My first year working at a rescue mission was an eye-opening experience. Until then, I had been somewhat naïve about the business side of ministry.

love the raw honesty of the Bible. It doesn’t sugarcoat human experience or edit out the uncomfortable details. If the Bible were merely a human creation, many of its stories would have been polished to remove the moments of doubt, failure, and struggle. After all, how often do we omit the painful or embarrassing parts of our own stories when sharing them with others?

Mahatma Gandhi once famously said, “I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” While the authenticity of this quote is debated, the sentiment rings true. Too often, people are drawn to Jesus but turned away by the actions of His followers.

If we want to follow Jesus, we must go where he went—to the margins, to the suffering, to the ones the world overlooks. This is more than an invitation; it’s a command.

Jesus did not come to condemn you—He came to save you. The Holy Spirit convicts, but He does not condemn. If the voice you hear is telling you that you are hopeless, that you are beyond redemption, that is not God speaking. That is the enemy, and he wants nothing more than to keep you trapped in despair.

About six months after leaving my first wife, the full weight of what I had done came crashing down on me. The guilt and shame of my choices left me emotionally and spiritually crippled. I felt hopeless in a way I had never known before.

One thing we can safely assume is that they have encountered suffering—either personally or through the brokenness they see in the world. Pain and loss touch every human life. And while the world offers countless ways to distract or numb that pain, it can never truly heal it. Only the gospel provides real hope.

“Dust you are, and to dust you will return.”

These were the words I heard over and over again at Ash Wednesday Mass. As I walked to the front, the woman distributing the ashes traced the sign of the cross on my forehead and spoke them again.

In the face of suffering, here is the only thing I know to do: to trust that God is good, even when I don’t understand.

But pride doesn’t just manifest in self-righteousness—it can also take hold in failure. This form of pride is much harder to recognize because, on the surface, it appears to come from a place of humility. Someone acknowledges their shortcomings, yet they begin to believe that their failure uniquely qualifies them as an expert in helping others with the same struggle.