It’s a strange thing to get lost while using a compass. But it happens all the time. Perhaps we don’t trust what the compass is telling us. It’s needle points in a direction that just feels wrong. Or it’s because we never really learned how to use it. We think we’re following it correctly, but a small misunderstanding, such as a failure to adjust for declination, sends us steadily off course. And sometimes the terrain itself confuses us. The map doesn’t seem to match the land, and the compass, though still true, directs us to a place that we think we shouldn’t go.
But then there are times when the compass itself fails. Perhaps the compass is near metal objects, electronics, or magnets, or becomes damaged. Or maybe the compass is working, but the magnetic field on which the compass relies has changed.
In 1845, Sir John Franklin led two Royal Navy ships — HMS Erebus and HMS Terror — into the Arctic in search of the fabled Northwest Passage. These ships were fitted with the best navigational technology of their time: magnetic compasses, sextants, and chronometers. The crew had faith in their tools, their maps, and their mission. But there was a problem no one truly understood until it was too late: the closer they sailed to the magnetic North Pole, the more their compasses faltered.
At high latitudes, the horizontal component of Earth’s magnetic field weakens, causing compass needles to behave erratically. Instead of pointing north, they spin, dip, and freeze — pulled by iron on the ship or distracted by local anomalies in the Earth’s field. To the crew, it would have seemed like their direction was sound. But their instruments were wrong, not from design, but from magnetic distortion.
Eventually, the ships became locked in unyielding ice. The men, still trusting their tools and their assumptions, perished one by one. Starvation. Exposure. And then silence.
The Ongoing Process of Change
It’s worth pausing now and then to examine the internal compasses guiding our lives. Most of us assume we’re headed in the right direction—and if we’re honest, we’re usually confident about our ability to navigate.
But have we checked to see if we’re on the right path? Have we accounted for forces subtly shifting our direction? Like a compass altered by nearby interference, what if our moral bearings have been quietly altered by fear, pride, ideology, tribal allegiances, or unexamined assumptions, often without our awareness?
I readily admit to past errors. Over the last 15 years, I’ve examined and corrected many missteps in my thinking. Some have been based on false beliefs, others revealed only after questioning long-held assumptions. Richard Feynman said it well: “The first principle is that you must not fool yourself—and you are the easiest person to fool.” Here are ten of the key principles I’ve learned.
Things that break our compasses
Hubris instead of humility – Tammy and I regularly ask, “What if we’re wrong?” Given our past track record, we fully expect future missteps and welcome the chance to correct them. Ongoing change is at the heart of the Christian life, anchored in the promise that “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ.” When we stop questioning our path, we’ll never know if our compass is broken.
A diet of outrage – A steady diet of outrage through news and social media invariably infects and distorts our perspective. By creating a sense of apocalyptic urgency, it becomes easy, like in the television series 24, to justify nearly any action for the so-called greater good, even if it means abandoning the very virtues we claim to uphold. So, when virtue becomes conditional, when dehumanization becomes a tactic, when cruelty is seen as strength, and when faith is armed for battle because “this election is just too important,” our compass is broken.
An epistemology of ignorance – Our missteps often stem less from ignorance than from a willful refusal to see. For example, in the recent closure of USAID programs, many relied on sources reporting on a few controversial grants and avoided those reporting on the humanitarian toll, including lives lost, as vital food and health aid failed to reach vulnerable communities. Such selective news exposure—often subconscious and rooted in the human desire to avoid perspectives that challenge our narratives—distorts our moral compass.
Proof-texting Scripture – One of the most subtle and dangerous ways our compass can drift is by cherry-picking Scripture to support our preexisting views. Rather than letting the whole counsel of God’s Word shape us, we hunt for verses that reinforce our biases. When Scripture becomes a tool to win arguments instead of a mirror to examine our hearts, we’ve exchanged its authority for our own.
Power overriding mercy, humility, and justice – Scripture consistently emphasizes a triad of virtues: mercy, humility, and justice. But when the pursuit of power—whether political, institutional, or personal—takes center stage, it changes the essential nature of our faith. It suffocates compassion, erodes love, and bends the truth. As Micah 6:8 reminds us, God doesn’t call us to be right, rule, or retaliate. He calls us to be faithful to the life and teachings of Christ. Otherwise, we’re navigating with broken compasses.
Winning overriding spiritual fruit – In our polarized age, many Christians have come to value winning, whether in politics, debate, or culture wars, rather than prioritizing the fruit of the Spirit. As a result, love, joy, patience, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are often treated as weaknesses, secondary to “winning the culture” or “fighting against secular evil.” But if our tactics contradict the very character of Christ, we’ve lost the battle before it begins. A compass directed toward conquest is broken. It’s not the way of Jesus.
Political allegiance overriding Christlikeness – We live in a polarizing age where, according to multiple studies, politics is now a first cause for people’s beliefs. People of faith are not exempt. We evaluate issues based on political criteria and then baptize them as biblical truth. We excuse behaviors in our tribe (and ourselves) that we condemn elsewhere. In the words of Haidt, we become “blind and bound,” loyal to our in-group as we demonize the out-group. When our identity is no longer solely hidden in Him, we lose the plot, and our compass breaks.
Whataboutism instead of moral integrity – When confronted with wrongdoing, it’s tempting to deflect by pointing to someone else and saying, “What about them?” It’s a way to shift the spotlight, excuse hypocrisy, or avoid accountability. But scripture calls us to examine our hearts first: “Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own?” Whataboutism distorts our moral compass by replacing integrity with tribal loyalty, making us value our tribe’s success over being faithful to Christ’s character.
My-sideism mindset – During the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln was purportedly asked if God was on his side. Lincoln responded, “Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side, for God is always right.” We are all fallen people who, at best, “see through a glass darkly.” When we arrogate “our side” into “God’s side, the compass of Christ followers becomes broken.
Form without faithfulness – Scripture is clear: worship without justice is not worship; piety without “other-centric” love is not Christian. Hear the prophet Amos: “Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!” When we prioritize public displays of religiosity—polished prayers, worship events, or Christian branding—while remaining indifferent to things that matter to God, such as mercy, justice, and love of neighbor, our compass is broken. Faithfulness isn’t measured by performance but by how closely our words and actions reflect God’s heart.
Case Study #1
Jake Meador, editor of the evangelical journal Mere Orthodoxy, recently reflected on the disorienting shifts within evangelical Christianity. A tradition that once urged Americans to choose leaders who demonstrated “consistent honesty, moral purity, and the highest character” has now charted a different course. Even past faith-supported victories—like the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR)—have been abandoned or attacked.
While some evangelical voices have lamented PEPFAR’s rollback, others, including Franklin Graham of Samaritan’s Purse and James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family, have stood by it. Dobson, a long-time critic of the program, claimed in 2006 that “80 percent of this money is going toward terrible programs that are immoral as well as ineffective.” There is no indication that either Graham or Dobson has revised their stance, despite mounting evidence of the human toll.
And that toll is staggering. Dr. Brooke Nichols, an infectious disease modeler at Boston University, has developed ensemble models—blending outputs from multiple independently validated projections—to assess the consequences of the Trump administration’s PEPFAR reductions. As of May 14, 2025, her team estimates at least 48,102 additional adult deaths and 5,120 child deaths are tied to the funding cut.
For those committed to the teachings of Jesus, condemning this outcome should be unequivocal. Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:14 are clear: “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them.” So is His standard in Matthew 25:40: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.”
When political loyalty overrides biblical imperatives, when vulnerable people made in the image of God are collateral damage in partisan battles, when our silence drowns out the biblical call for mercy and justice, hasn’t your compass lost its way?
Case Study #2
On April 13, 2025, Trump released a Presidential Easter message affirming the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, calling Him “our Lord and Savior” who “freed us from sin and unlocked the gates of Heaven.” A week later, on Easter morning, he posted: “Happy Easter to all, including the Radical Left Lunatics who are fighting and scheming so hard to bring Murderers, Drug Lords, Dangerous Prisoners, the Mentally Insane, and well-known MS-13 Gang Members and Wife Beaters, back into our Country.”
Asked about the post, Jackson Lahmeyer—founder of Pastors for Trump—responded not with caution, but endorsement: “Isn’t it terrible that they are wanting to do that? You cannot unify with evil.” For Lahmeyer, Trump remains a spiritual champion—someone who has “moved the needle for the Christian agenda, unlike anyone else, especially in modern times.”
But the facts tell another story. According to Pew Research, about 83% of undocumented immigrants in the U.S. are Christian, primarily Catholic and Evangelical. These individuals commit crimes at significantly lower rates than native-born citizens. They are, by and large, our spiritual siblings—hardworking, faith-based people fleeing violence and poverty.
Scripture is not silent here. Over 50 times, God commands His people to love the foreigner, welcome the stranger, and seek justice for the oppressed. Sodom and Gomorrah’s sins, according to the prophet Ezekiel, included their pride, overindulgence, and indifference to the poor and needy. Demonizing and dealing harshly with immigrants is not a biblical stance—it’s a rejection of God’s heart.
Immigration is complex. Border security matters. But when fear and outrage replace mercy and justice, when contempt for fellow image-bearers is cloaked in Christian license, when lies are baptized as truth, and when partisanship overrides the biblical call to love our neighbor, hasn’t your compass lost its way?