Tag: AbideInChrist

If the first half of Colossians 3 exposes my struggle with external validation, the second half of Colossians 3 reveals a deeper, internal battle: authenticity. In my last post, I reflected on how easily I let Facebook likes define my worth. But as I sat with verses 12-17 this week, I realized Paul’s words speak to something deeper than the superficial struggle over likes.

This isn’t only about stepping away from worldly validation; it’s about stepping into something new—clothing myself in compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience—qualities that shouldn’t just sit on the surface but sink into who I am.

It’s about putting on Christ.

And as I’ve been reflecting on that, one particular struggle has been stirring in me—one I am hesitant to share.

Comedy.

I’ve loved stand-up comedy for as long as I can remember. There’s something brilliant about the way comedians can take the raw, often uncomfortable realities of life and make us laugh.

Specifically, though, there is this one show I watch regularly called Kill Tony. For those who are unfamiliar, Kill Tony is a live comedy podcast hosted by Tony Hinchcliffe and Brian Redban. The format involves a live show where they pull random comics’ names out of a bucket for the chance to perform a one-minute set, then be critiqued and interviewed by Tony alongside big-name guests.

It’s a chaotic, anything-can-happen environment—raw, unfiltered creativity spilling out as these comics have to be sharp and punchy. The show has launched the careers of unknowns, affording opportunities they’d likely never get otherwise.

In a world where political correctness has impacted the comedic landscape, Kill Tony leans into this rough, unfiltered edge that’s messy and risky—and yeah, sometimes dicey. You never know what kind of show it’s going to be—from train wrecks to brilliance. It illustrates the artistry of stand-up, revealing how fast thinking, improvisation, and risk define the craft.

Shows like Kill Tony—which are irreverent, biting, racy, and boundary-pushing—still make me laugh, and I’m not uncomfortable with that.

But here’s the struggle: I’m wondering if I should feel uncomfortable with it.

I don’t think I should have to give it up, but something in me keeps questioning whether that’s true—or whether I’m justifying something I don’t want to change about myself, because Kill Tony is this wild, messy joy I cling to, and letting it go feels like losing a piece of me.

Colossians 3:12—“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.”

That identity—being chosen, set apart—should shape everything. Not just how I love others, but what I let shape my mind and heart. It’s a call to wear these traits like armor, not just admire them—compassion that feels, humility that bends, patience that waits. Does my laughter match that?

Colossians 3:15—“And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.”

I’ve questioned whether I’ve felt that peace slipping when I indulge in humor that sometimes tears down rather than builds up. The laughs might come, but is there also a subtle dulling of my sensitivity toward what is good and true—until I’ve tuned out what matters? Peace ruling in my heart is what is supposed to keep me anchored.

Colossians 3:16—“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.”

That tension is hard because I don’t want to give it up, but I also want to be authentic and do my best to align my heart with God. But I know this: It’s not about changing myself to be right with God. It’s about abiding in Jesus and being changed from the inside out.

This is exactly the struggle—the tension between living fully for God and still enjoying the things that have shaped me, the things I love, the things that bring me joy.

I’m not looking for loopholes; I’m looking for truth. If I didn’t care, if I just shrugged and said, “Whatever, I’ll do what I want,” that would be a bigger issue.

But I do care.

What degree of strictness should I follow?

Because, yeah, Paul would probably have a stricter view. He talks about setting our minds on things above (Colossians 3:2), avoiding corrupting influences (Ephesians 5:3-4), and filling ourselves with what is true, noble, right, pure (Philippians 4:8).

So, on the surface, it might seem like the answer is cut it all out.

But I don’t think the question is just what should I cut out, but rather what is forming me?

What is shaping my heart, my thoughts, my desires?

Maybe instead of asking, how strict should I be, the better question is:

What is this doing to my soul?

Does it strengthen or weaken my ability to show love, patience, humility?

Does it influence my speech, my thoughts, my priorities in ways I don’t realize?

Comedy has been a part of my life, part of how I see and process the world. Giving up these things I love completely would feel like losing a part of myself. But at the same time, I don’t want to be the guy clinging to something that keeps me from growing into the person God is shaping me to be.

I think that’s where the real struggle lies. How do I hold onto the things that have shaped me without letting them own me?

I don’t think it’s about quitting Kill Tony cold turkey but rather being conscious of how it affects me. Because ultimately, I want my heart to stay tuned to Jesus.

Final Thought:

Yes, that’s what I want. For my mind and heart to be filled with His truth so fully that even my entertainment choices reflect Him. I don’t want to be desensitized to what grieves God or let something trivial weaken my sensitivity to Him, because if I do, I could drown out the voice I’m trying to hear.

I want to laugh and keep enjoying comedy, but not if it numbs my conscience or slowly shapes me into someone I don’t want to be.

I will keep praying on it, wrestling with what stays and what goes, chasing a joy that doesn’t fade. I know that holiness isn’t about following a list of rules—it’s about being transformed.

But in the end, I don’t want anything—not a show, not a joke—to have more of a hold on me than Christ does.

Bryan Leyenbeck

When I posted my first After Pew blog entry on Facebook, my heart raced as notifications lit up my phone—ten likes, then twenty, a comment from a friend saying, ‘Thanks for taking the time to share that.’

I was thrilled. It felt like people were connecting with what God put on my heart.

But the next post had diminishing returns. Half the reactions, if that. I found myself refreshing the page for an hour, as if that would make more likes appear, only to feel the silence settle in, heavier than the excitement I’d started with.

There’s something intoxicating about that little notification bubble. Psychologists agree that social media taps into our primal need for belonging. But the high never lasts.

One post soared, the next flopped. And just like that, I found myself second-guessing everything—was I posting too much? At the wrong times? Had I worn out my welcome? It was a rollercoaster the world designed, not God.

Galatians 1:10—“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

That pull toward numbers is exactly why I had to stop posting my blog on Facebook. Now, I just write, let it go out into the world, and leave the rest up to God. I want to write for His glory, not for likes. I trust that He’ll use my words in ways I may never see.

That’s the reminder I needed: to focus on Christ, not the numbers.

Paul gets this pull. In Colossians, after declaring Christ’s sufficiency, he shifts in chapter 3 to how we should live it out:

Colossians 3:1-2—“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”

Set my mind on things above. For me, that means asking myself ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ throughout my day. I didn’t take part the first time around, but I remember how the phrase and the bracelets took hold of the zeitgeist in the ’90s. It’s a question worth reviving, not as a catchphrase, but as a real guide for aligning our hearts with God’s will.”

Setting my mind on things above also means filling my space with what lasts: Scripture and prayer. As I’ve been taught: praying is my time to talk to God and reading the Bible is my time for Him to talk to me.

This morning, instead of reaching for my phone I reached for my pocket Bible and read James Chapter 4: ‘Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.’ No metrics, just truth.

As I was loading the dishwasher, I hummed to myself ‘Here I Am to Worship’, doing as Colossians 3:16 says, ‘singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.’

Even silence works: ten minutes with no screen, just breathing, asking God to renew me. These aren’t fixes; they’re rhythms. They remind me my blog isn’t my life—Christ is.

I imagine Paul writing Colossians from prison, yet free in Christ. If he could let go of earthly approval under that pressure, then I can strive to do the same.

Colossians 3:5—“Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.”

Chasing validation was idolatry—putting numbers above God. They weren’t just bad habits to manage; they are remnants of a life I no longer live. When I place something above God, I sin.

Paul reminds us to actively reject these things and replace them with love for Christ.

Pastor John’s weekly reflection was an excellent reminder: what I dwell in shapes me. When we steep ourselves in Christ—His purpose, His peace—feelings like frustration or self-doubt lose their bite.

Final Thought:

I don’t need a notification bubble to tell me I’m enough if I let the word of Christ dwell within me richly. Numbers rise and fall, but His truth stands unshaken.

Starting my day off with a Psalm rather than my phone renews me. Filling my mind with Scripture instead of screens anchors me in something eternal.

The world is loud, and it’s easy to drift—one scroll, one refresh, one fleeting dopamine hit at a time. But what if I tuned out the noise?

What’s one way I could turn it down today?

By setting my mind on things above. By choosing worship over worry. By chasing Christ, not approval.

His peace is waiting.

He’s my life—not the metrics I chase.

Bryan Leyenbeck

I’m still in Colossians, working through it little by little, leaning on sermon videos from Pastor John. My process has a steady rhythm—reading, listening, reflecting. Tonight, I’m studying in the quiet upstairs of my church, while the joyful chaos of AWANA and youth group rises up around me. My kids are elsewhere in the building, immersed in their own time of learning and fellowship, while I sit here with my Bible open, seeking to be rooted and built up in Christ myself.

In Chapter 2, Paul describes his mission as a “great struggle,” a deep labor for believers he’s never even met. He strives for them to be encouraged and united in love, shielded from deception. He’s keenly aware of how subtly people can drift toward teachings that promise much but deliver little apart from Christ.

The church in Colossae—and nearby Laodicea—had to be vigilant. Laodicea was a wealthy, self-sufficient city. That kind of comfort carried the risk of making faith feel like a surface-level label rather than a foundation. I see that same danger today. It’s only been a year since my baptism and I’m still passionate about building my relationship with Jesus, but I can see how easy it could be to settle into routine and let spiritual complacency take hold.

I’ve observed many Christians in my day who attend church on Sundays, yet it seems more out of habit than a true reflection of their faith. And more people still seem to wear Christianity like a fashion accessory, with no roots at all.

But, how am I living out my faith beyond Sunday mornings? Is my walk with Jesus deepening, or am I allowing complacency to creep in?

Colossians 2:6-7 —“So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”

Paul is pointing out that just as we received Christ by faith, we must also continue to live by faith. It’s not a one-time decision—it’s a daily walk.

Colossians 2:8 – “See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ.”

Paul warns against the deception of human tradition and empty philosophies. And today, there are so many ’empty philosophies’ being worshipped: Moral Relativism, Self-Worship and Secular Humanism, New Age Spirituality, Postmodernism, Consumerism. In a world of competing voices and shifting ideologies, how can we ensure that we, and future generations, are rooted in Christ’s truth? How can we guard ourselves and others from these philosophies that threaten to lead us away from the sufficiency of Christ?

Colossians 2:9-10 —“For in Him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in Him, who is the head of all rule and authority.”

Christ is not just a teacher or example—He is fully God, offering us the fullness of life. This fullness is marked by a transformation of the heart, symbolized through baptism, where we die with Christ and rise to new life. Am I living with the conviction that Christ is enough? Or am I seeking fulfillment in material possessions and the approval of others? Is my life showing evidence of new life in Christ, or are old habits still influencing my actions?

Final Thoughts:

In reflecting on Colossians 2, I’m reminded that living in Christ isn’t something that happens on autopilot. It’s a call to actively stand firm in the truth. I need to keep growing, keep myself rooted in the fullness of Christ, especially with all the distractions around me. Faith isn’t static—it’s a living, growing relationship that transforms every part of our lives.

How About You?

How do you keep your faith active beyond Sundays?

Ever feel complacent in faith? What pulls you back?

Who could you encourage to stay strong in faith?