Our Goal Is Love

Baseball lost one of its giants this week. Bobby Cox—Hall of Famer, fourteen consecutive division titles, one World Series ring, and. . . 162 ejections—died Saturday at the age of eighty-four. Tributes poured in from players, coaches, and fans across the sport. But it was a single line from one ESPN commentator that caught my attention. 

"I can absolutely see Bobby Cox kicking dirt on St. Peter, arguing his way through those pearly gates." 

It's the kind of line that makes you laugh and then makes you think.

Because most of us are more like Bobby Cox than we want to admit. We argue the calls. We contest the rulings. We go back to the plate, kick the dirt, get in someone's face, and dare them to toss us. We do it with bosses, with doctors, with circumstances, with fate, and if we are honest, we do it with God. 

In the Bible, we read how Job did the same thing. For thirty-seven chapters, he built his case against heaven. He was not wrong to grieve. He was not wrong to cry out. But somewhere along the way, the grief became a lawsuit. And Job wanted his day in court. 

What Would Jesus Post? is a new series launching this week. These will be summer sermons that take the week's headlines and ask what the eternal Word has to say about them. We begin where Bobby Cox's story ends: at the place where every argument runs out of breath, where every human being finally stands before the One who makes the calls that will not be overturned.

We will see you there!

Every parent carries a question they can never quite put down. What will my child be in the future, and how do I prepare them for whatever is waiting on the other side of our home?

Any mother who loves their child has wrestled with the fear that they would somehow get in the way of their child achieving their full potential. If only we knew what that potential was, we would be better prepared.

We search for signs. We watch for clues. What are their talents? Where do their passions lie? We pray for clarity. And more often than not, God is quiet in exactly the ways we wish He would speak.

That is where the parents of Samson found themselves in Judges 13. They stood before an angel of the Lord with one burning question: what are we supposed to do with him? The angel's answer is instructive, and a little unsettling. He does not tell them how the story ends. He does not describe the victories or warn them about the failures. He simply repeats what he already told the boy's mother.

This Sunday at Christiansburg Baptist Church, we are going to examine that question for Mother's Day. There is a word for you in this ancient text. God rarely answers the question you are asking about your child's future, but the answer He does provide could change the way you parent for the rest of your life.

This Sunday we wrap up our Axioms series with one of the most practical principles we've explored yet: Decisions are made in small groups and confirmed in large ones. 

Every church has felt the tension that flows from the blessing of diversity. How do we honor the diversity of gifts, perspectives, and callings God has placed among us while still moving forward together with unity and purpose? This axiom gives us a biblical framework for how that actually works.

As we close out this series, we're also going to look back across everything we've covered and see how all of these axioms fit together. None of them were meant to stand alone. Each one is a thread, and this Sunday we get to step back and see the tapestry. The diversity of how God has wired this church isn't a problem to manage. It's the design that makes us stronger.

If you've been with us for the whole series, this is the payoff. If you've missed a few weeks, this is the perfect Sunday to jump back in.

We'll see you Sunday. Bring someone with you.

This Sunday we continue our journey through Ephesians as Paul addresses an important question for our church—why do we exist. Paul’s answer, and the implications, will likely surprise you. 

This is moving weekend for Kim and I. After two years of being in the area, we are finally able to put  down lasting roots. There’s something different about a permanent home. It’s not just a place you sleep, it’s a place you belong, a place being finished. Paul uses that same language about the church. We are being built up together, into Christ himself, until every member reaches full maturity. Not one person left behind. Not one stone left unplaced.

This Sunday, we’ll ask the question: what does it look like to be a church that is actually building people — and what happens when we settle for anything less? 

Join us. I think this one is going to hit close to home. Pun intended.

We live in a culture absolutely obsessed with purpose. There are entire sections of Barnes & Noble dedicated to helping you find yours. Personality tests that tell you whether you're an INTJ or an Enneagram 4. TED talks with hundreds of millions of views asking the question — why are you here? And people are eating it up, because the hunger is real.

Everybody wants to know that their life means something.

The church often offers little help in this search. We're good at telling people what to be saved from. We preach sin, we preach grace, we preach the cross. And praise God for that. But then somebody gets saved, gets baptized, maybe joins a small group and then we kind of just... leave them there.

We tell them what they are saved from, but not what they are saved for.

This Sunday we're going back into Ephesians 4, and Paul is going to answer that question in a way that I think will genuinely surprise you. Because it turns out the grace that rescued you didn't stop working the moment you trusted Christ. That same grace has been given to you specifically, for a purpose that extends beyond our own salvation.

Every single person who has been called to salvation has also been called to something more.

Our life is rooted in belief.

The question is—whose?

Most of us have never stopped long enough to ask where our deepest convictions actually came from. We inherited them. Absorbed them. And somewhere along the way, we stopped questioning whether they were actually true.

Philosophers call these beliefs axioms. Self-evident truths. Propositions so foundational they need no proof, because everything else is already being proven by them.

You have them. So do I.

Here’s the problem. Most of us, even those of us who have been in church our entire lives, are living from axioms we inherited from a world that does not know God. We’ve simply baptized them. Dressed them up in religious language. And called it faithfulness.

Paul sees this. And rather than leaving us there, he offers something better. He offers a different set of foundations altogether. Truths not founded on human wisdom or cultural assumption, but on the promise, the power, and the presence of God himself.

In Ephesians 4, he issues one of the most disruptive invitations in all of Scripture. He says, in light of everything Jesus has done, in light of the cross, the resurrection, the new life you’ve been given, walk worthy of it. Live in a way that actually corresponds to what is true.

In other words: check your axioms.

Join us this Sunday as we begin this journey together.

"Have you been living under a rock?"

That's essentially what two heartbroken travelers asked Jesus as they walked the dusty road to Emmaus together. 

Of course, they had no idea it was him. As far as they were concerned, their hopes had been buried in a borrowed tomb three days earlier. The stranger walking beside them couldn't possibly understand what they'd been through — or so they thought.

But Jesus wasn't just listening. He was leading. And before that walk was over, he asked three questions that shattered their despair and set their hearts on fire.

Tomorrow we close out our series in Luke 24 by sitting with those same three questions — questions the risen Christ still asks every one of us. If your hope has grown cold, if your faith feels like it's running on fumes, if you've been walking away from the place where God is working — this Christ asks you to walk with him just a little further.

Join us tomorrow as we celebrate the risen Savior!

Do you think your rap sheet is longer than mine?

We all have one. It may not show up in a background check, but before a holy God, every single one of us has one. And this Sunday, we're going to look at the moment in history where two men with very real rap sheets came face to face with Jesus at the cross

These two men at the cross were close. As close as anyone could be. They heard His voice. They witnessed His grace under agony. They were near enough to look Him in the eye. And yet one of them left that hill with the most stunning promise Jesus ever made to a single individual. While the other left with nothing.

Same cross. Same Christ. Same gospel. Two completely different outcomes.

Dallas Willard once said that the foundational problem of the human soul is self-deception. This Sunday, we're going to see what that looks like nailed to a cross. And ask the uncomfortable question of which criminal lives inside of us.

Join us this Sunday as we look at The Cross and the Criminals and discover why Jesus chose to be flanked by two of the worst kinds of people on the most important day in human history.

Titles carry meaning and offer insight into the subject they describe. For example, a book titled “Learning to Speak Spanish” immediately informs the reader about its content and purpose. Similarly, a title provides valuable information and clues regarding its subject. 

In the context of Jesus' crucifixion, it was customary during His time for a placard or title to be placed above the head of a criminal being executed, stating the reason for their punishment. These inscriptions were typically brief, serving as a title that declared the crime committed. Above the two men crucified on either side of Jesus, the placards likely read something to the effect of, “This man was a thief.

And over the head of Jesus was also a placard, declaring why he was being crucified. John 19:19 says, “And Pilate wrote a title, and put it on the cross. And the writing was Jesus of Nazareth, the King Of The Jews.” 

Unbeknownst to Pilate, the title he wrote and the way he wrote tell us several things about Jesus on the cross.

When your time comes, how would you prefer to “go”?

For most of us, the answer is obvious. Quietly. Quickly. Painlessly. At a ripe old age. And in our own home, in our own bed. 

But the truth is, unfortunately, we don't get to choose.

But Jesus could. And he chose the cross.

Not a quiet death. Not a peaceful exit. The most torturous, humiliating, public form of execution the ancient world ever devised. The word we still use today when describing the worst pain imaginable, excruciating, comes directly from the word for cross.

So the question isn't just theological. It's deeply personal.

Why would God choose this manner of death?

What was he trying to show us that could only be shown through suffering that extreme? What does that choice reveal about your heart and mine? And what does it mean for the way you and I get to live right now?

Join us tomorrow as we examine the choice he made, sovereignly and lovingly at Calvary.