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A Country Pastor, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C., DC (2026)

A simple Jesus-Christian country pastor sharing God’s love from farm life to faith through Jesus’ lens for compassion, justice, & stewardship, guided by God’s unrelenting grace to stand up for the least of thee with Jesus as the forgiving judge, not man❤️

06/18/2026

Israel Was Left Out; Trump Didn’t Really Care
By A Country Pastor

“Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God” (Psalm 20:7).

Many are saying Trump lost these negotiations. Others are saying Iran gained the upper hand. Some are saying Israel was left standing in the cold while larger powers negotiated outcomes that would directly affect its future. Those arguments will continue long after the details of the agreement have faded from the headlines. Political commentators will debate who won, who lost, who gave up too much, and who gained an advantage. What caught my attention was not the political argument itself, but how quickly it brought to mind a much older story.

The phrase “Israel was left out” sounds surprisingly familiar to anyone who spends time in Scripture. Ancient Israel often found itself living in a world shaped by powers larger than itself. Entire generations watched foreign rulers, distant capitals, shifting alliances, and military conflicts reshape their future. The biblical story repeatedly reminds us that God’s people were never as powerful as they imagined and never as powerless as they feared. They often believed history was being controlled by kings, yet the prophets continually pointed beyond kings toward God.

What makes the current moment even more interesting is that the land now called Iran occupies a significant place in the biblical story. Most Christians know it only through modern headlines, yet Scripture knows it by another name: Persia. Persia was not merely a distant empire. Persia became the place from which exiles returned home. Persia became the setting for Esther’s story. Nehemiah served a Persian king. Daniel lived under Persian rule. Cyrus of Persia issued the decree that allowed Jerusalem to be rebuilt (Ezra 1:1-4), and Isaiah even refers to Cyrus as God’s anointed for that purpose (Isaiah 45:1). The Bible has a remarkable way of disrupting our assumptions. Nations that appear in one generation as adversaries sometimes appear in another as instruments through which God accomplishes His purposes.

That reality makes the prophetic witness of Scripture even more important. The prophets rarely spent their time helping God’s people identify permanent enemies. They spent their time exposing misplaced trust. Whenever Israel looked to kings, armies, wealth, alliances, religious institutions, or political arrangements for security, the prophets called them back to God. The issue was never whether those things existed. The issue was whether God’s people expected those things to provide what only God could provide.

That struggle appears clearly in 1 Samuel 8. Israel wanted a king because they wanted to be like the nations around them (1 Samuel 8:5). They wanted certainty. They wanted visible strength. They wanted the comfort of believing someone powerful was in control of their future. God warned them about the nature of kings, but the warning was not really about monarchy. It was about trust. The people were seeking from a king what they should have been seeking from God.

Reading that story today can feel uncomfortable because the temptation has not disappeared. Many people inherited a version of Christianity that became deeply intertwined with political power, national identity, cultural influence, and the search for leaders who promised security. Over time it became difficult to distinguish between faith in God and faith in systems of power. Political victories felt like spiritual victories. Political defeats felt like spiritual defeats. Yet when Scripture is allowed to speak for itself, it consistently pulls the reader back toward a different set of concerns. Isaiah warns against trusting military strength (Isaiah 31:1). Jeremiah warns against placing confidence in human power (Jeremiah 17:5-8). Micah points toward justice, mercy, and humility before God (Micah 6:8). The prophets keep returning to the condition of the heart because they understood that misplaced trust eventually becomes a form of idolatry.

Reading the headlines through Scripture changes the conversation. The news naturally focuses on negotiations, military strategy, political leverage, national interests, and shifting alliances. Scripture keeps drawing attention to something deeper. It asks what happens when fear grows. It asks where people turn when certainty disappears. It asks whether trust rests in God or in things that merely appear strong and permanent. Those questions run through the entire biblical story, from Israel’s demand for a king to the exile, from Persia’s rise to the Roman occupation that existed during the life of Jesus.

Many people today are reexamining the faith they inherited because they are discovering that the Kingdom of God and the kingdoms of this world are not the same thing. The prophets challenged kings when kings lost their way. They challenged nations when nations lost their way. They challenged religious leaders when religious leaders lost their way. Their concern was never whether God’s people possessed enough power. Their concern was whether God’s people remained faithful. Jesus carried that same concern. He spoke far more about neighbors than nations, far more about mercy than dominance, and far more about faithfulness than victory.

Perhaps that is why the phrase continues to linger. Not because it settles a political debate, but because it echoes a lesson Scripture has been teaching for centuries. Kingdoms pursue their interests. Leaders make decisions. Alliances shift. Empires rise and fall. The names change from one generation to the next, but the deeper question remains remarkably consistent. When uncertainty grows and powerful people gather in rooms where decisions are made, where do God’s people place their trust?

The headlines surrounding Trump, Iran, and Israel will eventually give way to new headlines, new leaders, new conflicts, and new promises of security. The biblical question remains. It is the same question the prophets asked. It is the same question that confronted Israel when it demanded a king. It is the same question that followed God’s people into exile and eventually brought them home again. It is the same question that stands before the church today.

Where has trust been placed?

06/17/2026

Minding Other People’s Business: A Proverbs Lesson for America
By A Country Pastor

America just cannot seem to leave Iran alone.

More than seventy years ago, nearly three quarters of a century ago, America helped overthrow Iran’s democratically elected government. America and Britain helped install and support the Shah. The Shah fell. The revolution came. Hostages were taken. Sanctions followed. Threats followed. Negotiations followed. Administrations changed. Political parties changed. Entire generations came and went. Yet somehow America keeps finding itself back in the same place, staring at the same nation, convinced that this time the outcome will somehow be different.

There is something about that story that feels larger than politics. It feels familiar because it is familiar. Human beings have always struggled with the temptation to manage stories that do not belong to them. We see a situation from a distance and become convinced that our involvement is necessary. We see another person’s life and quietly assume we know how it should unfold. We see another family, another church, another community, another nation, and become convinced that our wisdom is sufficient to shape their future. The larger the power, the larger the temptation.

Scripture saw this tendency long ago. “Like one who grabs a stray dog by the ears is someone who rushes into a quarrel not their own.” The focus is not really the dog. The focus is the person who looked at a situation that did not belong to them and became convinced that it did. The person reaching for the dog’s ears believes they are acting wisely. They believe they are helping. They believe their involvement is necessary. The remarkable thing about meddlers is that they almost never think of themselves as meddlers.

Most of us have known a nosy neighbor. The one who always seems to know how everybody else should live. The one who has opinions about somebody else’s marriage, somebody else’s children, somebody else’s finances, somebody else’s decisions. They spend so much time looking over the fence that they rarely stop to consider the condition of their own yard. Yet they genuinely believe they are helping. That is what makes meddling so dangerous. It disguises itself as concern. It disguises itself as wisdom. It disguises itself as responsibility.

History suggests that nations can suffer from the same blindness.

Looking at the long history between America and Iran, one cannot help but notice how often power convinces itself that it is wisdom. In 1953, democracy was celebrated until democracy produced an outcome that threatened powerful interests. An elected government was removed. A king was supported. The consequences unfolded for decades. Revolutions followed. Hostages followed. Sanctions followed. Threats followed. New strategies followed. New administrations followed. Yet the underlying assumption rarely seemed to change. Somebody, somewhere, remained convinced that Iran’s future was somehow America’s business.

Donald Trump campaigned against endless wars and foreign entanglements. Many Americans cheered because they were weary of watching their nation become involved in conflicts half a world away. Yet here we are again. Before Trump, presidents promised solutions. After Trump, presidents will promise solutions. The faces change. The speeches change. The strategy memos change. Yet the gravitational pull remains. At some point a nation must ask whether it is confronting a problem or surrendering to a temptation.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable possibility is that America keeps returning to Iran for the same reason the nosy neighbor keeps looking over the fence. There is something within us that struggles to accept that other people have stories that do not belong to us. We keep believing that our involvement is necessary. We keep believing that our pressure is justified. We keep believing that our intentions make us wise. More than seventy years later, it is worth asking whether we have been confronting a problem or feeding a habit.

Scripture repeatedly warns about this tendency. Jesus spoke of people who could see the smallest flaw in another person’s eye while remaining blind to the plank in their own. Before correcting others, examine yourself. Before managing others, confront yourself. Before reaching across the fence, spend some time tending your own vineyard. Scripture consistently points toward humility because humility sees what pride cannot.

Power has always struggled with humility. Kings struggled with it. Empires struggled with it. Nations struggle with it. Churches struggle with it. Individuals struggle with it. Pride is not merely thinking highly of ourselves. Pride is believing that our judgment is so reliable that we no longer question whether we should be involved at all. Pride convinces us that because we possess influence, we possess wisdom. Pride convinces us that because we have power, we have permission.

The Kingdom of God moves in a different direction. Jesus never confused control with love. He never confused domination with transformation. He never confused power with truth. Again and again, Scripture points toward humility, restraint, self-examination, mercy, and wisdom. Man’s way seeks control. God’s way seeks transformation. One attempts to manage outcomes. The other changes hearts.

The hopeful news is that Scripture never leaves humanity trapped in its worst instincts. The same Scriptures that warn about pride also point toward another way. Humility can be chosen. Restraint can be chosen. Wisdom can be chosen. Nations are not condemned to repeat the mistakes of previous generations forever. People are not condemned to repeat them either. The path of Jesus remains open, even when the path of power feels familiar.

More than seventy years later, America is still wrestling with Iran. The deeper question may be whether America is willing to wrestle with the temptation that keeps bringing it back.

06/16/2026

The Irony of Loving God Without Loving His People
By A Country Pastor

One of the great ironies of faith is that people can become convinced they love God while showing very little love for the people God loves.

At first glance, that sounds impossible. Jesus joined love of God and love of neighbor together so completely that He treated them as inseparable. When asked about the greatest commandment, Jesus answered by naming both. Love God. Love your neighbor. In the teachings of Jesus, one naturally flows into the other. Love for God reveals itself through love for people.

Yet throughout history people have repeatedly separated what Jesus joined together. They become singularly focused on God, singularly focused on religion, singularly focused on heaven, doctrine, or defending what they believe to be true. Their devotion may be sincere. Their prayers may be sincere. Their desire to know God may be sincere. Yet somewhere along the way, God becomes the destination, heaven becomes the goal, and Jesus becomes the means of getting there.

The irony is that some become so focused on being with God later that they stop looking for God here. They become so focused on following Jesus to heaven that they stop following the way of Jesus on earth. They speak often about God while overlooking the people, the creation, and the places where Jesus said He could be found.

Jesus did not spend His ministry teaching people how to escape the world. He taught them how to live within the Kingdom of God here and now. Again and again He pointed people toward the hungry, the stranger, the sick, the prisoner, the poor, the vulnerable, and the neighbor. The God revealed by Jesus is not detached from people, detached from creation, or detached from the world He made. Love for God naturally draws us toward the things God loves.

That is why the words of Jesus in Matthew 25 are so important. Jesus did not tell His followers that love for God could be measured only through worship, prayer, doctrine, or religious devotion. Instead, He pointed them toward the hungry, the stranger, the prisoner, the sick, and the vulnerable, declaring that whatever they did for the least of these, they did for Him.

Think about how radical that statement really is. The people we encounter every day are not distractions from God. They are often the very place where our love for God is revealed.

Scripture describes followers of Jesus as the body of Jesus. They become His hands and feet in the world. Through them compassion is expressed, mercy is shared, forgiveness is offered, and love becomes visible. Yet many people spend enormous amounts of energy pursuing a relationship with God while showing very little interest in the people through whom Jesus said He would be found. They become so focused on heaven that they miss the hurting neighbor standing in front of them. They become so focused on defending God that they fail to love the people God loves.

At some point we have to ask a harder question. What happens when a religion speaks constantly about God but has little room for the people God loves? What happens when Jesus is celebrated while the teachings of Jesus are ignored? What happens when faith becomes detached from compassion, mercy, humility, forgiveness, and love?

The prophets wrestled with those questions. Jesus confronted them. The early church wrestled with them. The temptation has always been the same. We create a version of God that reflects our priorities rather than allowing God to shape ours.

The purpose of faith was never merely to convince us that God exists. The purpose of faith is to allow God to transform us. The question is not simply whether we believe in God. The question is whether our lives are becoming more like the God we claim to follow. Are we becoming more loving, more merciful, more compassionate, more forgiving, and more concerned for others? If not, then perhaps the issue is not that we have rejected God. Perhaps we have settled for a version of God that asks very little of us while leaving us largely unchanged.

I have also known people who were so wounded by religion that they struggled to believe in God at all. Some walked away from faith entirely. Yet despite rejecting religion, many continued to display remarkable compassion, generosity, kindness, and concern for others. That should give us pause. How is it that some who claim no faith sometimes reflect more of the love Jesus taught than people who speak constantly about God?

I am not suggesting that faith is unimportant. Quite the opposite. I am suggesting that the fruit of faith matters. Jesus said a tree is known by its fruit. The question is not merely whether God is on our lips. The question is whether God’s love is showing up in our lives. Love of God that does not grow into love of people eventually becomes something other than the faith Jesus taught.

We build a religion around God while drifting away from the heart of God.

The separation does not stop with people. The same thing happens when we lose concern for God’s creation, for the world God called good, for the beauty of nature, for the stranger, for the poor, and for all the places where God’s love is meant to be lived and expressed. The God revealed by Jesus is not detached from His creation. He is not detached from people. He is not detached from the world He made.

Love for God naturally draws us toward the things God loves. It draws us toward people. It draws us toward mercy. It draws us toward justice. It draws us toward creation itself. When those connections begin to disappear, we should pause and ask whether we are following God or merely following an idea about God.

The danger is not that people stop talking about God. The danger is that they continue talking about God while becoming increasingly disconnected from the heart of God. Faith can become an exercise in defending God rather than reflecting God. A religion centered on God while remaining indifferent to neighbor eventually becomes a religion centered on ourselves.

That question should unsettle all of us. What if we have become experts at talking about God while drifting away from the things God loves? What if we have become so committed to religion that we no longer recognize the places where Jesus is standing? What if we have spent years talking about God while failing to love the people, the creation, and the world God loves?

The good news is that Jesus never closed the door on people who had lost their way. Again and again, Jesus invited people to begin again. The invitation remains the same today. Love God. Love your neighbor. Love the things God loves.

The people around us are not interruptions to our faith. They are often the very place where our faith becomes real.

The irony of loving God without loving His people is that sooner or later we must ask whether we are loving God at all, or simply loving an idea of God. The hope of the Gospel is that it is never too late to return to the heart of God, revealed in love for God, love for neighbor, and love expressed through action.

06/15/2026

The Confusion of Masculinity: Playing the Part
By A Country Pastor

Was that manhood on display at the White House, or are the people who spend the most time lecturing everyone else about masculinity the ones who have become confused about it?

For years, America has listened to arguments about what makes a real man. Many of the voices leading those conversations seem quick to dismiss compassion, gentleness, humility, and care for others while celebrating aggression, bravado, and domination. The contradiction is difficult to miss. The people most concerned with masculinity often seem the most occupied with displaying it. A man secure in who he is rarely needs to perform it.

The White House became the latest stage upon which that confusion was displayed. Sweaty fighters posed for cameras. Insults flew. Threats were exchanged. Men played their roles while a crowd watched. The setting made the scene even more revealing. This was the White House, the People’s House. Yet for a few hours, it felt closer to the courts of kings and the spectacles of ancient Rome, where rulers surrounded themselves with displays of power, and crowds were invited to admire the show. What many people called masculinity looked much closer to theater.

Somewhere along the way, many people stopped asking whether a man is trustworthy, faithful, responsible, compassionate, and kind. The focus shifted toward appearance, toward projecting strength, toward convincing others that strength exists rather than simply living it. A culture obsessed with proving manhood eventually forgets to become good men.

Few public figures embody that confusion more completely than Donald Trump. Appearance, branding, image, television, and spectacle have shaped much of his public life. Even his language reflects that worldview. He often speaks about people as though they came from central casting, as though life itself is a production and everyone has been assigned a role. Hair, makeup, branding, stagecraft, larger-than-life personas, carefully crafted images all point toward a world where appearance carries enormous weight. The White House event reflected that same vision. The cameras were there. The performers were there. The audience was there. Everything needed for a show was present, even the sick attacks on women centering on Michelle Obama.They have confused men and women while claiming others are confused.

The irony is difficult to miss. Many of the same people who complain about artificiality, performance, and image in others often celebrate those very qualities when they appear in their own heroes. The loudest criticisms frequently reveal the deepest blind spots.

Perhaps their confusion helps explain why someone such as James Talarico generates such strong reactions. Whether one agrees with his politics is beside the point. There is something familiar about him. He carries himself like the clean-cut teacher, the pastor, the neighbor, or the coach that Americans have recognized for generations. In a strange twist, he almost appears to have stepped straight out of what Donald Trump would call central casting. Yet the script is entirely different. The conversation centers on service, responsibility, community, compassion, and care for others. Those qualities rarely dominate headlines, yet they quietly hold together homes, schools, churches, and communities every day.

Jesus viewed people through a lens that our culture often struggles to understand. Wealth, status, popularity, influence, appearance, and power never determined a person’s worth in His eyes. He saw people created in the image of God. The labels, divisions, categories, and rankings that consumed so many others carried little weight beside the simple truth that every person belonged to God.

Jesus also refused to judge people according to the standards that dominate so much of modern culture. He never sorted people according to wealth, influence, appearance, status, or power. He consistently moved toward people who had been overlooked, dismissed, excluded, or pushed aside. The value of a person was never determined by how much attention they could command or how much power they could accumulate. Their value came from belonging to God.

When Jesus spoke about greatness, He pointed toward service (Mark 10:42-45). When He spoke about leadership, He pointed toward humility (Matthew 23:11-12). When He spoke about neighbors, He expanded the circle of who belonged (Luke 10:25-37). The religious leaders of His day often cared deeply about appearances, recognition, titles, and admiration. Jesus challenged them because they had become more concerned with how they appeared than who they were becoming (Matthew 6:1-5).

The confusion of masculinity is ultimately a confusion about what makes a human being valuable. A culture fascinated with power naturally gravitates toward strongmen, spectacles, and performances. Jesus kept directing people toward compassion, mercy, humility, faithfulness, and love because those qualities reveal the character of God and create the kind of communities where people flourish.

The White House spectacle will eventually fade from memory. Another controversy will replace it. Another performance will capture attention. Another crowd will gather. The deeper question remains. Scripture reminds us that human beings look upon outward appearance while God looks upon the heart (1 Samuel 16:7). That truth has never changed.

Long after the cameras are gone, long after the crowd has moved on, and long after the performance is over, what remains is the heart.

And perhaps that is the real question raised by the White House spectacle. Were we witnessing manhood, or were we witnessing a culture so determined to perform manhood that it has begun to lose sight of what it is?

06/14/2026

The World’s Richest Man: A Trillionaire
By A Country Pastor

There has always been a world’s richest man. Long before Forbes Magazine, stock markets, social media, and billionaire rankings, there was always someone who held that title. A king, an emperor, a merchant, or a ruler. Most of their names have been forgotten, even though people in their own time likely viewed them with the same fascination many reserve for billionaires today. There is something revealing about that title, though. History has produced many holders of it. Their fortunes seemed enormous in their day. Their influence seemed permanent. Yet the title always moved on to someone else. Today the title is often associated with Elon Musk. One day, the title will belong to someone else.

It is simply the truth. Scripture reminds us that we are dust and to dust we shall return (Genesis 3:19). Ecclesiastes reminds us that generations come and generations go (Ecclesiastes 1:4). Wealth can buy many things, but it cannot buy permanence. The title of world’s richest man sounds almost eternal, yet history tells a different story. It always passes to someone else.

Human beings have never been particularly comfortable with that reality. The people of Babel sought to make a name for themselves and build a tower reaching toward the heavens (Genesis 11:4). Thousands of years later, the temptation remains the same. Buildings bear names. Companies bear names. Brands bear names. Entire lives can become devoted to making sure a name survives long after the person is gone. The struggle is ancient. The faces simply change.

Donald Trump turns 80 this year. Much of his public life has been built around a name, a brand, an image, and a title. Long before politics, television helped transform that image into something larger than life. Modern culture discovered that fame itself could become a form of wealth. People could become known simply for being known. An entire generation was taught to admire celebrity, often without asking whether the celebrity had earned admiration through wisdom, service, character, or simply visibility. Scripture has a name for that temptation. Babel. “Let us make a name for ourselves” (Genesis 11:4).

Elon Musk represents a different expression of the same human struggle. He demonstrated an extraordinary ability to identify emerging technologies, gather resources, and place himself at the center of industries shaping the modern world. Yet his wealth raises a question larger than Elon Musk himself. How much influence should one person possess? Through companies connected to transportation, communications, satellites, artificial intelligence, social media, and space technology, enormous influence has become concentrated in the hands of a single individual. Whether someone admires Musk or opposes him is not really the point. The question is whether any human being should possess that much influence over how society communicates, travels, receives information, and imagines its future.

A trillion dollars is a number so large that most people cannot truly comprehend it. Most families think in terms of paychecks, mortgages, groceries, retirement accounts, and whether there will be enough left at the end of the month. A trillion dollars exists in an entirely different universe. At that scale, the conversation is no longer simply about wealth. It becomes a question of influence, power, and whether any one person should possess that much control over systems that affect the lives of millions of others.

This nation was not founded on the idea that power should become concentrated into fewer and fewer hands. The founders had seen kings and understood what happened when authority became untouchable. That is why monopolies have long been viewed with suspicion. The concern was never simply money. The concern was what happens when too much influence rests in too few hands. Whether that power sits in a palace, a government office, or a corporate boardroom, the temptation remains the same. Power begins to serve itself.

The White House was never intended to be a palace. It was intended to be the People’s House. The presidency was never intended to create a king. It was intended to create a public servant. Yet history repeatedly shows how easy it is for leaders to confuse service with status, and how easy it is for citizens to mistake power for greatness. Jesus measured greatness differently. “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Matthew 20:26).

The Bible does not condemn wealth itself. Abraham was wealthy. Job was wealthy. Joseph of Arimathea was wealthy. Lydia was wealthy. Many women of means supported Jesus and the disciples in their ministry (Luke 8:1-3). Wealth was never the issue. The issue was always the human heart. Would wealth become a tool for serving others, or would it become the thing a person trusted most?

Perhaps that is why the story of the rich young ruler often feels distant while striking so close to home. Most people read it and imagine it is about somebody else’s problem. A billionaire. A wealthy landowner. A person with more money than they could ever dream of possessing. Yet for many people, wealth itself remains the dream. Not because they necessarily want more than everyone else, but because they believe it will finally solve what troubles them. The bills will be paid. The future will feel less uncertain. The worries will become smaller. That dream is so woven into modern life that many people rarely stop to ask whether it is the same thing as the life Jesus was calling people toward.

In many ways, that dream has become one of the defining stories of the modern world. Success is often measured by accumulation. The rich become objects of fascination. Their lifestyles are studied. Their opinions are amplified. Their successes are celebrated. Yet Jesus looked at a man who had achieved the dream and said, “You lack one thing” (Mark 10:21).

The story remains unsettling because there is nothing obviously wrong with the rich young ruler. He is successful. He is respected. He is religious. He appears to have built the kind of life many people would admire. Yet Jesus looks at him with love and says, “You lack one thing” (Mark 10:21). That may be one of the most uncomfortable moments in all of Scripture because it forces a difficult question. What if a person spends an entire lifetime gaining what the world values and still misses what matters most?

Jesus was not condemning the man’s success. He was exposing the condition of his heart. The rich young ruler is not a warning about a man who failed to achieve the dream. He is a warning about a man who achieved it and still discovered it was not enough. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions” (Luke 12:15).

The Bible repeatedly points in a different direction. When God provided manna in the wilderness, everyone had enough (Exodus 16:16-18). When Israel harvested its fields, provision was left for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner (Leviticus 19:9-10). When wealth and land became concentrated, God established Jubilee to prevent permanent systems of domination and restore balance within the community (Leviticus 25:8-13). Again and again, Scripture points toward generosity, mercy, justice, and care for one another. Human beings tend to gather, protect, and accumulate. God continually nudges people toward sharing, restoring, and caring for those around them.

Perhaps that is why Jesus never seemed particularly impressed by wealth. He understood something that the rest of us often forget. The world’s richest man eventually becomes another name in a history book. The title passes. The wealth stays behind. The applause fades. What remains are the questions Jesus asked all along. Do we love God? Do we love our neighbors? Do we care for the poor, the sick, the prisoner, the stranger, and the forgotten (Matthew 25:34-40)?

The world spends a great deal of time asking who has the most. Jesus spent His ministry asking something very different. The question was never how much a person possessed. The question was whether, in the pursuit of possessing it, they lost the one thing that mattered most.

“The title always passes to someone else. The question is whether love remains when everything else is left behind.”

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