SPLC director allegedly used donor cash to fund secret romance with neo-Nazi informant: Indictment



Heidi Beirich was a director at the Southern Poverty Law Center. A man identified as "F-9" was allegedly a neo-Nazi informant. And according to a damning new report building off the Justice Department's latest indictment against the SPLC, the two allegedly fell in love under the most unlikely circumstances.

Indictments

In April, the Justice Department announced that a grand jury in Alabama returned an indictment charging the SPLC — a liberal outfit whose bread and butter is smearing law-abiding conservatives as "extremists" — with 11 counts of wire fraud, false statements to a federally insured bank, and conspiracy to commit concealment money laundering.

'I knew it was that fat, ugly hog.'

The organization is accused of secretly dumping several million dollars in donated funds to individuals linked to various extremist groups, including the Ku Klux Klan, Aryan Nations, and National Socialist Party of America — groups the SPLC was supposedly fighting against.

The DOJ expanded its case against the SPLC this month, filing a superseding indictment on June 2 that alleged, among other things, that the "SPLC secretly funneled approximately $4.1 million dollars in tax-exempt donor funds to a series of fictitious accounts" — such as for the fake Tech Writers group — that in turn paid so-called field sources "who were either leading or affiliated with multiple violent extremist organizations."

The field sources allegedly used SPLC donor money for various activities, including:

  • Attending and hosting extremist group rallies across the country;
  • Growing existing chapters of extremist groups;
  • Creating new chapters of extremist groups;
  • Making donations to extremist group leaders;
  • Purchasing materials for cross burnings as well as for Ku Klux Klan robes and hoods;
  • Creating racist paraphernalia that extremist groups sold at rallies; and
  • Publishing extremist literature for recruitment purposes.

RELATED: Klansman allegedly on SPLC payroll was 'true believer' white supremacist, not reformed infiltrator

Heidi Beirich. Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images

SPLC CEO Bryan Fair, whose smear- and fear-mongering racket has denied the allegations of wrongdoing, claimed that the field sources were "paid confidential informants" tasked with gathering "credible intelligence on extremely violent groups." He said the SPLC no longer works with such informants.

F-9 finds love

The superseding indictment alleges that in one case, at the SPLC's direction, a field source referred to only as "F-9" "infiltrated" a neo-Nazi group called the National Alliance.

While reportedly funded over a 20-year period, F-9 allegedly received over $1.2 million in SPLC donors' money just between 2010 and 2023. While receiving SPLC donor funds, F-9 allegedly fundraised for the National Alliance and helped it "carry out its extremist activities."

Although a proven asset to the neo-Nazi group, F-9 apparently gave the SPLC some return on their investment.

According to the allegations, in 2014, he broke into the National Alliance's headquarters in West Virginia; stole 25 boxes of documents; transported those documents across state lines; and, with the knowledge of an SPLC employee and the help of SPLC funding, copied those documents before breaking back into the National Alliance headquarters to return the originals.

The New York Post identified the SPLC employee involved in this alleged plot as the former director of the SPLC's Intelligence Project, Heidi Beirich.

Beirich, an anti-Trump liberal who now serves as the chief strategy officer at the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism, did not respond to Blaze News' request for comment.

The SPLC employee identified as Beirich allegedly used around $6,000 in donor money to pay a different field source — a man the Post identified as Randolph Dilloway, an accountant whom the neo-Nazi group hired to conduct a forensic audit — to falsely take the fall for the burglary.

The indictment alleged further that the stolen documents served as the basis for an SPLC "Hatewatch" story, which was used to solicit more donations.

Beirich penned the lengthy March 2015 "Hatewatch" article titled "Chaos at the Compound," where she discussed drama and mismanagement behind the scenes at the National Alliance, making extensive use of internal documents that she claimed Dilloway had copied and provided to the SPLC.

RELATED: SPLC indictment BOMBSHELL: Charlottesville violence allegedly was a leftist-funded 'false flag'

MIKE THEILER/AFP/Getty Images

Beirich allegedly leaned on her field source for more than information.

Not only was the SPLC employee identified by the Post as Beirich overseeing payments of donor money to F-9, but she was also allegedly in a romantic relationship with him, according to the superseding indictment.

"During this relationship, Employee-2 and F-9 shared a house and two bank accounts," the indictment said. "Between 2015 and 2021, approximately $140,000.00 in donors' money flowed from the SPLC operating account, through the Tech Writers account, and was ultimately deposited into the joint bank accounts held by F-9 and Employee-2. This amounted to approximately 66% of all money ever deposited into their joint bank accounts."

The indictment further alleged that the employee identified as Beirich "then used donors' money to pay the couple's personal living expenses."

Property records reviewed by the New York Post revealed that during the period covered by the indictment, Beirich owned a vacation home in Ellijay, Georgia, in addition to her Montgomery, Alabama, residence.

After over 20 years with the SPLC, Beirich left the organization in December 2019 — around which time she was reportedly earning $190,000 in salary and benefits.

The SPLC and National Alliance did not respond to a request for comment from Blaze News.

William White Williams, National Alliance's 78-year-old chairman, told the Post, "I knew it was that fat, ugly hog Heidi Beirich."

In addition to confirming that the details of the indictment comport with what happened to his organization and expressing uncertainty about the identity of F-9, Williams said, "I think some of those cluckers wanted to get out of the movement, and they went to the SPLC for help. But instead of helping them, [the SPLC] said, 'Why don't you stay in and get paid?'"

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This Oscars Speech Genuinely Shocked Me — in the Best Way | Ep 1318
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This Oscars Speech Genuinely Shocked Me — in the Best Way | Ep 1318

Love will keep us together — if we listen to Jesus



If you’re of a certain age, you probably remember Captain and Tennille — a married duo with a ridiculously catchy hit that topped the charts and won a Grammy. "Love Will Keep Us Together" made forever feel effortless. For the younger crowd, click the link for a glimpse of how music used to sound — and how optimism used to look.

They don’t make songs like that anymore.

There is a forever love — and it really does hold us together. And it’s summed up in three simple words.

And as it turns out, they don’t make love like that either. Love didn’t actually keep Captain and Tennille together. They divorced in 2014 after almost four decades, reminding us that the world’s idea of lasting love is fragile, conditional, and almost always temporary.

So ... happy Valentine’s?

Well, scripture offers something entirely different. There is a forever love — and it really does hold us together. And it’s summed up in three simple words:

Love one another.

That’s it. It sounds easy. But it isn’t — because we are saints who still sin. And when we turn inward, even subtly, we fail to love one another the way Christ commands. So let’s unpack what He actually meant.

Love your neighbor vs. love one another

So how does “love one another” differ from “love your neighbor”?

We tend to think of a neighbor as someone who lives nearby. But Jesus was asked that exact question and answered it with the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). From His explanation, we learn that a neighbor is anyone in need who crosses our path. Loving our neighbor, then, is about how we treat those who are not yet part of God’s family.

But “one another” means something more specific.

Throughout the New Testament, “one another” almost always refers to fellow believers — our brothers and sisters in Christ. Practically speaking, one another is your church family. Which is one of many reasons you need a church family.

What 'love one another' actually looks like

The New Testament gives us roughly 50 instructions for how we are to treat one another — commands that spell out what love looks like in real life. Someone helpfully compiled them all in one place, and it’s worth reading through carefully.

Not surprisingly, the most frequently repeated command in that list is this one: love one another.

And when we wonder how to do that — especially when some people are genuinely hard to love — the answer is found in the rest of the list. Things like:

  • Serve one another
  • Forgive one another
  • Encourage one another
  • Pray for one another

These aren’t abstract ideals. They’re concrete actions. And as we prayerfully consider them, the Holy Spirit may well bring specific people to mind.

Or consider this, from Romans 12:

“Let love be without hypocrisy — by abhorring what is evil, clinging to what is good, being devoted to one another in brotherly love, giving preference to one another in honor ... contributing to the needs of the saints, pursuing hospitality” (Romans 12:9-13).

That’s a lot of practical instruction packed into a few verses. And hospitality, in particular, is an area where most of us fall woefully short.

This kind of love doesn’t stay theoretical. It shows up in schedules, homes, meals, and patience.

Why Jesus called this command 'new'

In John 13:34, Jesus says something that can sound puzzling at first:

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another.”

After all, the people of the Old Testament had always been called to love. The Law itself was built on loving God and loving others. So what was different?

“... even as I have loved you.”

That’s the new part.

Jesus didn’t just tell the disciples what to do — He showed them how to do it. For three years, He walked with them, served them, corrected them, bore with them, and loved them patiently.

And then — immediately after washing their feet, including Judas’ — He issued this new command, on the eve of His betrayal and death.

Love like I do.

The cost — and the witness

This is a staggering standard. And we can only love this way to the extent that we understand how deeply we ourselves are loved.

When we daily enter His presence, absorb His Word, and receive His love, something changes. Only then are we able to love one another in a way that looks unmistakably different to the world.

Which is exactly the point.

“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35).

Before the world sees our love for our neighbors, it must see our love for one another.

The hard reality

Let’s be honest: Some believers are hard to love. Annoying. Irritating. The kind of people you quietly hope won’t sit next to you.

And sometimes, we are those people.

None of us are easy to love all the time. So we depend on the Holy Spirit to produce the fruit that makes us both more loving and more lovable. As Hannah Williamson has observed, the exercise of working out how to love one another is a “gritty training ground for loving the wider world.”

In other words, loving one another helps train us to love our neighbors. But first — the lost must witness our love for one another.

So in obedience to our Lord, let’s draw closer to Him so we can fulfill this beautiful task He’s given us — to love one another better.

A love that will, in fact, keep us all together.

Saint Valentine would be proud.

Don’t Wait Until Valentine’s Day To Romance Your Spouse

How best to celebrate Valentine’s Day as a married couple? Be considerate, be creative, and be grateful — on Feb. 14 and all year long.

When you’re carrying the love alone on Valentine’s Day



In my more cynical moments, I’ve suspected that Valentine’s Day owes its longevity less to romance than to a choreographed alliance between the greeting card, chocolate, and lingerie industries. The day has been thoroughly commercialized, and many men, myself included over the years, have approached it with well-intended but often ham-fisted earnestness.

Still beneath the marketing and the eye rolls, Valentine’s Day has come to serve as a pause for many couples. A moment, however imperfectly executed, to tend the fire of intimacy. Over time, lasting loves tend to look at it less as a performance and more as a reminder, a deliberate effort to say, “You matter to me,” even when the words come out crooked.

Common things are seldom viewed as precious. Only a deep bond leaves one person willing to shoulder what the other no longer can.

For family caregivers, however, Valentine’s Day carries a different weight altogether.

In my writing, I often focus on the broader applications of the lessons caregiving teaches. Sometimes though, it’s important to speak directly to a particular group. This is one of those times.

I’m talking about couples where one person is carrying more than their share of the relationship. Not because of indifference or neglect, but because the other, though still alive, is unable to do so. Dementia, disability, illness, injury, or unrelenting pain has shifted the balance. The love remains, but the weight cannot be borne evenly.

Holidays already do this to families. Christmas and Thanksgiving often force a reckoning with decline and loss. Valentine’s Day pierces a little deeper. It is intimate by design. And when one person must carry the relationship alone, the sadness can feel sharper, more personal, and harder to explain.

Caregiving requires reframing. Not denial or pretending. Not putting on a happy face. Reframing means stepping back far enough to see the relationship writ large, not merely through the narrow lens of present limitations. It means recognizing that the ache itself testifies to something rare.

Common things are seldom viewed as precious. Only an uncommon love produces this kind of sorrow. Only a deep bond leaves one person willing to shoulder what the other no longer can.

Over the years, I’ve offered a suggestion that sometimes catches people off guard. “It is OK for caregivers to buy their own Valentine’s Day card.”

Choose the one your husband or wife would have picked for you if they could. At this point in your life together, you already know the words. You’ve learned them through years of shared history, private humor, ordinary sacrifice, and quiet fidelity. Find the card that says what your spouse would have said, and mail it to yourself. Not as an exercise in self-pity, but as a tribute to the love you share.

I remember the first time I mentioned this on the air many years ago. When I finished, I glanced through the studio glass and saw tears filling my producer’s eyes. He was caught in a hard place, married to someone struggling with alcoholism. It is a chronic impairment, one that quietly turns a spouse into a caregiver, though few people think to call it that. He understood immediately what I meant. Not the card itself, but the recognition of love still present when reciprocity has gone missing.

Fix your spouse's favorite meal, even if you have to help them eat it. Set the table, even if there is only one place setting that feels fully present. Play the song you once danced to or hummed together through the years.

Pining over what is no longer possible can undo a caregiver. But choosing instead to rest in the magnitude of a love that inspires such devotion can steady you. That choice does not eliminate the tears. Nothing in this life will, and that is not a bad thing.

Some things are heartbreaking because they are too beautiful for our hearts to contain this side of heaven. “Sadness” is too small a word for that kind of ache.

Near the end of “The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,” C.S. Lewis gives Lucy a moment of language-defying clarity when she catches a glimpse of Aslan’s country. Struggling to explain what she feels, all she can say is, “It would break your heart.” When someone asks whether she means that it is sad, Lucy answers, “No,” because what she has seen is not tragic at all. It is simply too glorious for her heart to hold.

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This is where scripture speaks with quiet authority. The Christian promise is not that God will make all new things, discarding what was. The promise is that He will make all things new. The love you lived, the faithfulness you showed, the care you gave, none of it is wasted.

So this coming Valentine’s Day, if you find yourself in a hospital room, an assisted-living facility, a nursing home, or at your own kitchen table with only one place setting that feels fully occupied, allow the tears to come. Read the card your spouse would have sent. Eat the meal you would have shared. Listen to the music that once marked your life together.

And set another card on the table, the one you would choose for the person who changed your life so profoundly that you now carry the love entrusted to you when he or she no longer can.

Remember this as well. There is one who loves you both more fiercely than our hearts can understand. He sees every tear. He keeps account of every sacrifice. And He will indeed make all things new.

As scripture reminds us, “A cord of three strands is not quickly broken” (Ecclesiastes 4:12).

When human worth becomes conditional, caregiving becomes impossible



Most people can care for an ill or disabled loved one for a week on compassion alone. Some can do it for a month. A few can make it a year or two.

But when care stretches into decades, compassion stops carrying the load. Emotion fades. Circumstances grind. What remains isn’t how someone feels about a life. What remains is whether they believe that life still matters.

When a culture treats reality as optional, action becomes dangerous and courage looks reckless. Without shared moral ground, bravery itself becomes suspect.

Caregiving strips life down to essentials. It forces a question our culture prefers to keep abstract: Why does this life still have value when it costs so much to sustain it?

C.S. Lewis warned that a society cannot survive if it mocks virtue while demanding its fruits. In “The Abolition of Man,” he described “men without chests” — people trained to think and desire but not to stand. Without a formed moral center, courage collapses. Duty feels suspect. Endurance looks irrational.

Caregivers learn this in a harsh classroom.

You cannot sustain decades of care if human worth is negotiable. You cannot rise day after day to guard the vulnerable if life’s value depends on productivity, independence, improvement, or the absence of suffering. Long care requires stewardship — the conviction that a life has been entrusted to us, not evaluated by us.

I once met a man who told me he was dating a woman in a wheelchair. He spoke with genuine enthusiasm about how good it made him feel to do everything for her. He sounded animated, even proud. He talked at length about his experience, his emotions, the satisfaction he drew from being needed.

He said very little about her.

I asked how long they’d been dating.

“Two weeks,” he said, beaming.

I smiled wearily and told him, “Get back to me in two decades.”

Care that depends on how it makes us feel rarely survives once feeling fades. What endures over decades isn’t the satisfaction of being needed. It’s settled clarity about the worth of the person being cared for, independent of what the caregiver receives in return.

RELATED: Christian, what do you believe when faith stops being theoretical?

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In that man’s excitement, everything centered on his emotions. What was missing was any recognition of her value apart from her condition — or apart from what caring for her did for him.

I didn’t hear, "I’m dating a woman," or "I’ve met someone extraordinary." I heard, again and again, "I’m dating a woman in a wheelchair." The chair became the headline, not the person. He might as well have celebrated the better parking.

She had become useful to him. That’s not the same thing as being valued.

This way of thinking doesn’t stay confined to personal relationships. It scales.

The public reckoning surrounding Daniel Penny exposed it. He acted to protect others he believed were in danger — not because it felt good but because action was required. That kind of clarity now unsettles a society more comfortable with sentiment than obligation.

We claim we want people to intervene, to protect others, to act decisively when danger appears. Then someone does, and we hesitate. We second-guess. We prosecute. We distance ourselves.

We want courage but not conviction.

Lewis wouldn’t be surprised. When a culture treats reality as optional, action becomes dangerous and courage looks reckless. Responsibility suddenly feels threatening. Without shared moral ground, bravery itself becomes suspect.

Francis Schaeffer traced the path forward from that confusion. Once a culture detaches human worth from anything objective, it stops honoring life and starts managing it. Value becomes conditional. And conditions always change.

That logic now shows itself in plain view. When Gov. Kathy Hochul (D-N.Y.) pushes to legalize medical aid in dying in New York, the same fracture appears. We punish those who act as though life must be defended, while elevating leaders who treat life as something to administer and conclude.

Those aren’t separate debates. They’re the same belief, applied differently.

If life holds value only when it functions well, caregiving becomes irrational. If worth depends on autonomy, dependence becomes disposable. If suffering disqualifies, endurance becomes foolish.

And yet caregivers endure.

RELATED: Caregiving decisions begin in the bathroom

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That clarity came back to me during a conversation on my radio show. A man described a brief illness his wife had suffered. The house fell apart. Meals became takeout. Work got missed. Romance disappeared. He sounded exhausted just recalling it.

“What carried you through?” I asked.

He paused. “I guess ... love.”

“How long did this last?” I said.

“Five days.”

“I guess ... love” carried him through five days.

Uncertainty can survive a week. It cannot sustain 14,000 days.

He wasn’t wrong though. Love matters. But love that sustains five days must anchor itself in something deeper to sustain 40 years.

Caregivers may begin with compassion. They endure with conviction.

A life doesn’t become less valuable because it becomes harder to carry.

Caregiving isn’t a special category of moral life. It is a concentrated version of the human condition. What sustains caregivers over time is what sustains courage, faithfulness, and duty anywhere else.

Lewis reminded us that our feelings don’t create value. They respond to it. When we reverse that order, we don’t become more compassionate. We lose our bearings.

Treating human worth as conditional may flatter our emotions. It may even make us feel noble. But it trains us to prize how we feel over the people entrusted to our care.

Over time, that trade leaves us prosecuting men like Daniel Penny while electing leaders like Kathy Hochul.

It might soothe the heart for a moment.

It cannot sustain a society.

Caregiving decisions begin in the bathroom



The holidays have a way of forcing conversations many families would rather postpone.

Every year, as adult children come home and aging parents gather around the table, familiar signs emerge. Someone struggles with stairs. Someone tires more easily. Someone forgets what was once routine. And with those observations come discussions caregivers know well.

The promise.

“I’ll never put Mom or Dad in a nursing home.”

It is often spoken years earlier, in healthier days, and always with sincerity. At the time, it feels like a declaration of love and loyalty. Assisted living seems distant, unnecessary, and meant for other families, not ours.

The problem is not the promise. The problem is that life keeps changing.

Circumstances change. Strength ebbs. What once worked may no longer work safely or wisely.

Over time, what began as devotion can quietly become more than one person can manage alone. Needs grow. Safety becomes a concern. Medical issues multiply. Caregivers often find themselves trying to do, by themselves, what normally requires trained professionals, proper equipment, and constant oversight.

At that point, the issue is no longer love or loyalty. It’s capacity.

That reality came into focus during a recent conversation with a friend. He had offered a small cottage on his property to help a friend relocate aging parents closer to family. The mother now uses a walker. The father has been her caregiver for years, but serious heart problems have begun to limit what he can safely do.

Still the conversation kept circling back to the same refrain: Neither would ever go into assisted living or a nursing home.

Their adult son is caught in the middle, trying desperately to make everyone happy. That is a fool’s task. In my work with fellow caregivers, I call this the caregiver FOG — fear, obligation, and guilt — because it blurs perspective, narrows options, and makes even familiar paths hard to see. No one wins.

It is like driving into actual fog. Visibility drops. Muscles tense. Judgment narrows. We try to peer miles ahead when we can barely see the hood of the car.

Every highway safety officer gives the same advice: Slow down, turn on the low beams, and stop trying to see five miles down the road.

Caregiving requires the same discipline.

My friend asked what I thought.

I suggested we lower the emotional temperature and start with one concrete issue.

Not the promise. Not the arguments. Not the guilt.

Start with the toilet.

Laugh if you like. It sounds abrupt. But it has a way of clarifying reality quickly.

RELATED: When the soul flatlines, call a ‘Code Grace’

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The bathroom is often ground zero for caregiving challenges. If the toilet is not safe and accessible, the demands on the caregiver escalate immediately. Transfers become harder. Fatigue compounds. Falls become more likely.

Once the toilet is addressed, you move outward.

The shower. The bedroom. Doorways, lighting, entrances.

Sometimes modest changes are enough — grab bars, a raised toilet seat, a walk-in shower. None of these are exotic ideas. But determining needs honestly requires facing the limits of strength, balance, and endurance as they exist today, not as we wish they were.

While politicians and toilets often deal with similar subject matter, toilets remain refreshingly honest. They simply reveal what actually works.

When families do this, reality follows. Cost. Time. Budgets weighed against needs. Timelines measured against declining strength. What once felt like a moral standoff becomes a practical evaluation.

Fear, obligation, and guilt begin to loosen their grip. In their place come planning, stewardship, and direction.

This matters because emotional decisions often rush families into choices that create larger — and sometimes far more expensive — problems later. We see this dynamic everywhere, including politics. While politicians and toilets often deal with similar subject matter, toilets remain refreshingly honest. They do not respond to intentions, promises, or speeches. They simply reveal what actually works.

Families do not choose assisted living or nursing homes in the abstract. Toilets always have a seat at the decision table.

RELATED: Christian, what do you believe when faith stops being theoretical?

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Surveys consistently show that most older Americans want to remain in their own homes as they age. That desire is sincere and understandable. But staying home without meaningful accommodations transfers an enormous burden onto the caregiver. The home may remain familiar, but the cost — physical, emotional, and relational — often rises exponentially.

Most promises are made sincerely. They are also made without a full understanding of how disease progresses, how bodies change, or how deeply caregiving reshapes everyone involved. Honoring a promise does not mean freezing it in time. It means continually asking how we can care well, given today’s realities.

Assisted living is not a surrender of care. In many cases, it is an extension of it. It allows families to return to being sons, daughters, and spouses, rather than exhausted amateur medical staff running on guilt and fumes.

We are not obligated to preserve every arrangement exactly as it once was. We are called to steward what has been entrusted to us — finances, time, energy, relationships, and the caregiver as well.

Circumstances change. Strength ebbs. What once worked may no longer work safely or wisely.

Important decisions are best made with clear heads, honest assessments, and wise counsel — not under the duress and resentment that so often accompany them. The days after the holidays are not a verdict. They are an invitation to slow down, think clearly, seek experienced guidance, and choose what is best not just for one individual but for the whole family.

The path forward is rarely determined by emotion, decades-old promises, or guilt.

More often, it is clarified by something far more unassuming — and far more truthful.

The appliance in the nearest bathroom.

What Christmas says to tyrants



As we come to the end of 2025, peace feels hard to find. We are surrounded by news of barbaric terrorism once again — most recently in Australia — erupting in violent displays of prideful, ethnic hatred. We watch regional wars grind on, prolonged by an implacable tyrant bent on self-glorification and the expansion of his own wealth and power.

At such a time, it is good to remember that 2,000 years ago, a child was born for whom there was no room at the inn — a child laid instead in a stable because there was nowhere else to go. Jesus spent his childhood in the simplest of households and his adulthood accounting for every penny, for the life of a carpenter brought little money.

Let us set aside the calamities of the world, if only for a moment, and celebrate the birth of the most extraordinary child ever born — the one who offers eternal love and shelter from the storm.

When Jesus left his home to serve the world, his life became unlike that of the foxes, who have dens, or the birds, who have nests. The Son of Man had no place to lay his head. He rejected the paths of wealth, power, and pride, choosing instead humility, love, and suffering.

His ministry began when he read from the prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.” That good news was revolutionary. God was not, as the Greeks imagined, a distant and uncaring master of abstractions. Nor was he, as many expected, a cold and exacting judge.

The good news was that God is filled with love for humanity — and that was cause for celebration.

So Jesus’ first miracle was not an act of conquest or condemnation, but joy: the transformation of water into wine at a wedding in Cana.

When Jesus chose his companions, he chose people like himself — humble, ordinary, and yet extraordinary. He welcomed women into his ministry, from his mother Mary to Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and many others, treating their womanhood as sacred. As F.R. Maltby observed, Jesus promised his followers three things: that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble. Wherever they went, they brought hope, kindness, and cheer, and when Jesus spoke, his words carried the breath of heaven.

Jesus welcomed everyone he encountered — Jews and Romans, Greeks and Samaritans. He spoke with rabbis, tax collectors, and sinners alike. But he devoted his deepest attention to those who suffered: the blind, the deaf, the lame, the lepers. He touched those no one else would touch and loved those no one else would love.

When disciples of John the Baptist asked who he was, Jesus answered simply: “Tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Luke 7:22).

Even more radical was his teaching. “Love your enemies,” he said. “Bless those who curse you. Do good to those who hate you. Pray for those who mistreat you. As you would have others treat you, so must you treat them.”

And above all: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27).

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Jesus taught through parables, stories anyone could understand. Perhaps the most famous is that of the prodigal son — a young man who squandered his inheritance on gambling, drink, and excess, only to be welcomed home with celebration rather than condemnation. Jesus explained it this way: “If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray?" (Matthew 18:12).

God, in his love, was searching for a lost humanity, and Jesus was the shepherd sent to bring it home.

When the Pharisees asked when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus answered, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). It is entered freely — not by force, not by empire, not by the power of Caesar. There exists a realm where Caesar’s writ does not run, a domain belonging wholly to God.

To bring us into that kingdom of peace, Christ endured the cross — the only place on earth that finally made room for one so profoundly good.

Before he departed, he instructed his apostles to greet every home with a prayer for peace — a peace available only in the kingdom he builds within each of us.

So let us set aside the calamities of the world, if only for a moment, and celebrate the birth of the most extraordinary child ever born — the one who offers eternal love and shelter from the storm.

Merry Christmas.

How Jesus modeled loving confrontation — and why niceness was never the goal



Modern Christianity often treats “niceness” as its highest virtue and “offending” as its worst. The American church is far too often shaped by this creed.

Yet the Gospels paint a far different picture of Jesus. He was loving, compassionate, and merciful, yes — but He was also unapologetically offensive when truth required it. When we avoid speaking hard truths for the sake of being liked or preserving a shallow sense of “peace,” we slip into spiritual complacency, apathy, and lukewarmness — all things Jesus rebuked.

Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy.

The American church has developed an aversion to tackling tough cultural issues that are, at their core, purely biblical. Pastors often retreat in fear of angry emails, pushback from congregants, or worse, the loss of Sunday pew-warmers.

Last year, in my home state of South Dakota, an amendment allowing abortion up to nine months was on the ballot. A pastor of one of the state’s largest churches refused to address it, worried about being labeled the “abortion church.” He chose the path of cowardice instead of defending the innocent unborn.

At its core, this kind of timidity is rooted in the fear of man, disguised as a desire to “attract” people to the gospel. Numbers are prioritized over hearts, popularity over true discipleship.

What most pastors try so hard to avoid today, Jesus hit head on. Jesus offended — and offended often. His offense was never petty but was always purposeful. He never once flinched from boldly proclaiming truth because it might “offend” someone or ruffle feathers. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Jesus set the example: Truth will offend

The Pharisees were Jewish religious leaders of Jesus’ day, esteemed by many and considered high-class elites.

But Jesus didn’t care how lofty and noble these men appeared to be — He saw straight through their transgressing hearts, calling them offensive names like “hypocrites,” “blind fools,” “brood of vipers,” “serpents,” “children of hell,” “whitewashed tombs,” and “greedy and self-indulgent.” Naturally they were offended.

In Matthew 15:1-12 and Matthew 23, the disciples pulled Jesus aside after He offended the Pharisees by exposing their spiritual corruption. Jesus told these perceived religious zealots they honor God with their lips, but their hearts are far from Him.

The disciples questioned, “Do you know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard this saying?” (Matthew 15:12). Jesus’ backbone, as stiff as steel, responded, “Let them alone; they are blind guides” (Matthew 15:14). He didn’t have any time for nonsense.

Jesus didn’t just offend the Pharisees with truth; He offended His disciples too.

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Christ driving money-changers from the Temple (Fine Art Images/Heritage Images via Getty Images)

In John 6, the disciples took offense at Jesus’ teaching on the bread of life. He challenged their religious assumptions and expectations about the Messiah as He proclaimed, “I am the living bread” (John 6:51), and symbolically called them to “eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood” (John 6:53).

Their offense shows their difficulty understanding the spiritual truths that transcended human understanding.

Jesus offends repeatedly all throughout the Gospel stories. When He claims He existed before Abraham as John 8:56-59 says, the Jewish leaders interpreted His teaching as blasphemy, which led them to try to stone Him. When one of the Pharisees invites Him to dinner in Luke 11:37-54, instead of a surface-level conversation about the weather, Jesus didn't waste time and immediately unmasked their hypocrisy, legalism, and spiritual emptiness. In response, they began plotting against Jesus — not repenting and humbling themselves.

Jesus never softened the truth to keep crowds happy. He offended religious leaders, political authorities, and even His own followers when they opposed the kingdom of God. His love was inseparable from honesty.

If we claim to follow Him, we cannot avoid offending people. Jesus reminds us in the Gospel of John that if the world hates us to remember it hated Him first. Faithful discipleship means being willing to confront lies, challenge sin, and speak truth, even when it divides, disrupts, or costs us something — or everything.

Courageous truth-telling is a biblical virtue

The modern church often elevates “niceness” above righteousness and holiness. But Jesus wasn’t crucified for being nice — He was crucified because He spoke truth that offended people even though a week before they spread cloaks and branches, shouting "Hosanna" as He entered Jerusalem.

I recently read through the Gospels, noticing the countless times Jesus “offended” but for good reason. He never offended for the sake of it — but always because it was the outcome of teaching truth with conviction.

In Jesus’ hometown, people were both astonished and “offended” when Jesus taught in their synagogue as Matthew 13:54-57 recounts. Their familiarity led to their unbelief, and Jesus exposed the depth of their spiritual blindness. The people of Nazareth then tried to throw Jesus off a cliff. They were first impressed but then violently offended (Luke 4:16-30).

'Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.'

Imagine congregants trying to throw a modern-day pastor off a cliff because he was too bold? Oh, to have more courageous pastors who righteously offend. Many would cower to the crowds or be taken to the side by their elder board demanding they tone it down, but not Jesus; He continued preaching truth at all costs.

Even up to His crucifixion and death on the cross, Jesus didn’t try to appease or reason with the people. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t use caveats. He was mission-focused on preaching the gospel that saves and leads to repentance. Not once did He try to people-please at the price of watering down sound doctrine.

Niceness avoids conflict, clarity, and offense — but Jesus didn’t. He embodied compassion and mercy, yet He also spoke hard, confrontational truths when necessary.

True Christlikeness means loving people enough to tell them what they need to hear — not what keeps us comfortable or well-liked.

Jesus didn’t offend to be cruel or to win an argument; He offended to reveal truth, to expose bondage, to free hearts, and to reveal God’s kingdom. His offense was holy, rooted in love, and aimed at transforming hearts and minds.

Fear of offending has paralyzed the church

A.W. Tozer wisely said, "Modern religion focuses upon filling churches with people. The true gospel emphasizes filling people with God.”

Many American pastors avoid addressing culturally explosive but biblically clear issues because they don’t want to offend. This silence stems from the fear of man — fear of losing members, donations, reputation, and influence.

The result is lukewarm churches that prioritize optics over obedience. Nothing is “wrong” with the church, but nothing is “right” with it either. People aren’t leaving convicted or repentant. They’re leaving feeling pretty good about themselves as they wallow in complacency.

Why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death.

No boats have been rocked, no hearts have been transformed, and no one has been truly discipled.

But the apostle Paul in Galatians 1:10 makes clear: “If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” You can only serve one master: God or the world.

When leaders refuse to speak on matters like abortion, sexuality, or sin because they might upset people, they are choosing self-preservation over faithfulness.

“If there is a decay of conscience, the pulpit is responsible for it. If the church is degenerate and worldly, the pulpit is responsible for it,” declared Charles Finney, a minister and leader during the Second Great Awakening.

Speaking truth in love: The cost of radical discipleship

John the Baptist offended people when he called them to repentance, criticized Herod for committing adultery, and condemned religious hypocrisy. He lost his head as a result. Paul offended people by preaching the Christ crucified and calling out legalism and man-made traditions. He was decapitated because of it. Elijah offended King Ahab and the prophets of Baal by confronting idolatry. Jezebel threatened to kill him. Amos offended the Israelites in the Northern Kingdom when he spoke out against wealth, corruption, and injustice in Israel. He faced rejection and threats.

These were all offenses they were willing to make because they lived for an audience of one.

So why does the American church continue to sit on the truth? True disciples follow Jesus until death.

Christian Nigerians right now are being slaughtered for their faith by the thousands, yet they continue gathering in droves to worship their King. Meanwhile American churches are sitting on the sidelines too worried about offending people to speak truth, rather than taking up our cross and truly following Christ.

As believers, we must be strong and courageous, with a truth-telling edge. We should not be harsh or abrasive but rather love people enough to say what’s hard.

If Jesus’ ministry provoked offense for the sake of truth, perhaps ours should too.

'Something has gone terribly wrong': Marriage is in 'disastrous' decline — perhaps because of women



The marriage rate has been in decline for decades, dropping from 10.6 per 1,000 people in 1980 to 6.1 in 2023. Last year, American adults were less likely to be married than at nearly any other time since the Census Bureau began logging marital status in 1940, with married couples heading only 47.1% of U.S. households.

The apparent aversion to marriage is bad news for American children, who perform better in school and are far less likely to end up in prison or depressed when raised by married parents, as well as for American adults who tend to see better health outcomes, be happier, and live longer when espoused.

'Devaluing marriage and motherhood has consequences.'

Recent Pew Research Center analysis of survey data from the University of Michigan suggests that this decline may continue — especially if young women's growing resistance to marriage goes unremedied.

Whereas 20 years prior, 80% of 12th graders said that they were most likely to choose marriage in the long run, only 67% of 12th graders polled in 2023 indicated that they want to get married someday. Another 24% said they don't know if they'll get married, up from 16% in 1993.

This drop appears to have been largely driven by shifting views among girls.

In 1993, 83% of girls and 76% of boys said that they wanted to get married. In 2023, only 61% of girls said they wanted to get married — a drop of 22% — while 74% of boys indicated they wanted to ultimately tie the knot.

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Photo by STRINGER/AFP via Getty Images

Pew indicated that there was also a precipitous drop in the percentage of 12th graders who indicated they wanted to have kids if they marry.

Whereas in 1993, 82% said they wanted to have kids, in 2023, only 73% indicated they wanted to welcome new life into this world. Even more dramatically, the percentage of those who said they would "very likely" want to have kids if married dropped from 64% in 1993 to 48% in 2023.

"It's almost like decades of devaluing marriage and motherhood has consequences," wrote the Alabama Policy Institute.

Katy Faust, founder of the children's advocacy group Them Before Us, stated, "More than almost anything else trending, this terrifies me. Because of the nature of our bodies women have historically pursued marriage more. What kind of disastrous, antihuman messaging are young women being flooded with to return these kinds of results?"

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Photo by Lambert/Getty Images

Dr. Brad Wilcox, professor of sociology at the University of Virginia and director of the National Marriage Project, said the anti-nuptial trend among young women and adolescent girls was "disastrous."

Wilcox underscored that this trend reflects a particularly raw deal for women, highlighting a recent YouGov survey of U.S. women, ages 25 to 55, fielded by the Institute for Family Studies and the Wheatley Institute, which found that married women with children are:

  • more likely (19%) to report being "very happy" than both unmarried women with children (13%) and unmarried women without children (10%);
  • more likely (47%) to report that life has felt enjoyable most or all of the time in the past 30 days than both unmarried women with children (40%) and unmarried women without children (34%);
  • less likely (11%) to report being lonely most or all of the time in the past 30 days than both unmarried women with children (23%) and unmarried women without children (20%);
  • more likely (51%) to receive physical affection than both unmarried women with children (29%) and unmarried women without children (17%); and
  • more likely (28%) to report their lives have a clear sense of purpose than both unmarried women with children (25%) and unmarried women without children (16%).

Turning Point USA spokesman Andrew Kolvet said of the Pew report, "Something has gone terribly wrong."

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