Many people stop at the return. They see the land, the regathering, the nation standing again before the world, and they treat that as the end of the prophetic story. But Scripture does not stop there. The prophets do not stop at geography. They do not stop at statehood. They do not stop at survival. They keep moving beyond return toward something deeper: recognition, repentance, cleansing, and restoration before God. Because the return to the land was never the final destination. It was a stage in a larger unfolding. Moses warned Israel that scattering would come because of disobedience, but he also spoke of a future return: “Then the LORD thy God will turn thy captivity, and have compassion upon thee, and will return and gather thee from all the nations.”— Deuteronomy 30:3 But even there, the promise does not end with geography. Moses continues: “And the LORD thy God will circumcise thine heart… to love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul.”— Deuteronomy 30:6 That is the movement. Return first. Heart transformation after. The prophets say the same thing. Ezekiel speaks of Israel being gathered from the nations: “For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land.”— Ezekiel 36:24 But again, the land is not the end. God immediately adds: “Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean… A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you.”— Ezekiel 36:25–26 That means a people can be gathered and still not yet be fully awakened. A nation can stand and still not yet have reached its deepest prophetic moment. Israel’s return matters. But the return moves toward revelation. Zechariah says it with stunning force: “They shall look upon me whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for him.”— Zechariah 12:10 That is not the language of political restoration alone. That is the language of spiritual confrontation. Of revelation. Of grief breaking open under the weight of truth.

That word vicar means a representative, substitute, or one who acts on behalf of another. So the Catholic view is that, since Christ has ascended bodily into heaven, the pope serves as Christ’s visible earthly representative over the Church.

I used to be an Orthodox Christian, so I’m familiar with the rhythm of the services. In that tradition, you have Vespers in the evening, Matins before the morning service, and then the Divine Liturgy itself. I don’t know the Catholic structure nearly as well, but I do know both the Catholic and Orthodox traditions include repeated pleas for mercy. And honestly, that was one of the hardest things for me. During those liturgies, we ask the Lord to have mercy around 40 times, depending on the version and structure of the service. That number may vary, but the repetition is hard to miss. There were times when I felt like a broken record: Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy. After a while, it didn’t feel like relationship to me. It felt like begging. It almost reminded me of a kid being held down by the schoolyard bully, pleading, “Please don’t hurt me. Have mercy.” But that is not who God is. Scripture says, “The LORD is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy” (Psalm 103:8). It also says, “God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). That means God is not waiting for us to beg hard enough before He decides to be kind. His mercy is not something we have to drag out of Him. His mercy is already revealed in Jesus Christ. Jesus Himself said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). He did not say, “Repeat the plea until I finally listen.” He said, “Come.” That is my concern with some liturgical methods in both the Catholic and Orthodox traditions. When mercy is repeated over and over again, the message can begin to feel distorted. Instead of hearing the good news that God has already shown mercy through Christ, people can begin to feel as if they are begging a reluctant God to spare them. And that is not the Gospel. Now, I want to be clear: I am not saying Catholics or Orthodox Christians do not know Christ. I know some who have a sincere and beautiful relationship with Him. If that is where God has them, I respect that.

Learning to Rest Where Peace and Healing Are Found by Pastor Joseph Cortes “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.” This is Jehovah-Shalom—the Lord my Peace. And I have to be honest, because peace is something I know about, but not always something I consistently live in. There is always something happening—external pressures, internal thoughts, distractions pulling my attention in every direction. And if I’m not careful, those things begin to dominate my focus. But this verse reminds me that peace is not something I create—it’s something He leads me into. Notice that it says He makes me lie down. Sometimes I wouldn’t choose stillness on my own. Sometimes I keep pushing, keep striving, keep worrying. But He brings me to a place where I can rest, where the noise quiets, where I can remember again who He is. And then it says, “He restoreth my soul.” That’s Jehovah-Rophe—the Lord my Healer. And this hits deeper, because restoration starts on the inside. If my mind is consumed with fear, with everything going wrong, with everything I cannot control, then I lose that peace. But when I come back to Him—when I remember that He is my Shepherd and my Provider—He begins to restore what has been shaken. He brings my thoughts back into alignment. He heals what has been worn down. He renews what feels exhausted. This is not just about physical healing—it’s about the inner man, the place where everything begins. Then comes direction—“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” That’s Jehovah-Tsidkenu—the Lord my Righteousness. And this is where I have to remind myself again—it’s not about my effort. It’s not about trying harder or doing more. It’s about following Him. Keeping my eyes on Jesus. Not on the chaos around me, not on the fear that tries to creep in, but on Him. Because when I follow Him, He leads me into what is right. He aligns me with the Father, not because of what I’ve earned, but because of who He is. And the more I stay focused on Him, the less power everything else has over me.