John 12 paints a moving and multidimensional portrait of the final days leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion. The chapter opens with Mary’s extravagant devotion, anointing Jesus with costly perfume—an act of prophetic worship that Jesus said prepared Him for burial. The sweet aroma of this offering contrasted sharply with Judas’s bitter greed.

Paul's letter to the Philippians opens with a rich outpouring of joy, love, and Christ-centered hope. He identifies himself and Timothy simply as "servants of Christ Jesus," echoing the humility of their Master who took on the form of a servant Himself. Paul writes to a church that he deeply loves and cherishes, reminding them that their unity and mutual love are born out of the gospel and the shared grace of God. He affirms their partnership not only in their generous financial support but in their shared life in Christ.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is deeply personal, filled with the warmth of spiritual friendship. Unlike some of his more corrective letters, Philippians reads like a tender correspondence between close companions. The church at Philippi was born through hardship and bonded by generosity. From its very first converts—Lydia, the jailer, and the delivered slave girl—this church knew what it meant to suffer for Christ and to walk in joy despite opposition.

There are some verses we’ve read or heard a hundred times, and then one day—through the Spirit’s quiet work—they explode with meaning. That happened to me recently with Colossians 1:16: "All things were created through Him and for Him."

In this sobering reflection, E. Stanley Jones explores the inevitable consequences of living apart from Christ. He observes that when a soul detaches from its source—Jesus, who is life—it doesn't merely suffer disorientation or malaise; it begins a process of decay. Whether in outward rebellion or quiet self-centeredness, the life separated from Christ slowly collapses under its own weight. Jones likens it to a branch cut off from the vine, which withers and is ultimately burned—not by God's wrath, but by the unlivable nature of a self-sustained existence. He powerfully states that we light our own funeral pyres when we depart from Christ, for the fire of internal conflict, discontent, and confusion is self-ignited.

What if a well-intended spiritual practice subtly concealed a deeper problem—not because it was overtly evil, but because it blended the sacred with the merely symbolic? In Leviticus 19:19, God gave Israel a law that might seem strange to us today: "Do not wear clothing woven of two kinds of material." On the surface, this feels outdated. But through this command, God revealed something enduring—something not bound to ancient garments, but to spiritual reality: some things were never meant to be mixed.

Ray Stedman reminds us that Old Testament laws like not mixing fabrics, seeds, or animals were never about the materials themselves. Rather, they were designed to impress upon Israel the danger of mixing opposing spiritual principles—light with darkness, truth with error, faith with flesh. These were training tools to teach discernment. Today, in the New Covenant, we’re not bound to follow these symbols literally, but we are to understand the heart behind them: God does not permit a blending of His life with fleshly ways.

A.B. Simpson draws our hearts today to the inner reality of Christ’s anointing within us—the indwelling presence of God’s love, which does not fade or fluctuate. His Spirit doesn’t come and go; He remains, and with Him comes the gentle teaching of love itself. This isn’t a call to discard instruction, but to recognize that all true understanding flows from the Spirit’s life within. And that life? It is love.

At the heart of the new covenant is not a rulebook but a relationship. Bob Hoekstra reminds us that grace does more than bring us into God’s family—it deepens our fellowship with Him day by day. The very essence of growth under grace is knowing the Lord more intimately, not just knowing about Him. Paul echoed this desire when he prayed that believers would walk in a way that pleased the Lord by growing in the knowledge of God (Colossians 1:10).

In today’s devotional, Oswald Chambers gently but firmly redirects our gaze away from the mystical and toward the immediate. The Lord is not waiting in the distance to be revealed in dramatic ways—He is present, here and now. Chambers notes that we often hurt the Lord, not through rebellion, but through our doubts, our complicated logic, and our restless hearts that cannot simply rest in Him.

There’s a sacred mystery to the sufferings we walk through—not only are they never wasted, but they are precisely fashioned to prepare us to carry out the kind of service the Father has in mind. Today's devotional from Abide Above reveals how God, in His triune love and wisdom, orchestrates every affliction with a dual purpose: first, to form Christ within us, and second, to enable us to bring comfort and truth to others who are suffering.

Today’s eManna devotional reflects on Zebulun, a tribe of Israel described as dwelling by the sea and becoming a haven for ships (Genesis 49:13). This imagery paints a prophetic picture—not just of geography—but of gospel ministry. Zebulun, situated in Galilee, becomes a symbol of gospel exportation. It was in Galilee where Jesus began His public ministry, where He later appeared to His disciples after His resurrection, and where He commissioned them to go into all the world.

Nehemiah 9 captures a sacred moment when the people of Israel, freshly reawakened by the Word of God, gather in repentance and reflection. This chapter moves beyond personal mourning to a national confession—a recognition that the same God who rescued them from Egypt, led them through the wilderness, and planted them in the land, remained faithful even when they were not. The chapter unfolds as a long prayer, rich with historical remembrance and honest self-examination.

Ezekiel 40 ushers us into the final vision of the prophet's ministry—a breathtaking panorama that centers on a future temple, a place of restored worship and divine presence. The chapter is a meticulous architectural walkthrough of this new sanctuary, guided by a radiant angelic figure who instructs Ezekiel to observe, listen, and report.

Job’s final response is markedly different from his earlier, reserved admission in chapter 40. Now, Job affirms the absolute sovereignty of God—not just as a doctrinal truth but as a deeply personal realization. He confesses that God's purposes cannot be thwarted and that nothing occurs outside the scope of His authority, even the operations of Satan. This isn’t dualism. There is only one ultimate authority in the universe, and Job acknowledges this with a reverent awe. His earlier words are recanted, not out of shame, but because he now sees God more clearly—not through secondhand reports, but through a direct encounter. And in this clearer vision of God, Job sees himself rightly—not worthless, but humbled and finite in the presence of infinite wisdom.

E. Stanley Jones doesn’t mince words in today’s devotional entry. He draws a bright line between abiding in Christ and choosing not to. And it’s not merely a theological concept—it’s existential. To abide in Christ is to receive His very life. His peace becomes our peace. His joy, our joy. His purity, His victory, His power—ours by intimate union, not by imitation.

Ray Stedman draws our attention to one of the most powerful forces in human experience—sexuality—and reminds us that God’s Word doesn’t suppress it, but rather channels it. Like a mighty river, sex brings life and delight when it stays within God’s boundaries, but brings destruction when unleashed without restraint.

A.B. Simpson directs our gaze today not to the mountaintops of public ministry or spiritual epiphany, but to the quiet valleys where life feels ordinary—where faith is shaped in the pottery of routine. He writes of those anonymous artisans—potters by trade, yet living in the service of the king. They carried out seemingly mundane work, but it was holy work because of who they served and how they served.

Bob Hoekstra leads us today into the core of what it means to live as Jesus lived—not by imitating His actions from a distance, but by participating in the same relational dependence Jesus had with the Father. Jesus didn’t operate out of His own divine initiative while walking the earth. Instead, He chose to live as a man yielded to the indwelling presence and will of the Father. He didn’t simply model obedience; He demonstrated the reality of union.

Oswald Chambers gets to the heart of a subtle but damaging attitude many of us carry without realizing: misjudging God's provision and, in doing so, slandering His goodness. He explains that Jesus' parable of the talents (or bags of gold) is not about natural abilities, personality, or even how sharp our minds are. It’s about our response to the Spirit’s life within us—our spiritual capacity, which is measured by God's promises, not our resumes.