We step into the Father’s presence by trusting that Jesus has already placed us there. Miles Stanford reminds us that the blood of Jesus opened the way, the veil is torn, and the door is not only unlocked, it is standing open. Entrance is not a prize for the spiritually elite, it is the present privilege of every believer who rests in the finished work of the Savior.

When Jesus walked through the grainfields on the Sabbath, hungry disciples tugged at the edges of religious rules. The Pharisees watched the hands, but the Lord watched the hearts. He did not shame hunger, He satisfied it. He brought His friends out of a regulation keeping trap and into simple provision, and rest followed satisfaction.

The Beatitudes are often treated like a staircase. Climb hard enough, become good enough, and maybe you will arrive. Jesus offers something entirely different. He begins with identity, then brings outflow. Blessed describes those who belong to Him. The life He names is the life He provides. The kingdom is both now and not yet, present because we have been transferred into the kingdom of God’s beloved Son, and still awaited in fullness as we pray, Your kingdom come (Colossians 1:13; Matthew 6:10).

Some days the heart gives only a thin note, like a reed with a crack. Other days the light seems to dim, like a wick that only smolders. Today’s reading reminds us that Jesus does not snap what is fragile, and He does not snuff out what is barely burning. He stays near with mercy, giving space for grace to do its quiet work. I am grateful for Witness Lee’s reflection, since it draws our eyes to the gentleness of the King who deals kindly with weakness.

Hebrews 6:1–6 is one of the most debated passages in the New Testament when it comes to the issue of eternal security. The letter to the Hebrews is addressed to Jewish believers who were being tempted to fall back into the old covenant system instead of pressing forward into the fullness of Christ. The writer is urging them to go beyond the elementary teachings about Christ and not to shrink back from faith in Him, see Hebrews 10:39.

God will not punish the same sins twice. At the cross, God condemned sin in the flesh of His Son, so the penalty is fully borne by Jesus. To condemn a believer for those same sins would be unjust. That is why Scripture ties forgiveness to God’s justice, the debt has been paid in full (Romans 8:3–4; 1 John 1:9; Romans 3:25–26).

The cross looks like nonsense to a watching world, yet it is the heartbeat of the gospel. Ray Stedman reminds us that Paul does not begin with a philosophy seminar, he starts with a bloody hill and a real crucifixion in real time. In a culture that prizes clever solutions and polished resumes, the cross slices through our self-confidence. It tells the truth about human righteousness, then opens a door to the life of Jesus in ordinary people who trust Him.

In Jesus’ parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, we are shown two ways of standing before God. One inflates the self with comparisons and religious scorekeeping. The other bows low, looking away from self to God’s mercy. Bob Hoekstra highlights the Lord’s steady theme, everyone who lifts himself up will be brought low, and the one who humbles himself will be lifted by God. Today we are invited to trade the weight of self-promotion for the lightness of honest humility.

T. Austin-Sparks points us to the heart of growth in Jesus. Not a life dressed up from the outside with rites and routines, but a life renewed from the inside where the Spirit lives. He reminds us that God lovingly dismantles illusions so that truth can take root within. It is not cruelty. It is careful mercy.

The Song of Songs names the little foxes that ruin the vineyard while the vines are in bloom. A. B. Simpson’s reflection points us to those small anxieties that slip under the fence and nibble away at peace. We may nod our heads about Jesus and salvation, yet allow a single worry to scratch the mirror of rest. The issue is not how loud the noise is outside, but whose life is ruling within.

When the disciples could not free a suffering boy, Jesus pointed them to prayer, not as a last resort, but as the inner posture that keeps us joined to Him. Oswald Chambers presses this home. Real ministry is not us doing things for God. Real ministry is Jesus expressing His life through those who are abiding in Him. When the center is communion, the fruit is power with tenderness. When the center is self-effort, the result is noise without life.

Position before condition. That is the gracious center of today’s reading. Miles J. Stanford reminds us that the Father has placed us into Jesus, and in Him our standing is complete, secure, and unalterable. From that settled place, daily growth unfolds. We are not trying to climb into favor. We are learning to live from favor already given in the Beloved.

Paul writes, “the fruit (singular) of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Gal 5:22–23). The grammar matters. Paul doesn’t hand us nine separate projects; he names one fruit—Christ’s life—that shows up in many qualities.

Paul says we are rooted and built up in Him, established in the faith, abounding in thanksgiving. Dr. E. Stanley Jones slows us down to notice the two sides in that little phrase. Rooted points to receiving. Built up points to activity. The life of abiding in Jesus holds both together without tension. We draw from His life, then we step forward in that life.

Colossians says, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so live in Him. Dr. E. Stanley Jones lingers on that simple line and makes it wonderfully clear. We began by receiving, so we continue by receiving. We met Jesus with surrender and receptivity, so we walk with Jesus the same way, not with clenched teeth, but with open hands. This is not passivity. This is trusting dependence that expects the Lord to be Himself in us.

Paul rejoiced to see the church walking in good order and in the firmness of faith in Jesus. E. Stanley Jones helps us see why those always travel together. When faith rests in the Son, life finds a center that can carry its weight. Where trust drifts to other anchors, disorder shows up in surprising places. Not as punishment, but as the natural outcome of trying to hold life together by ourselves.

Paul says that in Jesus are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Dr. E. Stanley Jones takes us by the hand and shows how this is both hidden and revealed. We know, and we do not know. We see, and we do not see. Not to frustrate us, but to invite us. Life in Jesus becomes a glad discovery, a steady unveiling that never runs dry.

Thomas blurted out what his eyes finally saw, my Lord and my God. Today’s reading lingers there, reminding us that Jesus is wonderfully near to our humanity in all things but sin. He grew, worked, wept, prayed, and loved. He was tempted in every respect as we are, yet without sin. He receives people others keep at arm’s length, and His presence is not fragile around brokenness. Like clear water entering a stagnant place, His life purifies rather than getting polluted.

God’s way often moves through paradox. Today’s reading reminds us that real growth often arrives through places we would never pick. Circumstances press, reactions surface, and the Spirit uses it all to show us that the Christian life is not I, but Jesus. That line from Miles Stanford lands gently yet clearly. The issue is not people, places, or problems. The issue is the self-life reacting apart from dependence. The Spirit is not out to shame us. He is rescuing us from running on our own.

God has spoken in many ways in the past. In these days He speaks in one way, in His Son. That is the heart of today’s reading. Brother T. Austin-Sparks points our eyes to Jesus as the single, complete Word from the Father. If we want to know the Father’s mind, we look to Jesus. If we want to know how the Father moves toward us, we look to Jesus. If we want to understand our calling together as His people, again, we look to Jesus.