Slowing Down Enough to Truly See by Pastor Joseph Cortes When I open my Bible to Psalm 23, I have to intentionally slow myself down, because this is one of those passages that is so familiar it can easily become something I skim instead of something I truly absorb. Six verses—it doesn’t take long to read—but what I’ve come to realize is that it takes time to understand. There is more here than what sits on the surface. There is a remez—a hint beneath the words—that reveals something deeper about God’s nature, His character, and His promises toward me. And the more I sit with it, the more I begin to see that every line is pointing back to who He is for me, not just in theory, but in my everyday life. “The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Right there, before anything else, I am introduced to Jehovah-Raah—the Lord my Shepherd. And I have to stop and ask myself, do I really understand what that means? A shepherd doesn’t just stand at a distance. A shepherd is involved. He feeds the flock, he watches over them, he protects them, he guards them, and when one goes astray, he goes after it. That means I am not left alone to figure things out. Even when I wander, even when I lose my way, He doesn’t abandon me—He pursues me. That alone should settle something deep inside of me. It means I am cared for in ways I don’t always see, and protected in ways I don’t always recognize. And then it continues—“I shall not want.” That’s where Jehovah-Jireh comes in—the Lord my Provider. And this is where I have to shift my thinking, because provision is not just about what I can see right now. It’s about what God has already prepared ahead of me. He is not reacting to my needs; He is already ahead of them. He knows what I will face before I ever get there, and He has already made provision for it—spiritually, physically, emotionally. When I truly take that in, it changes the way I approach uncertainty. I don’t have to live in fear of what’s coming next, because my Shepherd is also my Provider, and He is already there before I arrive. That realization alone can carry me, but the psalm continues to unfold even more of who He is.

by Pastor Joseph Cortes “Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.” — 1 Peter 1:5 (KJV) There is a quiet, unshakable comfort in knowing that my salvation does not rest in my hands, but in God’s. I am reminded that from the very beginning of my journey with Him to its final fulfillment, it has always been His work—not mine. I did not save myself, and I do not sustain myself. The same power that called me is the power that keeps me. When I feel weak, inconsistent, or overwhelmed, this truth steadies my heart: I am “kept by the power of God through faith.” He is the One holding me, guarding me, preserving me. If it were left to me, I would fall a thousand times—but He never falters. His strength is not affected by my weakness, and His grip does not loosen when I struggle. This shifts everything in how I see repentance and faith. Repentance is no longer striving to prove my devotion or maintain control—it is the surrender of that illusion. It is the turning away from trusting in my ability to hold on, and the resting in the truth that God is faithfully holding me. My confidence is anchored not in my performance, but in His promise. He has said He will never leave me, never forsake me, and He does not speak empty words. Because of this, I can live differently. I don’t have to walk in fear of losing what God Himself has secured. I can walk in peace, knowing I am safe in His care. I can experience joy, not because I am strong, but because He is. And I can move forward with boldness, trusting that the One who began this work in me will carry it all the way to completion. My salvation is secure—not because I hold tightly to Him, but because He holds me, and His power never fails. Want more Pastor Joe? Visit www.TeachingFaith.com

President Donald Trump criticized Pope Leo XIV, labeling him as "WEAK on Crime, and terrible for Foreign Policy. https://jesusmaga.com/trump-slams-pope-leo-xiv-for-being-weak-on-crime/

by Pastor Joseph Cortes There are moments when the Lord slows us down—sometimes even lays us flat on our backs—just to quiet the noise so we can hear again what has always been true. As I listened once more to the songs from RUWA Music volume 13, the words settled deep into my spirit: no chains remain, no debts to pay… who can condemn? And something within me stirred, because that is not just a lyric I wrote—it is the finished reality of what Christ has done. We live because it is done. Not partially done, not waiting on our effort, but completely finished. And when you begin to reflect on that truth, it takes you right into the heart of what Paul spoke about in 2 Corinthians chapter 12—this tension between overwhelming revelation and overwhelming opposition. Paul had seen things—heard things—that could not even be spoken. A glimpse into paradise, into the very presence of God, something so sacred it could not be translated into human language. Yet with that revelation came a weight, a “thorn,” not of physical weakness as many have thought, but a piercing, relentless opposition—an agent sent to buffet him, to resist the very message he carried. And what was that message? Grace. Pure grace. Not grace mixed with law, not grace with conditions attached, but grace that stands alone—complete, sufficient, and final. That is what stirred such resistance then, and it is still what stirs resistance now. Because the truth is, the moment you add even the smallest fragment of law back into grace, you diminish the finished work of Christ. You imply that what He did was not enough. And yet, from the cross, the declaration was clear—it is finished. There are no remaining debts, no chains left to break, no condemnation left to fear. Grace is not a starting point that needs our help to be completed; it is the full and final provision of God. And still, across this world, many will hear grace preached with a hesitation—a “but” attached to it—as though the cross requires an addendum. But true grace stands without qualification.

by Pastor Joseph Cortes Open your Bible to John 8:1 and step into this moment with a heart ready to see not only the scene, but yourself within it. “Jesus went unto the mount of Olives. And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them.” There is a calmness here—Jesus teaching, people gathered, truth being given. But even in the midst of truth, interruption comes. Not from those who are hungry to learn, but from those who are eager to accuse. “And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst,” she is no longer just a person—she is now a spectacle, exposed before all, surrounded by those who believe themselves righteous. They speak with confidence and accusation, “Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act.” Their words are not merely informative—they are calculated. They appeal to the law, saying, “Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?” But the Scripture reveals their true intent: “This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him.” This is the spirit of accusation—quick to expose sin, but never interested in restoration. And if we are honest, this spirit has not disappeared; it still works in the hearts of many, even today. Yet Jesus does not respond as expected. “But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground…” He does not rush to answer. He does not engage their trap immediately. Instead, He lowers Himself, writing in the dust. What a powerful picture—while men stand in pride, the Son of God stoops in humility. What did He write? Scripture does not tell us plainly, but Jeremiah gives us something to consider: “O LORD, the hope of Israel… they that depart from me shall be written in the earth, because they have forsaken the LORD, the fountain of living waters.” (Jeremiah 17:13). Whether it was names, sins, or something else entirely, we know this—whatever He wrote, it reached deeper than their words ever could.