Sex is the one subject where many people brace for judgment and learn to hide. But the gospel never filed your body under shame, and it never handed you permission either. There is a better word.

Jesus called John the Baptist the greatest man ever born, and in the same breath said the least in the kingdom is greater than he. The final article in the Him All Along series unpacks why that one line is the key to everything, and how the cross placed you where even the greatest could not stand.

Many Christians were taught to be like David, Abraham, or Gideon. But is that how the New Testament teaches us to read the Old Testament? In Part 1 of this new series, we explore how the cross reshapes our lens and reveals that these stories are not primarily about imitation, but about Christ.

David is often held up as the ultimate example of passion, repentance, and worship. But his life reveals something deeper. Even a man after God’s own heart could not secure lasting righteousness. In Part 4 of this series, we explore how David’s story points beyond imitation to fulfillment in Christ.

Joseph’s story is often preached as a lesson in perseverance. But when read through the lens of fulfillment, it reveals something greater: the rejected son who becomes the source of life. In Part 6 of this series, we see how Joseph’s suffering prepares us for the cross and the salvation secured by Christ.

Gideon’s story is often told as a lesson in courage and hidden potential. But the book of Judges reveals something deeper. Human deliverers could win battles, but they could not secure lasting righteousness. In Part 5 of this series, we explore how Gideon points beyond temporary victory to permanent redemption in Christ.

Abraham is often presented as the ultimate model of heroic faith. But when the New Testament speaks of him, it emphasizes something different. He was declared righteous before he performed. In this article, we explore why Abraham’s story was never about trying harder, but about promise fulfilled in Christ.

Moses led Israel to the edge of the promised land, but he did not enter. In this article, we explore why that detail is theological, not incidental, and how Moses’ story reveals the limits of the law and the necessity of Christ.

The miracles in Scripture were public and undeniable. The ones we hear about now feel small enough to mistake for coincidence. If God hasn’t changed, why did the miracles seem to shrink? The answer isn’t what most people expect, and it starts with the word “greater.”

Most people who left the church didn’t reject Jesus. They collapsed under the weight of a god who was never satisfied, and was never the real one. The numbers behind the exodus tell a story we keep misreading.

You feel close to God on the days you got it right, and far from Him on the days you didn’t. But Hebrews 9:12 says your standing was never measured by your week. It was measured by the worth of the blood that bought it, and that blood doesn’t have good days and bad days.

You were taught to fight the enemy with the right words, said with enough force, and you’ve never been quite sure it worked. But Ephesians 6 keeps telling you to stand, not advance. Once you see what the cross already did to the powers, the whole battle looks different.

You’ve heard it from a stage: even Jesus couldn’t do miracles where there was unbelief, so check your faith and your honor. But that implies the Son of God can be powered down, and the Nazareth scene says the opposite of the slogan built on it.

You’ve walked the aisle before, maybe more than once, and still wondered whether it took. But the word we casually use for the front of the church carries a history most of us never trace. Follow it back, and the thing you keep walking toward turns out to be finished already.

Someone told you the Greek word for “salvation” includes healing and prosperity, so if you’re still sick or still struggling, your faith must be the problem. The word really does carry more than you were told. But the argument hides a mistake, and seeing it hands back something it quietly stole.

You were handed the Ten Commandments as the measuring stick, and you’ve been quietly keeping score ever since. But Paul says you’re “not under law.” Seeing what the commandments actually were, and where they went, changes everything about how you stand before God.

You said sorry last night. You meant it. So why are you saying it again this morning? The confession loop feels like reverence, but Hebrews 8:12 reveals it as something else. God didn’t offer to forgive your sin. He swore to forget it.

You forgave them, or you tried to, and underneath sits a quieter fear: if you can’t fully forgive, has God fully forgiven you? Luke 6:38 seems to say your forgiveness is measured by your own. But where Jesus was standing when He said it changes everything.

You give faithfully, but somewhere underneath it runs a quiet math: was it enough, am I current with God? Hebrews 7 is the verse most often used to keep that obligation in place. Read in context, the chapter does the opposite of what the argument needs it to do.

You believe Jesus died for you, but someone told you that you weren’t really saved until you went under the water. So now there’s a small crack in your confidence. Does baptism actually save you? The answer is freer than the question.