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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?
Babel feels counterintuitive: if God wants to bring people into peaceful unity, doesn’t the consequence He applies to the tower building effort actually work against what He intends? Not necessarily.
We see lots of details but miss the main point when we come to Jesus mainly to eliminate problems here and now. In Matthew 9:18–26, two people reach out to Jesus with needs very much like the ones we have and must wrestle with the deeper point of Jesus’s ministry — just like we do.
A tourist reads a mistranslated volcano warning about “mermaids” when it really means sirens—absurd until you realize it points to something humans do constantly. Genesis 11 shows people with genuine talent and ability choosing to build a tower not for survival, but for their own glory. How easily do we wrap our ambitions in a report cover and call it achievement?
We’ve all felt the pull to add one more pious act—fast a little longer, pray a little harder—convinced the right combination will finally make us right before God. In Matthew 9, John’s disciples bring that same assumption directly to Jesus, and his answer reframes not just the practice of fasting but the question of what season we’re actually living in.
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.
Most of us know our own dirt isn’t the curated kind—and suspect it may be too much to clean up. In Matthew 9, Jesus walks past everyone with the polished-for-consumption sob story and stops at a tax collector’s booth, a man whose sin was public knowledge, and says simply, “Follow me.”
Pastor Tim turns to 1 Chronicles to think about how the “dry” genealog is actually there to offer incredible assurance to us.
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.
We scramble to fix what’s broken, certain we know the one restoration that matters most. But when friends lower a paralyzed man before Jesus in Matthew 9, desperate only to walk, the first words he hears are “Take heart, my son, your sins are forgiven.” Do we trust Jesus enough to receive what he says we actually need?
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