When the News Is Actually Good

On Second Thought

If you were to scroll through headlines this morning, you would likely encounter a steady stream of violence, corruption, illness, economic anxiety, and global unrest. Our culture has trained us to brace for impact. We expect the worst. The word “news” itself has become almost synonymous with alarm. Against that backdrop, the claim of the Christian faith—that there is genuinely good news—can sound naïve at best and suspicious at worst.

Yet when Jesus stood with His disciples after His resurrection, as recorded in Luke 24:44–49, He did not offer them motivational slogans. He opened their minds to understand the Scriptures. He showed them that everything written in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms pointed to Him. He explained that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins would be proclaimed in His name to all nations. This was not sentimental optimism. It was redemptive reality.

The Greek word translated “gospel” is euangelion, meaning “good news.” In the ancient world, this word was used to announce military victories or the birth of a king. It signaled that something decisive had happened that changed the future. The gospel of Jesus Christ is good news because something decisive has happened. Sin—the bad news that infects every human heart—has been confronted at the cross. Death—the universal fear—has been broken by the resurrection. When John writes, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16), he is not offering vague comfort. He is declaring a cosmic intervention.

Modern skepticism often whispers, “There must be a catch.” We have been conditioned to assume that free offers conceal hidden costs. But the good news of the gospel is untainted. The Son of God, fully divine and fully human, bore the penalty of sin in our place. As the apostle Paul summarized it, “Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures… and that He rose again the third day” (1 Corinthians 15:3–4). The offer of salvation is not earned by moral performance or social standing. It is received by faith.

This is where the gospel challenges our instincts. We prefer transactions we can manage. We are comfortable with merit-based systems. But the gospel removes our leverage. It declares that salvation is a gift. The word “believes” in John 3:16 comes from the Greek pisteuō, meaning to trust, to rely upon. It is not mere intellectual agreement; it is personal dependence. We entrust ourselves to Christ, believing that His death and resurrection are sufficient.

The good news is for every age and temperament. It does not discriminate. There is no fine print restricting access. The same message that reached fishermen by the Sea of Galilee reaches executives, students, parents, and skeptics today. Augustine once wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” That rest is precisely what the gospel provides. It offers not only forgiveness but friendship with God—eternal life that begins now.

And yet, we must not overlook that Luke 24 connects the good news with repentance. Jesus declared that repentance and forgiveness would be preached in His name. The gospel is free, but it is not casual. It calls for a response. It invites us to turn from sin and to trust Christ. In doing so, we step out of the cycle of fear-driven headlines into a story shaped by redemption.

If you are weary of bad news, consider this: the resurrection of Jesus is not a seasonal slogan. It is the central fact of Christian faith. It assures us that evil does not have the final word. It grounds our hope not in political stability or economic growth but in the finished work of Christ. As J.I. Packer observed, “The gospel is the message of God’s grace to sinners deserving His wrath.” That grace changes everything.

On Second Thought

Here is the paradox that often escapes us: the good news begins with bad news. The gospel only makes sense if we acknowledge the seriousness of sin. In a culture that prefers self-affirmation to confession, that can feel uncomfortable. Yet the very reason the news is so good is because the diagnosis is so honest. If sin were merely a minor flaw, the cross would be excessive. If death were a temporary inconvenience, the resurrection would be unnecessary. The gospel does not minimize reality; it confronts it.

On second thought, perhaps the reason we struggle to believe in good news is that we have underestimated the depth of our need. When we see how thoroughly sin has distorted human hearts and systems, we begin to grasp the magnitude of what Christ accomplished. The cross is not an accessory to a decent life; it is the rescue of a dying one. The resurrection is not a religious symbol; it is the inauguration of new creation.

And here is the unexpected turn: the good news does not only change our destiny—it reshapes how we view today’s headlines. When we know that Christ has overcome sin and death, we do not deny the darkness of the world, but we refuse to surrender to it. We live as witnesses. Luke 24 ends with Jesus telling His disciples, “You are witnesses of these things.” The good news is not meant to be admired from a distance; it is meant to be shared.

So the next time you encounter another wave of troubling reports, remember that the truest headline of history has already been written: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. That is news worth believing—and worth living.

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When Prayer Stands in the Gap

The Bible in a Year

“Pardon, I beseech thee, the iniquity of this people according unto the greatness of thy mercy, and as thou hast forgiven this people, from Egypt even until now.” — Numbers 14:19

As we continue our journey through The Bible in a Year, we come to a moment that could have ended Israel’s story before it truly began. In Numbers 14, the people rebel. They refuse to enter the Promised Land, despite the assurance of God’s presence. Fear overtakes faith. They grumble against Moses. They even speak of stoning Joshua and Caleb for daring to believe God’s promise. Judgment looms. The Lord declares that He will strike them down and begin again with Moses.

And then Moses prays.

This is not a casual prayer whispered in comfort. It is intercession offered in crisis. Moses steps into the breach between a holy God and a rebellious people. His prayer in Numbers 14:19 is a model of wise praying, and it reveals four movements that shape our own life of prayer: he brings problems, he pleads for pardon, he appeals to pity—God’s mercy—and he remembers God’s past performance.

First, Moses goes to God when problems erupt. He does not try to manage the crisis alone. The rebellion is severe. Leadership is threatened. The unity of the nation is fractured. Yet Moses’ first instinct is not retaliation or despair; it is prayer. This teaches us something critical. Problems do not disqualify us from prayer—they drive us to it. When difficulties intensify, our dependence must deepen. As Matthew Henry observed, “Nothing is too hard for the Lord; no request too great for His power.” The size of the problem does not determine the effectiveness of prayer; the greatness of God does.

Second, Moses pleads for pardon. He calls the people’s sin what it is—iniquity. The Hebrew word ʿāwōn carries the idea of guilt and moral crookedness. Moses does not excuse the rebellion. He does not ask God to overlook it as trivial. Instead, he asks for forgiveness. In a world increasingly inclined to redefine sin rather than repent of it, Moses’ prayer feels refreshingly honest. We are tempted to seek permission for what God calls wrong, but wise praying seeks pardon. We cannot experience restoration without confession. David would later echo this truth in Psalm 51: “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness.” Forgiveness is not automatic; it is requested with humility.

Third, Moses appeals to God’s pity—His mercy. He asks God to pardon according to the “greatness of thy mercy.” The Hebrew word for mercy here is ḥesed, that steadfast covenant love that binds God to His people. Moses does not base his request on Israel’s merit. There is none. He anchors his plea in God’s character. This is insightful praying. When we approach God on the basis of our performance, we stand on shaky ground. But when we approach Him through the gate of mercy, we stand on the solid foundation of His unchanging love. Charles Spurgeon once said, “Prayer pulls the rope below, and the great bell rings above in the ears of God.” Yet it is mercy that moves the heart of heaven. We receive far more when we appeal to who God is rather than to what we have done.

Finally, Moses recalls God’s performance in the past. “As thou hast forgiven this people, from Egypt even until now.” Moses looks back to look forward. He remembers the Red Sea crossing, the manna in the wilderness, the patience shown again and again. The God who forgave yesterday can forgive today. The God who delivered then can deliver now. Past faithfulness fuels present faith. When we rehearse God’s works, our confidence in prayer grows. We are not asking an untested deity to act; we are calling upon the One whose history is marked by redemption.

As we reflect on this passage in our year-long study of Scripture, we see that prayer is not passive resignation. It is active engagement with God’s purposes. Moses’ intercession spared Israel from immediate destruction. Though consequences remained—they would wander forty years—mercy triumphed over judgment in that moment.

What does this mean for us today? It means no problem is beyond prayer. It means sin must be confessed, not defended. It means mercy, not merit, is our strongest appeal. And it means remembering what God has done strengthens what we believe He will do.

If you find yourself facing a personal wilderness—family strain, spiritual discouragement, leadership burdens—follow Moses’ example. Bring the problem honestly before God. Ask for pardon where sin is present. Appeal to His mercy. Recall His faithfulness. Wise praying does not manipulate God; it aligns us with His character.

For further study on intercessory prayer and the mercy of God, see this helpful article from Desiring God:
https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-mercy-of-god

As we continue through The Bible in a Year, let us remember that the narrative of Scripture is not only about God’s mighty acts but also about the prayers of His people. Moses stood in the gap. In Christ, we have an even greater Mediator who ever lives to intercede for us (Hebrews 7:25). That truth alone should move us to faithful, confident prayer.

Keep walking through the Word. Keep praying with wisdom. And let the mercy of God shape how you approach every crisis and every confession.

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The Road That Costs Everything

A Day in the Life

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24

When I read these words of Jesus, I am immediately confronted with how easily I soften them. We often speak of “bearing our cross” when referring to an illness, a difficult coworker, financial strain, or even the consequences of our own poor decisions. Yet when I walk closely with Jesus through Matthew 16, I realize He is speaking of something far more deliberate and far more costly. My cross is not simply what happens to me. It is God’s will for me—embraced voluntarily—no matter the price.

Jesus introduces the cross only after His disciples confess that He is the Christ (Matthew 16:16–21). That detail matters. He does not invite casual observers to suffer aimlessly. He invites convinced followers to participate in His redemptive work. The Greek word for “deny” is aparneomai, meaning to disown or renounce. Before I can follow Him, I must renounce the claim that my comfort, reputation, or preference is ultimate. Denying myself is not self-hatred; it is self-surrender. And then comes the cross.

Your cross, and mine, is not random hardship. Health problems, rebellious children, and financial pressures are real burdens, but Jesus does not label those as the cross. The cross is a chosen alignment with Christ’s redemptive purposes. Paul captures this in Philippians 3:10 when he writes of his desire to know Christ “and the fellowship of His sufferings.” The Greek term koinōnia means participation or partnership. Paul understood suffering not as meaningless pain but as shared labor in God’s saving work. In Colossians 1:24 he even says he rejoices in his sufferings because they serve the spiritual maturity of others. That kind of suffering is not imposed; it is embraced.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.” Those words may feel heavy, but they are clarifying. There is no Christianity without a cross. We often want to move quickly from “deny yourself” to “follow Me,” but Jesus places the cross squarely in between. There are aspects of God’s redemptive work that can only be accomplished through hardship endured for His sake. Just as Christ suffered to bring salvation, there will be moments when obedience costs us influence, convenience, or security so that others may encounter grace.

I have learned that I cannot endure such suffering unless I am deeply convinced that Jesus truly is the Christ. If I am uncertain about who He is, I will retreat at the first sign of discomfort. But once that relationship is settled—once I know He is the Messiah, the Son of God—then obedience becomes an act of trust rather than reluctant duty. The cross is introduced only after conviction is secured. That is mercy. Jesus does not overwhelm immature faith with unbearable cost.

In a culture that prizes comfort and self-expression, this teaching feels counterintuitive. Yet paradoxically, it is the pathway to life. Jesus continues in Matthew 16:25, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” The word for life here is psuchē, meaning soul or true self. The cross does not erase me; it refines me. It aligns my life with eternal purposes rather than temporary satisfactions.

C.S. Lewis once observed, “Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it.” That is not poetic exaggeration; it is spiritual reality. When I refuse the cross, I cling to control and shrink my soul. When I embrace it, I participate in something larger than myself. My suffering, when offered to Christ, becomes a channel through which others may experience grace.

So what might your cross look like today? It may be the quiet choice to forgive when resentment feels justified. It may be speaking truth with gentleness when silence would protect your reputation. It may be investing in someone’s spiritual growth at the expense of your convenience. These are not dramatic displays of martyrdom; they are steady acts of redemptive obedience.

If you are waiting for a version of discipleship that never requires inconvenience or sacrifice, Jesus gently corrects that expectation. His own life was marked by suffering for the sake of others. As Isaiah prophesied, “He was despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). To follow Him is to walk in that same pattern—not as victims of circumstance, but as participants in grace.

For deeper study on this passage, see this helpful resource from The Gospel Coalition:
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/what-does-it-mean-to-take-up-your-cross/

Today, as I consider a day in the life of Jesus, I realize that discipleship is not about admiration from a distance. It is about identification up close. It is about stepping into obedience that costs something, trusting that God uses even suffering to accomplish salvation in and through us.

The cross comes before the following. But once it is lifted, we discover that Christ Himself walks with us beneath its weight.

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Grace That Invites Us Closer

As the Day Begins

“Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” — Hebrews 4:16

There is something deeply comforting about the phrase “throne of grace.” A throne usually represents authority, power, and judgment. Yet in Hebrews 4:16, the writer presents us not with a throne of condemnation, but a throne of grace. The Greek word used for grace here is charis, meaning favor freely given, a gift that cannot be earned. And the word translated “boldly” is parrēsia, a term that conveys freedom of speech, confident access, even joyful courage. We are not creeping toward God in fear; we are invited to approach Him openly and honestly.

God’s grace is not merely a theological concept; it is the atmosphere in which the believer lives. When we accept His grace, we surrender the illusion of control. We begin to understand that the shaping of our lives is not accidental. The Father leads us from conversation to conversation, from responsibility to responsibility, weaving His purposes through our ordinary routines. This does not remove our responsibility, but it anchors it. Instead of striving to orchestrate every outcome, we rest in the assurance that God is actively involved in the consequences and contours of our journey.

There is remarkable freedom in knowing that we are not the ultimate managers of our destiny. The author of Hebrews reminds us that grace is available “in time of need.” That phrase suggests immediacy. God’s grace is not stored in a distant warehouse of divine resources; it is present, timely, and sufficient. As you begin this day, whatever appointments, challenges, or unexpected interruptions await you, you are invited to approach the throne with confidence. Grace is not only for forgiveness of yesterday’s failures; it is empowerment for today’s responsibilities. In Christ, your life carries meaning because it is aligned with His purposes.

For further reflection on the assurance found in God’s grace, see this helpful article from Ligonier Ministries:
https://www.ligonier.org/learn/articles/the-throne-of-grace

Triune Prayer

Father, You are the One who reigns over the throne of grace. This morning I come to You not with hesitation, but with gratitude. You are not distant or indifferent; You are attentive and kind. I confess that I often attempt to manage my life as though I were sovereign, forgetting that You are the One who holds all things together. Thank You for inviting me into Your presence with confidence. Help me to trust that the events of this day unfold under Your watchful care. Shape my thoughts, my decisions, and my responses so that they reflect Your purposes rather than my fears.

Jesus, Son of God, You made this bold access possible. Through Your sacrifice, the veil was torn, and the way was opened. I thank You that Your finished work secures my standing before the Father. When I am tempted to measure my worth by productivity or approval, remind me that my identity is anchored in You. Walk with me today in every task and every conversation. Let me sense that I am participating in Your mission, not merely completing my own agenda. Teach me to rest in Your grace and to extend that same grace to others.

Holy Spirit, Spirit of Truth, dwell within me as my Helper. Guide my steps with clarity and wisdom. When anxiety rises, anchor me in the reality of God’s sufficiency. When decisions feel uncertain, whisper truth into my heart. Empower me to live with an abiding awareness that I am sustained by grace, not driven by pressure. Fill my words with kindness, my actions with integrity, and my heart with peace. I welcome Your direction and submit this day to Your leadership.

Thought for the Day

Approach every moment today as if you are already standing before the throne of grace—because in Christ, you are. Act, speak, and decide from a place of confidence in God’s sufficiency rather than fear of losing control.

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Today’s Spiritual Disciplines

May the Lord bless your spiritual walk today and strengthen you in every step of your faith journey. The God who began a good work in you remains faithful to complete it. As we enter this rhythm of daily devotions and Scripture reflections, may His presence meet you wherever you are—at home, at work, in stillness, or in motion. These spiritual disciplines are not tasks to perform but invitations to walk more closely with Christ.

This morning begins with Grace That Invites Us Closer – As the Day Begins, where Hebrews 4:16 reminds us that we approach not a throne of judgment but a throne of grace. We reflect on bold access to God and learn how resting in His sovereignty shapes the tone of our entire Christian walk.

Then in The Road That Costs Everything – A Day in the Life, we consider Jesus’ call in Matthew 16:24 to take up our cross. This devotional invites us to see discipleship not as inconvenience, but as voluntary participation in Christ’s redemptive work.

At midday, When Prayer Stands in the Gap – The Bible in a Year guides us through Numbers 14:19. Moses’ intercession teaches us how wise praying addresses problems, pleads for pardon, appeals to mercy, and remembers God’s faithfulness.

Later, When the News Is Actually Good – On Second Thought centers us in Luke 24 and John 3:16. In a world saturated with discouraging headlines, we rediscover the gospel as the decisive good news that reshapes reality.

In the evening, When God Sets Up His Tent – DID YOU KNOW walks us through Leviticus and John’s Gospel, revealing how God’s wilderness dwelling points forward to Christ who “tabernacled” among us.

Finally, An Undivided Heart at Day’s End – As the Day Ends gently closes the day with Psalm 86:11, calling us not to spiritual heroics but to wholehearted belief.

May these daily devotions steady your heart, deepen your Scripture engagement, and anchor your faith journey in truth.

Pastor Hogg

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今日属灵操练

愿主祝福你今日的属灵道路，在你的信心旅程中坚固你。那位在你里面动了善工的神，必定成全这工。无论你身处何地——家中、职场、安静或忙碌之中——愿祂的同在与你相遇。每日的灵修与属灵操练，并非沉重的任务，而是邀请我们更深进入神的同在，稳步前行在基督里的生命道路上。

清晨，我们从 《恩典邀请我们亲近——As the Day Begins》 开始，透过希伯来书 4:16 思想我们所来到的不是审判的宝座，而是施恩的宝座。这篇默想提醒我们大胆来到神面前，在祂的主权中安息，让恩典成为一天的起点。

随后，在 《那条代价高昂的道路——A Day in the Life》 中，我们聆听耶稣在马太福音 16:24 的呼召，思想“背起十字架”的真实意义。门徒的道路并非舒适，而是甘心参与基督救赎工作的旅程。

中午的 《当祷告站在破口中——The Bible in a Year》 带我们进入民数记 14:19。摩西的代求教导我们，在困境中祷告、为罪求赦、仰赖神的怜悯，并回顾祂过往的信实。

下午的 《真正的好消息——On Second Thought》 让我们在路加福音 24 章与约翰福音 3:16 中重新看见福音。在充满负面消息的世界里，基督的死与复活是改变历史的真正好消息。

傍晚的 《当神搭起祂的帐棚——DID YOU KNOW》 透过利未记与约翰福音，带我们理解神如何在旷野中与百姓同住，并在基督里亲自“支搭帐棚”住在我们中间。

夜晚则以 《一颗专一的心——As the Day Ends》 作结，借着诗篇 86:11 提醒我们，神不寻找属灵巨人，而是寻找真诚相信祂的人。

愿这些每日灵修与经文默想，引导你在属灵操练中稳步成长，在基督徒的生活中更加扎根于真理。

Pastor Hogg

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The Quiet Danger of Pride

As the Day Ends

“We may be afraid to ask God to keep us humble. Why are we not far more frightened of what pride can do?”

As this day comes to a close, that question lingers in the quiet of the evening. Pride rarely announces itself loudly. It slips in subtly—through self-sufficiency, defensiveness, or the quiet assumption that we no longer need to seek God as earnestly as we once did. Scripture speaks plainly: “In his pride the wicked does not seek Him; in all his thoughts there is no room for God” (Psalm 10:4). The most alarming effect of pride is not outward arrogance but inward displacement. It pushes God to the margins of our thoughts.

Proverbs warns us with sobering clarity: “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall” (Proverbs 16:18). Pride promises stability but produces collapse. It convinces us we are standing firm when, in reality, we are leaning on our own fragile understanding. At the end of a long day, it is wise to ask: Where did pride subtly shape my words? Where did I rely on my own strength rather than God’s wisdom? Reflection is not meant to shame us but to recalibrate us.

Yet Scripture also offers hope. “A man’s pride will bring him low, but the humble in spirit will retain honor” (Proverbs 29:23). The Hebrew concept behind humility carries the sense of being bowed low—not humiliated, but rightly aligned before God. Humility is not thinking less of ourselves; it is thinking of ourselves less and thinking of God more. In seasons approaching Lent or any time of spiritual renewal, this posture becomes especially meaningful. The cross itself is the ultimate picture of humility—Christ lowering Himself that we might be raised. As we wind down tonight, humility becomes a place of rest. We release the burden of self-exaltation and entrust our lives to God’s steady hand.

Triune Prayer

Father, You are the Most High, exalted above all yet attentive to the humble. As I reflect on this day, I confess the subtle ways pride has crept into my thoughts. There were moments when I assumed I knew best, when I acted independently of Your wisdom. Forgive me for any space where I crowded You out. Teach me to make room for You in every thought and decision. Shape in me a lowly spirit that seeks You continually. I am grateful that You do not despise a contrite heart but welcome it. Tonight, I lay aside self-reliance and rest in Your sovereignty.

Jesus, Son of God and Lamb of God, You modeled humility in its purest form. Though You were equal with God, You took on the form of a servant and humbled Yourself to the point of death—even death on a cross. When my pride rises, remind me of Your example. Guard my heart from the desire for recognition or control. Help me to follow You not only in public faith but in private surrender. Thank You for bearing the consequences of my sin, including the pride that so easily entangles me. Let Your humility shape my character and Your grace steady my steps.

Holy Spirit, Spirit of Truth and Comforter, search my heart tonight. Illuminate attitudes I may not see clearly. Where pride disguises itself as strength, reveal it. Where humility is needed, cultivate it. Empower me to seek God earnestly, to listen more than I speak, and to trust more than I strive. As I rest, continue Your quiet work within me. Align my desires with God’s will so that tomorrow I rise with a spirit that is teachable, gentle, and receptive to Your guidance.

Thought for the Evening

Before you close your eyes tonight, ask God to reveal one area where humility can grow in your life. Surrender it intentionally. Pride isolates; humility restores communion. Let your final act of the day be an act of quiet surrender.

For further reflection on humility and spiritual growth, consider this helpful article from Desiring God:
https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-beauty-of-humility

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Sustained, Not Just Rescued

DID YOU KNOW

There is a difference between being rescued in a moment and being sustained for a lifetime. Many of us come to God in crisis. We pray harder when the diagnosis is uncertain, when the bills stack high, or when a relationship fractures. But Scripture gently reminds us that following Jesus is not a crisis-aversion system. It is a daily dependence. The passages before us—Exodus 39–40, John 6:52–71, and Song of Solomon 5:5–9—draw us into a deeper understanding of what true sustainment looks like.

Did you know that God’s presence was always meant to be daily, not occasional?

In Exodus 39–40, the tabernacle is completed exactly as the LORD commanded. The garments are fashioned, the altar is set, and finally, the glory of the LORD fills the tabernacle. The cloud covers it by day, and fire appears by night. Scripture says, “For the cloud of the Lord was above the tabernacle by day, and fire was over it by night, in the sight of all the house of Israel throughout all their journeys” (Exodus 40:38). Notice that phrase—throughout all their journeys. God’s presence was not reserved for emergencies. It was constant.

The tabernacle was not merely a sacred structure; it symbolized continual communion. Israel did not move unless the cloud moved. Their survival depended not only on past miracles like the Red Sea crossing, but on present guidance. In the same way, our walk with God cannot be sustained by yesterday’s experience. We need today’s obedience, today’s communion, today’s awareness of His presence. The God who filled the tabernacle invites us to walk under His cloud daily.

Did you know that Jesus refused to satisfy temporary cravings when He came to offer eternal life?

In John 6, after feeding thousands with loaves and fish, Jesus declares, “I am the bread of life.” The crowd, impressed by the miracle, seeks more signs. But Jesus does not repeat the spectacle. Instead, He delivers one of His most challenging teachings: “The one who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54). To Jewish ears, this was shocking. Drinking blood was forbidden under the Law. What could He mean?

Jesus was pointing beyond physical bread to sacrificial sustainment. He was not offering a momentary meal; He was offering Himself. The cross, not the loaves, was the true provision. Many disciples withdrew, confused and offended. They had followed Him for visible power, but He invited them into spiritual participation—abiding, dwelling, trusting. Jesus was teaching that eternal life flows from union with Him. He was not interested in being a temporary solution; He came as lasting sustenance.

Did you know that true faith clings to Christ even when understanding is incomplete?

When others turned away, Jesus asked the Twelve, “You do not want to go away also, do you?” Peter’s response is both simple and stunning: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). Peter did not claim full comprehension. He did not say, “We understand everything.” He said, in essence, “We trust You.”

That is the heart of sustainment. Faith does not require that every teaching be easily digestible. It requires confidence in the One who speaks. There are moments in every believer’s journey when Christ’s ways seem mysterious. The call to forgive, the invitation to suffer faithfully, the delay of answered prayer—these can perplex us. Yet sustainment grows when we remain anchored in Christ despite unanswered questions. As Augustine once wrote, “Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.”

Did you know that longing for Christ is itself evidence of His sustaining work in you?

Song of Solomon 5:5–9 portrays a bride searching for her beloved. She rises, seeks, knocks, and even suffers in her longing. While poetic and symbolic, the imagery reminds us that love involves pursuit. The Christian life is not mechanical dependence; it is relational hunger. Sustainment is not merely about provision; it is about abiding love.

When we feel distant from God, the very ache for His presence reveals something important. Spiritual apathy is more dangerous than spiritual longing. The bride’s pursuit reflects a heart unwilling to settle for absence. Likewise, our dependence on Christ deepens as we seek Him—not only for what He gives, but for who He is. Jesus does not merely feed us; He dwells with us. He sustains us not only through provision, but through communion.

As we consider these passages together, a pattern emerges. The tabernacle teaches us about God’s abiding presence. John 6 teaches us about Christ as eternal sustenance. Peter’s confession teaches us about enduring faith. The Song of Solomon reminds us that love fuels pursuit. Sustainment is not a single moment of rescue; it is a lifelong rhythm of reliance.

Perhaps today you find yourself tempted to treat faith as a backup plan—something to activate when life becomes difficult. Scripture invites you into something richer. Christ is not a crisis consultant. He is the Bread of Life. He is the Holy One of God. He is the abiding presence who walks with you throughout all your journeys.

Pause and ask yourself: Am I seeking signs, or am I seeking Him? Am I satisfied with occasional spiritual experiences, or am I cultivating daily dependence? True sustainment grows not from repeated miracles, but from abiding trust.

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When Less Is More: The Strength of a Simple Gospel

On Second Thought

Scripture Reading: 1 Corinthians 2:1–5
Key Verse: “We speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, the hidden wisdom which God ordained before the ages for our glory.” — 1 Corinthians 2:7

Corinth was a city that admired intellect. It was a place where rhetoric was applauded and philosophical debate was a form of entertainment. Ideas were currency. To be impressive was to be persuasive, and to be persuasive was to be powerful. It is not difficult to imagine how that atmosphere slipped quietly into the church. Believers who once marveled at grace began measuring teachers by eloquence and arguments by cleverness.

Into that culture walked the apostle Paul—and he refused to compete on their terms. He wrote, “I did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:1–2). That statement was not anti-intellectual. It was counter-cultural. Paul understood that human brilliance cannot regenerate the human heart. The Greek word he uses for “determined” suggests a deliberate decision. He chose to center everything on Christ crucified.

The “wisdom of God in a mystery” that Paul describes in verse 7 was not hidden in the sense of being unknowable. It was hidden in the sense that it could never be discovered by human reasoning alone. God ordained this wisdom “before the ages.” Salvation through a crucified Messiah was not a divine afterthought; it was an eternal plan. Yet to the Greek mind, a crucified Savior sounded absurd. To the Jewish expectation, it seemed scandalous. Paul addressed this earlier when he wrote that the message of the cross is “foolishness” to some and a “stumbling block” to others (1 Cor. 1:23). But to those who believe, it is “the power of God.”

Here is the foundation of our faith: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Not philosophical speculation. Not persuasive rhetoric. Not cultural relevance. Christ alone. Through Him we are cleansed from sin, reconciled to God, and adopted as sons and daughters. The cross is not merely an entry point into Christianity; it is the bedrock upon which everything stands. Remove Christ, and the structure collapses.

It is easy to become sidetracked by secondary matters. Churches can argue over methods, preferences, or minor theological distinctions while quietly drifting from their first love. Individuals can become preoccupied with winning debates rather than cultivating devotion. The Corinthians were not abandoning Christ outright; they were simply building upon other foundations—human leaders, eloquence, intellectual pride. Paul lovingly reminded them that stability comes only from faith anchored in Christ and conformed to His Word.

A faith that rests solely on Jesus and Scripture produces stability. It makes us secure when cultural winds shift. It gives discernment when persuasive voices compete for our allegiance. The Word of God is not an accessory to our spirituality; it is its framework. Psalm 119:105 declares, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Without that light, even sincere believers can stumble.

Consider how subtle the drift can be. We may begin reading Scripture less for transformation and more for information. We may engage theological discussions more for intellectual satisfaction than for spiritual growth. We may pursue ministry success and then invite God to endorse our achievements. Paul’s approach calls us back to simplicity: Christ at the center. Not Christ as one component among many, but Christ as the core.

Charles Spurgeon once remarked, “The motto of all true servants of God must be, ‘We preach Christ; and Him crucified.’” That motto guards the church from pride. It reminds us that our hope is not in human wisdom but in divine grace. Paul wanted the Corinthians’ faith to stand “not in the wisdom of men but in the power of God” (1 Cor. 2:5). That distinction matters deeply. A faith built on personalities can crumble when leaders fail. A faith built on arguments can waver when new ideas arise. But a faith rooted in Christ crucified remains firm.

If today falls within a season of reflection on the church calendar—perhaps approaching Lent or walking through a season of spiritual renewal—this message becomes even more timely. The cross calls us to recalibrate. It invites us to examine what foundation we are truly standing upon. Are we anchored in Christ alone, or have we added supporting beams of self-reliance and cultural approval?

On second thought, perhaps the paradox is this: what appears intellectually modest is spiritually mighty. The gospel seems simple—Christ died for our sins and rose again. Yet within that simplicity lies the deepest wisdom of God. The world prizes complexity and innovation. God redeems through sacrifice and surrender. The Corinthians sought sophistication; Paul offered them a crucified Savior. At first glance, that choice might appear limiting. On second thought, it is liberating. When Christ is the foundation, we are freed from the exhausting need to impress. We are released from constructing our own systems of meaning. We are invited into a wisdom ordained before time itself. The paradox is that by narrowing our focus to Christ alone, our understanding widens. By standing on one foundation, our stability strengthens. By embracing what seems foolish to the world, we discover the only wisdom that saves.

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Well Able: Living by Faith in a Land of Giants

The Bible in a Year

“Caleb stilled the people before Moses, and said, Let us go up at once, and possess it; for we are well able to overcome it.” — Numbers 13:30

As we move steadily through Scripture in our year-long journey, we come today to a defining moment in Israel’s story. Twelve men had seen the same land, the same cities, the same giants. Yet only two—Joshua and Caleb—returned with confidence rooted in God rather than circumstances. The others focused on obstacles. Caleb focused on promise. The difference was not eyesight; it was faith.

The text tells us Caleb “stilled the people.” The Hebrew word carries the sense of quieting or calming a restless crowd. Why were they restless? Because unbelief had stirred fear. The ten spies described fortified cities and towering men. Their report was technically accurate—but spiritually incomplete. They evaluated Canaan without reckoning with God. Faith, however, recalculates reality by including the character and power of the LORD. When Caleb spoke, he was not denying the presence of giants; he was affirming the supremacy of God.

Faith brings peace. The people were unsettled, but Caleb’s confidence created calm. This is still true. When I look at my circumstances alone, anxiety multiplies. When I remember who God is, my heart steadies. The apostle Paul would later write, “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:1). The deepest peace does not come from favorable reports but from right relationship with God. Matthew Henry once observed, “Unbelief is a great enemy to our comfort.” Caleb’s faith did not merely inspire action; it quieted fear.

Faith also produces passion. Caleb said, “Let us go up at once.” There is urgency in those words. Faith does not procrastinate obedience. It moves promptly because it trusts God’s timing. Unbelief hesitates, calculates endlessly, and often stalls entirely. How often do I delay a step of obedience because I am waiting for ideal conditions? Caleb understood that delay would only feed doubt. Passion for God’s promises flows naturally from confidence in God’s character.

Faith provides possessions. Caleb declared they would “possess it.” And what a land it was—so fruitful that a single cluster of grapes required two men to carry it (Numbers 13:23). The land symbolized abundance and inheritance. Yet because the majority chose unbelief, Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years. The tragedy was not lack of opportunity but lack of faith. Hebrews 3 reflects on this very episode and warns believers not to harden their hearts. Faith lays hold of God’s promises; unbelief forfeits them. As A. W. Tozer once wrote, “God is looking for people through whom He can do the impossible. What a pity that we plan only the things we can do by ourselves.”

Faith gives power. Caleb insisted they were “well able” to overcome. That confidence was not bravado. It was reliance on divine strength. Faith does not generate power; it accesses it. The apostle John echoes this theme centuries later: “This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith” (1 John 5:4). Unbelief shrinks the soul. Faith enlarges it. One makes us conquered; the other makes us conquerors.

As I reflect on this passage, I must ask myself where I am standing today—among the ten or with the two. It is possible to see God’s promises clearly yet retreat because of visible opposition. Giants still exist: financial pressures, strained relationships, cultural resistance, internal fears. The question is not whether obstacles are real. The question is whether God is greater. Faith does not deny reality; it defines reality through God’s faithfulness.

Our study today reminds us that faith is not passive optimism. It is active trust. It stills the heart, stirs the will, secures the inheritance, and strengthens the believer. As we continue our journey through the Bible this year, let us remember that the wilderness is often the result of unbelief, while inheritance flows from trust.

If you would like to explore this theme further, Ligonier Ministries offers a helpful reflection on Israel’s failure at Kadesh Barnea and the warning it provides:
https://www.ligonier.org/learn/devotionals/the-sin-of-unbelief

Today, consider one promise of God that feels overshadowed by your “giants.” Speak it aloud. Pray it back to Him. Take one small step of obedience toward it. Like Caleb, let your faith steady others rather than inflame fear.

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