E. Stanley Jones takes us deep into the heart of what it means to be in Christ—not as a distant ideal, but as a lived reality. He beautifully highlights the two sides of Galatians 2:20: first, the death of the old self through identification with Christ’s crucifixion, and then the life of Christ now expressed through us. This is not poetic imagery. It’s a real transaction—my old life is no more; now Jesus is my very life.

Ray Stedman gently invites us to move past mere ritual and into the heart of what God truly desires—genuine understanding and reverence for His intentions. In this passage, Aaron made a deeply reverent decision that went beyond the letter of the law. Though he should have eaten the sin offering according to the law’s outward prescription, he abstained, recognizing that his heart was not in a place to receive it meaningfully after the tragic death of his sons.

A.B. Simpson draws attention to a subtle but dangerous spiritual behavior described in Numbers 11:1—the people of Israel “as it were” murmured. They weren’t outright defiant, but their hearts whispered complaints that echoed in the ears of the Lord. It’s a phrase that unmasks the veiled rebellion in the hearts of those who wouldn’t dare speak directly against God but insinuate distrust in Him by grumbling about life’s hardships or other people.

This devotional reminds us that the Christian life is not a striving toward spiritual riches—it is a life already enriched, because Christ Himself lives within us. Paul’s letters to the Corinthians declare a truth too often overlooked: God's grace is not a distant favor we hope for; it is the present reality of being spiritually resourced through an abiding relationship with Jesus.

Oswald Chambers draws our attention to a deeper understanding of eternal life—not as something external we receive, but as the very indwelling Life of God shared with us through union with Christ. This is not merely an imitation or empowerment from a distance. It’s Christ Himself, the same Spirit who raised Him from the dead, now living within those who have chosen to identify with Him through the cross.

The heart of this devotional isn’t a call to try harder to be transformed—it’s an invitation to fall deeper in love. J.B. Stoney reminds us that transformation doesn’t come from figuring out the “how” of change, but from gazing on the “Who” of our affection—Jesus Christ.

This reflection from eManna draws attention to a powerful phrase in Acts 9:15—“a chosen vessel.” It challenges us to rethink the way we view our calling as believers. Paul wasn’t simply called to do for Christ; he was chosen to contain Christ. That distinction carries incredible significance. A vessel is not a tool or a weapon—it is meant to hold something valuable, even sacred. And Saul of Tarsus, once a persecutor of Christ’s followers, was set apart to bear, contain, and express the very life of Christ to others.

In today's devotional, the writer emphasizes the significance of being a "chosen vessel," a term Scripture purposefully uses to express how we, as believers, are created to hold and carry the presence of God Himself. Unlike tools or weapons, a vessel has no inherent value or effectiveness apart from what it contains. Paul, originally Saul of Tarsus, wasn't merely chosen for a task or a role; he was intentionally chosen to be filled with Christ and to display and distribute Him to the world. This is beautifully illustrated in Paul's own writings, highlighting our divine purpose—not to strive in self-sufficiency—but to simply be containers of the surpassing greatness of God's power and mercy. Saul's transformation into Paul exemplifies God's intention for every believer: to be filled to overflowing with Christ Himself, thereby naturally expressing and reflecting Him to everyone we encounter.

John 8 is ablaze with the clash between light and darkness—not as abstract themes, but as living realities embodied in Christ and His challengers. When Jesus proclaimed, “I am the light of the world,” He was not merely painting with poetic brushstrokes. He was declaring His identity as the very presence of God who hovered over creation in Genesis, who guided Israel in the wilderness, who shone through the prophets, and who now stood among His people offering life, clarity, and salvation.

Ephesians 3 is like a quiet unveiling of something stunningly beautiful that had always been part of God’s plan, yet never fully seen until now. Paul, writing from prison, interrupts his own thought to marvel again at the grace he’s been given—not just for his own sake, but as a steward of something immense: the mystery of the gospel.

In today’s reading from In Christ, E. Stanley Jones invites us to consider the unimaginable intimacy and authority we share with Christ. He reflects on Revelation 3:21, where Jesus says to the overcomer, “I will grant him to sit with Me on My throne.” This staggering promise isn't merely symbolic—it reveals the very heart of God’s self-giving love. The God who stooped low to wash our feet also raises us to reign beside Him, not as passive subjects, but as those redeemed and restored to shared rulership in Christ.

Ray Stedman draws us into the sobering story of Nadab and Abihu, two priests whose offering of unauthorized fire led to their death by divine judgment. At first glance, this passage from Leviticus may appear harsh—an image of God many associate with the Old Testament: unpredictable, vengeful, and terrifying.

The essence of today’s reflection from Days of Heaven is stunningly simple and stunningly overlooked. Faith, the devotional reminds us, isn’t a negotiation with God or a cautious partnership. It’s a restful, trusting “amen” to what He has already declared with His resounding “yes.”

Bob Hoekstra’s devotional draws our attention beyond the moment of salvation to the ongoing purpose of the Christian life: that Christ would be formed in us. Paul expresses this desire with parental intensity, saying he labors in birth again for the Galatian believers—not for their rebirth, but for their transformation. They had already received Jesus by faith, becoming children of God, but now Paul groans with a shepherd’s concern that the life of Christ would take full shape in them.

In this entry, Oswald Chambers speaks of a radical truth rooted in Romans 6:5: the believer’s union with Christ in His death is not symbolic—it is actual and transformative. When a person identifies with Christ’s death, it is not merely the end of sin’s penalty, but the beginning of a new kind of life. Chambers explains that this “resurrection life” is not theoretical or reserved for the afterlife. It is present now—imparted by the risen Christ through the indwelling Holy Spirit.

Today’s reflection draws a beautiful progression in the believer’s heart. At first, we are eager to serve, to be useful in God’s kingdom—but that desire, even when sincere, is still tethered to our own perspective. In time, the Holy Spirit begins to reshape our inner concern. He impresses upon us not only the image of Christ, but Christ Himself—so that our longing shifts from usefulness to likeness. Eventually, it’s no longer our effort to serve, but His own heart reaching others through us—not by our striving, but by our being.

The heart of today’s devotional centers around a remarkable shift—one so sudden and Spirit-born that it turned a persecutor into a proclaimer overnight. Luke records Saul’s immediate preaching in Acts 9, not after years of theological training, but right after his encounter with the risen Lord. His message is stunningly simple yet boldly revelatory: “this One is the Son of God… this One is the Christ.”

In Nehemiah 5, the physical rebuilding of Jerusalem’s wall is interrupted by a far more dangerous threat—division within the community. Satan, having failed to halt the project through external enemies, now strikes from within, pitting the people against each other. The grievances are serious: the poor, stripped of land and options, cry out against their wealthier Jewish brothers who have capitalized on their hardship. Some are forced to sell property, others to mortgage fields or even surrender their children to slavery—all while trying to feed their families and pay oppressive Persian taxes. The unity of God’s people is being torn apart by greed and injustice, and Nehemiah recognizes that the real enemy is not the Babylonians or Persians, but the unchecked corruption among their own.

Ezekiel 36 unfolds as a stunning reversal of judgment. The Lord speaks directly to the mountains of Israel—once ravaged by foreign nations during Israel’s exile—and promises to restore their beauty and productivity. Unlike the judgment on Mount Seir, the message here is one of redemption. Israel’s land will flourish again, its people will return, and the shame brought on by foreign nations will be wiped away.

After chapters of human reasoning and heartfelt protest, the storm finally breaks—not merely around Job, but within him—as God Himself speaks. Until now, Job has heard from friends and one last passionate monologue from Elihu, but not from the Lord. Now God speaks—not to destroy, but to restore. From the whirlwind, He asks questions that pull Job’s gaze from his pain to the grandeur and mystery of creation.