Links for the Weekend (2025-03-28)

Each Friday, I’ll post links to 3–5 resources from around the web you may want to check out.

The Paradox of Ease: Why Friction is Good for You

Trevin Wax explains how convenience and getting all we need with ease is not necessarily good for us. And it doesn’t make us happier. He adds reflections on the Christian life coming out of this truth.

What would life be like if we could eliminate all friction? If we could do away with resistance? If fulfilling our desires were as simple as pressing a button, so the gap between what we want and what we experience shrinks to nothing?

“This is the aspiration of the digital,” Barba-Kay argues. It’s “to make the world fully pliant to [our] will.” The goal is to reduce the resistance between desire and fulfillment. And in theory, this should make us happier. If we could eliminate struggle, wouldn’t joy be easier to come by?

It hasn’t worked out that way.

On Failure

To be human is, sadly, to know failure. Alan Noble examines worldly grief and godly grief in the context of failure.

My favorite part of this verse is the phrase “without regret,” because to me this is the whole key to understanding how to avoid worldly grief. Godly grief has a trademark: it doesn’t come with regret. There’s no obsessing over the failure or going over the details again and again to try and fix things in your mind. Godly grief accepts that Christ has forgiven us and that is more than enough. And so we are free to live.

Lenten Sonnets

Andrew Peterson is writing sonnets through Lent this year, so I’m sharing two of them for the poetry section of the links this week: Lenten Sonnet X, 2025 and Lenten Sonnet XVII, 2025.


Note: Washington Presbyterian Church and the editors of this blog do not necessarily endorse all content produced by the individuals or groups referenced here. 

Links for the Weekend (2024-10-04)

Each Friday, I’ll post links to 3–5 resources from around the web you may want to check out.

A Concise Theology of Failure

I appreciated Samuel James’ thoughts connecting the gospel to a theology of failure.

But what if you don’t get the life you wanted? In the digital age, you might as well not even exist. Failure is obscurity, and obscurity is death. In the post-religious imagination, without success, there is no meaning to one’s life. You can go on surviving, but each day that is spent contrary to what you actually want to be doing is a waste. If enough of these days accumulate, your very self disappears.

Growing Wise as We Grow Old

Jon Bloom reflects on a high school reunion and what Psalm 90 teaches us about growing older.

I know this all sounds a bit depressing. But our hope has to be real hope if it’s going to sustain us through real life, not the illusory hope of the mirage-like dreams my classmates and I likely had when we graduated. Real hope is only realized when we come to terms with the dismaying reality we all face in this age. Truly facing it is what forges in us “a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12), the kind of heart that Psalm 90 teaches how to cultivate.

Divine Immutability Explained

Here’s a short video in which Kevin DeYoung explains what it means that God does not change.

On the WPCA Blog This Week

This week on the blog we published an article I wrote called God Gives Us Himself. If you haven’t already seen it, check it out!


Note: Washington Presbyterian Church and the editors of this blog do not necessarily endorse all content produced by the individuals or groups referenced here. 

Thank You, God, for Failure

Thank you, God, for my failures. I do not like to fail, but I trust you use my failures for good in me.

In my failure, I realize how much I need help. So often I fail because I barrel into a task or project on my own. Thank you for reminding me of my limitations and for providing every droplet of assistance I need.

In my failure, I see my vulnerability and sin. I recognize my selfish choices, my blind spots, and the categories I didn’t even know existed. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes and for forgiving me as your child.

In my failure, I recognize the opportunity to grow. In my pride I often think I am wise and strong. Thank you for the chance to continue being human, to learn about your world and to gain abilities in it.

In my failure, I see the opportunity to identify with others who fail. Though I am prone to push other people away by boasting in my success, you are equipping me to help and talk with those who struggle. Thank you for your presence with me—and in me—that allows me to be a presence to others.

In my failure, I see an accurate picture of myself. No one fails at everything, but we hit the ground more often than the bullseye. Thank you for Jesus, who always hit the mark. Thank you for the gracious exchange of the gospel, in which he took my sin and gave me his righteousness. Thank you that every failure is a reminder of your patient mercy toward your children.

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