Truth alone is the sure foundation upon which all else must be built, the one unshakable rock in a crumbling world. It is as self-evident as the daylight, and yet—what a marvel!—many choose to embrace the shadows of falsehood instead. 

It is as perplexing as watching a mathematician insist that two and two make five. Yet here, I offer what might be called “Calculated Reflections,” insights that may guide the earnest soul toward eternal wisdom.

To seeker of truth, the true philosopher, this is for you.

For as Wisdom herself proclaims, “He who finds me finds life and gains favor from the Almighty” (Proverbs 8:35).

I have often thought that the devil must laugh hardest, not when the Church is persecuted, but when she quarrels with herself. A wounded army still fights; a divided one turns its swords inward. And so it is with us.

We jest about our differences, we make light of our disputes, as though the splintering of Christ’s body were a small affair. Yet every rift, however small, is a scar upon the Bride whom He purchased with His own blood.

Still, let no man confuse charity with compromise. The call to love one another is not a summons to dilute the truth. Christ certainly prayed that we might be one, but He never prayed that we might be one at the cost of His Word. For a unity built upon the denial of truth is but a painted peace, a hollow harmony where the heart cannot dwell.

“Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” (Amos 3:3).

If we must divide, let it be only where truth demands it. But if we must unite, let it be only where Christ Himself stands at the center. The Church’s beauty is not in perfect agreement, but in faithful allegiance—to Him who is “the way, the truth, and the life.”

Laughter may mask the pain of our divisions, but Heaven does not laugh with us. It waits for a holier mirth: the joy of a people purified, not by soft words, but by steadfast truth.

There is a strange honesty in the way Christ spoke of Himself. He never tried to soften His claims or disguise His glory beneath polite humility. When He said, “My Father worketh hitherto, and I work” (John 5:17), He did not mean that He was merely another prophet doing God’s errands. No, He stood beside the Almighty and called Himself equal with Him.

The Jews understood it perfectly; that is why they sought to kill Him. And what a claim it was! For He did not only speak of healing the sick or feeding the hungry—great deeds, yes, but still acts of mercy within the bounds of the human world. He spoke of giving life to the dead and of judging all men at the end of time.

Tell me, who can breathe life into the grave, or hold the balance of eternity in His hand, except God Himself?

Even as He spoke, life was already breaking forth at the sound of His voice. The spiritually dead stirred. The cold heart began to beat. The blind soul began to see.

“The hour is coming, and now is,” He said, “when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.” (John 5:25)

The marvel is not only that Jesus claimed to be divine but that He proved it. His words did not merely describe power; they were power. They did not merely point to life; they gave life. Every syllable that fell from His lips carried the weight of eternity.

To meet Christ, then, is to stand before God Himself. Not a messenger, not a teacher, not a holy man, but the Living Word through whom all things were made.

If He is not God, He is blasphemy. But if He is, then all heaven and earth must bow before Him.