Today's reflection unveils a crucial truth: to recognize Jesus as the Christ is not merely to acknowledge His identity—it is to recognize His commission. Saul’s immediate proclamation in the synagogues that this One is the Son of God was more than a change of mind; it was the result of a heavenly unveiling. What had been zealously resisted by Saul in his blindness became his clearest vision—Jesus is both Son of God and the Christ, God’s anointed and appointed One.

John 7 opens with tension mounting around Jesus. His brothers didn’t believe in Him, the Jewish leaders were looking to kill Him, and the crowds were deeply divided. Jesus remained obedient to the timing set by His Father, not swayed by public pressure or family opinion. He arrived privately to the Festival of Tabernacles, a joyous celebration of God’s provision in the wilderness and a prophetic picture of the coming Messianic blessings.

Paul’s heart opens wide in Ephesians 2 as he contrasts the believer’s past alienation with the present reality of union with Christ. The chapter begins with a sobering view of humanity’s default state—dead in transgressions, shaped by the world, Satan, and the flesh. This death wasn’t merely metaphorical; it was separation from the life of God, helpless to respond to Him and hostile to His ways. Yet into this spiritual death came the breathtaking interruption: “But God.” The entire gospel hinges on that contrast—God, motivated by love, mercy, and grace, makes us alive with Christ. We’ve been raised with Him, seated with Him, secured with Him. Salvation isn’t a reward; it’s a resurrection. It’s not our doing—it’s God’s gift, received through faith that He also supplies.

In today’s reading, E. Stanley Jones continues his reflections on the importance of mutual abiding: us in Christ and Christ in us. He emphasizes that abiding is not a one-way experience—it's a shared indwelling where life becomes truly fruitful. We draw all we need from Christ as we abide in Him, and He expresses His life through us as He abides in us. It’s not passivity, nor is it self-effort—it’s a divine union where His life flows naturally through ours.

In today’s reflection, Ray Stedman draws us into the symbolism of the priestly ordination ceremony in Leviticus 8. The strange but sacred ritual—placing blood on the ear, thumb, and toe of the priest—points to a life wholly touched by redemption. The ear set apart to hear God’s voice not as mere suggestion, but as the liberating word of a Redeemer. The hand consecrated to serve others in humility, knowing that we are not better than those we serve but equally in need of Christ’s continual cleansing. And the foot marked by grace, reminding us that our daily walk, though faltering at times, is carried by the blood of Christ and not by our merit. This passage calls us to listen with surrendered ears, to serve with humble hands, and to walk with grace-soaked steps. The priest’s ordination is not a symbol of superiority, but of total dependence—body, soul, and walk—on the finished work of Christ.

A.B. Simpson draws our hearts toward the simple yet profound peace that comes from walking in step with the Father, as Jesus did. He reflects on the value of keeping "short accounts with God"—not as a legalistic ritual, but as a lifestyle of transparent, intimate fellowship. The verse from Romans about giving an account of ourselves to God becomes a daily invitation rather than a final reckoning. Imagine each day ending with no burdens carried forward, no regrets left unresolved, because we’ve continually lived in the light, moment by moment, trusting the indwelling Christ to express His life through us.

In today’s entry, Bob Hoekstra draws us back into the imagery of the vine and branches from John 15. While the previous focus was on how grace produces fruit through humility and faith, today’s devotional leans into the intimate union Jesus describes in His words: “Abide in Me, and I in you.” This is not a call to self-effort or striving to become something we are not—rather, it is an invitation to remain in what is already true. The relationship between a vine and a branch is one of organic, continual union. The branch has no life in itself; it only lives and bears fruit as it draws from the vine. Likewise, we, as believers, were born again from Christ and are now forever joined to Him. His life is not far off or earned—it flows into us day by day, moment by moment, as we simply remain where we already are: in Him.

Oswald Chambers invites us to distinguish between knowing about Jesus and actually seeing Him. Many believers have received God’s grace—they have trusted Christ's finished work—but they may not have truly seen Jesus. They may love the gifts of salvation, the healing, the provision, and the peace—but they have not yet looked into His face.

Today’s entry draws us deep into a forgotten treasure of the Christian life: Christ being fully formed within us. Paul’s words in Galatians 4:19 reflect a heart that longed not simply for conversions, church growth, or spiritual busyness—but for the living presence of Christ to become visible in His people. His travail was not for results, but for reality.

The vision given to Peter in Acts 10 was radical. A sheet lowered from heaven, filled with animals considered unclean by Jewish law, symbolized far more than just a dietary shift—it marked a monumental shift in God's redemptive mission. This imagery represented the gospel’s inclusive embrace, reaching people from every walk of life, not just those raised within Jewish customs. Peter, shaped by a lifetime of separation between clean and unclean, holy and common, was being invited into a greater understanding: God was tearing down dividing walls, cleansing people through Christ’s blood, and welcoming them into one new family in Him.

When God's people commit to His kingdom work, opposition is sure to come. In Nehemiah 4, resistance surfaces in the form of ridicule, intimidation, and mockery from Sanballat and Tobiah. Their words are calculated to demoralize, targeting the perceived incompetence and weakness of the builders. But Nehemiah doesn't retaliate—he prays. His prayer isn't rooted in personal offense but in zeal for God's name and purpose. He knows this isn’t a battle of personalities, but one of spiritual opposition against God’s redemptive mission. Nehemiah invites the people to stand firm in both prayer and practical readiness. With trowels in one hand and swords in the other, they resume their labor, fully reliant on the Lord and fully prepared to resist any threat. The people’s faith is visible not only in prayer but in their readiness to act, revealing the divine balance: God is sovereign, and yet His people are responsible. Watching, working, and warring—all under the assurance that God Himself fights for them—becomes their posture of faith.

Ezekiel 35 speaks directly to Edom—represented here as Mount Seir—bringing a word of judgment against their age-old hostility toward Israel. This is not the first time Edom appears in Ezekiel's prophecy. Back in chapter 25, they were already condemned for their violence against Judah. But here the judgment deepens. Edom’s hatred was not random; it was rooted in a long-standing rivalry between the descendants of Jacob and Esau. What stings even more is that Edom didn’t just stand by while Judah fell—they sought to benefit from Israel’s loss. They rejoiced in her ruin, and worse, they spoke arrogantly and contemptuously about God’s people. The Lord took these words personally.

Elihu’s final words to Job bring the conversation to a powerful and awe-inspiring crescendo. He invites Job to pause and truly listen—to stop speaking and simply consider the majesty of God displayed in the storm. Elihu's questions aren’t meant to shame Job but to invite wonder. They draw Job's eyes upward from the ashes of suffering to the grandeur of God’s handiwork—lightning, thunder, wind, and snow. He’s not trying to explain why Job suffers but is reminding him who God is.

E. Stanley Jones challenges a common misconception about spiritual strength. He addresses the way some church environments, while well-meaning, actually disempower believers by over-regulating their lives—telling them what to do, what to think, even what to read—without nurturing spiritual discernment or intimacy with Christ. In doing so, these churches unintentionally create obedient but spiritually weak individuals.

In this entry, Ray Stedman draws from Leviticus 8:1–4 to illustrate the essential nature of priesthood—not as a human invention but a divine appointment established by God. The priesthood was not born out of a committee or council, but out of God’s explicit command and design for His people. Stedman highlights six distinct elements of priesthood …

Solomon’s proverb isn’t poetic fluff—it’s a prescription. Joy isn’t merely the byproduct of health; it can be the agent that restores it. In Days of Heaven, Simpson reminds us that joy is more than a mood—it’s a means. When medicine falls short and strength has waned, joy can still lift the weary soul and even bring vitality to the body.

In today’s entry, Bob Hoekstra draws our hearts deeper into the staggering intimacy offered through the new covenant: Christ in us, and we in Him. This isn’t about mere proximity to Jesus, as though He walks beside us like a friend who comes and goes. No, it’s about union—shared life, shared being. Christ Himself becomes our source of spiritual nourishment, just as food sustains physical life.

Oswald Chambers invites us to consider that the resurrection of Jesus didn’t just restore life to His body—it inaugurated a brand-new kind of life altogether. The risen Christ entered into a life that had never before existed: one now glorified, victorious, and shared with us. He is not simply our example of what new life might look like—He is that new life.

Today’s reflection from Abide Above brings a much-needed reorientation of what it means to walk in triumph. The world tends to define victory as the removal of hardship, the fixing of what’s wrong, or the return of circumstances to ease. But this devotional points us higher—to a triumph that isn’t rooted in outward change but in inward transformation.

In this devotional, the writer reflects on the enduring power of gospel tracts as a tool for evangelism. While our voices may tire and our schedules may limit our availability, the written word—especially in the form of a well-crafted tract—can travel beyond our constraints. Tracts are not bound by time or place; they can land in a hand or on a sidewalk and still fulfill their mission. The writer shares a vivid example of a man who, needing padding for a shoe, unknowingly stepped into eternity when he discovered the message contained in a discarded tract. The focus isn’t merely on the method but on the faithfulness of God to use whatever means we commit to Him—even something as small and seemingly insignificant as a printed page.