Author: BJ Armstrong

Paul’s warning in Galatians 1 cuts straight to the heart: there are those who would distort the gospel, turning it into something it was never meant to be. And that raises a haunting question—have I fallen into that trap?

My first instinct is to deflect.
“Yeah, but I’m not listening to those people. My sources are solid.”
Right. Whatever.

When I take an honest look at the voices shaping my thinking—podcasts, YouTube channels, influencers—the picture gets uncomfortable. Take Ed Mylett, for example. If I’m really honest, I don’t listen to him because he brings me closer to Jesus. I listen because he gets me closer to that billion-dollar dream.

Now, maybe Ed’s a bad example—he’s a Christian and talks openly about his faith—but even there, I feel the tension: God versus money. Kingdom versus platform.

Or Steven Bartlett. Despite his Jewish heritage, he calls himself a “devout and practicing agnostic”—believing God is unknowable.

Now, I love Steven’s podcast. He brings curiosity and wisdom in truckloads. But… should I trust it?

Is this what Paul is talking about when he says,

“You are following a different way that pretends to be the Good News but is not the Good News at all.”
— Galatians 1:6–7 (NLT)

Why Would We Distort the Gospel?

When I stop to think about it, the motivations become clearer.

Sometimes it’s about pleasing people—offering a message that’s more palatable, more powerful. A gospel that promotes me, where Jesus becomes a means to an end.

Other times, it’s just easier.

Going back to Bartlett—saying that “God is unknowable” is way easier than surrendering to the gospel. I can acknowledge God exists and still wash my hands of any responsibility to know Him. Engage Him. Surrender to Him.

I don’t think most teachers start out saying, “God’s word is wrong; let me rewrite it.”
They just… manage it. So it becomes more immediately rewarding.

That’s the danger: truth rebranded as something easier to swallow.

The Spiritual War We’re In

This is war. Lies, confusion, and temptation don’t just come from the outside—they build strongholds inside us.

And if I’m being real? Fighting them feels impossible most days.

So what’s the alternative? Sanctification.
Being set apart for Jesus.

But that road is costly. Holiness demands everything.

And if I’m not careful, I gravitate toward the blended message—a little Jesus, a little self-help, a little prosperity. The mix goes down easier.

But Paul’s warning in Galatians pulls no punches: there is no other gospel.
Anything we add to it, subtracts from it.

The uncomfortable truth is that I’m drawn to these half-truths because they offer transformation without the cross. Success without surrender.

But that’s not the gospel Paul lived and died for.
That’s not the message that changes everything.
That’s not Jesus.

2 Corinthians 11

I was recently asked to write my own eulogy. No, nothing is wrong. It was simply an exercise, one meant to sharpen focus. Envisioning the end of our lives, complete and accomplished, has a way of helping us prioritize what truly matters today.

Have you ever thought about your own? What would it say? What will you be remembered for?

At first, I was tempted to list all of my accomplishments—beautiful homes I’ve built, my incredible wife, or the amazing kids I’ve raised. But today, as I read Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 11:22–28, I’m rethinking that impulse.

Paul’s version of a eulogy might read like this:

• A Hebrew

• An Israelite

• A descendant of Abraham

• A servant of Christ

• Imprisoned, beaten, often near death

• Whipped, stoned, beaten with rods

• In danger everywhere he went

• Hungry, cold, and exposed

• Sleepless and burdened

That list doesn’t exactly fill you with warm fuzzies. And yet—Paul says it’s the part he’s most proud of. Why? Because those were the moments of his greatest weakness, when he was most dependent on Christ. In that dependence, he was at his strongest.

Ironically, we’re taught the opposite. We’re told to find our strengths and exploit them. But Paul warns against this mindset. In verse 3, he says:

“I fear that somehow your pure and undivided devotion to Christ will be corrupted, just as Eve was deceived by the cunning ways of the serpent.” (NLT)

He calls these success-driven philosophies different gospels—ones that may sound good but ultimately lead us away from Christ. And in verse 15, Paul gives a sober reminder:

“It is no surprise if his servants also disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.”

So if you were to die today—what would your eulogy say?

God willing, we all have years ahead of us. But every day, we get to choose:
Will our legacy be a record of worldly achievements?
Or will it be a story of ridiculous love and dangerous witness?

2 Corinthians 1

It’s a relatively rare occurrence in my church, but every once in a while, someone will shout out, “Amen!” If you watch closely, you’ll notice some people cringe. Others just ignore it, unsure of what to do. Which one are you?

Of course, “Amen” isn’t a new word. We say it at the end of every prayer. I mean, it doesn’t count if you don’t say Amen, right? But have you ever stopped to ask why? Do you even know what it means?

Derived from Hebrew, amen means “truly,” “so be it,” or “let it be.” It’s more than a formal sign-off or a religious habit. Whether whispered at the end of a prayer, sung in worship, or shouted during a sermon, this little word carries weight. When we say it, we’re declaring: Yes—I believe this. May it come to pass.

So the next time you say “Amen,” pause for a moment. You’re not just ending a prayer. You’re affirming it. You’re sealing it, with faith that God will make it happen.

1 Corinthians 5

The Corinthian church turned a blind eye to the reckless behavior of some of its members. ‘We are all Christians,’ they reasoned. But over time, sin became normalized. What once shocked them now seemed ordinary. A few had infected the whole.

Could the same be happening in your church? Maybe — but the first place to look is within.

Where are you making small compromises?

• • “What you watch”
  • “What you listen to”
  • “What you say”
  • “What you do”
  • “Where you go”
  • “What you give – or withhold”

Small sins shape your soul — and our souls shape the church.

Psalm 28

When I call on God, what do I call Him? Sometimes it’s “Father,” sometimes “Savior.” But I realize that if I have ever called Him “Rock,” it’s because I learned it right here in Psalm 28. David prayed that way, and if it was good enough for David, it’s good enough for me.

But what does it really mean for God to be my Rock? Rocks don’t move. They don’t crack under pressure. They aren’t bothered by storms, by rain, by heavy winds. If God is truly my Rock, then nothing can shake Him — not my relationship problems, not my health issues, not my financial fears, not even death itself.

The truth is, I often want to be a rock myself. I pray for courage, for strength, sometimes even for money, hoping to become strong and immovable. Yet, after the prayer ends, I often feel like a hypocrite — nothing changes. I am still fragile, still anxious, still me. I haven’t become the rock I asked to be.

And maybe that’s exactly the point.

God didn’t promise to make me the Rock. He promised to be the Rock. It’s an important distinction. My strength is not in becoming unbreakable; it’s in leaning on the One who already is. He is unmovable, unshakable, dependable — not me.

So what do I need a Rock for? I need a Rock to stand on when the storms rage. I need a Rock to cling to when my own strength fails. I need a Rock to remind me that though I may falter, He never will.

Psalm 28 teaches me that it’s not about being strong enough. It’s about trusting the One who already is.

Romans 9

Imagine you’re standing by a railroad track. In the distance, you see five people tied to the rails. A train is coming, and death is certain.

This well-known psychological and ethical thought experiment challenges us to make a terrible choice. In its classic form, you can pull a lever to divert the train, sacrificing one person to save five.

But today, the scenario gets more personal. Instead of pulling a lever, imagine the only way to stop the train is by throwing yourself on the tracks. Great suffering—and likely death—awaits. Would you do it?

Before you answer, consider the Apostle Paul in Romans 9. He is confronting a heartbreaking reality: many of his fellow Jews will not accept Jesus. Their spiritual death and separation from God is certain.

“My heart is filled with bitter sorrow and unending grief,” he writes.
“For I would be willing to be forever cursed—cut off from Christ!—if that would save them.” (Romans 9:2–3, NLT)

Paul isn’t presenting a hypothetical. He is expressing genuine anguish and a willingness to suffer eternal separation from Christ if it meant salvation for others. He is volunteering to throw himself on the tracks.

My heart aches when I consider the depth of Paul’s pain. He offers to embrace a life void of hope, peace, and love, if only his people might be saved. That’s a love that mirrors the sacrifice of Christ Himself.

Today, we face a similar choice—not necessarily to die, but to give of ourselves for the sake of others. Will we cling tightly to the promise that Christ is for me, or will we surrender that comfort to share Him with a world that desperately needs Him?

What will you choose?

Acts 24-25

I remember a book that I was reading, a long time ago.  I do not remember the name of it or the actual content.  What I do remember is being scared.  Really scared.  But not in the way that you might think.  I mean, when you think about being scared, we usually think about something evil.  But this was not the case.  It’s not evil that I was afraid of.  It was holy.

I think that my experience was similar to Felix’s.  You may want to reread it in Acts 24-25.  Let me set the stage.  He was talking to Jesus, and Jesus was telling him of our behavior and God’s judgment that would soon be upon us.  Then, “as he reasoned about righteousness and self-control and the coming judgment, Felix was alarmed.”

Stop for a moment and think about Felix’s alarm.  What was he afraid of?  Do you see it?  Felix was not afraid of something evil.  He was afraid of something good.  Jesus was showing him the Holy, and he could not hear it.  What is it about the holy that we do not want to hear?  Simply put, it’s the price.

If you can tolerate the old English, it is worth listening to John Calvin.  He says that we  “do desire to hear the gospel preached.”  But, he continues, as soon as we have heard, we do by and by either loathe, or else they cannot suffer it.” Do you hear it?

There are only two reasons, according to Calvin.  First, we may loathe it.  That means that we disagree with it.  We want to fight it.  That does not describe me.  If you are reading this, it probably does not describe you either.  Instead, I am the one that “cannot suffer it.”  Do you know what that means?  It means that I am not willing to give up myself.  I cannot fathom sacrificing my own agenda for his.  That would mean too much suffering for me!

Is there a limit to your suffering?  A point that you no longer want to follow Jesus because it’s just too hard?  The answer is yes.  It is too hard.   I am thankful for his grace.

For by grace, you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.  Ephesians 2:8-9 (ESV)

Acts 15

10,000 hours.  That’s how many hours of practice you need to become a master a task, according to Malcom Gladwell.  What do you want to master?

Let’s say you want to learn to play the piano.  You commit to one hour, every day, learning and practicing your new craft.  If you listen to Gladwell, one hour per day will take you 27 years to master it.

I’m discouraged before I start.

Its discouraging because I want the result and it takes too long to get it.  That’s what I don’t like about Gladwell’s formula.  It puts all the emphasis on the end goal, but nothing on the beginning.  Truth is, joy starts the moment you decide to play.

At that moment, when you start playing, you are a piano player.

New players are vulnerable.  To help, experts will criticize, judge and scrutinize.  The new student quickly becomes discouraged.  The joy is gone.

New Christians struggle with the same issues.  Experts say that believing isn’t enough.  You must be baptized, circumcised, read your bible, pray every day, stop drinking, never smoke again.  You name it.  New believers are discouraged by the rules, every day.

Paul steps in to remind us that its none of those things that save us.  In fact, the moment a new believer decides, grace steps in.  God is glorified.  They may not be the prettiest example of a Christian, but to God, they look just like you and I.

He made no distinction between us and them, cleansing their hearts by faith.  Now then, why are you testing God by putting a yoke on the disciples’ necks that neither our ancestors nor we have been able to bear?  On the contrary, we believe that we are saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus in the same way they are.” Acts 15:9-11 (CSB)

Acts 5

What does it mean to be a “fearless Christ follower?”  Let’s start with what it looks like to be fearless.  To be fearless is not the absence of fear.  Fearless is action in the presence of fear.  To help illustrate this, look at two stories in Acts 5.  The first is about Ananias and Sapphira.  The second, involves the apostles.

Annanias and Sapphira decided, together, to give the proceeds of a real estate deal to the church.  Simple enough, right?  The problem is, they didn’t do it.  Why not?  Consider for a moment that the answer is fear.  At the end of Acts 4, we see the church caring for its own.  Wealthy people, the ones who owned homes and land, were selling them to provide money for the church.  Somewhere, sitting in the congregation is Ananias and Sapphira.  The Holy Spirit was at work and they felt what everyone else did.  The love of God.  They were a part of it.  In fact, they wanted to give to it.  In that moment, they made a pledge to give the land that they owned.

I imagine them getting home that night feeling great about their decision to give back.  It is the right thing to do.  Maybe they have a doubt or two creep in.  Satan whispers to them, “hey, why did you give so much?”  They probably dismissed these early thoughts.  If they are anything like me, however, the thoughts continue.  I would start thinking about how irresponsible it is to give up so much.  I mean, “what about the college funds?”  I fear that we‘ll fail to provide enough for them already.  Then, I think about retirement.  How on earth am I going to fund my life on the little that I have saved.  As you can see, fear is tricky.  It comes to us masterfully disguised.  Ananias and Sapphira, gave in to it.

The apostles stand in stark contrast to Ananias and Sapphira.  When faced with opposition, they stood fearless.  In Acts 5:29, Peter tells the captain of the guards that no matter the consequences, he will obey God.  He didn’t care if they harmed him physically or mentally.  Neither of those were as important to him as the truth of God.  Peter, had defined the ONE thing about this life on earth.  It is that nothing matters except God.

No doubt, today we will be faced with opposition. The question remains how we will choose to deal with it.  Will we choose to uphold the Truth and maintain an eternal perspective?   The Bible is clear that our failure to do so carries the consequence of death.  That threat is not only referring to physical death.  The tougher penalty is spiritual death.  Life without the Holy Spirit.  The apostles, on the other hand, show us that an eternal perspective, armed with Truth gives life.  Life powered by the Holy Spirit. Everyday, in every circumstance.