T. Austin-Sparks draws our attention to the world’s obsession with power and domination. Whether in the form of dictators or subtle societal structures, there’s an undercurrent of self-glory and soul-force pressing against God’s eternal plan. Sparks lays out a stark contrast: while the spirit of antichrist seeks to exalt man through domination, the dominion of Christ—the rightful Heir—comes through humility, obedience, and spiritual authority. The ultimate question is not just about who will rule the world, but how that rule is exercised: by domination through soul-force, or dominion through union with the risen Christ.

E. Stanley Jones calls our attention to something radical in the early Church: the layperson's indispensable role in God's unfolding plan. Paul, perhaps the most influential voice of the New Testament era, was never officially ordained by apostolic succession. He didn’t receive his ministry through religious hierarchy but through the call of Christ and the obedience of ordinary believers. His eyes were opened—literally and spiritually—by a layman named Ananias. His commissioning for global mission came not from apostles, but from Spirit-led prophets and teachers.

When Peter and John were released by the Sanhedrin, they didn't rally political support, stir up protests, or attempt to manipulate public sentiment—even though they could have. They returned instead to what was eternal: prayer. And not just any prayer, but one anchored in the sovereign rule of God over all things. They addressed Him as “Sovereign Lord,” affirming their trust in the One who created the heavens, the earth, and everything in them.

In this beautiful entry from Days of Heaven, A.B. Simpson draws us into the tender intimacy of Song of Songs 1:7, where the soul longs to know where her Beloved shepherds His flock and causes them to rest. It’s not a mere theological inquiry—it’s the desperate cry of a soul wearied from striving, from trying to live a spiritual life through self-effort.

Bob Hoekstra reminds us that wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty—not law-bound obligation, not lifeless effort, and certainly not spiritual bondage. The old covenant, built on external commands, inevitably produced pressure and performance. Its letter brought death because it demanded life without providing it. But the new covenant, secured by grace and carried out by the indwelling Spirit, offers something vastly different: freedom.

Oswald Chambers challenges the subtle way we can begin to idolize our spiritual disciplines. At first, the habits we form—prayer times, Bible reading, quiet moments—are intended to draw us into fellowship with God. But if we’re not careful, those same habits can quietly become ends in themselves. We may start protecting them as sacred routines rather than yielding them to the living, breathing presence of Christ.

Today’s reflection from Miles Stanford reminds us that God, as our loving Trainer, is never wasteful with the trials He permits. In every sphere of life—arts, athletics, industry, and especially the Christian journey—the training is more intense than the performance. But this is not because God is harsh; rather, He is intentional. Like an athlete shaped through rigorous conditioning or a musician refined through hours of unseen practice, the believer is prepared in secret before being displayed in service.

Matthew’s record of Christ’s genealogy is not a mere historical list—it is a declaration of grace. The Spirit through Matthew intentionally divides the generations into three sections: the forefathers, the kings, and the civilians. This division tells a story—not just of names, but of people like us. God did not build the lineage of Christ through only the upright or royal. He built it through the called and the fallen, the prominent and the obscure, the restored and the broken.

Paul opens his letter to the Thessalonian believers not with lofty apostolic titles but as a fellow coworker alongside Timothy and Silas. He addresses them not just as a church in Thessalonica, but as those united with God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. This isn’t a distant greeting—it’s a family note to people grounded in divine relationship.

Paul uses the word imitate multiple times in his letters, including in 1 Thessalonians 1:6 and 2:14. But the concept often stirs confusion. What does it mean to imitate Paul? Is this a call to replicate his behavior? His boldness? His suffering? Or is there something deeper—a life source he’s pointing us to?

Let’s explore this through the lens of 1 Thessalonians.

Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians is a reminder that future hope fuels present holiness. Written shortly after his mission to Thessalonica was abruptly cut short by persecution, Paul sends this letter to reassure, instruct, and embolden a fledgling church planted in the midst of hostility.

The resurrection account in John 20 stands as one of the most historically compelling and theologically rich passages in Scripture. The Grace and Truth Study Bible lays out four reasons the resurrection is reliable: the disciples weren’t expecting it, women were the first witnesses (a culturally unlikely detail to fabricate), the disciples were portrayed as fearful rather than bold (not flattering if one were inventing a myth), and the Gospel narrative remained restrained rather than embellished. These elements lend credibility to the claim: Jesus rose from the dead.

In today’s devotional, E. Stanley Jones takes us behind the scenes of a pivotal moment in Japan’s history following World War II—when the Emperor renounced his divinity. This declaration was more than political; it was spiritual and cultural surgery. Without it, Japan’s defeat could have festered into a myth of temporary loss, feeding a dangerous national pride rooted in divine identity. Instead, the Emperor’s admission became a national awakening and a doorway to renewal.

In today’s reflection from Ray Stedman, we see Peter and John respectfully standing their ground before religious authorities who demanded silence about Jesus. These apostles weren’t defiant in attitude, but they were unwavering in allegiance. Though the Sanhedrin were the official religious gatekeepers, the apostles recognized a higher call: to remain obedient to the God who had spoken clearly through His Son.

In today’s devotional, A.B. Simpson suggests Christianity is not a call to endless struggle or to a grim death march. It is the proclamation of life—resurrection life. Jesus did not merely come to show the way or to hand us a rulebook for better behavior. He came to be our life. The message of the cross is not just that we are to die, but that we have already died—and from that death springs new life, eternal and indestructible, flowing from our union with Christ.

In today’s reflection by Bob Hoekstra, we’re shown the stark contrast between the bondage that comes from the old covenant and the liberty that flows from the Spirit of Christ. The old covenant—based on human effort and law-keeping—leaves a veil over the heart. This veil is not just a metaphor for misunderstanding; it is a spiritual blindness rooted in self-sufficiency. The Israelites clung to their heritage, thinking their lineage from Abraham gave them standing before God. But Jesus made it clear: no one is free until they are made free by Him.

Oswald Chambers urges us today to reflect deeply on what we mean when we speak of love. Too often, our notions are sentimental or selective. But true love—the kind that God both gives and requires—is not rooted in emotional preference. It is grounded in the unchanging nature of God Himself. When God calls us to love, it’s not a call to summon up warm feelings toward others; it is a call to participate in His own divine nature.

Today’s reflection by Miles Stanford calls me to examine what it really means to live dependently upon God—not just in theory, but in moment-by-moment trust. It’s so natural to want to feel strong, to reach a place where I sense that I’m finally capable. But the paradox of the Christian life is that true strength begins not with a sense of capability, but with a deep recognition of weakness—a yielded posture that opens the door for the Spirit’s omnipotent power to operate freely.

In this deeply human moment from Genesis, Joseph's brothers misinterpret love as judgment. They fear the kindness shown to them, assuming retribution is near because of their past guilt. But Joseph—like Christ—was not plotting revenge. He was orchestrating restoration, tenderly and wisely.

If you’re tired—emotionally, spiritually, maybe even physically—you’re not alone. Many sincere believers carry the quiet burden of wondering, “Why is the Christian life so hard?” And when someone suggests, “Let Jesus live through you,” it can sound either too vague… or too good to be true.