When repeated failure makes a person look like a lost cause, writing them off can feel less like cruelty than common sense. Yet Paul opens 2 Corinthians 1 by addressing a fractured, correction-resistant congregation as “the church of God” and “saints”—then speaking grace and peace over people who appear to deserve neither.
If we’re all fools, what’s it matter if one fool hurts another? Does anything matter? To God, the answer is it does — and not all fools are alike because of Him.
When corruption seems everywhere, it is tempting to imagine that the world just needs a few good people willing to play Batman and set things right. But Psalm 14:3–4 says everyone has turned aside, forcing a harder question: What happens when the same sin we fight in others begins corrupting our own good intentions?
We know the word fool, but do we recognize who the fools are? Do we recognize when we’re the one playing the fool? Psalm 14 helps us better understand real foolishness.
We all want our lives to mean something—to make a name for ourselves that people will actually remember. The builders at Babel in Genesis 11 wanted exactly that, and the choice they made raises an uncomfortable question for anyone who’s ever chased significance: is the tower you’re building any different from theirs?
When we struggle to translate from one language to another, we’re painfully reminded of the problems coming from the Tower of Babel. But do we remember the temptation of that situation, one that plays to our own ambitions still today?
Maybe you had a childhood toy that took your voice and sent it back distorted and amplified. Small choices work the same way in Proverbs 3:34-35 — God reciprocates what we put out into the world, amplifying our foolishness so we see it clearly, or honoring our wisdom in ways that matter eternally.
When we try to live by “Don’t Be Evil,” we find that we end up being evil in the end. There’s a better way.
When we try to live by “Don’t Be Evil,” we find that we end up being evil in the end. There’s a better way.