Devotional – Welcome

His – 1 Chronicles 29:10-20

That reframes the whole idea of generosity in a pretty significant way. We tend to feel good about what we give to God, to others, to causes we care about, and there is something right about that.

“Yours, Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the splendor and the majesty, for everything in the heavens and on earth belongs to You. Yours, Lord, is the kingdom, and You are exalted as head over all.” — 1 Chronicles 29:11 (HCSB)

The context here matters a lot. David is standing before God and his people right after an extraordinary moment. The Israelites had just given a massive, generous offering of treasure to be used in building the Temple. Gold, silver, precious stones, the works. It was a genuinely impressive display of generosity. King David’s response is fascinating. Instead of celebrating how much his people had given, he essentially turns to God and says none of this was ours to begin with.

That’s a remarkable thing for a king to say. David was the most powerful man in Israel. He ruled everything and everyone. If anyone had the right to stand up and take some credit for what his kingdom had accumulated, it was him. And yet his prayer goes in exactly the opposite direction. Who am I and who are we, he asks, that we could give you anything? You own it all. We only have what you allowed us to have. Everything we just handed over was already yours.

That reframes the whole idea of generosity in a pretty significant way. We tend to feel good about what we give to God, to others, to causes we care about, and there is something right about that. David was genuinely proud of his people in this moment. But the deeper reality is that we are not donors. We are stewards returning what was entrusted to us. It’s like finding someone’s lost bag and handing it back to them. You haven’t given them your bag. You’ve just returned what was theirs all along. That’s a humbling way to think about it.

I want to do great things for God. I want to give generously in every way I can my time, my money, my talents, whatever I have. But this passage is a good reality check on the pride that can sneak into that. God doesn’t need any of it. He’s not impressed by the size of the offering the way we might be. What he desires is the heart behind it, a genuine dedication to him and his purposes, lived out honestly day after day.

So, the takeaway is a posture adjustment more than a action item. When I start feeling good about something I’ve done for God, or frustrated about what I’m lacking, I want to come back to David’s prayer. Anything I have is a gift from him. Anything I give back is just an honest return of what he owns. That keeps things in the right perspective and honestly, it makes the whole thing feel a lot more like worship and a lot less like a transaction.

Real – Hebrews 9:24-28

But none of it is the point. The point is Christ himself, and the hope of his return. He’s not coming back to deal with sin again. That work is finished.

“So also Christ was offered once for all time as a sacrifice to take away the sins of many people. He will come again, not to deal with our sins, but to bring salvation to all who are eagerly waiting for him.” — Hebrews 9:28 (HCSB)

The Real Thing

The writer of Hebrews is making a careful and deliberate argument to people who grew up surrounded by the Jewish temple system with it priests, sacrifices, and rituals. His point is not that those things were meaningless. It’s that they were always just a shadow. A human-made version of something far greater happening in heaven. The tabernacle, the altar, the annual sacrifices, all of it was pointing toward something else, something that was not incomplete. It was like going through a ride at Disneyland. It might feel like you are in an Indiana Jones archaeological dig, but you aren’t. Not really.

Then Jesus showed up and did the real thing.

The contrast he draws is pretty striking. A priest goes into the temple year after year, offering the same sacrifices over and over, because the job is never quite finished. The sin keeps coming and the covering keeps needing to be renewed. Jesus walked into the true holy place, not a building made by human hands, and offered himself once. That’s it. One time. Done.

That lands differently when you sit with it. Everything we build here, whether it’s our institutions, our religious systems, our ceremonies and traditions, are at best a pale reflection of the eternal reality. That’s not a criticism of those things. Structure and practice have their place.

But none of it is the point. The point is Christ himself, and the hope of his return. He’s not coming back to deal with sin again. That work is finished. He’s coming back to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him. That changes the posture of the whole thing.

For me personally, this is a helpful recalibration. It’s easy to get caught up in the world immediately around me. I have a list of things that I have to do today. Even religious activity can become its own kind of distraction if it replaces a genuine focus on Christ rather than pointing toward him. I’m not called to check out of the world like some kind of hermit, and I’m not saying the things around me don’t matter. But I need to keep them in their right place.

The practical takeaway is pretty simple. Stay connected to the ultimate reality of Christ rather than getting lost in the lesser things. The shadow is not the substance. The ceremonies and structures and busy activity of life are not the point. He is. And he is coming back.

Finished – Revelation 21:1-8

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away. Then the One seated on the throne said, ‘Look! I am making everything new.'” — Revelation 21:3-4 (HCSB)

John is writing down a vision. People have debated for centuries exactly what kind of vision it is. Some say metaphor, some history, still other’s present reality, and most say it’s a future promise. The early church read it as a picture of what is coming, and honestly that seems like the most natural reading. John’s original audience would have recognized echoes throughout this passage of things Jesus said and promised throughout his ministry. This wasn’t new information to them. It was confirmation that the story wasn’t over.

What is most meaningful to me in this passage is the connection to the cross. When Jesus said “It is finished” as he died, he was talking about the work of salvation, the debt paid and the gap closed. But here in Revelation 21, those words show up again in a completely different context. This time it isn’t about the cross. It’s about the completion of everything Jesus promised when he told his followers he was going away to prepare a place for them. The making new that began at the resurrection is finally, fully done. Every tear wiped away. Death itself gone. Grief and pain and the other things that define so much of our experience here are simply no more.

That promise is worth clinging to, especially on the hard days. God is faithful to reward those who have been holding on to what he said. That’s not a small thing. But I also can’t read this passage without feeling the weight of verse 8, the list of those whose end is very different. Not because I’m worried about my own standing, but because I think about the people around me who are carrying the crushing weight of unrepentant sin, or worse, who have come to faith but are still being haunted by decisions they made before.

I’ve talked to Christians recently who can’t seem to shake the guilt of their past. And that’s not God doing that to them. God doesn’t see that sin anymore. It is gone. It is the enemy who keeps dragging it back out and holding it up. Instead, the promises that Jesus offers are completely opposite.

The freedom that Jesus offers isn’t just freedom from the penalty of sin. It’s freedom from the shame of it. The same voice that says “It is finished” on the cross is the voice that says “I am making everything new” in this passage. That includes you. That includes your past. That includes the thing you can’t seem to forgive yourself for.

I feel a real pull to help people land in the hope of this passage rather than fear of the last verse. There are people all around me who need to hear that the story ends with every tear wiped away and that Jesus meant that for them personally.

Sleep – 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

The way Christians talk about death says something about what we actually believe. I’ve been to enough funerals to know that a Christian funeral is a genuinely different experience.

“For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.” — 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17 (NLT)

Paul is writing to a people who might have a question about death. They might be thinking “will we see them again?” “Did their death mean they missed something?” Paul answers that with an exhortation that they should not grieve like those who are without hope. Not only will they not miss anything, they will actually be first. The dead in Christ rise before those who are still alive. And then everyone together meets Jesus in the air. This is not a metaphor. Paul means it literally, and doing anything less than taking him at his word does a lot of damage to what he’s actually saying.

One thing worth noting is the language Paul uses for death ,”fallen asleep.” That phrase carries a lot in it. It assumes a waking up. It treats death not as a final ending but as a temporary state. Early Christians seemed to use that language deliberately, and honestly it’s worth considering whether we should bring it back.

The way Christians talk about death says something about what we actually believe. I’ve been to enough funerals to know that a Christian funeral is a genuinely different experience. There is grief, of course, loss is real and painful. But underneath it there is something else. A hope that doesn’t make logical sense to someone on the outside. Because this is not the end, and we will see that person again.

That hope has a way of reordering everything else too. Paul isn’t saying that when Jesus returns, the wealthiest people get a better spot, or that the most educated or successful have some kind of advantage. None of that travels. What travels is people, relationships, influence, and the investment you made in someone else’s life and faith. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. There are things I could spend my time and energy chasing that will not amount to anything on that day. And there are things, people, conversations, showing up for someone who needs it, that will.

That’s where my head is right now. I want to pursue things that have eternal value. I want there to be people who are standing in that group with Jesus someday because of something I said or did or modeled in my own life. That’s a high calling, and I don’t take it lightly. But it starts with something pretty simple, paying attention to what God is already doing around me and joining him in it.

So, right now my prayer is the same one I keep coming back to, “Show me where you’re working, God.” “Make me receptive when you nudge me in a direction. I don’t want to miss it because I was too busy with things that won’t matter in the end.”

Faith on Monday Morning – James 1:19-27

James reminds us that faith is more than just showing up on Sundays; it’s about living it out daily. He stresses listening, controlling anger, and acting on what we learn. Hypocrisy exists, but we need to use Christ’s grace as motivation to grow, not an excuse to stay the same.

“My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” — James 1:19 (NIV)

James doesn’t waste a lot of time being gentle. His whole letter has one overarching point that makes a lot of Christians uncomfortable, faith isn’t just belief. It’s belief that leads to action. He would probably tell you that it doesn’t matter how faithfully you show up on Sunday morning if it doesn’t make any difference in how you live Monday through Saturday. That’s a hard word, but it’s a fair one.

Verse 21 is worth slowing down on. When James talks about “the implanted word” that saves, the Greek word he uses is “logos.” It’s the same word John uses at the very beginning of his gospel to describe Jesus himself. John 1 tells us that the Word became flesh. So James isn’t just talking about a book. He’s talking about Jesus, who is planted in our lives, bearing fruit. And the fruit he’s describing is pretty specific: slow to speak, slow to anger, quick to listen, and actually doing something with what you read instead of just nodding along and walking away.

The mirror illustration James uses starting in verse 23 is one of the most memorable in the whole Bible for me. A fool might look at himself, see exactly what’s there, walk away, and immediately forget what he looked like. That would be ridiculous. That’s the person who hears the Word and does nothing about it. It’s almost funny until you realize how accurately it describes most of us on most days. I know it describes me more often than I’d like to admit. My tongue gets away from me. Anger flashes faster than it should. The gap between what I believe and how I actually behave is real.

The thing about the hypocrisy criticism that gets directed at Christians is that it’s not entirely wrong. We do preach a standard and then fall short of it, constantly. But that’s actually the whole point. We’re Christians because we can’t meet that standard on our own. The grace of Christ covers the gap. What we can’t do is use that grace as a reason to stop trying. Paul makes the same argument in Romans, forgiveness shouldn’t make us comfortable with staying the same. It should launch us into something different.

So, I want to be more intentional about the gap between Sunday and Monday. Not in a way that puts a checklist on my faith, but in a way that asks the honest question, “is what I believe actually showing up in how I treat people, how I use my words, and what I spend my time chasing?” James would say that’s one of the only questions that really matters.

Help – Romans 15:1-7

Being completely transparent, this passage hit me differently than some others. I spend a lot of my time and energy focused on helping the people around me. That feels like the right thing but at times it’s exhausting, and I wonder if my own needs and desires are just going to keep sitting on the back burner indefinitely. It can get discouraging.

Each one of us must please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. – Romans 15:2 (HCSB)

Paul makes a pretty straightforward argument here. Those of us who are strong and who have been given gifts (stability, faith, resources, etc.), aren’t supposed to use those things just for ourselves. We’re supposed to use them for the people around us, especially those who are weaker or struggling. He points to Jesus as the example. Jesus didn’t come to please himself but poured everything he had out for people who had nothing to offer him in return. That’s our model.

Then Paul does something interesting. He points his readers back to the Old Testament and reminds them that those scriptures weren’t written just as a history of God and his people. They were written to teach, to build endurance, and to encourage. God knew his people would need fuel for the long haul. The Word isn’t just information, it’s sustenance for people who are in the middle of doing hard things for a long time.

Sometimes the Word of God convicts. Sometimes it redirects. But sometimes it confirms that you’re on the right track and gives you what you need to keep going. That’s what this passage did for me today. Paul’s prayer at the end of this section felt very personal, like it was written for someone who needed to hear that God sees what they’re doing and has good things ahead for them.

Let the scriptures do what Paul says they do, build endurance and encouragement for the road ahead. God is not unaware of what it all costs, and he is not going to leave us empty-handed. That doesn’t mean that he’ll make us rich, but it does mean that we are building the type of character that God wants in his people, and he’ll use that for his glory.

Do Things – Ecclesiastes 11:1-6

“As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.” — Ecclesiastes 11:5 (HCSB)

The first verse of this passage trips people up because it sounds like Solomon is talking about tossing bread into a stream. He’s not. This is ancient poetry, and it’s actually about trade and investment, putting something out there, taking a risk, and then waiting to see what comes back. The second verse isn’t about a literal count of seven or eight either. It’s a Hebrew poetic way of saying diversify. Don’t put everything into one thing. Spread it out. Because you don’t know what’s coming and you can’t control it anyway.

Actually, the whole passage is really a series of poetic analogies pointing at the same idea. There are forces at work that no human being can predict or manage. The wind, the rain, which way a tree falls, and what the market does are not things Solomon is telling us to figure all out. He’s telling us that we can’t, and to stop pretending otherwise. What we can control is whether we do something or nothing. The person who waits for perfect conditions, who watches the clouds long enough to find a reason to plant, will end up with an empty field. The person who plants anyway, even without knowing how it will go, at least has a chance.

This passage is one of those places where the Bible feels more like a pillow than a hammer to me personally. I know people who read the promises of Jesus about how God takes care of the birds and the grass (Matt 6:25-34), and use that as a reason to sit still and wait for God to drop something in their lap. I also know people who pour everything into one venture, and when it doesn’t work out they end up angry at God. Solomon is pushing back on both of those. Do something. Do several things. And then hold it loosely, because you are not the one who controls outcomes.

For me, the diversification is standard, and sometimes it’s almost frenetic. I spread things out because I know I can’t predict which thing will land. That part I’ve got. The harder part is the waiting and staying connected to God through the seasons when nothing seems to be succeeding. When it feels like I’m out there alone doing things that may or may not matter, the truth is I’m not alone. God cares about me more than sparrows in a forest, and he has a track record of coming through in ways I didn’t see coming. His timing just doesn’t always match mine.

So the takeaway isn’t complicated. Keep moving. Don’t let my hands go idle. Don’t be frantic about it, but don’t stop either. Some things will succeed and some won’t, and I don’t have to figure out which is which in advance. That’s not my job. My job is to keep putting something in the water and trusting that God is paying attention to what comes back.

Staring – Philippians 4:6-9

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:6-7 (NIV)

Here’s the thing about this passage that I can’t get past, Paul wrote it from prison. Not a rough week at work. Not a frustrating season of life. Prison, and likely heading toward his execution. He had every reason in the world to be anxious, desperate, and focused on what was going wrong. And yet, the word he keeps coming back to throughout this whole letter is “rejoice.” Over and over again. That’s not a man who had an easy life. It’s something that I should really pay attention to.

What Paul is saying to the Philippians isn’t “pretend everything is fine.” He’s not telling them to ignore their problems or paste a smile on top of their pain. He’s telling them where to point their attention. Think about what is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and good. Bring your requests to God — but bring them with thanksgiving, not desperation. The difference between those two things is enormous. One comes from a person who has forgotten what God has already done. The other comes from someone who remembers.

That’s the part that gets me personally. I have been genuinely, extravagantly blessed, and way beyond what I have earned or deserved. God has provided for me in unexpected ways more times than I can count, and he has never once failed to come through. I bet he has for you too. Right now, try listing out three things you are thankful for. I made that a part of my daily routine a while back, and it powerfully affected my day.

Yet I have this stubborn habit of staring at the one thing I don’t have instead of the mountain of things I do. It’s honestly a little ridiculous when I say it out loud. The blessings have always been so much greater than the need. Maybe you are a little like that too.

The good news is that Paul isn’t telling us to just try harder to feel grateful. He’s pointing us toward a practice of prayer, petition, thanksgiving. That reorients our focus. When I bring my needs to God wrapped in genuine gratitude for what he has already done, something shifts. That’s what he means by a peace that goes beyond understanding. It doesn’t make logical sense given the circumstances. It just shows up when we stop staring at the waves and remember who is standing on the water.

So this week, every time I feel that familiar pull of discouragement over something I need or lack, I’m going to stop and name something God has blessed me with. Not as a spiritual exercise to check a box, but as a genuine reset, a way of reminding myself that his track record is perfect and the need in front of me is actually pretty small compared to what he has already handled. He’ll take care of it. He always does.

Listen – John 10:22-30

“My sheep listen to My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me”
-John 10:27 (NASB)

The setting here matters more than it might seem at first glance. Jesus is in Jerusalem, at the temple, during Hanukkah — a festival celebrating a time when God provided miraculously for his people against impossible odds. It’s winter, which means shepherds weren’t out in open fields. They were sheltered with their flocks, up close, personally responsible for every animal making it through the cold season. And the people surrounding Jesus were almost certainly religious leaders, not curious seekers. They were likely trying to get him to say something they could use against him.

Jesus doesn’t take the bait directly. He doesn’t just say “yes, I’m the Messiah” and hand them what they want. Instead he tells them something more pointed. If they had been paying attention to what he’d been doing, they would already know the answer. And if they don’t recognize it, that says something about them, not about him. They don’t know his voice. Not the literal, audible voice of God, but something deeper than that,the way God moves, the way he operates, his character. You only know that through intimacy, not observation from a distance, or even from just following all the rules like some religious robot.

Then he says something that would have been absolutely striking for a person who wasn’t following Jesus to hear inside the temple walls, “I and the Father are one.” That’s not a casual statement. That’s the whole thing.

I mean, think about it. Hear were people who were very serious about following all the religious rules stringently. Jesus was saying that in spite of all of that, they really didn’t know God at all. And he wraps it in this image of a shepherd in winter — sheep sheltered, held close, completely protected. No one snatches them away. Not because the sheep are strong, but because the shepherd is.

That image affects me personally. I want to be the kind of person who knows God’s voice that well — intimately acquainted with how he works, familiar enough with his character that I recognize when he’s speaking. I feel like I’m genuinely trying to get there, especially in this season of my life. But I also know that sin does damage. It gets in the way. It’s like static on a line that used to be clear. My honest prayer is that God heals that and helps me hear him more clearly.

The practical part is pretty straightforward, even if it’s not always easy. I can’t just talk at God like I’m placing an order at a drive-thru and then pulling away. That’s not a relationship. It’s a transaction. What I actually need is real back-and-forth. I need dedicated time to sit and listen, not just speak. Then carrying that conversation through the rest of the day, moment by moment. That’s how you get to know someone’s voice. You spend time with them and listen.

Freedom? – Galatians 5:13-18

“You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love.” — Galatians 5:13 (NIV)

Earlier in Galatians 5, Paul is dealing with a real problem in the early church. There were people telling new Christians that following Jesus also meant following all the old Jewish laws and rituals. Paul pushes back hard on that. ‘You have been set free,’ he says. ‘You don’t live under that anymore.’ But then he immediately pumps the brakes on where that logic could go, because freedom from the Law doesn’t mean freedom to live however you want. It means something better than that.

The freedom Paul is talking about has a direction to it. It points outward, toward the people around you. Instead of using your freedom to chase whatever feels good in the moment, you use it to love the people God has put in your life. Radically, humbly, in ways that don’t always make sense to the world around you. That’s the calling. Paul is clear that the Holy Spirit is what produces that kind of love in us. It doesn’t come naturally on its own.

There’s a real tension in this for me personally. On one hand, I know what it means to be freed from sin and given new life. On the other hand, I don’t always live like that freedom has anything to do with the people around me. The call to radical love can feel heavy, or honestly, it can feel intimidating. There are people God puts in my path every single day, and too often I hesitate. Not because I don’t care, but because there’s a quiet fear that gets in the way.

That’s the thing though, fear doesn’t belong to someone who has been set free. Paul isn’t describing a timid, heads-down kind of Christianity. He’s describing people who are so secure in what God has done for them that they can turn around and pour that out on others without worrying about what it costs them. The freedom we have in Christ is actually freedom over that fear too.

So this week I want to keep my eyes open. Not in a forced or awkward way, but just paying attention to the people God has already placed around me and actually engaging with them. The opportunities are probably already there. I just need to stop hesitating and start showing up.