Tim Tebow took the hits — now Christianity is winning big



In 2011, a Detroit Lions linebacker sacked Tim Tebow and chose to celebrate by mocking Tebow’s famed kneeling prayer pose. Later in the game, another Lions player did the same, using his touchdown celebration to make fun of Tebow's prayer pose.

At the time, the media didn’t scold the Lions. Instead, they chided Christians for being "too easily offended." The Lions players pretended that they weren’t making fun of God, despite the fact that they were making jokes intended to humiliate Christians.

Sports have always been about excellence and virtue, values that don't align with DEI and leftist ideologies.

That season was a difficult year for Tebow.

While he scored the coveted role of starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos, he also became one of the most ridiculed professional athletes. Jake Plummer, a former Broncos quarterback, said that he would “rather not have to hear” about Tebow’s faith. Broncos chief of football operations John Elway was also icy and unwelcoming toward the young, new quarterback.

At the time, many sports commentators and football fans went out of their way to make fun of Tebow’s faith. It was constantly used against him through memes and disingenuous critiques of his athletic abilities. Even "Saturday Night Live" aired a skit in which Jesus appeared in the Broncos' locker room, making fun of the saying that “Jesus was helping Tebow win games.”

Major media outlets were silent, and any defense of Tebow typically was met with an eye-rolling allegation of "not being able to take a joke."

Tebow effect

In the years after Tebow, there was a quiet uncertainty as to how Christian athletes would be received for openly expressing their faith.

But nearly 15 years after he became ESPN’s favorite joke, it's now clear that Tebow blazed a trail for a new generation of expressive Christian athletes.

Earlier this month, for example, Justin Fields, the new quarterback for the New York Jets, said that he is “low-key addicted to getting into [his] Bible.” New England Patriots running back TreVeyon Henderson said that “God calls me to work as heartily as for Him, not to please men.” And several players for the Arizona State Sun Devils football team were recently baptized and started attending a team Bible study together, openly expressing their faith in interviews.

These are just a few of the countless examples of football players following in Tebow's footsteps, publicly embracing their Christian faith. Call it the "Tebow effect."

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This "Tebow effect" comes despite the NFL's decision to embrace wokeism.

The NFL has heavily promoted LGBTQ Pride nights, celebrated transgender cheerleaders, and, infamously, painted "End Racism" in field end zones when the BLM movement swept the nation.

The NFL’s woke agenda felt particularly suspicious in the years following the Tebow controversy. In fact, it felt as if Christian fans were intentionally being alienated from the sport. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the NFL experienced significant ratings hits when players kneeled during the national anthem and when the league virtue-signaled during the pandemic and at the height of the BLM mania.

Woke reversal

But seeing professional athletes openly express their Christian faith helps mend the wounds of wokeism. It allows viewers to build relationships with players through the joy of shared faith. Even better, to see athletes profess their Christian faith makes them feel more authentic, proving they're not just cogs in a corporate conglomerate.

Fortunately, football players aren't the only athletes to publicly embrace their Christian faith.

Sports are a reflection of God’s gifts, built through the dedication and reverence encouraged through the Bible.

The Savannah Bananas, an exhibition baseball team, have become a cultural phenomenon as they continuously sell out MLB ballparks across the country. And as the team’s popularity rapidly expands, players have never shied away from their Christian faith.

Players paint crosses on their cheeks and write Bible verses on their bats and helmets, and many members are actively involved in a team-wide Bible study. Their Christian faith has encouraged them to create a family-friendly experience, where children aren’t exposed to unsavory content for mature audiences.

This year, the Texas Rangers stood up to MLB when they decided to be the only team not hosting a Pride night. Although they are only one team among dozens, this bold act represents a shift away from liberal, anti-Christian messaging.

Christian vindication

Sports have always been about excellence and virtue, values that don't align with DEI and leftist ideologies. Sports are a reflection of God’s gifts, built through the dedication and reverence encouraged through the Bible.

It makes sense, then, that many athletes have turned to a life of Christ instead of a life of "co-exist" and "tolerance" bumper stickers.

Tebow helped blaze the trail that made this possible, and fortunately, he has found quiet vindication.

After he and his wife welcomed their first daughter, he posted a video of her lying across his chest while he worked on his laptop. It was a humbling moment, one familiar to new dads. It also showed that, despite having endured so much ridicule for his faith, Tebow gets to rejoice in the joys of family and grace.

As it turns out, the joke wasn't on Tebow — it was on those who thought Christian faith could be mocked into silence.

When God’s light hits hard, don’t flinch — stand firm



In the intensive care unit, the room went still except for the hum of the monitors and the shallow rise and fall of my wife’s chest. She lay pale from anesthesia, her body marked by decades of procedures.

Mike Tyson famously said, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” I knew what I believed — or thought I did — until reality landed its blow. The light of Christ still shone, but in that moment it felt blinding as I strained to process what was right before me.

Headlines trumpet confusion as wisdom, cruelty as strength, and lies as truth. God’s light exposes all of it.

Christian, what do you believe?

That question often barges in under fluorescent lights at zero-dark-thirty, in the antiseptic air of another hospital ward. I have carried it for four decades. The answers I had given in calmer moments felt almost foreign. What felt solid now seemed strange in the glare of suffering — like when our surgeon told Gracie to shield her eyes before flipping on the switch during early rounds.

Light can blind — at first

The light can be startling — even blinding. Nathan’s words to David were blunt: “Thou art the man” (2 Samuel 12:7, KJV). In an instant, the light of God’s truth flooded David’s soul. He wasn’t confused by darkness — he was undone by holiness.

That first rush of light leaves us blinking, unsure of our next step. I’ve watched how often believers steady one another in those moments. Many recall stumbling in the dark, but fewer notice how many flounder in the light.

Paul did. On the road to Damascus, he was blinded by Christ’s light. For three days, he couldn’t see, eat, or drink — helpless until another believer, Ananias, prayed over him. Paul didn’t start his ministry standing tall; he began flat on the ground, unable to move without help.

Step from a dark room into sudden brightness, or bask in sunlight only to move into shade, and your eyes scramble to adjust. The same happens when God’s word exposes what we’d rather not see or illuminates what we can’t easily process. As C.S. Lewis once said of the sun, “By it, I see everything else.”

But learning to live in the light takes time. Lewis captured that same disorientation in “The Last Battle,” when Eustace stepped unwittingly into Aslan’s country through a terrifying portal. What lay ahead looked strange and even jarring, though it opened to something unimaginably wonderful. But as friends came alongside him, his fear gave way to awe.

The beauty hadn’t changed; only his ability to stand in it had.

The man in Mark 8 felt this too. When Jesus touched his eyes, he blinked into daylight and said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking.” He knew the light was real, but the world inside it looked strange. He needed another touch before he could see clearly.

Are we willing to be light?

Our culture knows the disorientation but refuses the cure. Headlines trumpet confusion as wisdom, cruelty as strength, and lies as truth. God’s light exposes all of it. Which is why we must ask: Christian, what do we believe?

And am I willing to live as light in a world stumbling in darkness? Am I willing to be Nathan, speaking truth that wounds in order to heal — first to myself and then to others? Am I willing to be like Ananias, walking toward a Saul who once hated the faith and offering the touch that restores his sight?

What I’ve seen is that Christ’s call doesn’t stop with stepping into the light; it presses us to keep walking in it — and to carry it to others.

The psalmist wrote, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Not a floodlight for the road — just a lamp for the next step. Step by step, not sprinting.

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Some, like Paul, even knew ahead of time what he would suffer. Yet God gave grace — and even a glimpse of glory. The vision didn’t erase the hardship but rather reshaped how Paul endured it.

The famed hymn writer Fanny Crosby understood this better than most. Blinded as a baby, she said, “When I get to heaven, the first face that shall ever gladden my sight will be that of my Savior.”

Until then, Christ’s call remains: “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.” A lamp doesn’t hide under a basket. A beacon shines so that others can find safety.

A call to stand firm

On this four-decade journey as a caregiver, I must preach to myself daily: “Stop floundering in the light!” Take a breath. Stand firm on the ground it reveals.

And once I’ve found my footing — usually with another steadying me — I’m called to help the next person who’s still blinking in the brightness.

The Dawkins delusion: Why atheism can't explain the one thing that matters



Consciousness is the ultimate wonder and the deepest mystery — even for the devout. Not dark matter or quantum mechanics, but the fact that you are reading these words, that there is something it feels like to be you.

Believers may affirm that God made man in His image, and I agree, yet the question remains: Why should dust, shaped by divine hands, open its eyes and know itself? Why breathe into us not only life, but the inner life — the hidden sanctuary where thought, memory, and prayer rise and take flight?

The mystery matter can't master

Scientists can catalogue every neuron. They can trace every chemical cascade and chart every flicker of electricity racing through the brain. They can build diagrams so precise you could almost mistake them for the thing itself.

Yet none of it explains the one detail that matters most — that there is an inside.

That matter, when shaped in a certain way, suddenly gazes back at the universe and says, “I am.” Perception isn’t just the processing of inputs. It’s the lived immediacy of them: the taste of coffee, the ache of loss, the terror before a fall. These are realities experienced, not merely computed.

Some argue this is a puzzle that can be solved. All we need is more funding, more computational power, and more time, the argument goes.

What nonsense.

Disdain and disbelief cannot erase the fact that to be aware is to stand in a place where the finite brushes the infinite.

The answer, it turns out, has been staring at us all along. Consciousness isn’t an accident of biology. It’s a fundamental part of reality, present before the first atom came to be. Matter doesn’t simply wake up by chance. It’s animated by something older, deeper, and impossible to quantify.

Call it spirit. Call it soul. Call it God.

The Dawkins delusion

For the Richard Dawkinses of this world — those allergic to religion — “God” sounds like a convenient escape hatch, a quick patch over the gaps in our understanding.

Yet the theological view is anything but a shortcut. It doesn’t merely declare, “God made man and switched on the lights.” It suggests that the light itself — the act of knowing — is the purpose. Awareness is the link between dust and divinity, binding the created to the Creator.

In other words, consciousness is no evolutionary afterthought but the central drama of existence, the stage on which heaven and earth meet within the human soul.

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This changes everything.

If awareness is fundamental, then the mind is not just an observer of the universe. It is a participant in it, a co-creator. The inner life becomes more than a collection of survival tricks honed by natural selection. It becomes the very arena in which the material and the divine meet.

Every moment of thought, every flicker of self-recognition, is a point of contact with something infinite.

That idea unsettles people because it shifts responsibility onto each conscious being. If awareness is a sacred link — which it is — then how we use it carries weight beyond anything science can quantify. The ethics of thought, intention, and attention move to the center. A life squandered in distraction or cruelty becomes much more than a personal failure.

In this view, it becomes the misuse of something unimaginably rare.

The sacred spark

Even our most advanced machines make the contrast clear.

They can mimic conversation, create art, and solve problems at rapid speeds, yet they remain completely vacant. There is no inner witness, no “I” behind the code. Their outputs may dazzle, but no one is there to be moved, to care, to suffer, or to rejoice. Set beside a single conscious breath, a single human glance, the difference is profound. And perhaps that’s the point. Consciousness is not about speed or efficiency. It is about relationship — between mind and world, self and other, creature and Creator.

For centuries, Christian mystics have spoken of the soul as a mirror made to catch and reflect the light of God.

Teresa of Ávila wrote of the “interior castle” with its deepest chamber reserved for union with Christ. John of the Cross spoke of stripping away every lesser light until only God’s radiance remained. The German theologian Meister Eckhart called it the “spark of the soul,” a place untouched by sin where God’s presence burns brightest.

In their eyes, consciousness isn’t a random flicker of awareness. It's the faculty by which the creature knows the Creator, the meeting place of heaven and earth within the human heart.

We are alive because He willed it, aware because He designed our awareness, and we are lit from within by His light.

Modern science has given us remarkable tools to study the mechanisms of the mind, but the mechanism is not the mystery. The circuitry is not the song. You can dismantle a radio and never hear the music that once flowed through it. Likewise, you can map the brain and never touch the consciousness that animates it.

That gap — the chasm between matter in motion and the breath of being — is where the divine dwells.

Conscious by creation

We live in an age that prefers to compress the mystery into whatever measurements our tools can take. It's the spirit of 2025, an era when meaning is traded for metrics and a culture drifting toward nihilism mistakes data for doctrine.

But we must let the mystery magnify us and let it widen our grasp of what it means to be alive. Consciousness is a bridge between two eternities — the dust God shaped us from and the divinity that calls us home. To stand in the middle is to bear the weight of the world and feel the pull of the world that awaits.

Atheists will no doubt roll their eyes, but the reality remains: Disdain and disbelief cannot erase the fact that to be aware is to stand in a place where the finite brushes the infinite.

We are not bystanders in God’s creation. We move through it as participants, shaping its story as it shapes us. We are alive because He willed it, aware because He designed our awareness, and we are lit from within by His light.

Every thought, every act of attention, every choice is a line in the ongoing dialogue between Creator and created, a conversation that will echo into eternity.

NFL superstar just broke liberals with four words about Jesus — and it’ll cost them



“It’s all about Jesus.”

That simple message is a central truth of the Christian faith, yet this powerful proclamation recently ignited a bizarre flurry of angst and a wild brouhaha on social media.

For too long we’ve tolerated and fostered a blatant cancel culture that seeks to punish anyone with whom we disagree.

Of course, it wasn’t so much the Christ-centric message that ruffled feathers as it was the messenger. See, an absurd online drama kicked off after Baltimore Ravens quarterback Lamar Jackson shared an X post from conservative commentator Charlie Kirk.

The message, which simply read, “It’s all about Jesus,” wasn’t political or caustic. It was merely a biblical assertion that Jackson likely saw and, in turn, chose to repost to inspire his followers in their faith, as he regularly publishes Christian messages. But some people were so incensed that Jackson would dare post any sentiment from the likes of Kirk that they took to social media platforms to air their grievances.

The reactions ranged from obnoxious to unhinged, but all of them had one thing in common: They each, to some degree, illustrated why President Donald Trump defied all odds to win a second term.

Americans are tired of the cancel culture, word-policing nonsense that became all too routine in recent years. And they’re finally voting, behaving, and speaking in ways that show just how much they’d like to return to a world where political diversity isn’t treated like a deadly toxin.

These citizens want to be free to speak up against bizarre social trends without the fear of cancellation — a tool too many progressives have used to effectively shut down free speech. Or, like Jackson, these Americans simply want the freedom to speak the truth without retribution.

Trump, a boisterous businessman-turned-politician, has somehow become the unlikely hero paving the way for such sanity.

Of course, not everyone is on board with common sense, as evidenced by some of the reactions to Jackson’s social media post. Certain people, it seems, simply can’t help themselves, believing their feelings and emotions trump all else.

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“[I’m] very aware that lamar jackson [sic] probably has zero idea who charlie kirk [sic] is and is solely [retweeting because it] talks about his faith,” one frustrated social media user wrote. “But it still [sic] wild to see your favorite players [sic] name right above the second spawn of satan himself.”

Other posts across X were similar, with people clutching their pearls over the idea that a popular football star would have the nerve to share a faithful message from one of their cultural and political opponents. The response was big enough to spark some media headlines.

One outlet alleged Jackson was “sacked online,” and Kirk, the founder of Turning Point USA, openly called the response a “liberal meltdown.” Chaos aside, Kirk also used the opportunity to praise the NFL star for what he called “courage and conviction” — a purported refusal to apologize even amid intense anger from some fans.

After all, Jackson could have cowered, apologized, or even removed the post. But he chose to leave it up and left the festering debate to simmer on its own.

As for Kirk, he not only praised Jackson, but he affirmed during a “Fox & Friends” interview his belief that Christ is the most essential element in life.

"I just want to say to Lamar ... you are more than welcome in this big movement that we are building,” Kirk said. "You could be a Democrat; you could be on the left. I don't care. Jesus is honestly the most important thing."

Ultimately, this is the right posture. We can spend all day fighting about politics, culture, and the toughest issues of the day — and sometimes that’s warranted, appropriate, and even a bit fun to do. But the most pressing and essential issue is Christ and where each human heart stands on the Almighty.

The inability to tolerate diverse ideas has come to infect — and ruin — almost every facet of our society.

Whether Jackson knew who Kirk is or whether he agrees with Kirk’s politics aren’t the primary issues. At its core, the message that “it’s all about Jesus” is timeless and worthy of sharing. The NFL player just wanted to drive it home, yet critics found themselves needlessly looking for a fight.

“Who cares what the naysayers say?” Kirk continued in his “Fox & Friends” interview. “[Jackson’s] standing firm for what matters most, which is the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

That’s a wonderful, valid point, and one that shouldn’t be overlooked amid the silliness spewing from keyboard warriors who have paper-thin skin and an inability to look beyond their own political proclivities.

Tragically, the inability to tolerate diverse ideas has come to infect — and ruin — almost every facet of our society. At some point, we collectively became so emotionally unhinged that we found ourselves essentially allergic to anyone with opposing ideals.

Some people have become so deeply entrenched in this derangement that they’re unwilling or even emotionally unable to spend time with friends and family members due to differing political views. We now live in an insane, upside-down world in which media outlets churn out articles with headlines like “How to survive political talk at Thanksgiving dinner” and “10 ways to de-escalate political discussions with friends.”

It’s absolute nonsense.

Here’s how we survive political talk: We approach it like rational adults who live in a society that values free speech and expression. This isn’t complicated. Yet for too long we’ve tolerated and fostered a blatant cancel culture that seeks to punish anyone with whom we disagree.

Along the way, we’ve allowed people to become so coddled and protected in their bubbles that they can’t even handle someone like Jackson sharing a pertinent message from a figure they dislike.

If progressives can’t figure out how to coexist with conservatives and people of differing views — and if they insist on canceling or fleeing from their ideological opponents — they’re only going to continue to alienate voters and lose big. People are tired of being silenced and shamed, and the Jackson debacle is only the latest example of progressives’ child-like demeanor.

Was 'Scooby-Doo' actually atheist propaganda for children?



Does "Scooby-Doo" teach children the core philosophical tenets of atheism?

I recently saw an atheist claim that "Scooby-Doo" was created to teach children about rationality and skepticism because every episode begins with a supernatural event — like a haunting ghost and unexplained phenomena — and ends with a "natural explanation" (i.e., it's just a person in a mask).

I saw this claim on Reddit:

I just realized scooby-doo was made to teach kids skepticism and rationality

Suddenly it makes sense why my ultra religious mother ended up forbidding me from watching it as a kid. Last night, it suddenly occurred to me based on what I could vaguely recall about the show before I was banned from it that every episode was about something supernatural happening and then getting proven to have a non-supernatural cause. I looked it up and it turns out that was exactly the case.

This argument got me thinking and raised two important questions:

  1. Is "Scooby-Doo" naturalist propaganda for children?
  2. How strongly does the plot of a generic "Scooby-Doo" episode bolster the argument for naturalism?

Subversive Scooby

When you stop and think about it, "Scooby-Doo" is actually kind of subversive.

It teaches children that whenever we think something is supernatural, it really just has a natural explanation. It drills into young minds that the right answer is always the non-supernatural one. The ghosts are never real, the curses are always fake, and the monsters are just people in costumes.

There's always a natural explanation. And by reinforcing this idea over and over, it teaches children that believing anything supernatural is irrational.

God isn’t one more cause among the many other causes in the universe. He’s not just another thing pushing particles around.

"Scooby-Doo" is not a neutral show. It's naturalistic indoctrination.

And here's why that's a problem: The argument that “every time we investigate, we find a natural explanation, so everything must have a natural explanation" is the same argument atheists use to claim that God isn't real.

Fatal flaw

The subversive argument of the "Scooby-Doo" plot is not only a problem because it's the same one that atheists use, but it's a problem because it's not a good argument.

In fact, it's a really bad one.

First, even if you grant for the sake of argument that a natural explanation is found on the other side of a supernatural cause, it doesn't require that all explanations are natural. That's just logically invalid. It's like saying, "All the swans I’ve seen are white; therefore all swans must be white," or, "Every time I walk into a house, I see carpet; therefore all houses have carpet."

These are inductive overreaches. It’s completely fallacious reasoning. Still, there's an even deeper problem.

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Atheists believe that if God existed, then we should be able to see him directly intervening in the world in a visible, testable way. They think that if we hear a weird sound in the attic, we should be able to climb up there and find God directly causing the sound.

But this is a bizarre line of logic, because that's not how God is understood in theism. God isn’t one more cause among the many other causes in the universe. He’s not just another thing pushing particles around. Instead, God is the one who makes the whole universe possible in the first place.

Worldmaker

Consider J.R.R. Tolkien. When you read "The Lord of the Rings," you don't see Tolkien himself in the story. Rather, you see Frodo walking to Mordor, Gandalf giving advice, and Aragorn being born from parents. You’d never see Tolkien manipulating Middle-earth — he’s nowhere to be seen.

If you lived in that world, you might think based on your experience that everything was caused by something else in that world. The characters have their own internal causes, and yet their ultimate existence and explanation is found in what? J.R.R. Tolkien. He brought all of it into being.

Notice that even though Tolkien is the ultimate explanation for everything in his world, you cannot find him directly causing anything in his world.

That’s how God relates to our world. He’s the reason anything exists at all. Just as Tolkien is the cause of everything in Middle-earth without being a character in it, God is the cause of everything in our universe without being a natural object within it.

So to expect that you can "see God" in the chain of natural causes is like tearing apart the pages of a novel looking for the author's actual fingerprints.

The final answer

Still, there is a much bigger philosophical problem with this argument that atheists hate to acknowledge.

If you say that everything has an explanation, then you are forced to ask: Where does the chain of explanations stop?

Sure, perhaps natural things are explained by other natural things. But what explains those? And what explains the natural things that explain those natural things? It's a circular argument that results in infinite regress, which produces contradictions and ultimately explains nothing.

That's not rational.

There has to be something at the end of the chain, something that explains everything else but is not explained by anything else. Something that exists by the necessity of its own nature.

If the supernatural foundation of all reality has a mind, then that’s God.

That thing, whatever it is, must be radically different from everything else. It’s not one more link in the chain — it’s the foundation of the chain. And if it’s not caused, not contingent, and not dependent on anything else, then it's not "natural." It's supernatural, and it's fundamentally different from all of the "natural" stuff.

Once you realize this, you're forced to consider: Does this supernatural foundation have a mind?

And what do you find in the universe it caused? You find minds. Information embedded in DNA. Consciousness. Reason. Intelligibility. Purpose. Order. Morality.

None of these things we would expect to get from mindless matter. These are exactly the things an intelligent mind produces. We know this because we ourselves possess minds. So if the fundamental cause of everything contains the power to bring forth minds, intelligibility, and moral reality, then the most reasonable conclusion is that it, too, has a mind.

And if the supernatural foundation of all reality has a mind, then that’s God.

Maybe the real mystery isn't whether or not "Scooby-Doo" was debunking ghosts. The real mystery is why so many atheists think that repeating a cartoon plotline counts as an argument against the existence of God.

Paint fades, prayer endures in the NFL



Last Tuesday evening, my wife and I settled in for our annual fall ritual: the premiere of “Hard Knocks.” Some couples watch sitcoms. We bond over football. When Liev Schreiber’s voice kicks in, summer is slipping away, and the beer fridge is filling up.

We’ve watched for years, but this season felt different. The cameras didn’t linger on helmets crashing or coaches barking. Instead, they caught quieter moments: a player brushing off sweat, another flipping open a devotional. The message wasn’t painted in the end zone. It was lived out on the field.

End-zone paint doesn’t move people. Faith lived out in the open does.

That stands in sharp contrast to the NFL’s other big announcement: the return of slogans painted in end zones — “End Racism,” “It Takes All of Us,” and other socially conscious slogans. The league insists they matter. The results? Unclear. A stenciled phrase doesn’t change lives. A lived-out faith does.

Consider New York Jets quarterback Justin Fields. He recently admitted, “I’m low-key addicted to getting in my Bible.” He credits that daily habit for keeping him grounded when the noise grows loud.

In Houston, Coach DeMeco Ryans has helped make Bible studies a regular feature for the Texans. Nearly 40 players, coaches, and staff now attend. Quarterback C.J. Stroud thanks “my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ” during interviews. NBC cut that phrase from a broadcast last season, but it hasn’t stopped him from saying it again.

“Hard Knocks” has become the best proof yet. In the first episode, backup cornerback Christian Benford prayed over an injured rookie, his words audible as trainers worked: “Heavenly Father, please give him strength. ... As we’re weak, bless everything we do. ... In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”

HBO aired the prayer uncut. No sound bite, no irony — just a moment of faith in full view of teammates and millions of fans.

Episode two showed Damar Hamlin praying, thanking God for “focus, fellowship, brotherhood.” His devotional book sat in his hands, battered and beloved. Its frayed edges testified louder than any press release.

It’s impossible not to recall Tim Tebow. A decade ago, he was mocked for praying on the field. “Tebowing” became a late-night punchline. But Tebow’s courage made public faith in football possible. Today, players pray without irony — and with far less ridicule.

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The league points to its Inspire Change program, which has directed more than $460 million to nonprofits. Good. But the slogans? They’re background noise. As the Babylon Bee joked, “NFL Hoping 3rd Year of ‘End Racism’ Painted in End Zone Will Do the Trick.” The gag works because it highlights the gulf between gestures and genuine transformation.

The real transformation is happening elsewhere: in chapels, prayer huddles, and well-worn Bibles. These acts don’t just polish the league’s image. They shape the men who play the game — building character, humility, and unity in a way a slogan never could.

Sitting on the couch with my wife, I felt the difference. End-zone paint doesn’t move people. Faith lived out in the open does.

Painted slogans fade. Prayer changes hearts. If the NFL wants to inspire change, it should keep showing the moments that can’t be scripted — players living out their faith with quiet acts of devotion, one prayer at a time, and far more enduring than any PR campaign.

Frank Caprio: A judge who tempered justice with mercy



In "The Merchant of Venice," Shakespeare stages a courtroom scene where justice and mercy collide. Antonio, unable to repay his debt, faces Shylock’s demand for a pound of flesh. Into this standoff steps Portia, disguised as a lawyer, who reminds Shylock that “the quality of mercy is not strain’d.”

Mercy, she argues, “blesseth him that gives and him that takes” — elevating both the giver and the recipient. Strict justice, without compassion, destroys. True justice, tempered with mercy, redeems.

Judge Caprio’s courtroom became a global stage not because the cases were extraordinary, but because his responses were.

Judge Frank Caprio, who died Wednesday at 88, understood this better than most. His courtroom in Providence, Rhode Island, became a stage for the same lesson Portia taught: that the law is meant not just to enforce rules, but to serve people. Again and again, he showed that the most just outcome is sometimes also the most merciful.

'Your case is dismissed'

One of Caprio's most memorable rulings came when a 96-year-old man stood before him for speeding. The man explained that he was rushing his handicapped son to a medical appointment. Rather than levy a fine, Caprio praised him as a devoted father and dismissed the case — an act of justice that, in Portia’s words, blessed both the man who received mercy and the judge who gave it.

In another instance, Caprio invited a 6-year-old girl to decide her mother’s penalty for an unpaid parking ticket. When the child shyly reduced the fine, Caprio went farther, suggesting that her mother use the money saved to buy breakfast for her kids. What could have been just another transaction became instead a lasting lesson in generosity — a glimpse of how mercy, when freely given, transforms everyone involved.

Deep and abiding faith

Frank Caprio’s sense of justice was rooted in the story of his own life. Born in Providence in 1936, the son of an immigrant fruit peddler and milkman, Caprio grew up working odd jobs and learning the value of perseverance. He taught high school while putting himself through Suffolk Law School at night, served in the Rhode Island Army National Guard, and went on to a career in public service — first as a Providence city councilman, later as chief judge of the municipal court, a position he held for nearly four decades.

What might have been an unremarkable local post became something extraordinary once cameras entered his courtroom. "Caught in Providence," the reality series that began on local public access TV in 1988, turned Caprio into a household name when it was nationally syndicated in 2018. Millions of viewers tuned in not for high-stakes drama, but for the quiet power of his empathy. Clips of his cases spread across social media, reaching hundreds of millions worldwide. He became known, simply, as “the nicest judge in the world.”

But Caprio himself never saw this as performance. “I have a deep and abiding faith in the Catholic Church, in Jesus, in the power of prayer,” he told EWTN reporter Colm Flynn in February. That faith informed his approach to the bench.

A final lesson

In Caprio's final months, battling pancreatic cancer, he recorded a simple video asking his followers not for tributes but for prayers — a moment of humility that spoke volumes about how he carried his belief. And in a commencement address at his alma mater just weeks before his death, he explained his philosophy plainly: “Although I wore a robe like most judges, I wasn’t a traditional judge, because under my robe, I didn’t wear a badge. I wore a heart.”

Judge Caprio’s courtroom became a global stage not because the cases were extraordinary, but because his responses were. In an era when social media often rewards outrage and spectacle, his viral videos offered a glimpse of justice at its most human.

He taught us that the measure of justice is not only how faithfully we enforce the rules, but how carefully we weigh the people to whom they apply. To the single parent struggling to pay fines, to the elderly man caring for a sick child, to the student with little more than a smile to offer, Caprio extended dignity. And in doing so, he showed the world that mercy can be both deeply personal and profoundly public.

That is the legacy Judge Frank Caprio leaves behind. His rulings will live on in viral clips, yes — but, more importantly, in the quiet shift of conscience they inspired in those who watched. He reminded us that justice, at its best, is not cold or mechanical. It is humane. And it is only complete when joined with mercy.

Denzel Washington crushes reporter who asks about 'black cast' members: 'I follow the Lord. That's it'



Denzel Washington does not care about social media, followers, or the idea that he could be canceled.

The iconic actor took part in a press junket for his new film, "Highest 2 Lowest," along with director Spike Lee, which included multiple questions about social media followings and public perception.

While Lee has historically been more controversial than the actor, the pair have worked together on many well-received movies and seemingly formed such a strong bond that Washington had no problem taking the lead on many of the more poignant questions they were asked.

Washington first showed reporters that he is not the biggest fan of today's media landscape when he was asked about having a mostly black cast in his upcoming movie.

'You just have to do something stupid. You just have to get people to follow you.'

"You have never shied away from starring or acting, producing, directing films with a predominantly black cast," Associated Press reporter Gary Gerard Hamilton prompted the actor. The reporter then asked Washington what allowed him to be "unafraid of tackling those projects."

Washington immediately pointed out that he cares about talent, not what other people think.

"Well, it's a different time when I started. I'm not concerned with what people think about me. I don't care about that. Especially now. When I was younger, you didn't, you know, I didn't grow up like your generation is growing up where a zillion people are watching you all the time and you're looking to be followed all the time. And, you know, you actually had to be good at what you did," he said.

"You don't have to be good now," Washington continued. "You just have to be eccentric. You just have to do something stupid. You just have to get people to follow you."

It was at that point director Lee knew exactly how to set up his pal to hit another home run.

"Who were you following, too, right?" Lee asked Washington.

Washington answered, "I'm a leading man, you know. I don't follow nobody. I follow the Lord. That's it. That's the only following I'm doing is my Lord and savior Jesus Christ. I'm not following anybody else on this planet. Period."

Washington's takedown of the leading questions would soon get a follow-up when he was similarly approached by a different reporter.

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The next day, Complex News released its own interview with Lee and Washington, featuring journalist Jillian Hardeman-Webb. The reporter went down a similar line of questioning with the 68- and 70-year-olds, respectively. However, she, too, found out the hard way that Washington is not concerned with anyone's critiques.

"Do you guys consider being 'canceled'?" Hardeman-Webb asked.

"What does that mean? To be canceled?" Washington chimed back.

"It means you lose public support," the reporter explained.

"Who cares?" Washington replied. "What made public support so important to begin with?"

Hardeman-Webb attempted to explain that "followers now are currency," but by this point she had already unlocked another one of Washington's epic rants about who and what he is willing to follow.

"I don't care who's following who. Okay? You can't lead and follow at the same time, and you can't follow and lead at the same time. I don't follow anybody. I follow the heavenly spirit," Washington declared.

The veteran performer continued to preach to the journalist, who is reportedly 29 years old, about why he follows God.

RELATED: Blaze News original: 5 Hollywood actors who are unapologetically Christian

"I follow God," Washington exclaimed. "I don't follow man. I have faith in God. I have hope in man, but look around — it ain't working out so well."

He concluded, "Forget being followed. You can't be canceled if you haven't signed up. Don't sign up. Don't get me started. ... I could care less."

What stood out in both interviews was each reporter taking in Washington's remarks and seemingly having a positive reaction to his religious sentiments.

While many people may still have many lessons to learn about follower "currency," Washington's injection of an alternative view of social media and its surrounding culture should only deepen the conversation about the actual need for personal branding.

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NFL MVP Lamar Jackson shares Charlie Kirk message, faces relentless liberal attacks



NFL quarterback Lamar Jackson seemed to cut out all the noise after sharing a message from conservative commentator Charlie Kirk.

Jackson — a two-time NFL MVP, four-time Pro Bowl player, and leader of the Baltimore Ravens — had heaps of criticism piled onto him after going on a sharing spree on his X page.

'It's all about Jesus.'

Jackson shared a plethora of images and videos about baptisms, trusting in God, and even Bible verses and prayers, but it was not until he shared a message from Kirk that the haters came out of the woodwork.

"It's all about Jesus."

Those were the simple words from Kirk that Jackson shared to his page that encouraged many fans to post messages ranging from simple heartbreak all the way to referring to Kirk as the "spawn of Satan himself."

While many X users thought they were giving Jackson the benefit of the doubt in thinking he did not even know who Kirk was, the anger toward Jackson escalated and got far worse.

RELATED: Charlie Kirk spoofed by 'South Park' as America's 'master debater' who totally owns liberals

— (@)

One sports fan shared a screenshot of Jackson's post and said he hoped the quarterback "continues to choke in the playoffs."

Despite a lot of pushback from other fans, an account named Zion said that Jackson had put a "stain" on his "legacy" by sharing Kirk's Christian message.

Not to be outdone, another X commenter shared a story about Jackson echoing Kirk and said, "I don't think Lamar Jackson know Charlie kirk hate n*****s."

Lamar Jackson out here retweeting Charlie Kirk. Hope he continues to choke in the playoffs. pic.twitter.com/T0SQ79NdR2
— Ya Boy Big Nel (@TheeNelDog) August 18, 2025

Jackson ignored the heat, though, and continued pushing biblical messages like, "Give your worries to the Lord, and he will care for you. He will never let those who are good be defeated."

This went on for hours, culminating in another Bible verse as Jackson's final share for the weekend — Acts 4:12, which reads: "Jesus Christ is the only One that can bring you salvation."

This is not the only time Jackson has put himself in hot water for comments on X. In 2020, he wrote a message about trusting the president when President Donald Trump shared a video of Jackson's friend reacting to his selection in the NFL Draft.

"Really nice to see this and, what a great pick!" Trump wrote.

"Truzz Trump," Jackson replied, meaning trust.

The simple message caused mixed reactions, which were also largely ignored by Jackson.

RELATED: Charlie Kirk crushes Oxford’s liberal elite in epic Trump debate

— (@)

The 28-year-old has not made any other public comments (or X posts) since his Sunday sharing spree, but Kirk did share an image about Jackson receiving heavy criticism and offered a simple message in response.

"Jesus is the way, truth, and life," Kirk said.

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Questions about Catholicism? There's a bot for that



AI is devouring everything, from brainpower and manpower to art and writing to therapy and intimacy. Little surprise that now it’s coming for religion — not just as a tool but as a substitute. In this brave new world of prompts and replies, faith might well become just another field for automation to ransack and repackage.

Magisterium AI is a chatbot ready to dispense Catholic answers at machine speed, trained on 27,000 Church documents. Clarity, consistency, and convenience, delivered without delay? What’s not to like?

The Church has long warned against idols. This one just happens to run on silicon.

But something essential disappears in the process. A religion sustained by ritual, mystery, and human encounter is now being reformatted into AI-generated responses. Some see it as innovation, but any truly faithful Christian should see it as reduction. You don’t deepen the soul by outsourcing it to a language model. You dilute it. You deform it.

Digital discernment

Magisterium AI is marketed as a bridge to the Church, but its architectural form avoids the sacred terrain of actual spiritual formation. It offers the comfort of instant answers, devoid of the discomfort that makes those answers matter. No long silences. No wrestling with doubt. No waiting for grace. Just neatly packaged responses dressed in ecclesial jargon. It tempts the user into embracing the illusion of understanding without the weight of discernment.

There’s a reason spiritual growth has always been slow. The methodical journey isn’t a bug; it’s the entire point. Silence teaches. So does uncertainty. So does struggling through Scripture with someone who’s carried the weight longer than you. What is efficient by the measure of this world is inadequate by those of the next. Magisterium AI points to a false path where tension dissolves into trivia and struggle gives way to search results.

This isn’t about resisting technology as a whole, but about recognizing the sharp limits of machines in matters of the soul. An algorithm can refer to documents, but it cannot know God. It cannot console, confront, or call you to conversion. It cannot listen with compassion, hold silence with you, or challenge your ego in ways that leave you undone. It can only simulate presence, and that simulation becomes dangerous when people mistake it for real guidance — or somehow an improvement on real guidance.

Church as help desk

When young Catholics grow up thinking their doubts can be resolved with a prompt, they’ll begin to treat faith like customer service: Get an answer, move on. But the Church is a body, not a help desk. It breathes through embodied tradition, contradiction, dialogue, and grace. Reduce all that to a robotic response, and the foundation crumbles.

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Kevin Frayer/Getty Images

Something sacred vanishes when a priest is replaced with a query. Not because clergy are flawless (far from it), but because they’re flesh and blood. They carry the tradition in tone, gesture, imperfection. Witness, not lines of code, forms their counsel. They may not offer certainty, but they teach how to live with its absence.

Clarity without cost

Magisterium AI doesn’t stutter, pause, or search for words. And that’s precisely the danger. Clarity without cost breeds complacency. In this simulated world, you didn’t earn that insight. You didn’t knock, seek, or beg. You tapped, you clicked, and the program delivered. Catholicism — and Christ — has always asked for more. Church truths aren’t just concepts to recite but realities to absorb. They call for surrender of will, reshaping of heart, and direct contact with mystery.

What’s most troubling is how effortlessly tools like Magisterium AI begin to reshape our image of God, even with the very best of intentions, not through argument or doctrine, but through tone, rhythm, and imitation. Language models can mimic reverence and copy cadence. They might stitch together fragments of theology with stunning fluency. But they don’t believe, and they don’t kneel. They do not tremble before the mystery they claim to speak for.

And yet when they answer in the Church’s voice, people thirsty for spiritual life listen. They begin to confuse fluency with faith, output with orthodoxy. Doctrine so easily becomes branding and God a user-friendly construct: predictable, polite, press-ready.

Ghost in the confessional

The devastating result is a “version” of the divine that’s algorithmically accurate but spiritually vacant and without embodiment at the same time. The worst of both worlds, it’s a sanitized, systematized substitute, unable to inspire holy fear and awe. Instead, its strings of answers sound holy enough to pass but are dead enough to forget. What emerges is not the God of Scripture, who thunders from clouds and weeps in gardens, but a corporate construct, one through whom users understand that the only fearsome and awesome thing around is the machine itself.

Nor does Magisterium AI simply digitize theology. It rearranges discipleship too, shifting the aim from becoming holy to staying informed. It trades the long labor of sanctification for a dopamine stream of quick solutions.

The Church has long warned against idols. This one just happens to glow, have hallucinations, and run on silicon.

Chatbot communion

Spiritual risks this severe bleed swiftly into the culture at large. When the faithful stop sitting with Scripture, stop listening to sermons, and stop debating in basements and parish halls, instead isolating themselves and outsourcing their formation to AI, they lose the muscle memory of communion. The Church kneels before a platform. The body of Christ becomes just another content feed.

No, don’t panic. But do be warned: Magisterium AI may begin as a tool of convenience. But convenience rewires. It strips us of spiritual stamina. It dulls the rituals that once shaped the soul. And slowly, it replaces the relationships that once carried the gravity of grace.

The Church isn’t built on convenience. It’s built on sacred encounters between sinner and priest, reader and revelation, and suffering and meaning. Remove those, and you don’t just soften faith; you shatter it. Faith doesn’t need to be digitized. It needs to be lived, in pews and parish halls — in chapels and candlelit corners where no code can follow and no circuit can reach.