When you want to stay, and God sends you.

We know those seasons when life settles into a gentle rhythm. The early, unhurried morning; the familiar commute with the same sea of stranger-faces; the workday where nothing is on fire; even a season when prayer feels easy and God feels close. There’s a quiet comfort in that routine, almost like being on a little mountain where the view is familiar and the air is calm.

In today’s Gospel, Peter has his own version of that moment. He sees Jesus shining like the sun, hears the Father’s voice, watches Moses and Elijah appear in glory, and his instinct is to stay put: “Lord, it is good that we are here… I will make three tents.” He reaches for permanence, for a way to hold onto the moment and make it last. You and I know that impulse well—whether it’s a beautiful family moment we wish would never end, or a comfortable routine we don’t want disrupted.

But before Peter can finish his sentence, a bright cloud overshadows them and the Father speaks: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” Not “build for him,” not “prove yourself to him,” but “listen to him.” The first call is not to perform, but to pay attention.

Grace in a performance-driven Lent

In the second reading, Paul reminds Timothy—and us—that God “has saved us and called us to a holy life, not according to our works but according to his own purpose and grace.” That line cuts straight across a lot of the pressure we feel around Lent.

Lent can easily become a spiritual performance review. We set resolutions, compare our fasting or prayer habits to others, and listen to louder, more intense voices online that seem to say, “If you’re not doing as much as I am, you’re not serious.” Sometimes those voices are explicitly religious; sometimes they’re just the background hum of productivity culture, baptized in holy water.

But Paul says the opposite: it begins in grace, not in our performance. God’s call on your life is rooted in his purpose and his love, not in how dramatically you can give up coffee or how many holy hours you can log this month. The point of Lent is not to impress God; it’s to make space for God to impress his love and mercy more deeply into us.

That doesn’t mean we coast. Lent is “self-denial ordered toward love”—we willingly stretch, fast, and give, not because God keeps score, but because love wants to grow. We want to move beyond the bare minimum, beyond autopilot, and let God shape us into people who love more freely.

The danger is when that holy desire to “do more” quietly slides into a fear of not doing enough, of not being enough. When we start playing the comparison game—measuring our prayer life, our sacrifices, our spiritual “intensity” against what we see others posting—we can quickly forget that the foundation is grace. Sometimes we may just want a calm, private experience with God, away from the public eye, and that’s okay. Holiness doesn’t need a platform.

The temptation to pitch tents

Peter’s idea on the mountain is sincere. He’s not trying to escape responsibility; he’s just overwhelmed by a beautiful, holy moment and wants to hold onto it. You and I know that feeling. A retreat that changed us. A prayer time when Scripture suddenly came alive. A season when we felt close to God and everything seemed to flow. “Lord, it is good that we are here. Can we just stay like this?”

But the Father interrupts with a different invitation: “Listen to him.” And what does Jesus say afterward? He doesn’t say, “Stay.” He says, “Rise, and do not be afraid,” and then leads them back down the mountain.

In other words: the experience on the mountain is real, but it’s not the destination. It’s a gift meant to strengthen them for the journey ahead, a glimpse of glory that will carry them through the coming valley of the cross. The same Jesus who shines in light will soon sweat blood in Gethsemane.

The Little Flower Carmelite reflection captures this beautifully: God is both Place and Journey, the One who meets us on the holy mountain and the One who keeps calling us on when we would rather camp and pitch tents. God is not being cruel when he doesn’t let us stay in the “perfect” moment. He is inviting us into a deeper, more costly love.

Listening more than understanding

If you’re reading this on your phone late at night, or sipping coffee between notifications, it’s not news to you that we live in a loud time. Wars and conflicts across the globe, angry voices on every platform, headlines that pull our attention from one crisis to the next. It can feel like the world is on fire most days, and our instinct is either to doomscroll or to shut down and block it all out.

In that noise, “listening” can sound like a luxury. But the Father’s words on the mountain are surprisingly simple and practical: “Listen to him.” Not “understand everything,” not “solve all the problems,” but listen. Take his words seriously. Let them land in your actual life.

Abram in the first reading does exactly that. God tells him, “Go from your country and your kindred… to the land that I will show you.” No map, no step-by-step plan, just a promise: “I will bless you… and you will be a blessing.” Abram doesn’t understand how it will all work out, but he listens and goes.

In Lent, listening often comes before understanding. We may not fully grasp why God is nudging us to forgive that person, to unplug a bit from our screens, to give more generously, to show up at Mass again. We may not see how our little acts of self-denial matter in a world on fire. But the pattern of Scripture is clear: God speaks, we listen, we step, and understanding often comes later.

Listening in this sense is an act of trust: “I don’t see the whole picture, but I’m going to take this next step with you, Lord.”

When you want to stay, and God sends you

So what does this look like for us, halfway through Lent?

Maybe your life right now feels like that peaceful routine: early mornings, familiar commutes, workdays on repeat, prayer that’s fine but not exactly stretching you. Or maybe it’s the opposite: too much noise, too many headlines, too many voices telling you what you should be outraged about today. In both cases, there’s a temptation to stay where we are—either comfortably settled or comfortably numb.

Lent, in this Sunday’s light, is Jesus taking us gently by the hand and saying: “Rise, and do not be afraid.” Not “rise and perform,” not “rise and prove yourself,” but “rise and come with me.” The Transfiguration reminds us that:

We are called and saved by grace, “not according to our works.”
We are invited to listen before we understand.
We are meant to go back down the mountain with him, into a noisy, hurting world, as people who have seen his light.

For some of us, “going down the mountain” might mean stepping out of a comfortable spiritual routine and trying something a bit more courageous: going back to confession, returning to Sunday Mass, joining your family for prayer even if it feels awkward, reaching out to someone who is struggling. For others, it might mean turning down the volume of the world just enough to actually hear Jesus again: less doomscrolling, more Gospel; fewer hot takes, more quiet listening.

The Carmelite prayer asks God to “transfigure our cloudy and confused spirits so that we are not afraid to follow Jesus through the times of trial, tribulation and stretching.” That’s the heart of this Sunday. God doesn’t shame us for wanting to stay where it feels safe. He meets us there, shows us his glory, and then gently sends us back into the ordinary, carrying that light.

A simple listening practice for this week

If you can give God two or three quiet minutes sometime today or this week, here’s a small way to “listen more than understand”:

Three questions to sit with:

Where am I most tempted right now to “pitch a tent”—to stay put spiritually or emotionally, rather than follow where Jesus might be nudging me next?
Where have I slipped into a performance mindset with God—trying to earn his love, or comparing my efforts to others—instead of starting from grace?
What is one small, concrete step Jesus might be inviting me to take this week, even if I don’t fully understand why yet?

A short prayer (adapted in the spirit of the Little Flower reflection):

Lord Jesus,
You are the beloved Son, and the Father tells me to listen to you.
Save me from the pressure to perform, and remind me that I am called by your grace, not my works.
When I want to stay where it feels safe, give me courage to follow you back down the mountain, into the world you love.
Take me through my clouds of doubt and distraction to your holy mountain, where I can see your glory,
and then send me as a quiet light into the places that feel dark.
Rise in me, Lord, and help me not be afraid. Amen.

If all you do this week is pause your scrolling long enough to ask, “Lord, what are you saying to me?” and then listen for a moment, that’s already a powerful Lenten step—not according to your works, but according to his grace.

When Sin Runs Deep: Jesus’ Shocking Words and God’s Promise of a New Heart

Jesus exposes how deep sin really runs—not to crush us, but to replace our hardened, petty hearts with a new, generous heart that looks like his.enduringword+2

When Jesus Sounds Extreme

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus uses some of the most jarring language in all of Scripture: “If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away… If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off.” He repeats the same idea later: it is better to enter life “maimed or lame” than to be thrown into the fire with all your members intact. These are not literal surgical instructions, but spiritual shock therapy—Jesus is trying to wake us up to how lethal sin is when we treat it lightly or manage it politely.preceptaustin+5

If the problem were just our eye or our hand, we might imagine we could “fix” ourselves by removing a part. But you can pluck out the eye and still have a mind that replays the image; you can cut off the hand and still have a heart that broods over revenge or fantasizes about using others. Jesus’ hyperbole forces the question: if every part of me can become a channel for sin, maybe the real issue is deeper than body parts. Maybe the “surgery” we need is not on the limb, but on the center that drives them all.lifehopeandtruth+2

The Hidden Depth of Sin

Jesus doesn’t begin by talking about eyes and hands; he starts with the commandments themselves. “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery’… But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Earlier in the same chapter he goes even deeper with anger: “You have heard that it was said… ‘You shall not murder’… But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment.”harvestpca+2

In both cases, Jesus exposes the “road” that leads to the visible sin long before the final act:

Long before murder, there is unchecked anger, contempt, and the quiet decision to stop seeing the other person as a brother.bible.usccb+1
Long before adultery, there is the cultivated gaze, the entertained fantasy, the interior willingness to treat another person as an object.harvestpca+1

This is where pettiness shows itself. A petty heart asks, “How far can I go and still be technically innocent?” A generous heart asks, “What leads me toward love and away from anything that degrades God’s image in me or in others?” Jesus’ strong language about cutting off and plucking out is his way of saying: don’t negotiate with what kills your capacity to love; don’t bargain with what hardens your heart.

Hardened Hearts and Religious Pettiness

When Scripture talks about a “hardened heart,” it isn’t just describing emotional coldness; it’s naming a stubborn, resistant interior that refuses to be moved by God or by the needs of others. In the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly runs into this hardness—often among very religious people. In Mark, when he heals the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath, the religious leaders watch him, not with compassion, but with suspicion, and Jesus looks at them “with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart.” They are more concerned with guarding their system than with rejoicing that a broken man has been restored.openbible+2

When Jesus discusses divorce, he explains that Moses’ allowance was “because of your hardness of heart,” but that “from the beginning it was not so.” In other words, God had made a concession to human stubbornness, but it was far from his original, generous design for covenant love. Hardness of heart always shrinks love down to the smallest possible space: What am I allowed to do? How quickly can I write this person off and still feel righteous? How can I keep my image intact while my relationships crumble?dwightgingrich+2

Jesus is ruthless with this kind of religious minimalism because it blinds us to God’s generosity. A hardened, petty heart will quote Scripture while ignoring the suffering person in front of it; it will defend its rights while forgetting that every breath is a gift. The same Jesus who warns us to cut off hands and pluck out eyes is the Jesus who exposes our loopholes, our technicalities, and our carefully managed bitterness—and then offers us something entirely different.bible+1

God’s Promise: From Stone to Flesh

Centuries before Jesus, God had already diagnosed the problem: “I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel’s image is striking. A heart of stone is inflexible, unresponsive, and cold toward God’s voice; a heart of flesh is soft, living, and responsive, able to be impressed and moved by God’s will. In the ancient world, the heart was the center of decision, desire, and thought, so this is not cosmetic change—it is a promise of a new core.biblehub+3

God doesn’t stop there: “I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.” Jeremiah echoes the same hope: “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts.” Under the old covenant, God’s law was written on stone tablets outside of us; under the new covenant in Christ, that law of love is meant to be etched into our very desires and motivations. Jesus is not lowering the bar; he is raising it and then promising the grace to live what he commands.esv+3

Now the extreme sayings about eyes and hands come into focus. Jesus isn’t calling us to mutilate ourselves to earn God’s favor; he is revealing that the old, stone heart can’t be managed into holiness. It has to be replaced. It’s not that we remove one offending part and keep the rest intact; we bring the whole person to the surgeon who can actually give us a new heart.

From Pettiness to Generosity

What does a new, “flesh” heart look like in practice? The New Testament consistently links it with generosity. “We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” “If anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?” The contrast is sharp: a closed, stingy heart versus a heart opened by Christ’s own self-giving.lifepointbaptist+2

Jesus describes this generous posture in his own teaching: “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.” This isn’t about becoming a doormat; it’s about becoming free from the internal bookkeeping that always asks, “Have I done enough yet?” Pettiness calculates; generosity rests in the Father’s abundance and asks, “How can I mirror the way God has treated me?”logos+2

In daily life, pettiness in my heart might show up as:

Doing the bare minimum in my marriage, parenting, or friendships, while resenting any extra demand.
Clinging to small offenses, replaying them, and refusing to let go until the other person “pays.”
Giving financially or serving others but constantly checking whether I am getting enough appreciation in return.globalchristianrelief+1

By contrast, a generous heart acts more like Christ: quick to forgive, willing to go beyond what is strictly required, eager to protect others from temptation rather than seeing how close to the line we can stand together. The same Jesus who warns about hell also says, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” promising that there is joy on the other side of relinquished pettiness.lifepointbaptist+2

Letting Jesus Rewrite the Heart

So how do we move from a hardened, petty heart to a generous one? We don’t get there by gritting our teeth and cutting off figurative hands on our own; we get there by bringing our whole interior life under the gaze and grace of Jesus. First, we let him tell the truth about us. When he says that anger, contempt, and lust in the heart are already violations of the law of love, we resist the impulse to defend ourselves and instead allow his light to reach those hidden corners.bible.usccb+1

Second, we cooperate with his grace by taking his warnings seriously. That may mean literally “cutting off” certain habits, environments, or inputs that regularly pull us toward sin—changing what we watch, what we scroll, who we vent to, or how we let our imagination run. Not because we are terrified of God, but because we trust his diagnosis: whatever keeps feeding the hardness in me is not worth clinging to.gotquestions+2

Finally, we ask God for the miracle he has already promised: “Lord, take away my heart of stone and give me a heart of flesh; write your law of love on my heart.” Over time, as he answers that prayer, we find that obedience becomes less about rule-keeping and more about family resemblance. The goal is not simply to avoid sin but to become people whose very instincts are being reshaped—less petty, more generous; less defensive, more open; less stone, more flesh.dailyverse.knowing-jesus+2

That is the hope at the center of Jesus’ hard words: he exposes how deep sin really runs not to leave us in shame, but to invite us into a deeper healing than we imagined was possible—a new heart that looks a little more like his.

Finding Your One True Priority in Life

Lately the word “priority” has been sticking with me. I learned that when it first entered English in the 1400s, it was singular—there was just one “priority,” the first and most important thing. Only in the 1900s did we start talking about “priorities,” as if we could have many “most important” things at the same time.

As a Catholic, that little language shift makes me pause. If everything is a priority, then nothing really is—and for me, it raises the question: who or what actually comes first in my life? In my faith, God is meant to be that one priority, the One everything else flows from and returns to.

Another word that has been on my heart is “consecrated,” which means something set apart, made holy, reserved for a special purpose. In Catholic theology, to be consecrated is to belong to God in a particular way, to be given over to Him in love. The ancient burnt offerings in the Old Testament were a symbol of this: something given completely, not partly, to God.

Christians believe that Jesus is the “Lamb of God,” offered not as a thing, but as a living person who gives Himself totally for us, for our forgiveness and healing. In Jesus, God is not distant or abstract; He draws close and offers His whole self so that we can live in friendship and union with Him. Even if you do not share that belief, there is something moving about the idea of a love that holds nothing back.

What encourages me is that God does not just give words, but also gives a language of actions, symbols, and even our everyday choices to communicate with us. The way we order our time, our energy, and our “one priority” becomes its own kind of prayer—a way of saying, “This is who I belong to, and this is what I’m living for.” That feels like good news in a scattered world: we are invited into a simpler, deeper center.

A Scripture that captures this for me is Romans 12:1: “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” It speaks of life, not destruction: offering our ordinary selves—work, family, struggles, hopes—as something set apart for good, for love, for God. Whether or not you share my faith, it is an invitation to ask: what is my one true priority, and what am I willing to give myself to, wholeheartedly, in love?

As we close this reflection, please join me in prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ,
You are the one true priority and the Lamb of God, consecrated and given for our salvation.
Teach us to set our hearts on You above all things.
Gather our scattered desires into a single yes to Your will.
Consecrate our minds, our work, our relationships, and our rest,
so that all we are and all we do may be set apart for Your glory.
By Your Holy Spirit, make our lives a living sacrifice,
holy and pleasing to the Father, our true and spiritual worship.
Mary, Mother of God, and all the saints,
pray for us as we learn to live with one heart and one priority in Christ.
Amen.

Epiphany of the Lord

The Magi have come to see Jesus and pay homage to Him.

Matthew 2:1-12 tells the story of the Magi who come from the East, following a mysterious star, searching for “the newborn king of the Jews.” They arrive first in Jerusalem, which is exactly where you would expect a king of the Jews to be—but the real King is not in the palace with Herod, he is in hidden poverty in Bethlehem. Right from the start, Matthew is showing that God’s ways quietly overturn our expectations and that the true King is humble and vulnerable, yet worthy of adoration.thesoutherncross+2

When Herod hears about this child, he is frightened, and “all Jerusalem with him,” because a rival king threatens the fragile balance of his power. He gathers the chief priests and scribes, and they correctly identify Bethlehem as the place where the Messiah is to be born, quoting the prophecy that a ruler will come from Bethlehem who will shepherd God’s people. It is striking that the religious experts know the Scriptures but do not move an inch to seek the child, while pagan seekers from far away are willing to leave everything behind and follow the light God gives them.crs+2

The star reappears and guides the Magi to the exact place where the child is, and Matthew tells us they are “overjoyed” at seeing it. When they enter the house, they see “the child with Mary his mother,” and they fall to the ground in adoration, a gesture of worship that the Gospel reserves for God. Then they open their treasures and offer gold, frankincense, and myrrh—gifts that Catholic tradition reads as a kind of small creed in action: gold for Christ’s kingship, frankincense for his divinity, and myrrh for his future suffering and death. The same child who lies in his Mother’s arms will reign as King, receive our worship as God, and freely give his life on the Cross.catholic+2

The conclusion of the passage is quiet but important: having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, the Magi go back to their own country “by another way.” On the surface this protects the child from Herod’s plans, but spiritually it also suggests that a real encounter with Christ changes a person’s path; after worshiping him, they cannot simply go back the way they came. The God who drew them by a star now directs their conscience and their choices, and they respond with obedience and trust.missions.ewtn+1

In the Catholic Church, this Gospel is proclaimed on the Solemnity of the Epiphany, which is one of the great feasts of the Christmas cycle. “Epiphany” means manifestation or revelation: in Bethlehem, Christ is revealed not only to Israel, but to the nations, represented by these learned Gentile visitors who adore him. In many older traditions, Epiphany was seen as the crowning feast of Christmas, and in the current Roman Rite the broader Christmas season concludes with the Baptism of the Lord, which is closely linked to Epiphany as another moment when Jesus is manifested publicly.nationalshrine+3

The Church has also kept some beautiful customs to remember this event. In many places, Epiphany is known as “Three Kings Day,” reflecting the long-standing tradition that there were three wise men, often named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, who brought three royal gifts. One especially meaningful practice is the Epiphany house blessing, or “chalking the door”: the family uses blessed chalk to write something like “20 + C + M + B + 26” above the main entrance, with the numbers marking the year and the letters standing both for the names of the Magi and for the Latin prayer “Christus mansionem benedicat” – “May Christ bless this house.” It is a simple way of saying that, just as the Magi entered the house of the Holy Family and found Christ, we want our own home to be a place where Christ is welcomed, honored, and allowed to guide everything that happens inside.detroitcatholic+3

For a family reading this passage together at the close of the Christmas season, the story of the Magi raises gentle but serious questions. Amid school, work, and all the noise of ordinary life, are we more like Herod, defending our own plans, or like the Magi, willing to be interrupted and led by God, even when it means taking “another way” than we expected? The gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh can become a pattern for what each of you might offer Christ this year: the “gold” of your talents and achievements, the “frankincense” of your prayer and worship, and the “myrrh” of your sacrifices and hidden sufferings, freely given to him in love. In that sense, Epiphany is not only the conclusion of Christmas, but also a beginning—a moment to step into the new year with the same attitude as the Magi: eyes fixed on Christ, hearts open, and ready, if needed, to go home by a different road.mycatholic+2

With Jesus’s birth, I have experienced a rebirth of my own in my career life. Directions I once took were redirected, and newer callings led me in ways I thought went astray, but later I would discover that there was greater purpose in store for me. In your reflections today, consider how in ways you have resisted God’s subtle guidance past our stubborness. Then think about the epiphany you experienced when you finally submitted and let it happen. The effect in my situations were eye opening and fulfilling. We do not know until God has revealed “by another way” that we realize our potential, and His mercy and grace at work in our lives.

Photo Credit, Painting:
Initial E: The Adoration of the Magi by Franco dei Russi
Original public domain image from Getty Museum

Fatherhood in Tough Times

Today’s reflection comes from Purpose for Everyday Living for Fathers, which really speaks to this current life and times facing families today. It talks about the nature of unpredictable change and the anxiousness that some fathers may feel about factors affecting their families that seem so far out of their control.

Our world is in a state of constant change. God is not. At times, the world seems to be trembling beneath our feet. But we can be comforted in the knowledge that our Heavenly Father is the rock that cannot be shaken. His word promises, “I am the Lord, I do not change” (Malachi 3:6 NKJV)

The author reminds any father facing difficult circumstances that God is far bigger than any of those problems that you may face.

By putting your faith in the Father and His only begotten son: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8 NKJV) Because the savior does not change “you can face your challenges with courage for today and hope for tomorrow.”

I myself as a father experience this anxiousness each day as I prepare my children for their day, struggle to pay the bills and expenses or hear about yet another violent crime happening in my community. Sometimes the number of troubles at my feet seem insurmountable and the pressure that comes from having a family count on me introduces a whole new level of change and uncertainty.

With God there is certainty. God will protect you if you ask Him. So ask Him and trust in Him to handle the many things that seem out of your control.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” – 2 Corinthians 5:7 NKJV

Corinthians reminds us that we are meant to be beings of faith. If we succumb to what we see before us, it is certain that we will be overcome and overrun with the multitude of problems that face us. By walking with faith we look beyond and towards the Lord instead. With faith, we trust in Him to handle what seems out of our control allowing us to serve Him instead of the problems before us.

Where is Jesus?

Many of us are familiar with the promoted acronym: WWJD. For those who don’t, it stands for “What Would Jesus Do?”; it is a reminder for those who wear bracelets or accessories with the simple saying to consider their actions and decide if they are Christlike in nature. I’ve been reflecting on this saying and find it very catchy. It really gets to the point about a Christian’s journey seeking the path that Jesus has laid down for us to follow. On the other hand, in a post on “Eventful Journey“, a blogger makes an apt statement about the WWJD sentiment when he wrote:

Recently I have been rephrasing the bracelet: What WILL Jesus Do? This seems a much better way of looking at things. Jesus is not absent. Nor is he waiting to see if, through our own efforts, we can live up to his enormous expectations. Instead, he is in us, working through us by the same Holy Spirit that raised him from the dead (Romans 8:11). We are co-workers with him, not second-rate replacements for him. I have found this new way of thinking profoundly liberating.

I like that thinking because I agree that Jesus is NOT absent at all throughout our lives, our trials and our struggles. On the contrary, He is guiding our every action and gently leading the way. WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) is a nice sentiment, but to some people who consider its nuance will realize that the saying pits each of us alone at a crossroads, faced with decisions that are eminently beyond our ability to handle. As Jesus said in John 14:6: “no one comes to the Father except through me.” Our lives as Christians isn’t about rediscovering some hidden formula or path behind the life Jesus led on earth. It’s in finding Jesus Himself within the things that we pursue and the things that we do. So, where is Jesus? As in the beautiful poem about the footprints in the sand, we continue our life’s journey not alone and falling behind a trail Jesus has left behind. Instead we are right there, side by side with Jesus through whom we find our way to the heavenly Father.

Stumbling Along

Recognize

Everyone who comes to know Jesus stumbles because of him. He fails to meet our wrong expectations. He calls us to do impossible things or to become something we think we could never become. This is his way of teaching us how much we need Him. He breaks us to pieces so that he can put us back together in His image. -Michael Card

Renew

The rule is this: Christians are people who remember their own weaknesses and failure. They are under reconstruction. So they offer hope and forgiveness to people who fall and who need Jesus’ healing grace and hope. -Donald M. Joy

Revive

1 Corinthians 1:20-31
2 Corinthians 4:1-12

Commentary

1 Corinthians 1:20-31 – I found this passage oddly confusing, but the last part gelled it together: “…For this world in its present form is passing away.” It’s all temporary. To remember the way we were when Jesus calls us is important because that status (no matter how terrible or difficult it may have been) holds a key to the hope of our future: For all that we have, reflect as if we do not have it. For all that we lack, think not of our deprivation. Whatever status we are in is only temporary in the grander picture of eternity.

2 Corinthians 4:1-12 – A nice passage about how our own resurrection is through our dependency and our tie to Jesus Christ. We are in need of Jesus’ saving grace and hope. We are totally and completely dependent on Him for salvation.

10 Minutes For God

Daily Prayers, Meditations and Inspirations on the Go

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