Thou shalt not bear false witness!

Most people remember the Duke Lacrosse team for perpetrating horrible acts against a young woman. They were suspended from the university, publicly shamed, stripped of their reputations, and treated as criminals before a trial ever reached a courtroom. Their lives were effectively ruined.

Yes, most people who were alive at the time remember that version of the story. And most people who are alive today still assume their guilt.

They were innocent.

Framed from the start.

False witness tattooed a stain on them that has lasted far longer in public memory than their vindication ever did.

Why is that? Why do so many people still remember them as guilty? I don’t think the answer is simply that the media under-publicized their innocence. I think it runs deeper than that.

My dad and I recently watched the documentary The Devil Next Door about the accused Nazi war criminal John Demjanjuk—known in the 1980s as “Ivan the Terrible.” His trial drew out dozens of witnesses, many of whom stood and testified falsely with absolute certainty that he was the man who committed unspeakable atrocities.

At one point my dad asked, “How could they just stand up there and lie with such passion and resolve?”

It was the perfect question.

My first-blush response was this: their hunger for justice was so intense that they needed their testimony to be true—and eventually it became true to them. Their desire for justice reshaped memory, emotion, and conviction until sincerity replaced accuracy.

The same thing happened in the Duke Lacrosse case. People’s hunger for justice for the “victim” permanently branded guilt onto the accused, regardless of the facts.

One of the Ten Commandments—often treated as one of the “lesser” ones—is this: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. I believe there are two forces in our culture that make this commandment not minor at all, but one of the most grievous.

The first is social media. False witness now has more power than it has at any point in human history. Everyone has access to everyone. Accusation travels faster than truth, and retraction travels nowhere.

The second is victim identity. We live in a culture that increasingly defines itself by whatever oppression that has been perpetrated upon us. We are victims of systems, structures, ideologies, institutions, traditions—real or perceived. Victimhood now carries moral authority, and moral authority often silences scrutiny and overrides truth.

If you doubt that, ask why questioning an accusation or speaking out against an ideology is now treated as an act of hate.

When you combine social media, victim identity, and humanity’s natural thirst for justice, you create the perfect breeding ground for the devastation of false witness. “Believe the accuser” has become the rallying cry of the age and that is a deadly mantra.

How many of you know people who have been falsely accused by an ex-spouse, an ex-employee, or a former friend?

We should all have our hands raised.

False accusation is so common that it made the Big Ten. It is so common that the justice system in the free world was deliberately designed to assume innocence and demand proof beyond a reasonable doubt from twelve people who must be convinced together.

What’s my point?

Our culture needs to be reminded of this. And we need to remind ourselves. Bearing false witness is devastating.

We have witnessed enough false accusations in our lifetimes to know that not everything we read—especially online—is true. Much of it is not just an innocent mistake, but deliberately false.

Test the spirits. Understand human nature. Don’t rush to judgment. Don’t let your desire for justice override your commitment to truth.

Justice is coming. It's coming for us all!

2025 in the Rear-view Mirror

The older I get, the more each year feels less like a calendar box and more like another chapter God is writing — one I couldn’t write myself if I tried. And if 2025 taught me anything, it’s that joy and sorrow really can walk side-by-side when the Lord is the One holding both. Now that I’ve got this year in the rear-view mirror, I can see just how much living and how much grace He fit into twelve months.

This was the year we lost Poppy — my father-in-law and one of the steady men in our lives. It’s hard to capture a man like him in words that feel big enough. He was consistent. He was present. He loved quietly and deeply and didn’t make life about himself. He adored his family with a warmth that felt like home. We grieve because he mattered. Yet Scripture reminds us that we “do not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13). Christ’s resurrection really does change what a graveside feels like. We said goodbye but one day the ache will give way to reunion. Until then, we thank God for the gift of his life and the mark he left on ours.

And while grief was finding its way into our days, joy found a seat at the same table. I had the privilege of watching Jay become a husband. Emma didn’t just marry into our family — she became part of our hearts. “Every good and perfect gift is from above” (James 1:17), and these gifts felt especially tender this year.

At the same time, God was leading me through one of the hardest decisions of my adult life — stepping down from my staff role and eldership at Harvest DeSoto, and ultimately from a church body I had served for eighteen years. You don’t spend nearly two decades praying, preaching, loving, crying, counseling, worshiping, and carrying burdens with a people without your heart becoming woven into the fabric of that place. Leaving wasn’t about losing belief in the mission. It was obedience to the God who cares more for my soul than He does for my usefulness. I needed restoration more than I needed a role — even when I didn’t know how much.

I’d love to say I handled all of this with peace and composure, but the truth is my body finally rang the alarm. The stress caught up with me and landed me in the ER — and because humility needs humor, I wound up back there again after slipping on a pineapple. Some lessons you learn spiritually. Others come with paperwork, an IV, and my wife’s eyes telling me enough is enough. 

This was also the year I hugged my Josie and left her at university. Pride and ache collided in a way only parents really understand. Watching her step into her calling reminded me again that our children belong first to the Lord — and He is faithful.

Louie grew and Sondra is the shortest member of the Hinton clan once again. He is navigating middle school well and is realizing his talents more each day. What a joy he is!

I also walked beside several dear friends as they buried parents, grandparents and loved ones this year. Standing near fresh soil never gets easier, but it does make the resurrection mean more. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). And I watched the Holy Spirit do just that.

And yet, even with so much in motion, God kept certain things beautifully steady. My wife, faithfully loving and serving our family in a way the world rarely sees. My love for my family deepening, not fading. Friends who stayed close. A job of significance and value! Thank you, MW!!  And above all, the unwavering, stubborn faithfulness of God. “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23). That verse wasn’t theory this year. It was oxygen.

Of course, God also slipped joy into the cracks. I gained a daughter-in-law. I learned I’d be a grandfather. I harvested the best deer I’ve ever taken. I went to see Dan Huff with my faithful friend Brian Edwards, a night that somehow combined music, gratitude, and worship. And I caught my first triple tails and found out what fish can really taste like.  Thanks, Johnny M!

So when I look back at 2025, I see loss and life, grief and gratitude, letting go and gaining, hospitals and pineapples, tears and laughter, and a God who did not once step away. “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you” (Isaiah 46:4).

I don’t know what 2026 will hold.

But I know the One who will be there when it comes.

And that is enough!!

Dan Huff Concert: All truth and beauty belong to God... And bring Him glory

“All truth is God’s truth” is a maxim most Christians are comfortable affirming. A mathematical theorem is true whether the one who discovers it believes in God or not. There are atheists who have uncovered profound mathematical truths with no awareness that what they’ve found ultimately belongs to God—and yet that truth still brings Him glory. Truth does not require acknowledgment to be true.

But I wonder if we’ve thought deeply enough about a parallel idea: all beauty is God’s beauty.

Whether the one creating it recognizes the source or not, beauty has the same transcendent quality as truth. A melody can move us before we understand why. An Italian opera—words we can’t translate, phrases we don’t intellectually grasp—can still carry us somewhere beyond ourselves. It lifts us above the performer, above the technique, even above the language itself. Beauty points past the human instrument to something eternal.

In that way, beauty quietly refuses to stay contained within human limits. It exposes the cracks in our finiteness and lets light through.

Last night in Nashville, listening to Dan Huff play guitar, that reality hit me all over again. What I experienced wasn’t merely excellence or nostalgia or even admiration for a master musician—though all of that was there. What I felt was gratitude. Gratitude that God, in His ongoing creativity—His creatio continua—still chooses to reveal His glory through flawed, finite people.

That’s the thing about beauty: it transcends the brokenness of the one creating it. It surpasses motive, belief, reputation, and even awareness. A beautiful thing remains beautiful because its source is not ultimately human.

For every beautiful thing, God gets the glory.

Dan Huff absolutely ripped it up last night. It was beautiful. And I left the room thankful—deeply thankful—for what I believe may be God’s most glory-revealing gift to humanity: music. A gift that bypasses our defenses, quiets our arguments, and reminds us that we were made for more than explanation—we were made for worship.

Dan, thanks for coming out of retirement and creating a moment of worship for me.

God be praised.

Is “a Personal Relationship with God” the Best Way to describe salvation? Is it even a good one?

 If you grew up in an evangelical church, you’ve probably heard the phrase countless times: “Christianity isn’t a religion—it’s a personal relationship with God.” Or, "do you have a personal relationpship with God?" I believe the expression is meant to imply that Christianity is real, substnative, and life changing. It isn't cultural Christianity, inherited faith, church attendance without repentance or transformation. The expression means relationship with God matters and God is not distant. That corrective implication of this expression was and is still necessary.

But over time, I’ve started to wonder whether “personal relationship with God” is the clearest or most faithful way to describe what Scripture teaches. I have heard the phrase in a few sermons recently and today I decided to dig in a bit. Not because of any kind of doctrinal or moral high ground, but for the sake of curiosity.

The phrase “personal relationship with God” itself doesn’t appear anywhere in the Bible. Neither do familiar expressions like “invite Jesus into your heart.” That doesn’t automatically make them wrong, but it should make us pause. Scripture gives us its own characterizations of God’s relationship to man, and when we replace biblical terminology with other ones, we often import assumptions without realizing it.

For example, in our present cultural context, a “personal relationship” refers to something individual, emotional, informal, and largely private. It could mean different things to different people. Some may add any number of qualities to a “personal relationship” which are not part of our relationship with God. One example that comes to mind is the ability to negotiate. In my marriage, my most personal relationship, we often use negotiation as a tool and it is a tool for a healthy relationship. This valuable relationship tool and many others just do not carry over into our relationship with God.

So, through this mispereptions, the concept of “personal relationship” can quietly shift the center of faith away from what God has done in Christ and toward how I experience my personal God on my terms. When assurance is tied to feeling close to God, faith becomes fragile. Seasons of dryness or doubt begin to feel like spiritual failure, or a fracture in the “personal relationship”. Scripture, however, grounds assurance somewhere much sturdier than a relationship that is based in how we experience God. It is based in Christ’s finished work.

Certainly, there is a relational aspect to knowing God. As a matter of fact, when the Bible speaks about our connection to God, it uses language that is both relational and objective. It talks about being united to Christ, reconciled to God, adopted as sons and daughters, brought into covenant. These are not cold or distant doctrines. They are God-initiated secure promise that are not based on how we feel. Jesus defines eternal life not as an emotion or an internal sense of closeness, but as knowing God through Him. That knowing is covenantal, not casual. It is both personal and corporate, and the terms of the relationship are not ours. They are his.

If the goal in using the expression “personal relationship with Christ” is to correct casual or cultural Christianity, or to stir people toward a deeper connection to God, a better way to say it might be “union with Christ by faith,” or “being reconciled to God through Christ,” or simply “knowing God through Christ.” Those phrases are rooted in scripture and preserve the relational reality without centering faith on personal feeling, private spirituality, or the whatever messed up perceptions people may have about what “personal relationship”. These phrases keep the focus where Scripture keeps it—on Christ, not on us.

That doesn’t mean we need to ban the phrase “personal relationship with God.” Most people mean something that is true when they use it. But it does mean we should be careful and precise about defining what it means using Biblical language. Christian faith is personal, but it is also covenantal, corporate, and Christ-centered. It begins not with our initiative or our emotions, but with God’s gracious action toward us

It is not good for man to be alone

 

“It Is Not Good for Man to Be Alone”

When God looked at Adam in the garden and declared, “It is not good for the man to be alone,” He was revealing something far deeper than Adam’s temporary loneliness. He was revealing His design. Scripture tells us that God created mankind in His own image—“male and female He created them.” The image of God is expressed not only individually, but in relationship, in the complementary union of male and female, in the covenant of marriage, and in the families and communities that naturally grow from it.

From the very beginning, in Eden, God built need into humanity. It wasn’t a needy weakness, but a holy, intentional interdependence. Our culture may insist that independence is strength and needing someone is a fault, but Scripture teaches the opposite. Before sin entered the world, needing each other was woven into the very fabric of the way we are created.

We need one another to bring forth life. The union of man and woman is the foundation of procreation, the means by which God designed the human race to continue. Cultures that downplay or deny the significance of male and female eventually find that they are also downplaying the significance of their own future. The next generation exists only because God designed men and women to come together in covenant and create life.

And once children are born, they flourish best when they grow up under the care and influence of both a mother and a father. Study after study confirms what Scripture has always proclaimed: children are most stable, most secure, and most likely to thrive when they are raised in intact, two-parent households. This isn’t a condemnation of single parents, as many bear incredible burdens with heroic effort. It is simply an acknowledgment of the design that God never intended one person to carry the load that was meant to be shared.

Beyond the raising of children, God designed man and woman for companionship, comfort, and completion. Adam’s joy when he met Eve reveals the deep truth that men and women were made to complement each other. Together we image God more fully than either of us can alone. Our emotional, intellectual, and spiritual differences were not accidents or obstacles; they were gifts meant to enrich us and allow us to reflect God’s relational nature.

This need for companionship becomes even more apparent as we age. Ecclesiastes laments the plight of the one who falls with no one there to lift him up. The beauty of marriage is seen in youth, but it is proven in old age when strength fades, when memory slips, when nights grow long, and when the faithful presence of a spouse becomes a source of dignity and comfort. God designed lifelong companionship because He knew our frailty.

Scripture also pictures the family as a small army standing together against the challenges of life. Psalm 127 describes children as “arrows in the hand of a warrior,” a reminder that no one stands and fights alone. The imagery is both figurative and literal: parents raise the next generation of truth-bearers and defenders, but families also give courage, support, and solidarity when real battles come. A lone soldier is vulnerable; a family rooted in love, in truth, and in shared purpose is a formidable force.

All of this reveals something profound about marriage and family. The happiness of marriage depends on embracing the fact that we truly need each other. In a culture that insists we should be self-sufficient, emotionally autonomous, and free from any obligation or dependence, many marriages collapse under the weight of unspoken expectations and denied needs. But God’s design calls us to acknowledge openly: I need you. You need me. According to God’s original design, we were created that way.

Yet our cultural trends are moving in the opposite direction. Marriage rates are falling. Marriage age is rising. Birth rates are declining. Single-parent homes are increasing. Traditional family norms are being challenged, dismissed, or redefined. At the same time, loneliness, confusion, and despair are rising at staggering levels. These trends are not random; they are connected. When a society rejects God’s design, it begins to lose the blessings the design creates.

If these cultural shifts continue, the consequences are predictable: fewer families, fewer children, less stability for the next generation, more isolation, more fractured relationships, and more people struggling to find purpose and identity outside the structure God provided for their flourishing.

So how do we respond? We begin by teaching these truths clearly to our children. We do not assume they will absorb God’s design from the world around them, rather we must show them its beauty and necessity. We also must lovingly but firmly push back against cultural currents that seek to redefine or erase the norms God established. We cannot bow to every new definition that emerges simply because culture demands it or because someone may get their feelings hurt. Instead, we hold fast to the truth with conviction and compassion.

And finally, we model God’s design with our own lives. We build strong, joyful marriages that showcase faithfulness, forgiveness, affection, and unity. We invest in our families and in our community. We show the world a better way by living out the goodness of God’s design.

In the end, the truth remains the same as it was in Eden: It is not good for man to be alone. God made us to need one another. When we embrace that need, we embrace His wisdom, His purpose, and His blessing.

The Power of Our Words

The Power of Our Words

““For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭55‬:‭10‬-‭11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God’s Word is never wasted. Every word He speaks accomplishes its purpose to convict, comfort, or call His people back to Himself. That divine truth holds a mirror up to us. The words we speak also carry purpose and power. They go out, they land somewhere, and they either build up or tear down.

James writes, “If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body” (James 3:2). Our speech is not just a reflection of our thoughts—it’s a measure of our spiritual maturity. Like God’s Word, our words have consequence. They will not return void.

James warns that “the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things” (James 3:5). With it, we bless God and curse people made in His image. The same tongue that can speak blessing can also unleash destruction.

“but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so.”‭‭ James‬ ‭3‬:‭8‬-‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Our words, once spoken, take on a life of their own. They go out like arrows that cannot be called back. Words of encouragement bring healing. Words of bitterness or pride pierce and scar.

Even words of correction and admonishment—when done rightly—should aim at redemption, not destruction. Discipline and rebuke have their place, but their godly purpose is always restoration. In parenting, discipline is meant to train, not humiliate. In friendships and church life, correction should invite repentance, not rejection.

What do these corrective examples have in common? They take place in covenant relationships—places where love, trust, and accountability exist. Within these relationships, the roots are deep enough to bear the weight of truth.

In covenant relationships like family, marriage, and church, gentle correction protects love and preserves unity. But outside of those relationships, when words of correction are loosed, they often wound instead of heal.

Political discourse, for example, has a role in a democratic society, but it’s not a covenantal one. The purpose there is to challenge ideas, not shepherd souls. When we take the tone of a parent correcting a child or a pastor confronting sin and apply it to strangers or opponents in the political theater, the outcome is rarely positive.

Social media magnifies this danger and offers near endless opportunity to offend. It tempts us to speak quickly, harshly, and thoughtlessly to people we don’t know and with whom we share no relational capital. The distance between hearts and screens makes it easy to forget the image of God on the other side. The result can be eroded trust and damaged testimony

James offers us a better way: “But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.” James‬ ‭3:17-18

The words we send out carry power, so let them carry this kind of wisdom. Let them sow peace and not strife. Before we speak, before we post, before we correct—let’s ask:

1. Will these words accomplish the purpose of peace or pride?
2. Do I have the relationship to say this in love?
3. Am I speaking as a minister of reconciliation or merely as a critic?
   

Every word we speak goes somewhere. Every word we send out bears fruit. May ours, like God’s, never return void—but instead accomplish what is good, redemptive, and true.

Stewardship for Our Posterity: A Call to Conserve Our Natural Resources

 

When America’s Founding Fathers set forth the principles of our nation, they carefully chose words that would echo across generations. Thomas Jefferson’s immortal phrase that we are “endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” still stirs the soul. These rights were not imagined as fleeting privileges, but enduring truths meant to be secured not only for the present but also, as the Constitution’s preamble declares, “to ourselves and our posterity.”

The very word “posterity” reminds us that our decisions ripple beyond our lifetime. What we do with the blessings of this land shapes the quality of life our children and grandchildren will inherit. Therefore, natural resource conservation is not a secondary concern but central to preserving the rights Jefferson identified. Without clean water, fertile soil, and breathable air, “life” is diminished. Without open access to healthy lands, “liberty” is constrained. Finally, without sustainable abundance through natural resources, the “pursuit of happiness” is hindered.

Though the Founding Fathers did not use the word “conservation,” they understood the critical role of land and resources in sustaining our nation. George Washington, a farmer and surveyor, once wrote, “A people who are possessed of the spirit of commerce, who are engaged in the cultivation of the soil, and who are dependent on their own resources, must be great and happy.” The early republic was deeply agricultural, and the vitality of its soil, forests, and rivers was inseparable from the vitality of the nation.

Benjamin Franklin warned of the shortsightedness of overuse, noting in his Poor Richard’s Almanac that “he that plows too much, harrows in vain.” This phrase underscored that exploitation ultimately leads to loss, while moderation secures lasting benefit. Jefferson, in his Notes on the State of Virginia, exalted the farmer as the backbone of the republic, not because of mere productivity, but because of the virtuous relationship between steward and land.

The Founders spoke often of liberty, but liberty has always had responsibility as its companion. The land was a trust, given to each generation, not to consume recklessly but to sustain wisely.

Long before America’s founding, Scripture defined humanity’s responsibility to conserve creation. In Genesis 1:28, God blessed mankind and commanded them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

The word subdue has often been misinterpreted as license to dominate without restraint. But biblical theology makes clear that the earth is the Lord’s (Psalm 24:1), not ours. We are tenants, not ultimate owners. Adam’s original calling was not to strip the garden but to “work it and keep it” (Genesis 2:15). This Hebrew pairing implies both use and protection: to cultivate for productivity and to preserve for continuity.

This balance is critical. The Creator endowed the earth with resources intended for human flourishing. We have timber for homes, soil for crops, waters for refreshment, minerals for progress. But these gifts were never meant to be squandered. They are held in trust. To abuse them is not merely to sin against the land, but to sin against the Creator and to rob future generations of their rightful inheritance.

In fact, there is a paradox in human ownership. Every title deed, every plot of land, every mineral lease is a temporary reality. As the Psalmist wrote, “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24:1). What we “own” is, in truth, only borrowed. One day it will pass to another.

To own something that will always eventually belong to someone else is to embrace the idea of stewardship over possession. That mindset changes everything. If we are stewards, then we must ask, what condition will we leave our fields, our forests, our rivers, and our air in? Will our children inherit depleted soil and polluted streams, or will they inherit abundance, resilience, and beauty? Will they inherit life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness God intended these resources to be stewarded toward?

Edmund Burke, often called the father of modern conservatism said, “Society is a partnership… not only between those who are living, but between those who are dead, and those who are to be born.” True ownership is generational responsibility.

Conservation is not merely an environmental issue. It is a civic and moral duty! The unalienable rights enshrined in America’s founding documents cannot be secured apart from the stewardship of the land that sustains them. A degraded environment erodes liberty just as surely as political tyranny by limiting the opportunities and health of those who come after us.

This understanding fueled the great conservation movements of later generations. President Theodore Roosevelt, inspired by both patriotism and stewardship, declared, “Of all the questions which can come before this nation, short of the actual preservation of its existence in a great war, there is none which compares in importance with the great central task of leaving this land even a better land for our descendants than it is for us.” Roosevelt’s vision of national parks, forests, and wildlife refuges was rooted in the enduring principle of stewardship for posterity.  

In our time, there are great challenges. We face deforestation, climate pressures, soil depletion, water scarcity, invasive species, and biodiversity loss. Yet the principle remains unchanged. Conservation is not about halting progress or freezing nature untouched. It is about wise use. It is about subduing the earth by understanding its ecosystems, working with The Creator’s rhythms, and ensuring resilience.

Christians especially must recover the biblical call to stewardship. To conserve is not a political act. It is an act of obedience. To waste, pollute, or exploit without care is to betray the very first task God gave humanity. To conserve, cultivate, and renew is to honor the Creator and love our neighbors, present and future.

The Founding Fathers called on us to secure liberty and happiness for our posterity. Scripture calls us to steward creation as tenants of the Lord. Both voices together remind us that to squander resources is to rob our children. Conversely, to steward them is to extend life, liberty, and happiness across generations.

The test of our generation will be whether we embrace the paradox of ownership—that what we hold is not ultimately ours. The land, the waters, the forests, and the air will one day belong to another. We can either pass them along diminished or enriched.

As Psalm 145:4 declares, “One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.” May our stewardship be one of those mighty acts. May we be remembered not as consumers, but as caretakers. May we be remembered as those who secured the blessings of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness by preserving the very foundations on which they rest. May we be remembered as faithfully executing the creation mandate “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”