The heavens are neither geocentric, nor even heliocentric, but Christocentric. It is the cross and the crucified and risen Jesus who has the whole world, and each of us, in his nail scarred hands.
Humanity, despite our best efforts, cannot answer the question as to why God allows evil to occur.
This is an excerpt from the Chapter 7 of Being Family by Scott Keith (1517 Publishing, 2026), pgs 72-74.

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We prefer this to be switched around. We want something to happen in us before anything happens outside of us.
But when we trust Jesus, then we close our eyes to it all and say, “Heavenly Father, I’m your child.
It has been three years since Allyson and I honeymooned in New Orleans. We had a great time eating our way through the French Quarter, learning to drive in a city of only ways, and forgetting that real life existed for only a few days.
The only obedient son is shunned so that the disobedient one may return. Why? Because God loves sinners. He doesn’t leave them alone.
The only sea of tranquility that can unite God and man and bring brotherhood among us is found in the Word and sacraments.
We’re all familiar with the “outrage” in our culture about the trend in youth sports to award “participation trophies.”
God preaches a concrete word to us in the present tense. We hear the Good News that Jesus is God’s mercy for us.
Each week, we will reflect on a few of the theses leading up to this year’s Here We Still Stand Conference in October. Each post will also include a new translation completed by Caleb Keith.
In the tiny Bible-belt town where I grew up, tragedy brought people together.
I can pretend for a little bit, but as soon as the phone is put away and it’s just me and my sin, I am fearful about what my walk says about me. I know what I should do, but I can’t quite seem to do it.
Life is certainly unfair. But in Christ, at least in part, we rejoice at such a notion. Grace, that great descriptor of God’s devotion, is a word that only finds its purpose, only exists at all, because it exists as a response to guilt.
Writer’s Block, however, entertains no such fantasies. It goes straight for my ego’s jugular and pounds home the fact that I’m not good enough.