Why I Write (And Keep Writing)
What 2026 (And Beyond) Will Hopefully Look Like
I‘ve been dormant this past month.
If you’re one of the 34 people who subscribed to Theologetics over the last year, you might have noticed. Or maybe you didn’t; I wouldn’t blame you. The internet is noisy, and one more silent voice in the theological corner of Substack isn’t exactly headline news.
But I noticed. And if I’m honest, the silence has been eating at me.
Not because I don’t have things to say. I have a draft folder full of half-written essays on ecclesiology, cultural commentary begging to be filtered through Scripture, and reflections on texts I can’t stop thinking about. The problem isn’t a lack of content. The problem is that I’m exhausted.
I’m a trained theologian working in church relations—spending my days recruiting churches for evangelistic festivals. It pays the bills, but if I’m honest, I’m struggling. My MTS sits in a drawer. My published articles in Themelios and Journal of Theological Studies gather digital dust. Every day, I’m using skills I have (talking to people, building relationships, problem-solving) for work that doesn’t align with what I’m actually called to do.
And that calling? It’s the thing I can’t shake, no matter how tired I am.
The Calling I Can’t Shake
I‘ve known what I’m supposed to do for a long time.
Not in some mystical, burning-bush kind of way, but in the quieter, more persistent way that callings often work—a steady pull toward something you can’t quite articulate but also can’t ignore. It started in high school when I couldn’t stop reading theology books. Continued through college when I changed my major to biblical and theological studies. Grew stronger through my MTS program when I realized I didn’t just want to know theology—I wanted to give it away.
The calling is this: preach, write, teach, and travel.
Perhaps not settle into one pulpit for thirty years (though I respect those who do). Nor build an academic career publishing articles for scholars (though that’s important too). Instead, serve the church in various contexts through itinerant teaching, guest preaching, writing for believers seeking theological depth, teaching adjunct classes, and eventually speaking at conferences and retreats. Go wherever needed to help believers think deeply about Scripture and live faithfully.
The problem is, I’m not doing that right now.
I’m doing sales. Church relations, technically, but let’s be honest—it’s sales. And while there’s nothing wrong with this as a vocation, it’s not my vocation. Every day I spend recruiting churches to participate in evangelistic festivals is a day I’m not preaching, writing, teaching, or serving the church in the ways I’m actually equipped and called to do.
It’s like being a classically trained violinist working at a call center. The job is fine. It pays. But it’s not what your hands were made for.
I’m tired. Spiritually tired. The kind of tired that comes from spending your energy on work that doesn’t align with your calling. And yet, the calling hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s gotten louder. More insistent. Less patient with my excuses about debt, timing, and waiting for the “right opportunity.”
So here I am, writing again. Not because I’ve figured it all out or because the circumstances have magically aligned. But because I can’t not write. I can’t keep ignoring what I know I’m supposed to be doing with my life.
That’s the calling I can’t shake. And it’s why, even after a month of silence, I’m back.
What I Want This To Be
So let me tell you what I’m actually trying to build here. I started Theologetics with a simple conviction: make big things small, and muddy things clear.
Theology is often presented as either inaccessibly academic (reserved for those with degrees and a taste for footnotes) or watered down to the point of uselessness (bumper sticker spirituality that says everything and nothing). I don’t want to do either.
I want to write theology that bridges the gap between the academy and the church. Theology rooted in serious biblical and historical work, yet accessible to anyone without a seminary degree. Theology that equips believers to think deeply, live faithfully, and reclaim wonder in a world that’s increasingly disenchanted.
Because here’s the thing: the Bible isn’t boring. The gospel isn’t boring. The doctrines that have shaped Christian faith for two thousand years aren’t boring. If they feel that way, it’s because we’ve either made them inaccessible or we’ve stripped them of their power by reducing them to propositions we affirm but don’t actually live.
I care deeply about orthodoxy and right belief. But orthodoxy without orthopraxy—right practice—is hollow. It’s the kind of faith James warns against: all talk, no walk (James 2:14-26). My goal with Theologetics is to help believers connect what they believe with how they live. To show that theology isn’t just for the classroom or the ivory tower; it’s for Monday mornings, difficult conversations, life decisions, and the mundane rhythms of daily faithfulness.
How I’m Trying To Do It
I write in what I call “mixed voices.” Sometimes I’m academic—drilling down into a text, interacting with scholarship, building arguments with footnotes. Other times I’m pastoral—storytelling, application-focused, speaking directly to the heart. I don’t want to pick one lane. Both are necessary.
One week I might walk you through the Greek syntax of John 1:1-18 to show why the prologue matters for how we read the whole Gospel. The next week I might tell you about a conversation with a struggling believer and what it taught me about grace. Both are theology. Both serve the church. The church needs scholars who can handle the text carefully, and it needs pastors who can make that scholarship breathe with life.
I’m also developing a theological method I call redemptive correlation. It’s a twist on Paul Tillich’s method of correlation, but with a crucial difference: instead of interpreting Scripture through culture, I want to interpret culture through Scripture. I want to read the world—movies, social media, political movements, our anxieties and hopes—through the lens of the biblical story. Not to baptize everything we see, but to discern what’s true, good, and beautiful, and what’s distorted, destructive, or empty.
I’ll unpack that method more in future essays (it deserves its own deep dive), but the heart of it is this: Scripture is the light by which we see everything else, not the other way around. In an age where it’s tempting to make the Bible bend to our cultural moment, I want to do the opposite: let Scripture interrogate, challenge, and redeem how we see the world.
The Invitation
So why am I writing this now, after a month of silence?
Because I need to own what I’m building. I need to stop apologizing for the fact that I have 34 subscribers instead of 3,500. I need to stop waiting for the “right time” when I’m not exhausted from my day job. I need to stop hiding behind the fear that no one cares.
Here’s the truth: I’m building an itinerant teaching ministry. I want to preach, write, teach, and serve the church in multiple contexts—not tied to one congregation or one institution, but free to go wherever there’s a need for theological depth paired with pastoral care. This Substack is one piece of that. So is guest preaching when churches invite me. So is adjunct teaching (which I’m pursuing). So is, eventually, speaking at conferences and retreats.
I don’t have it all figured out. I’m in a transition season—trying to get out of a job that’s crushing me, trying to find work that aligns with my calling, trying to build a platform and a reputation while also paying off debt and being a good husband. It’s messy. But I’m done waiting for it to be tidy before I start.
This is me starting.
If you want to follow along on this journey, subscribe. I’m committing to publishing weekly for the next twelve weeks. Some essays will be academic. Some will be pastoral. Some will be raw and vulnerable. But all of them will be aimed at the same goal: helping you think deeply, live faithfully, and reclaim wonder.
If you know of opportunities to preach, teach, or write, reach out. I’m learning to ask for help, which is harder for me than it should be. But I’m realizing I can’t build this alone.
And if you’re on a similar journey—trying to figure out how to use your gifts for the kingdom while navigating the realities of bills and debt and uncertainty—let’s connect. Comment on posts. Email me. Let’s learn from each other.
Why I Write
The church needs theologians who love her. Not theologians who hide in the academy and critique from a distance, but theologians who are in the trenches—preaching, teaching, counseling, suffering alongside the people of God.
And theologians need the church to keep them honest. To remind them that theology isn’t a game of intellectual gymnastics, but a tool for transformation. To show them that the doctrines they study have names and faces attached—real people trying to follow Jesus in a complicated world.
I want to be both—a scholar and a servant. Someone who can handle the biblical text with care and precision, but who also knows what it’s like to sit across from someone in pain and point them to the hope of the gospel.
That’s why I write.
Because the Bible isn’t boring. The gospel isn’t boring. And the work of making big things small and muddy things clear is worth every ounce of effort, even when I’m tired, even when the audience is small, even when I’m not sure what comes next.
Thanks for being here. Let’s reclaim wonder together.
P.S. If this resonated with you, share it with someone who might need to hear it.
And if you haven’t subscribed yet, now’s the time. Let’s do this.