and giving food at the proper time. Then the contrast: a wicked servant who decides his master is delayed, and uses the master’s goods to serve himself, beating the other servants and eating and drinking to excess.

Notice where the difference lies. The wise manager and the wicked servant were both given much. The difference was not the size of the trust. It was the direction of the trust. The wise manager looked at the master’s goods and used them for the good of others, in line with his master’s will. The wicked servant looked at the same goods and used them for himself.

That is the question Luke 12:48 puts to us. What has God put in your hands, and which direction is it flowing?

What Counts as “Much”

We tend to hear “much” and think of money, and money counts, but Jesus means far more. Your time. Your home. Your health, such as it is. Your children or grandchildren. Your work and the skills you use in it. And then there is the gift we take most for granted: revelation.

Consider it honestly. Almost every person who has ever sat in a church pew in America can read. For most of Christian history, that was not true. Most Christians could not read, and the Bible was not in their language. You and I can pick up the Word of God on a phone for free, in plain English, with study tools no generation before us could have dreamed of. Men and women died so that we could have an English Bible, and we leave it on the shelf for weeks at a time.

That is “much.” We are among the most knowledge-rich Christians who have ever lived. Luke 12:48 does not let us pretend otherwise. To whom much was given, much will be required.

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A Kindness Hidden Inside the Warning

Right before the famous line, Jesus gives one more illustration. One servant knew his master’s will and did not get ready or act according to it; he receives a severe beating. Another did not know his master’s will, and though he did things deserving of a beating, he receives a lighter one. Then comes the principle: everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required.

Look at what Jesus is actually teaching. God is just, and His judgments are exactly proportional to what each person received. “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25 ESV). He will not judge you by what your pastor knows. He will judge you by what He put in your hands, and by what you did with it.

This is where the passage comforts the discouraged. If you struggle to read, if your life is full and your capacity feels small, Jesus is not measuring you against someone else’s stewardship. You are accountable, but you are not competing. “Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand” (Romans 14:4 ESV).

For the rest of us, the ones who have been given richly, the comfort comes with an edge. Our knowledge of Scripture, our church heritage, our resources: these are not trophies. They are trusts. James says it plainly: “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin” (James 4:17 ESV). Knowledge that does not lead to obedience does not make us safer. It makes us more accountable.

The Test of the Wise Manager

So how do we know whether we are being faithful? The parable gives us a test, and it is the same test the wicked servant failed. Are the things God has entrusted to us flowing toward others, or pooling around us?

The wicked servant did not fail because he misplaced the master’s goods. He failed because he used them to serve himself. We do the same in more respectable ways: money for our own comfort, time for our own projects, Scripture knowledge to win arguments instead of to feed people. The master’s goods, aimed at ourselves.

Jesus offers the opposite picture. “But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:43-45 ESV). The Son of Man had the most and gave the most. That is the shape of faithful stewardship.

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Why This Ends in an Accounting

I should say plainly what Luke 12:48 assumes, because our age avoids it. Stewardship ends in an accounting. God has appointed a day in which He will judge the world in righteousness by Jesus Christ (see Acts 17:31 ESV), and the 1689 London Baptist Confession states it plainly: God has appointed a day for judgment, that He may manifest His justice and mercy to all (1689 London Baptist Confession 32.1). The accounting is not the whole of the gospel, but it is part of it, and it gives our daily faithfulness its weight.

But a warning without kindness is just a lecture. The point of Luke 12:48 is not to make you afraid of your blessings. God gives good gifts to be enjoyed, and enjoying them with gratitude is itself faithfulness. The point is to make you honest about them. Everything you have was entrusted, which means everything you have has a purpose beyond you.

Here is the question I am asking myself this week. What has God put in your hands? Time, money, health, a home, influence, knowledge of His Word, a gospel you did not invent and do not own. Is it flowing toward others, or pooling around me? You do not need a bigger inventory. You need a better direction.

And then live like it. “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16 ESV). Small faithfulness, repeated daily, is what the wise manager looked like: giving food at the proper time, again and again.

Here is the ending Jesus gives the faithful servant, and it is better than we deserve. When the master finds him at his post, he sets him over all his possessions. And earlier, in the waiting servants’ picture, the master does the unthinkable: he dresses for service himself, has his servants recline at the table, and serves them (see Luke 12:37 ESV). That is the God we are accountable to. He demands much, and then He serves His servants. Be found faithful, and trust Him with the accounting.

Sincerely, your friend

October 16, 2026
Why Your Boring Church Might Be the Healthiest One in Town

Dear Theo,

A few years ago I visited a church that could have sold tickets. The band was tight, the lighting changed with the set list, and the sermon came with a stage design. It was impressive, and I understand why people drive past six other churches to get there.

The next week I preached at a church of about sixty people in a plain brick building. No fog, no stage. They sang hymns, I read a long passage of Scripture, and we took the Lord’s Supper from simple trays. Walking to my car afterward, a visitor described it with a word I have not forgotten: boring.

I have thought about that word a lot since then. It was honest, and it raises a fair question. If church is supposed to be the great work of God in the world, why does it so often look unimpressive? My answer is that the plainness is the point. God has always done His mightiest work through means that look like nothing, and He has attached His promises to those means. We call them the ordinary means of grace.

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What “Ordinary Means of Grace” Means

That phrase is a technical term, so let me define it plainly. The ordinary means of grace are the tools God has appointed for communicating His grace to sinners and strengthening His people: the Word of God read and preached, prayer, and the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s Supper.

The word “ordinary” does not mean low quality. It means normal, appointed, promised. God is free to work however He pleases, but He has told us where He will ordinarily be found, and He has bound Himself by covenant promise to meet His people there. The 1689 London Baptist Confession says that the grace of faith “is ordinarily wrought by the ministry of the Word” (1689 London Baptist Confession 14.1). Ordinarily. That is the normal channel, and the Confession treats the exceptions as exceptions.

This is why the early church’s calendar reads so strangely next to our modern expectations. Luke tells us that the first Christians “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42 ESV). No program, no production. Teaching, fellowship, the Supper, prayer. And that church turned the world upside down.

Why God Chose Unimpressive Tools

Here is the principle behind it, and Paul states it with force: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27 ESV). God seems to delight in using instruments that take no credit for the result.

Consider preaching. A man stands up, opens a book, and talks for forty minutes. By every standard of modern communication it is a relic. Yet Paul says it pleased God “through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe” (1 Corinthians 1:21 ESV). The power of preaching is not in the preacher’s eloquence but in the Spirit’s promise. “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17 ESV). This is why Paul charges Timothy simply to “preach the word; be ready in season and out of season” (2 Timothy 4:2 ESV). No adjectives, no modifiers. Preach the Word.

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The same holds for the ordinances. Baptism is water and a few words. The Lord’s Supper is bread and wine. To an outsider they are strange rituals. But Christ Himself instituted them, and He did not do so as decoration. In baptism we are buried and raised with Him according to His command to go and make disciples, “baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19 ESV). At the Table we proclaim His death “until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26 ESV). Plain elements, enormous meaning, because God said so.

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Even prayer looks unimpressive. A room full of ordinary people asking God for things they cannot get themselves. Yet prayer is one of the parts of religious worship God has appointed (1689 London Baptist Confession 21.5), and Scripture urges it for everyone: “I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people” (1 Timothy 2:1 ESV). The weakness of prayer is its strength. It confesses that we cannot save ourselves, which is the truth.

I find the prophet’s old question still hangs in the air: “who despised the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10 ESV). It is a warning. The small things are often the true things.

Judging a Church by the Right Standard

So how should we judge a church? Not by production value. Here is a better set of questions.

First, is the Word read and preached in a way you can understand and check? A healthy church opens the Bible and explains it, verse by verse if need be, in plain language. You should be able to follow along and verify. The Thessalonians were commended for examining the Scriptures daily to see whether what Paul said was true (Acts 17:11 ESV). A church that discourages that kind of checking is not humble; it is insecure.

Second, are the ordinances practiced with care? Baptism for believers, the Lord’s Supper for the church, both according to Christ’s institution. A church that treats the ordinances as optional extras has set aside two of the clearest commands its Lord ever gave it.

Third, is prayer a real part of the church’s life, not a transition between the songs? Prayer is where a church admits its dependence on God. A church that prays a lot is usually a church that knows it needs help, and that is a healthy thing to know.

Fourth, what does the church produce over time? I have learned in teaching teenagers that you cannot measure a ministry by the excitement of one evening. You measure it over years. Are people growing in holiness? Are marriages being repaired? Are the young learning the faith? The flashy service produces a moment. The ordinary means produce a lifetime.

Let me add a word of charity here, because disagreement is fine and sneering is not. There are large churches with excellent production that preach the Word faithfully and practice the ordinances carefully, and I rejoice in them. The question is never about size or style. The question is whether the church trusts the means God appointed or has substituted its own. A plain church can be faithless, and a large church can be faithful. Judge by the means, not the budget.

The Pastor’s Side of Boredom

I should confess something from the pulpit side. It is tempting for preachers to dress up the ordinary means because they feel insufficient. Forty minutes of exposition feels so small next to a lifetime of a teenager’s questions. Simple bread and wine feel so small next to a family’s grief. We want to add something, to contribute, to make it work.

But the Confession’s word “ordinarily” is a comfort to pastors too. God has promised to work through the ministry of the Word. My job is to handle the Word faithfully and clearly. His job is the outcome. That division of labor keeps me from despair on the slow weeks and from pride on the good ones. The means are mine to use. The results are His to give.

Plain Churches and Real Hope

So here is my encouragement, especially if your church looks boring next to the one with the light show. You are not missing out. You are attending a church that trusts God’s own instruments: the Word read and preached, prayer offered in dependence, baptism and the Lord’s Supper kept as Christ commanded. These are the channels through which the Spirit has always worked, and He has not run out of power.

The kingdom of God rarely announces itself with spectacle. It grows like seed in a field, quietly and surely, until the harvest. One day the harvest will be visible, and the boring churches will be seen for what they were: the healthiest ones in town.

Sincerely, your friend

October 9, 2026
No Hope Without Grace: What Total Depravity Really Means

Dear Theo,

“Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost” (1 Timothy 1:15 ESV).

Paul wrote those words near the end of his life. This was not a young convert crushed by guilt. This was the apostle to the Gentiles, the church planter, the man who wrote much of the New Testament. And his settled verdict on himself was this: I am the worst of sinners.

Notice the tense. He does not say “of whom I was the foremost,” as though he were describing his old life of persecuting the church. He says “I am.” Present tense. The holiest man most of us will ever read looked at his own heart and called himself the worst sinner he knew.

That is where the doctrine of total depravity begins. Not with a theory about other people. With a confession.

What the Doctrine Claims

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Total depravity is the first of the doctrines of grace, and it is the one our age resists most. The phrase needs defining, because it is widely misunderstood.

Total depravity does not mean that every person behaves as wickedly as possible. God restrains evil in the world, and He has written a measure of His law on every human conscience (Romans 2:14-15 ESV). Outward restraint is real.

What the doctrine means is this: every part of human nature has been corrupted by sin. The mind, the will, the affections, the conscience. There is no faculty left untouched. The 1689 London Baptist Confession states it plainly: by the fall, man was “wholly defiled in all the faculties and parts of soul and body” (1689 London Baptist Confession 6.2).

John Calvin taught the same. In his Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin argues that since Adam’s fall, the whole man is overwhelmed by sin as by a flood. The intellect is blinded to spiritual truth. The will, which we flatter ourselves is free, is in bondage. It chooses freely according to its desires, but its desires are corrupt, so it freely chooses sin. This is why the Confession says that fallen man has “wholly lost all ability of will to any spiritual good accompanying salvation” (1689 London Baptist Confession 9.3). Not some ability. All ability.

Jonathan Edwards pressed the point further still. In his defense of the doctrine of original sin, Edwards argued that the corruption is both universal and total. Every human heart, left to itself, leans away from God and toward sin. We are not neutral beings who occasionally choose wrongly. The leaning itself is wrong. The fountain is poisoned, so the stream that flows from it is poisoned.

Dead, Not Sick

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Scripture does not describe the sinner as sick and in need of medicine. It describes him as dead and in need of resurrection. “And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked” (Ephesians 2:1 ESV). A sick man can reach for the remedy. A dead man cannot reach for anything.

This is why Paul’s confession carries such weight. If even Paul saw himself as the foremost of sinners, what does that tell us? It tells us that drawing near to God does not produce self-satisfaction. It produces the opposite. The closer a person comes to the light, the more clearly he sees his own darkness. Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, and his immediate cry was, “Woe is me! For I am lost” (Isaiah 6:5 ESV). The tax collector in our Lord’s parable would not even lift his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:13 ESV). Saints do not outgrow this confession. They grow into it.

So when we say that total depravity means you are the worst, we mean this: before God, none of us can plead that we are better than others. The ground is level at the foot of the cross, and it is level because we are all face down. “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God” (Romans 3:10-11 ESV). That is God’s verdict on the whole race. And the honest heart answers with Paul: I am the foremost.

No Hope Without Grace

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Here is why the doctrine matters. It is not gloom for gloom’s sake. It is the necessary foundation for grace.

If man were only partly corrupt, salvation could be partly his own work. God might do His part, and man might do his. But if man is dead, salvation must be entirely God’s work. Dead men do not cooperate in their own resurrection. Lazarus did not meet Jesus halfway out of the tomb.

Jesus said, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (John 6:44 ESV). The word “can” speaks of ability. The sinner cannot come because he will not come. Nothing outside him prevents him. His own heart prevents him, for men love darkness rather than light (John 3:19 ESV). Edwards saw this with terrible clarity: in his most famous sermon, he pictured the sinner hanging over the pit by nothing but the mere pleasure of God, with no strength of his own to hold on.

This leaves us with exactly one hope, and it is a glorious one: sovereign grace. If the sinner cannot raise himself, God must raise him. And He does. “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ, by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:4-5 ESV).

Mark the order. We were dead. God made us alive. Grace does not assist the living. It resurrects the dead.

The Confession calls this effectual calling: in God’s appointed time, He calls sinners by His Word and Spirit out of the state of sin and death, renewing their wills so that they come to Christ freely, because He has made them willing (1689 London Baptist Confession 10.1). And the whole of it is mercy: “he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy” (Titus 3:5 ESV). “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 ESV).

The Sweetness of Grace

Here is the pastoral payoff. The worse you know your sin to be, the sweeter grace becomes.

A man who believes he is only slightly ill will be only slightly grateful for the cure. A man who knows he was dead and has been raised will never get over it. This is why the greatest saints have been the most honest about their sin. They were not performing humility. They were seeing clearly.

Edwards understood that this doctrine is meant to drive sinners not to despair, but to Christ. Despair of yourself, yes. Despair altogether, no. The entire purpose of seeing that there is no hope in you is to see that all hope is in Him.

So let Paul’s confession stand, in the present tense: I am the foremost of sinners. And let the gospel answer stand beside it: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. The worse the sinner, the greater the Savior. There is no hope of salvation without grace. And grace, praise God, is exactly what we have.

Sincerely, your friend

October 2, 2026
Of God’s Decree, Without the Panic

Of all the words in the Christian vocabulary, “decree” might be the one most likely to raise your blood pressure. It sounds cold. It sounds like fate. It sounds like God decided everything in advance and we are just actors reading lines.

If that is what you hear when you hear “the decree of God,” then the 1689 London Baptist Confession has good news for you: that is not what it means either. Chapter 3, “Of God’s Decree,” is one of the most pastoral chapters in the whole confession. It was written to steady Christians, not to frighten them.

What the Confession actually says

Here is the opening paragraph, and it deserves a slow read:

“God hath decreed in himself, from all eternity, by the most wise and holy counsel of his own will, freely and unchangeably, all things, whatsoever comes to pass; yet so as thereby is God neither the author of sin nor hath fellowship with any therein; nor is violence offered to the will of the creature, nor yet is the liberty or contingency of second causes taken away, but in all things established; in which appears his wisdom in disposing all things, and power and faithfulness in accomplishing his decree.” (1689 LBC 3.1)

There is a lot packed in there, but the shape of it is simple. From all eternity, before anything existed, God purposed whatsoever comes to pass. He did this freely (nobody forced him), wisely (it is the product of infinite wisdom, not whim), and unchangeably (he does not revise the plan).

Scripture says the same thing plainly: God “works all things according to the counsel of his will” (Ephesians 1:11, ESV), and “I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose’” (Isaiah 46:9-10, ESV).

What the decree does not mean

But notice how carefully the confession draws the boundaries. Three denials, each aimed at a specific fear.

First, God is “neither the author of sin nor hath fellowship with any therein.” The decree does not make God the one responsible for evil. Scripture holds two truths together that our minds want to pull apart: God ordains whatsoever comes to pass, and sinners sin willingly and are accountable. Peter preached both in the same sermon, saying Jesus was “delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God” and in the same breath, “you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men” (Acts 2:23, ESV). God’s decree and human responsibility are friends, not enemies.

Second, “nor is violence offered to the will of the creature.” The decree does not turn you into a puppet. You make real choices, you have a real will, and your choices have real consequences. God’s eternal purpose works through your willing actions, not around them.

Third, “nor yet is the liberty or contingency of second causes taken away.” This is the confession’s way of saying that the world still runs the way the world runs. Rain still falls because of weather patterns. You still got the job because you applied and interviewed well. God’s decree is the deep foundation under all of it, not a replacement for any of it.

If your picture of the decree leaves no room for genuine human choice, you have gone further than the confession goes. Pull back to paragraph 1.

Election, plainly

The chapter goes on to speak of predestination and election, and here is where the panic usually spikes. So let us be plain.

The confession teaches that from eternity, God chose some to everlasting life, “out of his mere free grace and love, without any other thing in the creature as a condition or cause moving him thereunto” (1689 LBC 3.5). Election is not God looking down the corridor of time, seeing who would choose him, and then ratifying their decision. It is God choosing, freely, out of love.

And the rest he was “pleased, according to the unsearchable counsel of his own will, whereby he extendeth or withholdeth favour as he pleaseth,” to pass by (1689 LBC 3.7). The confession does not pretend this is easy. It calls God’s counsel “unsearchable.” But it insists that God is never unjust in what he withholds, because no one deserves his favour in the first place.

Now here is the question that actually keeps people up at night: “Am I elect?” The confession’s answer is wonderfully practical. Do not try to peer into God’s secret decree. Look instead at its effects in your life. Are you trusting Christ? Are you turning from sin? Do you love the saints? Then you have your answer, not by speculation but by evidence. As Peter puts it, “be all the more diligent to confirm your calling and election” (2 Peter 1:10, ESV). Election is confirmed the way a tree is confirmed: by its fruit.

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Why this is comfort, not terror

Step back and ask: why would Christians confess this at all? Because the alternative is worse.

If God has not decreed all things, then the universe is ultimately running on chance, and your salvation is ultimately running on you. That is not good news. That is terrifying. A God who is surprised by events cannot promise that “for those who love God all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28, ESV). Only a God whose counsel stands can make that promise and keep it.

The decree means your worst day was not a glitch in the plan. It means the cross was not Plan B. It means that the God who purposed your salvation before the foundation of the world is not going to lose you now through inattention. “Those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified” (Romans 8:30, ESV). Notice the chain has no broken links.

This is why the old Reformed writers called the decree a pillow for the weary head. It is not a puzzle to solve. It is a place to rest.

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So, dear Theo

If the word “decree” makes you nervous, you are not alone, and you are not wrong to take it seriously. But do not let the nervousness keep you from the comfort. Read chapter 3 slowly. Notice the careful boundaries. Notice that every hard edge in the doctrine is there to protect God’s holiness and your genuine humanity at the same time.

God decreed all things, freely and wisely and unchangeably, and he did it as a Father, not as a fate. Rest there.

September 25, 2026
Stay Dressed for Action: What It Means to Be Ready for Christ’s Return

Every generation of Christians has wondered the same thing: how do you actually get ready for Jesus to come back? Some people try to decode timelines. Some live in a low-grade panic, as if readiness were a feeling you have to sustain. And some quietly give up on the whole idea, filing the Second Coming under doctrines that are technically true but practically useless.

Jesus had something much more concrete in mind.

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What Jesus actually said

In Luke 12, Jesus turns to his disciples and gives them a picture, not a puzzle:

“Stay dressed for action and keep your lamps burning, and be like men who are waiting for their master to come home from the wedding feast, so that they may open the door to him at once when he comes and knocks.” (Luke 12:35-36, ESV)

In the ancient world, long robes were normal dress, but nobody worked or traveled in them. To “dress for action” meant to tuck your robe into your belt so you could move. Servants did this when there was work to do. Lamps burning meant someone was awake, on duty, expecting the master’s return at any hour.

Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “Figure out the date.” He does not say, “Work yourself into a state of spiritual adrenaline.” He says: be dressed, be awake, be at your post. Readiness, for Jesus, is a posture of faithful expectation, not a mood.

Ready does not mean anxious

Here is where many Christians get tangled. We hear “be ready” and we hear “be afraid of being caught off guard.” But fear of being caught is not the same as readiness. A servant who is terrified of his master is not ready; he is just scared. And scared servants hide things, cut corners, and perform when the master is watching.

Jesus goes out of his way to remove fear from the picture. Just a few verses earlier, he told these same disciples, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32, ESV). The command to stay dressed for action is given to people who have already been told not to fear. Readiness grows in the soil of assurance, not anxiety.

Paul says the same thing another way: “So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober” (1 Thessalonians 5:6, ESV). Awake and sober. Not awake and frantic.

Ready means faithful in the ordinary

So what does the dressed-for-action life actually look like on a Tuesday? Luke 12 gives the answer in the verses that follow. Jesus keeps talking about servants doing their assigned work: managing the household, feeding people on time, handling what the master entrusted to them (Luke 12:42-44, ESV).

Readiness is faithfulness in your lane. It is the parent teaching their children the catechism at the kitchen table. It is the employee doing honest work when nobody is watching. It is the church member showing up, giving, praying, and loving people who are hard to love. None of this is dramatic. All of it is exactly what Jesus described.

This is why the New Testament keeps connecting Christ’s return to ordinary obedience rather than extraordinary experiences. Peter writes that since the day of the Lord is coming, we ought to live “lives of holiness and godliness” (2 Peter 3:11, ESV). Not lives of speculation. Lives of holiness.

The lamps stay burning through the ordinary means of grace: the Word read and preached, prayer, the Lord’s Supper, fellowship with the saints. These are not glamorous, but they are how oil gets in the lamp.

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The surprising promise

Then Jesus says something astonishing, the kind of sentence you could read ten times and still not absorb:

“Blessed are those servants whom the master finds awake when he comes. Truly, I say to you, he will dress himself for service and have them recline at table, and he will come and serve them.” (Luke 12:37, ESV)

Read that again. The master comes home, and instead of inspecting the servants, he puts on the servant’s belt himself and serves them dinner. The returning King does not return to be served. He returns to serve.

This is the gospel logic underneath the whole passage. We do not stay awake to earn the master’s favor. We stay awake because the master has already shown us what kind of master he is: the kind who girds himself and serves. Our readiness is a response to his grace, not a payment for it.

And notice the tenderness of it. The reward for watchfulness is not a performance review. It is a meal, served by the master himself, to servants who simply stayed at their post.

So, dear Theo

You do not need a timeline chart to be ready for Christ’s return. You do not need to sustain a feeling of urgency. You need, as Jesus put it, to be dressed for action with your lamp burning: trusting the Father who delights to give you the kingdom, faithful in the ordinary work he has assigned you, and awake to the promise that when the master knocks, he is coming to serve you, not to catch you.

“You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Luke 12:40, ESV). Ready does not mean afraid. Ready means faithful, right where you are, until he comes.

September 25, 2026
Who Is “Theo”? Why This Blog Is Written as a Letter

Every so often someone asks me who Theo is.

There is a simple answer and a longer one. The simple answer: Theo is short for Theophilus, the friend to whom Luke addressed his Gospel and the book of Acts. The longer answer is this article, and it is also the reason this site exists at all.

“Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us,” Luke begins, “it seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.” (Luke 1:1, 3-4 ESV)

That is the mission statement of Dear Theo. A letter, written plainly, so that an ordinary Christian may have certainty about what he has been taught.

Who was Theophilus?

His name is Greek and it means “lover of God.” Beyond that, honest scholars disagree, and I think it is worth saying so up front, because this site will never pretend that every question has one settled answer.

Some hold that Theophilus was a real man, perhaps a Roman official or a wealthy patron. Luke calls him “most excellent,” a title used elsewhere in Acts for governors, and the early church fathers treated him as a historical person. Others argue that the name is a kind of gracious pseudonym, addressed to every “lover of God” who would ever read these words. Luke 1:3 also admits that others had already tried to compile accounts, so the letter was filling a need that real readers felt.

From my perspective, the two views are not as opposed as they first appear. If Theophilus was a real person, Luke still wrote in a way that serves every lover of God. If the name was symbolic, the point remains: Luke wrote to a friend, not to a committee. Either way, the posture is the same. A letter to a friend.

Why a letter and not a lecture?

I chose the letter form for a reason, and it is a biblical reason. A large portion of the New Testament is correspondence. Paul wrote letters to churches he loved and churches he worried about. John wrote letters to congregations facing false teaching. These were not academic papers. They were written to be read aloud to ordinary Christians, many of whom could not read at all.

A lecture performs. A letter corresponds. A lecture says, “Watch me think.” A letter says, “I was thinking of you.” There is a difference, and it matters for theology.

C.S. Lewis understood this. He wrote “Letters to Malcolm,” an imagined correspondence about prayer, because some subjects only open up when they are addressed to a person. Lewis once observed that we must not suppose the difficulty of theology means we should give it up, since the difficulty lies in the subject, not in the explaining. A letter gives the writer permission to take the reader by the hand and walk through the difficulty together. That is what I hope to do here.

I should add one more distinction. This site is not punditry and it is not a store. There is plenty of theology online that functions as entertainment: confident voices scoring points, each new post a volley in a war the reader did not start. And there is theology that functions as credentialing: books written to impress other scholars, where the reader is allowed to watch but not to participate. Neither of those is a letter. A letter assumes a reader who is intelligent but untrained, and it takes the time to explain.

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Why plain, and why certain?

The site’s tagline is “Reformed theology, plainly taught.” The word plainly needs definition, because people hear it two wrong ways. Some hear “plain” and think “shallow.” Others hear “plain” and think “simplistic.” I mean neither. Plain speech is speech that a smart teenager can follow. I teach a weekly Sunday school class for teenagers at my church, and that ministry has trained me more than any classroom did. Students rise to the level of the material. What they will not forgive is jargon that hides behind itself. When I use a technical term here, I will define it the first time it appears. That is not dumbing theology down. It is refusing to let the vocabulary do the work that explanation should do.

Plain, however, must not mean vague. Luke did not write to give Theophilus a general sense of warmth about Jesus. He wrote that he might have certainty. Certainty is a stronger word than our age is comfortable with, so let me be careful about what it claims. It does not claim that every theological question is settled. It claims that the main things are settled, and that we can know them.

The 1689 London Baptist Confession opens with a paragraph that has shaped everything about this project:

“Although the light of nature, and the works of creation and providence do so far manifest the goodness, wisdom, and power of God, as to leave men inexcusable; yet are they not sufficient to give that knowledge of God and His will which is necessary unto salvation.” (1689 LBC, 1.1)

Nature preaches, in other words, but nature does not save. We need written revelation. We need an orderly account. That is why Luke wrote, and it is why the church keeps writing: so that ordinary believers may have certainty concerning the things they have been taught.

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What you will find here

I am writing from a confessional Reformed Baptist perspective, in full subscription to the 1689 London Baptist Confession. That sentence deserves a word of explanation for readers who are new to confessional language. To be confessional simply means to say, in public and in writing, what I believe the Bible teaches, in words I can be held to. A confession is not a rival to Scripture. It is a summary that can be tested against Scripture, and it is meant to be tested. When I am wrong about what the confession says, or about what Scripture says, I want to know.

The posts here will work through the confession in plain language. They will also take up the doctrines of grace, the ordinary means by which God grows his people (the preached Word, prayer, and the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s Supper), and the work of teaching the faith to the young. Some posts will read the culture confessionally, because the world keeps asking questions the church answered centuries ago. Every post will assume you are intelligent and untrained, and every post will end where it should: with the text of Scripture open and the reader equipped.

I will disagree with other Christians sometimes. When I do, I will try to represent the other view fairly before saying why I find it unpersuasive. Disagreement is fine and expected. Sneering is not. If I cannot describe my opponent’s position in a way he would recognize, I have not earned the right to disagree with it.

One more thing worth saying. I will sometimes write, “I find this difficult.” There are doctrines I believe with my whole heart that still stretch my understanding, and I will not project a false certainty where the church itself has wrestled. Certainty about the main things does not require pretending the deep things are shallow.

So, dear Theo

There is no Theo sitting across the desk from me. There are, I hope, many Theos: lovers of God, real and unnamed, reading at kitchen tables and on lunch breaks, in Sunday school rows and hospital waiting rooms. You are the reason for the letter form. You can be reached by a letter in a way a lecture cannot reach you, because a letter is a conversation, and a conversation is where teaching becomes personal.

Luke wrote to his friend so that he might have certainty. I am writing to mine for the same reason. The material will be serious. The voice will be plain. The door is open.

Sincerely, your friend.

September 25, 2026
Living in Light of a Certain Inheritance
Have you ever received something so precious, so undeserved, that it changed your whole perspective? That’s what happened the day I inherited my grandmother’s Bible—worn, marked up with her notes, filled with her prayers. It wasn’t valuable in the world’s eyes, but to me? Priceless. In Ephesians 1, Paul reminds us that every believer in Christ has received something far more precious: a guaranteed, eternal inheritance.

Scripture focus: Ephesians 1:11-12 (ESV) “In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory.”

1. Seeing the Truth

Paul writes to a Roman world where inheritance was everything—your identity, your future, your security. To the Ephesian believers, that word carried deep weight. And Paul says, “In Him, we have obtained an inheritance.”

This isn’t just a future hope. It’s a present reality. If you are in Christ, you already belong to Him, and what is His is yours. This inheritance is no earthly windfall. It is salvation in all its fullness—past, present, and future.

We have been saved (justification), we are being saved (sanctification), and we will be saved (glorification). This promise is sealed with the Holy Spirit and will one day culminate in resurrected bodies, a new heaven and earth, and eternity with Jesus.

2. Grasping the Heart

Why does God give us such an inheritance? Not because we earned it. Not because we performed well enough. But because we are in Him.

“In Him” is Paul’s drumbeat throughout Ephesians. This inheritance is secure because Jesus Himself secured it. God predestined us according to His purpose, not our performance. Our assurance isn’t grounded in our feelings or our faithfulness—but in His eternal counsel and unwavering will.

Friend, this means your salvation isn’t shaky. It’s as firm as the throne of God.

3. Living It Out

If our inheritance is certain, how should we live?

With joyful freedom. With confident humility. With our eyes on eternity, and our feet grounded in today.

When you know your future is secure, you don’t have to grasp for the world’s approval. You can serve freely. Love deeply. Worship boldly.

And here’s the ultimate purpose: “…to the praise of His glory.”

We don’t live for applause. We live to echo the worth of the One who saved us. We are walking testaments to the grace of God, trophies of mercy, heirs of glory. Let that shape your today.

Take-home truth: In Christ, your inheritance is not just promised; it is already yours—secure, eternal, and all for His glory.

Reflection questions:
- What does it mean to you that your inheritance in Christ is already secured?
- Are there areas of your life where you’re still trying to earn what Jesus has already given?
- How can your life reflect the glory of God today?
Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that in You, I have a glorious inheritance. Help me rest in that truth, live for Your glory, and reflect Your grace in all I do. Amen.
July 13, 2025