We know that we are from God, and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one. (1 John 5:19)
In 2013, I led a worldview school in Perm, Russia. The base in Perm hosted many Russian speakers from former Soviet countries—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Georgia, Ukraine, and others. These individuals spoke Russian as a first or second language and could travel to Russia without a visa. Because of their shared Soviet past, they still had a lot in common. Just like an English speaker can move to another English-speaking country with minimal cultural adjustment, someone from a former Soviet republic can do the same within the post-Soviet world. I realized that this post-Soviet world was vast and interconnected, yet largely hidden from the rest of the world. I was fascinated by it. So, when I completed my master’s program in Korea in 2017, I moved to Ukraine. Ukrainians struck me as kind, hard-working, and passionately democratic—much like Koreans. I felt at home immediately. I loved living there and could even imagine spending the rest of my life in Ukraine.
However, in 2021, an opportunity arose for me to start a campus ministry in Stockholm, and I relocated to Sweden. At that time, I never imagined that just a half-year later, Russia would invade Ukraine. I still remember seeing a video of Russian helicopters flying over Ukrainian soil. It felt like a punch in the gut. Although Ukraine wasn’t my homeland, I felt a deep sorrow, a grief shared with the Ukrainian people in their moment of national tragedy.
In Korean, there’s an expression for such deep sorrow: “the sadness of losing one’s country.” This phrase originates from Korea’s own national trauma of losing its sovereignty to Japan in the early 20th century. The pain of that loss was so profound that Koreans still remember it vividly more than a hundred years later. Today, Ukrainians are experiencing a similar kind of sorrow. And it’s the same grief the Israelites felt when their nation fell to Babylon.
Psalm 137 gives us a glimpse into the emotional devastation of the Jewish exile:
By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion. (Psalm 137:1)
As exiles in a foreign land, all they could do was sit and weep when they remembered their homeland. But their Babylonian captors didn’t care. Instead, they mocked them and demanded entertainment:
For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ How shall we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land? (Psalm 137:3–4)
The exiles were angry and humiliated. Their homeland was destroyed, their temple desecrated, and now they were being forced to perform for their enemies. Powerless to retaliate, they expressed their protest in passive resistance. They refused to build, farm, or start families. Why help the Babylonian economy flourish? Why increase the population of the enemy empire?
But while they were sulking in misery, God sent them a surprising message through the prophet Jeremiah:
Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” (Jeremiah 29:5–7)
God was reshaping their entire perspective. The Jews saw Babylon as the enemy to resist and sabotage. But God saw something different. His concern was not about the destruction of Babylon, but the flourishing of his people—even in exile. For Israel to flourish, Babylon had to prosper as well. Instead of resisting Babylon, they were to settle in, build lives, and even pray for their captors.
God assured them that this exile was not permanent:
For thus says the LORD: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:10–11)
God had not forgotten them. Their exile had a purpose. After seventy years, they would return, and out of them, the Messiah would be born. But if they refused to marry or have children, there would be no next generation—and no Messiah. God reminded them of his promise:
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. (Jeremiah 29:11)
The Hebrew word translated as “welfare” is shalom. Often thought of as “peace,” shalom actually means much more. In many languages, peace is defined as the absence of conflict. For example, in German, the word for cemetery is Friedhof—literally, “peace courtyard”—because the dead no longer fight. In English, “peaceful” usually just means quiet or without tension. But shalom is not merely the absence of war; it is the presence of wholeness, flourishing, and complete well-being.
In Babylon, the Jews may have had peace in the narrow sense—no open conflict—but they didn’t have shalom. They were not flourishing. God’s call to them was to pursue the full life he intended for them—even in exile. And how could they receive that shalom?
Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. (Jeremiah 29:7)
To find their own shalom, they had to pursue the shalom of Babylon.
In the World, Not of the World
In the Bible, we see that many righteous people lived in wicked environments—Lot in Sodom and Daniel in the royal court, for example. Christians today find themselves in a similar situation. Many believers feel alienated from the world because of its pervasive evil. Yet, as we saw in the case of the Jews in Babylon, the response to a fallen world isn’t simply to withdraw from it. The Bible teaches us to live in this tension—blessing the world by participating in it, while also maintaining separation from its values. This paradox lies at the heart of the biblical worldview.
Some Christians believe they should avoid the world entirely. They steer clear of anything “secular,” whether in art, culture, or career paths. They prefer to stay within a “Christian bubble,” disconnected from society. This attitude mirrors the Jews in Babylon who refused to engage with Babylonian life. In church history, this approach found expression in medieval monasticism. Monks withdrew from the world to live in communities where they focused solely on religious activities—praying, reading the Bible, and singing hymns. Monastic life was so respected that people donated land to monasteries and sent their children to become monks.
However, when Martin Luther, a former monk, launched the Reformation, he strongly opposed monasticism. He closed monasteries wherever he could, rejecting the notion that the monastic lifestyle was a “higher” form of Christianity. Instead, Luther taught that all vocations—marriage, family, work—were equally holy. Avoiding the world may seem noble, but it often leads to a diminished view of daily life, which is where most of our time and service to God happen.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the view that Christians should fully immerse themselves in the world without maintaining any distinct Christian identity. Those who embrace this view think Christianity is just one part of a larger societal role, and that the goal is to serve the common good—helping the poor, promoting justice, living moral lives. While those are good things, they often come at the expense of distinctly Christian practices like worship, evangelism, and prayer. If we lose sight of our identity in Christ, the church becomes just another social group. We are Christians because we are set apart by God.
So, while we must live in the world and shine God’s light within it, we must also remain distinct from it. As 1 Peter 2:9 (KJV) says, we are “a peculiar people”—God’s own possession, called to live differently. Jesus captured this tension in his prayer:
“I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world.” (John 17:15–16)
The Garden
The Bible portrays the world not as a neutral stage where good and evil simply coexist, but as a realm opposed to God. The Apostle John warns us:
Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. (1 John 2:15–16)
The world is in rebellion against God. To love the world is to lose the love of the Father. That’s a sobering warning we can’t ignore.
These three categories—the desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, and the pride of life—appear prominently in the story of the fall in Genesis 3. When the serpent tempted Eve, she knew she wasn’t supposed to eat the forbidden fruit. But she gave in anyway. Why?
So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate. (Genesis 3:6)
First, the fruit was “good for food.” Our bodies crave what is desirable. Eve saw something that looked delicious and felt her body pull toward it. It’s hard to resist temptation when our physical desires are stirred.
Second, it was “a delight to the eyes.” We are highly visual creatures. We love beautiful things. A product’s appearance can influence our decision to buy it. Physical beauty plays a huge role in how we perceive others, especially when choosing a spouse. When we see something attractive, we’re drawn in—often without thinking.
Third, the tree “was to be desired to make one wise.” Or, as the NLT paraphrases it: “she wanted the wisdom it would give her.” Everyone wants wisdom. Many pursue education believing it brings wisdom. In countries like Korea, the pressure to succeed academically is so intense that some students even take their own lives when they cannot cope with the pressure. Wisdom can’t be bought with money, but people believe it can generate wealth. In that sense, wisdom is seen as even more valuable than riches.
In Eve’s moment of temptation, we see the same struggles we face today. The desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, and the pride of life—these are not new. They are the ancient temptations of a world that still draws our hearts away from God.
The Wilderness
Eve gave in to temptation and ate the forbidden fruit. That’s how sin and death first entered the human race. So when Jesus came to redeem humanity, he had to face and overcome temptation. The same devil who had tempted Eve in the garden came now to tempt Jesus in the wilderness.
The first temptation began with the devil saying, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.” (Luke 4:3). Jesus had been fasting for forty days, and he was intensely hungry. The temptation must have been almost unbearable. On the surface, the devil’s suggestion seemed harmless—what’s wrong with turning a stone into bread? It wasn’t murder or theft. No commandment seemed to be violated. This is how temptation often works: it appears logical, reasonable, even harmless. But the problem wasn’t just with the suggestion—it was with the one making it. The devil was subtly implying that Jesus should put his physical needs first. That’s a dangerous mindset. While we all have bodily needs, we are not to be ruled by them. Jesus replied, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone.’” (Luke 4:4). He demonstrated that he would not be a slave to his physical hunger.
Next, the devil led Jesus to a high place and showed him “all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time.” Then he said, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will.” (Luke 4:5–6). The devil wasn’t just offering land—he was offering prestige, influence, and the awe-inspiring sights of the world. Even today, travel is immensely popular, with tourism accounting for 10% of the global economy. People love to experience the beauty of the world. Now imagine not just seeing these wonders, but owning them—the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall, Mount Everest. The devil was offering Jesus all that glory. It was like a negotiation tactic: show the goods to create desire. But Jesus saw through it and said, “It is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve.’” (Luke 4:8). No amount of beauty or power could draw him away from faithful worship of God alone.
Finally, the devil brought Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple in Jerusalem and said, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here.” (Luke 4:9). The temple was in the heart of the city and always crowded. Imagine someone leaping from the top and surviving without a scratch—it would be a stunning miracle. Everyone would witness it and talk about it. Jesus could have become famous instantly. Today, fame is more sought after than ever. In the past, only royals and nobles were admired. Now, influencers and celebrities dominate the spotlight, gaining wealth and admiration with little effort. If there’s one thing many young people long for, it’s to be famous. The devil offered Jesus that—instant recognition, instant adoration. But Jesus refused. Even the allure of fame couldn’t pull him away from obedience to his Father. This time, the temptation wasn’t for wisdom, as it was with Eve, but for fame—which often follows wisdom. In that sense, it was equally powerful.
So the devil tempted Eve—and she fell. He tempted Jesus—and Jesus triumphed. Today, the devil tempts us with the same three things: the desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, and the pride of life. And these temptations are not confined to the outside world. You can live in a monastery and still be vulnerable to them. Whether you’re cloistered in religious life or working in a secular job, the battle remains the same. That’s why we must always look to Jesus and follow his example.
The Tower of Babel
When God first created the human race, he gave them a clear command: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 1:28). God had created humans so that they might bless the whole world by spreading out and filling it with their presence. This same command was repeated to Noah and his sons after the flood: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” (Genesis 9:1). Despite the fall, God still believed humanity had the capacity to bless creation simply by existing and multiplying.
However, by the time God called Abraham, his message had changed. Instead of commanding Abraham to fill the earth, he said, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house.” (Genesis 12:1). In other words, he told him to leave his environment. Why the change? What had happened? It was because by then, the human race had become too corrupt to bless the world simply by multiplying. More people no longer meant more blessing—it meant more evil. Now, instead of filling the world with a fallen humanity, God chose to call out a distinct people from that world—a people who would be shaped by him.
The turning point in this change was the Tower of Babel. Even though God had clearly told Noah’s descendants to “fill the earth,” the people did the opposite. When they arrived in the land of Shinar, they “settled there.” (Genesis 11:2). In choosing to settle, they were rebelling against God’s command to spread out. Their plan was simple: “We will stay here by building a tower.” But why was building a tower central to staying put? Because a tall tower would become a landmark—something permanent that could shape identity and ensure that future generations would remain in one place. The original settlers wanted to anchor their descendants in Shinar, and the tower was their way of guaranteeing it.
Their rebellion was empowered by technology.
And they said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks, and burn them thoroughly.” And they had brick for stone, and bitumen for mortar. (Genesis 11:3).
We may not think of bricks as advanced, but at the time, this was one of humanity’s first technological breakthroughs. Stones were heavy, hard to shape, and scarce in Mesopotamia. But mud was everywhere. By making and baking bricks, they had access to uniform, lightweight building materials. Bitumen, a sticky petroleum-based substance, served as mortar. Interestingly, Andrew Jukes notes that bitumen forms when organic matter decays—by accepting what was rotten, they got something that helped them build. By using bricks and bitumen, they could construct a massive tower with relative ease.
This was humanity’s first recorded use of technology to disobey God. And even today, technology often serves as the primary tool of rebellion. As Jacques Ellul observed, we now live in a “technological society,” where technology shapes nearly every aspect of our existence. It has changed our lives in ways both visible and hidden.
Take pornography as an example. When I was a child, only the most daring teenagers would go to shady parts of Seoul to purchase illicit material. Now, any teenager—or even preteen—can access pornography on their phone with almost no restriction. Parents find it nearly impossible to protect their children from it. And through these early experiences, their minds are enslaved to pornography for life. Through technology, children are exposed to powerful and damaging content long before they have the maturity to handle it. No wonder so many struggle.
And technology’s grip on our lives is only growing stronger. Futurists now speak of a moment called the singularity—a point when technological growth becomes uncontrollable and irreversible, transforming human life in unimaginable ways. Ray Kurzweil predicts that artificial intelligence will soon reach a level where it can improve itself, ushering in a new age. He believes one of the outcomes of this singularity will be the conquest of death itself. With technology capable of healing at the genetic and cellular level, people may never have to die. Yuval Noah Harari goes even further, suggesting that Homo Sapiens will become Homo Deus—godlike beings—through genetic engineering or merging with machines.
These visions of the future sound remarkably familiar to the temptation of the serpent. In the Garden of Eden, the serpent told Eve, “You will not surely die,” and “You will be like God.” (Genesis 3:4–5). And Eve believed him. She desired what he offered and disobeyed God. Today, the promises of technology sound eerily similar. “You will not die.” “You will become godlike.” But behind those promises is the same temptation: to rely on ourselves instead of God.
The builders of the Tower of Babel used their technology to rebel against God’s design. And the allure of modern technology leads us down that same path today. We must recognize this for what it is—not just progress, but a test of faith and obedience. Will we use our abilities to honor God’s purposes, or to replace him with our own? The answer to that question still shapes the future of humanity.
Shinar and Babylon
The Tower of Babel was constructed by settlers in the land of Shinar. In the Old Testament, Shinar refers to southern Mesopotamia—the fertile region between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers. It’s easy to imagine how attractive this lush land would have been to early settlers. But their deep attachment to this land led to disobedience. Their love for the world grew stronger than their love for God, and this rebellion wasn’t just a personal matter—it was collective. That’s why Genesis says, “They said to one another, ‘Come, let us make…’” (Genesis 11:3). Together, they rejected God’s instruction, and in doing so, revealed how deeply corrupt human nature had become.
To halt their rebellion, God confused their language, bringing the project to an end. But he didn’t stop there. Instead, he initiated a new beginning by calling one man to break from this rebellious world. God appeared to Abram in Ur—a city located in Shinar—and said, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Genesis 12:1). The very first instruction to Abraham was to separate himself from the world. The Tower of Babel had proven how wicked humanity had become, and the first step in following God was now a call to leave the corrupted world behind.
This theme of separation is repeated throughout the Bible. Before God judged Sodom, he commanded Lot to flee the city with his family (Genesis 19:12). When Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth—a notoriously immoral city—he quoted the Old Testament, saying, “Therefore go out from their midst, and be separate from them” (2 Corinthians 6:17). In the book of Revelation, John hears a heavenly voice declare, “Come out of her, my people, lest you take part in her sins” (Revelation 18:4). The call is consistent: God’s people are to stay apart from the world’s corruption.
Unfortunately, Israel failed to live as a separate people. The consequence was exile in Babylon. And because Babylon was also located in Shinar, their place of exile became known as “the land of Shinar” once again (Daniel 1:2). Humanity had rebelled in Shinar by building a tower, and later, the descendants of Abraham—who were called out of that land—were brought back there because of their own disobedience.
In the New Testament, Babylon becomes a symbol of the world. In John’s apocalyptic vision, he hears an angel proclaim:
“Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great! She has become a dwelling place for demons, a haunt for every unclean spirit… For all nations have drunk the wine of the passion of her sexual immorality, and the kings of the earth have committed immorality with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich from the power of her luxurious living.” (Revelation 18:2–3)
Babylon is portrayed as a seductress, luring nations into immorality. She is repeatedly called a “prostitute” in Revelation (17:1, 5, 15, 16; 19:2). This imagery reflects the seductive power of the world that we witness today. With the rise of freedom and prosperity, people are indulging in sexual immorality more openly than ever. Even if they don’t go to prostitutes, they consume media and products drenched in sexual imagery. Social media is filled with half-naked influencers—idols for men and role models for women.
Another major feature of Babylon is commerce: “The merchants of the earth have grown rich from the power of her luxurious living” (Revelation 18:3). In ancient societies, commerce was often secondary to agriculture or family ties. But in our day, as Adam Smith said, nearly everyone is involved in commerce, even if just as a consumer. We consume so much that we are increasingly defined not as citizens or souls, but as consumers. We live in a “consumer society.”
Is commerce inherently bad? Of course not. It brings prosperity. But it also breeds greed. And unlike Christianity, the secular world doesn’t see greed as a vice. That’s why characters like Gordon Gekko from Wall Street can declare, “Greed is good,” and be applauded for it. People admire greed because it leads to hard work, competition, innovation, and material success. But as Christians, we must remember what Scripture says: greed is idolatry (Ephesians 5:5). When our lives revolve around accumulating wealth, we are worshiping a false god, not the true God.
After John’s vision of Babylon’s downfall, he hears a voice from heaven saying, “Come out of her, my people, lest you take part in her sins, lest you share in her plagues” (Revelation 18:4). We are called to separate ourselves—not geographically, but spiritually—from Babylon. We must resist a life driven by lust and greed. The world tries to seduce us with comfort and tempts us with acceptance. And if we don’t give in, it resorts to pressure and persecution. Most people yield—either to the seduction or to the suffering.
But Jesus knew exactly what his followers would face. That’s why he encouraged them with these words:
“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)
Though the world may seem overwhelming and we may feel small and weak within it, our hope is not in ourselves but in Christ. In him, we already have victory.
Christian and Politics
Of course, we all know that lust and greed are wrong. No sincere Christian would openly claim these things as part of the faith. But because we live in the world, there’s always a risk of slowly losing our distinctiveness and becoming indistinguishable from the world around us. Nowhere is this temptation stronger than in the realm of politics.
Throughout history, Christians have been deeply engaged in political causes—abolishing slavery, protecting animals, advancing women’s rights, and more. These are noble efforts. But the danger comes when we begin to believe that every social problem can be solved through Christian legislation. The thinking goes, “Just like we ended slavery by passing laws, we can fix everything else the same way. If only we could pass more laws, we could create a perfect Christian society.”
But this line of thinking leads to several problems. First, it assumes that we have the right to impose our beliefs on others. And if we justify that for ourselves, what happens when people of other religions do the same? In a world where Muslims or Hindus are in the majority, are we prepared to accept it if they impose their religious laws on everyone else? For instance, when the Taliban bans women’s education based on their interpretation of Islam, should we say, “That’s their religion, and we must respect it,” or do we call it barbaric? If it’s oppressive for Muslims to enforce Islamic law in Afghanistan, then isn’t it equally oppressive to enforce Christian law in the West?
This is the concern behind dystopian books and films like The Handmaid’s Tale or Equilibrium, which warn against a future of Christian totalitarianism. People who fear religious control are unlikely to be receptive when we say, “God is love.” By aligning ourselves too closely with politics, we can inadvertently push people away from God.
There are Christians today who embrace what’s known as Dominion Theology—the belief that Christians should rule over society and institute biblical law. Some proponents go so far as to advocate implementing Old Testament laws, including harsh punishments like the death penalty for dishonoring parents. This view often elevates Old Testament legalism over the teachings of Jesus, undermining the very gospel they claim to uphold.
Another issue with political involvement is division. Christians don’t always agree on political issues. Even when we agree on the goals, we often differ on how to achieve them. Take poverty, for example. Should we rely on government assistance to help the poor? Or does that risk making people dependent and less motivated to improve their lives? These disagreements are inevitable and often deeply divisive.
The early church struggled with division too. In Corinth, some believers said, “I follow Paul,” while others said, “I follow Apollos,” or “I follow Cephas,” or even “I follow Christ” (1 Corinthians 1:12). Similar divisions happen today when we prioritize politics over the gospel. That’s why we must guard the unity of the church. As Paul writes, “Above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony” (Colossians 3:14).
But perhaps the biggest danger of Christian political involvement is this: if we believe we can usher in God’s kingdom on earth through politics, we risk losing the very concept of “the world.” John writes, “We know that we are from God, and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19). Yet some think that if Christians take over politically, the world will cease to be “the world.” But can politics truly transform a fallen world into God’s kingdom?
The Bible tells us otherwise. The proclamation in Revelation—“The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ” (Revelation 11:15)—is not the result of political reform, but of divine intervention. Jesus made this clear when he said to Pilate, “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36). That’s why he never pursued political influence. His ministry—teaching, preaching, and healing (Matthew 4:23)—might have looked small, but it changed history.
Paul also understood this distinction. Even though he knew believers in Caesar’s household (Philippians 4:22), he never sought political access. Instead, he reminded us that, “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness” (Ephesians 6:12). For Paul, the real battle was spiritual. Political power couldn’t change the hearts of people or defeat the forces of darkness.
Scripture shows us that three things are beyond redemption and destined for destruction. First, the flesh: “Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (Galatians 5:24). Second, the devil: “and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.” (Revelation 20:10). And third, the world: “And the world is passing away along with its desires” (1 John 2:17). The attempt to transform the world into God’s kingdom through politics is just like trying to evangelize the devil: it is destined to fail. Yes, we are called to influence the world positively. But we must never forget that the world is still the world, and we are not called to belong to it.
We are “sojourners and exiles” (1 Peter 2:11)—temporary residents in a foreign land. This doesn’t mean we ignore the world. But it does mean we must hold fast to our identity as “citizens of heaven” (Philippians 3:20). Being a Christian means living in tension—present in the world, but not of it. As Jesus prayed for his disciples: “I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world” (John 17:15–16).
This balance—of living in the world while remaining distinct from it—is essential to our calling. When we remember who we are and whose we are, we can be a light in the darkness without becoming lost in it.