May you know the Lord’s blessings as you serve and worship him this weekend.

There are some great Kindle deals today, including books by Steve Lawson and Gregg Allison.
(Yesterday on the blog: It’s the Air We Breathe)
Showing Up Mattered
“Every Christian who serves sometimes wonders if his or her efforts are having any effect. With some people it’s not obvious that God is working. Am I really helping this person change? Does my faithfulness really matter?” Kraig shares an example of a time when simply showing up mattered.
Welcome to Pride Month, Christian
“If anybody wants to understand what is happening to the public square in America—indeed, if anyone wants to know how America, or at least her ruling class, wishes to understand itself, they need look no further than Pride Month.” Carl Trueman explains why it is so significant an event.
What is the aseity of God?
If you’ve heard the term but haven’t known how to define it, this brief video will be helpful.
The Darkest Deception in the Church
“The worst deception in the church is self-deception on this point: that we believe we’re not self-righteous.” Ouch.
Social Media Shepherds
“There was a time when most things I knew about the Bible came from my pastor, and I learned them while sitting in a pew. These days, not so much.”
A Case for the Longer Ending of Mark
It seems to be generally accepted these days that the final verses of Mark should be treated with suspicion. For that reason, I appreciate this dissenting perspective. It is good to think about these things…
Flashback: Affirming God’s Image
Less than a generation ago, few would have dared suggest that there is no necessary link between biological sex and gender identity. Today, though, it is commonly believed that a person with a female body may actually be a man or a person with a male body may actually be a woman.

Prayer is the antithesis of self-dependence. —Michael Reeves

My sincere gratitude goes to The Good Book Company for sponsoring the blog this week to tell you about their excellent new book Reclaiming Masculinity.

Logos is having a “Blue Friday” sale this week and has lots of good material on sale—books, commentaries, series, and so on.
(Yesterday on the blog: How a Zealous Mormon Missionary Discovered the Jesus He Never Knew)
You may notice a theme in today’s articles: All are based around questions and answers.
What Will We Remember in the New Creation?
We have all wondered: what of this world will we remember in the next? John Piper offers a characteristically God-centric answer.
FAQ: When Does God Write Our Names in the Book of Life?
“If you’re a Christian, when was your name written in the Lamb’s book of life? Did it happen when we you were born again or some other time?” Adriel Sanchez answers at Core Christianity.
Why Did Ruth Enter Boaz’s Tent in the Middle of the Night? (Ruth 3)
While we are asking and answering questions, here’s a good one: Why did Ruth enter Boaz’s tent in the middle of the night? I appreciate an answer that protects her virtue rather than accusing her of a scandalous deed.
A Father’s Hands
“A father’s hands. What do they communicate?” Jacob considers how his sons love to hold his hands.
Why Can’t ChatGPT Produce Great Sermons?
I think most of us know intuitively that AI won’t be able to produce good sermons. But it’s worth thinking through why that is, as it will help reinforce what preaching is and how God is pleased to use it.
20 Questions for Your View on the Millennium
Finally, Mitch Chase is asking questions more than answering them. He is asking questions that relate to your understanding of the millennium.
Flashback: The Duty of Reflection
It is our duty to reflect on life’s circumstances and to look for God’s hand in them. It is our duty because God works in and through our circumstances and, by his providence, matures and strengthens us in them.

If you and I see ourselves merely as peddlers or purveyors of a spiritual “message”, we rapidly become salesmen for the gospel instead of true ministers of the gospel. —Harold Senkbeil

I am worshipping with a congregation that is not my own, a community of Christians on the far side of the planet. Though I am there primarily to learn and to worship, I cannot help but observe one of the members of the church as he sits just in front of me. His wife is pressed close to him on one side and a chair has been left vacant on the other. He rises with the rest of the congregation as the pastor speaks the call to worship. “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.”

“Because God is worthy of our trust,” says the pastor, “you can pour out your heart before him. No matter the circumstances of your life, you can trust him because he is powerful and he is good. So let’s join our hearts and voices together to sing of this good and powerful God.”
The musicians take up the first strains of the opening hymn and the people soon join in.

O worship the King all-glorious above / O gratefully sing his power and his love. / our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days, / pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.

I observe that as this man begins to sing, he glances toward the door at the back of the room, his eyes searching for something or for someone.

O tell of his might and sing of his grace, / whose robe is the light, whose canopy space. / His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form, / and dark is his path on the wings of the storm.

He sings a few more lines, then looks that way again.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, / in you do we trust, nor find you to fail. / Your mercies, how tender, how firm to the end, / our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend!

The hymn gives way to a Scripture reading, then to reciting a creed, and still I can see that his attention is divided—divided between worship and watching, between the front of the room and the back.
The service continues with prayer and song and still I see him looking forward and back, still I can see his heart expressing praise while his face expresses expectation, longing, hope.
It is only after the service has ended and I can speak to one of the pastors that I learn why his attention has been so divided. It is only after the service that I learn what he has been looking for—or, better said, who he has been looking for.
His daughter has said she will come to church today. His daughter has wandered far but has said she is ready to return. His daughter who has squandered so much says she has learned her lesson. His daughter who has caused her father’s heart to ache has said that today she will soothe it. This man is looking for his daughter, his beloved daughter.
As time goes on and as the elements of the service pass by, the glances become less frequent and less hopeful. Unless I’m wrong, his shoulders become a little less straight, a little more stooped, for it becomes clear that this will not be the day on which the prodigal daughter returns. This will not be the day on which sorrow gives way to joy, on which weeping gives way to dancing. Though I do not know him and though we live worlds apart, I grieve with him and for him. I grieve as a brother in Christ.
I spend a fair bit of time with men who know loss, fathers who have laid a child in the grave. Some of them are grieving beloved daughters and I know they sometimes experience stirrings of jealousy when they see other fathers with their girls. It causes them to remember better times, to remember the pleasures of being father to a daughter, to long to experience it and enjoy it again. I sometimes feel like this too when I see fathers with their sons.
But in this moment, this moment in which the congregation takes their seats and the pastor approaches the pulpit, words flash into my mind, words I came across in an old book from long ago. The author pointed out that in many lives the sorrow over the living is greater far than the sorrow for the dead who have passed on to sweet rest. Far more often, he says, has his heart been moved to pity for the parents of a living sorrow than for the parents of a departed joy. There are some sorrows harder even than the sorrow of death, he insists, some griefs deeper even than the grief of bereavement. And while I find little benefit in comparing one kind of grief to another, I am certain the sorrow of watching a living child careen toward hell is every bit as sharp as the pain of losing a child, but knowing he is safely in heaven.
And so, “God save that girl” my heart whispers. “And pity her father, Lord. Bless that man and comfort the sorrows of his troubled heart.”