Following Jesus

There is a simple but demanding starting point: we do not actually know what demons are in any mechanistic sense. Scripture affirms their reality, but it does not provide a technical “microscope” for their nature. Attempts to build detailed theories from encounters tend to circle back on themselves, reinforcing what the interpreter already believes. If that is so, then progress begins not by multiplying explanations, but by clearing them—refusing to treat demonic encounters as a source of new, objective knowledge about demons themselves.

The denial of Peter the Apostle is one of the most familiar scenes in the Gospel narratives, yet it is also one of the most simplistically explained. The dominant interpretation presents it as a moral collapse: a disciple who spoke too boldly, overestimated his courage, and then failed under pressure. While this reading has surface appeal, it does not withstand closer examination when the narrative details are taken seriously and measured against real human behavior.

A formidable enemy, and a losing strategy

The Devil is not a trivial opponent. He is not defeated by cleverness, nor by moral self-improvement alone. When calamity strikes—when life collapses in ways that seem targeted, layered, and relentless—people instinctively reach for what feels like the right response: a plea based on righteousness.

They protest. They argue. They appeal.

They say, in one way or another: this should not be happening to me.

But this is precisely where the mistake begins.

Let me explain the concept of Relocation in the most simple terms possible. 

When Jesus speaks about faith the size of a mustard seed—faith that can move mountains, wither a fig tree, or plant a tree in the sea—He is not giving a poetic exaggeration. He is pointing to something real. The question is not whether such things could happen, but how they could happen without breaking reality into chaos.

To understand this, we must begin very simply.

A Picture a Child Can Understand

Imagine a child drawing a picture.

In Gospel of Matthew 7:21, Jesus Christ delivers a striking and unsettling declaration:

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.”

At first glance, the teaching appears simple: verbal confession is insufficient; obedience is required. But the moment we ask what precisely constitutes “the will of the Father,” the passage unfolds into something far deeper—and far more unified across the Gospels than is often recognized.

At first glance, the Qur’an and the Gospels appear to stand in stark contradiction on the question of whether human beings may be called “children of God.” The Qur’an explicitly challenges and rejects such a claim, while the Gospels seem to affirm it in various forms. From a surface reading, one might conclude that the theological worlds they present are irreconcilable, and thus unlikely to originate from a unified divine source.

There are few statements in the New Testament more unsettling—and more misunderstood—than the words recorded in the Gospel of John:

“This he said to show by what kind of death he would glorify God.” (John 21:19)

At first glance, the meaning appears simple. Saint Peter will die as a martyr, and somehow this death will glorify God. Yet the simplicity is deceptive. For if we pause even briefly, a profound difficulty emerges:

Where is the glory in martyrdom?