Christian Walk

Models who look like Jesus are in high demand in Utah. That’s because for a growing number of people in the state, a picture isn’t complete without Him. They are hiring Jesus look-alikes for family portraits and wedding announcements. Models are showing up to walk with a newly engaged couple through a field, play with young children in the Bonneville Salt Flats, and cram in with the family for the annual Christmas card.

Bob Sagers was walking around an indie music festival in Salt Lake City when a friendly stranger approached and asked for his number. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a Jesus look to you?” the man asked, according to Sagers, a 25-year-old who works as a cheesemonger at a grocery store. It wasn’t a pickup line—the man’s wife was an artist looking for religious models. “I didn’t really get that a lot,” says Sagers, who is 6-foot-5 with dirty-blonde, shoulder-length hair and a beard he says gives Irish and Scandinavian vibes. “I make for a pretty tall Jesus.”

And so it was that Sagers began a side hustle as a savior. Since being recruited about four years ago, Sagers has posed as Jesus nearly a dozen times. Others have done so far more often, charging about $100 to $200 an hour to pose with children, families, and couples at various locations in the Beehive state.

For the newly sought-after models, the job can be freighted with meaning and responsibility. Look-alikes find that people expect them to embody Jesus in more ways than the hair and beard. Some models said they feel like a celebrity when they don the robe—and get treated like one too. (One felt compelled to remind an onlooker he wasn’t the real Jesus.) Others said they’ve had their own semireligious experiences on the job.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Every follower of Jesus may not look like Jesus, but we are called to act like Jesus!

Ruben Roy is a managing director at Stifel Financial. He dialed in to hear the chief executive of a healthcare company discuss its latest results. During the Q&A, Roy asked the speaker to elaborate on his remarks by saying, “I wanted to double-click a bit on some of the commentary you had.”

“Double-click” is one of the fastest-spreading corporate buzzwords in recent years. As a figure of speech, it is now being used as a shorthand for examining something more fully, akin to double-clicking to see a computer folder’s contents. Some say “the phrase encourages deeper thinking.”

Reuben Linder, owner of a small video production business, says, “These days, with the rise of technology and a more hectic corporate life, people need reminders to stop and examine what matters—to double-click, if you will. The term is simple, but it’s really profound.”

Reuben tries to carve out time to go to a café twice monthly with a notebook and engage in reflection. “I’ll double-click on my business, double-click on my life” he says. “I double-click on everything now.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

In our daily lives as believers, we might apply this idea to things such as obedience, love for God, Bible reading, and prayer. Double-clicking on these things is needed now as much as any time in history.

Trinity Evangelical Divinty School professor Kevin Vanhoozer writes about caring for his aging mother in an issue of CT magazine:

For nine years now, I have been watching my mother’s identity slowly fade as memories and capacities switch off, one after another, like lights of a house shutting down for the night. Marriage may be a school of sanctification, as Luther said, but caring for aging parents is its grad school, especially when he or she lives with you and suffers from dementia.

It’s been said that as we become older, we become caricatures of ourselves. Dementia speeds the process. It’s easy to see why: With loss of executive cognitive functioning, we’re less prone to monitor what we say and do. We begin to fly on auto-pilot, re-tracing again and again well-trod paths.

What lies under … the social masks we have carefully constructed? What lies under my mother’s happy face? (“I’m fine,” she’d say, even after a fall). I recently discovered the answer.

Years into the dementia, she lost her last line of defense and began to voice her inmost thoughts aloud. “Father, don’t let me fall” accompanied her every shuffling step behind her walker. Initially I thought this terribly sad—clearly, she wasn’t fine but anxious—yet I eventually found it comforting. The Bible depicts life as a walk: Shouldn’t we all be praying to the Lord to help us avoid missteps? Though she had forgotten former friends and neighbors, and large swaths of her own life, she remembered the fatherhood of God.

In CT magazine, Brad East reflects on Olympic athletes sharing their Christian testimony:

The opening ceremonies of the Olympics are extravagant celebrations of national glories and global unity. But if you watch past the opener to the 2024 Games themselves, you’ll notice an unusual pattern: Athletes are always talking about God. Athletes of every kind continuously gave God the credit, often in explicitly Christian terms.

For my money, US track star Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone won. After breaking the world record (again) for women’s 400-meter hurdles, she answered a reporter’s question this way: “Honestly—praise God. I was not expecting that, but he can do anything. Anything is possible in Christ. I’m just amazed, baffled, and in shock.” The reporter laughed nervously and moved on to the next qualifier.

It’s not news that athletes thank the Lord for their success. But watching these public displays of piety made me wonder: Why is this still normal? Unlike other events, like the Oscars, sporting events appear to be the last refuge of “acceptable” public faith in our secular culture. In a time when belief is belittled, ignored, or relegated to one’s private life, athletes are unapologetically faithful in public. But why?

The place to start, I think, is the nature of sports itself. Athletic discipline is rigorously controlled because, when the whistle blows, nothing is under control. It’s chaos, contingency, and chance all the way down. The skies fill with rain clouds; the court is slick with sweat; the track is spongy; your opponents are strategically unpredictable.

With good reason, therefore, athletes turn to God. None but God is sovereign. I can’t control the weather, but he can. I can’t stop my body from failing, but he can. Even the wind and the waves obey him (Matt. 8:27). Shouldn’t footballs and softballs obey him too?

For athletes, God isn’t just in charge of the moment. He’s the governor of history. This is true for all of us, at all times, but elite athletes are viscerally reminded of it with a frequency few of us experience.

It should come as no surprise, then, that a victorious athlete will speak of more than God answering a prayer. Sure, they may be caught up in the moment. Deep down, though, they’re expressing faith in divine providence. It’s one more way to be clear about control. None of us has it, because only God does, and the sooner one recognizes that, the sooner peace is possible when losing and real joy available when winning.

Eric Liddell took his starting spot in the finals for the 400 meters. More than 6,000 paying spectators filled the stadium on that warm Friday night in Paris, a century ago, when the starting pistol fired and the Scottish runner took off from the outside lane.

And 47.6 seconds later, Liddell had set a new world record, leaving his competitors in awe and his fans grasping to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

Liddell’s sprint at the 1924 Paris Olympics is a canon event in the history of Christian athletes, and not just because of what happened on the track. Liddell entered the 400-meter race only after learning that the heats for his best Olympic event, the 100 meters, would fall on a Sunday. He withdrew from that event, holding fast to his Christian convictions about observing the Sabbath.

Some admired his convictions, while others saw him as disloyal and unpatriotic. Many could not comprehend his inflexible stand. It was just one Sunday, and at a time when Sabbath practices in the English-speaking world were rapidly changing. Besides, the event itself would not happen until the afternoon, giving Liddell plenty of time to attend church services in the morning. Why give up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bring honor to himself and his country? Liddell recognized that the world was changing. But the Sabbath, as he understood and practiced it, was to be a full day of worship and rest. It was, for him, a matter of personal integrity and Christian obedience.

Liddell’s performance in 1924 lingers because it was caught up in cultural narratives about what it means to be a Christian athlete and, by extension, what it means to be a Christian in a changing world.

His story inspired the 1982 Oscar-winning movie Chariots of Fire, which brought his accomplishments back into the spotlight and led to numerous inspirational biographies focused on his Christian legacy.

News of Liddell’s achievement quickly spread back home through the press and the radio. He arrived in Scotland as a conquering hero; those who had criticized his Sabbath convictions now praised him for his principled stand. He spent the next year traveling throughout Great Britain on an evangelistic campaign, preaching a simple and direct message. “In Jesus Christ you will find a leader worthy of all your devotion and mine,” he told the crowds.

Then, in 1925, he departed for China, spending the rest of his life in missionary service before dying in 1945 of a brain tumor at age 43.

And as the Olympics return to Paris this summer, Liddell’s name is part of the centennial commemorations.

In August 2019, Marnus Labuschagne was drafted into the Australian Cricket Team unexpectedly as the first-ever concussion substitute in the history of international test cricket, replacing the injured Steve Smith. Labuschagne soon showed that he was no stop-gap sportsman as he quickly established his batting skills in international cricket. To date, he has scored 3767 test runs from 42 matches at the exceptional average of 54.59, placing him at number 20 on the all-time test average rankings. At present, he is the number five batsman in test cricket.

In spite of the unprecedented success, Labuschagne has earned a reputation for being a man who takes faith in Christ and prayer seriously. He has a sticker of an eagle on his bat, to highlight his favorite Bible verse, Isaiah 40:31.

In an interview for Season 2 of the documentary “The Test,” Marnus said, "Everyone knows cricket is a major part of my life, but the value of me as a person isn't in cricket - it's in my faith. I grew up with Christianity going back to when I was a kid, laying in my bed, praying every night."

He is also quoted as saying, "When I pray, I don't pray to win, just that I could perform at my best, and that all the glory will go to God, for whatever happens … win or lose." He further adds, "In the big scheme of things, what you're worth ... isn't out there on the pitch; It's internal and in Christ … Cricket is always going to be up and down. If you have (Jesus Christ as) a constant in your life, it makes life a lot easier."

Possible Preaching Angle:

Testimony; Witness - Marnus Labuschagne has clearly built his life and career on the words of Jesus - "But seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well (Matt. 6:33).

The popular series The Chosen features an actor named Jonathan Roumie. He has the audacious task of playing Jesus on the series. In an interview for The New York Times Roumie said:

Very often, I don’t feel worthy of playing Jesus. I struggle with that a lot. But I also acknowledge what God has done for my life as a result of playing Christ and how God has changed my life.

On set in Season 1 — it was the first time in the series where I actually started preaching directly from Scripture as Jesus — I was standing at a doorway looking onto a crowd of about 50 extras, dressed as people coming to hear the teacher. This overwhelming anxiety swept over me. I had to tell Dallas Jenkins, the creator of our show, “Hey, man, can we stop for a minute?” He said, “Why?” I said, “Because I don’t feel worthy to be saying these words right now.” He pulled me aside and said, “Listen, man, none of us are worthy to be here doing this, but God has chosen you and I and everyone else here to tell this story at this time. So, know that you are meant to be here.”

Thomas Torrance likes to repeat a simple story of what he calls “the unconditional nature of grace.” He writes, “Our grasping of Christ by faith is itself enclosed within the mighty grasp of Christ.” Then he shares this story and quote:

I sometimes recall what happened when my daughter was learning to walk. I took her by the hand to help her, and I can still feel her fingers clutching my hand. She was not relying on her feeble grasp of my hand, but on my strong grasp of her hand.

Is that not how we are to understand the faith by which we lay hold of Christ as our Savior? It is thus that our grasp of faith, feeble though it is, is grasped and enfolded in the mighty grasp of Christ who identifies himself with us, and puts himself in our place.

Tori Petersen grew up in the foster care system where she absorbed a message that she was worthless. Although the rules were strict, she was allowed to go to church which gave some relief from a sterile group-home environment. She writes:

The pastor’s messages about forgiveness gave me the first stirrings of hope I could remember. I even asked Jesus into my heart, though I didn’t understand what that entailed. I only went up to the altar because I thought that I’d find relief from the pain of foster care and the continual sense of feeling unwanted.

As she moved through a succession of foster homes, her heart grew increasingly callous toward God and other people. Her peers would poke fun at her, saying she had “daddy issues.” At the time, Tori “believed having a father would solve lots of my problems. Perhaps someone would have been there to love me. If God was so good, I couldn’t help wondering, then why hadn’t he granted me a father?”

During many lunch periods, she enjoyed secluding herself in the English teacher’s classroom. For one of her art classes, she received permission to paint a mural on his wall. While she painted, they talked. He never shied away from a good debate or hard questions.

Tori said, “One day he asked if I believed in God. I replied that I didn’t. From my perspective, it seemed like people claimed belief in God due to social consensus more than any genuine faith.” I asked, “If most people in society didn’t believe in God, would people still believe in God?”

He paused for a long time, and then responded, “I don’t know.” She appreciated his candor, which was rare among the Christians she had known. Instead of telling her what (and how) to believe, he admitted he didn’t have all the answers.

My teacher’s honest admission of uncertainty encouraged me to start asking more questions, because deep in my heart I was searching for the Father I’d always yearned for. My heart was so drawn to the character of Jesus that I posted a YouTube video asking people to forgive me for being a mean and angry person.

Around the same time, a youth leader she’d barely seen since junior high reentered her life. She began asking her and her foster mom questions about God, which they answered patiently and kindly. Tori said, “The one question I couldn’t shake revolved around innocent children: If God is so good, then why do they suffer? All they could answer was, ‘I don’t know.’”

I didn’t know either. But I did know that when I looked at Scripture, I saw a God who didn’t shy away from pain but embraced it so that others would know love. And when I looked at the lives of those who most reminded me of Jesus, I could see how they had sacrificed on my behalf. I didn’t want to waste their suffering, or my own, but I wanted to receive it all as a gift—as a call to love others as they had loved me.

My salvation did not happen in a single grand moment, but through small miracles that gradually chipped away at the scales of skepticism. I saw God more clearly the more time I spent around people who pursued godliness, who told me who I was in Christ despite what I’d done and what had been done to me.

In the end, the father I’d always wanted turned out to be the Father who was always there, the Father who revealed himself to me in his own perfect timing.

Ten years ago, Nathaniel Miller was at a vocational fork in the road. He had spent years praying and dreaming about pastoring a church, but Miller was short on cash. A pastor at his church suggested he connect with one of the congregants who owned a plumbing company. A decade later, he’s still plumbing.

In an article in Christianity Today, Miller writes:

It turns out that work, manual labor in particular, had been sitting right under my nose as perhaps the most direct route to learning the skills needed by those who desire to lead the church. I suspect I’m not alone. Any of us can become better at following Jesus by focusing on the demands and spiritual realities of our work. Rightly understood, work is the training ground where good Christians are made.

When I’m installing a water heater … every facet of my being is involved in the execution and completion of the work …. Over the past decade as a blue-collar worker, I have accidentally found a way of life that, far from keeping prayer at bay and hindering me from being with God because of my duties, has put me in the middle of a centuries-long, devout experiment. It teaches me at least these two things: In Christ, I am praying precisely because I am working, and I am becoming better at being a pray-er because I am a worker.

My hands participate in the work of bringing order to the world around me, and they thumb through theological works; they bring peace between homeowners and their homes, and they build the kingdom; they’ve learned to turn wrenches, and they’re learning to pray without ceasing.

I’ve discovered that practicing being in God’s presence and growing in the Christian life is something any of us can do in virtually any line of work, not just as pastors or church leaders. My plumbing vocation certainly isn’t the life I expected, but it’s turning out to be the life for which I prayed.

On June 2, 1953, in the splendor of Westminster Abbey, a twenty-five-year-old woman knelt before the archbishop of Canterbury to seal the oaths she had just sworn. “Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?” he had asked. “I will,” Queen Elizabeth had replied.

When she died on September 8, 2022, flags in Europe, Canada, and America were at half-mast. Brazil declared three days of mourning. Australia’s prime minister wept on television. Jamaica announced twelve days of public tribute. Other nations too numerous to name followed suit.

Why did she have such a profound impact around the globe? Here’s the most basic answer: because her faith in Jesus was real and deep. In her first Christmas broadcast in 1952, the newly enthroned queen asked, “Pray for me . . . that God may give me wisdom and strength to carry out the solemn promises I shall be making, and that I may faithfully serve Him and you, all the days of my life.” In 2016 she said, “Billions of people now follow Christ’s teaching and find in him the guiding light for their lives. I am one of them...”

In her 2020 Christmas broadcast she noted, “for me the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life.” She also expressed her love for the Bible: She asked, “To what greater inspiration and counsel can we turn, than to the imperishable truth to be found in this treasure house, the Bible?” She maintained a lifelong friendship with Billy Graham, who once wrote, “No one in Britain has been more cordial toward us than Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.”

An article in Christianity Today summarized her role in these words: “The Queen demonstrated how to keep one’s Christian faith personal, private, inclusive, and compassionate while serving in a global, public role under intense scrutiny from virtually every sector.”

In his testimony in CT magazine, Johnathan Bailey tells how he went from repeatedly “getting saved,” to eternal life in Christ.

Jonathan grew up as a pastor’s kid. His father pastored a nondenominational, charismatic church. He and his brother had BB gun shootouts in the vacant sanctuary and learned how to do donuts using the youth pastor’s car before he could legally drive. When he got older, he threw himself into the behind-the-scenes work of the youth group. Jonathan insisted on working the sound booth, because it allowed him to avoid worshiping and watch others worship instead. Jonathan writes:

As a teenager, I was pretty sure I believed God existed, but without firsthand experience of him, “Christianity,” went in one ear and out the other. I knew facts and Bible verses but there was my arch nemesis: the altar call. I had never experienced any long-lasting change after raising my hand and repeating a prayer, so over time, I came to loathe phrases such as “walk the aisle,” and “repeat after me.” Each attempt at getting saved seemed to take life rather than give it.

At the age of 22, he became a summer camp counselor along with one of his best friends. On the final night of camp, the sermon ended with an altar call. Jonathan saw his friend walk forward. But more shocking than that was the later evidence that something had really happened to him that night. His friend stopped drinking and partying, he began to read the Bible and Christian books voraciously, and attending church. He seemed to want to know God, be like him, and he had joy.

Jonathan says,

This was the opposite of what I had experienced growing up. The cycle usually went something like this: get saved in a burst of emotion, commit to Jesus for a few days or weeks, then let the devotion fade away.

But my friend grew month after month. His commitment and love for God were unwavering. The thought seized me: “Change is possible. It’s actually possible.” It gave me hope that Christianity could bring real change in my life.

One morning, an honest prayer began to spill out of me: “God, I don’t love you. But I want to.” Then one night everything changed. I was in a deep sleep, when suddenly my eyes opened. I was feeling confused about why I was awake at 5 a.m. I lay silently in the dark for a few seconds. Then I heard something in my mind, distinct and clear. It was like no other thought I had had. I heard these words: “Get up, pick up your Bible, and sit down at your desk.”

I got up and found my Bible, which had been collecting dust under a lamp on my nightstand. I picked a random spot. I looked down to see the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 22, verse 37. I read: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” Like the destruction of a great dam, the flood waters of God’s love crashed into me. In that moment, my secondhand spirituality became firsthand. My knowing about God was replaced with knowing God, and like my friend’s experience, the change was permanent.

That doesn’t mean faith has been easy, but it has been the most thrilling adventure of my life. Battling habits of pride, anger, lust, and gluttony has become an adventure. Through the joy and the pain, Jesus has shared his eternal life with me, filling and freeing me.

Every year, about 1500 "thru-hikers" set out to walk the entire Appalachian Trail in a single season. Only 10 percent complete the 2,160 miles of challenging terrain stretching from Georgia to Maine. One reason some people drop out early is that they haven't learned to travel light.

A friend of mine launched his thru-hike carrying a seriously overloaded backpack. He had an audio player loaded with bird calls, an air pistol to keep the varmints away, a camera, a radio, and an alarm clock. "If it ran on batteries," he said, "I had one in my pack."

At his first stop, an experienced hiker helped him go through his pack and decide what to keep and what to send home. Each item was placed on a gram scale with the question, "Is it worth it? Do you want to carry this for the next 2,000 miles?"

My friend discovered that his biggest problem was an accumulation of little things. Most of his extra weight was in ounces, not pounds. He didn't need half of what was in his first-aid kit nor the extra tube of toothpaste. His heavy multi-tool knife was replaced with one weighing only an ounce. A metal knife-fork-and-spoon set gave way to a single plastic spoon. He sent home 26 pounds of unnecessary weight.

Possible Preaching Angle:

How many of us are trying to walk the trail of faith in Christ weighed down by an accumulation of things? Some of these might be an accumulation of possessions, our worldly habits, expensive hobbies, or sins, such as anger, bitterness, grudges, or lust. Instead of enjoying the beauty of life with Jesus, we complain about how hard it is to follow him. What do you need to unload today?

First-year UNC coach Hubert Davis was asked about his faith during a press conference introducing him as the new coach of the University of North Carolina Tar Heels in April 2021.

He said, “[Faith is] the most important thing to me. My faith and foundation [are] firmly in my relationship with Jesus. It just is. And my mother was a Christian and she begged me to go to church growing up. And I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t interested in it. My mom used to always say that Jesus had a plan for me. And at the time growing up, I didn’t understand it and I didn’t listen to it.”

Davis said he grew a tremendous hatred toward God after his mother passed away in high school. His animosity continued into his first two years at UNC. He couldn’t reconcile what his mom had told him with the pain of her loss.

Davis continued, “One of the things that [legendary Tar Heels coach Dean] Smith used to do was make all the freshmen go to church. And as I went to church, only because Coach Smith and (assistant) Coach Guthridge encouraged me to go to church, I started to understand what my mom was talking about. I started to understand the sacrifice that Jesus made for me and how much He loves me, and two days before my junior year of college, I became a Christian.

Instead of being upset that Jesus has taken away the most beautiful person in my life in my mom, I’m thankful every day that He gave me the best that I could ever have for 16 years. … My faith in Christ is the foundation of who I am.”

Wesley So, the current US Chess Champion (in 2017, 2020, and 2021), shares how he came to Christ:

On the small planet where elite chess players dwell, very few people worship Jesus Christ. If anyone discovers that you’re one of those “superstitious,” “narrow-minded idiots,” you’re likely to see nasty comments accumulate on your Facebook fan page. They wonder how I, the world’s second-ranked chess player, can be so “weak-minded.”

Wesley grew up in the Philippines and as a child was told that if he was good, God would bless him. But this confused him, because it seemed like the bad people received more than the good people. He knew of many famous crooks who went to church and they were pretty rich. So, Wesley decided to play it safe. He would recite the right words in church, but he never connected to God in a meaningful way.

He played chess since age six or seven and as he grew up, he kept on winning. But he could never afford to hire a coach or get serious chess training. When he was 18, he got an offer to play on the chess team of a small American university. So, he left home and moved to America.

Then I met the people who would become my foster family. They were Christians, and Lotis, my foster mother, could sense my unhappiness. She asked me what I wanted to do in life, and I replied that I loved playing chess but didn’t think I was talented enough to translate that into a full-time career. Lotis told me to focus on chess alone for the next two years—the family would support me any way it could.

His foster parents were mature Christians and insisted that living as a member of the family meant that he would need to faithfully accompany them to church. They taught him that the Bible was the final authority, deeper and wiser than the internet and more truthful than any of his friends.

Before long, I was practicing my faith in a more intense way. My new family calls Christianity the “thinking man’s religion.” They encouraged me to ask questions, search for answers, and really wrestle with what I discovered. I knew I wanted the kind of simple, contented, God-fearing life they enjoyed.

People in the chess world sometimes want to know whether I think God makes me win matches. Yes. And sometimes he makes me lose them too. He is the God of chess and, more importantly, the God of everything. Win or lose, I give him the glory. Will I rise to become the world champion one day? Only God knows for sure. In the meantime, I know that he is a generous and loving Father, always showering me with more blessings than I could possibly deserve.

Jonathan Roumie is the actor who plays Jesus in the successful series The Chosen, which is based on the Gospels. Before landing the role of Jesus, Roumie had surrendered everything but his acting career to God. He had been living in Los Angeles for eight years, and he was nearly broke. Roumie said,

There was this one day during May of 2018. I woke up. It was a Saturday morning, and I was 100 dollars in overdraft. I had 20 dollars in my pocket. I had enough food to last a day. I had no checks in sight. I had no work in sight. I had maxed out my credit cards. I literally didn’t know how I was going to exist.

He kneeled and poured out his heart to God, asking him, “What happened?” He had been under the impression that God helps those who help themselves—he later realized that the Lord helps those who rely on him.

For years, my prayer was, “If there’s something else I should be doing, please show me what it is, because this is really hard,” I literally said the words “I surrender. I surrender.” I realized in that moment that in many other areas in my life, I had allowed God in. But when it came to my career, I thought, “I know better. I got this God, I’m the actor here. Don’t worry—it’s Hollywood; I know Hollywood, God.”

Roumie left his apartment and went for a walk to collect himself, buying a breakfast sandwich with the money he had left. Later that day, he found four checks in the mail. Three months later, Dallas Jenkins, the writer/director of The Chosen, called and offered him the role of Jesus.

Olympic hopeful Hector Colon shares his journey from boxer to faith in Christ. Hector was born in Milwaukee, a first-generation Puerto Rican American. He was baptized and confirmed in the Catholic church and regularly attended Sunday Mass even when his mother stopped attending when he was nine. He writes:

Adam was my age at school, and he took an unpleasant interest in me. One of his favorite pastimes was following me around and taunting me, drawing on a vast arsenal of racial slurs he had evidently picked up from his father.

One day I came home crying with a bloody nose, and my father demanded to know what had happened. With a stony expression, he said, “The next time you see Adam, you will defend yourself. Then he’ll leave you alone.”

The very next day, my father marched me into the boxing gym. I was shown some basic combinations by my future coach and mentor, Israel “Shorty” Acosta. He turned to my father and said with conviction, “Héctor is a natural. He will become a champion.”

Shorty’s prediction was correct, and as a successful young boxer, I began traveling around the world representing the US national boxing team. But boxing slowly distanced me from church and my faith. And it entangled me in some unhealthy relationships. With my mother’s permission, he brought me into his own home to ensure I wouldn’t be surrounded by negative influences.

Thankfully, God reentered my life when I attended a Bible study in Colorado Springs. I found meaning and purpose through studying Scripture and enjoying fellowship with other men. When I got back home, I wanted to take my faith more seriously, but I was easily distracted.

During this time of contemplation, I began turning my gaze toward the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona. As a teenager, I was a seven-time US national champion, which made me the favored welterweight to represent my country. I was beyond excited. The Olympic trials pitted me against Jesse Briseno. When I lost, I was devastated—my dreams of Olympic glory had vanished.

I felt lost and rudderless, wondering what to do with my life. That’s when I started attending church and Bible studies again, and on December 27, 1992, I purchased my very first Bible. That same day, I gave my life to Jesus Christ.

As I began immersing myself in the life of the church, I continued to box. Eight months later, I stepped back into the ring with Briseno. This time I knocked him out in fewer than two minutes. The fight was televised, and the publicity landed Shorty and me on the cover of USA Boxing’s magazine, as well as the inside cover of Sports Illustrated. With all this attention, I once again considered turning professional.

At the same time, I was feeling conflicted. I found myself torn by a passage from 1 Corinthians: “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies” (6:19–20). I pictured myself in the ring hurting someone who was a temple of the Holy Spirit. I pictured endangering my own body and brain in a way that God had not intended. Was boxing compatible with the words of Scripture?

After a year of prayer and discernment, I left boxing behind. Walking away was the hardest decision I had ever made. I knew my choice let many people down, and I was devastated by the pain I caused Shorty. At the same time, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy and peace.

Leaving the ring also allowed me to form a family, pursue God with renewed vigor, and explore career opportunities better aligned with my faith. I’ll always be thankful to boxing for providing character-shaping structure and discipline when I needed it most. But only by giving myself to Christ did I discover a calling worthy of my utmost devotion.

At some point in the stretch of days between the start of the pandemic’s third year and the feared launch of World War III, a new phrase entered the zeitgeist, a mysterious harbinger of an age to come: people are going “goblin mode.”

The term embraces the comforts of (laziness): spending the day in bed watching [the TV] on mute while scrolling endlessly through social media, pouring the end of a bag of chips in your mouth; downing Eggo waffles over the sink because you can’t be bothered to put them on a plate. Leaving the house in your pajamas and socks only to get a single Diet Coke from the bodega.

“Goblin mode” first appeared on Twitter as early as 2009, but according to Google Trends “goblin mode” started to rise in popularity in early February 2022. “Goblin mode is kind of the opposite of trying to better yourself,” says Juniper, who declined to share her last name. “I think that’s the kind of energy that we’re giving going into 2022 – everyone’s just kind of wild and insane right now.”

But as the pandemic wears on endlessly, and the chaos of current events worsens, people feel cheated by the system and have rejected such goals. On TikTok, #goblinmode is rising in popularity. “I love barely holding on to my sanity and making awful selfish choices and participating in unhealthy habits and coping mechanisms,” said another with 325,000 views.

Many people tweeting about goblin mode have characterized it as an almost spiritual-level embrace of our most debased tendencies. Call it a vibe shift or a logical progression into nihilism after years of pandemic induced disappointment, but goblin mode is here to stay. And why shouldn’t it? Who were we trying to impress, anyway?

Possible Preaching Angle:

The world seems to be unraveling as people give themselves over to apathy, selfishness, and hopelessness. Let’s remember “the hope we have” (1 Pet. 3:15) and “shine as lights in a dark world” (Phil. 2:15) and keep up self-discipline and godly behavior while we wait for the Lord’s return (Phil. 3:20).

In an issue of CT magazine, comedian Michael Kingsbury writes:

For the longest time, comedy was my religion. If you asked about my theological perspective, I would have replied that I was a comedian first and an atheist second. I was only interested in getting to the next show and making people laugh.

I grew up in a Methodist church. Nothing specific happened to scar my view of religion. I simply drifted away. In my eyes, I was a good person, and that was all that mattered. I would try attending church or reading the Bible, but the commitment was always short-lived. Whenever I got to Matthew 10:37 (“Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me”), I would close the book and walk away. The truth is, I was uneasy with the concept of making God the most important thing in my life.

Around each other, comedians will share intimate secrets they might not share with anyone else, even a spouse. It forms a tight bond. Craig was one of my “brothers” in the stand-up fraternity. Normally, I would see him once a week, but when he got sick (and didn’t tell anyone), several months passed without a word. Then he just vanished without a goodbye. I organized a memorial show to honor his life. But when I went on stage and tried to say something meaningful, I kept drawing a blank. Even though I had known Craig for years, I had nothing to say.

That night, I realized that it’s possible to “know” someone without knowing anything significant. I had no idea whether he believed in God or had ever wondered what happens after we die. It bothered me that it never would have crossed my mind to ask those questions.

So I started reading the Bible and attending church again, still clinging to the notion that I was an atheist. Slowly, I started noticing subtle changes in my behavior and outlook. Around the same time, my iPhone playlist underwent an inexplicable shift. I am a huge fan of heavy metal, so it surprised me to find songs by DC Talk and Hillsong Worship butting in amid the likes of Metallica and Megadeth. At this point I thought, “What is happening to me?”

One Sunday after church, I was talking with my pastor about our mutual love of the band The Smiths, which was surreal. As he got into his car, I yelled, “Hey, at some time I’d like to talk to you about how to read the Bible without going stark raving mad.” Instantly, I regretted it.

We set a time to meet, but I didn’t go. I was scared he would try to convert me over a plate of eggs Benedict. He was understanding, and we set another time to meet. Although he prayed before we ate, mostly we just talked—about family, college, hobbies—like regular people.

A few days later, I decided to try looking at things from a Christian perspective: “If there is a God, and he is all-knowing and all-loving, then he would know everything about me, and I would find ultimate satisfaction in him. And that relationship would affect all the relationships in my life in a positive way.”

Comedy had been the focus of my life. I thought back to Matthew 10:37, the verse I once found so abhorrent, and suddenly it became a thing of beauty. In a moment of clarity, I saw how my own pursuits had pushed me away from what is most important. I finally understood what it felt like to put God first.

Two days later, I set an appointment to meet with my pastor. But I didn’t feel a trace of anxiety, because I knew I was already a Christian. I had been terrified that putting God first was going to paralyze my sense of humor. Now I delight in bringing to him all of who I am, comedy included.

Editor’s Note: Michael Ray Kingsbury is a stand-up comedian and comedic storyteller living in Vermont. He performs throughout New England and upstate New York.

In an issue of CT Magazine, singer-songwriter Kira Fontana shares how she was delivered from a new-age mindset to a life-changing relationship with Christ:

From the outside, my life looked great. I was enjoying a fantastic job as one of the top vocal coaches in Los Angeles. I had worked with major-label and top-40 artists, as well as hit TV shows like The Voice and Glee. Clients regularly flew in from around the world.

Though I had moved to LA to pursue a career creating my own music, somewhere along the way that dream got lost. Throughout this dry time, I managed to find temporary peace and joy through an LA megachurch for “spiritual but not religious” seekers. The church was transdenominational, which appealed to me. I adopted Eastern beliefs about God and practices like meditation.

After almost 20 years of spiritual seeking, I truly believed I had attained higher levels of consciousness than most people. I believed there were many roads to God, and my thoughts were awash with “love and light” and other positive-thinking mantras. However, when I really looked at my life, I knew something was missing.

Around this time, several members of my family became born-again Christians and started talking about Jesus. I remember one of my brothers calling my spiritual center “satanic.” What could be so horrible about channeling love and light, attaining higher consciousness, and finding inner healing?

When my brother asked me, “Who do you think Jesus is?” I answered, “He was a great spiritual teacher, and one of the most enlightened people who ever lived.” He said, “How can you live like Jesus when you have no idea who he really is? You’ve never read the one book that would tell you who he is.”

I spent a solid year praying and reading the Bible. Scripture confronted me with many ideas my new-age mindset simply couldn’t process. As I did this, God began revealing his truth in ways that radically transformed my mind.

In time, I came to see that my most cherished beliefs had all been focused on myself. Even though they were framed in spiritual ways, they were oriented toward self-realization and self-help. But discovering the Bible’s definition of good shattered this confidence. I finally saw that I wasn’t capable of being a good person on my own. And I sensed my need for a Savior.

Meanwhile, God gradually opened my eyes to the reality of evil in the world. But day by day, God revealed to me the real state of the world—pulling back a veil and showing me depths of darkness, I had never fathomed.

I began attending a local church in Santa Monica, asking God to reveal himself and praying he would bring me out of the darkness. I asked a ton of questions, and I read multiple books on apologetics. Eventually, I was ready to finally surrender my life to Christ.

As a new Christian, I prayed that God would show me how to use my musical gifts for the sake of his kingdom. I soon realized I no longer belonged in the secular music industry. The lyrics of most pop songs disturbed me, and I was concerned about the destructive impact these songs were having on young people.

After only a couple of weeks of praying, I felt God clearly call me to leave LA and move to San Diego County. Alone one night in my new home, I felt I had truly reached the end of myself. I cried out to God with a desperation and sadness I had never felt before, asking, “Why did you even make me?” I felt I had completely failed in so many areas of life, including my own music.

That very night, I woke up from a dream at 3 a.m. In the dream I heard an amazing song. I got up, rushed down to the piano, and recorded the chorus for “Refuge.” It was my first worship song. From that day forward, I experienced a complete revival of musical creativity. God was saying, “I made you to worship me.”

Since I put my faith in Christ, God has redeemed everything that was lost in my life. He has freed me from the prison of my selfishness, rescued me from darkness, and brought me into his glorious light. He has given my life new purpose, equipping me to serve his kingdom and glorify his name with music. There is no greater joy.