I just attended Staff Devotional in Victory BGC, and Pastor Brandel Manalastas discussed “Theodicy”. I know it sounds like one of those deep theological words that belong in seminary classrooms, but it really touches everyday life. Simply put, theodicy is our attempt to make sense of why a good, loving, and sovereign God allows evil, suffering, and injustice in the world. It is the question we ask when life hurts and the world seems unbearably broken. If God is good, why is there war, corruption, abuse, betrayal, sickness, and grief? That is theodicy in a very real and relatable sense.

That question becomes even heavier when we look around us. We see the current conflict in the Middle East and the devastation it leaves behind (and the effect it will have with the rest of the world). We hear about powerful men using influence, money, and secrecy to protect wickedness. We witness unbelievable corruption much closer to home. Then there are the quieter pains that never make the news… a family conflict, a betrayal, a diagnosis, a financial setback, a prayer that seems unanswered, season when life simply does not make sense.

This is why theodicy matters, it is not theoretical, it is personal and it confronts us with the tension between what we know about God and what we experience in the world. We confess that God is good, wise, holy, just, and sovereign. Yet we live in a world where evil is real, suffering is intense, and justice often appears delayed.

What I appreciate about Scripture is that it does not silence this struggle. The Bible gives us language for lament. The psalmist cries, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1, ESV). Habakkuk looks at violence and injustice and asks why God seems to tolerate wrongdoing. Job suffers in ways that defy simplistic explanations. Psalm 73 wrestles with the prosperity of the wicked. In other words, the Bible does not shame us for asking hard questions. It teaches us to bring them before God.

Faith is not pretending evil is small, faith is not denying pain, real biblical faith is honest enough to lament and strong enough to trust. It looks evil in the face and still says, God is good, even when I do not yet understand.

One of the reasons theodicy feels so difficult is because we often want neat explanations for messy realities. We want God to show us the entire blueprint and we want a direct answer for every wound and every injustice. But many times, God does not give us a full explanation. Instead, He gives us His presence. He gives us His promises. He gives us Himself.

For me, that is where the theology of the cross becomes so important. The Christian response to evil is not merely an argument, it is a Person. At the center of our faith is not a detached God, but a crucified Savior. Jesus did not remain far from human suffering, He entered it, He stepped into our world of violence, betrayal, injustice, sorrow, and death. Isaiah calls Him “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3, ESV). At the cross, we see the depth of human evil and the depth of divine love at the same time.

The cross tells me that God is not indifferent to suffering. He is not cold, He is not removed. In Christ, He absorbed sin’s penalty, bore injustice, and entered the darkest places of human pain. The worst evil ever committed, the unjust execution of the sinless Son of God, became the very means by which God accomplished salvation. That does not make evil less evil. It means evil does not have ultimate sovereignty, God does.

This changes the way I look at the brokenness around me. Evil is real, but it is not final. Corruption is real, but it is not ultimate. War is real, but it will not have the last word. Death is real, but it has been defeated in Christ. Romans 8 reminds us that creation itself is groaning, waiting for liberation and renewal (Romans 8:20–23, ESV). The world is not the way it is supposed to be, but God is not abandoning creation. He is renewing it.

That gives me deep hope. The biblical story is not about escaping the world, but about God redeeming and restoring what sin has broken. The resurrection of Jesus is the beginning of that renewal. Christ is making all things new. That means Christian hope is not only personal, it is cosmic. God is renewing creation, and by His grace, we are part of that renewal.

That truth is both comforting and challenging. It comforts me because it reminds me that history is not spiraling aimlessly because God is at work. But it also challenges me because it means I cannot respond to evil with mere commentary. If God is renewing creation, then I am called to participate in that renewal here and now.

That means we do not merely complain about corruption; we live with integrity. We do not merely grieve injustice; we pursue justice. We do not merely shake our heads at the darkness; we become agents of light. Whether in ministry, business, family, leadership, or community life, we are called to live as signs of the coming kingdom.

And yet we do all this with humility, because we know we are not the saviors of the world… Jesus is. We participate, but He is the King. We labour, but He brings the kingdom in fullness.

That is why eschatological hope matters so much. Jesus will return, judge evil fully and finally, and consummate His kingdom. One day, every hidden sin will be exposed, every corrupt system will fall, every act of injustice will be answered, every tear will be wiped away and death will be no more. The world will be renewed under the lordship of Christ.

So when I reflect on theodicy, I do not arrive at a tidy formula, I arrive at deeper trust. I trust that God is good, even when the world is not. I trust that God is just, even when justice feels delayed. I trust that God is present, even when He feels silent. I trust that the cross proves His love, the resurrection guarantees His victory, and the renewal of creation secures our future.

And because of that, I want to live faithfully in the present. I want to be part of God’s renewal here and now. In a world full of groaning, I want to be found participating in grace. In a world darkened by evil, I want to be found bearing witness to the light. In a world longing for restoration, I want to be found serving the King who is making all things new.

We all have work to do… not just the “nine-to-five” kind, or the “run the business and keep the lights on” kind, but the deeper work of becoming the kind of people God can trust with influence, opportunities, and resources. I really believe that everything we do, how we work, how we speak, how we treat people, how we handle pressure, is not neutral, it is worship, it’s an offering.

Ecclesiastes says there is nothing better than to find enjoyment in our work because that is our lot (Ecclesiastes 3:22). In plain terms: God wired us to experience a kind of joy when we build, fix, improve, finish, and create. There’s a quiet satisfaction when you close a deal with integrity, solve a problem that’s been haunting you for weeks, or deliver quality work even when nobody is clapping. That joy isn’t just dopamine, it’s a reminder that God Himself is a worker—and we are made in His image. Meaning doesn’t come from the title on our calling card; it comes from the God who gives the calling.

Of course, work also pays the bills. It gives us the means to provide for our families, to meet needs, to be generous, and to support what God is doing in the world. But I like to frame it this way: work is one of God’s pathways to freedom. Freedom is not “I can buy whatever I want.” Freedom is “I can obey God without being handcuffed by debt, panic, or the need to impress.” The more financially and emotionally enslaved we are, the harder it is to say yes to God’s directions because we’re always negotiating with fear. Work, done wisely and faithfully, becomes part of how God releases us from that kind of bondage.

And here’s where the kingdom principle gets real: God isn’t just using your work to accomplish tasks. He’s using your work to do work in you.

Maybe you’re in a job with difficult co-workers, unreasonable expectations, and deadlines that feel impossible. Maybe your business is in a tight season, sales are down, margins are thin, cash flow is unpredictable, and you’re carrying the weight of your team and your family. As much as we want a quick escape, those moments can be a training ground for the kingdom. God forms faithfulness when things are boring or mundane. He forms patience when people are irritating. He forms courage when outcomes are uncertain. He forms humility when our plans don’t work. He forms integrity when compromise looks like the easier path.

In other words, your workplace is not just a place to earn; it’s a place to be shaped. Your boardroom can be discipleship, your calendar can be formation and your pressure can be refinement.

Ultimately, work is stewardship. God has entrusted you with time, skills, relationships, creativity, and opportunities—some visible, some hidden. And stewardship is simply managing God’s resources for God’s purposes. That means we don’t work only for income; we work from calling. We don’t build only for profit; we build for people. We don’t lead only for success; we lead for service. In the kingdom of God, your “why” matters as much as your “what.”

So yes, work hard, build excellence, hit your targets, grow your business. But do it with a different center of gravity: Jesus. Work because you’ve received an assignment from the King, not just a paycheck from a company or a payout from a client.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”

(Colossians 3:23–24, ESV)

A little over a year ago, I stepped into full time ministry, and I can honestly say that I did not simply change careers, I stepped into a completely different world.

For many years, I lived in environments where outcomes were visible and measurable. You plan, you execute, and you see results. Ministry refuses to work that way, it cannot be reduced to deliverables, it has its own pace, its own weight, and its own hiddenness. It also has a way of exposing parts of you that you did not even know were still unfinished.

That is one reason I decided to read The Pastor by Eugene Peterson (as recommended by Pastor Dennis Sy). Eugene Peterson does not write like someone trying to impress you, he writes like someone trying to rescue you. He challenges the noise, the performance, and the temptation to turn ministry into a religious version of success. Reading him felt like being gently but firmly reminded that pastoral work is not built for applause. Pastoral work is built for people, and pastoral work is built for God.

I am still learning the ropes, and many days I feel like I am learning them for the first time.

I am learning how to study Scripture properly. I am not only learning how to gather ideas, but I am learning how to listen. I am not only learning how to prepare sermons, but I am learning how to be formed by the Word. I am learning how to preach, not merely to speak well, but to speak faithfully. I am also learning how to relate with my senior pastor and how to interact with other pastors and staff in our church. I am learning how to appreciate the culture of our church community, and I am learning how to serve within it with humility.

This journey has made me hungry, and it is the kind of hunger that sends you to books because you realize you need more than your instincts. That is why I found myself reading authors like N.T. Wright, Scot McKnight, and Tim Keller, among others. The more I read and the more I study, the more I realize that I am barely scratching the surface. There is so much depth in Scripture, there is so much wisdom in the history of the church, there is so much beauty in faithful theology handled with reverence and restraint. It is humbling, but it is a good kind of humbling because it keeps me in my proper place as a learner under the Word.

One of the themes that keeps coming back in Eugene Peterson’s book is that pastoral life is deeply relational. Pastoral ministry is about being with people long enough to see what is real, patient enough to work with what is slow, and prayerful enough to trust what only God can do. That is also where I find my greatest joy, and that is also where I sometimes feel my greatest frustration.

Discipleship is not clean, it is intricate, it is personal, it is unpredictable and at times very messy. Sometimes you see growth that is unmistakable, and sometimes you see patterns that keep resurfacing. Sometimes you sit with someone who has been walking with God for years and still feels fragile inside. Sometimes you meet someone new in the faith and you are reminded of how powerful grace is. You meet people who are at the heart of the church community, and you meet people at the edges of it where life is messy and faith is tender. In those moments, I realize again that ministry is not about fixing people, ministry is about loving people while God is forming them, and myself.

That is easy to say, but it is not always easy to live.

There are days when I want everything to move faster, I want breakthroughs that come on demand, I want growth that can be charted, I want discipleship to look like a straight line. Ministry keeps reminding me that people are not projects, people are not spreadsheets and spiritual formation rarely follows a neat sequence. Ministry teaches you to honor the slow work of God.

Every now and then, I think about time. I entered full time ministry in my very late fifties. Some people start young and have decades ahead of them. I am grateful for the years God gave me in the marketplace, and I do not regret them. At the same time, I feel the reality that I may not have as much time left in full time ministry as others do. Sometimes that thought comes with a quiet ache… it does not come with despair, but it does come with sobriety.

When I bring that to the Lord, I find something surprising, I find excitement. God is not limited by our timelines, God is not anxious about our age, God does not measure calling the way we measure it, God redeems years, God multiplies what looks small and God makes later seasons meaningful, not because we become more impressive, but because we become more surrendered.

This is a journey worth taking.

One shift I am especially grateful for is that ministry is deepening my love for Scripture and prayer. Ministry is teaching me to value the Word not just for sermon preparation, but for soul formation. Ministry is teaching me to pray not merely for outcomes, but for intimacy with God. Ministry is teaching me that the most important work I do is not what people see on Sundays, but what God does in me on ordinary days. Eugene Peterson keeps pulling me back to the truth that the pastor’s work is not primarily public, it is deeply personal, it is shaped in prayer and it is sustained through a long obedience.

I need that reminder because the temptations are real, the temptation to perform is real, the temptation to impress is real, the temptation to stay busy enough to feel important is real. Scripture and prayer do not merely make us effective, scripture and prayer keep us honest.

Ministry also shapes the family. My immediate family is learning to live with my vocation. The schedules are different, the emotional load is different, the interruptions are different. There are moments when I am physically present but mentally carrying someone else’s burden in prayer. There are Sundays that require more of me than I expected and there are transitions that require adjustments from all of us. I am grateful, not because it is always easy, but because it is sacred. We are learning together what it means to participate in God’s kingdom, and we are learning how our lives and priorities must be re-centered around Jesus.

Writing has become one of the ways I process what is happening inside me. Sometimes I write and I wonder if anyone reads it and often times I write and I suspect the writing is mainly for me. I have learned that writing is not just output, writing is a way of naming what God is doing, and it is a way of offering what is in my heart back to Him. If what I write ends up encouraging someone, whether a church member or someone who has been in ministry longer than I have, then I thank God for that. Encouragement is never wasted.

I also find joy in being able to support my senior pastor. I find joy in being able to strengthen the staff team in whatever way I can. I find joy in quietly carrying burdens with them and for them. Ministry can be heavy, and sometimes people do not need another critique. Sometimes they need a reminder that God is faithful, that God is present, and that God is still at work.

At the end of the day, I keep returning to this. My ministry is not about building my name, my ministry is about participating in His Kingdom. I am learning my place in God’s story, I am learning to embrace the transitions that come with ministry rather than resist them. I am learning to become a pastor not by title, but by formation, slowly and imperfectly, but sincerely.

Even if I do not have much time left in full time ministry, I am excited about what the Lord has in store. The joy is not in having a long runway, the joy is in walking faithfully on the runway God gave you. It is a step by step obedience with Scripture open, with prayer rising, with people loved, and with your heart anchored in Jesus.

I am still learning, I am still adjusting, I am still barely scratching the surface, but I would not trade this journey. Do keep me in your prayers.