In today’s devotional by Witness Lee, we are reminded that the earthly nation of Israel still lives under a shadow of longing—deep dissatisfaction that cannot be remedied by political alliances, military strength, or human strategy. While the modern state of Israel seeks security and survival through natural means, Scripture reveals that the true famine is spiritual. Like the sons of Jacob who unknowingly bowed before their brother Joseph, Israel too will one day turn and behold the One they pierced.

Paul closes his letter with deep pastoral concern, practical instruction, and personal connection. He urges the Colossians to remain in devoted, alert, and thankful prayer—not as a ritual, but as a response to all they’ve already received in Christ. Prayer isn’t just a lifeline in trouble; it’s the abiding atmosphere of the believer’s new life, filled with gratitude and attentiveness.

John 19 is a sobering account of the trial, suffering, and crucifixion of Jesus, yet even amid the brutality, the sovereignty and composure of Christ shine through. Pilate's repeated efforts to release Jesus reflect a reluctant political pawn trapped by public outcry and his own fear. The Jewish leaders demand Jesus' execution under the guise of loyalty to Caesar, though their true motive is theological—they consider Jesus' claim to be the Son of God blasphemous. John carefully highlights how these events unfold in precise fulfillment of Scripture, right down to the division of Jesus' garments and the method of His burial.

E. Stanley Jones reflects on John 15:16 as a life verse that grounded his calling not just as a missionary, but as a Christian. He was reminded time and again that it was not he who chose Christ, but Christ who chose him—and not randomly, but with purpose: to go and bear fruit that lasts. Whenever he stood before a congregation, he bowed his head and declared this verse back to the Lord—not as a mantra of self-assurance, but as a recognition that all he did was at Christ’s commissioning. And if Christ sent him, then Christ would supply what was needed to fulfill that task.

Peter’s bold proclamation in Acts 3 comes on the heels of a miraculous healing—but it quickly pivots to a far greater miracle: the wiping out of sin. He invites his listeners to repent and turn to God, not merely for personal benefit, but so they might experience what he calls times of refreshing—spiritual awakening, societal renewal, and eventually, the return of Christ.

On the morning of His resurrection, Jesus met the women at the tomb with a greeting that sounds simple but holds a deeper meaning: “All hail.” At first glance, it might seem like a cheerful “hello,” but A. B. Simpson tells us the root of that word reaches into something much richer—an old Saxon word for health. His greeting wasn’t just polite; it was life-giving.

In today’s reflection, Bob Hoekstra contrasts the “substantial glory” of the old covenant law with the “excelling glory” of the new covenant grace. The law was indeed glorious—it revealed the holy character of God and exposed the unholiness of man. But that glory, though real, was passing. It functioned like a skilled diagnostician, pointing out the disease of sin, but offering no cure.

Today’s reflection from Abide Above strikes at the root of a common but deeply misplaced hope—the belief that our old nature can somehow be improved. He points to both Scripture and our lived experience as witnesses to a sobering truth: there is nothing redeemable in our flesh. Romans 7:18 states plainly, “In me (that is, in my flesh) dwelleth no good thing.” The sooner we agree with this truth, the sooner we can stop striving for what cannot be fixed and begin to live from the Source who is our righteousness—Christ Himself.

Oswald Chambers urges us to distinguish between an ideal and a vision. Ideals, he says, are often detached from moral drive—they can remain lofty thoughts, admired from a distance but never truly lived. But a vision of God awakens something deeper. It calls us to more than admiration; it invites us into transformation.

In a world marked by spiritual famine, Genesis 42 gives us a vivid picture of where true satisfaction is found. The passage speaks of a literal famine so widespread that all nations came to Joseph in Egypt to buy grain. Pharaoh's instruction was simple: "Go to Joseph." This ancient scene becomes a prophetic picture, pointing forward to Christ as the only true source of life-giving nourishment.

In this pivotal chapter, the Grace and Truth Study Bible expositor reveals the hidden yet sovereign hand of God working through the courage and obedience of His people. The Jewish people, scattered and vulnerable in Persia, are thrust into a crisis by a royal edict calling for their destruction. Mordecai’s distress is immediate and public, expressed through sackcloth, ashes, and lament. Esther, initially unaware of the decree, is drawn into the moment’s urgency through Mordecai’s plea. But the tension rises—Esther hesitates. Approaching the king uninvited could cost her life.

Ezekiel’s vision reaches a beautiful crescendo as his guide leads him back to the temple entrance, where a trickle of water begins to flow from beneath the threshold—modest at first, but soon multiplying in depth and volume as it winds eastward, eventually becoming a mighty river no one could cross. This water isn't just water—it is life. It flows to the Dead Sea, that ancient symbol of barrenness, and turns it into an Edenic oasis. Trees spring up along the banks, their leaves unfading, their fruit plentiful, their healing power constant. The presence of this living water signals God's intention to restore, renew, and nourish what was dead and desolate.

Psalm 7 offers a window into David’s heart as he faces unjust accusations. Twice he anchors his cries with the phrase, “LORD my God,” reminding us that intimate relationship, not distance, defines our trials. The threat is real—vicious and personal, likened to a lion tearing prey—but so is the safety he clings to in God’s refuge. This is no generic suffering. David knows he is innocent, and he boldly appeals to God on those grounds, invoking an “if-then” oath structure in verses 3–5 that leaves room for consequences if he were guilty. But he isn’t. And so he pleads, not with petulance but with lamenting confidence, for God to rise up and judge rightly.

E. Stanley Jones draws us into the sacred truth that ministry is not reserved for a select few with clerical collars, but is the calling of every believer in Christ. Ephesians 4:11–12 is often misunderstood to imply a hierarchy: apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers who do the ministry while the rest of us watch. But Jones, citing the Revised Standard Version and insightful expositors like Dr. Kramer, clarifies that these roles exist to equip all the saints for the work of ministry—diakonia, which literally means “servantship.”

When Peter and John encountered the lame man at the temple gate, Peter’s first instruction wasn’t a prayer or a healing—it was a command: “Look at us.” This wasn’t a moment of self-exaltation; it was a summons to awaken expectation. Just as Jesus often drew focused attention before healing, Peter wanted the man’s heart and eyes alert, anticipating something beyond mere charity.

God has woven the pattern of death and resurrection into the very fabric of nature and redemption. A.B. Simpson reflects on how this truth is not just theological but deeply experiential: in the butterfly breaking from its cocoon, in the seed surrendering to the soil, in the winter making way for spring. These everyday images mirror a deeper reality—true spiritual life only comes through death.

In this reflection from Day by Day by Grace, we are reminded of the stark contrast between the old covenant, which was written in stone and dependent on man’s sufficiency, and the new covenant of grace, which is written on our hearts and sustained by God’s own life within us. The old covenant was not without glory—it came with thunder, shining faces, and divine declarations. But it was a fading glory. It revealed the holiness of God, yet could not supply the power to live in that holiness. It shone brightly for a moment, only to dim with time, exposing human inadequacy.

Oswald Chambers reminds us today that patience in the life of faith is not mere endurance. It is not passively waiting for things to change, nor is it resignation to difficulty. Instead, patience is an active and confident surrender — rooted in a vibrant trust that God is holy love and is working out His unseen purposes. Like an arrow in the hands of an archer, we are drawn back, stretched, and held in tension not because God has forgotten us, but because He sees a target we cannot yet glimpse.

Those unfamiliar with the exchanged life often raise a fair concern: “If you’re just resting in Christ, doesn’t that mean you’re doing nothing? Don’t we have responsibilities—commands to obey, people to serve, sins to resist?” The question is understandable. At first glance, resting in Christ can seem like disengaging. But Scripture reveals a deeper paradox: those who are at rest in spirit are often the most dynamically active in soul and body—yet their activity flows not from self-effort, but from divine Life.

Today’s devotional by Mils Stanford calls us to a life anchored not in striving, but in resting. It reminds us that every believer is already placed by God into Christ—into His risen life—and that our part is not to climb into this position but to abide in it. The struggle many Christians face stems from trying to live the Christian life out of their old nature, unknowingly stepping back into the futility of Romans 7. But God's desire is for us to recognize that He has forever placed us in His Son (1 Corinthians 1:30), and in that reality, we rest—not strive.