What blinds us to God’s wisdom in Christ? John Piper opens 1 Corinthians 2:6–13 to show how craving power and acclaim keeps us from seeing Jesus as the Lord of glory.

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What marks Christians attuned to cross-cultural missions? They may not serve as full-time missionaries, but they embrace Great Commission responsibilities. The history of missions reveals little-known senders who used their vocations for strategic gospel advance around the world. Captain Benjamin Wickes (1746–1830) was one such man.

‘Old Captain Wickes’

We meet this early American captain of a merchant vessel unexpectedly at a prayer meeting in 1806. The missionaries in Serampore, India, had gathered to send Henry Martyn to a station on the Ganges River where he would begin his work of translation and evangelism. Martyn recorded that they “met at my pagoda this evening for the purpose of commending me to the grace of God before my departure. My soul never before had such divine enjoyment” (The Letters of Henry Martyn, 194).

I would love to have been there. The meeting included both Baptist missionaries — William Carey, Joshua Marshman, and William Ward — as well as evangelical Anglicans David Brown, Daniel Corrie, and Henry Martyn. It represented a substantial collaboration between these earliest English missionaries for the advance of the gospel in India. Since much of India was controlled by the British East India Company, only Anglican missionaries received official recognition and freedom to travel. Even they, however, could pursue missionary work only when not employed in chaplaincy duties to English people residing in India. Amid such challenges, this prayer meeting of gathered co-laborers was a high point for Martyn and a moment he remembered fondly.

To the list of those present, Martyn added “old Captain Wickes.” He mentioned him again in another letter as “the good old Captain Wickes, who has brought out so many missionaries to India” (Letters, 178).

But who was this old American captain so well loved by the English missionaries in India?

Missionaries as Risky Passengers

Captain Wickes was born to a seafaring family in Maryland in 1746. His older brother, Captain Lambert Wickes, fought and died at sea during the American War for Independence. Benjamin first entered the missionary record in 1799, when the Baptist missionaries Joshua Marshman and William Ward sought passage to India from London. The situation was sensitive. The East India Company had forbidden full-time missionaries from entering, so no English ship would give Marshman and Ward passage. Carey had established his home in the Danish port of Serampore, not far from Calcutta, but no Danish ships were available.

Wickes’s American ship, however, could take the risk of transporting missionaries. When he heard about the situation, Wickes wrote to Baptist leader Andrew Fuller, saying that “he had long cherished the hope of being privileged to convey the messengers of the Gospel to the heathen, and that his fondest wish was about to be gratified” (The Life and Times of Carey, Marshman, and Ward, 110).

The privilege came with difficulties. Although American ships were regularly received in East India Company ports, the presence of missionaries complicated their arrival. When Wickes arrived in Calcutta with Marshman and Ward, East India Company officials refused him permission to sail home unless he took the missionaries with him. By God’s grace, Wickes convinced the authorities of the missionaries’ good intentions. When similar circumstances occurred in 1806, he persuaded officials that detaining his American ship might cause an international incident. Each voyage involved protracted negotiations that certainly distracted from his primary trading business.

Yet Wickes’s service proved invaluable. Every time the missionaries mentioned him, they affirmed their unbridled thanks for his efforts. William Carey wrote about him in 1805, “I, in common with my dear brethren and sisters here, feel much pleasure in hearing of the safe return to you of our much beloved brother in Christ, Capt. Wickes” (Evangelical Intelligencer, 1:201). Marshman and Ward called him “the beloved commander of the [ship] Criterion” (The Life and Times, 214). And Martyn fondly referred to him as “good old Captain Wickes.”

Captain Benjamin Wickes used his position as a ship captain to bring missionaries to India at great potential cost to himself and his business. He serves as a model for us of a committed missionary sender.

Joining in the Journey

I doubt anyone outside their little circle took much interest in that prayer meeting in Serampore in 1806. But it affected and energized Henry Martyn for years to come. It signaled ministry partnership and progress for gospel witness in India. And at age sixty, Captain Wickes made a point of being there.

No doubt he spent the majority of his life working as a sailor and captain. The four-to-six-month voyages from the United States to Asia occupied his time and energy. And yet, from the few instances we know, he lived for more than the safe passage of people and cargo from one side of the world to another. His “fondest wish was about to be gratified” when he took the chance of carrying missionaries to India. Captain Wickes understood participation in the Great Commission as his ultimate task. He took risks and made personal sacrifices to help determined missionaries find a place for ministry.

Missiologist Andrew Walls proposed that, historically, missionary movements needed to meet three conditions for sustainability: (1) an available and eager group of people to go, (2) an organization to send them, and (3) long-term access to a place for ministry. In his own small way, Captain Wickes helped open the door for long-term access. He was ready and willing when Marshman and Ward needed a ship in 1799. He returned to Calcutta several times despite the restrictions on carrying missionaries. He, a Presbyterian, took the risk of delivering more Baptist missionaries in 1806. He then spent four months in Calcutta for his troubles, advocating to free his ship from the British East India Company and helping to see the missionaries safely settled.

When we speak about missionary senders, we mean those advocates, partners, supporters, and friends who remain in their own culture while their heart extends out toward the work of cross-cultural witness. A sender aches and desires to participate concretely in gospel ministry and looks for ways to “send [missionaries] on their journey in a manner worthy of God” (3 John 6). In Captain Wickes, we see how sending work takes more than just “thoughts and prayers.” For him, it meant facilitating their journey by giving them physical passage on his ship.

Missionary Senders Today

What might this type of sending look like today? What project or task of Great Commission significance are you waiting for, eager for, and hoping to take part in? Financial generosity often provides clear opportunities. Generous donors hear about a need they’d love to meet and respond in kind. For example, when I asked a friend to help a Vietnamese church complete their project to install air conditioners, he responded with eagerness. The sender says, “I’ve waited my whole life to help local Christians in another culture!”

But there may be ways to participate in cross-cultural ministry that more closely imitate Captain Wickes. He used his primary vocation to serve the gospel. Today, those with business experience might offer their expertise as consultants. One group invites Christian businesspeople to share insights to a study group of business owners in another country. The meetings provide consulting but also introduce local leaders to intentional Christian professionals.

Many vocations today include international travel. Such trips present opportunities to fellowship with churches in other cultures, perhaps with an English-speaking international church in a global city or, through contact with cross-cultural workers, with a group of local believers. Regular visits of mature Christians who want to see and experience Christian fellowship in another culture both encourage the local church and provide a new look on God’s work around the world.

A passion to be among God’s people as they worship in a place with little to no Christian witness may also provide the chance to participate in crucial kingdom moments. Captain Wickes was present at that prayer meeting because he took a chance carrying missionaries on his ship and sought out the fellowship of believers in another country.

Missionary senders recognize gospel opportunities. Like Captain Wickes, we can respond to missionary needs as the fulfillment of a “long cherished hope” to be used by God for strategic cross-cultural gospel advance. And, holding onto that hope, we can seek out opportunities to gratify our “fondest wish.”

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How does wisdom nourish the soul? John Piper shows from Proverbs 20:15 how the knowledge of God’s will strengthens us.

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“Love one another.” This is one of the undeniable imperatives of Christianity. God is love (1 John 4:8, 16). We must love one another (1 John 4:11). By this love all men know that we are Christ’s disciples (John 13:35). Love fulfills the law (Romans 13:10). So why not just love one another? Why build walls, make distinctions, establish boundaries, and draw lines? Why confront sins? Why not welcome all equally? Can’t you just love everyone?

The impulse and the argument “just to love everyone” is superficially attractive, even apparently compelling. However, the argument uses Bible language the way Satan does — selectively and deceptively. When tempting Christ, the devil selectively quoted Scripture but twisted the whole sense (cf. Matthew 4:5–7; Psalm 91:11–12). It is possible to use Bible language while ignoring the context, imposing a different meaning on the words and drawing false conclusions based on faulty assumptions. This regularly happens with the meaning of love.

Does it really matter? Yes. Churches are disrupted and even destroyed by the confusion created by such shallow reading and reasoning. The language of love is thoroughly scriptural, but we need to handle our Bibles carefully. We need to understand the true definition and the proper direction and order of love.

Love Defined and Established

Think of love’s definition and foundation. Love does not appear in a vacuum, a sort of glowing, amorphous cloud of feeling which we can press into any mold. Rather, God defines it carefully. God’s love sets the standard for our love:

In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. (1 John 4:9–11)

God’s love, which we reflect and replicate by the Spirit’s power, is not a generic niceness but a determined act of the divine will, directed toward the utterly unlovely. It does not at all diminish or dilute the reality of sin. It faces sin’s pollution, punishment, and power head-on, fully honoring divine justice as well as divine mercy. It is love manifested in sacrifice, love determined to do heavenly good to its object, to make the unlovely lovely through whatever righteous means necessary.

Christian people show a similar Godlike and Christlike love toward one another. Anticipating his sacrifice, our Lord says,

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:34)

Christlike love for other believers is a mark of a true disciple. Because God in Christ sets the standard for what love looks like, we cannot collapse Christian love into mere sentimentality, a kind of anodyne sweetness that overlooks or dismisses sin and downplays righteousness.

Love Directed and Ordered

Think also of love’s direction and order. Our love for our brothers demonstrates our love for God himself (1 John 4:20–21). Our Lord goes to the cross for his beloved people out of love to his Father. The structure of the greatest commandment reveals both direction and order: First, love the Lord your God entirely, and second, love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37–40; Mark 12:29–31). While not denying a proper love of affinity, Christ calls us to a crowning love of supremacy: We are to love Christ more than father or mother, son or daughter (Matthew 10:37). Love for our nearest and dearest might even be considered hatred in comparison to the love that we have for him (Luke 14:26)!

We must not, then, think of love first in its horizontal dimension toward men. Love must first be directed vertically toward God, in response to his love to us, before it spills over horizontally toward others. “Love” toward men at the expense of love toward God is not love. True love honors the High and Holy One first and foremost.

The definition and the order of love are established and expressed with primary reference to the triune God. He shows us what love really is, and he shows us where love goes first. Such love does not ignore sin, neglect truth, diminish holiness, or disdain obedience. Such love does not turn a blind eye to such things as slander, pride, sexual immorality and perversion, the murder of infants and old people, blasphemy and cursing, or disobedience to parents (Romans 1:28–32; 2 Timothy 3:1–5). Such love does not grow impatient with distinctions, dismissing or despising that which God prizes and declares precious. The world says, “If you love me, you will let me do what I want.” The church says, “If you love me, you will help me do what God wants.”

‘Cruelty to Souls’

When Christians forget the proper direction and order of love, or allow the world’s definitions of love to infiltrate and dominate, the church is quickly compromised and soon crippled. Charles Spurgeon put it simply: “Charity to error is cruelty to souls” (The Interpreter: Spurgeon’s Devotional Bible, 760). Expanding on this, he said,

Pleas of charity to error are arguments for the murder of souls. Life and death hang upon the question of truth or falsehood; if lies be propagated, or truth be clouded, the watchmen of the Lord will have to give in their account for permitting it. (The Sword and the Trowel, 177)

Does that sound extreme? It should not. Love, falsely defined and directed, is offended by the gospel call to leave one’s sin and follow Christ (Romans 6:1–4). False love says that you can keep your sin and claim Christ (2 Corinthians 6:14–7:1). It says that the church need not be strictly defined by Christian belief and behavior but calls for inclusion without discrimination (Revelation 2:14–16). It labels as unloving the battle to keep sin out of our hearts and our churches (1 Corinthians 5:9–11). Under the guise of catholicity, it demands compromise. This is not love, but weakness and wateriness masquerading as kindness and compassion.

Carnal versions of Christian love undermine the gospel of salvation from sin, hinder the preaching of that gospel, twist the definition of a Christian, pervert the nature of the church, corrupt the purity of Christian belief and behavior, and hamstring our fight with sin. False notions of love will bring in not charity and integrity but disregard and deceit, not carefulness and watchfulness but negligence and indulgence. It is the pastor who does not want to offend the person living in a sinful relationship, the church which overlooks false teaching circulated by its members, the friend who fearfully condones a sinful path, the preacher who only speaks about sin generally and never specifically or who opens the door to heaven for everyone and nails shut the door to hell.

Rescuing Love

True love does not ignore or overlook sin. It acknowledges it, faces it, and pursues forgiveness by way of repentance (1 Peter 4:8; James 5:20). Love honors righteousness as much as peace, truth as much as mercy (Psalm 85:10). It aims not to affirm a sinner in his sin but to recover the sinner from the error of his ways. It aims not to shrug off the trespasses and backslidings of God’s people, but rather to overcome them and see the child of God restored. It does not leave a saint drifting on the current of the age but helps each one to run with endurance and joy the race set before them, looking to Jesus as the author and finisher of faith (Hebrews 12:1–2).

Our Lord could be the friend of sinners not because he indulged their sin but because he confronted it and saved them from it. Love cleansed the temple of God, driving out those who made it a house of merchandise (John 2:14–17). Love told a misguided Pharisee that he needed to be born again (John 3:1–8). Love spoke to an immoral Samaritan woman about the water of life (John 4:1–26). Love confronted the Pharisees over their hypocrisy, which led men to hell (Matthew 23:15). Love carried the good shepherd to the cross to lay down his life for his sheep (John 10:11; Galatians 2:20). Love waited to call Lazarus from the grave so that God would be glorified and faith strengthened (John 11:1–44). Love stooped down to wash the feet of the disciples (John 13:1–17). Love went to the cross and died for sinners (Romans 5:6–8; Galatians 2:20). Love did not affirm or ignore sin but went among sinners to bring them out: “I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:32). Love incarnate did not leave men in their sin but laid down his life to deliver them from it.

Can’t you just love everyone? Of course! Love must form and inform Christ’s church. However, the love that characterizes the church is a true love for God and his people, a love defined and established, directed and ordered, by the Lord himself in his word. Christlike love does not produce a toothless tolerance of anyone and anything but rather a holy zeal for the glory of the Lord and the good of all people.

Are my children also called to this? As a mama missionary, I wonder about our fitness for the task when our family of eight clogs airport security and labors in language study and ministry like a well-meaning circus. Will my kids catch a deadly virus from the airport carpet? Will beans be lunch every day? How can we possibly replace years spent with grandparents and a vibrant children’s church? Will they become healthy adults when this calling cuts not only us but them?

Are the unreached regions of the Joshua Project map reserved for singles? Our family’s plane-ticket prices alone might argue that case. Does the church only send the strong? In the world’s economy, our crew is inefficient and slow to get the job done.

Risk Worth Reward

The missionary call may cost our precious children extra bouts of food poisoning, power outages, awkward cultural moments, and loneliness. It may even, like Perpetua Broten and Ezra, Violet, and Calvin Pals, require their lives.

When Jesus called his followers, he asked for painful, costly sacrifice. He reminded them that though foxes and birds return each day to their burrows and nests, he had no place to lay his head (Matthew 8:20). He called his disciples to take no change of clothes or spare coin for their ministry (Matthew 10:9–10). And yet he said, “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold” both now and in eternity (Mark 10:29–30). God’s economy is not man’s. Jesus calls kids to go with moms and dads to serve the nations because God’s kingdom advancement is for families too, and the risk is worth its reward.

The forward momentum of God’s kingdom does not exclude our children. The garden mandate to be fruitful and multiply now expands spiritually, and we take our kids along. We aren’t disqualified from overseas ministry if we’re changing diapers on the hour. God is the author of life and the genius behind the family design. Our dominion over the earth as image-bearers includes those in our care, even if they look too small to slay dragons.

The risks of going with kids in tow are many; only the rewards of trust and obedience eclipse their reality. If we pursued mere adventure or greater cultural appreciation, we would be the “most to be pitied” (1 Corinthians 15:19). But if God calls us to glory in Christ in dungeon-like places, teaching our children to cup their hands around their mouths and cry to prisoners, “Come out!” then we offer them diamond-quality joy (Isaiah 49:9, 61:1). We weep with our kids over the cost they see and feel in their own lives, helping them gather the broken pieces of their hearts to hand to Jesus, teaching them firsthand that Christ’s flesh and blood satisfy.

Shepherding Your Flock

Before my two oldest children were dunked in the cold mountain water of our village in baptism, they testified to God’s grace in their lives. God had shown them his best at their worst. I flinched inwardly as I heard them recall dangerous accidents and desperate emotions in our time overseas. But when it turned darkest, God shone brightest. If it were up to me, I would have taken an eraser to God’s plan of pain for them. If I had, I would also have unknowingly rubbed out his intimate deliverances. The pleasure of following God to the farthest reaches of the planet with your kids is finding that God is there too.

All that said, our family just moved ministry locations overseas due to prolonged isolation and our kids’ growing need for friends and community. Missions is a family affair and worth the risk, while at the same time, God does not depend on our presence in a place to accomplish his purposes, and he cares specifically for our kids. Our kids’ particular needs are not at odds with our calling but can direct our feet and make us wise shepherds of our flock.

God is not biting his nails on the sidelines of our missionary service, hoping we’ll perform well enough to finally advance his cause. His word is not bound, waiting for our special set of skills to unleash it. Rather, God declares, “My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose” (Isaiah 46:10). We face necessary human limitations, but “our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases” (Psalm 115:3).

So families are wise to pursue the missionary call with discernment, attentive to the health of their marriage and children. Before a family goes, parents might ask themselves if they’re enjoying marriage as God intended, taking care of their bodies, managing stress wisely, or harboring any secret sins. If their family were a garden plot, how’s the soil, and what’s regularly sprouting? If they’re parched and weedy here at home, they won’t suddenly produce rutabagas and roses over there.

Our Kids Need What We Need

Our kids will suffer as our family answers the call. Our kids need what we need. They require biblical direction more than cross-cultural training. We point them to the Lord who never breaks a bruised reed or those walking through culture shock (Isaiah 42:3). We model how to pray and lament to an attentive Father who knows exactly what makes the call thrilling, devastating, paralyzing, or confusing at any given moment. We note how God’s eye is on the sparrow and on us in the throes of uprooting and resettling (Matthew 10:29). When we can’t wipe away our children’s grief like a smear of chocolate on their cheek, we remember their angels are intentionally placed in God’s line of vision (Matthew 18:10).

As parents, our natural inclination is to bubble wrap our kids. We think if we pad them with enough extracurriculars and vitamins, they’ll get an A-plus in life. I would have bought the bubble wrap had God not called us to a land devoid of it. Without the illusions of worldly protection, families called to the globe’s unreached peoples prove God is “a stronghold in times of trouble” (Psalm 9:9). Families participate in the call to “declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples” (Psalm 96:3). As God sustains his declarers, parents and children alike, he gets glory.

Is God calling your family to glow in the world’s darkest places? Go, knowing your kids. Go, knowing your God.

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Desires are funny things. They drive everything we do, and yet, like the engine in a car, we rarely look at them. As the Book says, man’s heart is deep water and all that. But wise men, like C.S. Lewis, pop the hood and force us to inspect the desires that move us. In The Screwtape Letters, he shows how our pinings and preferences can subtly erode peace and crowd out love if left unexamined. Lewis diagnoses the disease of preferences gone wild, exposing the disharmony that results when diminutive wants grow into systematic demands — all to the tune of “Can’t you just . . . ?”

‘All-I-Want’ State of Mind

In Letter 17, the demon Screwtape describes an old woman who struggles with the sin of gluttony, not from overeating but from being overdemanding with her preferences. At table after table, she rejects the meal offered to her “with a demure little sigh,” insisting that all she wants is “a cup of tea properly made, or an egg properly boiled, or a slice of bread properly toasted” (The Screwtape Letters, 88). Because her requests are singular and relatively small, she fools herself into thinking them reasonable and easy to accommodate, even though they conceal “an insatiable demand for the exact” (89). She refuses to feast until her foibles are indulged.

Lewis dubs this the “‘All-I-want’ state of mind,” where one particular preference comes to dominate. Like a totalitarian dictator, the singular all controls everything and everyone. As a result, the old woman infects every table she pulls up to with “querulousness, impatience, uncharitableness, and self-concern” (87). Under the guise of “All-I-want,” she is a micro-tyrant, “a positive terror” to everyone around her (87). Her petite preferences sabotage the spiritual health of her community — and the demons love it.

Tiny Tyrannies

The danger of an “All-I-want” mentality extends far beyond eating. Consider how many approach the church the same way this woman approaches the table. We bring seemingly small desires with us, expressed (at first) as slight requests: Can’t you just be a bit more like me? Can’t you just let the Spirit lead more? All I want is some newer music. Like the old woman, we fool ourselves into thinking these preferences should be easy to accommodate because we present them solo, not as a list of demands. But even virtuous desires, isolated from other goods, go a bit mad, becoming lone judges over everyone and everything. Almost without our noticing, “All-I-want” preferences become tiny tyrannies.

Consider two examples. In the Old Testament, God miraculously fed his people in the wilderness with manna (cf. Exodus 16). Each morning, bread fell from heaven to meet all their dietary needs. God laid the table with bespoke portions so that each individual left satisfied. But the Israelites let little preferences grow into sinful demands. They missed meat — nothing wrong with that. But they let that desire fester and grow worms. You can imagine them sliding the proffered plate of manna away “with a demure little sigh” and thinking, All I want is the teeniest, weeniest bit of charred steak. Left unchecked, their preferences led to grumbling, ingratitude, and scorning the meal God offered.

In the New Testament, we see something similar in the church at Thyatira (Revelation 2:18–29). King Jesus commends their works of love, faith, and patience, which increase day by day. And yet he confronts them because they “tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess and is teaching and seducing my servants to practice sexual immorality” (Revelation 2:20). How could a faithful church allow such depravity? The text doesn’t tell us explicitly, but likely the preferences of a fussy few dominated the many. Can’t you just allow this woman to teach occasionally? She’s so dynamic. Or, All I want is that she preach once a month. Can’t you just give her a mic? Or, Can’t we just do something new? This woman’s novelty is so refreshing. Perhaps not everyone at Thyatira indulged her, but the sinful cravings of a few cowed the rest.

These examples show that sometimes “insatiable demand[s] for the exact” arise from mere preferences (89): a large portion over a small one, meat over bread, modern music over hymns, a long sermon over a short one. These preferences fit in the wisdom bucket; they only cross into sin if they trump the demands of love and become tiny tyrannies.

But as in Jezebel’s case, many subtle demands that assail the church move well beyond preference into sin and folly. They build on assumptions that contradict God’s designs. The lust for novelty, the demand for uncritical affirmation, the call for women to preach — these are not mere flavor choices, like vanilla or chocolate. Disordered from the start, they run counter to God’s taste. We must distinguish prudential preferences from sinful urges.

Spreading Sickness

In all three cases above — Screwtape, Sinai, and Thyatira — inordinate desires ran riot within a community. When individual preferences metastasize into demands and ultimatums — especially when they masquerade under the banner of “All I want . . .” or “Can’t you just . . . ?” — societies get sick. Totalized desires, even disguised by a demure sigh or a shake of the head or a quiet departure to a more accommodating church, make fierce tyrants.

The tyranny of preference opposes the way of love, the way of Christlike humility, and the way of joy. The way of love because love “does not insist on its own way” (1 Corinthians 13:5). The way of humility because, like Christ, the humble “look not only to [their] own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). And the way of joy because the joyful lay down their preferences when “progress and joy in the faith” calls for it (Philippians 1:25).

Perhaps our churches are unwell because we fail to examine the preferences, desires, and assumptions we impose on the body of Christ. Might “querulousness, impatience, uncharitableness, and self-concern” trouble us because our passions go unchecked (James 4:1)? Are many theologically anemic because, like Lewis’s old woman, they push away any feast of worship that doesn’t conform to their skeletal preferences? Could it be that you and I contribute to the disharmony in the body because we bring the “All-I-want” mindset into the pews?

Diagnose Your Desires

If this diagnosis is correct, then many of the church’s illnesses go untreated because they masquerade as preferences. “Can’t you just . . . ?” is a subtle sickness; we need to expose it so we can confess and repent.

This month at Desiring God, we want to examine some of the most common preferences and urges afflicting the church. You may have heard them before; you may have said them before.

• Can’t you just love everyone?
• Can’t you just let me attend without joining?
• Can’t you just be like me?
• Can’t you just help me?
• Can’t you just talk about Jesus?
• Can’t you just do something new?

Beneath each of these seemingly harmless statements churns an engine of desire, fueled by unbiblical assumptions and demands. We aim to pop the hood and expose what’s there so we can diagnose the urges at work in us. We invite you to join us as, wielding the scalpel of the Spirit, we diagnose the preferences that lead us astray and expose the “Can’t you just . . . ?” phrases that excuse our sin.

Only when our King’s desires move us will our churches thrive as he intends. Only when our loves are attuned to the Trinity will we overthrow the tiny tyrannies that plague us.