That meme going around—yeah, the one with two pictures and the clever little caption—seems like it’s making a point. Until you stop and actually look at what you’re seeing.
The top image? It’s not real. Somebody with an AI generator and too much time made a fake picture of the Pope and the President mashed into some ceremonial-looking thing. Nobody posed for it. Nobody meant it seriously. It was bait. Internet mischief.
Now, the bottom picture—that’s a whole different story. That one happened. For real. It was organized, staged, funded, applauded. Men in drag dressed up like nuns, mocked holiness, and planted it right in front of a cathedral. That wasn’t trolling. That was a message. And the world smiled.
And what happened when Christians raised their eyebrows or said, “Hey, this is offensive”? The culture shoved a mic in our face and said stuff like:
• “You’re just afraid of progress.”
• “You’re reading too much into it.”
• “Nobody’s mocking you—relax.”
• “There’s no war on Christianity. You’re imagining it.”
No, we weren’t. We saw it for what it was. And we were told to sit down and be quiet.
Isaiah had a name for that: “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). When evil is dressed up as courage and faith is labeled backward and dangerous—you’re not crazy for noticing. You’re sane for speaking up.
Jesus didn’t sugarcoat it either. He called people out for looking righteous while rotting underneath (Matthew 23:27). And Paul? He reminded us whose approval actually counts: “For not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth” (2 Corinthians 10:18).
So no, those two pictures don’t carry the same weight. One’s a prank. The other’s a public declaration. And if your outrage only kicks in when the wrong side does the mocking, you’re not defending virtue—you’re just defending your brand.
Take a listen to this one. There will definitely be a live show about the topic for free will and foreknowledge.
People make big claims every day. Some claims are so impressive that we want to believe them. Love believes all things, but love is not gullible. Love does not require us to turn off our brains or accept every story at face value. It is the love of truth that makes us careful with what we accept and share.
Recently I heard a luthier claim to have taught thousands of students from scratch all the way to becoming capable guitarists. Sounds great. But let’s put it to the test with simple math—and then see what you think about it.
If it takes about six months—roughly 25 weekly lessons—for a beginner to reach intermediate level, and if a full-time teacher handles 30 students a week, that is 1,500 lessons in a year. Divide that by 25 lessons per student, and you get 60 intermediate students a year. If you teach full-time for 17 years, you could personally train just over 1,000 people to that level. That is assuming perfect attendance, no dropouts, and a schedule that never falters. Real-world ...
Preaching the truth is not about posturing—it’s about standing firm with clarity, humility, and strategy.
Jesus did not send His messengers into safe places. He sent them into the teeth of hostility with orders to be wise and harmless. That standard still governs faithful preaching today. So what happens when strategy and sincerity are treated as partners instead of opposites?
Why strategic caution is biblical, not cowardly
How honest preaching builds trust without softening the message
What true accountability looks like in the preacher’s life
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