There’s something sick about a society that demands we prove our loyalty to some— by hating others. But in today's America, we seem to have lost our capacity to disagree without being ugly. Worse, we’re proud of it.

If you want to be "in" with Crowd A, you can't just prefer A or disagree with Crowd B; you must positively despise the other guys. And prove it with your poison-loaded posts! This, in an age of “inclusiveness” and “tolerance.” Beyond hubris, this is hogwash—not to mention harmful.

Though I'm no fan of rap music and don't endorse Snoop Dogg as a role model, I was intrigued by what happened when he agreed to sing at an inaugural event for President Trump. He was thoroughly trashed on social media. And much of the trash talk was predictably vulgar.

Snoop—who currently has 88.1 million Instagram followers — lost more than 570,000 after his performance. But his response is noteworthy. He said, "For all the hate, I'm going to answer with love. We gotta learn how to pick each other up rather than put each other down."

Snoop Dogg, it should be noted, has his own history of caustic comments (as does President Trump). Yet his point is valid. More than that, Snoop is right.

Whether it's Democrats versus Republicans, union workers versus non-union, American citizens versus illegal aliens, how can we call ourselves Christ-followers if we engage in conversations that:

• Soak in sarcasm…
• Bake in bitterness…
• Pickle with poison...

By contrast, Colossians 4:6 demands of us, "Your speech must always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt so that you will know how you should respond to each person."

Yes, we have opinions. Yes, there are issues and people that “get our goat.” But shouldn’t we be different? Shouldn’t we be better?

Stop the hate! That’s more than a slogan on the back of an NFL helmet.

It’s the JESUS way—and we had better find that way and live that way.

“See that no one repays another with evil for evil but always seek what is good for one another and for all people.”

-1Thessalonians 5:15

Are you robbing God?

“What kind of ridiculous question is that?” you reply.

It’s a legitimate question, that’s what kind.

For many years, I've designated my time on the train ride into Chicago for Bible reading and prayer. Nothing else is supposed to infringe. It's a simple commitment, and this habit has significantly blessed me. What could be a better start to the day?

But for some reason, lately, I've struggled. My phone routinely buzzes with an "urgent" text from a family member or an "essential" email from a guest we will interview. Then, there's that task I forgot to put on the calendar and must do before I forget again. And—really—could it possibly be a sin to check on the latest NFL standings briefly?

I recall opening my Bible on more than one occasion but then getting lost in so many of my phone's pings, dings, and rings, I was jolted back to consciousness only by the train conductor's announcement that we were approaching our last stop—the Chicago train station. In other words, I'd completely missed my time with God.

Knowing you've frittered away an exclusive audience with the King of the universe for tasks and people who could have waited makes for a rotten feeling. How sickening to ponder I've given everything and everyone priority over God.

The only honest label for this is—robbing God. 

You ask, “But can’t you make that time up later?” Not really. Once I arrive at the office, it’s time to get cracking on all the scripts, recordings, and editing that await. In essence, I've managed to start—and finish—an entire workday without the blessing that comes from being with God. And yes, I could recreate that time with the Lord on the ride home or later in the evening. But it’s just not the same.

It’s like setting up a special date with a friend or spouse, forgetting about it, and then promising to make up the time. You can do it. But it’s still not the same.

When someone is a priority, you know it. And they know it.

Not by our words but by our actions.

So—are you robbing God?

“But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness…”

—Matthew 6:33

Unless you are Danielle Steele, Dean Koontz, J.K. Rowling, or Stephen King, you probably need coaching with your writing. Being in great need, I’m greatly helped by an online grammar checker. It sniffs out sentences written in the passive voice, adjectives whose modified nouns are unclear, commas that have been misplaced or misused—and many other writing sins.

Though I tend to accept most suggestions, I was bemused by a message that popped up in a recent critique of something I’d written (screenshot below):

"The word Jesus appears repeatedly in this text. Consider changing it or rewriting the sentence to avoid the repetition.”

Obviously, that assessment is the product of an algorithm, not the expression of a real person. Nevertheless, a large and growing segment of Americans share that precise sentiment.

We’re okay with God. Or gods. We are not okay with Jesus.

Our culture now dictates, "Pray, privately, if you must--and in public very rarely. Above all, never pray in Jesus’ name." Because the truth is, for some, any mention of Jesus is too many.

In case you’re wondering, my response to that online critique was to ignore it. I did not remove or replace a single reference to Jesus. And neither should you.

This world has never been a friend to Jesus or His followers. And things are about to get a lot more “un-chummier.” But let’s not change our love or our loyalty. Let’s not avoid Jesus. Let’s cling to Him all the more.

 “For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when He comes in His glory and the glory of the Father and the holy angels.

Luke 9:26

When Ava and Emma asked me to play "Old Elf" (think Old Maid but with a bearded gnome), I plopped down on the floor and dutifully picked up my cards.

As she nestled next to me, the game in full swing, Emma “couldn’t help” but notice what was in my hand: one last card (which you’ve correctly guessed was “the old elf”). Five-year-old Emma could have chosen to draw a card from her sister. Yet her big blue eyes narrowed as she softly stated, “I want to do this for you.” I tried to talk her out of it, reminding her she would lose the whole game. But she insisted again, “I want to do this for you.”

For a moment, her gesture transported me to a dank hall, where torchlight flickered on a circle of faces unusually hardened. In the center of that circle stood a man whose hands were tied.

The prisoner looked directly into the eyes of a thug menacing a wooden stick, a knot on the end. Walloping the skull of the prisoner, the ruffian heard an unlikely reply from the bruised head: "I want to do this for you."

Another came forward with a fiendish grin—and a crown of thorns. As this brute jammed the crown on the prisoner's head, he declared quietly to his attacker, "I want to do this for you."

Another slapped the prisoner's face. Another spat in it. Still, another drew blood and pus as he ripped out a section of the guy's beard. To all of them, the prisoner said softly, "I want to do this for you."

There were others—many others—a soldier with a bone-laced whip and an executioner bearing a hammer and nails. The prisoner, weakened as he was, whispered gently to all of them, "I want to do this for you."

He said it and said it and said it. All the way to the cross. All across the ages. All the way to this very moment.

Consider. Jesus wasn’t a hapless victim dying a helpless death. He did it for you.

And the unspeakable reason is—He wanted to.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners,

Christ died for us.

-Romans 5:8

From a distance, it looked impressive. Quietly majestic, even.

Hiking through the park, I wandered off the (literally) beaten bath to check out a tree whose circumference was 136 inches. That's 11 feet four inches around.

Only up close would you notice this tree has a hole in the trunk. It's just about at eye height, so you can lean into the thing and see grass and trees on the other side (see photo below).

But what forces of nature could hollow out a tree? Drought? Disease? Rot from within? I'm sure this tree has a story, likely a sad one. And that story will only get sadder once the park district follows through on the destruction noted by a spraypainted X. Still, the longer I stared through that trunk, the stronger grew the sensation that this tree was a living (or perhaps more accurately, dying) metaphor.

Most of the believers you and I bump into in our daily lives look just fine on the outside. Healthy. Happy. Productive. But experience shows that more than a few are as hollowed out as that tree in the woods.

Which is a fancier way of saying they’re dying on the inside. Could be they’ve disconnected themselves from God—or feeding on His Word. Maybe they’ve cut themselves off from the spiritual nourishment that comes only in fellowship with other believers.

In nature, a hollowed-out tree is a death sentence. But hollowed-out souls are not beyond the restoring touch of God. Analyzing, assessing, or even passing judgment on these people is tempting. Yet, our task is not to criticize but to comfort. Not to bring blame but to bring balm.

It's a new year. Maybe we should worry less about resolutions—and worry more about restorations.

: souls with holes. Look for them. Love them.

And invite God to do the work that only He can do—restoring the hollow places.

We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up.

-Romans 15:1,2