🙋 Who Is Joseph Bae?

Hi,

I am Joseph Bae — Korean-British, husband and father, a layman. By the grace of God I majored in Physics at Cambridge (Jesus College — the same house later embarrassed itself in the Arday fiasco) and then did a PhD in Physics at Yale, in a lineage that runs, quirkily, back to Einstein. At Cambridge I learned to pray specifically and watch God answer. At Yale I learned that the deeper you go into the science, the more it shows the greatness and glory of the Creator — and I picked up a hobby in concrete apologetics: the mathematics of the empty tomb. I still think like a physicist. I occasionally build products and services that I think should exist — typing games for my children, and three books of etymologies.

I was raised the son of a Korean Presbyterian minister, Reformed to the marrow. Then, in 2017, I spent a week in Luton on a Korean prayer mission — interpreting, sleeping on church floors, learning what it means to cry out through the night until dawn. That week was a pivot in my life. After it, God really took me on a theological journey. I met Derek Prince online, and from latter rains, Pentecost, Israel, and the Blessed Hope I have come this far. All of it is grace. I believe, as the Bible teaches, in the Millennium, in a pre-trib / pre-wrath rapture, and I wish more Christians took the thousand years seriously. I watch Israel. In 2025 I walked Golgotha and the empty tomb and wrote it down in the stone shadows; I stood at the water’s edge of Galilee and heard the first call all over again. That hope is why every January I fast twenty-one days, why I cry out, why I treat prayer as spiritual connection, why I evangelise with a passion, and why I will boldly stop my colleagues and my boss from misusing the Name of Jesus as a swear word. The Cross is propitiation. Faith is allegiance. The health that matters is the health of your spirit.

I love the Word of God more than anything else. I keep McCheyne and read the Bible through once a year, because a man should read the Bible every day. The Bible is food for the soul before it is a tool for apologetics — that was the lesson I brought home from OCCA.

I count God’s Word heavier than the praise of men, so I name leftism as what it is: a rival gospel, a rival worldview, that Christians must reject, whether it arrives as Keller’s soft progressivism, the Fabian wolf in Downing Street, the lie that diversity is our strength, or the multiculturalism myth. Solzhenitsyn already told Harvard what captured universities do. Locusts have no king and still march in ranks; tyrants disarm and starve.

And then there is Britain. I live here. I no longer recognise London. I have sat with Psalm 101 and wept over England’s reckoning — the rape-gang inquiry the establishment would not write, the halal default a nation of animal-lovers swallowed without a fight, the asylum policy that imports the very ideology that stabbed Henry Nowak on a Southampton pavement, the night the Lords decriminalised abortion to birth. This is not diversity. This is self-destruction dressed as compassion, a parallel society advancing while the church stays sober-minded too late, or not at all. I cry out over it.

The centre of everything I write is the three realms of the Christian life: discipling all nations with the Gospel, pushing back against leftism, but with the eye firmly on heaven, eagerly awaiting the return of our Bridegroom, who will make all things new: therein lies our blessed hope. In all three, the one thing we are required to do is be faithful. That means knowing the times, as the sons of Issachar did, and understanding what Israel ought to do — and being ready when He comes.

The other centre is this: courage is the most important virtue. I joined Restore Britain because prayer without public courage is a hobby. I wear the MAGA hat on purpose. I want a regiment of Christ — mighty men who break the seven taboos the soft church will not touch and who do not fear men.

At home we are simpler: this household serves the Lᴏʀᴅ, we train our children, and we live as if the trumpet could sound before breakfast. Overcame. That’s the word. Victory — Maranatha!