Greetings, Church Family and Friends!
Over the past few days, I have had the privilege of hearing and engaging with many brilliant voices concerned about the direction of Western culture while here in London. The rallying cry has been clear:
“This is a civilization moment—the call is going out for people to get on board the ark.”
One of the early presentations was by the notable luminary and influencer in Western thought, Dr. Jordan Peterson. I’ll attempt to condense his lecture into a few sentences.
He told us that all enduring civilizations have been built on an ethic of sacrifice and that hedonism—selfish individualism—is the enemy and death knell of Western culture. He went on to say that, from beginning to end, the Bible presents one consistent theme: sacrifice—an act that calls us to the reciprocity of giving what is costly to us, in a relationship of trust, with the assurance that it will return more than we could have given. This culminates in the greatest example of sacrifice: when God gave not another, but Himself, on our behalf.
Dr. Peterson effectively and compellingly demonstrated that the brightest moments, motifs, and themes of Western culture are borrowed from and founded upon the morals and narratives of the Bible—on self-giving love.
The Clash between Sacrifice and Resentment
This brings me to a second experience that underscored the same theme—but in a much different way. A few days ago, I sat in the living room at our community in Texas, surrounded by attorneys representing us in the defamation case progressing in Alabama federal court. After sifting through mountains of communication, online material, and legal documents, they posed a question:
Why has our community so often been the target of such intense bitterness, attacks, and ill will from a small but impassioned cabal of former members?
They observed that some of the most vicious and consistent attackers exhibit clear signs of mental instability, while others do not. Some came from broken backgrounds—before and after their time with us—and are clearly scapegoating. But what was the common thread weaving bitterness through all those who have made our defamation and destruction their highest mission?
Few psychologists, psychiatrists, or health counselors of any kind would recommend bitterness, vindictiveness, or the destruction of others’ happiness as a meaningful or healthy course for any individual. Yet here we are, facing slander that is both relentless and wildly disproportionate. But why?
The answer is complex, and every individual case is different. Still, some themes are difficult to ignore. The reality is quite simple: A lifestyle like ours makes incredible promises—beautiful, fruitful, life-giving, and joyous. But the realization of those promises lies on the other side of real sacrifice—the giving of one’s hope, faith, energy, and passion for something worth believing in. And sadly, the intensity of bitterness that people feel is often directly proportional to the degree of sacrifice they made in pursuit of a vision that, for them, seemed not to come true.
And that is the cause of the bitterness. Perhaps, like some marriages that end in divorce, people gave a lot—time, effort, energy, treasure, love, relational investment—and for one reason or another, they gave up on the dream. They pulled the ripcord, cut their losses, and threw their lot in elsewhere. And who wouldn’t battle feelings of regret—if not anger and blame—for an investment that now seemed beyond recovery?
Building on This Theme from Scripture
If love is the highest reward life can offer, then we think of the words of Jesus:
“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).
A friend whose life is spared by the one who dies in his place is certainly a beneficiary, blessed with an inestimable gift that makes him forever a person of gratitude, humility, and sacrifice. But if love is its own reward, then the one who lays down his life for his friend also experiences something—not just something, but the very essence of life itself in its highest form, which is the greatest reward of all: love. And “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).
So bear with me while I attempt to connect our own community’s experience under the pelting barrage of bitterness, hatred, cruelty, and slander with the larger theme that Dr. Peterson laments as missing from the broader culture.
Cain and Abel—the First Rivalry
Everything we are talking about began just outside the gates of the Garden of Eden. There, in the earliest days of humanity, the sons of Adam and Eve—Cain and Abel—felt compelled to make a sacrifice to the Almighty.
My brother Nathaniel pointed out something interesting: It would seem that Cain made the first sacrifice and felt no dissatisfaction until his brother came along, made a different kind of sacrifice, and received an utterly different kind of result. But the question remains—why did they make the sacrifice in the first place?
Clearly, Abel experienced a tangible manifestation of God’s favor—His grace. We don’t know exactly what this was like, but it must have been something unmistakable—perhaps a visible, personal confirmation of God’s presence and approval. In making his sacrifice, Abel was declaring:
“I know my sin has separated me from Your presence. I take responsibility: I am the problem. But I am willing to give up something costly to me for a moment in Your presence, for the reassurance that You are still there, and that I can draw near to You in faith, to mend the breach between myself and my Maker.”
Cain, on the other hand, went through his sacrifice and apparently felt nothing. But, at first, he was not unhappy. Then Abel came along, made his offering, and experienced something far greater. And Abel’s joy—not his sacrifice—is what drove Cain mad. This is mimetic rivalry—the envy that activates judgment, which activates hatred, which often activates destruction.
Cain’s Unchecked Envy
The Bible then records a revealing dialogue between God and Cain. Interestingly, Cain does not respond in the early parts of the conversation. He is silent. Unhappy.
Like Esau, King Saul, Ahab, and the rich young ruler, Cain is unwilling to pay the price to receive the reward his brother enjoys. But instead of confronting his own apathy, laziness, and victimhood, he chooses instead to destroy the reminder of all that he has lost—all that he could have had.
Why?
Because Abel’s joy pointed the finger at him. Abel had no quarrel with Cain, no rivalry to settle, no message to send. He simply offered his best to God and rejoiced in His favor. But Cain’s eyes were not on God—they were on Abel. And so, Abel’s joy became Cain’s torment, not because Abel flaunted it, but because Cain resented what he lacked yet refused to pursue.
If everyone making sacrifices had received Cain’s result, Cain would never have been unhappy. But the fact that someone else received a shockingly different outcome activated envy, anger, and, eventually, murder.
Why Did Cain Pout?
If Cain truly wanted the reward of God’s presence and believed Abel had done something different—something greater and more costly—then all he had to do was get up and make the greater sacrifice.
But that’s not how the human mind works. That’s not how we rationalize our failures. No, the only reason we pout is when we believe we are prisoners to outcomes beyond our control.
It’s like a man who makes his own lunch and then shows up on the job site, complaining that he always gets tuna fish sandwiches. He looks foolish. But if someone else makes his lunch—if his outcome is outside of his control—then he can do nothing but complain.
Pouting is what we do when we believe we have no agency.
And so the very fact of Cain’s depression proves that in his mind, God was unfair. In Cain’s mind, he had offered every bit the sacrifice his brother had. But God—so he thought—was capricious. Partial. Political. Unjust.
God’s Correction of Cain’s Equation
This is where God steps in to correct Cain’s equation. God tells Cain his happiness is up to him.
“Why are you angry, and why is your face downcast? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must rule over it” (Gen. 4:6-7).
In other words: “Why are you complaining about your tuna fish sandwich when you made it yourself?”
That’s the point—Cain created this outcome, and, therefore, he could change it. That is why God asks “Why?” and then points directly to Cain and what he can do to change his situation. But Cain viewed himself as a victim. Instead of changing himself, he would rather sacrifice his own brother—for the first time spilling the blood of a human made in the image of God—than admit the insufficiency of his own sacrifice.
And isn’t it ironic? When we are unwilling to pay the full price, we often end up paying ten times more just to prove we weren’t wrong—that it was someone else’s fault—that we were the victims.
Cain’s Final Descent
Cain was unwilling to do what was right. He went out to talk to his brother. But Abel, apparently, spoke the same truth that God had spoken. And Cain didn’t pout at Abel—he picked up a rock and killed him. Then God speaks to Cain again.
“What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground” (Gen. 4:10).
And Cain immediately shirks responsibility.
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Gen. 4:9).
Then he doubles down on his claim to victimhood.
“My punishment is greater than I can bear” (Gen. 4:13).
And with that, he builds a city. A fortress where he can hide from the judgment of God—a judgment against bitterness, blame, victimhood, anger, and murder. Inside its walls, he imagines himself as God—controlling, determining, guiding. He perpetuates the illusion that he doesn’t need the favor—the grace—that Abel found.
The Lost Ethic of Sacrifice in a Culture of Self
Returning to Dr. Peterson’s challenge—how can the West rediscover an ethic of sacrifice in its current condition? The examples of sacrifice we admire today largely belong to an earlier age—an age before modern entertainment, before postmodern narcissism had been normalized, before the machinery of instant gratification had reached its current maturity.
Our ancestors were not plagued by the dollhouse problems of today—worrying over Facebook likes, who unfriended them, or what gender they thought they were. Generally speaking, the hardship of a life still tethered to basic survival—growing one’s own food, protecting one’s family from disease, enduring war and violent upheaval—naturally shrunk life down to its essentials. There was little room for the melodramas of a hedonistic culture. Thus, the sacrificial life was not just evident, it was necessary—perhaps even inevitable—in a world untouched by the unmatched luxuries, individualism, and distractions of modernity. Back then, meaning was defined not by identity, lifestyle, personal branding, or self-expression but by how one loved God and neighbor—how one gave himself in heroic sacrifice and service.
But strip away the internet, social media, mass entertainment, and all the bellows of narcissism inflating the egos of multitudes, and the re-adoption of a sacrificial ethic might seem achievable again. Yet, we do not live in such a world. We live in an age of mass deception—where “the love of many has grown cold” (Matt. 24:12). Ours is but one voice in a storm, calling men to give their lives, take up their crosses, surrender everything to Jesus and His purpose. But the entire world is preaching a counter-gospel—that life’s very meaning is about their pleasure, their choices, their identity. The roar of self-worship rings in their ears. It flashes across their screens. It’s written on billboards, embedded in school curricula, and proclaimed from every platform. It declares that man is the center of all being—and each individual is the center of their own universe.
The Impossible Task: Restoring Sacrifice in a Hedonistic Age
In such an environment, recapturing an ethic of sacrifice is not just unlikely—it is impossible. And unless the church compromises itself—adapting its theology to conform to the radical individualism of the age—it will increasingly be deemed irrelevant. This compromise is already well underway. It takes the form of cheap grace—a gospel that tells people that Jesus died merely to secure their eternal safety, not to free, empower, or transform their lives here and now.
Yet at the core of human existence lies a fallen nature—one that does not choose according to its own best interests. It is inclined toward deception, rebellious toward guidance, and blind even in the presence of light. And when the human ego demands self above all else, while every voice in the culture—from social media to movies, books, songs, and lectures—reinforces the same self-first ideology, what could possibly compel a person to resist that pressure?
Two Paths: Coercion or Repentance
There are only two options. The first is coercion. Some Christians, having lost all faith in the power of grace through the Holy Spirit, believe that morality must be institutionalized—that law should govern television content, phone usage, social media, dress codes, church attendance. But even if such measures were feasible, they could only slow the onslaught, never stop it. The genie is out of the bottle. And the forced morality of external restrictions would only fan the flames of rebellion, debauchery, and violence—just as in the French Revolution.
Yet, as much as we oppose coercion, we must acknowledge that modern liberty, left unchecked, will collapse into the worst form of licentiousness unless voluntary associations—families, churches, communities—actively instill internal restraint. The less people govern themselves through conscience, discipline, and shared moral commitments, the more State intervention becomes inevitable. In a society where the self is enthroned above all else, the collapse of virtue does not lead to greater freedom but to a tyranny imposed in the name of restoring order.
We want as much freedom as possible. We want as little State interference as possible. But this only works if the mechanisms of self-restraint within voluntary associations actually function. Where moral order is upheld from within, external restrictions remain unnecessary. But where restraint is abandoned—where conscience is dulled, where communities fail to hold each other accountable—the vacuum will be filled, not by self-correction, but by authoritarian force. This is why those who cry loudest for unbridled liberty often end up under the heaviest chains. True liberty does not mean the absence of restraint but the presence of self-governance.
The only alternative to Old Testament-style State-enforced “morality”?
Repentance.
The church must once again become the agent of repentance—insisting upon it before and above all other concerns. Then the church itself must become the environment where an entire culture enters into a covenant of repentance—a mutual agreement to recognize the fallen nature, the ego at war with all higher ideals and transcendent purpose, and to keep it dead. It is far too late to sprinkle salt on the gangrene of this culture and hope to reverse rot into health. But we can choose personal repentance.
We can dethrone the ego and hold to that commitment within a community of repentance—a cluster of believers walking together in mutual accountability, relying on the grace and joy of the Spirit. If we do, we will see life reenter what has become the corpse of Christianity. “These bones can live” (Ezek. 37:5).
A Warning to Those Who Choose This Path
But let there be no illusions. There will never be a top-down reversal of Western decadence. The era of any national return to righteousness is over. There is, however, hope—but only for those who will open their eyes and voluntarily submit. Not to State-imposed morality, but to the loving, accountable, knowable support of a community in covenant to walk out repentance.
Yet if you choose to be part of such a community, beware. The world will tell you that what you are doing is unnecessary, extreme, too much. The entire culture will pull on your ego, whispering, calling, and seducing: “Live for yourself. Put yourself first. Don’t miss out. Take and eat.”
And yet Jesus has already spoken: “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will find it” (Mark 8:34-35).
This message is unpopular—more so today than at any time in history. And when some decide to throw down their cross and walk away from the voluntary, covenantal commitment of repentance, they will despise every mile they once walked bearing it. They will point fingers, resent, and blame those who once inspired them to take it up. They will cling to “a form of godliness while denying its power” (2 Tim. 3:5)—a religion that lets them have their cake and eat it, too.
And then, the promise Jesus made will be fulfilled: “You will be hated by all for My name’s sake” (Matt. 10:22).
A Choice That Can Only Be Sustained in Covenant Community
The ethic of sacrifice cannot be restored through political movements, legal enforcement, or mass conversions. It will only be found in New Testament-style covenant fellowships—enclaves of total commitment. In such communities, people will either fully give themselves to a life of sacrifice, obedience, and repentance—or they will reject it, and with it, the costs of discipleship.
There are no perfect people, but there is a perfect God, and He has given us a sure way to walk together with Him and with one another—it is the church. You can have your independence, your fleeting pleasures of sin, your boasting in pride, the vanity upon vanity that drifts away like dust in the wind. As for me, I will thank God for a congregation that keeps over 90% of its young people, seeing them marry in faith, build strong families, and establish generations of godliness. I will thank Him for a church that, in over 50 years, has seen only one out-of-wedlock pregnancy, whose young people know nothing of drug or alcohol abuse, where marriages have never dissolved among those who remain in the faith, where the elderly have never once been abandoned to nursing homes but have always been cared for, served, and surrounded—sometimes for months, sometimes for years—by their brothers, sisters, children, and grandchildren, even when they had no natural kin.
I thank God for a church that provides real education, real futures, and real purpose, where young people graduate with Capstone projects that stand as testaments to diligence and skill, where there is no unemployment, no purposeless wandering—because everyone, young and old, has a place and a role. I thank God for a youth culture that honors its elders, serves, sings, and ministers to the sick and dying—both here and abroad. A place where we’ve never battled, or even encountered, the confusion of gender dysphoria.
No, we are not perfect. We have a long way to go, and we have made it this far only by grace, leaning on the Lord. But I would never trade it for anything. All the glittering promises of the world, all its hollow hedonism, hold no value in my heart.
The Test of Time
Go to the heart of the matter—love—and you will find relationships that have endured over fifty years, stronger than when they began. Go to the end of the matter—sit with a dying saint in their final hours, held by the hands of those who have walked with them in faith for a lifetime, and tell me you would want to finish your race any other way.
We must remain vigilant, choosing—consciously, deliberately—to embrace an authority of truth, love, and accountability that cannot be imposed, but without which, we cannot resist the slow slide into dissipation and hedonism. We must embrace the cross—and in it, find life.
The Cross and the Promise
Abel still reaps the joy of his sacrifice, while Cain pouts elsewhere. Those who have given their lives in faith have found them overflowing—filled with the peace and abundance that only surrender and commitment can bring. But those who have cast aside their cross, who once walked this road but turned back, now stand outside, looking in—resenting every mile they once traveled, despising those who remind them of the promise. Jesus declared, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62).
One thing is certain: no one who truly takes up their cross and perseveres will ever regret it. The cost is real, but the reward is greater still, for Jesus also promised, “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for My sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time—houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions—and in the age to come, eternal life” (Mark 10:29-30).
For “our light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Cor. 4:17).
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