Tag: fragility

Bible 40 Themes 03 Promise

Promise is a word we learn early, often through the ache of disappointment. We discover, sometimes painfully, that human promises are fragile things, shaped by good intentions but limited by weakness, forgetfulness, fear, or changing circumstances. Yet Paul speaks into that shared human experience with a steady, hope-filled assurance when he writes that no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. It’s a sweeping claim, not naïve optimism, but a grounded declaration rooted in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

God’s promises aren’t abstract ideas floating above history. They’re woven through the long, messy story of scripture, promises of blessing, justice, mercy, restoration, forgiveness, and new life. Some seem delayed, others contested, and many misunderstood. But Paul insists they find their coherence, their fulfilment, and their trustworthiness in Christ. Jesus isn’t simply one more promise among many. He’s the living confirmation that God means what God says.

In Christ, the promises of God aren’t merely spoken, they’re embodied. When God promises forgiveness, we see it in Jesus eating with sinners and praying for his executioners. When God promises new life, we see it in empty tombs and transformed lives. When God promises presence, we hear Jesus say, quietly but decisively, that he’s with us always. The “Yes” of God isn’t a distant agreement but a costly commitment, sealed in love and faithfulness.

This matters deeply for how we live. Faith isn’t about clinging to isolated verses or hoping hard enough that things will turn out well. It’s about trusting the character of God revealed in Christ. Even when circumstances feel like a resounding “No”, even when prayers seem unanswered, the deeper promise still stands. God hasn’t withdrawn, changed his mind, or lost interest. The story isn’t finished yet.

To live as people of promise, then, is to anchor ourselves in Christ, returning again and again to that central truth. God’s promises are not dependent on our performance or certainty. They rest in God’s own faithfulness. In Christ, God has already said “Yes”, and that yes continues to echo through our doubts, our waiting, and our hope, steady, resilient, and alive.

This is one of a series of posts outlining 40 themes of the Bible. Previous Next

The Fragile World Order

The world order is changing at an alarming pace, and what’s at stake reaches far beyond any single conflict or crisis. The credibility of international law itself is under pressure, tested by actions that appear selective, self-serving, or indifferent to agreed norms. When rules are applied inconsistently, or bent to suit the interests of the powerful, law begins to look less like a shared framework for justice and more like a tool of convenience. That erosion doesn’t happen overnight, but once trust is weakened, it’s painfully hard to restore.

Alongside this, the authority of the United Nations is being steadily undermined when its resolutions are ignored, bypassed, or treated as optional. The UN was never perfect, but it was built on the conviction that dialogue, restraint, and collective decision-making were preferable to unilateral force. When states act as though multilateral institutions matter only when they deliver convenient outcomes, they hollow those institutions out from within, leaving little more than symbolism where substance once stood.

At the heart of the matter lies a vital principle, that no state, however powerful, can appoint itself as judge, jury, and enforcer of the world order. Power without accountability breeds resentment, instability, and, ultimately, resistance. If might replaces right as the organising logic of global affairs, smaller nations are left exposed, alliances fray, and cooperation gives way to fear and calculation.

If that principle collapses, so too does the fragile trust on which global cooperation depends. Climate action, humanitarian protection, arms control, and peace itself all rely on the belief that rules mean something, and that no one is above them. Once that belief is lost, the consequences will be felt everywhere, and for generations.

A Reflection on Joy at Christmas

At Christmas, the difference between happiness and joy comes into sharper focus. The season itself is often wrapped in happiness, familiar songs, warm lights, shared meals, laughter, and moments of comfort and nostalgia. This kind of happiness is good and gift-like, but it’s also fragile. It depends on things lining up, relationships feeling easy, finances holding steady, and the ache of loss staying quietly in the background. When those things don’t fall into place, Christmas happiness can feel thin, or even painful.

Christian joy tells a deeper story. The joy of Christmas isn’t rooted in perfect circumstances but in the astonishing claim that God chose to draw near, not in power or certainty, but in vulnerability. The birth of Jesus doesn’t arrive in a calm, well-ordered world. It comes amid fear, displacement, political oppression, and ordinary human anxiety. That matters, because it means joy isn’t the denial of darkness, it’s light entering it.

Joy, in this sense, is a steady confidence that God is with us, not just when the table is full and the house is warm, but when the heart feels heavy or the season stirs grief as much as gratitude. It allows space for sorrow without surrendering hope. It says that love has taken flesh and pitched its tent among us, and that nothing, not loss, not uncertainty, not brokenness, has the final word.