“That He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3:16-19)

I’ve wrestled with this for some time now. There’s something in me that longs to be part of a small group—a place where believers come together, open the Word, and encourage one another. But time and again, I’ve found myself in groups where the conversation is laced with works-based sanctification, self-effort, and moralistic striving rather than the joy and freedom of the abiding life. And if I’m honest, it’s painful.

"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me." — Galatians 2:20

Oswald Chambers reminds us that the life of Christ within us begins not with self-improvement but with surrender—true relinquishment. We often think of letting go in terms of giving up sin, but Chambers takes it further. He calls us to let go of the entire framework by which we define ourselves—our opinions, our sense of self-worth, even our claim to our own lives.

In every church, leadership takes one of two paths. Some leaders abide in Christ and let Him lead through them. Others strive in their own strength, believing they must make ministry happen. The difference is not in external effort—both may be highly active—but in the source of that effort.

To illustrate, let’s look at real-life examples of each approach, showing how leaders either express Christ’s life or rely on their own strength.

John 15:16 (WEY)

"It is not you who chose Me, but it is I who chose you and appointed you that you might go and be fruitful."

Church leadership is often measured by action—strategies, programs, attendance numbers, and outreach efforts. Yet, in God's design, leadership is not about what is done but about who is abiding. True spiritual leadership is not a title, a responsibility, or even a calling in the conventional sense; it is the outflow of Christ’s life through yielded vessels.

John 15:16 (WEY): “It is not you who chose Me, but it is I who chose you and appointed you that you might go and be fruitful.”

True ministry is not a task we take upon ourselves—it is something born within us, just as we are born into Christ. God has not called us to work for Him in our own effort, but to express His life through us. If service is merely an activity rather than a sharing of His life, it lacks eternal value.

Josiah’s Passover was a moment of brilliance—a return to the Lord with all the grandeur and zeal that the nation had seen in generations. It was more than a ritual; it was a heartfelt attempt to rekindle the covenantal relationship between God and His people. The celebration surpassed even Hezekiah’s Passover, yet, despite its magnificence, it was merely a fleeting light before the impending judgment. The reality remained—no matter how sincere the external revival, Israel needed a King who would not only lead them to keep the Passover but become the ultimate Passover Lamb, dying in their place to reconcile them to God (John 1:29; 1 Cor. 5:7-8).

Ezekiel 20 is a sobering chapter, revealing Israel’s persistent rebellion against God throughout their history—from Egypt to the wilderness, to the Promised Land, and even in exile. The exilic elders come to Ezekiel, seeking to inquire of the Lord, yet their hearts remain tied to idolatry. God rejects their inquiry, knowing they are unwilling to fully turn to Him. The chapter unfolds as a recounting of Israel’s unfaithfulness and God’s unwavering faithfulness. Despite their rebellion, the Lord declares His sovereign plan: He will not allow Israel to become like the nations around them, worshiping idols. Instead, He will reign over them with a mighty hand, purging them, transforming them, and fulfilling His covenant promises.

Eliphaz’s final speech to Job in Chapter 22 is an unfortunate example of misapplied truth and self-righteous reasoning. His tone has shifted from mistaken kindness to outright accusation. He assumes Job’s suffering must be the result of secret sin, accusing him of oppressing the poor and gaining wealth unjustly. In his mind, Job’s calamities are divine proof of guilt—because, surely, bad things only happen to bad people.

Jones’ devotional today challenges the idea that a "power from below" can separate us from the love of God in Christ. He identifies spiritualism—attempting to connect with the dead—as a practice that leads people away from Christ rather than toward Him. He does not argue whether such communication is possible, but he emphasizes that no true revelation, wisdom, or moral insight has ever come from such sources. Isaiah’s warning remains relevant: "Should not a people consult their God?" (Isaiah 8:19-20). The wisdom of God, revealed in Christ and the Scriptures, is the only true source of light. Seeking guidance elsewhere leads only to confusion and darkness, for "there is no dawn" in such practices.

Unity is a foundational principle in the Christian life. Paul urges believers to stand firm in one Spirit and strive together for the gospel (Philippians 1:27). But what happens when unity seems impossible? When different perspectives pull in opposite directions, is it always wrong to step away?

I once led a discipleship group in my church as part of a larger vision to establish smaller groups focused on deepening our walk with Christ. Each group consisted of one to four men of the same gender, meeting weekly to grow together. My heart was set on guiding men into a deeper experience of Christ—not just learning about Him, but learning from Him as their very life.

“Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”
— Philippians 1:27a

Paul’s words in Philippians 1:27 carry a deeper meaning than a simple call to moral behavior. The Greek word politeuma, translated as “conduct,” is rooted in the idea of citizenship—one’s allegiance to a governing authority. The believers in Philippi, though geographically distant from Rome, lived under its rule and bore its identity. Paul uses this cultural reality to highlight a spiritual truth: Christians are citizens of heaven, living under the rule and reign of Christ, even while on earth.

Jesus’ words, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” reveal a truth that runs counter to the world's natural way of thinking. Earthly love often revolves around self-interest—seeking satisfaction, recognition, or security. But heavenly love, the love that flows from Christ, is entirely selfless. It is a love that delights in glorifying God and blessing others without expecting anything in return. This love is not concerned with self-preservation, for it knows that in surrender, life is truly found.

"Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord, giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, submitting to one another in the fear of God."
—Ephesians 5:18-21

When Scripture calls us to be filled with the Spirit, what does that actually look like in everyday life? Some traditions emphasize certain outward expressions such as speaking in tongues, prophesying, or boldness in preaching. While these manifestations certainly occurred in the early church, the full biblical picture of a Spirit-filled life is much broader.

"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 2:5, ESV)
"Be imitators of me, as I also am of Christ." (1 Corinthians 11:1, NASB)

At first glance, Paul’s call to “imitate” him as he imitates Christ (1 Cor. 11:1) might seem to suggest that the Christian life is about mimicking external behaviors. Many take this to mean that we must study how Jesus acted and then try our best to replicate His actions, mannerisms, and attitudes. However, does this align with the broader message of the New Testament? Does imitation mean mere mimicry, or is there something deeper in Paul’s intent?

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 3:14

Paul’s words often seem to present a paradox—on one hand, he declares that the Christian life is one of rest, rooted in the finished work of Christ (Hebrews 4:9-10), yet on the other, he speaks of pressing on, running a race, and striving toward the goal. How do these images reconcile with the exchanged life, where we cease from self-effort and allow Christ to live through us?

“Nay, in all these things, we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.” — Romans 8:37

Oswald Chambers reminds us that nothing in life—whether suffering, trials, or even our own wavering feelings—can separate us from the love of God. While difficulties may disrupt our awareness of His presence, they are powerless to sever the unbreakable bond between us and our Lord. The foundation of our faith is not our devotion, our feelings, or our efforts, but the unshakable love of God demonstrated at the Cross.

“Be imitators of me, as I also am of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 11:1, NASB)

At first glance, Paul’s exhortation to “imitate me as I imitate Christ” seems to contradict the exchanged life message. If the Christian life is not about imitation but participation in Christ’s life, why would Paul command believers to imitate him? To answer this, we must consider the broader context of Paul’s statement, applying sound hermeneutical principles to understand what he truly meant.

“For to me to live is Christ” (Phil. 1:21).

Many well-meaning believers set out to imitate Christ, striving to act as He would, speak as He would, and respond as He would. The goal appears noble: to be Christ-like. But there’s an essential truth missing from this approach. The Christian life isn’t about imitation—it’s about participation. It is not about us mimicking Christ but about Christ Himself living His life through us.

Lord, as I walk this journey with You, I trust that You are the One shaping and directing my steps. By Your grace, You have marked my life with a deep understanding of the exchanged life, a heart that longs to see others set free in Christ, and a commitment to resting in Your sufficiency rather than striving in my own strength. I do not presume to know exactly where You will lead, but I trust You to make my path straight as I acknowledge You in all things.