SuperShamrock

MULLIN: “ACA is unaffordable.” BERNIE SANDERS: “You’re attacking me.” MULLIN: “If I cared about your opinion, I would ask you, but I don’t—you’re part of the problem—because you’ve been sitting here longer than I’ve even been alive!” 🔥🔥🔥

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SuperShamrock @supershamrock

6 months ago

Office | 2,400 SqFt - https://t.co/NiYYz5UOYx https://t.co/sf91XKOeNC #Commercialrealestate

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The Dayton Dane

@TheDaytonDane

Just a four-legged fan of all things Dayton has to offer!

🚀 Unternehmerin | 📈 Investorin | Let’s grow – smart, klar & unabhängig.

supershamrock retweeted

The Biblical Man

@Biblicalman

6 months ago

A man said "I accept Jesus Christ" on his deathbed. The church asked if he really meant it. I need to ask you something. When did we become the gatekeepers of grace? I've watched Christians dissect Scott Adams' final words like prosecutors. They parsed his phrases. They weighed his tone. They measured his faith against some invisible scale and found it wanting. "That doesn't sound like surrender," they said. "That sounds like a man hedging his bets." And I understand the instinct. I do. But there's a verse that haunts me. Not because it's obscure—because it's too simple. "Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." (Romans 10:13) Whosoever. Not "whosoever truly believes in their heart of hearts." Not "whosoever demonstrates sufficient sincerity." Not "whosoever calls early enough in life that we trust their motives." Whosoever. The moment we add prerequisites to that promise, we've traded the Gospel for religion. We've smuggled works back in through the side door labeled "authentic faith." I know what some of you are thinking. But he admitted he wasn't a believer. He talked about "risk and reward." He said he hoped he'd "qualify." Yes. He did. And those words make us uncomfortable. They don't sound like the confident declarations we want from converts. They sound uncertain. Calculating. Human. But here's what I need you to hear: The thief on the cross didn't have time to develop mature theology either. He was a criminal. Hours from death. He looked at Jesus and said, "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom." That's it. No profession of belief in the resurrection. No renunciation of his former life. No evidence of transformed character. Just a desperate man, reaching for a hand he wasn't sure would take his. And Jesus said, "Today you will be with me in paradise." We have a problem, and it's not Scott Adams. It's us. We've internalized a law that God never gave us. A natural sense of fairness that says late arrivals should get less. That deathbed conversions are suspicious. That the math should somehow work out—more faith, more years, more sacrifice equals more standing before God. Jesus told a parable about this. We skip over it because it offends us. A landowner hired workers throughout the day. Some came at dawn. Some at noon. Some showed up with one hour left. At the end, he paid them all the same. The early workers were furious. "These who were hired last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day." (Matthew 20:12) And the landowner replied: "I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?" There it is. The scandal of grace is that it feels unfair. A man who mocked God for sixty years gets the same inheritance as the saint who served since childhood. A skeptic who hedged his bets at the last breath stands in the same kingdom as the martyr who gave everything. And something in us recoils. That's not grace rejecting us. That's us rejecting grace. Let me tell you what I see when Christians interrogate a dead man's faith. I see the older brother standing outside the party, refusing to go in. The prodigal came home reeking of pig filth and poor decisions. The father ran to him. Threw a robe on his back. Killed the fattened calf. And the older brother? "Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!" (Luke 15:29-30) He couldn't celebrate the return because he was too busy auditing the journey. Sound familiar? Here's the truth we don't want to face: We can't see hearts. We can only see words. And the words Scott Adams spoke were: "I accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior." Were they perfect? No. Were they confident? No. Were they the words we would have scripted? No. But they were the words. And the God who receives those words is not checking for tone. He's not running sentiment analysis. He's not grading on a curve. He's looking for open hands. Paul wrote something that lands differently now: "Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand." (Romans 14:4) Scott Adams was not our servant to judge. He answered to his own Master. And the Lord is able—able—to make him stand. That's not my promise. That's Scripture's promise. The question is whether we'll submit to it. I know why we do this. I know why we parse and weigh and question. Because if grace is really this free, then we didn't earn our place either. If the deathbed convert gets in, then our decades of service weren't the price of admission. They were the privilege of knowing Him longer. And that reframes everything. It means the faith we've built isn't a resume. It's a relationship. It means our years weren't buying something. They were receiving something. It means we were never the workers earning a wage. We were always the prodigals coming home. So did Scott Adams get saved? I don't know. But I know what the Scripture says. Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. I know what Jesus promised the thief who had nothing to offer but a desperate plea. I know what the father did when his son came crawling home with a rehearsed speech that never even got finished. And I know what the landowner said to the workers who were angry that grace didn't do math the way they wanted. "Are you envious because I am generous?" The gate is narrow, but it's not locked. The standard is high, but it's not ours to enforce. The Judge is holy, but He is also the one who ran to meet the prodigal while he was still a long way off. Stop auditing the dead. Start marveling at the grace that let you in. "Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." Whosoever. Even him. Even you. What saith the Scriptures? That's the only question that matters.

Biblicalman's tweet photo. A man said "I accept Jesus Christ" on his deathbed.

The church asked if he really meant it.

I need to ask you something.

When did we become the gatekeepers of grace?

I've watched Christians dissect Scott Adams' final words like prosecutors.

They parsed his phrases. They weighed his tone. They measured his faith against some invisible scale and found it wanting.

"That doesn't sound like surrender," they said. "That sounds like a man hedging his bets."

And I understand the instinct. I do.

But there's a verse that haunts me. Not because it's obscure—because it's too simple.

"Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved."
(Romans 10:13)

Whosoever.

Not "whosoever truly believes in their heart of hearts." Not "whosoever demonstrates sufficient sincerity." Not "whosoever calls early enough in life that we trust their
motives."

Whosoever.

The moment we add prerequisites to that promise, we've traded the Gospel for religion.

We've smuggled works back in through the side door labeled "authentic faith."

I know what some of you are thinking.

But he admitted he wasn't a believer.
He talked about "risk and reward."
He said he hoped he'd "qualify."

Yes. He did.

And those words make us uncomfortable. They don't sound like the confident declarations we want from converts. They sound uncertain. Calculating. Human.

But here's what I need you to hear:

The thief on the cross didn't have time to develop mature theology either.

He was a criminal. Hours from death. He looked at Jesus and said, "Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

That's it.

No profession of belief in the resurrection. No renunciation of his former life. No evidence of transformed character.

Just a desperate man, reaching for a hand he wasn't sure would take his.

And Jesus said, "Today you will be with me in paradise."

We have a problem, and it's not Scott Adams.

It's us.

We've internalized a law that God never gave us. A natural sense of fairness that says late arrivals should get less. That deathbed conversions are suspicious. That the math
should somehow work out—more faith, more years, more sacrifice equals more standing before God.

Jesus told a parable about this.

We skip over it because it offends us.

A landowner hired workers throughout the day. Some came at dawn. Some at noon. Some showed up with one hour left.

At the end, he paid them all the same.

The early workers were furious.

"These who were hired last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day."
(Matthew 20:12)

And the landowner replied:

"I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn't you agree to work for a denarius? Don't I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

There it is.

The scandal of grace is that it feels unfair.

A man who mocked God for sixty years gets the same inheritance as the saint who served since childhood. A skeptic who hedged his bets at the last breath stands in the same kingdom as the martyr who gave everything.

And something in us recoils.

That's not grace rejecting us.

That's us rejecting grace.

Let me tell you what I see when Christians interrogate a dead man's faith.

I see the older brother standing outside the party, refusing to go in.

The prodigal came home reeking of pig filth and poor decisions. The father ran to him. Threw a robe on his back. Killed the fattened calf.

And the older brother?

"Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!"
(Luke 15:29-30)

He couldn't celebrate the return because he was too busy auditing the journey.

Sound familiar?

Here's the truth we don't want to face:

We can't see hearts. We can only see words.

And the words Scott Adams spoke were: "I accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior."

Were they perfect? No.
Were they confident? No.
Were they the words we would have scripted? No.

But they were the words.

And the God who receives those words is not checking for tone. He's not running sentiment analysis. He's not grading on a curve.

He's looking for open hands.

Paul wrote something that lands differently now:

"Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand."
(Romans 14:4)

Scott Adams was not our servant to judge. He answered to his own Master.

And the Lord is able—able—to make him stand.

That's not my promise. That's Scripture's promise.

The question is whether we'll submit to it.

I know why we do this.

I know why we parse and weigh and question.

Because if grace is really this free, then we didn't earn our place either.

If the deathbed convert gets in, then our decades of service weren't the price of admission. They were the privilege of knowing Him longer.

And that reframes everything.

It means the faith we've built isn't a resume. It's a relationship.

It means our years weren't buying something. They were receiving something.

It means we were never the workers earning a wage.

We were always the prodigals coming home.

So did Scott Adams get saved?

I don't know.

But I know what the Scripture says.

Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.

I know what Jesus promised the thief who had nothing to offer but a desperate plea.

I know what the father did when his son came crawling home with a rehearsed speech that never even got finished.

And I know what the landowner said to the workers who were angry that grace didn't do math the way they wanted.

"Are you envious because I am generous?"

The gate is narrow, but it's not locked.

The standard is high, but it's not ours to enforce.

The Judge is holy, but He is also the one who ran to meet the prodigal while he was still a long way off.

Stop auditing the dead.

Start marveling at the grace that let you in.

"Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved."

Whosoever.

Even him.

Even you.

What saith the Scriptures?

That's the only question that matters.

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supershamrock retweeted

Nick Freitas

@NickJFreitas

10 months ago

I am told that as a state representative this is the moment where I'm supposed to express my heartfelt condolences and then stand in solidarity with those on the other side of the aisle as we condemn political violence and stand unified as one people. But we aren't "one people" are we? The truth is we haven't been for some time now, and there is really no point in pretending anymore, if there ever was. We are two very different peoples. We may occupy the same piece of geography, but that is where the similarities seem to abruptly end. I convinced myself for a long time that whenever the left called me a racist, a bigot, a sexist, a fascist, a "threat to democracy" for even the most innocent of disagreements, that it was simply hyperbolic rhetoric done for effect. And now the "effect" is a widow and two orphaned children, because the left couldn’t bear the thought of a peaceful man debating them and winning. I don’t think they realize it yet, but murdering Charlie is going to be remembered as the day where we finally woke up to what this fight really is. It’s not a civil dispute among fellow countrymen. It’s a war between diametrically opposed worldviews which cannot peacefully coexist with one another. One side will win, and one side will lose. Charlie tried to win that fight through argumentation, through discussion, through peaceful resolution of differences. And the other side murdered him. Not because he was “extreme” or “inciting violence” or any other hyperbolic slur they hurled at him. They murdered him because he was effective. Because he was unafraid. Because he inspired others and made them feel like they had a voice, that they were not alone. And he did it at the very institutions which have fomented so much hatred toward conservatives. I don’t want to “stand in solidarity” with the other side of the aisle. I want to defeat you. I want to defeat the godless ideology that kills babies in the womb, sterilizes confused children, turns our cities into cesspools of degeneracy and lawlessness…and that murdered Charlie Kirk. Social media is aflame right now with leftist celebration of Charlie’s death. I wonder if any among them understand what has just happened. If there is a Yamamoto somewhere in their midst warning, that all they have done is awoken a sleeping giant. I doubt it. I think they gave up such introspection and self-awareness long ago. I don’t know exactly what will happen next. I just know that it won’t be the same as what has happened in the past. There will be thoughts and prayers…Charlie would have wanted prayers. Not for himself but for those left behind and for the country that he loved. But then there will be a reckoning. My Christian faith requires me to love my enemies and pray for those who curse me. It does not require me to stand idly by in the midst of savagery and barbarism...quite the opposite. So every time I feel tired, every time I feel discouraged or overwhelmed, I am going to watch the video of a good man being murdered in Utah…I will force myself to watch it…and then I will return to the work of destroying the evil ideology responsible for that and so much more. Rest with God Charlie, your fight is over. Ours is just beginning.

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