E. Stanley Jones draws a sharp and necessary line in this entry between true Christian prayer and distorted religious traditions. He begins with Jesus’ own words in John 14:13—“Whatever you ask in My name, I will do it”—and unpacks what it means to truly pray in Christ's name. Jones makes it clear: praying “in His name” isn’t a formulaic closing line tacked onto the end of a wish list. It means praying in the spirit, authority, and nature of Jesus. And when that is the heart behind our prayer, the basis on which we are heard shifts entirely—it’s no longer about our personal goodness, our credentials, or our spiritual track record. It’s not about having some special spiritual status or "being good enough" to get God’s attention. It’s about Christ.

In today’s devotional, Ray Stedman explores the final of the five Old Testament offerings—the guilt offering—and highlights its enduring relevance for us today. While the earlier offerings centered around a person’s relationship with God, this last one shifts the focus to our relationship with others. It deals specifically with the injuries we inflict on one another—through dishonesty, fraud, betrayal, or neglect—and how these wounds require more than time to heal. The guilt offering teaches us that resolution demands acknowledgment, confession, and where possible, restitution. Time doesn’t erase the fracture; only truth and grace can.

A.B. Simpson reminds us that disunity within the body of Christ can disrupt our fellowship with God. We often think of communion with God as a purely vertical connection, but Scripture paints a richer picture—one where our relationships within the body directly affect our communion with the Head. The metaphor he uses is bodily health: a wound or injury anywhere in the body can affect the whole, even if the brain itself remains untouched. In the same way, a grudge, offense, or coldness toward a fellow believer can inhibit the Spirit’s flow in our lives.

Today’s reflection unveils a truth as steady as the bedrock of the earth itself—Jesus Christ is not just a moral teacher or a religious figure, but the foundation upon which all true life is built. Bob Hoekstra wants us to see that any attempt to build life on human wisdom, power, influence, or riches is like erecting a cathedral on quicksand. It may look stable at first, but it’s destined to collapse.

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Oswald Chambers urges us to recognize the cross not as a tragic interruption in Jesus’ mission, but as its triumphant and eternal centerpiece. It was not the story of a martyrdom, but the deliberate act of God’s love and justice colliding with the full weight of human sin. Jesus didn’t happen upon the cross—He aimed for it from before the foundation of the world. He was the Lamb slain from the beginning, and His sacrifice was not merely substitutionary but victorious.

The devotional “Reliance in Toto” draws our attention to the beauty of total dependence upon God—not as a one-time act but as a daily unfolding of trust rooted in grace. The author reminds us that learning to live in full reliance upon God is not instantaneous. It unfolds over a lifetime through lived experience. This reliance is not born out of striving to impress God with our efforts, but out of acknowledging our inadequacy and joyfully resting in Christ's sufficiency.

Today’s devotional invites us to widen our lens when we think of salvation. So often we frame it around individual belief and personal decision—and rightly so in many contexts. But there’s a powerful biblical theme that traces God’s saving work not just to the individual but to the household. When Noah was found righteous before God, the ark wasn’t built for Noah alone—it was for his whole family. Similarly, Jesus said to Zacchaeus, “Today salvation has come to this house.” The scope of God’s grace extended beyond the man who responded—it touched everyone under his roof.

In this entry from In Christ, E. Stanley Jones meditates on the deeper meaning behind Jesus’ words in John 14:13—“Whatever you ask in My name, I will do it, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” Jones draws a sharp but beautiful distinction between glorifying God through our actions and glorifying Him through our responses to others’ requests. To do right ourselves is one level of spiritual integrity, but to do rightly in response to others' demands—where wills and expectations collide—is a deeper test of character.

Today’s devotion shines light on the deeply embedded sin nature that lurks even beneath our best intentions. Leviticus 5 introduces the idea of unintentional sin—a concept that rattles the illusion that we’re mostly good people who occasionally mess up. Ray Stedman, with grace and honesty, reminds us that these “surprise sins” are not merely accidents, but reflections of a deeper nature we cannot manage through effort or moral resolve.

A.B. Simpson reflects on Daniel’s prophetic vision and connects it to the purifying work God is doing in His people in preparation for the return of Christ. He makes a striking distinction—purification is not merely the removal of sin; it is also the infusion of divine radiance. To be “made white” goes beyond being cleansed—it means being so saturated with the Lord’s glory that it shines outward in our lives. This radiant readiness is not achieved through comfort but through fiery trials, the kind that cause Christ to become our everything. These experiences aren’t random—they are preparatory. The difficult and peculiar paths refine us not only to remove the dross but to etch the likeness of Christ onto our being. This is the promise of the coming King: that His bride would be both purified and adorned in His glory.

Today’s reflection brings us face to face with one of the most intimate and empowering truths in all of Scripture—Jesus Christ as our Great High Priest. He’s not just a distant Savior who accomplished our redemption and then stepped away. No, He remains actively involved, seated in heaven at the Father’s right hand, continuing His ministry as our personal advocate and intercessor.

In today’s reflection, Chambers draws our hearts into the mystery of Gethsemane—a place we cannot fully understand, but one we must reverently contemplate. Gethsemane was not merely a garden of grief; it was a battleground where the temptation Satan had reserved for the “opportune time” came crashing down upon Jesus. The fear in Gethsemane was not of physical death, for Jesus had already resolved to lay down His life. The real agony was far deeper—Jesus faced the soul-wrenching weight of separation from the Father and the possibility that, in His humanity, He might shrink back.

This devotional speaks to a necessary crisis in the life of every believer—one that reveals the utter futility of striving in our own effort and ushers us into the glorious liberty that is already ours in Christ. The message walks us through the internal war described in Romans 7, where Paul honestly confesses the cycle of defeat that arises from trying to live the Christian life in the strength of the flesh. It’s not a failure of desire, nor of doctrine—but a failure of source. The believer sees the good and wants to do it, but finds no power in himself to carry it out. And that very awareness, painful as it is, is not a curse. It’s a grace.

Today’s devotional leads us to a surprising and glorious truth that too many of us have overlooked or underestimated. When Paul and Silas told the Philippian jailer, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you shall be saved, you and your household,” they weren’t simply offering a general encouragement. They were expressing a truth wrapped in divine authority and power. It was not a wait-and-see gospel—it was immediate, inclusive, and powerful enough to sweep through an entire household.

Some fears build quietly. Others stack high and fast—year after year of anxiety, self-effort, guilt, and grief form into thick, high walls. For many, the fear of death stands among them like a fortress. It isn’t always the event itself—it’s the unknown, the helplessness, the ache of loss, the dread of being forgotten, unfinished, unloved.

We’ve walked line by line through Psalm 23, and what we’ve found is not a mere collection of poetic promises—but a continuous revelation of God’s presence. The Triune God is not hidden in this psalm—He is woven into every word. From the first declaration to the final dwelling, He is there. And so are you.

Psalm 23 doesn’t end where most journeys do. It doesn’t lead to retirement, retreat, or rest in isolation. It leads home.

“And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
This is not a temporary visit. Not a borrowed stay. Not a conditional invitation. It is the confident declaration of someone who knows they belong.

The feast was not fleeting. The oil was not symbolic. The overflowing cup was not a momentary relief. Psalm 23 doesn’t end with a temporary blessing—it leads to a lifelong promise.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me…”
This is not wishful thinking. It is confidence. David says “surely.” No doubt. No hesitation. God’s goodness and mercy are not unpredictable. They are settled realities that follow—not ahead, demanding performance, but behind, assuring presence.

The psalmist’s journey now takes an unexpected turn. We’ve followed the Shepherd through green pastures, still waters, paths of righteousness, and even the valley of the shadow. But now, rather than offering a resting place or a trail to walk, the Lord sets a table.

The path of righteousness is not always bright. It often leads straight into the valley—deep, shadowed places that test the heart and expose what we truly believe about God. Yet here, David doesn’t tremble. He doesn’t beg for escape. He declares presence—“You are with me.”