A Case for Divorce and Remarriage
A man married fifty years once told Stephen Davey that after all that time, he and his wife still have almost nothing in common except the day they got married. Davey uses that bit of honesty to introduce one of the harder passages in Luke's Gospel, where the Pharisees mock Jesus over money and He responds by tightening, not loosening, God's standard for marriage. Davey traces the Old Testament debate over divorce, Jesus' exception for sexual immorality, and Paul's later teaching on abandonment in 1 Corinthians 7, building the case that Scripture permits divorce in certain situations without ever requiring it. He's especially direct about abuse, insisting no spouse should be told to endure it the way a missionary endures persecution. It's a careful, compassionate look at where grace and truth meet in marriage's hardest moments.
Principles for Better Money Management
A US senator once confessed to Senate chaplain Peter Marshall that when he earned $20,000 a year he could tithe $2,000, but now at $500,000 a year he couldn't possibly afford to give $50,000 — so Marshall prayed God would cut his salary back down to size. Stephen Davey uses that story to land Jesus' strange parable in Luke 16, where a dishonest manager, about to be fired, slashes his master's debtors' bills to buy himself friends for the future — and gets praised for his cleverness, not his integrity. Davey is careful to point out the rich man isn't a stand-in for God; he's a picture of how shrewdly the world chases money, a shrewdness believers rarely match when it comes to eternity. Three principles emerge: be strategic with your opportunities, be intentional with your wealth, and be faithful with even the little you have. Because you can't serve both God and money — one of them will own you.
Two Prodigal Sons
In the ancient Middle East, older men never ran — it was considered undignified. So when the wayward son finally trudges home, broke and rehearsing an apology, his father's sprint down the road is itself the shock of the story. Stephen Davey points out that this is really a parable about two lost sons, not one: the younger one who fled and squandered everything, and the older one who never left but never really belonged either. As the father throws a robe, a ring, and sandals on his returning son and orders a feast, the older brother stands outside fuming that his own years of obedience never earned him so much as a goat. Davey names the trap plainly — the older son has the heart of a Pharisee, mistaking grace for a reward he's owed rather than a gift he doesn't deserve. Which brother are you?
The Prodigal
A younger son demands his inheritance while his father is still alive — in that culture, as good as saying "I wish you were dead." Stephen Davey walks through the opening scenes of the prodigal son in Luke 15, watching a young man cash out everything, burn every bridge, and chase freedom among people already enslaved to sin. When the money runs out and a famine hits, he ends up longing to eat the pods he's feeding to pigs. Davey points out a twist most people miss: when the son finally "comes to his senses," it isn't repentance — it's a rehearsed speech designed to negotiate his way into a paying job, not to come home in humility. He's still angling for what he can get. He has no idea what he's about to walk into.
What We'll Know About Earth, When We're In Heaven
A boy in Chicago kept walking clear across the city to his old Sunday school after his family moved, and when someone asked why, he said simply, "Because they love me over there." Stephen Davey opens with that story to explain why tax collectors and sinners kept crowding around Jesus — and why the Pharisees grumbled about it. In Luke 15, Jesus answers their complaint with a shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep to hunt one, and a woman sweeping her dirt floor for a single lost coin from her wedding dowry. Both stories end the same way: not with relief, but with a party. Davey then points out a detail most readers miss — the joy happens *before* the angels, meaning they're watching, not celebrating. So who's throwing the party? Possibly the friends and family already home, hearing the news.
Will the Real Disciples Sign Up
During World War II, a recruiting sign for an Alaskan pipeline project promised swamps, ice, temperatures from 90 above to 70 below, and bugs that would do real bodily harm — and ended with a warning not to apply. Men signed up anyway. Stephen Davey uses that to introduce Luke 14, where Jesus turns to the crowd trailing Him toward Jerusalem and, instead of recruiting, starts listing the cost. He talks about hating father and mother, carrying a cross, counting stones before building a tower, and counting soldiers before going to war. Davey clarifies that hate here is about priority, not emotion, and that this is no checklist for getting saved — it's what life looks like afterward. The crowd thought they were in a parade. Jesus knew it was a death march.
Conversations at the Dinner Table with Jesus
Martin Luther's dinner-table conversations were so dangerous that a pope ordered the book burned — along with anyone caught hiding a copy. Stephen Davey opens there because Luther was only doing what Jesus does in Luke 14: turning a meal into a place where comfortable assumptions get overturned. Invited to a Pharisee's house, Jesus heals a sick man who appears to have been planted by the door as bait, then watches the guests scramble for the best seats and tells a parable that leaves them squirming. When someone at the table smugly assumes he'll be dining in the kingdom, Jesus answers with the story of a banquet whose guests all send flimsy excuses — a field to inspect, oxen to examine, a new wife. Davey's point lands close to home: the invitation still stands, and excuses are still excuses.
The Lord of Human History
Time magazine named Adolf Hitler Man of the Year in 1938, and most people can't name half the winners from decades past — proof enough of how quickly earthly significance evaporates. Stephen Davey uses that to set up Luke 13, where Herod Antipas held every appearance of power and Jesus called him a fox: crafty, maybe, but ultimately just a nuisance in the timeline of history. When the Pharisees warn Jesus to run for His life, He refuses to change course, promising to keep casting out demons and healing right through to the third day. Three principles emerge — faithfulness won't spare you enemies, opposition shouldn't reroute your mission, and rejection shouldn't harden your compassion. Because when Jesus looks at the city that killed the prophets, He doesn't rage. He weeps.
Why Are So Few People Saved?
Someone in the crowd asks Jesus a question that sounds like theology but is really personal: "Lord, will those who are saved be few?" Stephen Davey suggests what the man really wanted to know was whether there was room for him. In Luke 13, Jesus doesn't hand over a number — He points to a narrow door and says to keep your eyes on it. Davey explains that narrow doesn't mean small, it means singular, the way there's only one right answer to a math problem or one runway the pilot can land on. He works through five truths here: salvation takes humility, the invitation has a deadline, knowing about Jesus isn't the same as knowing Him, refusing Him carries eternal weight — and the door is still open to anyone, from any direction, right now.
The Evidence Speaks for Itself
It's winter in Jerusalem, the Feast of Dedication is underway, and a crowd corners Jesus in the temple demanding He stop keeping them in suspense and say plainly whether He's the Christ. Stephen Davey walks through John 10, where Jesus points them back to the evidence—the works He's already done in His Father's name—and then says something that should settle the matter: "I and the Father are one." His listeners understood exactly what He meant, which is why they reached for stones. Anyone today who claims Jesus never said He was God hasn't been reading John's Gospel. But tucked inside this confrontation is one of Scripture's warmest promises: His sheep hear His voice, He knows them, and no one can snatch them out of His hand. Notice too that Jesus doesn't run from the rock throwers—He keeps talking, and eventually goes to the cross for them. Acts tells us many priests later believed. Worth remembering with the people in your own life who seem furthest from faith.