Today’s entry from Abide Above reminds us of the ongoing cooperative dance between the finished work of Christ and our daily moment-by-moment yielding to that work. Positionally, we have already put off the old man and put on the new in Christ—this happened at the cross. The "old man" isn’t something we’re still fighting to kill; he has been crucified with Christ. But the patterns and residues of that old life—the self-life or flesh—still lurk, attempting to draw us back into living independently from God.

John Piper’s message focuses on Galatians 5:1–5 and the clear will of God: that we live in freedom. Not the freedom to live selfishly, but the freedom from trying to earn God’s love or approval by our works. Piper points out how often believers unknowingly slip back under the yoke of performance—whether it’s striving to obey laws to please God or falling into a “gratitude ethic,” where we serve God to pay Him back for all He’s done.

Today’s devotional explores the rich meaning behind Acts 13:34-35, where Paul presents the resurrected Christ not just as Savior or the firstborn Son of God, but as the fulfillment of “the holy and faithful things of David.” These aren’t abstract theological terms—they’re deeply relational. The resurrected Jesus is God’s personal gift to us, the holy and trustworthy One, through whom all God’s promises and mercies are poured into our lives. The original Greek makes this even more vivid, describing Jesus as the sum of all the “holy things” and “sure things” God promised.

Paul doesn’t open Galatians with a gentle word of encouragement, like he often does. Instead, his heart breaks over how quickly these believers have drifted. This isn’t about them getting a few details wrong—it’s about them abandoning the gospel altogether by adding human requirements to what God had already finished. Paul is quick to affirm that his message didn’t originate from man. He wasn’t repeating secondhand ideas from the apostles in Jerusalem. He had received the gospel straight from Jesus Christ Himself.

The Grace and Truth Study Bible reveals the urgency behind Paul's tone in Galatians: the gospel was under threat—not by open rebellion, but by distortion. False teachers, known as Judaizers, were not denying Christ outright, but they were claiming that faith in Christ needed to be supplemented by works of the law—specifically circumcision. Paul would not tolerate such compromise. His love for the Galatians, and his fidelity to the pure gospel entrusted to him by direct revelation from Jesus Christ, compelled him to speak with clarity and force.

Luke 24 moves through a crescendo of evidence and revelation, beginning with an empty tomb, then unfolding into physical appearances of Jesus, and finally culminating in the disciples’ understanding of Scripture as fulfilled in Christ. The women at the tomb come with grief and spices but leave with perplexity and angelic news: “He is not here, but has risen.” Yet, even with the empty tomb and angelic reminder of Jesus’ words, the Eleven remain uncertain—showing us that signs and facts alone do not birth belief.

E. Stanley Jones draws a line in the sand with this reflection: either being “in Christ” is a lofty theological idea or it’s a living, breathing reality. If it’s just theology—a philosophy, a system of ethics—we’re left with good views but no transforming power. But if it’s reality, if it’s fact, then it doesn’t merely inform our intellect—it radically reorients our lives.

Today’s devotional confronts two extremes that the church has often chosen in response to the world: retreat or dominance. One shrinks back from a fear of contamination; the other attempts to overpower the world out of fear of being overwhelmed. But Jesus offers a third way—neither withdrawal nor dominance, but influence through love. He calls us to step into a broken world as He did, not by separating from it or conquering it, but by entering it with the self-giving pattern of His life.

Today’s entry from Days of Heaven on Earth invites us into the kind of joy that doesn’t wait for good news or good feelings. A.B. Simpson challenges us to rejoice in the Lord always, even when there’s no felt joy or visible reason for celebration. Rejoicing becomes not just a response to circumstances but a declaration of faith—a bold, trusting proclamation that says, “I know who holds me.” It’s not about manufacturing emotional highs but about continually aligning our hearts with the unchanging goodness of God.

Paul’s longing in Philippians 3:10 wasn’t about chasing spiritual experiences or acquiring theological head knowledge—it was about knowing Jesus more deeply, more personally, more fully. And the arenas through which that kind of knowing deepens? They aren’t always what we might expect. They include the power of His resurrection (life out of death), the fellowship of His sufferings (walking with Him in hard places), and being conformed to His death (entrusting ourselves entirely to the Father as Christ did on the cross).

Oswald Chambers brings a timely reminder for anyone who walks closely with others on their spiritual journey: We are not the center of anyone’s story—not even our own. He draws from John the Baptist’s words, “He must become greater; I must become less,” and reminds us of the joyful role of the friend of the bridegroom. Our greatest joy is not in being needed or admired, but in seeing others gripped by Christ, regardless of how painful the process might appear to us.

Romans 9:23 refers to us as vessels of mercy—not just recipients, but carriers, patterns, living testimonies of the boundless compassion of God. We are not polished trophies of self-made righteousness. We are containers, once cracked and emptied, now filled and repurposed by His mercy alone.

Today’s eManna devotional reminds us of the holiness of the life we now possess in Christ. After salvation, we are not merely forgiven—we are made new and given a new life that is incapable of sin. Just as Jesus told the woman caught in adultery to “go and sin no more,” His command reflects not an impossible standard, but a life-altering truth: God's own life has been placed within us, and that life does not sin. It’s not that we try harder to avoid sin, but that we now have the Holy One living in us, whose very nature is incompatible with sin.

Ezra 7 introduces us to Ezra the man—an extraordinary figure who embodies both priestly lineage and God-empowered leadership. Although he had not been part of the original return to Jerusalem decades earlier, Ezra was raised in Babylon and emerged as a faithful student and teacher of the Law. The passage takes us on his four-month, perilous journey to Jerusalem under the reign of Artaxerxes I, where he arrives not merely as a religious reformer, but as a man commissioned by God and sanctioned by the Persian king to restore justice, spiritual order, and understanding of God’s Word among the people.

Ezekiel 28 paints a vivid portrait of pride’s deception and downfall, initially aimed at the king of Tyre but layered with symbolic depth that also reveals Satan’s original rebellion. The king had exalted himself in his heart, believing that his wisdom, success, and beauty made him godlike. Yet God exposes the lie: the king is no god. His wealth and skill only magnified his pride, not his true value. Through rhetorical questions, poetic lament, and divine accusation, the Lord peels back the facade of earthly splendor to show that arrogance leads to devastation.

The sorrowful tone of Job 30 stands in sharp contrast to the honor and intimacy with God Job described in the previous chapter. Here, the music shifts into a mournful key as Job pours out his anguish. He has been cast down in the eyes of the very people he once helped—young men mock him, the lowest of the low despise him, and suffering has undone his dignity. This chapter unveils the world turned upside down: the wicked sit in power while the righteous suffer unjustly. Job’s situation echoes the pattern we see throughout Scripture—God's faithful servants are often misunderstood, mistreated, and rejected.

In the closing verses of Romans, Paul shares greetings to several believers, but behind each greeting lies a glimpse into what he values most—our life and identity in Christ. He notes that Andronicus and Junias were in Christ before him, and that fact alone seems to mark them as precious in his heart. Paul isn't caught up in comparing achievements or gifts; the supreme mark of value is simply being “in Christ.” He reflects on his past, lamenting the wasted years spent outside of Christ, and holds up those who were in Christ before him as truly blessed.

Paul’s words in Philippians 3:12 reveal the burning desire that fueled his life: to lay hold of all that Christ had in mind when He first laid hold of Paul. This wasn’t a statement of dissatisfaction with Christ but of a heart awakened to deeper fellowship and purpose. Paul had tasted the richness of knowing Christ and longed to experience more of Him—not only the power of resurrection but also the fellowship found in suffering. His great motive was not to attain perfection but to allow Christ to fully express His purpose through him.

Scripture: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away. Behold, the new has come!”— 2 Corinthians 5:17 BSB

A.B. Simpson draws a sharp but often overlooked distinction between what it means to be “raised” versus “resurrected.” His point isn’t just about semantics—it’s about the very foundation of the Gospel. Human philosophies and self-improvement ideologies want to elevate the old self, polishing the flesh and lifting it to a higher moral level. But the Gospel doesn’t decorate the tomb—it empties it.

Paul wasn’t driven by a desire to achieve personal excellence—he had already laid down his accolades and background in exchange for something of infinitely greater value: knowing Jesus Christ. For him, everything else was expendable when compared to the excellence of knowing his Lord. This “knowing” wasn’t merely intellectual; it was a life of ever-deepening intimacy, a relational union with Christ that was experienced through both resurrection life and suffering.