Last year I rolled 70 magical weapons as part of the RPG Blog Carnival: Wondrous Weapons and Damning Dweomers. Since then several people asked me for a print-friendly PDF versions.

Here they are:

• Ten Magik Weapons for Original Dungeons & Dragons
• Ten Wondrous Weapons for Original Dungeons & Dragons
• Twenty Magical Swords for Swords & Wizardry
• Thirty Unique Magical Weapons for Labyrinth Lord

Enjoy!

Illustration by Grey Gnome Games.

#Resource #OSR #ODnD #SW #Arduin #LL

There are moments in Scripture where Paul stops sounding like a theologian and starts sounding like a father who has reached the end of his patience—not because he is angry, but because he knows what is at stake. First Corinthians chapter six is one of those moments. This is not abstract theology. This is not a distant doctrinal debate. This is Paul standing in front of a fractured church, looking at people who have tasted grace and then forgotten who they are, and saying, in effect, “Do you have any idea what you are carrying?”

This chapter is uncomfortable because it refuses to let faith stay theoretical. It drags belief into bedrooms, courtrooms, appetites, bodies, and daily decisions. It refuses to allow Christianity to remain a Sunday activity. First Corinthians 6 presses the question that many would rather avoid: if grace has truly taken root, why does your life still look like it belongs to the old world?

Paul opens with something that seems mundane but is deeply revealing. Lawsuits. Believers dragging one another before secular courts. At first glance, this feels like an administrative issue. Church conflict management. But Paul’s response tells us this is not about procedure—it is about identity. He is stunned. “How is it,” he asks, “that you dare go to law before the unrighteous instead of the saints?”

That word “dare” matters. Paul is not merely disappointed; he is incredulous. The issue is not that disputes exist. Conflict happens wherever humans gather. The issue is that believers, people who claim to live under a different kingdom, are defaulting to the same systems, instincts, and power structures as everyone else.

Paul pushes the argument further, and this is where it becomes shocking. He says the saints will judge the world. He says they will judge angels. That is not metaphorical fluff. Paul is anchoring present behavior in future destiny. His logic is piercing: if God has entrusted you with that kind of future authority, why are you incapable of handling minor disputes among yourselves now?

This is not arrogance. This is responsibility. Paul is saying that the church’s inability to resolve conflict internally is not a failure of skill—it is a failure of imagination. They have forgotten who they are becoming.

And then Paul says something that sounds almost scandalous to modern ears: “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded?” In a culture obsessed with rights, justice, and self-vindication, this sounds weak. But Paul is not dismissing justice; he is re-framing value. He is saying that preserving the witness of the gospel is worth more than winning an argument. That unity in Christ matters more than personal victory.

This is where the chapter begins to turn inward. Because Paul is not just addressing public behavior; he is addressing private entitlement. The problem is not that they are being wronged. The problem is that they are wronging each other—and doing so while wearing the name of Christ.

Then comes the line that rattles people, the line that has been weaponized, misunderstood, and ripped out of context for generations: “Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?”

This is where many readers panic. This is where sermons often turn into fear campaigns. But that is not Paul’s intent. He is not saying that salvation is earned through moral perfection. He is saying that transformation is not optional. The kingdom of God is not a label you slap onto an unchanged life. It is a reality that reshapes everything it touches.

Paul lists behaviors that characterized the Corinthians’ former lives. Sexual immorality. Idolatry. Adultery. Exploitation. Greed. Drunkenness. Abuse. And then he drops one of the most hope-filled sentences in the entire New Testament: “And such were some of you.”

Were. Past tense. Not “are.” Not “will always be.” Were.

This is not condemnation. This is celebration. Paul is not reminding them of their sins to shame them; he is reminding them of their transformation to wake them up. You are not that anymore. You cannot live like you never left Egypt when God has already split the sea.

And then Paul anchors it all in identity. “But you were washed. You were sanctified. You were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God.”

Notice what Paul does not say. He does not say, “You cleaned yourself up.” He does not say, “You earned a second chance.” He does not say, “You fixed your behavior.” He says, “You were washed.” Passive voice. God acted. Grace moved first. Transformation began not with effort, but with encounter.

This is where First Corinthians 6 becomes deeply personal. Because Paul is not issuing a rulebook; he is issuing a reminder. You belong to God now. Your life is no longer your own raw material to shape however you please.

Then comes the phrase that has launched a thousand justifications: “All things are lawful for me.” Paul is quoting them. This is Corinthian theology gone wrong. Freedom twisted into permission. Grace misunderstood as license.

Paul’s response is sharp and surgical. “But not all things are helpful.” “But I will not be dominated by anything.”

Freedom, in Paul’s view, is not the absence of restraint. It is the presence of mastery. If something controls you, it owns you—no matter how loudly you shout about liberty.

Then Paul moves to the body. And this is where the chapter reaches its most confronting depth. Corinth was a city saturated with sexual permissiveness. Prostitution was woven into religious practice. Bodies were commodities. Pleasure was detached from meaning. Sound familiar?

Paul refuses to spiritualize faith away from physical reality. He does not say, “Your soul matters; your body doesn’t.” He says the opposite. “The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.”

That line is revolutionary. God is not merely interested in your prayers. He is invested in your flesh. The incarnation proves that bodies matter. Resurrection confirms it.

Paul reminds them that God raised the Lord and will raise us also by His power. That means what you do with your body echoes into eternity. Your physical life is not disposable packaging—it is sacred ground.

Then Paul drops a truth that should stop every believer cold: “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ?”

Not symbols. Not metaphors. Members.

This means there is no such thing as a purely private sin. There is no act that affects only you. When you belong to Christ, your choices ripple through His body.

Paul’s argument reaches a climax when he says, “Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never!”

This is not prudishness. This is covenant language. Sexual union, Paul explains, creates a one-flesh reality. It binds. It joins. It fuses. That is why it is powerful. That is why it is dangerous. That is why it is sacred.

But Paul does not stop with sexual ethics. He goes deeper. He says, “He who is joined to the Lord becomes one spirit with Him.”

Read that slowly. One spirit. Union with Christ is not metaphorical. It is participatory. You are not merely forgiven; you are fused.

And this leads Paul to the command that is often misunderstood: “Flee sexual immorality.”

He does not say, “Resist it.” He does not say, “Negotiate with it.” He does not say, “Test your strength.” He says, “Run.”

Why? Because sexual sin is unique. Paul says every other sin is outside the body, but sexual sin is against one’s own body. It fractures the self. It erodes intimacy. It damages the vessel God intends to fill.

And then comes the line that changes everything: “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God?”

A temple is not a casual space. It is sacred. It is intentional. It is consecrated. Paul is telling ordinary believers—former idol worshipers, former addicts, former abusers—that God has chosen to dwell in them.

Not visit. Dwell.

And then the final blow to the illusion of autonomy: “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price.”

This is not oppression. This is rescue. Ownership in the kingdom of God is not exploitation—it is redemption. You were purchased out of slavery, not into it.

Paul ends the chapter with a sentence that summarizes the entire argument: “So glorify God in your body.”

Not just your thoughts. Not just your worship songs. Your body. Your habits. Your choices. Your relationships. Your self-control. Your boundaries. Your courage to live differently.

First Corinthians 6 is not about moralism. It is about magnitude. Paul is saying, “Do you realize how much God has invested in you?”

If you did, you would stop settling for what diminishes you.

If you did, you would stop using grace as an excuse and start living as evidence.

If you did, you would realize that holiness is not about restriction—it is about alignment.

And if you did, your life would stop asking, “What can I get away with?” and start asking, “What honors the One who lives in me?”

This is not a chapter meant to crush you. It is meant to call you higher.

And we are only halfway through what it has to say.

…What Paul is doing in this chapter, if we slow down enough to see it, is rebuilding the believer’s self-understanding from the ground up. He is dismantling the small, fragile identity the Corinthians have been living from and replacing it with something weighty, durable, and holy. The tragedy is not that they have sinned. The tragedy is that they have forgotten who they are while claiming the name of Christ.

This is why First Corinthians 6 does not read like a list of rules. It reads like a wake-up call. Paul is not saying, “Try harder.” He is saying, “Remember deeper.” Remember what happened to you. Remember what was done for you. Remember who now lives within you. Because behavior always follows belief, and shallow living always reveals shallow remembering.

The Corinthians believed they were free, but they had quietly redefined freedom as the absence of limits instead of the presence of purpose. Paul corrects this not by tightening restrictions but by expanding vision. He keeps pointing forward. You will judge the world. You will judge angels. Your body will be raised. Your spirit is joined to the Lord. Your flesh is a temple. You were bought at a price. Every sentence stretches the horizon of what their lives mean.

This is one of Paul’s most consistent strategies. When believers drift, he does not first threaten them with punishment; he reminds them of destiny. He does not say, “Act better or else.” He says, “You are becoming something—why are you living beneath it?” Holiness, in Paul’s theology, is not fear-based compliance. It is future-anchored alignment.

This is why the misuse of First Corinthians 6 has done so much damage. When this chapter is preached as a club instead of a calling, it loses its power. When it is reduced to sexual policing instead of identity formation, it shrinks. Paul is not obsessed with controlling bodies; he is obsessed with protecting union. Union with Christ. Union within the community. Union between belief and behavior.

Notice how carefully Paul frames the issue of sexual sin. He does not argue primarily from shame, disgust, or social reputation. He argues from belonging. “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ?” That is not an external rule; that is an internal reality. Paul is saying that sexual immorality is not just “wrong” in a moral sense—it is incoherent. It does not fit who you are anymore.

And that word “fit” matters. Because the deepest frustration many believers feel is not that God asks too much of them, but that their lives feel misaligned. Disconnected. Fragmented. Pulled apart by competing loyalties. Paul’s answer is not repression; it is integration. Your spirit and your body were never meant to live separate lives. Grace does not erase embodiment—it sanctifies it.

This is why Paul refuses the Corinthian slogan, “Food for the stomach and the stomach for food,” when it is applied to sex. That argument treats the body as a machine and desire as a function. Paul refuses that reduction. The body is not a disposable appetite engine. It is a relational instrument. What you do with it teaches your soul what it is worth.

That is why Paul says sexual sin is against one’s own body. He is not minimizing other sins; he is recognizing the unique way sexual choices form and deform identity. Sexual union creates memory, attachment, expectation, and meaning. It trains the heart. It scripts the nervous system. It teaches us what intimacy is allowed to cost. Paul is not being old-fashioned; he is being profoundly perceptive.

And this is where grace must be spoken clearly, especially for those who read this chapter with wounds instead of curiosity. Paul is not writing to people who have “kept themselves clean.” He is writing to people who have lived deeply broken sexual lives. “Such were some of you.” That sentence is not theoretical. It includes stories. Faces. Regrets. Trauma. Shame. Exploitation. Paul is not erasing their past; he is refusing to let it define their future.

Being washed does not mean you were never dirty. Being sanctified does not mean you were never fractured. Being justified does not mean you were never guilty. It means God stepped into the mess and claimed it as His own. It means the deepest truths about you are not located in what you did, but in what He did for you.

This is why Paul’s final statement—“You are not your own”—is not dehumanizing. It is stabilizing. The modern world treats self-ownership as ultimate freedom, but self-ownership is also unbearable pressure. If you belong only to yourself, you must create yourself, defend yourself, justify yourself, and save yourself. Paul offers something better. You belong to the One who knows what you were made for.

“You were bought with a price.” Paul does not cheapen that phrase by over-explaining it. He lets its gravity speak. The cross was not symbolic. It was costly. And that cost assigns value. You do not purchase what you consider worthless. You redeem what you refuse to lose.

And so Paul ends not with a threat, but with a direction: “Therefore glorify God in your body.” Not because God is insecure. Not because He needs control. But because glory is what happens when something finally functions as it was designed to.

A violin glorifies its maker when it resonates correctly. A lens glorifies its maker when it brings things into focus. A life glorifies God when belief and embodiment finally agree.

First Corinthians 6 is not asking you to become someone else. It is calling you back to yourself—the self God has already begun to restore. It is asking whether your daily choices align with the future you have been promised. Whether your habits reflect your hope. Whether your body tells the same story your mouth does.

This chapter leaves no room for casual Christianity, but it leaves enormous room for grace-fueled transformation. It does not say, “Be perfect.” It says, “Be who you are becoming.” It does not say, “Never fail.” It says, “Stop forgetting what you carry.”

Because when you remember that God has chosen to dwell within you, some doors quietly close on their own. Some temptations lose their voice. Some compromises start to feel too small. Not because you are afraid—but because you are awake.

And that is what Paul wants for the Corinthians. Not fear. Not shame. Awakening.

An awakening to the sacred weight of who they are.

An awakening to the truth that grace does not lower the bar of life—it lifts the soul high enough to reach it.

And an awakening to the reality that the God who saved them did not do so halfway. He claimed their future, their community, their spirit, and their bodies.

Nothing about that is small.

Nothing about that is casual.

And nothing about that leaves you unchanged.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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grand ciel gris sans saveur

du creux du vallon à la crête des collines

un même vent venu du versant agite les branches et gonfle nos cœurs

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Photo © Gilles Le Corre « Autour du lac » (source)

Courtesy of Gilles Le Corre & ADAGP

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#doooongRead

A Boy Like This

Who would know The hidden places, the concealed plots hiding in his hair? Who would know This boy restores beauty, slipping into the tongue. This boy, as he said, will remain at the core of the missile. And who would know The mysterious inhale, exhale—this boy, Entering through the nose. He was born in a half-awake dream, A sensitive boy who likes to enter the carriage through the head, Meeting a pearl-like, enchanting cradle. And who would know A boy like this, Lurking at the ocean's mouth, wrapping around the stomach and ears. To a boy like this, To a boy like this, Give a thief like this, Who secretly scrapes away his germs.

Latest addition to our Alamy portfolio: Sen. Raphael Warnock (D-GA) at Center for American Progress, 11 Dec. 2025

Our photo collection of lawmakers from both parties, with business and media leaders offered exclusively at the Alamy photo agency has a number of new and important additions since the start of Dec. 2025:

• Sen. Mark Kelly (D-AZ), at Center for American Progress
• Sen. Susan Collins (R-ME) at Punchbowl News
• Sen. Brian Schatz (D-HI) at Axios: Prospects for permitting reform
• Sen. John Hickenlooper (D-CO) at Axios: Prospects for permitting reform
• Rep. Julie Fedorchak (R-ND) at Axios: Prospects for permitting reform
• Brendan Bechtel, chairman and CEO of Bechtel Crop., at Axios: Prospects for permitting reform
• Sen. Raphael Warnock (D-GA), shown here, at Center for American Progress

All of the portrait and interview photos are available as high-resolution images, exclusively from the Alamy agency in the D.C. Notables gallery and the full TechNewsLit portfolio.

Copyright © Technology News and Literature. All rights reserved.

The Apple Watch is an amazing device. I have been using the Ultra 2 with cellular for the past two years, and it’s incredible what it can do. With this tiny little thing, you stay fully connected, access much of your data, and tap into the world’s knowledge (as long as you can make yourself understandable to Siri). I almost never take advantage of these features because you usually have your iPhone nearby as well. So in the spirit of this, I plan to give up my Apple Watch and start using my old Citizen Eco-Drive again (if I can get the battery to work). Let’s see how it goes.

Almost six years since starting my Spanish journey, here's where I'm at today.

It occurred to me today that it has been a long time since my last post regarding my journey in Spanish, something that I used to post updates on pretty regularly in the past.

My journey in Spanish started in February 2020 when I hired a tutor from iTalki to take me from zero to, well, fluency (or so I hoped). Four days a week I was having lessons, and outside those lessons, I'd self-study by reading stories for language learners.

I've had my ups and downs, especially in the beginning. I'd study and practice for hours, then attempt to have a small conversation with someone at the store when visiting Mexico, and not understand a word. It was demoralizing. But even when I felt at my lowest, I kept going, and things started to turn around.

The Language Started to Slow Down

As time went on, I'd say that I reached a new milestone in my language learning journey about every six months, and the language started to slow down for me. That's not to say I understood every word someone said, but I understood enough to know what we were talking about.

I'd work my way through conversations with my tutor and family. It felt awkward at times, and there were many times I faked understanding, but the consistency started to pay off.

Roughly three years in, and I had reached a point where I could participate rather naturally in a dinner conversation. Not perfect, but I wasn't trying to be perfect. I was trying to understand, and to be understood.

How I Learn Today

Today things are different. I don't have three or four classes per week with a tutor going through exercises and vocabulary. I'm fluent, and that stuff bores me to no end (plus, it would be minimal gains at this point).

Instead, I have two sessions per week with a native speaker, and we just chat for an hour about whatever. The news, vacations, life, family, culture, history, or whatever else we feel like at the moment. He's a pretty solid guy, I really enjoy our conversations.

Between those sessions, I read books in Spanish for entertainment. This is where I push my language abilities because I'm always coming across new vocab or ways of saying things. Also, it exposes me to cultural differences. A book written by an author from Spain will often use different words compared to an author from Mexico, for example.

I have a vocab list, but honestly I don't review it very much. It contains words that come up during my one-on-one conversations. Sometimes I'll zip through them, but I could be better at this.

Last, I speak Spanish with my wife and her family fairly often, seeing as they are from Mexico. I still get opportunities to learn new expressions and ways of saying things through these conversations.

My Status and Goals

Currently, I'd say that I'm averaging a High B2 level in Spanish. Interestingly, this is around the same place I think I was at two years ago. The difference today though is that some topics I'm definitely at a C1 level, whereas others maybe I dip a bit if I'm not as familiar with the vocab, but still very much fluent.

In regard to listening comprehension and reading, I'm at a C1 level for sure. I don't have many issues when talking with folks, at least when it comes to vocab and subject (sometimes their accent may throw me off as I get accustomed to it). I read books in Spanish now for fun that are written for native speakers.

So on one hand, I think I'm pretty darn good at this point, but on the other, I feel like I could be a little more refined (speaking), especially after six years. My improvements are very tiny at this point, but so is my effort. I don't push myself consistently in the ways necessary to reach higher levels.

As of right now, I'm pretty okay with that. I can communicate just fine 97% of the time. I don't get tripped up often, and if I do, it is usually due to an individual accent rather than lack of vocab or grammar knowledge.

In the end, I feel so grateful to be at the place that I am with Spanish. It has opened up a world to me that I would have never known without it.

#personal

There are chapters in Scripture that feel warm, reassuring, and immediately comforting, and then there are chapters that feel like a sudden silence in the room, the kind that makes everyone shift in their seat because something hard is about to be said. First Corinthians chapter five is not gentle. It does not ease into its message. It does not soften its language for public consumption. It confronts. It exposes. It insists that love without truth is not love at all, and that holiness is not an outdated word but a living, breathing responsibility. This chapter refuses to let the church hide behind good intentions, religious activity, or spiritual language when moral decay is being tolerated in the name of compassion.

Paul is writing to a church that is vibrant, gifted, intellectually alive, and spiritually enthusiastic, yet deeply confused about what faith is supposed to look like when it collides with real life. Corinth was a city that celebrated excess. It was wealthy, influential, philosophically advanced, and morally permissive. Sexual freedom was not just common; it was culturally affirmed. Religious pluralism was normal. Self-expression was prized. In many ways, Corinth would feel very familiar to a modern reader. And that is precisely why this chapter still unsettles us. Paul is not addressing outsiders. He is not condemning the culture at large. He is speaking to believers who are proud of their spiritual maturity while ignoring a glaring moral collapse within their own community.

What makes this chapter so uncomfortable is not simply the behavior Paul addresses, but the reaction of the church to it. There is sexual immorality present that even the surrounding pagan culture finds shocking, and yet the church is not grieving, not correcting, not confronting. Instead, they are boasting. They are proud, perhaps of their tolerance, perhaps of their freedom, perhaps of their refusal to judge. Paul sees this not as spiritual progress but as spiritual blindness. He sees a community congratulating itself while quietly rotting from the inside out.

The issue Paul names is specific, but his concern is much larger. A man in the church is living in an ongoing sexual relationship with his father’s wife. This is not a rumor. It is not a hidden sin. It is openly known and apparently accepted. Under both Jewish law and Roman moral standards, this was forbidden. Yet the church has allowed it to continue without discipline or correction. Paul’s shock is not only at the sin itself but at the church’s response, or lack of one. He expected sorrow, mourning, and repentance. Instead, he finds arrogance.

This is where modern readers often begin to feel uneasy, because we have been shaped by a culture that equates confrontation with hatred and correction with judgment. We have been taught that love means affirmation, that boundaries are oppressive, and that calling anything sinful is inherently unkind. But Paul operates from a radically different understanding of love. For him, love protects the community. Love cares about the soul of the person involved. Love refuses to pretend that destructive behavior is harmless simply because confronting it is uncomfortable.

Paul does something striking in this chapter. He asserts his authority even though he is not physically present. He says that though absent in body, he is present in spirit and has already judged the situation. That word alone, judged, is one many Christians today are afraid to touch. Yet Paul does not apologize for it. He does not hedge. He does not soften the language. He makes it clear that discernment and judgment within the church are not optional; they are essential. Without them, the community loses its moral clarity and its witness.

He instructs the church to act together, not individually, and not impulsively. This is not mob justice or personal vendetta. This is a sober, communal decision made in the name of Jesus Christ. Paul’s concern is not punishment for its own sake. His goal is restoration, even if the path to restoration is painful. He uses strong imagery, speaking of handing the person over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh so that the spirit may be saved. This language is jarring, but its intent is redemptive. It describes removal from the protective boundaries of the Christian community so that the seriousness of the situation becomes undeniable.

What Paul understands, and what we often forget, is that the church is not simply a social club or a support group. It is meant to be a distinct people shaped by the character of Christ. When the church tolerates what contradicts that character, it does not become more loving; it becomes more confused. Paul knows that unaddressed sin does not stay contained. It spreads. It normalizes itself. It reshapes the culture of the community until holiness becomes optional and conviction disappears entirely.

This is why Paul introduces the metaphor of leaven. A little leaven, he says, leavens the whole lump. In other words, what is tolerated quietly will eventually shape everything. Sin is not static. It is dynamic. It moves, it grows, it influences. The church cannot afford to treat moral compromise as a private matter when it has communal consequences. This is not about policing behavior for control. It is about protecting the integrity of the body.

Paul reminds the Corinthians that Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. This is not a random theological aside. It is the foundation of his argument. The old leaven, representing the former way of life, has no place in a community defined by Christ’s sacrifice. The church is called to celebrate not with the leaven of malice and evil, but with sincerity and truth. That phrase alone is a mirror held up to every generation of believers. Sincerity without truth becomes sentimentality. Truth without sincerity becomes cruelty. The church is called to hold both together.

One of the most misunderstood aspects of this chapter is Paul’s clarification about judgment. He is not calling believers to withdraw from the world or to judge those outside the faith. He explicitly says that he is not referring to judging non-believers, because doing so would require leaving the world entirely. His focus is internal. The church is responsible for its own witness. It is accountable for how it lives and what it tolerates within its own community. This distinction matters deeply, especially in a time when Christians are often accused of being overly judgmental toward the world while neglecting accountability within their own ranks.

Paul’s closing instruction is blunt: remove the wicked person from among you. Again, this sounds harsh to modern ears, but it must be read through the lens of responsibility and care. This removal is not about erasing someone or condemning them permanently. It is about creating space for repentance by refusing to endorse destructive behavior. It is about saying, with clarity and love, that following Christ means something, and that the community will not redefine obedience to avoid discomfort.

What makes 1 Corinthians 5 so challenging is that it forces the church to examine its own priorities. Are we more concerned with appearing inclusive than being faithful. Are we more afraid of being labeled judgmental than of losing moral clarity. Have we confused grace with permissiveness and love with silence. Paul does not allow the Corinthians, or us, to hide behind vague spirituality. He insists that faith must shape behavior, and that the community has a role in helping one another live in alignment with the gospel.

This chapter also exposes a subtle form of pride that often goes unnoticed. The Corinthians were proud of their knowledge, their gifts, their freedom, and perhaps even their tolerance. Paul sees this pride as part of the problem. True humility does not ignore sin; it acknowledges the need for correction. True spirituality does not boast in freedom while ignoring responsibility. True maturity does not shy away from hard conversations; it embraces them for the sake of growth.

For modern readers, 1 Corinthians 5 raises uncomfortable but necessary questions. What are we tolerating in the church today that Scripture clearly addresses. What behaviors have we quietly normalized because confronting them feels unloving or divisive. Where have we replaced biblical accountability with vague affirmations that leave people stuck rather than healed. Paul’s words challenge the church not to retreat from the world, but to be honest about its own identity within it.

This chapter also speaks to leaders and communities about courage. It is easier to preach inspirational messages than to address sin. It is easier to talk about grace in abstract terms than to apply it concretely. Yet Paul models a form of leadership that is willing to risk misunderstanding for the sake of truth. He does not write to shame the Corinthians but to wake them up. His tone is urgent because the stakes are high. The health of the community and the integrity of its witness are on the line.

Perhaps the most important thing to understand about 1 Corinthians 5 is that it is not about condemnation; it is about restoration. Everything Paul says is aimed at bringing the community back into alignment with who they are called to be in Christ. Discipline, in this context, is not rejection. It is an act of serious love. It says that people matter enough to be told the truth, even when the truth is painful.

As we sit with this chapter, we are invited to reflect not only on church structures and policies, but on our own hearts. Where do we resist correction. Where do we confuse kindness with avoidance. Where have we allowed fear of conflict to override faithfulness. Paul’s words cut through religious noise and force us to confront what it really means to be the people of God in a world that constantly pressures us to compromise.

First Corinthians chapter five does not offer easy answers or comforting platitudes. It offers clarity. It draws lines. It calls the church to be honest about sin, serious about holiness, and committed to restoration. It reminds us that grace is not the absence of standards, but the power to live transformed lives. And it challenges every generation of believers to decide whether they will shape their faith around the culture, or allow the gospel to shape them instead.

This chapter still speaks because the tension it addresses still exists. The struggle between truth and tolerance, between grace and accountability, between belonging and transformation, has not disappeared. Paul’s words echo across centuries, asking the same question of every church and every believer: who are you becoming, and what are you allowing to shape you from the inside out.

This is not a comfortable chapter. It was never meant to be. It is meant to wake us up, to call us back, and to remind us that the gospel is not only something we believe, but something we live together, even when that living requires courage, honesty, and difficult love.

One of the reasons First Corinthians chapter five remains so relevant is because it exposes a quiet fear that still exists inside many churches: the fear of being misunderstood. The fear of being labeled harsh, outdated, unloving, or judgmental. Paul understands this fear, but he refuses to let it guide the church’s decisions. For him, the greater danger is not public criticism but private compromise. A church that avoids clarity to preserve comfort slowly loses its soul, even if it gains approval.

There is a sobering honesty in the way Paul refuses to spiritualize the problem away. He does not blame trauma, background, or culture, even though all of those factors undoubtedly exist. He does not excuse the behavior as a misunderstanding of freedom or a misapplication of grace. He names the sin plainly, not because he lacks compassion, but because compassion without truth offers no path forward. Healing cannot begin until reality is acknowledged.

This is where modern Christianity often struggles. We have become very skilled at talking around issues rather than through them. We speak in generalities, avoid specifics, and hide behind slogans that sound kind but leave people unchanged. Paul’s approach is different. He believes that clarity is kindness, that truth spoken in love is not violence but mercy, and that pretending sin does not exist is far more damaging than confronting it.

First Corinthians five also confronts the idea that faith is purely personal and private. In Western culture especially, we have been taught that what someone does in their personal life is nobody else’s business. Paul dismantles that assumption within the context of the church. When someone publicly identifies as a follower of Christ, their life becomes part of a shared witness. The church is not a collection of isolated individuals; it is a body. What affects one part affects the whole.

This does not mean the church should become invasive or controlling. Paul is not advocating surveillance or suspicion. He is addressing a situation that is public, ongoing, and unrepentant. The distinction matters. Discipline is not about catching people in moments of weakness. It is about responding when destructive behavior becomes normalized and defended. There is a difference between struggling and refusing to turn around, and Paul is addressing the latter.

Another uncomfortable truth in this chapter is that tolerance can sometimes be a form of neglect. When a community refuses to intervene, it may feel like kindness, but it can also signal indifference. Paul’s response shows that he takes both the holiness of the church and the soul of the individual seriously. He believes the person involved deserves more than silent approval. He deserves honesty, even if that honesty disrupts the community.

Paul’s insistence on removing the person from fellowship is often misunderstood as harsh exclusion, but within the context of early Christianity, community was everything. To be removed from fellowship was not a casual inconvenience; it was a profound loss. Paul understands that sometimes the most loving thing is to allow someone to experience the consequences of their choices rather than cushioning them indefinitely. Comfort without correction can delay repentance. Pain, when rightly understood, can become a doorway back.

This chapter also forces the church to reckon with hypocrisy. Paul will not allow the Corinthians to condemn outsiders while excusing insiders. He draws a sharp boundary around the church’s responsibility, making it clear that moral accountability begins at home. This challenges a modern tendency to focus outward, critiquing culture while avoiding introspection. Paul flips the lens. The credibility of the church’s message depends on its internal integrity.

It is worth noting that Paul does not end this discussion with despair. His goal is not to shame the Corinthians into submission but to awaken them to who they are meant to be. He reminds them of Christ’s sacrifice, of their identity as a redeemed people, of their calling to live as a new creation. Discipline is not presented as an end in itself but as a means to restoration. The hope of repentance, reconciliation, and renewal remains implicit throughout the chapter.

This perspective reframes the entire conversation. Holiness is not about superiority. It is about alignment. It is about living in a way that reflects the reality of Christ’s presence. Paul does not want the church to become smaller, colder, or more rigid. He wants it to become healthier, clearer, and more honest. A church that knows who it is can engage the world without losing itself.

For individual believers, First Corinthians five invites personal reflection as much as communal evaluation. It asks us to consider how we respond to correction, how we understand freedom, and how we define love. Are we willing to be challenged, or do we equate disagreement with rejection. Do we welcome accountability, or do we avoid communities where our lives might be questioned. Paul’s vision of church life is one where growth is communal and transformation is expected.

This chapter also reminds us that grace is not fragile. It does not shatter under the weight of truth. In fact, grace becomes meaningless without truth. Forgiveness presupposes repentance. Restoration presupposes honesty. Paul’s approach does not diminish grace; it protects it from becoming cheap. He understands that a gospel without transformation is not the gospel at all.

There is a quiet courage in Paul’s writing here. He knows his words may offend. He knows they may be resisted. Yet he writes anyway because the health of the church matters more than his reputation. This kind of leadership is rare, but it is desperately needed. It requires a willingness to endure misunderstanding for the sake of faithfulness, to speak clearly in a culture that prefers ambiguity.

First Corinthians chapter five does not ask the church to withdraw from the world, nor does it ask believers to become moral enforcers. It asks for something far more demanding: integrity. It asks the church to live what it proclaims, to take its identity seriously, and to love one another enough to tell the truth. This kind of love is not flashy, and it is not always celebrated, but it is transformative.

As we read this chapter today, we are invited into a deeper understanding of what it means to belong to the body of Christ. Belonging is not just about acceptance; it is about formation. It is about becoming, together, a people shaped by the character of Jesus. That process is not always comfortable, but it is always purposeful.

Paul’s words still echo because the church still faces the same choice: to define itself by the culture around it or by the Christ it follows. First Corinthians five does not let us avoid that decision. It calls us to courage, clarity, and a form of love that is willing to risk discomfort for the sake of truth.

This chapter stands as a reminder that the gospel is not only something we receive, but something we steward. How we live it out matters. How we treat one another matters. And how willing we are to hold grace and truth together may determine whether the church becomes a place of genuine transformation or a reflection of the very confusion it was meant to heal.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

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#1Corinthians #BibleStudy #ChristianTeaching #ChurchLeadership #FaithAndTruth #GraceAndHoliness #NewTestament #SpiritualGrowth #BiblicalWisdom

Yellow never got me high. Green neither. Blue was always a let down except that one cerulean night we shared south of Salamanca. We woke up dripping in white. It was great while you were laughing. My tears fell like salt when you left. I don’t trust red.

Black in the hands of Zurbarán makes me gape so long that angels swim out of my mouth leaving me dry and desolate. Brown is plaque on my cowl, and indigo is for the birds.

Leave me in a field of orange if you want to take me back to the emergency room. Leave the straps off, please. Violet takes me back to your bed, our fingers curling together, and your breath touching my laughter just before I fled.

Indigo is in the birds, you said, and yellow never got me high.

If you listen long enough to the conversations surrounding Christianity, you might assume the faith is primarily about rules, boundaries, moral lines, political alignments, or cultural battles. Many people encounter Christianity first as a list of what not to do, who is wrong, and why they fall short. And yet, when you step back from the noise and listen to Jesus Himself, something startlingly simple emerges. Strip away the centuries of arguments, the layers of tradition, the weight of expectation, and the defensiveness that often surrounds faith, and you are left with one word that explains everything He said, everything He did, and everything He asked of those who follow Him. That word is love.

This is not a shallow or sentimental claim. It is not an attempt to soften Jesus or reduce Him into something harmless. In fact, understanding love as the core of Jesus’s teaching makes His message more demanding, not less. Love, as Jesus lived and defined it, requires more courage than rule-following, more humility than moral posturing, and more sacrifice than performance-based religion. Love does not allow us to hide behind correctness or distance ourselves from human suffering. Love places us directly in the path of inconvenience, discomfort, and costly obedience.

Jesus never began His ministry by handing out a code of conduct. He began by stepping into broken places and calling people to follow Him there. He walked into grief, poverty, sickness, rejection, and shame, not as an observer but as a participant. The earliest witnesses to His life did not describe Him as a man obsessed with compliance. They described Him as someone who was deeply moved by compassion, someone whose presence changed rooms, someone who saw people others had learned not to see.

When religious leaders attempted to trap Him with questions about priority and hierarchy, about which commandments mattered most, Jesus did something radical. He refused to rank behaviors. He refused to create a spiritual ladder. Instead, He said that everything hinges on loving God fully and loving others honestly. He made it clear that love is not one virtue among many; it is the framework that gives meaning to all others. Without it, obedience becomes empty, faith becomes rigid, and spirituality becomes performative.

This is why love unsettled people during Jesus’s lifetime. Love threatened systems built on exclusion. Love disrupted power structures that depended on shame. Love exposed the hollowness of outward righteousness without inward transformation. Jesus’s love was not passive acceptance; it was active engagement. It moved toward people who carried labels, reputations, and histories that polite society preferred to ignore. He did not love people from a distance. He loved them close enough to be misunderstood.

Consider the pattern of His interactions. He consistently chose people who could not improve His image. He allowed His reputation to be shaped by those He welcomed rather than those who approved of Him. He did not seek validation from institutions that measured holiness by separation. Instead, He measured holiness by proximity to pain and willingness to restore dignity.

This is where many modern expressions of faith struggle. It is easier to defend ideas than to love people. It is easier to argue theology than to sit with suffering. It is easier to draw lines than to cross them. But Jesus did not model a faith that stays clean by staying distant. He modeled a faith that heals by entering what is broken.

Love, as Jesus lived it, does not wait for permission. It does not require certainty. It does not demand that people become acceptable before they are embraced. This is deeply uncomfortable for anyone who prefers order over compassion. Yet Jesus repeatedly demonstrated that transformation follows love, not the other way around. He spoke hope into lives before behavior changed. He offered belonging before belief was perfected. He restored identity before morality was repaired.

This is why encounters with Jesus so often led to genuine change. People did not leave Him feeling managed; they left feeling seen. They did not walk away shamed; they walked away awakened. Love did not excuse brokenness, but it addressed it at its root. Jesus did not aim to control people; He aimed to heal them.

At the center of this message is the cross, which remains the clearest and most uncomfortable definition of love ever offered. The cross is not simply a theological symbol or a historical event. It is a declaration of how far love is willing to go when faced with rejection, violence, and misunderstanding. Jesus did not suffer because humanity suddenly became worthy. He suffered because love does not calculate worthiness before acting. Love moves first. Love absorbs cost. Love stays when escape is available.

This reality challenges the way many people understand devotion. If love is the foundation, then faith is not proven by how much we know, how loudly we speak, or how flawlessly we perform. Faith is proven by how we love when it costs us something. Love reveals what we truly believe about God and about people. It exposes whether we trust grace or prefer control.

The apostle Paul understood this when he wrote that spiritual gifts, knowledge, and faith itself are hollow without love. He was not diminishing doctrine or truth; he was grounding them. Truth without love becomes a weapon. Faith without love becomes arrogance. Knowledge without love becomes distance. Love is what keeps belief human.

This perspective also reframes spiritual exhaustion. Many believers are tired not because they are following Jesus too closely, but because they are following Him without love at the center. They are carrying expectations Jesus never placed on them. They are striving to be impressive instead of faithful. They are defending positions instead of embodying presence. When love is removed from the center, faith becomes heavy and joy disappears.

Jesus never intended His followers to be defined by anxiety, hostility, or constant outrage. He intended them to be known for love that feels tangible, restorative, and real. He said the world would recognize His disciples not by influence or agreement, but by how they love one another. That statement alone should cause deep self-examination. Love is not a private virtue. It is the public evidence of an inward transformation.

This kind of love cannot be outsourced. It cannot be replaced by statements or platforms. It cannot be substituted with activity. Love shows up in ordinary moments, in unnoticed decisions, in quiet obedience. It is expressed in patience when anger feels justified, in forgiveness when resentment feels safer, and in kindness when indifference would be easier.

Love also requires courage. It is not weak or permissive. Jesus’s love confronted injustice, hypocrisy, and abuse of power. He overturned tables when people were exploited. He spoke directly when truth was being distorted. But even His confrontations were rooted in restoration, not humiliation. Love does not avoid truth; it carries it responsibly.

Understanding love as the heart of Jesus’s message changes how we view discipleship. Following Jesus is not about becoming morally superior. It is about becoming more compassionate. It is not about distancing ourselves from the world’s mess. It is about stepping into it with humility and hope. It is not about winning cultural battles. It is about winning hearts through presence, patience, and grace.

This also means love begins close to home. It begins in how we speak to family, how we treat strangers, how we respond to those who disagree with us. Love is tested not in moments of worship but in moments of frustration. It reveals itself in traffic, in conflict, in misunderstanding, and in disappointment. These are the places where Jesus’s teachings become real or remain theoretical.

Every act of love is an act of faith. Every choice to remain gentle in a harsh moment reflects trust in God’s character. Every decision to forgive is a declaration that grace is stronger than control. This is how Jesus continues His work in the world. He does not need more representatives of outrage. He needs more carriers of love.

When love is restored to the center, faith becomes lighter, not because it is less serious, but because it is finally aligned with its purpose. Love does not simplify discipleship; it clarifies it. It reminds us why Jesus came, why He stayed, and why He still calls people to follow Him today.

And this is only the beginning.

When love is restored to the center of faith, it changes not only how we see Jesus, but how we see ourselves and others. It dismantles the illusion that Christianity is about earning approval and replaces it with the reality that it is about becoming transformed. Jesus did not come to create better rule-followers; He came to create people who reflect the heart of God in a wounded world. Love is the visible shape that transformation takes.

This is why Jesus repeatedly challenged religious performance. He was not anti-discipline or anti-obedience; He was anti-hypocrisy. He knew how easy it is to look faithful while remaining untouched by compassion. He knew how quickly devotion can become a mask rather than a mirror. Love strips away pretense. It reveals what lives beneath our words and our rituals. It asks uncomfortable questions. Do we actually care, or do we just want to be right? Do we desire restoration, or do we prefer judgment because it feels safer?

Love requires vulnerability. To love the way Jesus loved is to risk misunderstanding. It is to accept that some people will question motives, misread intentions, or reject kindness altogether. Jesus experienced all of this, and yet He never withdrew His love. He did not harden His heart in response to rejection. He did not retreat into detachment when misunderstood. Instead, He remained present, faithful, and open, even when it cost Him deeply.

This is one of the hardest aspects of following Jesus. Love makes us accessible. It opens us to pain. It removes the protective armor of indifference. But it also opens the door to healing, connection, and genuine change. Love creates space for God to work in ways that control never can.

Jesus’s love also reframes strength. In a world that equates strength with dominance, Jesus demonstrated that strength is found in self-giving. He showed that true authority flows from service, not status. When He knelt to wash His disciples’ feet, He redefined leadership. When He forgave those who hurt Him, He redefined power. Love does not mean weakness; it means choosing restraint when force is available.

This kind of love reshapes communities. When love becomes central, churches become places of refuge rather than judgment. Conversations become marked by listening rather than shouting. Differences are handled with humility rather than hostility. Love does not erase disagreement, but it changes how disagreement is held. It allows truth and grace to coexist without destroying one another.

Love also invites accountability, but never humiliation. Jesus corrected His disciples often, but He never discarded them. He addressed their pride, fear, and confusion without questioning their worth. He understood that growth happens best in the presence of safety. Love creates that safety. It tells people they are not disposable. It assures them that failure is not final.

This has profound implications for how believers engage the world. Christianity was never meant to be a fortress to hide inside. It was meant to be a light carried outward. Love compels engagement, not isolation. It draws believers into the struggles of others, not away from them. It encourages generosity over hoarding, hospitality over suspicion, and empathy over fear.

Love also restores perspective. It reminds us that people are never problems to be solved, but lives to be honored. Jesus never reduced individuals to their worst moments or their loudest labels. He saw the image of God beneath the brokenness. Love trains our eyes to see the same way.

For many, returning to love requires unlearning. It requires releasing the idea that faith must always feel combative. It requires letting go of the belief that control produces righteousness. It requires trusting that God is more patient, more gracious, and more present than fear would suggest. Love invites rest. It invites trust. It invites surrender.

This does not mean love avoids boundaries. Jesus set boundaries clearly. He withdrew to pray. He said no when necessary. He confronted manipulation and exploitation. Love does not mean self-erasure. It means healthy self-giving rooted in wisdom and discernment. Jesus’s love was intentional, not impulsive. It flowed from communion with the Father, not from pressure or expectation.

At its core, love is relational. It draws us back into connection with God and with one another. Jesus did not come to deliver information; He came to restore relationship. Every parable, every miracle, every encounter points toward reconciliation. Love is the thread that holds it all together.

This is why love is not optional. It is not an advanced spiritual concept reserved for maturity. It is the entry point. It is the evidence. It is the fruit. Without love, faith loses credibility. With love, even imperfect faith becomes powerful.

When Jesus summarized His mission, He did not say the world would be saved by flawless theology. He said it would be changed by love that reflects the Father’s heart. That invitation still stands. Every believer is called to carry that love into ordinary spaces and difficult conversations. Love is how faith leaves the sanctuary and enters real life.

Choosing love daily is not dramatic. It is quiet and persistent. It shows up in how we speak, how we listen, how we forgive, and how we remain present when leaving would be easier. It shapes character over time. It forms habits of grace. It teaches us to trust God’s work in others even when progress is slow.

Ultimately, love is the legacy Jesus left behind. It is what He entrusted to His followers. It is how His presence continues to move through the world. Love is not a footnote in the Gospel story. It is the point of it.

All the teachings. All the miracles. All the sacrifice.

One word.

Love.

And when love leads, everything else finds its proper place.

---

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

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Pluribus Episode 7: The Gap

See 100 Word reviews of previous episodes here

Following Carol and Manousos on their journeys is both meditative and harrowing. Carol is drowning in abundance and loneliness; Manousos is on a glass-huffing vision quest. Carol’s resolve cracks, Manousos’ resolve almost kills him.

The episode reminded me of a prestige version of The Last Man on Earth (Will Forte), like when Carol copped a Georgia O'Keeffe painting from a museum to replace her poster at home. Both shows asked, “What would you do if?”

This was one of the most soulful and quixotic episodes of television I have seen. Director Adam Bernstein and writer Jenn Flower, wow. Watch it.

#tv #Pluribus #SciFi #VinceGilligan #AppleTV #Television #100WordReview #Larrys100 #100DaysToOffload

I’m honestly pretty shittily depressed right now. I don’t want to sleep but I’m so exhausted and my brain is miserable.

pensaba / lo que dura la calma y los sueños / fragmentos de lo vivido

momentos / olas que reventaron contra el muro

y dejándolos ir / deshechos en la raíz del espacio base fogón plato y fruto

WordPress is a lot more complicated than it was when I last used it roughly ten years ago. That's not a compliment. There are tons and tons of preferences, which is a pet peeve of mine, especially when sensible defaults would suffice. It really seems like it's trying to be everything for everyone. Still, some features are nice, like search, the “Related posts” that appear below blog posts, and the ability to rename tags globally. Search is a big one, mainly because it helps me find my own posts. The latter two are nice, but not crucial. I would probably use them if they were available, but it's not a deal-breaker.

Playing around with WordPress just now has made me even more appreciative of WriteFreely, the platform that powers this blog, and its elegance. WriteFreely might be missing a couple of features I would find useful, like the things mentioned above. The internal menu navigation often confuses me. I wish development were more active. Still, compared to the behemoth of WordPress, with its endless preferences, overwhelming editing UI, and slow page load times, WriteFreely really is a breath of fresh air. I always admire when a product focuses on the few things that matter most, and WriteFreely does: a simple editing experience, sensible defaults, and a beautiful design. I hope it continues to be successful.

#AI #Technology #Usability #UserExperience

The temple floor gave way beneath me—another damned pressure plate. I caught the crumbling ledge, my satchel of Ptolemaic artifacts swinging wildly. “Jones! The ankh!” shouted Elsa from above, her torchlight dancing over hieroglyphs that shouldn't be moving. The sandstone serpent uncoiled with a grinding shriek. “Yeah, noticed that!” I jammed my boot into its stone gullet, feeling ancient gears snap. The artifact burned through my shirt like dry ice. Somewhere behind us, Schmidt's goons started shouting in guttural German. Elsa tossed the rope. “Stop showing off and climb!” The walls began bleeding mercury. Archaeology was cleaner in textbooks.

#Scratch

In Summary: * This morning I put 3 loads of laundry through the little machine, and I'm all set to comfortably make it through the weekend. Next scheduled laundry will be Monday morning when I'll plan on putting 2 or 3 loads through.

Prayers, etc.: * My daily prayers

Health Metrics: * bw= 221.01 lbs. * bp= 142/88 (59)

Exercise: * kegel pelvic floor exercise, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:20 – toast and butter * 07:55 – boiled eggs * 12:00 – home made meat & vegetable soup, fried egg plant & white rice * 15:50 – fried egg plant & white bread

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 05:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 06:00 – bank accounts activity monitored * 06:45 – read, pray, follow news reports from various sources * 08:45 – wash 3 small loads of laundry * 12:00 – watch old game shows & eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 15:00 – listening to The Jack Riccardi Show * 17:00 – listening to The Joe Pags Show * 18:00 – listening to the Xavier Sports Network for the radio call of an NCAA men's basketball game, the Missouri St. Bears vs. the Xavier Musketeers * 19:50 – the Xavier Muskies beat the Bears 75 to 57. Time now to switch off the radio, listen to relaxing music, and quietly read my way to an early bedtime.

Chess: * 14:30 – moved in all pending CC games