Flawed Hearts, Perfect Judge: Why True Justice Belongs to God Alone

 

Sometimes, when we see injustice, the thought naturally rises in us:

"If only I had power, I would set things right."

It’s a noble impulse — the desire to protect the weak, to punish the cruel, to create a better world.
But history, stories, and our own human nature warn us: power without deep humility and wisdom often corrupts, rather than heals.

Watching The Boys recently, I found myself thinking about this deeply.
Homelander — a character many ironically admire — disgusts me. He has all the strength to protect, yet he shows no sympathy for the powerless.
He embodies what happens when power is separated from mercy: it becomes monstrous.
And it was almost a relief to see him finally meet his end.

But the tragedy is not limited to fiction.

The Myth of the Benevolent Ruler

The dream of the benevolent ruler is ancient.
Aristotle imagined a "philosopher king" — a ruler so wise, so virtuous, that he would rule with perfect justice.

Yet history tells another story.

Alexander the Great, trained by Aristotle himself, started with high ideals. But as he conquered, power consumed him. Paranoia, cruelty, and bloodshed followed.
Good intentions, it seems, are not enough.

Power does not create evil from nothing — it amplifies what is already hidden inside.

Biblical Honesty About Power

Even the Bible, God's Word itself, is honest about the dangers of human power.

• Saul began humbly, hiding among baggage, reluctant to be king.
  But when his power was threatened, he chose violence and pride over obedience to God.

• David, called "a man after God's own heart," once abused his kingly authority to take Bathsheba and murder her husband.

The Bible does not hide these stories.
It reveals a hard truth:

Humans, driven into a corner by fear, pride, or lust for survival, will often betray even their highest ideals.

No human heart is immune.

Longing for Justice in Today's World

Looking at the politics around me — especially in India today — I see this tragedy playing out again.
The majority, drunk with power, often turns on the vulnerable with cruelty, fueled by hatred, fear, and self-righteousness.
Minorities suffer violence, exclusion, and injustice.

Sometimes I catch myself wishing:

"If only I had a superhero’s power, I would stop this madness."

But I know better.
If history, scripture, and honest reflection teach me anything, it's that I am just as vulnerable to corruption as those I oppose.
If I had overwhelming power without the purity of heart that only God can give, I might fall into the same trap: using violence in the name of justice, becoming what I once hated.

So instead, I choose the harder path:
I pray.

I pray that God will bring justice for the oppressed — and mercy for the perpetrator.
Because only God — the perfect, holy Being — can wield power without falling into sin.
Only He can judge rightly, without pride, without vengeance, without error.

Hope Beyond Human Power

True strength is not found in domination, but in restraint.
True justice is not found in human heroes, but in the heart of the One who is perfectly righteous.

When I look at the brokenness of this world — when I feel the burning urge to fix it by force — I remind myself:

My heart, too, needs saving.

Hope does not lie in having more power than the wicked.
Hope lies in surrendering to the God who sees every tear, hears every cry, and will one day set everything right.

Until then, I pray, I wait, and I trust.
Not in myself.
But in the only true King.

😌✝️

God Meets You Where You Are — But Not How You Expect!

 

We often demand proof of God, don't we? A kind of cosmic negotiation:
"If God really exists, He should show Himself the way I want him to, on my terms. He should meet me on my playing field."
But here's the irony: God is never boxed in by our demands for proof or our definition of how He should act.

Consider how God revealed Himself to Moses — not in the majestic, overwhelming grandeur one might expect from a deity, but in a humble, yet extraordinary burning bush. There’s nothing grand about a bush — unless it’s on fire and not burning up. It’s the unassuming, mundane, yet unmistakable presence of the divine that makes us pause.

And then there’s Mount Horeb — a place where God appeared to Israel in fire and cloud, both powerful and mysterious. It’s one thing to believe in a deity who’s unapproachable, looming in distant grandeur. It’s another to believe in a God who guides, who leads in the midst of chaos, both near and uncontainable. God didn’t follow a script; He rewrote it, again and again, to meet the needs of His people at their most desperate points.

Then there’s Job, who questioned God amidst his suffering, demanding answers from a universe that seemed indifferent. And how did God respond? In a storm. A storm — not of gentle whispers, but a raw, untamed force. It’s almost as if God said, “You wanted to know how I work in the world, Job? I am that wild. I do not fit in your boxes, I am not your puppet. But I am here.” The storm became His voice, and Job, in the end, was forced to wrestle with the tension of who God is beyond human reason.

Then, in stark contrast, Elijah finds himself in the desolate wilderness, on the run from a world that seems to have lost its moral compass. His desperate soul needed reassurance, yet the God he served appeared not in a storm or fire, but in a soft whisper. A whisper. Gentle. Intimate. He didn’t need to prove His existence with cataclysmic displays. He was present, in the quiet, to the prophet who was afraid, tired, and had nothing left.

It’s in these contradictions that the mystery of God unfolds. He shows up how He wants, where He wants, and when He wants. And, of course, that’s not how we would write the script.

---

The Skeptic’s Demand for Proof: Irony and Paradox

Atheists, or those who simply want proof of God’s existence, demand something clear-cut.
"Show me the evidence, the sign, the clear answer!" they say. They expect God to prove Himself according to human standards. If God is so great, they think, surely He would not hide behind these baffling stories, these elusive encounters. Why not show Himself in ways we can easily test and measure, like some well-controlled scientific experiment?

But here’s the irony:
When God does choose to show up in our lives, we often dismiss Him. "I need more," we say. "I need Him to prove Himself more clearly, more scientifically."
And when He chooses to appear as a burning bush? Or in a whispering breeze? We scoff. It's too odd. It's too subtle. God, in His infinite creativity and power, refuses to dance to our tune.

He doesn’t submit to our demands because God is not a lab experiment or a magic trick for our entertainment. He is God, and His ways are far higher than our ways. We cannot dictate the terms of the divine encounter. He meets us where we are, but He does not follow our script.

---

Conclusion: The Challenge of Faith

Perhaps the greatest challenge of faith is not the proof of God’s existence, but the mystery of His presence. The God who met Moses in a burning bush, who led Israel in clouds and fire, who whispered to Elijah in the wilderness, and who came in the storm to Job — that same God is present today, inviting us into His mystery. But He does not conform to our expectations.

He is present in the chaos and in the quiet. In the storm and in the whisper. But we are the ones who need to shift our gaze — and often our pride — to see Him, just as He is, not as we want Him to be.

And so, the question is not whether God will reveal Himself to us on our terms, but whether we are willing to let Him meet us on His.

---

A Note for the Seeker:
If you’re waiting for God to prove Himself exactly the way you want, be prepared for disappointment. He works in mysterious ways, but He’s never distant. The question is: are you willing to meet Him in the ways He’s revealing Himself?

🌿 Life is Not a Hero’s Journey

I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon: What if life is not a hero’s journey?

Everything around me—social media, advertising, books, podcasts, even some of the most respected thinkers like Jordan Peterson—speak of life as a personal adventure. They urge us to “step up,” “slay the dragon,” “be the main character,” and “live our truth.” It’s inspiring. It feels empowering. But deep down, something about it feels… incomplete.

Because here’s the truth no one puts on a billboard: not everyone gets to be the hero.

Social media shows us curated highlight reels. Advertisements promise us glory if only we buy their product. Influencers tell us we’re missing out on a great adventure. Everything screams: “You should be more. You’re falling behind. You’re not enough… yet.”

But maybe the lie isn’t that life is hard.
Maybe the lie is that life must always be epic.

---

What if the greatest stories are the quiet ones?

What if you’re not the hero, but the one who stays faithful in the shadows?
What if you don’t conquer kingdoms but raise a family, plant a garden, keep your word, show up on hard days, and pray when no one’s watching?

That isn’t glamorous.
But it might just be holy.

---

Even Jesus didn’t live the kind of hero’s life the world celebrates.
Born in obscurity. Died in disgrace. Misunderstood. Mocked. Betrayed.
He didn’t climb the ladder. He descended.
And yet—He changed the world, not by winning, but by giving.

Maybe the true calling isn’t to be a hero, but to be a servant, a pilgrim, a child of God.

Maybe we’re not missing out.
Maybe we’re just not buying in.

---

So, I reject the glamour and choose the grace.
I lay down the spotlight and take up the cross.
I walk the quiet road, knowing that my life doesn’t need to be loud to be meaningful.

Because sometimes, the quiet faithfulness of the unknown is the most powerful defiance of all.

Not all lives are epic tales,
Some are soft like morning trails.
Not all climb to dragon’s den,
Some just hold the line again.
To walk unseen, yet not alone—
This quiet life may be the throne. 😌

#PassionWeek #Meditation

The Bible Is Not Just Archetype: A Response to Jordan Peterson

 By a quiet soul who smiles while reading, weeps while praying, and seeks the nearness of God in silence.

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I have listened to Jordan Peterson with interest and sometimes admiration. His voice has carried many through darkness, calling them toward structure, meaning, and courage. He speaks of chaos and order, of archetypes and narratives, of the Hero’s Journey and the necessity of bearing one's cross. He points to the Bible—especially Genesis—as a treasure trove of psychological wisdom, forged through millennia of storytelling.

And yet, I find myself pausing.

Not to disagree harshly, but to whisper something deeper—a difference that cannot be charted in psychology textbooks or Jungian diagrams. It’s the difference between hearing a story and hearing God.

---

📖 The Psalms: Not Just Expressions, But Prayers

When I read the Psalms, I don’t just see psychological catharsis. I see a man—wounded, joyful, fearful, raw—speaking to Someone who hears.

“You have counted my tossings; put my tears in your bottle.” (Psalm 56:8, NRSV)

That line doesn’t just symbolize grief. It speaks to me—because I believe it is God who remembers my tears, not just a poetic archetype.

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✝️ Christ: Not Merely the Hero, But the Risen Lord

Peterson often sees Christ as the culmination of the heroic ideal—the archetype of suffering nobility. And while that may awaken a reverence in some, to me… Christ is more.

He is not just the Logos in mythic clothing.
He is not just the man who suffered well.
He is the One who rose.

He is the voice that says,

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)

That’s not metaphor. That’s personal.

---

🕊️ Faith Is Not Pretending God Exists

One of Peterson’s most quoted lines is that he chooses to "live as if God exists." And perhaps that is a noble beginning. But to me, that feels like standing at the threshold without entering the house.

I don’t live as if He exists.
I live because He does.

I have cried to Him in weakness.
I have smiled at His Word like a friend’s familiar face.
I have fallen short, again and again, and found grace in the quiet.

Not meaning. Not archetype. Grace.

---

🚭️ Archetypes May Inspire, But God Transforms

Yes, the Bible is filled with archetypal beauty—patterns that stir the soul, themes that echo through generations. But its power isn’t in being “true enough to work.”

It is true because God spoke it. And when He speaks, the dead rise, the fearful are comforted, and sinners like me are given new hearts.

---

In Conclusion

I respect Peterson’s intellect, and I’m thankful for the way he’s stirred a generation to take Scripture seriously—even if symbolically. But for me, the Bible is not just a psychological survival manual. It’s not just wisdom literature for the modern chaos.

It is God’s letter. His cry. His love. His truth.

And when I read it—smiling, weeping, sometimes trembling—I am not decoding a myth.
I am meeting Someone.

---

Postscript: A Hopeful Watching

I think Peterson is still on a journey. Lately, there have been glimpses—moments when his voice breaks, his eyes well up with tears as he speaks of Jesus. Not as an idea, but as someone... real.

When he said, “I don’t know what would happen if you fully believed it,” and choked up, I saw a man standing on the edge of awe.

It reminds me of how C.S. Lewis described his own conversion: myth became fact. The heart finally saw what the mind had long wrestled with.

Maybe one day, Peterson will not just say, "I act as if God exists," but like the Apostle Paul, proclaim,

“I know whom I have believed.” (2 Timothy 1:12)

And on that day, heaven will rejoice—and perhaps a quiet soul like mine will too, smiling in the corner of a room, whispering prayers of thanks.

😌📖💝

The God Who Will Be: How Yahweh’s Dynamic Name Shapes Faith, Prayer, and Justice

Introduction: A Name That Refuses to Be Contained

The most profound moment of divine self-disclosure in the Bible occurs at a desert shrub. When Moses asks for God’s name at the burning bush (Exodus 3:14), the answer—Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh—defies simplistic translation. While often rendered "I AM WHO I AM," the Hebrew grammar and narrative context reveal something far more dynamic: "I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE."

This name is not a philosophical statement about God’s being, but a promise of presence—one that unfolds across salvation history, reshaping how we pray, suffer, and engage the world.

---

I. The Grammar of Revelation: Why "I WILL BE" Matters

A. The Hebrew Tense That Changes Everything

The verb ehyeh (אֶהְיֶה) is in the imperfect tense, denoting incomplete action. In biblical Hebrew, this often implies:

• Future orientation ("I will be")

• Continuous action ("I am being")

• Intentionality ("I choose to become")

Scholar Walter Brueggemann notes: "Yahweh’s name is not a label but a verb—an active commitment to show up in ways that defy expectations" (Brueggemann 1997, 182).

B. The Anti-Idolatry Function

Ancient Near Eastern religions tied gods to fixed domains (Baal=storm; Dagon=harvest). Yahweh’s name rejects this:

• No limits: He will be deliverer, lawgiver, suffering servant.

• No manipulation: Unlike idols, He cannot be controlled by rituals (Isaiah 43:10-13).

---

II. The Story of "I WILL BE": Covenant as Divine Improvisation

A. Patriarchs: The God of Unfolding Promises

To Abraham: "I will be your shield" (Genesis 15:1).
To Jacob: "I will be with you wherever you go" (Genesis 28:15).

B. Exodus: Liberation in Real Time

God’s name precedes His acts:

1. "I will be with you" (3:12) → Leads Israel out.

2. "I will be your healer" (15:26) → Provides in wilderness.

C. Jesus: The Ultimate "I WILL BE"

In Christ, God becomes what we most need:

• Bread (John 6:35)

• Light (John 8:12)

• Resurrection (John 11:25)

---

III. Praxis: Living With the God Who Will Be

A. Prayer as Expectant Dialogue

• Lament: "How will You be just in this injustice?" (Psalm 74).

• Intercession: "Be their comfort as You were mine" (2 Corinthians 1:4).

B. Justice as Covenantal Partnership

If God will be defender of the oppressed (Psalm 146:7), His people must:

• Advocate for marginalized (Isaiah 1:17).

• Create spaces where His future shalom is glimpsed today.

C. Suffering With a Future

When life fractures, the "I WILL BE" God:

• Does not always explain.

• Does pledge His presence (Isaiah 43:2).

---

Conclusion: The Unfinished Name

Yahweh’s refusal to be pinned down is our greatest hope. In a world of chaos, we follow the God who:

• Was faithful.

• Is present.

• Will be more than we can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

Prayer:
"God, You are not trapped in my small ideas of You.
You will be my provider in lack,
my peace in chaos,
my hope in despair.
As I walk forward, open my eyes to how You are becoming
everything You’ve promised to be. Amen."

---

Bibliography

1. Brueggemann, Walter. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy. Fortress Press, 1997.

2. Cassuto, Umberto. A Commentary on Exodus. Magnes Press, 1967.

3. Fretheim, Terence E. Exodus: Interpretation Commentary. Westminster John Knox, 2010.

4. Moltmann, Jürgen. The Coming of God: Christian Eschatology. Fortress Press, 1996.

5. Moberly, R.W.L. Old Testament Theology: Reading the Hebrew Bible as Christian Scripture. Baker Academic, 2013.

##PassionWeek#Meditation

The King Who Carried the Cross: A Passion Week Meditation

 How strange it is...

That the God who formed galaxies with a whisper
Would allow Himself to be silenced by nails.

That the One who holds time in His hands
Would enter time—be born of a woman,
Feel hunger,
Walk dusty roads,
And cry at graves.

What sort of God does this?

Certainly not one made in our image.
We reach for power. He let go of it.
We cling to pride. He knelt to wash feet.
We avoid pain. He walked straight into it.

During Passion Week, we do not see a distant deity.
We see a wounded King—bent under the weight of a splintered cross,
Not because He was forced,
But because He loves.

“No one takes my life from me,” He said, “but I lay it down of my own accord.” (John 10:18)

It wasn’t the nails that held Him there.
It was love—love stronger than death.

And because of that love,
He is worthy—not just to wear a crown of thorns—
But to wear the crown of glory.

Because He walked the path of the Cross,
He now sits enthroned above every name,
Every power, every kingdom, and every dominion.

And I,
Dust and soul,
Am in awe.

I look to the cross, and I whisper what my words cannot hold:

"Thank You for being my God."
Worthy is the Lamb.
Worthy is the Lamb.

😌✝️💔👑

Wrestling with the Silence: Does He Really Care?

The silence of God is one of the hardest things to bear — a silence that is not the absence of His presence, but the space where questions live. The kind of questions that don’t have easy answers, the ones that gnaw at the soul and make the heart feel as though it’s walking in a fog.

Does He really care?

In the midst of suffering — when you look around and see the weight of pain in the world, the brokenness, the cries of the hurting — it’s easy to wonder if God is distant, or worse, indifferent. It’s a question that has lingered in human hearts for centuries. The problem of suffering isn’t just intellectual; it’s visceral. It hurts. It feels.

We can reason through it: free will, the fall, the fallen world. We can remind ourselves that suffering is a part of the story, that it has a place in the greater mystery of life. But that doesn’t always ease the ache in our chest, the gnawing worry that maybe — just maybe — He isn’t listening. Or doesn’t care.

The Pain of Unanswered Prayers

And what about the prayers we’ve poured out, the ones that feel as though they’ve risen up and simply disappeared into the void? The prayers for healing, for clarity, for peace, for the world’s suffering to end — and yet, the silence remains. God feels distant, the heavens feel like brass, and all we are left with is waiting.

But what if that waiting isn’t empty? What if God’s silence in these moments isn’t a rejection, but an invitation to trust without seeing, to hope without knowing? We may never fully understand why some prayers go unanswered, or why some of our cries seem to echo without an immediate response, but in that space of waiting, we are stretched, refined, and shaped.

In the wrestling with that silence, something profound happens. We lean in, even when answers don’t come. We choose to stay in the tension. We choose to ask the hard questions, trusting that in our search, He meets us, even if we don’t hear His voice right away.

In that silence, He isn’t absent. He is there, waiting for us to speak, to ask, to wrestle, to long. Even in the unanswered prayer, He is present. Perhaps God’s silence isn’t a sign of His absence, but an invitation to seek Him deeper, to trust Him more.

Psalm 13:1-6 (NRSV)
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul,
and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’;
my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.
But I trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.”

 😌💝

Fog Machines and False Fire: The Hollow Worship of Modern Christianity

Imagine Jesus, sandals dusty from His journey, stepping into a mega-church. The lights are blinding, the fog machines are rolling, the worship leader—oops, performer—is hitting that perfect high note. The congregation sways, hands raised, tears flowing. It all looks so spiritual. But Jesus isn’t easily sold by this vibe culture. He’s scanning the room. He sees the VIP seating for "honored guests." He sees the pastor preaching a prosperity gospel while wearing sneakers worth a poor man’s monthly rent. He sees people feeling moved but not changed. And then He sees the bookstore selling self-help books that slap the word Jesus on top but are really just motivational fluff.

And He sighs.

"My house shall be called a house of prayer… but you all turned it into a concert venue with a gift shop." 

Here’s the irony—today’s churches are more technically advanced than ever. We got live-streaming, worship bands with Grammy ambitions, and pastors who are basically social media influencers. But somehow, we have less actual faith. Less repentance. Less discipleship. And don’t even get me started on how people pick churches like they pick restaurants—"I didn’t feel fed today." Oh, I’m sorry, was the Word of God not spicy enough for your tastes? 😌

Worship today is often more about vibes than sacrifice. More about emotional highs than surrendered hearts. More about "God, bless me!" than "God, break me and mold me." Jesus didn’t say, "Come, and I’ll make your dreams come true!" He said, "Come, die to yourself." But who wants to hear that when they could just hear, "God’s got big plans for you!" instead?

Of course, not every big church is like this. And God, in His grace, still works through all of it. But if the church becomes more about performance than holiness, then it’s just another business—one where the product is feelings, and the currency is hype.

Meanwhile, Jesus is still calling for the same thing He did 2,000 years ago: Repent, take up your cross, and follow Me. But you know… that doesn’t look as cool on an LED screen with a fog machine. 😌