Changing the world for God can sound easier than loving the people close enough to frustrate us. But that’s precisely what God calls us to by calling us to honor the first “neighbors” we’ll ever know: our parents.
Most of us haven’t murdered anyone this week, so we figure we’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.
We’re always drawn to the new and the shiny. In Genesis 3, the serpent made the one tree God forbade look irresistable. Wouldn’t it be nice if everything we shouldn’t do just clearly didn’t look right?
We keep chasing what looks impressive—the success the world promises—forgetting it all carries an expiration date, like a freshly cut tree that soon dries out and becomes trash. Samuel falls into the same trap sizing up Jesse’s sons in 1 Samuel 16, until the Lord stops him cold.
When you prepare a small dinner and twenty guests arrive unannounced, you wish you’d known what was coming—yet knowing what to prepare isn’t the only kind of readiness that matters. Luke 1 tells of a righteous priest who knew exactly what God expected of him, yet when God himself appeared with news he’d prayed decades to hear, he found himself unprepared to simply listen.
We cruise along thinking everything seems worth rejoicing in—until something smacks us over the head and forces the question of what really matters. Paul faces that same reckoning in Philippians 3, listing every credential and mark of status he once counted as gain.
Little sins that seem almost harmless still multiply until they leave us too blind even for grace. In Genesis 4, Cain’s story is one of just such little sins and it serves as a caution as we tend our own “harmless sins.”
We’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 doesn’t merely greet the Ephesians with good wishes but with something that doesn’t fade: “grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”
How much religious activity would it take to make up for the parts of life we still withhold from God? In Isaiah 1, Israel brings a multitude of sacrifices, gathers for solemn assemblies, and makes many prayers—yet God addresses his people as Sodom and Gomorrah and says their worship has become a burden to him.
Most of us know what it feels like to pray with one eye on the people around us—wondering whether we sound holy enough, reaching for language we’d never use in ordinary conversation. In Matthew 6, Jesus warns us that prayer aimed at impressing an audience—human or divine—has already received its only reward.