When Joy No Longer Feels Borrowed

 

Living Without Bracing for Loss

A Contemplation on Psalm 16:11 and Matthew 6:34

There is a moment in healing
when joy appears
and the body does not immediately flinch.

Not because suffering has been erased.
Not because loss has been rewritten.
But because the soul is no longer bracing.

After long-term grief, joy often feels provisional.
Something on loan.
Something to enjoy carefully, quietly,
with one eye already turned toward its ending.

So when joy arrives, it is often accompanied by restraint.

Enjoy, but do not settle.
Receive, but do not relax.
Be grateful, but stay alert.

The soul stays half-standing.

This posture is understandable.
It is how the soul protected itself
when loss came without warning.

But there comes a time
when what once protected life
begins to limit it.

---

Why Joy Feels Dangerous After Loss

Grief teaches the nervous system to anticipate reversal.

What rises will fall.
What is given will be taken.
What is loved will be lost.

So joy is handled cautiously.
Measured.
Internally negotiated.

Not because joy is unwanted,
but because it feels unsafe to inhabit fully.

The soul learns to enjoy
while staying ready to move.

This is not ingratitude.
It is vigilance carried forward.

---

Scripture Does Not Speak of Joy as Something on Loan

It speaks of joy as something rooted.

“In Your presence there is fullness of joy.”
(Psalm 16:11)

Fullness does not mean permanence of circumstance.
It means sufficiency of presence.

Joy here is not dependent on outcome.
It is anchored in nearness.

Jesus names the same movement when He says,

“Do not worry about tomorrow.”
(Matthew 6:34)

This is not denial of loss.
It is release from anticipatory grief.

Joy is not borrowed from the future.
It is received in the present.

---

When the Body Stops Counting the Cost

There is a subtle shift
when joy no longer feels borrowed.

The body stops scanning for threat.
The moment is allowed to remain.

Laughter is not followed by apology.
Contentment is not explained away.
Peace is not interrogated.

Joy becomes something the soul inhabits
rather than something it manages.

This does not mean
the memory of loss disappears.

It means loss
no longer governs the present moment.

---

Living Without Bracing

To live without bracing
is not to forget grief.

It is to trust
that grief does not get
the first word over every experience.

Bracing says,
This will hurt later.

Presence says,
This is here now.

Scripture consistently invites this posture.

“This is the day that the Lord has made.”

Not the safe day.
Not the predictable day.
This day.

Joy that is no longer borrowed
is joy that no longer lives under threat.

---

Theological Integration

Rest ended striving.
Expansion restored desire.
Receiving allowed nourishment.

Joy now asks for something quieter.

Permission to stay.

This, too, is permission.

Joy that is not borrowed
does not promise permanence.
It trusts presence.

It does not deny loss.
It does not let loss speak first.

To live without bracing
is to believe that God is present
not only in survival,
but in delight.

And when joy no longer feels borrowed,
it is because the soul has learned
that goodness does not require a defense.

It may simply be received.

---

A Closing Reflection

Where do you notice yourself enjoying
while quietly preparing for loss?

What would it feel like
to let joy remain
without bracing?

Faith in Motion: The Train Series

 

Session Four: Shared Compartments

Closeness Without Ownership

As the journey continues, space narrows.

Compartments replace open seating. Doors slide shut. What was once casual proximity becomes shared enclosure. You are no longer simply beside others. You are with them.

Shared compartments reveal something important. Closeness does not automatically create intimacy. And intimacy does not require possession.

On a train, a compartment is shared for a time. You place your bag beneath the seat. You negotiate light and silence. You learn where your body ends and another begins. The space belongs to everyone and to no one.

This is a rare kind of closeness.

Many of us learned intimacy through intensity. Through urgency. Through the blurring of edges. We were taught that if something mattered, it would consume us. But shared compartments offer a different formation.

Here, closeness is bounded. You are present without being absorbed. You are seen without being claimed.

Scripture honors this kind of nearness.

Jesus shared meals, roads, and rooms with others, but He did not surrender His identity to proximity. He withdrew when needed. He remained when love required it. He knew the difference between communion and collapse.

Shared compartments teach us how to practice that difference.

In close quarters, we discover our habits. Do we shrink to avoid tension? Do we overextend to keep peace? Do we control the atmosphere so we do not have to feel exposed?

The compartment makes these patterns visible.

This is not about self protection. It is about self possession. You are allowed to take up space without explanation. You are allowed to be quiet without apology. You are allowed to notice another without managing their comfort.

Closeness becomes holy when it is mutual and free.

The train moves while the compartment holds. You share time, air, and stillness. You do not promise permanence. You do not force meaning. You simply remain present for the duration you are given.

There is grace in that.

Some relationships in our lives are seasonal. They are not meant to be carried forward forever, but they are meant to be honored while they last. Shared compartments teach us how to be faithful without binding.

This kind of presence resists fear. It trusts that love does not need to grip in order to be real.

You can share space without surrendering your center.
You can be close without losing your name.
You can allow connection without demanding outcome.

That is mature love.

The compartment will open again. The train will continue. And you will carry forward not possession, but clarity.

---

Reflection Questions

1. Where in my life am I experiencing closeness that feels both meaningful and bounded?

2. How do I typically respond to intimacy in close quarters, by shrinking, managing, or overgiving?

3. What would it look like to remain fully myself while allowing genuine nearness?

4. How do I discern the difference between communion and enmeshment?

5. What relationships am I being invited to honor for a season without trying to make them permanent?

Faith in Motion: The Train Series

 

Session Three: The Sleeper Car

Rest While the Journey Continues

Not every part of the journey asks for alertness.

Eventually, night falls. Lights dim. Voices soften. The movement of the train becomes a steady rhythm rather than a signal to act. This is where the sleeper car enters the story.

The sleeper car carries a quiet truth we often resist. You can rest without stopping. You can sleep without losing ground. You can release vigilance and still be carried forward.

This is difficult for many of us to trust.

We have learned to associate rest with risk. If we stop paying attention, something might fall apart. If we close our eyes, we might miss what matters. If we rest, we might lose momentum.

But the train does not require your consciousness to keep moving.

Scripture speaks often of this kind of rest. Jesus tells a parable about seed scattered on the ground that grows while the farmer sleeps. The growth happens without management. The life unfolds without oversight.

The sleeper car teaches the same lesson. Progress does not depend on your constant effort.

Rest here is not escape. It is consent.

In the sleeper car, you lie down not because the journey is over, but because you trust the rails beneath you. You trust the direction has already been set. You trust that movement does not require your strain.

This kind of rest is different from collapse. Collapse is what happens when exhaustion finally wins. Rest is what happens when trust replaces control.

Some of us were praised for endurance long before we were taught how to rest. We learned how to stay awake through pain, grief, responsibility, and loss. We learned to remain vigilant because no one else would carry us.

The sleeper car gently interrupts that pattern.

Here, you are not asked to disappear. You are not asked to numb yourself. You are simply invited to stop proving that you are needed for the journey to continue.

The train rocks. The night passes. Borders are crossed while you sleep.

You wake up not to chaos, but to arrival closer than before.

This is holy rest. Not rest that retreats from life, but rest that trusts God to work beyond your awareness.

Jesus slept in the boat during a storm. Not because the storm was small, but because fear did not determine His authority. His rest was not denial. It was assurance.

The sleeper car is where we learn that same assurance in smaller, quieter ways.

You are allowed to sleep.
You are allowed to stop monitoring outcomes.
You are allowed to trust that faithfulness does not require exhaustion.

Some growth only happens when you are no longer watching.

And when you wake, the journey has not stalled.

It has carried you forward.

---

Reflection Questions

1. Where in my life am I resisting rest because I fear losing control or momentum?

2. What does my body need in this season in order to trust rest rather than collapse?

3. How have I learned to equate vigilance with faithfulness?

4. What might it look like to consent to being carried rather than managing the journey?

5. Where might God be working while I sleep, release, or stop striving?

Faith in Motion: The Train Series

 

Session Two: Assigned Seats

Learning To Stay With What We Are Given 

Eventually, the train arrives.

Waiting gives way to movement, not with fanfare, but with direction. Doors open. Passengers board. Tickets are checked. And then comes a detail we rarely linger over.

Assigned seats.

On a train, you do not usually choose who sits beside you. You do not redesign the car. You do not negotiate proximity. You are given a place, and often, a person.

This is where the journey begins to shape us.

Assigned seating confronts a fantasy many of us carry about spiritual growth. We imagine that once movement comes, we will feel more control. More choice. More agency. But the train teaches a different lesson. Progress does not mean autonomy. It means presence within limits.

Scripture is honest about this.

Jesus does not invite people into abstract belief systems. He invites them into proximity. Crowds press in. Disciples follow. Lives intersect in ways no one curated. Growth happens not through ideal arrangements, but through shared space.

Assigned seats teach us how to remain ourselves without managing the environment.

When you sit beside someone you did not choose, a quiet work begins. You notice your body. Your impulses. Your desire either to disappear or dominate. Proximity reveals where you are still reactive and where you have learned restraint.

This is not about endurance for endurance’s sake. It is about consent. You are not required to merge. You are not required to perform intimacy. But you are asked to remain human.

On a train, there is closeness without ownership. Elbows brush. Knees adjust. Silence is shared. You learn how to take up space without taking over space.

That is spiritual formation.

Many of us come from seasons where proximity was unsafe. Where closeness meant demand. Where being seen meant being consumed. Assigned seats can stir old fears. But the train offers a different possibility.

You can remain seated without shrinking.
You can remain present without being possessed.
You can share space without surrendering selfhood.

This kind of presence requires maturity. It asks us to stop narrating our worth through accommodation or resistance. It invites us to practice groundedness instead.

Jesus models this again and again. He eats with those who misunderstand Him. He walks with disciples who disappoint Him. He remains present without overexplaining Himself.

Assigned seating is not punishment. It is practice.

It is where we learn how to be with others without losing ourselves.
It is where we discover which boundaries are walls and which are simply clarity.
It is where love becomes quieter and more honest.

The train moves whether the seating is comfortable or not. But who you become during the movement depends on how you inhabit the space you are given.

Some journeys do not ask you to relocate. They ask you to remain.

And remaining, done well, is holy work.

---

Reflection Questions

1. Where in my life am I being asked to stay present with people or situations I did not choose?

2. What reactions surface in me when proximity feels uncomfortable or inconvenient?

3. How do I typically protect myself in close quarters, through withdrawal, over-accommodation, or control?

4. What would it look like to remain fully myself without managing the other person?

5. How might this season be teaching me the difference between intimacy and possession?

Faith in Motion: The Train Series

The Train Series explores faith as steady movement rather than dramatic change. These reflections consider platforms, shared compartments, tunnels, and arrival as sacred spaces where discernment deepens, rest becomes possible, and identity remains intact. 

Written for those who are no longer trying to escape their lives, this series invites readers to notice how God carries us forward quietly, faithfully, and without urgency.

Session One: The Platform

When Waiting Is Still Movement

There are seasons when life does not ask us to leave, but it does not allow us to stay the same.

We find ourselves standing on a platform.

The platform is not the destination.
But it is not nothing.

Trains arrive here and depart from here, yet the platform itself does not move. Still, something is happening. 

Timetables shift. 
Bodies orient. 
Eyes scan the horizon. 
Luggage is gathered not because departure is guaranteed, but because readiness matters.

Scripture understands this kind of waiting.

Habakkuk writes, “Though the vision tarries, wait for it. It will surely come; it will not delay.” This waiting is not passive. It is attentive. It is anchored. It is faithful without being frantic.

The platform teaches us that waiting can be a form of obedience.

This kind of waiting is different from stagnation. Stagnation feels closed and heavy. Platform waiting feels quiet, but awake. You are not asleep to your life. You are simply not forcing it forward.

Many of us were taught that faith always looks like motion. Leaving. Launching. Deciding. Declaring. But Scripture is full of people who were faithful without moving an inch.

• Israel waited at the edge of the sea.

• Mary waited after the angel spoke.

• The disciples waited in an upper room with no instructions beyond stay.

The platform is where hope learns to breathe without demanding certainty.

You do not know which train is yours yet.
You do not know who will be seated beside you.
You do not know how long the journey will take.

But you are present.

And presence is not neutral. Presence shapes what you notice, what you carry, and what you refuse to leave behind.

Waiting on a platform requires restraint. It asks you not to board the wrong train simply because it is loud, fast, or already open. It asks you to trust that movement will come in its proper time, and that premature motion often costs more than patience.

Some seasons of faith are not about choosing direction. They are about refusing panic while direction clarifies.

The platform is where discernment sharpens.
Where longing is named without being indulged.
Where readiness grows without performance.

Nothing looks impressive here. No one applauds waiting. But Scripture insists that God often does His most careful work in places where nothing appears to be happening.

If you are on a platform right now, you are not behind.

You are oriented.
You are awake.
You are becoming someone who can move without losing yourself.

And when the train arrives, you will not have to rush.

You will already be standing.

---

Reflection Questions

1. Where in my life am I standing between what was and what will be, neither leaving nor arriving yet fully present?

2. What does waiting feel like in my body right now, and how is that different from stagnation or avoidance?

3. What trains am I tempted to board simply because they are loud, familiar, or immediately available?

4. What am I being asked to gather in this season, not to hurry forward, but to be ready when movement comes?

5. How might patience in this season be forming discernment rather than delaying it?

The Door Series: Thresholds of Faith

 

Session 9: The Door of Incarnation

Based on Luke 2:1–7 and John 1:14

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I. A Door Opened in the Ordinary

The coming of Christ does not begin with spectacle.
It begins with census forms and travel.
With fatigue and inconvenience.
With a young couple displaced from home.

“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born.” (Luke 2:6)

The door through which God enters the world is not impressive.
It is ordinary.
It is human.
It is small.

Christmas reveals a door God opens quietly.
Not into power, but into flesh.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“God became man not to impress us with His power, but to walk with us in our weakness.”

The threshold of Christmas is humility.

---

II. No Room and an Open Heart

Luke tells us there was no guest room available.

“She wrapped Him in cloths and placed Him in a manger.” (Luke 2:7)

The closed doors of Bethlehem did not stop God’s arrival.
They shaped it.

God does not wait for ideal conditions.
He enters where there is room enough, not perfection.

Thomas Merton wrote,

“Christ is born wherever men and women are willing to make room for Him.”

The door of incarnation opens wherever hearts are available.

---

III. God Crossing the Threshold

John names the mystery plainly.

“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” (John 1:14)

God crosses the ultimate threshold.
From eternity into time.
From glory into vulnerability.
From heaven into human skin.

This is not God shouting from outside.
This is God stepping inside.

Dallas Willard wrote,

“God’s way of overcoming evil is not force, but presence.”

Christmas is the door through which presence enters the world.

---

IV. A Door That Changes Everything

The incarnation redefines where God is found.
Not only in temples.
Not only in power.
But in bodies.
In breath.
In the everyday.

The manger becomes a doorway.
From fear to hope.
From distance to nearness.
From waiting to fulfillment.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“In Jesus, God reveals that closeness is His deepest desire.”

The door of incarnation stays open.

---

V. The Invitation

Christmas invites us to receive God not as an idea, but as presence.
Not as a solution, but as companionship.

“Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you.” (Luke 2:11)

The door of incarnation asks only one thing.
Room.

---

Practicing the Door of Incarnation This Christmas

1. Make room intentionally.
   Create space for quiet presence amid the season’s noise.

2. Welcome God into the ordinary.
   Notice His nearness in simple moments.

3. Release the need for perfection.
   Trust that God enters imperfect spaces.

4. Receive Emmanuel personally.
   Pray,
   “Lord, dwell with me here.”

5. Pray with gratitude.

   “Jesus, thank You for crossing the threshold into our world.
   Make Your home in my life.
   Teach me to recognize Your presence in the ordinary.
   Amen.”

The Door Series: Thresholds of Faith

 

Session 8: The Door That Sends Us Out

Based on Acts 1:8 and Acts 13:2–4

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I. The Door That Opens Away From Comfort

Not all doors lead inward.
Some doors send us outward.

Jesus tells His disciples to wait, but not forever.

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you,
and you will be My witnesses.” (Acts 1:8)

The door of sending opens once preparation is complete.
It moves us away from familiarity and into mission.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“The spiritual life does not remove us from the world,
but sends us into it with open eyes.”

This door opens toward responsibility.

---

II. Being Sent Without Full Control

In Acts 13, the church is praying and fasting.

“Set apart for Me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” (Acts 13:2)

The call comes in community.
The direction comes from the Spirit.
The details remain unclear.

They are sent without a map.

Thomas Merton wrote,

“A vocation is not discovered by self-analysis, but by obedience.”

The door that sends us out rarely provides full certainty.

---

III. Leaving What Is Known

Scripture simply says,

“So they were sent on their way by the Holy Spirit.” (Acts 13:4)

No speeches.
No assurances of safety.
Only obedience.

The door of sending asks us to trust God beyond familiar boundaries.

Dallas Willard wrote,

“God’s guidance often comes in the form of a direction, not a destination.”

Faith steps forward without seeing the whole path.

---

IV. Being Sent With God’s Presence

The door of sending does not open into abandonment.
It opens into partnership.

Jesus promised,

“I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20)

Presence travels with obedience.
God does not send without accompanying.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“Wherever we go, God is already there, waiting to meet us.”

The door sends us into places where God is already at work.

---

V. The Invitation

The door that sends us out completes the journey of faith.
Protection.
Invitation.
Waiting.
Return.
Narrowing.
Belonging.
And now, sending.

“Here am I. Send me.” (Isaiah 6:8)

Faith matures when we step through the door that leads beyond ourselves.

---

Practicing the Door of Sending This Week

1. Notice where you feel nudged outward.
   Pay attention to invitations that stretch you.

2. Release the need for certainty.
   Pray,
   “Lord, I will go where You send.”

3. Move in small obedience.
   Take one faithful step rather than waiting for full clarity.

4. Stay rooted in presence.
   Remember that God goes with you.

5. Pray for availability.

   “Lord, I offer myself to Your sending.
   Lead me where You are already at work.
   Give me courage to go.”

The Door Series: Thresholds of Faith

 

Session 7: The Door That Requires Waiting

Based on Habakkuk 2:1–3

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I. Standing at the Door Without Movement

Habakkuk positions himself deliberately.

“I will stand at my watch and station myself on the ramparts.” (Habakkuk 2:1)

He does not walk away.
He does not force an answer.
He stations himself at the threshold.

Waiting here is not indecision.
It is attentiveness.
It is the choice to remain present at a door that has not yet opened.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“Waiting patiently in expectation is the foundation of the spiritual life.”

Some doors require staying rather than entering or leaving.

---

II. The Vision That Comes Slowly

God answers Habakkuk, but not with urgency.

“For the revelation awaits an appointed time.
Though it linger, wait for it.” (Habakkuk 2:3)

Waiting is woven into the promise.
The delay is not denial.
The timing is not accidental.

God does not rush thresholds.
He shapes the heart that waits at them.

Thomas Merton wrote,

“We are not meant to control the pace of grace, but to consent to it.”

The door that requires waiting teaches surrender of control.

---

III. Remaining Without Resolution

Habakkuk does not receive full explanation.
He receives assurance.

“It will certainly come and will not delay.” (Habakkuk 2:3)

Faith here rests not in clarity, but in trust.
Waiting becomes the place where confidence in God’s character deepens.

Dallas Willard wrote,

“Faith is confidence in the reliability of God when outcomes remain unseen.”

Some doors open only after trust has been formed.

---

IV. Waiting as Formation

Standing at a closed door reshapes our desires.
It clarifies motives.
It strips away impatience.

Waiting is not wasted time.
It is preparatory ground.

Henri Nouwen wrote,

“The great task of waiting is to trust that God is doing something far more than we can imagine.”

The door that requires waiting forms humility.

---

V. The Invitation

This door invites endurance rather than action.
It asks us to stay faithful without progress.

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.” (Psalm 37:7)

Waiting is not passive faith.
It is practiced trust.

---

Practicing Faithful Waiting This Week

1. Name what you are waiting for.
   Speak it honestly before God.

2. Resist premature action.
   Practice staying rather than forcing movement.

3. Anchor yourself daily.
   Begin with the prayer,
   “Lord, I will stand and wait.”

4. Notice inner resistance.
   Pay attention to impatience or fear that surfaces.

5. Pray for steadiness.

   “Lord, teach me to wait without losing trust.
   Shape my heart while I stand at this door.”

Jesus Is Not a Brand

“Doth that man love his Lord who would be willing to see Jesus wearing a crown of thorns, while for himself he craves a chaplet of laurel? Shall Jesus ascend to his throne by the cross, and do we expect to be carried there on the shoulders of applauding crowds? Be not so vain in your imagination. Count you the cost, if you are not willing to bear Christ’s cross, go away to your farm and to your merchandise, and make the most of them; only let me whisper this in your ear, ‘What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?’” – Charles Haddon Spurgeon

Spurgeon preached those words more than 100 years ago as a warning to his Christian peers and their adoption of early modernism, which he rightly saw as a threat to biblical Christianity.

In 2013, no one disagrees that modernism has infected the church but just how far away have we moved from the historical positions of Christianity?

Last year the Wall Street Journal published an article about a bar in Brooklyn in which two worship services are held – reminders to tip the bartender are heard alongside entreaties to love thy neighbor and praise the Lord.

According to Jay Bakker, the son of televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, “The bar is common ground. People can come in and have a beer and have a drink, and I think for a lot of people that is comforting because church has been a painful place for them.”

“My whole life I have gone to Catholic church and hated it because it was boring and miserable,” said Will Zucconi, 27, who has been attending the services for a year. “I like to drink and I like to go to church, and if I can do both at the same time then that’s cool.”

As we make our way into the 21st century, there never has been a time in Christian history when the name of Jesus Christ so frequently is mentioned and the content of His life and teaching so frequently ignored.

The church by and large has become marketers of Jesus – trying to sell His message of love while omitting His call to sacrifice and obedience. After all, who does not want to serve a deity that loves them unconditionally and expects nothing in return?

If the gospel were proclaimed without compromise, the roster of card-carrying Christians in this country would shrink. It is no wonder that the most popular preacher today is televangelist Joel Osteen. He “pastors” the largest church in America, Lakewood Church in Houston, Texas, which boasts an average weekend attendance of more than 43,000; almost double that of its nearest competitor.

Southern View Chapel offers its take on Osteen's ministry and message, “Osteen has no theological training and it is obvious from his books, sermons and interviews on television that he has little knowledge of the Scripture. Nevertheless, he has caught an unprecedented wave of popularity and could clearly claim the title as the most admired pastor in America. 

This popularity of course is due largely to his message. Eschewing anything controversial or negative (such as hell or judgment or even sin), Osteen proclaims a message of pure positivism. The title of his first book, “Your Best Life Now”, summarizes what Osteen has to offer his many audiences. If we will follow certain principles or steps (seven to be exact), so the storyline goes, our existence will be happy, healthy, and blessed with everything that would make this life wonderful.”

English Christian Evangelist Leonard Ravenhill once said, “Christianity is not measured in success but in sacrifice.” This truism is lost in today’s climate because the church no longer believes the gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is no clarion call to the body of Christ that we are crucified to the world and the world to us. Somewhere along the way, the church became marketers of Jesus Christ instead of imitators.

This should not surprise us. The Apostle Paul warned his protégée Timothy of this very thing, “For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine, but according to their own desires, because they have itching ears, they will heap up for themselves teachers; and they will turn their ears away from the truth, and be turned aside to fables” (2 Timothy 4:3-4).

We need to come to the place where our lives mirror what the Apostle Paul said in Philippians 3:10, “that I may know Him [Jesus] and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death.” This is our charter as believers. As followers of Jesus Christ, we need to be ready to obey Christ as unconditionally as the first disciples. That is our calling, not barroom worship services.

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"If anyone teaches otherwise and does not consent to wholesome words, even the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the doctrine which accords with godliness, he is proud, knowing nothing, but is obsessed with disputes and arguments over words, from which come envy, strife, reviling, evil suspicions, useless wranglings of men of corrupt minds and destitute of the truth, who suppose that godliness is a means of gain. From such withdraw yourself." - Apostle Paul (1 Timothy 6:3-5)