Most of us have something weR17;d rather not put on the table before God—something weR17;re holding just tightly enough that we hope He wonR17;t notice. In Luke 18, a ruler who has kept the commandments since his youth comes to Jesus asking what he still must do to inherit eternal life, and Jesus names exactly the one thing he isnR17;t ready to hear.
We can say all the right things about Jesus and still expect the wrong things from him. In Luke 19, the crowd welcomes its King with praise, peace, and glory—but what happens when the Savior we celebrate does not pursue the earthly victory, security, or power we wanted?
Most of us havenR17;t murdered anyone this week, so we figure weR17;re keeping the sixth commandment just fine—but Jesus suggests the problem runs deeper, into the anger we harbor and the contempt we broadcast, long before any blade is drawn.
Little sins that seem almost harmless still multiply until they leave us too blind even for grace. In Genesis 4, CainR17;s story is one of just such little sins and it serves as a caution as we tend our own “harmless sins.̶1;
WeR17;ve all felt the crash that follows a sugar high—the emotional win, the reassuring word, the earthly success that lifts us for a moment before the bottom drops out again. Paul knew that feeling too, which is why he doesnR17;t merely greet the Ephesians with good wishes but with something that doesnR17;t fade: “grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.̶1;
How does a people God has blessed so richly turn their backs on him? Isaiah 1 opens with God’s lament over Jerusalem—once full of justice, now a harlot filled with murderers—and brings the question home for Lent: when he looks at you, does he lament?
Even after turning our lives over to Christ, we can still pray as though God were there to serve our wants and protect our plans. In Matthew 7, Jesus says, “Ask, seek, and knock,” raising a searching question for daily prayer: When we belong to Him, what should we be asking our Father to give?
Family conflict. Our attempts to force a good outcome. So often our all too human messes and efforts leave life looking like a train wreck that gives sin the final word. Yet Genesis 35 closes Isaac’s story by calling him “old and full of days” and placing his divided sons together at his burial. Maybe even our broken lives still have hope of being full?
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?
Most of us have never gone without a meal, yet Jesus in Matthew 5:6 calls us to feel that ravenous, stomach-aching hunger—not for food, but for righteousness. Do we feel that craving?