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Matthew 11 · Devotional for Areliablefaith

Matthew 11 opens with John the Baptist in prison. He is there for simply speaking the truth. He spoke the truth to power, and power locked him up. John had called out Herod for taking his brother’s wife, Herodias, and his life is now hanging by a thread.

From that cell, John sends some of his disciples to ask Jesus a question: “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?” (Matthew 11:3, ESV).

Some read this as doubt. I don’t believe it was unbelief. John had seen God move too clearly. At the Jordan he saw the Holy Spirit descend on Jesus and heard the Father speak. John himself testified, “I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God” (John 1:34). A man who saw that doesn’t simply stop believing.

What I can easily see is discouragement. He may have felt despair and loneliness. Perhaps he even thought that if Jesus is the Messiah, He could come and rescue him. We don’t know exactly. But John seems to be looking for one final assurance as he awaits his fate.

Jesus gives it. He tells John’s disciples to report what they have seen and heard: “the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them” (Matthew 11:5). These are the very signs Isaiah said the Messiah would bring. In effect, Jesus is telling John, Yes, it’s Me. Hold on.

There’s a lesson here for us. As believers, we are not promised that life will be a cakewalk, all rainbows and joy and happy days. In many ways it’s just the opposite. Following Jesus means standing against the current, standing against the culture, and standing for what is good and right. We stand for God’s kingdom, which runs counter to this world. Sometimes that lands us in our own kind of prison cell, and we need that same assurance.

Greater Still

After John’s disciples leave, Jesus turns to the crowd and honors him: “Truly, I say to you, among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist. Yet the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he” (Matthew 11:11).

What on earth? How can the least be greater than the greatest?

I think the answer lies in this: Jesus inaugurates the kingdom of God. John was the last and greatest of the prophets who pointed toward it. Jesus says “all the Prophets and the Law prophesied until John” (Matthew 11:13). John stood at the doorway, but through Jesus the kingdom is brought to earth. Those of us who live on this side of the cross and resurrection get to step through that door. That isn’t because we are greater people. It’s because of where we stand.

And that kingdom is advancing, even to this day. I’m a member of it, and most likely you are too.

It advances one soft and supple heart at a time, as hearts respond to the Holy Spirit’s prompting. It advances when God’s people get on their knees, praying and seeking the good of their families and communities. It advances when the Word of God is read and put into practice. Wherever the Holy Spirit is at work and people follow His leading to serve and to love with agape, God’s own love, the kingdom moves forward. Jesus described it this way: it starts as small as a mustard seed and grows until birds nest in its branches (Matthew 13:31–32).

A Yoke That Fits

Jesus closes the chapter with some of the most beautiful words of encouragement in Scripture. I see them as a counterbalance to how the chapter began. It opened with John in prison, discouraged. It ends with this:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28–30)

This is truly the secret to life as a follower of Jesus: to take His yoke upon us. We do that by coming to Him and staying with Him, and by seeking to fellowship with Him day by day.

A yoke was the wooden beam that linked two oxen together so they could pull as one. So who is the other one in the yoke with us? It’s the Lord. We are linked to Him. And His yoke fits perfectly. He knows exactly how much we can pull when we’re walking alongside Him.

If I might say it, He does the heavy lifting. He does most of the pulling. And yet He gives us the great privilege of working with Him in advancing His kingdom. He lets us be part of His answer for our families, our friends, our communities, and any place He takes us. Wherever that is, He’s there in the yoke beside us.

Oh, this is glorious to know. Whether we’re standing against the current or sitting in a cell of discouragement like John, we aren’t pulling alone.

Where do you need to stop pulling alone today and step back into the yoke beside Jesus?

Have a blessed day.

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In today’s readings I was struck by the broad view of Jesus’ ministry. He heals the blind, the mute, the paralyzed, lepers, and even a woman who had suffered with bleeding for twelve years. He delivers people from demons, He raises the dead, He forgives sin, and He preaches good news to the poor. Jesus has neither a narrow band of giftedness nor a target audience to constrain Him. His only limits seem to be time and the means of travel in His day.

The overarching theme for me today is how Jesus reaches out to everyone. In Jesus, the outcast becomes the accepted, and those who respond become adopted into God’s family. The apostle Paul will later pick up this theme of adoption and explain it to a growing Gentile audience in terms they would understand (Romans 8:15; Galatians 4:4–7; Ephesians 1:5). In Roman culture, adoption was a deliberate, legal choice that gave the adopted child a full new identity, name, and inheritance in the family.

We’ve touched on this before, but all people are created in the image of God. We are given the immense dignity of being real agents in this world, with a will and the ability to make free choices. The first family chose to exercise that will contrary to God’s explicit instruction, and sin entered the world. But God had a plan, even from before the beginning, to rescue humanity after the fall. The promised seed of Genesis 3:15 was Jesus. In today’s readings we see Jesus displaying power that belongs to God alone. The miracles are one proof that He was the promised Messiah and Savior. His message, first proclaimed in the synagogues throughout the cities and villages, was the good news of God’s kingdom come to earth (Matthew 9:35).

You would think this message would be joyfully received by all, but we already see early signs of conflict. Jesus operated outside the established religious hierarchy. He showed no interest in military revolt, even healing the servant of a Roman centurion. And He didn’t favor the already-favored. All of this began to generate opposition. As His ministry grows and the time of His ultimate sacrifice draws near, we will see Jesus directly confront those who made it hard for people to come to Him. But today we see Him reaching multitudes with great compassion, great love, and powerful acts of healing and mercy.

He reaches the outcast. Matthew, a tax collector, and Matthew’s friends, likely men like him, looked down on for siding with the Roman occupiers (Matthew 9:9–13). The woman with the issue of blood, who for twelve years had been considered unclean, cut off from public worship and from the community of God’s people (Matthew 9:20–22). The Roman centurion, who cared enough for his servant to seek out a Jewish rabbi and ask for healing. He belonged to a people hated by the majority, yet he came seeking help from the One he believed God had empowered to heal (Luke 7:1–10).

In our final story we read about a “sinful” woman coming to Jesus (Luke 7:36–50). Many scholars think this means she was a prostitute, someone who sold her body to survive. I prefer the term sinful woman, because every one of us is either a sinful woman or a sinful man in need of the forgiveness and cleansing that only God, only Jesus, can provide. And that is exactly what He gives her. Jesus accepts her, and He accepts her worship. He even points it out to Simon, the Pharisee who looks down his nose at her. Here Jesus makes a critical comparison, one worthy of deep prayer and reflection, because it is something every person will ultimately face:

What will you do with Jesus?

There is a right answer. When we know it, we move from outcast to accepted, from accepted to forgiven, and from forgiven to adopted. That is our blessed hope and our greatest joy.

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Today’s devotional is on Matthew 5–7, known as the Sermon on the Mount. I have to admit to feeling a bit overwhelmed trying to glean a key thought from what is arguably the most important sermon ever preached. What began as covenants God made with Adam, Noah, Abraham, and Moses in the Old Testament finds its ultimate exposition in Jesus’ talk with a crowd gathered on a Galilean hillside 2,000 years ago. I think I will mostly let Jesus’ words speak for themselves and just speak to how today’s reading struck me.

I’ve read the Sermon on the Mount many, many times. Sometimes I take a piece of it and chew on it for days. Other times, like this morning, I read straight through and simply feel both the weight and the joy in it. What can feel in the Old Testament like a harsh checklist of dos and don’ts, Jesus boils down to the heart.

This morning, it was the final section that stopped me:

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.” (Matthew 7:24–25, ESV)

The timing is not lost on me. As I write this, a hurricane that came ashore in the middle of the night, 400 to 450 miles from here, is still reaching us. We’re expecting driving rain and 30 to 40 mile-an-hour winds all day long. Storms like this have a way of revealing how well a house is built. Whatever was hidden in the framing and the foundation comes to light when the wind starts to blow.

The same is true of our lives. There are plenty of foundations on offer: success, reputation, comfort, our own good behavior. None of them hold when the storm comes. Jesus himself is the rock. As Paul wrote, “no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11). He is what makes us whole and moves us toward the completeness and purposes God designed for us.

What struck me most this morning is how the sermon begins and ends. It opens with “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3). Recognizing that we are spiritually bankrupt without Jesus is where the right foundation begins. And it closes with building on the rock: on Jesus, on what he accomplished in our place at the cross, and on what he continues to do through his Holy Spirit living in us, drawing us close to the Father. That intimacy with God was his plan from the very beginning in the garden.

From there, the building goes on. As we keep reading, applying, and living out his Word, God brings about the spiritual maturity that lets the house stand. Notice that both builders in Jesus’ story heard the same words. The difference was that one of them did what he heard.

What storm in your life right now is revealing what your house is built on, and what would it look like to hear and do Jesus’ words this week?

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Reflections on John 5

Yesterday was a heavy travel day. I read John 5 in the early morning, and then the day got away from me. But the chapter didn’t let go. This morning, in that in-between space where you’re not quite asleep and not quite awake, I found myself back beside the pool of Bethesda, thinking about one man.

Living Next to Hope

John tells us, “One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years” (John 5:5 ESV). Thirty-eight years. That’s longer than many people in that day lived. It’s a whole adult life spent on a mat.

He spent it at Bethesda, a pool surrounded by colonnades and crowded with “a multitude of invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed” (5:3). The belief was that when the water was stirred, the first one in would be healed. That was the secret, the one thing everyone was waiting for.

So this man lived right next to hope and could never reach it. Every time the water moved, someone faster got there first. I picture people rushing past him, stepping over him, bumping into him on their way to the water, and no one stopping. He was present every single day, and almost no one saw him.

I think, more than anything, he felt unseen. Unnoticed. Unwanted. The things that give us reason to keep going in this world (being known, being needed, being loved) he had very few of. After thirty-eight years, I’m not sure he had much hope left. He just stayed where hope was supposed to be.

When Jesus Saw Him

Then comes one of the most tender lines in John’s Gospel:

“When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, ‘Do you want to be healed?’” (5:6)

When Jesus saw him. In a crowd of the sick and desperate, Jesus saw this man. More than that, He knew him. He knew how long he’d been lying there. Nobody had to tell Him.

Now look at how the man answers. Jesus asks a yes-or-no question, and the man never says yes:

“Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” (5:7)

He gives his reason instead. I have no one. Underneath it I hear: No one sees me. No one helps me. No one stops. He’s explaining why the only hope he knows has never worked for him.

Jesus doesn’t argue with him or correct his theology about the water. He simply says, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And “at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked” (5:8–9).

The man had been looking to the pool. Jesus didn’t need the pool. Jesus was the healing.

Missing the Miracle

Then John adds a short phrase that changes everything: “Now that day was the Sabbath” (5:9).

The religious leaders see the man walking and say, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to take up your bed” (5:10). A man who had been unable to walk for thirty-eight years is standing in front of them, and what they see is a mat.

God’s law called His people to keep the Sabbath holy and rest from their work. Over time, though, the religious leaders had built a fence of detailed rules around that command, defining exactly what counted as work and what counted as a forbidden burden. A sleeping mat made their list. Their rule became the law, God was cast as the enforcer, and they were so busy guarding the fence that they missed the God of the Sabbath standing right in front of them.

That was so much of the conflict Jesus ran into. Rules meant to protect God’s command ended up making it harder for people to come to God. It’s a warning worth taking to heart in our own churches: it’s possible to be zealous for our traditions and completely miss what Jesus is doing.

Jesus Found Him Again

I love what happens next: “Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, ‘See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you’” (5:14).

The man ended up in the temple, the place of worship. Jesus didn’t heal him and walk away. He found him again. The One who saw him at the pool went looking for him and spoke to him about the rest of his life. It’s a gentle but serious word: You’ve got your feet under you now. Walk in a way that honors God.

Jesus cared about more than his legs. He cared about his whole life.

He Sees You Too

For one forgotten man at Bethesda:

  • Jesus saw him.
  • Jesus approached him.
  • Jesus spoke to him.
  • Jesus healed him.

And the same is true for every one of us. Jesus sees us, even when the crowd rushes past. Jesus knows us, including how long we’ve been waiting. Jesus speaks to us. And Jesus heals us.

The New Testament often uses a single Greek word, sōzō, for both “save” and “heal” (when Jesus tells a woman, “your faith has made you well,” that’s sōzō). The healing of the body and the saving of the soul are not two separate projects for Jesus. He makes whole people whole. He saves us, He heals us, and He brings us home.

Maybe you’ve been lying beside your own pool for a long time, waiting for a hope that never quite reaches you, feeling stepped over and unseen. Hear this: Jesus sees you lying there. He knows how long it’s been. And He’s still asking the question.

Where do you feel unseen right now, and will you let Jesus meet you there?

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I read today’s passage twice, and something stood out that I had never really noticed before. It started with a small parenthetical in John 2 and ended up changing how I saw the whole chapter.

At the wedding in Cana, the wine runs out. For a family hosting a marriage feast, that was a real embarrassment. Mary brings it to Jesus, and he answers, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4). On paper that can sound a little stand-offish. Scripture doesn’t tell us his tone, but I picture him saying it with a half smile, knowing his mother’s heart and knowing she wants to spare this family. Tara Leigh Cobble points out that the original language is much warmer and more familiar than it sounds in English. “Woman” was a respectful way to address someone, and it’s the same word Jesus uses for Mary from the cross (John 19:26). I believe Jesus already knew what he was going to do, and he was proud of his mom for asking on behalf of someone in distress.

Then John slips in this detail: “When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew)…” (John 2:9).

The servants knew. The people on the lowest rung of the social ladder at that party had the inside scoop.

Move one step up the ladder and you find the bridegroom’s family. They had enough sense of responsibility to throw a marriage feast in keeping with Jewish custom, but running out of wine suggests they weren’t well off. Whether or not they knew it at that moment, they were the direct beneficiaries of the miracle.

Next comes the master of the feast, likely a fairly well-to-do man. He tastes the blessing and stops the celebration to announce it: “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now” (John 2:10). He had probably never experienced such a delightful surprise. The person with the title got the experience, and the people carrying the water jars got the knowledge.

The whole wedding turned into an absolute joy, and it happened because a friend intervened, a mother stepped in, and God the Son moved. People at every level of society were blessed.

And then there’s the temple.

John isn’t concerned with strict chronological order. His gospel was written last of the four, and he likely knew Matthew, Mark, and Luke well. I can easily picture the Holy Spirit prompting John to give us one more critical lens on Jesus’ life, one that hammers on his deity. John’s account is thematic, and right after Cana he shows us one more group: the religious leaders in the temple at Passover. (The other gospels place a temple cleansing in Jesus’ final week. Some scholars think John moved it forward for theological reasons, and others believe Jesus cleansed the temple twice. Either way, John wants us to see it here.)

Every social layer at the wedding experienced the joy of Jesus’ presence. The religious leaders did not. They considered themselves the most pious and important people of all, and they became the targets of his anger. At Cana Jesus served others without drawing attention to himself. In Jerusalem, the leaders were profiting off pilgrims who had come to worship. “Take these things away; do not make my Father’s house a house of trade” (John 2:16). They were blind to their own greed, and they were making it hard for ordinary people to come before God with joy.

Then, in 2:18, they demand a sign. That comes right after John has shown us one they didn’t see.

A chapter break that hides a connection

John closes chapter 2 with what is essentially his thesis: “Jesus… knew all people and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man” (John 2:24–25).

The original manuscripts had no chapters or verses. Stephen Langton’s chapter divisions came in the early 1200s. Robert Estienne added verse numbers to the New Testament in 1551, and the Geneva Bible of 1560 was the first English Bible to include both. Those divisions help us find our place, but they can also hide connections.

Here’s one. The very next sentence, John 3:1, reads, “Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews.” John uses the same Greek word for “man” in both verses. Without the chapter break, it reads as one thought: Jesus knows what is in man, and here is a man. Nicodemus is John’s first example of that claim.

In that nighttime conversation, John lays out the heart of Jesus’ rescue mission: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Then John the Baptist steps aside for the One the Old Testament had been pointing to all along: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).

Beyond the boundaries

In chapters 2 and 3, Jesus establishes his message and mission among the Jewish people. In chapter 4, John follows him straight across the boundary lines. The Samaritans weren’t exactly Gentiles. They were a mixed people with partial roots in Israel who worshiped on their own mountain, and the Jews despised them. The woman at the well is stunned: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) (John 4:9). In one conversation, Jesus crosses ethnic, religious, and social lines. Her whole town ends up declaring that he is “indeed the Savior of the world” (John 4:42).

This was paradigm-shifting in the most wonderful way. God’s people had come to see his promises as exclusive, limited to the children of Abraham by bloodline. Jesus blew up that exclusivity. He made it a posture of the heart: “the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father is seeking such people to worship him” (John 4:23). It means an open mind and a willingness to look inward and let God’s Spirit search us and draw us close.

When we do, we know a joy beyond being at a wedding with the best wine ever.

For reflection:

  • Where am I standing at the party: serving and seeing, receiving without knowing, or guarding the temple courts?
  • Is there a “sign” God has already given me that I’ve been too busy or too proud to notice?

Who is on the other side of a boundary I’ve drawn, and what would it look like to ask them for a drink?

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Today, Jesus’s ministry begins in earnest. But before He preaches a single sermon or calls a single disciple, He is led by the Spirit into the wilderness (Matthew 4:1; Luke 4:1).

Some see those forty days of fasting as a toughening, a kind of spiritual boot camp. I see it more as a time of cleansing and focusing. Jesus sets aside everything else, and at the end of those forty days the tempter, the accuser, comes to try to divert Him.

What fascinates me is how closely the three temptations line up with the ways Israel was tested in the wilderness after God rescued them from Egypt, and failed. They grumbled about bread, and Satan tempts Jesus to make bread for Himself. They put God to the test at Massah, demanding proof He was with them, and Satan tempts Jesus to throw Himself from the temple to force God’s hand. They bowed down to a golden calf, and Satan offers Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if He will bow down to him. Every time, Jesus answers from Deuteronomy, the very book where Moses recounted Israel’s wilderness years (Deuteronomy 8:3; 6:16; 6:13). Where Israel failed, Jesus stands. He reverses the story.

And notice how Satan fights. In the second temptation, he quotes scripture himself, lifting Psalm 91 out of context to make it say something God never intended. Jesus doesn’t throw out the scripture. He answers it with scripture rightly understood: “It is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test'” (Luke 4:12).

That is so often the way the enemy works. If he can’t keep us away from God’s Word, he’ll twist it, bending it to mean and say and do things God never meant.

We see this today in how scripture gets pulled into almost every debate. Take immigration. Some argue for open borders; that isn’t the answer. Others argue for slamming the door shut completely; that isn’t the answer either. Both sides can find a verse to wave around. What matters is looking for people who are receptive to what is true, good, and right, people who will come, honor our laws, and become part of the community.

In a far deeper way, that’s what Jesus was looking for: hearts open and receptive not only to God’s love, grace, and mercy, but also to God’s way of living. “Repent,” He preached, “for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 4:17). The invitation was wide open, and it called for a response.

That’s exactly what stirred up His hometown. In the Nazareth synagogue, Jesus read from Isaiah that He had come to proclaim good news to the poor, liberty to the captives, and freedom for the oppressed (Luke 4:18). The people spoke well of Him, at first. Then He reminded them that in Elijah’s day God sent the prophet to a widow in Sidon, and in Elisha’s day God healed Naaman the Syrian (Luke 4:25–27). Both were outsiders. The Messiah had come not only for Israel, but for anyone, Jew or Gentile, whose heart was open to God’s mercy and grace. The same crowd that had admired Him tried to throw Him off a cliff.

And the rest of today’s reading shows Him doing exactly what He announced: healing the sick, touching a leper no one else would touch (Luke 5:13), forgiving a paralyzed man lowered through a roof (Luke 5:20), and calling a tax collector to follow Him (Luke 5:27). The downtrodden, the oppressed, the outsiders—these were the people who received Him.

So here is my takeaway today: a heart that is open. Open to God’s Word as He actually meant it, not as it can be twisted. Open to His grace, and open to His way of living. And open to love others and share God’s goodness with them, especially the ones others might overlook.

Is your heart open to God’s Word as He meant it, and to the people He is reaching for, even the ones you might not expect?

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Today’s three readings tell the same story from three angles: Jesus coming to the Jordan River to be baptized by John. It’s where His public ministry begins, and it raises questions that have shaped my own walk with God for more than four decades.

The one who prepared the way

John the Baptist had a clear assignment. He preached repentance and baptized those who responded, and the Gospel writers saw him as the fulfillment of what the prophets had foretold. Mark opens his Gospel by joining Malachi and Isaiah together:

“Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way, the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.'” (Mark 1:2–3, ESV)

John also fit the mold of Elijah. Malachi had promised, “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes” (Mal. 4:5), and John’s camel’s hair clothing and leather belt (Mark 1:6) echo Elijah’s own appearance.

So many people wondered whether John himself might be the Messiah. Luke tells us, “As the people were in expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Christ…” (Luke 3:15). John was clear: he was not. Someone mightier was coming.

When Jesus showed up

Here’s what strikes me. John had spent his ministry pointing toward Jesus, yet when Jesus actually came to the river, John was surprised:

“John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” (Matt. 3:14–15)

Jesus had no sin to repent of. His baptism was not a confession. It was obedience, and the Father’s response was immediate: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17).

My own story of baptism

Christians have long understood baptism in different ways. In infant baptism (paedobaptism), a child is baptized or christened, committed to God with the trust that He will work in that child’s life. In believer’s baptism (credobaptism), a person who has come to recognize their need for God, repented, and received Jesus as Lord and Savior is baptized as an outward sign of that inward change.

I’ve experienced both. I was baptized as a child. But at age 23, I came to see that I’d been living with one foot in the kingdom of God and the other foot stuck out whenever it suited me. In reality, I was living outside of God’s will for my life. So I surrendered. I told the Lord I would follow Him with all that I was, and I meant everything.

Not immediately, but some time after that, I felt a prompting to be baptized by full immersion at my local church. And I obeyed.

That was 43 years ago. I’m still not sure I can fully describe what happened when I surrendered my life to Jesus. The Holy Spirit entered in a way I had never given Him control before. What I do know is this: baptism was a step of obedience I was called to take, and it was a step of obedience Jesus Himself took.

With the Holy Spirit and fire

John told the crowds what Jesus would come to do:

“I baptize you with water, but he who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” (Luke 3:16)

Half of that verse always grabs me: fire. Fire cleanses and purifies, burning away what doesn’t belong. Luke goes on to describe the chaff being burned (Luke 3:17).

The other half, the baptism in the Holy Spirit, is something I have experienced personally. I know that’s somewhat controversial in some circles. For me it has meant the Spirit’s empowerment to lead and direct me as I’ve submitted my mind, my will, and even my tongue to the Lord.

There are times when I pray in languages I do not know. It’s still within my control whether I do so, but when I do, I don’t understand the words. I simply know God is moving and that He is praying through me. Paul wrote, “We do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words” (Rom. 8:26). When God pours His Spirit into us, He works in the spiritual realm in ways that have real impact in the natural one.

Different gifts, one Spirit

I want to be careful not to be misunderstood. Not everyone receives the same gifting. Paul said, “All these are empowered by one and the same Spirit, who apportions to each one individually as he wills” (1 Cor. 12:11). Not everyone will pray in other languages.

Some people carry a gift and calling for evangelism that I simply don’t have. I’ve tried! But as I understand it, my calling is to be first and foremost a man of prayer, and the gifting I’ve received lines up with that calling.

What is true for all of us is this: as God’s children, we are connected to Him by His Spirit. He equips us, prepares us, and gives us assignments, carried out through both the natural abilities He has given us and the supernatural gifts of His Spirit. Those gifts are part of the package of belonging to Him.

A question to consider

At the Jordan, Jesus chose obedience, and the heavens opened. So let me ask: What step of obedience is God calling you to take today, and are you willing to let His Spirit, and His fire, have full control?

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Reading: Luke 2 and Matthew 1

Today the Gospel’s counter-cultural view of women stood out to me. Jesus’ message was so often aimed at the poor, the overlooked, and the marginalized, and that thread is quietly present from the very first pages of both Luke and Matthew.

Two Women, Two Songs

Yesterday the chief characters were Mary and Elizabeth, two women pregnant in the most unusual of ways: one too old, one never with a husband. And both of them lift their voices to God in rich, Scripture-soaked praise. Elizabeth cries out, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Luke 1:42). Mary answers:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.” (Luke 1:46–48)

“He has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate.” (Luke 1:52)

The Women in the Family Tree

Today we read the genealogy of Jesus, and amazingly, there are women in it. Ancient genealogies traced the line through the fathers. Yet Matthew deliberately names four women before Mary, and not the ones you might expect:

“and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar…” (Matthew 1:3)

“and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth…” (Matthew 1:5)

“and David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah…” (Matthew 1:6)

Tamar, whose story in Genesis 38 is one of deception and scandal. Rahab, a Canaanite prostitute from Jericho. Ruth, a Moabite, from a people Israel was forbidden to welcome into the assembly. Bathsheba, named only as “the wife of Uriah” the Hittite, a reminder of David’s adultery and murder. Gentiles and scandals, written right into the bloodline of the Messiah.

This is a striking departure from the safe, sanitized, male-dominated world that would normally have been the audience for written material. God’s reach is universal. All are welcome. All are invited to enter in.

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28)

An Old Man and a Widow

After 400 years of silence, the Holy Spirit lets two people know that the Messiah has arrived, as a baby. The first is Simeon:

“Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ.” (Luke 2:25–26)

He takes the child in his arms and says what no one in that Temple expected to hear:

“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel.” (Luke 2:29–32)

Then comes Anna:

“And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:36–38)

I have to wonder what everyone else in the Temple was thinking that day. How easy it is to disregard the elderly. How easy to patronize an old widow spouting off what sounds like nonsense about the Messiah. Here was a woman who had somehow survived fifty or sixty years as a widow in a society with no welfare system, and she was ecstatic. The Messiah is here!

As I sit and ponder the scene, I can see the whispers spreading. I can see hope stirred, only to be followed by a letdown when the child and His family disappear back to Nazareth. And yet God was preparing the soil. God was planting seeds. An old man at the end of his life speaking of the inclusion of the Gentiles, easy for faithful Jews to dismiss. A widow, easy to discount because she was a woman. But God didn’t dismiss or discount them. He gave them the Spirit, gave them a prophetic voice, and gave them the responsibility of announcing the arrival of the coming King. And He made sure Luke recorded Anna’s name.

Humble Circumstances Don’t Disqualify

Humble circumstances do not disqualify us. In fact, they are often the exact environment God uses to reveal Himself. The first announcement of Jesus’ birth went to shepherds in a field: “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” (Luke 2:10).

“But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)

God does not despise our failures:

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” (Psalm 51:17)

Does He hate sin? Yes. Did He die for the sinner? Yes. “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). No one is too far from His love and mercy.

The only ones who miss the fullness of God’s grace are those too proud to respond to His kindness. Those too busy to think about things eternal. Those who can’t be bothered to listen to the humble who are pointing to Jesus.

“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” (James 4:6)

A Song in the Terminal

Here is what amazed me this morning. I’m sitting in an airport getting ready for an early flight. The terminal is chaotic, under heavy construction, and seating is limited. I’ve had a hard time concentrating because of a group behind me, friendly banter, but loud. Then suddenly they left. In the brief lull, I could hear the music playing over the loudspeaker, and I was stunned.

It was an instrumental version of “Goodness of God.” Playing in a secular airport, in the Midwest, at the very moment I was pondering how the Good News is so often carried in subtle, unexpected ways.

By an elderly widow. By an old man at the end of his life. By a barren woman pregnant long past childbearing age. By a teenage girl with no husband and a mighty strange story. And through a gospel song drifting over the public address system in an airport in Omaha.

It reminded me of Elijah, who didn’t find God in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but in “the sound of a low whisper” (1 Kings 19:12). Sometimes the noise has to clear before we can hear it.

“I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living!” (Psalm 27:13)

We bask in the goodness of God for sure.

For reflection: Who in your life might be an “Anna” or a “Simeon,” someone easy to overlook who may be pointing you to Jesus, and what noise might you need to quiet in order to hear them?

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When I was a kid, our family would pile into the car for long road trips to national parks. We’d barely be out of the driveway (fifteen minutes, maybe) before one of us kids would ask, “Are we there yet? How much farther?”

After 273 days walking through the Old Testament, we have finally arrived. It’s like passing through the entrance into Yosemite. Today we open Luke 1 and John 1, and the story we’ve been traveling toward since Genesis comes into view.

Two Writers, Two Lenses

The four Gospels come to us from eyewitness testimony, but each writer views Jesus through a different lens. Luke was a historian. As a Gentile writing a few decades after the resurrection, he set out to explain Jesus the man, rooted in Jewish tradition, to a Gentile audience. He tells us his method right up front:

“Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us, just as those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word have delivered them to us, it seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.” (Luke 1:1–4)

John, a Jew, writes to show us Jesus as God. That was a sharp left turn from what his people expected. They were looking for a Messiah who would be a military leader and king, one who would drive out Rome. John shows them someone far greater.

The 400 Silent Years

I’ve been thinking about the roughly 400 years between Malachi and the arrival of Jesus. No prophet spoke. No scripture was written. History records a great deal from that time, but none of it was received as God’s Word. And yet those silent years were anything but idle. God was setting the stage.

Alexander the Great conquered most of the known world and spread a common language, Greek, across it. The Romans came behind him as builders, laying a network of roads that would one day carry the message of Jesus to the ends of the earth. Rome also refined crucifixion into its cruelest form of execution. And a religious party called the Pharisees, unknown in Malachi’s day, rose up with deep devotion to the Scriptures but also built “fences” of rules around them. Those fences turned faith into religious duty and made it hard for ordinary people to approach God. Jesus would spend much of His ministry tearing them down:

“They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger.” (Matthew 23:4)

That conflict with the religious leaders would lead to the cross. Paul sums up all of this preparation in one phrase:

“But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.” (Galatians 4:4–5)

The silence wasn’t absence. It was God arranging the world for His Son.

The Sun Rises

Here’s a connection I had never noticed before. The Old Testament closes with this promise:

“But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings.” (Malachi 4:2)

Malachi’s last words also promise a forerunner: “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children” (Malachi 4:5–6). Then, after four centuries of silence, the very first words from heaven in Luke pick up right where Malachi left off. The angel tells Zechariah his son John

“will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children… to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.” (Luke 1:17)

When John is born, Zechariah breaks into praise. What strikes me is that he doesn’t get carried away about having a son. He’s overjoyed that God is ushering in a new era, and he knows his boy has a part in preparing for it:

“And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways… because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:76, 78–79)

Malachi’s rising sun becomes Zechariah’s sunrise from on high.

Back to the Beginning

John the disciple takes us even further back, all the way to creation:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.” (John 1:1–3)

He’s echoing Genesis on purpose:

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” (Genesis 1:1–3)

All three persons of the Trinity are present at creation: God the Father creating, the Spirit hovering, and God speaking, the Word that John identifies as Jesus, the active agent in creation. And notice the thread of light running from the first page to this one. “Let there be light” in Genesis. The rising sun in Malachi. The sunrise from on high in Zechariah’s song. And now John:

“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4–5)

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

We’re Here

Everything written before has been moving toward this moment. Over a hundred prophecies point to Jesus, and now God sovereignly sends Him, the Lamb of God born as a man, to die a death that opens the door for anyone who will call on Him:

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)

“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” (John 1:12)

We’re not fifteen minutes out of the driveway anymore. We’ve arrived. I am ready for this adventure.

For reflection: God’s people waited through 400 silent years while He was quietly arranging everything for the coming of His Son. Where in your life does God seem silent right now, and what might He be preparing in that silence?

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This morning, over coffee, I read Malachi and finished the Old Testament for 2026. There’s something fitting about ending the year’s journey through Israel’s story with this book. It’s the last prophetic word before centuries of silence, and it leaves us leaning forward, waiting for what God will do next.

How I Used to Read Malachi

For most of my life I’ve read Malachi through two lenses.

The first is the tithe. Malachi is blunt: “Will man rob God? Yet you are robbing me” (Malachi 3:8). The people were holding back from God, and He challenges them to bring the full tithe into the storehouse and put Him to the test, to see if He will not open the windows of heaven and pour down a blessing until there is no more need (3:10). Our tendency to shortchange God and His promise to bless faithfulness have always stood out to me.

The second is the ending. Malachi prepares us for John the Baptist, the messenger who would prepare the way (3:1), the Elijah who would come before the great day of the Lord (4:5–6). The Old Testament closes by pointing ahead.

Both of those are true and important. But this time, reading Malachi as a whole, I saw much more in these four short chapters.

A Minor Prophet with a Major Punch

Malachi is classified as a minor prophet, but he delivers a major punch. Point by point, he exposes how hollow religious practice falls short of what God has called His people to.

The book opens with God saying, “I have loved you.” The people answer, “How have you loved us?” (1:2). That pattern repeats throughout the book. God speaks of His love, His calling, how He set them apart and blessed them, and the people push back with questions and excuses. They offer blemished sacrifices. The priests grow careless. They grow weary of worship and even say, “It is vain to serve God” (3:14).

They were doing religion, but they weren’t getting it.

Duty or Relationship?

I think getting it is where we cross from religious duty into relationship with God.

Religious duty is, sadly, the main way people approach God. It’s why the world has so many religions: each is a human attempt to build a road to God. Even people who recognize that there must be an intelligent designer behind creation often set up their own process for acknowledging Him and reaching Him.

But God has already made the way. That’s what Malachi keeps pressing toward. God calls His people to repent and to trust Him with everything. The tithe is part of that trust. Obedience to the law is part of that trust. But the heart of it is a turning of the whole person toward God.

That’s the same message Jesus proclaims when He steps onto the scene: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 4:17). Malachi sets the table, and Jesus picks up the call.

The Book of Remembrance

The part that moved me most today is Malachi 3:16–17. In the middle of a people arguing with God, there is a remnant whose hearts are soft and tender toward Him. They grieve over the evil around them. They talk with one another about the Lord. And God hears.

“Then those who feared the LORD spoke with one another. The LORD paid attention and heard them, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who feared the LORD and esteemed his name. ‘They shall be mine, says the LORD of hosts, in the day when I make up my treasured possession.'” (Malachi 3:16–17)

Throughout the Old Testament there are long lists of names: priests and Levites serving in the temple, families returning from exile, genealogies that most of us are tempted to skim. It’s remarkable that all those names were recorded. And here Malachi shows us why. God keeps a record. He knows His people.

Let’s drill into that. He knows us intimately. He loves us as individuals, and He relates to us as people He loves. We are His treasured possession.

What an astounding thought. The Creator of the universe, the One who cast the stars into place, who designed the atom and how protons, neutrons, and electrons hold together to form all matter, knows you. Not just humanity in general. You. And He loves you enough that He sent His Son to die for you, and He recorded that saving plan across the pages of Scripture, beginning long before Bethlehem.

I’m blown away by that.

The Sun of Righteousness

Malachi’s last chapter includes one of my favorite promises:

“But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings.” (Malachi 4:2)

The word is sun, S-U-N. But every time I read it, I hear S-O-N. I can’t help it, because that’s who the entire Old Testament has been looking toward. Every sacrifice, every prophet, every promise, every list of names has been leaning forward to Jesus.

Looking Ahead

After Malachi come roughly 400 years without a recorded prophetic word before Jesus arrives. A lot happened in those years, and maybe that’s a conversation for another day. For today, I want to sit with how Malachi closes the Old Testament: summing up Israel’s long story of God’s faithfulness and His people’s struggle, and pointing straight toward God’s great climactic act of sending His Son.

God isn’t looking for hollow religious performance. He’s looking for tender hearts that turn to Him, trust Him, and know they are known.

So here’s my question for you: Are you approaching God out of duty, trying to build your own road to Him, or have you stepped into the relationship He’s already made possible through Jesus?


Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), © 2001 by Crossway. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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