Modern Letters - Letter from Lot’s Wife to Sarah

 

Modern Letters - Letter from Lot’s Wife to Sarah

Dear Aunt Sarah,

I hope you and Abraham are doing well in that… tent of yours. I know you call it “simple living.” We call it not having discovered civilization yet.

Honestly, Sarah, I don't know how you do it. No electricity, no shopping district, no restaurants, no entertainment, and apparently no cellular connection.

You really should visit Sodom. People here have choices. They don't all think alike, dress alike, or worship alike. Nobody tells you what your family should look like. People mind their own business. Well… mostly.

Tonight, however, things are a little complicated.

Lot has brought two strangers into the house. He says they're messengers and that we must protect them. Personally, I think he's being dramatic.

The men of the city are outside now, demanding to be brought to them. Apparently these two have been going around spreading rumors that Sodom is wicked and that the city is going to be destroyed. Religion fundamentalists.

Lot is actually trying to reason with the crowd, explaining that these men are his guests and that we shouldn't hurt them. The people outside are furious, tired of being judged by outsiders who arrive for one night and think they understand an entire community.

Someone just shouted banging at our door that these so called “messengers” came here to lecture everybody about how to live. Honestly, Sarah, it sounds exactly like the kind of thing religious nuts do. Come to a city, criticize everyone, announce God's judgment, and then act surprised when nobody invites them back.

The irony is almost entertaining. Sodom has problems, certainly. Every city does. But we're working through them. We're becoming more open-minded. And frankly, I think Abraham could learn something from us.

You two have spent years living in tents, waiting for promises.

We prefer modern lifestyle.

You wait for a better world.

We prefer this very one.

Anyway, I have to go. Lot is still arguing with everyone, even with our sons-in-law - apparently our guests have made quite a mess of the evening. But don't worry about us. Sodom is doing just fine.

Your loving niece, Mrs. Lot

PS. Seriously, Sarah, come next summer. I found an amazing Sodom Airbnb with a rooftop terrace, and Temple of Free-Love view at a surprisingly reasonable weekly rate. You and Abraham would love it. 

Just book early. Sodom gets very busy this time of year.

SelfDefense, HisDefense

 If you don’t have enemies, congratulations - you’re either invisible or in heaven already. 

People whisper, people talk... 
They question motives.
They critique sermons they half-heard. 
They assume intentions they never asked about. 
They are looking for excuses to dislike you.

I don’t’ know about you, but in my case when it happens, I’m tempted, deeeeply tempted, to defend myself. To clarify. To explain. To remind them of my education and 30+ years of ministry experience. To point out, kind of politely of course, that they are not exactly flawless either. Like “look who’s talking”… 

Then I remembered a line from Simon Sinek, a public-speaking guru, that hit way too close to home:
“The moment you start defending yourself, you’ve already lost the argument.”

But Scripture says it better.

In Zechariah 3, Satan stands before God accusing Joshua the high priest. 
And here’s the uncomfortable part: 

Joshua’s clothes are filthy. Relevant point.
The accusations aren’t imaginary. Noted. 
The priest is messy. Relatable.

What amazes me is what God doesn’t do.
God doesn’t argue.
God doesn’t explain.
God doesn’t launch a theological TED Talk.
God doesn’t say, “Well actually…”

Instead, God simply says: “The Lord rebuke you, Satan.”
And then He changes Joshua’s clothes.

That’s it. No debate. No defense. No damage control. Just grace and new garments.

Here’s the lesson I keep forgetting:
- You don’t defeat bad-mouthing by mouth-fighting.
- You don’t silence accusations by posting clarifications.
- You don’t win spiritual battles by sharpening comebacks.

God doesn’t argue with accusers. He redeems the accused.

So maybe the most spiritual thing I can do when I am misunderstood isn’t to speak louder, but to trust deeper. To keep serving. To keep growing. To let God handle my reputation while I focus on my character.

Because when God is your defender, silence isn’t surrender. 
It’s faith.
And clean clothes speak louder than explanations.

The Shibbolethization of Our Lives

 

Some passages in Scripture make us uncomfortable. Judges 12 is one of them. But the Bible keeps it there like a mirror we would rather walk past.

After a brutal civil war between Israelite tribes who spoke the same language - but with different accents - the Gileadites seized the fords of the Jordan River. These crossings were the only escape routes. Anyone trying to cross had to pass a test - “say Shibboleth.”

The Ephraimites couldn’t pronounce the “sh.” Their accent betrayed them. They said Sibboleth. That single consonant was enough. No trial. No conversation. No mercy. The text says forty-two thousand men died because their tongue slipped on one syllable.

A word became a weapon.

Ancient story? Hardly. We are witnessing the dramatic shibbolethization of our country and of the whole world. Say the wrong phrase about war, politics, immigration, race, religion, economics, etc. or even say the right phrase with the wrong tone and you’re instantly sorted, labeled. Friend or enemy. Safe or dangerous. One-of-ours or one-of-them.

One misplaced syllable and the mob already knows which side of Jordan you belong on.

Meanwhile, while the popular culture consider accents and hashtags, bigger machinery hums quietly in the background. Division isn’t always accidental. Sometimes it’s management strategy.

The Bible describes it with an old name: Babylon - a braided system of power, business, and compromised worship. Noise on the surface, seeking unconditional submission underneath. And a warning of a final loyalty test - a sign or mark that functions like the ultimate shibboleth. An indicator showing who is loyal to the system and who isn’t.

For now, the real danger for believers is not persecution. It’s complacency and distraction. 

We can become experts in worldly passwords - fluent in every cultural shibboleth - while forgetting the church’s main mission.

Let the powers of this age demand their passwords.
Let the serpent hiss his (hissing) “shibboleth.”
Let the beasts roar, bark, and stamp their marks.

But when the moment of ultimate loyalty arrives, Christians answer without any shibboletization:

“Fear God and give glory to Him, for the hour of His judgment has come; and worship Him who made” everything in 6 days then He rested in the 7th day. The hallowed one.

Many Few

Many organizers, few agonizers

Many players, few prayers

Many takers, few givers

Many singers, few clingers

Many fears, few tears

Much fashion, little passion

Many interfering, few interceding

Many writers, few fighters

Many TikTokers, few truth-talkers

Armageddon Let Behind

 

Suddenly Armageddon is trending again. Every few years the same headlines return:

Conflict in the Middle East.

Rumors about rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem.

John Haggee type of preachers with a chart and yelling in a microphone full of confidence.

Many Christians are plugged into a familiar script: the temple must be rebuilt, a 7-year tribulation must begin, prophetic dominoes must fall in a very specific order, and then finally Jesus returns.

The problem is not enthusiasm about the Second Coming. Scripture invites that hope. The problem is when speculation replaces careful Bible study. And here is where things become complicated for the Seventh-day Adventist Christians.

Because of this constant rush to label every political tremor as the final signal, our mission actually becomes harder. When people hear “Jesus is coming soon,” many no longer hear hope. They hear noise and fear and speculations.

Some will eventually loathe the very subject of the Second Coming - not because the promise is untrue, but because it has been hijacked by religious-political fanatics repeating the same mantra: seven years of tribulation, rebuilding the temple, watching the countdown.

The tragedy is that this narrative often spreads without the hard work of exegesis - the slow, humble reading of Scripture in its own context.

On one side are the deniers - those who conclude that prophecy is hopelessly confusing and the Second Coming is just symbolic poetry.

On the other side are the sensationalists - those who turn prophecy into a theological news channel, reacting to every headline as if it were a verse from Daniel.

Adventists cough somewhere in the middle.

We still believe Jesus is literally coming again.
We still believe prophecy matters.
But we also believe Scripture deserves careful study, not headline-driven panic.

Our task is not to shout louder than everyone else. Our task is to speak more clearly. To point people back to the Bible itself. To open Daniel and Revelation without speculation, without political agendas, and without the feverish need to prove that tomorrow must be the end.

And we remind people of something surprisingly simple: The Second Coming is not ultimately about wars, temples, or timelines. It is about Jesus returning to finish what grace began.

And this is not a conspiracy theory. It is the blessed hope.

Dresspectations

I was standing in line at Walgreens, dressed on my way to AU, minding my pastoral business (which at Walgreens usually means toothpaste and mints). The gentleman next to me kept staring. Finally, he said, “You look familiar. Are you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“A doctor?”

I did shake my head.

“A professor?”

“No.”

He paused. “I give up.”

So, I asked him, “Why didn’t you ask if I’m a janitor? Or a cashier? Or a plumber?”

He shrugged. “Because of the way you are dressed.”

Aha. So, it still matters. Like it or not, appearance still speaks. A suit suggests degrees. A uniform suggests skill. A hard hat suggests strength. Clothing is a language, and we are all fluent in it.

But here’s the other side of the Walgreens’ interaction. A suit can also deceive. A sharp jacket can hide a dull character. A polished shoe can cover shaky integrity. History and recent headlines have shown us that a well-tailored outfit can belong to a con artist as easily as to a respected professional. 

People read signals. We present ourselves every day without saying a word. In a world that often feels increasingly casual about everything, there’s something refreshing about intentionality, about showing up respectfully and purposefully. But on the other hand it doesn’t matter nearly as much as we think because character is not stitched into fabric.

They are two equal and opposite temptations. On one side: to judge by appearance. On the other: to curate appearance so carefully that it becomes camouflage.

One side says, “Dress makes the man.” The other whispers, “Dress can fake the man.” Somewhere in the middle is the_ _ _ _ _ _ (I couldn’t find a good word, just fill in the black.)

We all wear something every day: clothes, titles, roles, expectations. Pastor. Teacher. Parent. Student. Retiree. Volunteer. Professional.  They are outfits, not “infits”, not identity.

If a suit earns respect, wonderful.

If overalls build a house, fantastic.

If scrubs heal a patient, great.

But the real question is not what we are wearing in line at Walgreens. It’s who we are when the suit, or the overalls, or the scrubs comes off.

Raining with Mud

On a freezing January day in 1889, in Carlo Alberto Square in Turin, the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche witnessed a horse being brutally beaten by its driver. Overcome, he reportedly ran to the animal, threw his arms around its neck, wept, and collapsed. From that day forward, his mind never recovered. He spent the last decade of his life in a mental asylum.

Something in him seemed to snap under the crushing weight of reality. All his brilliance, culture, and intellectual firepower had not reduced the cruelty of the human heart by even a fraction. Intelligence could diagnose the sickness - but it could not cure it.

There are days when we understand that feeling.

When headlines grow heavier by the hour.
When compassion feels rare, truth negotiable, and violence excusable.
When scandal piles upon scandal - like files stacked high, dirt accumulating faster than it can be cleared.

We’ve heard it said, “If you pray for rain, you have to deal with the mud.” But what do we do when it feels like the rain itself has turned to mud? When everything looks clean from a distance, yet stains the moment it touches you?

Here is where our story must diverge.

As Christians, we do not believe human intelligence - however brilliant, however amplified by technology or AI - will rescue us from evil. Culture will not evolve its way into purity. Louder arguments and sharper analysis cannot cleanse the human soul.

Our hope is not in a system. It is in a Savior.

Jesus looked at a world just as fractured as ours and did not collapse beneath it. He carried it. He absorbed its violence, bore its injustice, and answered hatred with a cross. And then He rose.

Scripture promises that this muddy chapter is not the end. One day, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 21:4).

Until then, we grieve what is broken.
We refuse to grow numb.
And we cling to the One who makes all things new.