Steve Jobs might’ve been a prophet. Or he at least predicted how his device would shape my future. After all, he placed the “i” next to “Phone” and, soon enough, wherever I was, my phone was right next to me. Through the ups and downs of my teenage years, the line between it and me blurred. I was my phone, and my phone was I. But my iPhone wasn’t merely a core part of my identity—it helped me forge a new one. IRL, I was Luke Simon. But on my iPhone, I was luk3simon. Luke Simon craved approval. But luk3simon didn’t care what other people thought. Luke Simon felt dejected when girls rejected him. But luk3simon was all thumbs up and smiles. Luke Simon longed for the good life. But luk3simon already had it. As I aged, I never grew more comfortable with myself. Instead, I spent more and more hours each day as luk3simon. It was easier that way. Why face the man in the mirror when the man in the selfie had filters? Why face the God of reality when I could create my own? Why deal with pain when I could escape it? During my last year of high school, I finally admitted I had a problem. I wanted more of Jesus, but the idol factory in my heart wanted more of something else: my phone. By God’s grace, I began to see I craved my phone not for its screen, or for its addictive entertainment, or even as an escape. What I truly craved was hope—hope for redemption, hope for restoration, hope for being the human that God created me to be. I craved the hope of the gospel. But whatever luk3simon offered Luke Simon, it wasn’t hope. It was a soul-sucking, empty world that only left me hopeless in the real one. By God’s grace, I began to see that I craved my phone not for its screen, or addictive entertainment, or even an escape. What I truly craved was hope. Thankfully, Jesus saved me from luk3simon. Digital Detox Around this time, I read C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters, in which the demonic uncle Screwtape reminds his nephew that “all the habits of the patient, both mental and bodily, are still in [the demons’] favour.” The patient he spoke of was a new Christian, and I saw myself in him. Though I dreamed of mastery over my phone, I knew that years of habitual phone usage cut deep grooves into my brain and only new habits were going to replace them. So, like any addict on the road to recovery, I admitted my powerlessness, called on God for help, and went to rehab. My iPhone rehabilitation process included three adjustments: 1. Airplane mode at all times unless an internet connection is needed. 2. Leave my phone in the car when going to class and hanging out with friends. 3. Delete all social media. This wasn’t easy. Suddenly, the “Phone” by my side for seven years was gone, and only “i” was left. Who was I without the phone? The brokenness I escaped for so long now became the brokenness I had to engage with. Without a digital world to play God in, I had to wrestle with the God of the real world. But as my digital fast wore on, I finally began to move beyond my initial hunger pangs for screens. In their place, I started to taste the goodness of God. I picked up a new hobby with all my additional free time: reading. I read novels, theology books, philosophy books, biographies—anything I could get my hands on. But mostly, I read my Bible. And within the words of Scripture, I found the real Luke Simon in God’s eyes: I am his child (John 1:12), his workmanship (Eph. 2:10), a member of his royal priesthood (1 Pet. 2:9). I’m fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14). I’m a new creation in Christ (2 Cor. 5:17). As I read God’s Word, it felt as if he was airlifting the house of my life from the sinking sand of the digital world and setting it firmly on the solid rock of Christ. This was an identity I didn’t have to create. This was an identity I didn’t have to fake. This was an identity I didn’t want to escape. Sober Return Eventually, I was able to come back to my phone. On this side of rehab, my phone has become a tool to engage with God’s world instead of a world to escape to. But this isn’t a happily ever after. Since my phone is still designed to addict, I’ve learned to remain sober about its power, knowing it’s a far better servant than master—and it’s the sort of servant that always wants to swap roles. On this side of rehab, my phone has become a tool to engage with God’s world instead of a world to escape to. To avoid relapsing, I’ve learned to use it for God-glorifying ends. An app now guides my Bible reading and prayer times each morning and evening. The Bible Project classrooms give me in-depth biblical insight for free. Though I still abstain from social media, I’m active in group chats that aid my in-person and remote relationships, ranging from accountability groups to prayer requests to (of course) meme exchanges. But this isn’t the story of digital responsibility. It’s the story of the gospel. Jesus’s beauty made luk3simon, with all his filters, ugly and unattractive. Jesus’s beauty took the “i” out of iPhone and gave me a new identity in him. Jesus’s beauty gave me the strength to see the man in the mirror, repent of his sins, and live into the true self my iPhone only blurred—the true self made alive in Christ.

“Congratulations!” “Felicitări!” “Baie geluk!” Each student welcomed me to the school in his or her native language. I’d never gotten overexcited about college acceptances, but this university was made for me. It boasted superior academics, a majority-international student body, and immersion in a new country every semester. With my burgeoning desire for international missions and knack for languages, it was a no-brainer. My parents, I knew, would be hesitant. They kept saying I needed to be part of a church in college, and I responded that I’d be part of seven churches around the world. Nevertheless, I prayed for wisdom, just as I prayed that God would change their hearts. God’s ‘No’ The more counsel I sought, though, the more advice I got to prioritize Christian community. My discipler explained that Christians are united in such a way that the spiritual health of one affects the spiritual health of the rest (Eph. 4:15–16). My pastor said, “It’s better to have one Christian friend than to go to the best university in the world.” My small group was studying the Psalms, and I meditated on the fact that God wrote out all my days (Ps. 139:16). It seemed ridiculous to try to compete with that for control over my life. My parents weren’t budging, and as options dwindled, I realized with frustration that the response to my prayer was clear. The more counsel I sought, the more advice I got to prioritize Christian community. After getting accepted to a university in Washington, DC, with a strong church nearby, it was settled. Emotionlessly, almost mechanically, I declined the admission offer from my dream school. By my peers’ standards, my choice was disappointing. Whenever I described the forward-thinking, globe-trotting experiences afforded by my dream university, I watched my friends’ faces fall from amazement to confusion when I said I turned it down to be part of a church in college. On Instagram, I was bombarded with calls to romanticize my life and travel the world, and I fended off feelings of regret when I saw pictures of my would-be classmates exploring Seoul together. But by the time I started school, I still had no question that God wanted me there. My certainty, though blind, was certainty nonetheless. God’s ‘Yes’ One Friday night, after I’d been attending Capitol Hill Baptist Church for a few weeks, I left campus to finish the church’s membership classes. In a small room, the other students and I sat as the pastor explain the church’s covenant. I listened apprehensively for the responsibilities we’d have to commit to, expecting a task list. Instead, I heard lines like these: “We will exercise an affectionate care and watchfulness over each other”; “We will not neglect to pray for ourselves and others”; “We will rejoice at each other’s happiness and bear each other’s burdens and sorrows.” “This means,” the pastor explained, “that each of you is welcome into my life. Any of you can simply ask to come over for dinner, and we’ll gladly fold you in.” I was dumbstruck. I’d never seen such unabashed hospitality. Far from a list of rules and responsibilities, this covenant was like a marriage covenant—a commitment to love and to serve above all else. I’d sensed there was something different about this church, and I realized it was driven by nothing more or less than the gospel itself. Weeks went by, and my excitement only grew. When those back home asked how my freshman year was going, classes were among the last things I discussed. I jumped into stories about the sermon series on Ephesians, the church couple’s house I crashed every Saturday night, and the booming congregational singing. And I wasn’t faking it. I didn’t embellish details just because I wanted to give my parents a nice progress report. The church was where I was spending the majority of my free time and experiencing exponential personal and spiritual growth. A few months in, it became clear my dream school would’ve been a spiritual nightmare. I would’ve had to look for a new church every semester in a language I didn’t know. Previously, I was unaware of the gravity of God’s command to not forsake assembling together (Heb. 10:25) and of how our regular attendance contributes not only to our spiritual health but to the health of Christ’s body as a whole (Eph. 4:11–16). I became painfully aware of the dangers of a slow erosion of the conscience and how it leads many to make a “shipwreck of their faith” (1 Tim. 1:19). I marveled at the thought that God might have protected me from learning this lesson the hard way. It became clear my dream school would’ve been a spiritual nightmare. One Sunday morning, I sang “How Sweet and Aweful Is the Place” with our congregation as I waited to walk up to the baptismal: “Lord, why was I a guest? / Why was I made to hear Thy voice, and enter while there’s room . . . ?” My voice stopped. The rest of the verse was lost to the wave of emotion that overtook me. How was it that God, who had so often used my foolish desires to teach me about himself, allowed me to avoid the consequences of what could’ve been my biggest folly yet? Why was he so kind as to turn the tide of my heart that week and bring me to the most spiritually flourishing season of my life? Remembering my stubbornness, I wanted to recoil at the disproportionate love God had lavished on me in spite of myself. Better Pursuit My adamancy that I’d be best prepared for missions by traveling seems comical now. My years at Capitol Hill Baptist taught me that consistent membership in a faithful, gospel-preaching church is the best preparation anyone can have—not just for missions but for all parts of the Christian life. I’m better equipped now to open my home to those in need, study Scripture analytically, and invite others to help me fight sin. Although my life today is a far cry from the radical overseas experience I envisioned after college, it’s marked by joyful, committed membership to a faithful body of believers. It’s where God has me right now, and after a taste of his plans compared to mine, I don’t want anything else.

There I was again. On the porch, avoiding my family. Weeping. I was overwhelmed by our problems. Amid my tears, I pleaded that the Lord would remove all my family’s issues and bring peace to our brokenness. He didn’t answer. That scene was all too common for me in my teens. I grew up in a dysfunctional family with alcoholic parents. It was a battle every day to keep up with school, hold a job, guard my siblings, grow in my relationship with Jesus—and love my family. It wasn’t always like that. When I was younger, my parents prioritized bringing our family to church. They cared about my relationship with Jesus. And when I put my faith in Jesus, they rejoiced and led me to baptism. My parents were my heroes. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if sin hadn’t so viciously damaged my family. Would I still look up to my parents? Would my relationship with them be different? Would my memories of them not be tainted? I don’t know what that life would have been like because that’s not what I’ve received. The Lord loved me by giving me a broken family. There are broken families all over the world, and I’m merely one voice out of millions who have cried out to God for stability and peace. But I believe it was out of love that the Lord didn’t answer my petitions. Here’s why. I Learned to Love God’s Sanctifying Grace Grace wasn’t foreign to me. After all, I understood it was by grace that I was saved through faith (Eph. 2:8–9; Rom. 5:21). However, my view of grace was narrow and incomplete. Over time, I learned that grace isn’t merely salvific; it’s sanctifying. God’s grace isn’t just transactional; it’s ongoing, working to sanctify me so I boast more in him. There are broken families all over the world, and I’m merely one voice out of millions who’s cried out to God for stability and peace. The apostle Paul also knew this type of grace. In 2 Corinthians 12:7–8, he speaks of the thorn in the flesh that hindered him. The thorn was so detrimental that he prayed three times for its removal. But instead of removing it, the Lord told Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is perfected in weakness” (v. 9). Paul learned that God’s grace was sanctifying—it was sufficient to reveal how God’s power was being exalted through Paul’s weakness. God’s grace is sufficient for me too. His grace sanctifies me so I may be more like Paul and “boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (v. 9). I learned to love God’s sanctifying grace. I Learned to Love the Church My family became habitual church-hoppers for several years. Because of this, I grew calloused to attending church. Even though I was a regenerate believer, I struggled to drink spiritual milk (1 Pet. 2:2–3). So when we arrived at another church, I was cynical. I quickly learned I was wrong. On my arrival, faithful members were eager to get to know me, host me for family time, and disciple me. The student pastor instructed me in sound doctrine and taught me about the joy of walking with Jesus. The Lord provided authentic friendships that spurred me to love Jesus more. Now, largely because of what God did in my life through the local church, I’m attending seminary in order to love the local church for a lifetime in vocational ministry. By not giving me a stable family, the Lord taught me to treasure my adopted brothers and sisters in Christ (Rom. 8:14–17; Eph. 1:5–6). He taught me about my family purchased by Christ’s blood (1 Pet. 1:19). I learned to love the local church. I Learned to Love My Family Loving my family has been far from easy. There were times when I would’ve struggled even to say I loved them. I’ve fought with them, slandered them, and seen my pride and selfishness hurt them. My family has experienced my sin just as much as I have theirs. Yet my sin—and my family’s—pales in comparison to the unfathomable love of Jesus, my Lord (Rom. 8:35–39). By not giving me a stable family, the Lord taught me to treasure my adopted brothers and sisters in Christ. It’s through Jesus’s power that love is on clear display. In him, love is neither conditional nor self-seeking as love in the modern era often is. Instead, in Christ, love is unconditional and sacrificial. Love is in its highest form when it conforms to the nature of Christ, who himself is love (1 John 4:8, 16). And Jesus’s greatest display of love was his atoning death on the cross, where he laid down his life (John 15:13). Through this love, I learned to love my family. Christ’s love obligated me to replicate his sacrificial and unconditional love toward my family (13:34–35). I don’t replicate it perfectly, because of my indwelling sin, but I trust that Christ makes me new every day, teaching me about the depths of his love and how to better image him in the world. I learned to love my family. God doesn’t simply give us whatever we ask. Instead, we pray his will would be accomplished, thus aligning our wills with his (Matt. 6:10). I’ve continued to ask that God’s will would be done—with me, with my family, with the world. And I’ll continue to pray for his will because I’ve seen how it’s far grander than I could ever fathom. God loved me by not giving me a stable family, and he’s done that for his glory and my good.

When the apostle Paul warns Christians not to be overcome by evil (Rom. 12:21), he knows it’ll be difficult. Nonetheless, he challenges us to believe that God is at work in redemptive reversals. In this episode of You’re Not Crazy, Sam Allberry and Ray Ortlund unpack the difficulty of death to self and consider what it looks like to entrust ourselves to the Lord even as we face evil and wrongdoing. They once again commend the beauty of gospel culture, where pastors and church communities “give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all” (Rom. v. 17). Recommended resource: The Heart of Jesus: How He Really Feels About You by Dane Ortlund (Crossway)

The recent push against free speech is underlied, so we’re told, by a desire to protect the legitimacy of our institutions against discord and disinformation propaganda. Unless, of course, the discord is sown by Regime journalists. Then, it is perfectly acceptable. Watch as CBS’s Norah O’Donnell, after getting Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson to talk about her dissent in the presidential immunity case, frames a question on a potential Supreme Court code of ethics by first trashing the legitimacy of the Court, and then by attempting to bait Justice Jackson into attacking Justice Clarence Thomas over gifts and travel: CBS SUNDAY MORNING 9/1/24 9:40 AM NORAH O’DONNELL: One of the hardest issues the Supreme Court tackled this year involved Donald Trump. The question: could the former president face criminal charges for his efforts to undo his 2020 election defeat to Joe Biden? In July, the court ruled 6 to 3 along ideological lines that Trump was entitled to immunity for official acts as president. Jackson dissented.  You were concerned about broad immunity? KETANJI BROWN-JACKSON: I was concerned about a system that appeared to provide immunity for one individual under one set of circumstances, when we have a criminal justice system that had ordinarily treated everyone the same. O’DONNELL: Are you prepared that this election could end up before the Supreme Court? JACKSON: As prepared as anyone can be. Let me ask you, are you prepared for all of the news cycles that you are getting as a result of this election? O’DONNELL: No. JACKSON: No, exactly. I mean, I think there are legal issues that arise out of the political process. And so the Supreme Court has to be prepared to respond if that should be necessary. O’DONNELL: Today, fewer than half of Americans say they have a favorable view of the Supreme Court. Pick your reason. The partisan confirmation battles, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, or undisclosed trips and gifts given to justices, including Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas.  By one analysis, Justice Thomas has accepted $4 million in trips, travel and gifts over the past two decades. Is that inappropriate? JACKSON: Oh, I’m not going to comment on other justices' interpretations of the rules or what they are doing. O’DONNELL: What's your personal code of ethics? JACKSON: Well-  I follow the rules, whatever they are, with respect to ethical obligations. And it's important, in my view, to do so. It really boils down to impartiality. That's what the rules are about. People are entitled to know if you are accepting gifts as a judge so they can evaluate whether or not your opinions are impartial. O’DONNELL: The president wants a binding code for the Supreme Court that would enforce gift disclosures and recusals. Do you see a problem with that? JACKSON: So, you know, a binding code of ethics is pretty standard for judges. And so I guess the question is: is the Supreme Court any different? And I guess I have not seen a persuasive reason as to why the Court is different than the other courts. O’DONNELL: Are you considering supporting an enforcement mechanism? JACKSON: I am considering supporting it as a general matter. I am not going to get into commenting on particular policy proposals, but from my perspective, I don’t have any problem with an enforceable code. The reasons O’Donnell cites for the Court’s loss of public approval are asinine. There have always been controversial opinions and there have always been “partisan confirmation battles”- lest anyone forget why “borking” is a verb. But none of these issues were a problem when the Court was more evenly split and on occasion tilted to the left. The Obamacare and gay marriage rulings come to mind here.  The real problem is that the left does not control the Court. And what the left does not control, it delegitimizes. I doubt O’Donnell would push stories questioning the legitimacy of a Supreme Court that upheld, for example, the radical “Women’s Health Protection Act” which codifies an unrestricted abortion regime. The Court is only a problem because of Dobbs, and Bruen, and the end of the Chevron deference.  The rest of the interview was syrup bordering on historical hagiography, with its emphasis on the “firstness” of Justice Jackson. But on the whole, the interview bears witness to the Regime Media’s complicity in the left’s attacks against our democratic institutions- including the United States Supreme Court.  

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How did we miss this?

A hidden reservoir inside the body?