In a world where so much is accessible with just a tap or a swipe, it’s no surprise that many quietly struggle with the temptation of pornography. It’s a battle we don’t always talk about—but it’s a battle many of us know all too well. It creeps in quietly, and before we realize it, it begins to erode not only our relationships with others—but our intimacy with God.
But let’s be clear about something from the start: if this is where we are, we are not alone. And we are not beyond redemption. There is a way through this. And while the fight isn’t easy, it is possible—because Jesus didn’t come to patch us up. He came to set us free.
Jesus said it plainly:
“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” (Matthew 5:28 ESV).
That may sound severe at first, but Jesus wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest. He was showing us that sin doesn’t begin with our actions—it begins in the heart. That’s where the battle is won or lost. And that’s exactly where Jesus wants to do His deepest work. He doesn’t just want to curb our behavior—He wants to transform our desires.
This isn’t a new battle, but it’s uniquely modern in how easily temptation now finds us. What once took effort to find now chases us down. With images and videos just a few clicks away, we’re not just resisting sin anymore—we’re being ambushed by it.
That’s why Paul’s words still speak directly to us:
“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise—think about these things.” (Philippians 4:8 ESV).
Paul wasn’t writing a coffee mug quote—he was giving us a spiritual strategy. What we fill our minds with will shape our desires. And our desires will shape the direction of our lives.
Let’s be honest—sometimes we need more than a verse. We need a voice. A trusted friend. A godly mentor. Someone to walk with us and help us stay accountable. Because sin grows best in the dark. But healing begins when we step into the light.
“Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.” (James 5:16 ESV).
Confession isn’t weakness—it’s strength. And it’s one of the ways God helps us heal.
If this is our battle—or if it has been—let’s not fight alone. Let’s lean on others. Let’s build guardrails. Let’s replace what tempts us with what strengthens us. Let’s choose what we want our heart to dwell on.
Because here’s the truth: purity isn’t about perfection—it’s about direction. It’s about where our eyes are fixed. And when we fix our eyes on Jesus, we’re not just turning from something harmful—we’re turning toward something beautiful.
Pornography is one of the most insidious sins in our time. It doesn’t care about age, gender, income, or status. It lures us in with a cheap thrill and robs us of joy. It whispers pleasure but leaves us hollow. It can shatter marriages, isolate us from our children, and twist our view of what God intended to be a beautiful, sacred gift.
And those who profit from it? They’re more than willing to keep the fix coming—deeper, darker, and more addictive—until we forget what normal even looks like.
But we are image bearers of God. And this is not what He made us for.
God gave us the gift of sexual intimacy to be shared in the sacred bond of marriage. Pornography distorts that. It invites in strangers who have no place in the holy union between a husband and a wife.
So how do we fight back?
We start with what we know: dwell in God’s Word. Focus on what is pure and excellent. Avoid the triggers that drag our minds into temptation. Pray. Be prayed over. Open up to someone we trust. Confess. Be accountable.
And let’s also be wise—place filters on our devices that block access to explicit content. Share those filter passwords with a spouse, a parent, or a trusted friend. Transparency builds trust, and trust builds strength.
But all of that only works if our heart wants to be free. If we still secretly desire what pornography offers, no number of filters or fences will stop it from returning. We must decide what we truly want. Where we want our heart to be. Who we want to become.
God doesn’t just want us to avoid sin. He wants us to walk in freedom. And He’s already given us everything we need to do it. But the question remains—do we want that freedom?
If we do, then the walk may not be easy—but it will be worth it.
I am in the book of Jeremiah in my daily Bible reading. In chapter 18, God sends Jeremiah to the potter to learn the lesson of His sovereignty over nations. I have a chapter in my book, The Sovereignty of God, that explores this moment in depth. What follows is an excerpt from that chapter, which ties directly into our reading today:
The Potter and the Clay: Over Nations
To illustrate His sovereignty as Creator, God spoke to the prophets and used the illustration of a potter and clay. He did this with both Isaiah and Jeremiah. Let’s look at what He said to Jeremiah because He walks us through the illustration using a real-life potter and not just imagery.
“The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: ‘Arise, and go down to the potter’s house, and there I will let you hear my words.’ So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel.” (Jeremiah 18:1–3 ESV).
Jeremiah gets a visual lesson of God’s sovereignty. He is instructed to go to the potter’s house and watch him create a vessel on his wheel. In this object lesson, Jeremiah observes that the clay vessel has some defect. So, what happens when the potter sees something he does not like with the clay vessel he is creating?
“And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do.” (Jeremiah 18:4 ESV).
The potter had some choices to make, didn’t he? He could have destroyed the clay vessel and given up on his creation, or he could have left the defect or spoil in the vessel. But in this case, the potter chose to refashion the clay into the vessel he wanted it to be. This potter was sovereign over the lump of clay. Then God speaks to this object lesson:
“Then the word of the LORD came to me: ‘O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? declares the LORD. Behold, like the clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel.’” (Jeremiah 18:5–6 ESV).
God is saying to Israel that He is the potter and Israel is the clay. As their Creator, He can do with Israel whatever He chooses to do with them. He can mold or fashion them into anything He wants them to be. The potter didn’t have to consult with the clay to see if it was all right for him to fashion it into something else, did he? Neither does God have to consult and agree with Israel on what He will make of it.
“If at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, and if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will relent of the disaster that I intended to do to it.” (Jeremiah 18:7–8 ESV).
God even extends His sovereignty over Israel to all nations. We will look at this in more detail later in the book, but His point here is that just as He is sovereign over Israel, so is He sovereign as the potter over all nations. He has the power to break up and destroy anytime He chooses.
Put another peg in this verse that we will discuss later. As part of His sovereignty, God is free to devote a nation to destruction, and if that nation repents, God in His sovereignty can choose to relent and spare the nation from the harm He “intended to do to it.” There is so much about free will and the sovereignty of God that many can’t wrap their minds around. And with good reason. God’s sovereignty is so far above our finite ability to comprehend that we may never have all the answers. Spoiler alert—I will not be able to explain all there is about God’s sovereignty in this book. But I will encourage us to be slow to build elaborate belief systems based on things we think might be true. More on this later.
But God not only discusses His sovereignty over nations to break and destroy them, but He also tells Jeremiah that He has the sovereignty to build and plant:
“And if at any time I declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, and if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will relent of the good that I had intended to do to it.” (Jeremiah 18:9–10 ESV).
As the potter over nations, God can also choose to build up and plant any nation. We say nations rise and fall at God’s will, which is true. God establishes the governments (Romans 13:1). Just as repentance can change the decree of God against the ones He intends to destroy, so can evil from the nations cause God to relent from the good He had “intended to do to it.”
And so, the message of the potter and the clay to Jeremiah is that God is building/planting a nation to be His instrument of wrath against Israel, which He intends to break down and destroy:
“Now, therefore, say to the men of Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem: ‘Thus says the LORD, Behold, I am shaping disaster against you and devising a plan against you. Return, every one from his evil way, and amend your ways and your deeds.’” (Jeremiah 18:11 ESV).
God’s illustration here is that He is sovereign over even the nations. He can do what He intends to do to them because He is powerful enough to do it, He has the will to do it, and He can ensure that it turns out exactly as He intends. Things never get out of God’s control. He never has a miscalculation where He unleashes a monster that does more damage than He intends or inadvertently judges a nation more harshly than He intends. God is in perfect control over everything that He intends, and as we will see later, He will accomplish all of His purposes:
“remember the former things of old; for I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose,’” (Isaiah 46:9–10 ESV).
Your past may explain you, but it doesn’t define you.
Even when life feels shaky, God remains unshaken.
I am in the book of Jeremiah in my daily Bible reading. We are introduced to someone we don’t spend a lot of time talking about.
His name is Baruch. He’s not a prophet. He didn’t perform miracles. He never stood before kings with thunderous messages of judgment like Jeremiah did. But without Baruch, much of Jeremiah’s message might have been lost forever.
He was the scribe in the shadows. The man holding the ink while the world fell apart around him.
Scripture calls him Baruch son of Neriah. His family name tells us something right away—he likely came from influence. His grandfather is named in the text, and his brother, Seraiah, served in King Zedekiah’s court and traveled with the king to Babylon. Baruch could have taken a very different path. He had access. He had status. But he chose something far more costly.
He chose to walk beside a prophet no one wanted to listen to.
When Jeremiah was told by God to write down all the words He had spoken, it was Baruch who answered the call.
“Then Jeremiah called Baruch the son of Neriah, and Baruch wrote on a scroll at the dictation of Jeremiah all the words of the Lord that he had spoken to him.” (Jeremiah 36:4 ESV).
But writing wasn’t all he did. Jeremiah couldn’t go to the temple himself—he was banned. So he sent Baruch to go instead. To walk right into the temple courts, with the scroll in hand, and read it aloud to the people. That’s bold. That’s dangerous. And Baruch did it.
And when the scroll was taken to King Jehoiakim, the king responded with contempt. He listened to a few lines, then pulled out a knife and began cutting the scroll into pieces. As each portion was read, he tossed it into the fire.
But Baruch didn’t quit.
“Then Jeremiah took another scroll and gave it to Baruch the scribe, the son of Neriah, who wrote on it at the dictation of Jeremiah all the words of the scroll that Jehoiakim king of Judah had burned in the fire, and many similar words were added to them.” (Jeremiah 36:32 ESV).
He picked up the pen again. Rewrote every word. Added more. Carried on.
And that quiet act of courage preserved the word of God for generations to come.
Many scholars believe that Baruch may have been the one responsible for compiling and organizing Jeremiah’s writings into the form we now have. His careful recordkeeping and unwavering loyalty to Jeremiah’s message helped safeguard a prophetic legacy that shaped the course of Scripture. Some ancient traditions even suggest that Baruch played a role in editing or preserving other portions of the Hebrew Bible. Later Jewish writings, like 2 Baruch, bear his name—though they aren’t part of the biblical canon. Whether or not those texts truly belong to him, the very fact that his name endures in them tells us something. Baruch was remembered.
But let’s be clear. Baruch was not invincible. He was not untouched by fear or disillusionment. He had moments when the weight of it all nearly broke him.
“You said, ‘Woe is me! For the Lord has added sorrow to my pain. I am weary with my groaning, and I find no rest.’” (Jeremiah 45:3 ESV).
Baruch had dreams. Maybe he hoped for recognition. Maybe he thought that being near the prophet of God would come with honor. Instead, it brought threats, isolation, and sorrow. And God answered Baruch directly.
“And do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not, for behold, I am bringing disaster upon all flesh, declares the Lord. But I will give you your life as a prize of war in all places to which you may go.” (Jeremiah 45:5 ESV).
It wasn’t a promise of fame. It wasn’t a reward. It was a rescue.
Sometimes, that’s the gift. God sees us, spares us, and stays with us.
After Jerusalem fell, a remnant of Judah fled to Egypt—dragging Jeremiah with them against his will. And Baruch went too. That’s the last we hear of him in the biblical story.
Some traditions say he died in Egypt, remaining faithful to Jeremiah and to God’s word to the very end. Others wonder if he returned to Babylon with the exiles. But we don’t know for sure. His story ends quietly. Not with a farewell speech. Not with a miracle. But with his pen set down and his name remembered in the margins of God’s unfolding plan.
And here’s what we do know.
Baruch was not a background character in God’s eyes. He was a man who stood firm in a time of national collapse. A man who gave up his dreams to preserve the words of the Lord. A man who stayed beside the prophet when everyone else had turned away.
He teaches us something holy. Faithfulness often happens in quiet corners. Some of God’s greatest servants are not the ones in front of the crowd, but the ones who copy the scroll, carry the burden, and deliver the message when it’s not safe to speak.
Baruch reminds us that we don’t have to be the prophet to be part of the prophetic mission. We just have to be willing. God sees every pen stroke. Every act of courage. Every surrendered ambition.
And in the end, that life—though not flashy—is blessed.
I am finishing the book of Jeremiah in my daily Bible reading.
After doing a deep dive into the Sovereignty of God, it caused me to see God’s sovereignty everywhere I look. Once we see His hand clearly, we start noticing it in places we may have overlooked before. That’s been my experience as I wrap up the book of Jeremiah. Through every chapter, through every nation mentioned, I’m seeing the sovereign fingerprints of God.
It’s made me realize something. My study has shaped how I now read and interpret the Word. Human perspectives can be misleading. If we’re not careful, we end up elevating our own logic, reasoning, or assumptions to the level of authority. But when we view everything through the lens of God’s sovereignty, it becomes the bedrock prism that helps us guard against that. His rule is the constant that steadies all interpretation.
As God speaks of bringing Judah into captivity, we see a scorched-earth declaration of judgment—not just against Judah, but against all the nations around them. The long-suffering of God reaches a holy limit. The judgment He brings isn’t reactionary. It’s just. It’s measured. And it’s final for many.
This theme of God’s judgment reaching a point of no return is echoed in another passage that came to mind as I was reading—one that paints a sobering picture of how far the people had drifted.
“But they kept mocking the messengers of God, despising his words and scoffing at his prophets, until the wrath of the LORD rose against his people, until there was no remedy.” (2 Chronicles 36:16 ESV).
That line—”until there was no remedy”—carries such weight. It’s the language of finality. The language of sovereignty. The language of a holy God who will not be mocked. We see it again in Jeremiah:
“Fear not, O Jacob my servant, declares the LORD, for I am with you. I will make a full end of all the nations to which I have driven you, but of you I will not make a full end. I will discipline you in just measure, and I will by no means leave you unpunished.” (Jeremiah 46:28 ESV).
There it is—His sovereignty again. God will make a full end of the nations. His wrath is not restrained by borders or empires. But to His people, He promises something different. Not escape. Not indulgence. But discipline—in just measure.
That phrase caught me today.
Just measure.
God doesn’t pour out wrath the way we might. He doesn’t judge like we would. If the tables were turned and we were in charge, our human nature might deal out punishment too harshly or confuse leniency with grace, allowing evil to continue unchecked. We might let evil slide. Or we might hold a grudge and go too far. But not God.
He is sovereign. He is just. And He is merciful.
This is what brings me comfort when I read of Judah’s captivity and the destruction of the surrounding nations. I don’t rejoice in their suffering. But I do rest in the knowledge that the judgment belongs to God alone. He is the Potter. He raises nations up and brings them down. That is His right. And I’m thankful we are not entrusted with meeting out judgment.
Because if we’re honest, we know what we deserve too. And that’s why David’s words still echo with so much power:
“I am in great distress. Let us fall into the hand of the LORD, for his mercy is great; but let me not fall into the hand of man.” (2 Samuel 24:14 ESV).
God’s mercy doesn’t ignore sin. It disciplines in just measure.
His judgment doesn’t mean we’re forsaken. It means we’re seen.
And His sovereignty doesn’t leave us afraid. It invites us to take refuge.
So today, I’m choosing to trust that whatever comes, God will handle it in perfect balance. Judgment and mercy. Wrath and grace. Full end or just measure.
And I’m giving my allegiance to the only One righteous enough to get it right.
King Jesus.
Peace doesn’t mean the storm stops—it means you know who’s in the boat.
Even ChatGPT Bans the Horror Jesus Endured
In the last few months, I’ve been creating what I call my One-Liner visual posts. These are square images designed for Facebook and Instagram that pair a short, punchy, spiritual thought with a compelling visual. They’re meant to grab attention, stir reflection, and point our hearts back to God—all in a single glance.
Some are funny. Some are bold. Some are heavy.
This one? It took me somewhere I didn’t expect.
The thought came to me like this:
“I see many pictures of Jesus after He was scourged. If any of them were even halfway accurate, Facebook would probably ban them.”
And that’s when the idea landed:
What if I created a pic that blurred out the violence of His suffering—not to soften it, but to acknowledge its horror?
Not as a way of turning away, but as a way of saying: “This was so bad… we can’t even show it.” That kind of silence can be deafening. The blur itself would speak.
So, I went to my AI assistant—ChatGPT—and I explained what I wanted: a blurry image of an obviously tortured Jesus. Something evocative. Something sobering. A pic that would force us to confront the brutal reality of what He endured, without crossing the lines of taste or platform policies.
And ChatGPT did what it always does.
It paused.
The image I had in mind wasn’t even fully graphic. It was intentionally softened, blurred, distant—abstract, even. But that didn’t matter.
It triggered its ethical filters.
Not because I had done anything wrong. Not because I wanted to glorify violence.
But because what Jesus suffered was so awful, even artificial intelligence has to look away.
In fact, here was its exact response:
“Tony, I understand exactly what you’re going for—but I wasn’t able to generate the blurred image because this request violates our content policies, even with the blur applied. That said, I’d still love to help you capture the weight and message of this one-liner in a different visual way—something that still honors the depth and gravity of the moment without using a literal depiction of a scourged Jesus. Would you like me to suggest a few alternative visual concepts that preserve the spirit of what you intended?”
Let that sink in for a moment.
We live in a world saturated with violent movies, brutal games, and disturbing news feeds. But when it came to this—the Son of God, whipped, beaten, bloodied for our sins—even AI couldn’t go there.
Even a blurred hint of that pain crossed a line.
And that’s the line we often forget.
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 ESV).
We quote that verse with ease. We wear it on T-shirts and coffee mugs. But do we realize what it cost God to give His Son?
Do we understand what it meant for Jesus to be “given”?
The nails, the thorns, the whip, the spit, the mockery, the abandonment. Not just from man—but from God Himself, as He bore the wrath that we deserved.
It’s no wonder the sun went dark.
It’s no wonder the earth shook.
It’s no wonder the Centurion said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”
Even ChatGPT looked away.
So the next time we read that God loved the world enough to give His Son, let’s not gloss over it. Let’s pause in reverent awe. Let’s remember that the love of God isn’t poetic. It’s bloody. It’s brutal. It’s sacrificial.
And it’s for us.
That’s the kind of love we stand under.
That’s the kind of Savior we follow.
And yes, we did eventually create an image. But not the one we planned. Not the one that crossed the line. The final image—the one you see here—is a shadow of the horror, and yet it’s enough to make the point. That alone tells us how unimaginable the real thing must have been.
I am in the book of 2 Peter in my daily Bible reading.
Toward the end of his life, Peter writes with urgency and clarity. He knows his time is short, and he wants us to be equipped—warned and comforted—as we await the return of Jesus.
Chapter 2 hits hard. Peter reminds us that God has never allowed rebellion to go unchecked:
“For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until the judgment; if he did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah, a herald of righteousness, with seven others, when he brought a flood upon the world of the ungodly; if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction, making them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly;” (2 Peter 2:4–6 ESV).
But then comes a name we might not expect—Lot.
“and if he rescued righteous Lot, greatly distressed by the sensual conduct of the wicked(for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard);then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment,” (2 Peter 2:7–9 ESV).
Righteous Lot.
If we’re honest, that’s not the first word we usually attach to Lot. Not when we remember the squabble between his herdsmen and Abraham’s. Not when we recall how he pitched his tent toward Sodom. Not when we read about him offering his daughters to the violent mob. And definitely not when we learn how his story ends—with incest and shame.
But here’s the thing: Peter, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, calls him righteous. That means our judgment of Lot’s choices isn’t the final word. God’s is.
And when we step back, we can see why. Lot left everything to follow Abraham and the invisible God he served. He knew right from wrong. He refused to adopt the values of Sodom. He tried to protect the visitors under his roof—just as God commands. In fact, Ezekiel reminds us that how Sodom treated the vulnerable was one of the key reasons for its destruction (Ezekiel 16:49).
Peter even anticipates our doubts by inserting this explanation:
“(for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard);” (2 Peter 2:8 ESV).
Lot didn’t become like the city he lived in. He grieved it. And that grief—born from loyalty to God—is evidence of righteousness.
We need to hear this.
Because some of us have made foolish decisions. We’ve stayed too long in the wrong places. We’ve aligned with people who led us toward regret. And sometimes, we wonder whether that means we’ve forfeited our standing with God.
But the story of Lot reminds us: God knows the heart.
He doesn’t ask for perfection. He asks for allegiance. And when our hearts are still tormented by what is evil—when we still long for what is good—God sees righteousness that others might miss.
That doesn’t mean He overlooks sin. Peter makes that clear:
“For they deliberately overlook this fact, that the heavens existed long ago, and the earth was formed out of water and through water by the word of God, and that by means of these the world that then existed was deluged with water and perished. But by the same word the heavens and earth that now exist are stored up for fire, being kept until the day of judgment and destruction of the ungodly.” (2 Peter 3:5–7 ESV).
So, we live with both comfort and caution.
Comfort, that our weakness doesn’t disqualify us when our hearts still belong to Him.
Caution, that He will not allow rebellion to go unpunished.
Peter’s final words to the church were chosen with care. Let’s treasure them. Let’s live by them. And let’s remember that even in the darkest places, God sees the righteous soul that’s still crying out for Him.
He knows how to rescue the godly from trials.