Selfishness is sneaky—it feels like commonsense in the moment. As the disciples sat right in front of Jesus, they struggled with the same self-centered question we all are challenged: “But what about me?̶1;
We easily draw safe boundaries around God’s grace, welcoming those who seem familiar while overlooking those who feel foreign or difficult. Yet the distant wise men of Matthew 2 and the rejoicing Gentiles of Acts 13 confront those boundaries: Jesus came to reach the world. Who might God be placing beyond our comfort, yet within the reach of his good news?
Most of our days do not feel like turning points in history; they feel like errands, obligations, and familiar routines, leaving us to wonder whether our lives matter in any story beyond our own. Those on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in Acts 2 might have wondered the same thing.
Grace saves us—we donR17;t deserve it, canR17;t earn it, and have no grounds to boast about it, as Paul makes plain in Ephesians 2:8–9—so what does it look like when a community of undeserving people actually lives that out together as the church God is building?
Most of us carry a ready answer to “IR17;ll be happy if…̶1;—the promotion, the healed relationship, the life that finally settles into place. That hunger is exactly what Jesus addresses when he sits down on a hillside in Matthew 5 and declares blessed the poor in spirit, the mourning, the meek, and the persecuted—people whose lives look nothing like what weR17;d put in that blank.
We like life easy, so when following Jesus brings bumps instead of the smoother path we expected, we wonder what went wrong. Luke 9 reminds us that Jesus never promised following him would meet that expectation.
When evil still creeps in unchecked and we wonder why God doesnR17;t swoop down to stop it, it can feel as if He isnR17;t even paying attention. Psalm 11 speaks to us when we feel that nagging doubt.
When a winter forecast keeps bouncing around, most of us know better than to cancel everything over what might never arrive. Luke opens his Gospel with the opposite claim: this is no chance of grace next week, but the report of what has already been fulfilled among us—Jesus actually coming in history.
We are good at recognizing what is wrong—and remarkably bad at fixing it. Isaiah 1 warns that the strong become tinder and their work a spark, exposing every human effort we trust to make life secure and lasting. What hope does Easter offer when the things we build, the solutions we devise, and even our own strength end in ash?
Clear words can still sail right past us when they arenR17;t the news we want. In Luke 18, Jesus tells the Twelve exactly whatR17;s about to happen to Him, yet they were just like us: they didnR17;t want to hear.
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