Nehemiah: Nehemiah's Prayer

This weeks devotion is a video on “Awakening” by Dr. David Thomas. David Thomas is a pastor, author, and speaker. He is a regular contributor to Seedbed.com and is part of leading the current awakening happening at Asbury University. We hope this encourages your faith as you think about Nehemiah.

What is the impact of spiritual awakenings on the church and society? In this Seven Minute Seminary video, Dr. David Thomas shares how awakenings are the golden thread that propels salvation-history forward, leading to deep impact in hearts as well as the social fabric in which it is birthed.

What is awakening? Awakening is the outcome of personally encountering Jesus Christ, through whom the love of God the Father is poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. Awakening both results from and leads to deep wholeness in people, renewal of the Church, evangelization of a generation, and transformation of society.

The common thread of the Christian story and the great urgency of our day, awakening unfolds in small ways which produce vast blessing to all of creation. It comes most readily to those who are desperate for more of God, to any disciple of Jesus thirsty for a manner of prayer and quality of relationship that bear the marks of plain, Scriptural Christianity—the measure of which is holy love. 

The Church cannot manufacture awakening; it is ultimately a work of God and a sign of His presence. But we can sow for awakening, remove impediments, and posture ourselves to receive it. 

Nehemiah: A Holy Discontent

This weeks devotion is from a 13-week devotional series written by Newspring Church in South Carolina. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Nehemiah’s story started with a burden. He saw the condition of Jerusalem’s wall and knew the situation was desperate. Without a wall, people returning to Jerusalem after years in captivity would be unprotected and vulnerable to attack.

Nehemiah was brokenhearted, but he didn’t tackle the problem immediately. Why? He first needed to bring his burden before the Lord.

The state of Jerusalem’s wall reflected the condition of the Jewish people’s relationship with God. Disobedience had left their city and their lives in disarray. So before Nehemiah could fix the brokenness surrounding the city, he asked God to fix the brokenness inside the people of the city. Forgiveness was the foundation everything else would be built on.

Imagine what God is arranging behind the scenes, so you can do more than you ever thought possible.

Once the people were right with God, Nehemiah began to pray about what was next. All the while, God positioned Nehemiah so he’d have influence with the king and with the people. God had arranged it so a foreign king provided resources to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem.

Imagine what God is arranging behind the scenes, so you can do more than you ever thought possible.

Look around. What breaks your heart? What has God put in front of you that you can’t ignore? Until our hearts are broken for the situations and people around us, we’ll maintain status quo.

Once you know what your burden is, go to Jesus in prayer. Ask Him what to do next.

Consider This:

What are you burdened about?

Pray:

Jesus, I am burdened about ___________________________. What should I do next? I want to make a difference. Help me make a difference.

Prayer: The Prayer of Participation

This weeks devotion is entitled, “Peterson on Prayer and the Middle Voice” and is written by Toby Sumpter. Toby serves as a pastor at Christ Church in Mocow, Idaho. We hope this encourages your fatih.

In prayer, we are invited to join the deliberations of the heavenly assembly and particularly, we are invited to participate in the council and deliberations of the Father, Son, and Spirit. We, like Abraham, reason with God; we, like Moses, are invited to present our case before the Godhead. But we have been granted participation in God far beyond what the faithful patriarchs enjoyed. We have the status of children of God; we have been given the Spirit which cries out to God, “Abba, Father!” We are joined to the Son by the Spirit and are welcome to speak with the Father about the state of our life, the state of our family, the state of our world. We are invited to participate in what God is doing in the world. We are not the primary actors or initiators, but we are expected to participate in and join in the action through pleas, through our intercession, through our cries for mercy. 

Peterson explains: “Prayer and spirituality feature participation, the complex participation of God and the human, his will and our wills. We do not abandon ourselves to the stream of grace and drown in the ocean of love, losing identity. We do not pull the strings that activate God’s operations in our lives, subjecting God to our assertive identity. We neither manipulate God (active voice) nor are manipulated by God (passive voice). We are involved in the action and participate in its results but do not control or define it (middle voice). Prayer takes place in the middle voice.” (The Contemplative Pastor, 103-104)

Of course when we think of results we usually think about what we want to see happen or change. But participating in the results doesn’t necessarily mean that what we want actually happens. Of course in the cases of Abraham and Moses we see instances where prayer does prevail with God. But if we have been granted the status of sons, and we have the Spirit of Christ, then we have to remember that much of our prayer may be like Christ’s prayer. And some of the clearest glimpses of Christ’s prayer life are seen in the garden just before his arrest and betrayal. Christ’s prayers participated in the results of the action of God in the world, but we know from Christ’s own words, he struggled through that, he argued and pleaded with his Father in his circumstances, while perfectly trusting the will of his Father. Praying like daughters and sons may mean facing similar situations as the Son in the garden, the Son before Pilate, the Son on the Cross. But of course that should come as no surprise since that same Son invited us to follow him by taking up a cross. But the hope of course is that the same result as came to the Son comes to every son. Resurrection awaits all every child of God. 

Prayer: A Conversation

This week’s devotion is written by Richard Foster, the founder of Ren­o­varé, and is entitled, “Understanding Prayer”. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Prayer is the heart’s true home. But, you see, we have been in a far coun­try. It’s been a coun­try of climb and push and shove. It’s been a coun­try of noise and hur­ry and crowds.

The heart of God is an open wound of love because of this dis­tance and pre­oc­cu­pa­tion of ours. God mourns that we do not draw near to him. God weeps over our obses­sion with ​“much­ness” and ​“many­ness.”

And God is seek­ing after us. God seeks us like the father rush­ing out to embrace the prodi­gal. God seeks us like the woman who will leave no stone unturned in her deter­mi­na­tion to find a lost coin. God seeks us like the shep­herd search­ing, search­ing, search­ing for one lost sheep. God is seek­ing us. 

God invites us to come home: home to where we belong; home to seren­i­ty and peace and joy; home to inti­ma­cy and accep­tance and affirmation. 

God wel­comes us into the liv­ing room of his heart where we can put on old slip­pers and share freely. God wel­comes us into the bed­room of his rest where we can be naked and vul­ner­a­ble and free. It is also the place of deep­est inti­ma­cy where we can know and be known to the fullest. 

And it doesn’t mat­ter if we have lit­tle faith, or none. It doesn’t mat­ter if we have been bruised and bro­ken by the pres­sures of life. It doesn’t mat­ter if our prayers have grown cold and brit­tle. It doesn’t mat­ter if God seems remote and inaccessible. 

Just like a lit­tle child can nev­er draw a bad pic­ture, so a child of God can nev­er utter a bad prayer. God, you see, accepts us just the way we are, and he accepts our prayers just the way they are. 

But here is the beau­ty of this inter­ac­tive life of prayer: God does not leave us the way we are. God’s inten­tion is to trans­form our inward char­ac­ter into the like­ness of Christ. C. S. Lewis writes that God’s intent for you and me is to form us into ​“a daz­zling, radi­ant, immor­tal crea­ture, pul­sat­ing all through with such ener­gy and joy and wis­dom and love as we can­not now imag­ine, a bright stain­less mir­ror which reflects back to God per­fect­ly (though, of course, on a small­er scale) His own bound­less pow­er and delight and good­ness.” The inter­ac­tive life of prayer is a cen­tral means God uses for bring­ing this trans­for­ma­tive real­i­ty into the deep habit struc­tures of our lives. 

Now, we must not think of prayer as a flat, dull, one-dimen­sion­al expe­ri­ence. Far from it! Prayer is a dance, a love feast, a wrestling match, a high, hilar­i­ous par­ty… I could con­tin­ue adding metaphors for some time. Prayer is so rich and var­ied and indi­vid­u­al­ized a reality. 

The syn­tax of prayer is love. ​“True, whole prayer is noth­ing but love,” writes Augus­tine of Hip­po. ​“The Trin­i­ty is our ever­last­ing lover,” declares Julian of Nor­wich. ​“Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly,” cries out Charles Wes­ley. The heart of God is open wide to receive us; we are wel­come to come home.

Prayer: Prayer of the Ordinary

This week’s devotional, Prac­ti­cal Ways to Live All of Life With God, is an excerpt from the book Streams of Living Water by Richard Foster, the founder of Ren­o­varé. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

The first action in prac­tic­ing the Incar­na­tion­al Tra­di­tion is the invo­ca­tion of God’s man­i­fest pres­ence into this mate­r­i­al world of ours. Here the ini­tia­tive rests square­ly upon us (even though we know that we are only respond­ing to God’s pri­or ini­ti­a­tion upon our heart). God, you see, will not enter many areas of our life unin­vit­ed. So we invite God to enter every expe­ri­ence of life. We invite God to set our spir­it free for wor­ship and ado­ra­tion. We invite God to ani­mate our preach­ing and singing and pray­ing. We invite God to trans­form the bread and wine of Com­mu­nion. We invite God to heal our bod­ies. We invite God to inform our minds with cre­ative ideas for our busi­ness enter­pris­es. We invite God to touch bro­ken rela­tion­ships and resolve con­flicts at work or home. We invite God to make our homes holy places of wor­ship and study and work and play and love-mak­ing. We invite … we invite. Per­haps we could speak of this as ​“invit­ed grace” — the grace of God com­ing in lov­ing response to our invocation.

A sec­ond action comes as we recov­er a Chris­t­ian spir­i­tu­al­i­ty of work. We are helped in our think­ing by the Bene­dic­tine notion of the dig­ni­ty of man­u­al labor and the Fran­cis­can ide­al of serv­ing the poor as a way of wor­ship­ing God. We can add to this Mar­tin Luther’s con­vic­tion that ​“the menial house­work of a manser­vant or maid­ser­vant is more accept­able to God” than the work of monks or priests. And we can learn much from the Puri­tan notion of call­ing or vocation. 

In our day spe­cial empha­sis needs to be placed upon the sacred­ness of the work of our hands and our mind. If ours is God’s world, any true work for the improve­ment of human life is a sacred under­tak­ing. As Elton True­blood has not­ed, ​“We should see the ordi­na­tion to the priest­hood as a sacra­ment; but we should like­wise see ordi­na­tion to any worth-while human task as a sacra­ment.” You see, we can nev­er con­fine the ​“call” to ​“full-time Chris­t­ian ser­vice” to cler­gy-relat­ed voca­tions. Farm­ers and plumbers and sec­re­taries can be equal­ly ​“called” and equal­ly ​“full-time” and equal­ly ​“Chris­t­ian,” and they can equal­ly ren­der ​“ser­vice.” The real­ly cru­cial deci­sion comes, not when we decide to be a pas­tor rather than a biol­o­gist, but when we decide to allow our entire life to be a chan­nel of divine love. 

So what does a Chris­t­ian spir­i­tu­al­i­ty of work look like? I can give only the barest essen­tials here. We have a sense of call­ing, a God-giv­en abil­i­ty to do a job linked with a God-giv­en enjoy­ment in doing it. We have a sense of respon­si­bil­i­ty to do some­thing in our own time that has val­ue. We have a sense of free­dom from the bur­den of the worka­holic, for we are not asked to do more than we can. We have a sense of cre­ativ­i­ty that enables us to place the auto­graph of our souls on the work of our hands. We have a sense of dig­ni­ty, for we val­ue peo­ple over effi­cien­cy. We have a sense of com­mu­ni­ty, for we know that our life togeth­er is more impor­tant than the end prod­uct. We have a sense of sol­i­dar­i­ty with the poor to empow­er them to do what they can­not do by them­selves. And we have a sense of mean­ing and pur­pose, for we know that we are work­ing in coop­er­a­tion with God to bring the world one step clos­er to completion. 

A third action comes through the recov­ery of mar­riage and fam­i­ly life. From prison Diet­rich Bon­ho­ef­fer wrote to his fiancée Maria, ​“Our mar­riage shall be a yes to God’s earth; it shall strength­en our courage to act and accom­plish some­thing on the earth.” Bon­ho­ef­fer affirmed this in spite of the fact that his world — indeed, the whole world as it was then known — was crum­bling. We need Bonhoeffer’s courage. 

Mar­riage is covenan­tal. Mar­riage is no mar­riage at all if it is con­di­tion­al or par­tial or entered into with fin­gers crossed. It involves an uncal­cu­lat­ing aban­don, an utter and mutu­al out­pour­ing of love and loy­al­ty. It is a ​“one flesh” real­i­ty in which the two become one func­tion­al whole, not unlike the way a com­put­er disk dri­ve and its disk form one func­tion­ing unit or the way a bow and arrow are essen­tial to each oth­er. And so a home is formed and chil­dren most nor­mal­ly follow. 

Fam­i­ly life should be expressed in its full­ness in the home, because this is the place where the specif­i­cal­ly reli­gious dimen­sion and every­day life meet. The home is intrin­si­cal­ly a reli­gious insti­tu­tion, and the fam­i­ly table is the cen­ter of the home. The idea that a meal can be a sacred occa­sion is so deeply root­ed in many reli­gious tra­di­tions that it can­not be acci­den­tal or of pass­ing sig­nif­i­cance. The Jew­ish Passover and the Chris­t­ian Love Feast are among the more famil­iar exam­ples of sacred meals. Of spe­cial sig­nif­i­cance for us is the fact that in the Gospel accounts the risen Christ was rec­og­nized by his dis­ci­ples at the moment they began shar­ing in an ordi­nary meal (Luke 24:31 – 35). This leads to the hope that every com­mon meal may be, if we are suf­fi­cient­ly sen­si­tive, a time when we are con­scious of the real pres­ence of our risen Lord. 

Com­mon labor too should be found in the home. Our grand­par­ents’ farm­house was large because it was far more than a place to eat and sleep: it was a place to work. In the past the home was a work­shop, a school, a church, and a club all rolled into one. True, those days are gone for­ev­er, but it is still pos­si­ble to dis­cov­er work togeth­er in the home. Floors need clean­ing and win­dows need wash­ing. In addi­tion, mod­ern com­put­er tech­nol­o­gy makes cot­tage indus­tries once again a gen­uine pos­si­bil­i­ty. It is worth our best think­ing and most cre­ative efforts to make the home not just a room­ing house, but the cen­ter of fam­i­ly life, the place for work and wor­ship and play and love-making. 

Prayer: The Prayer of Examen

This week’s devotion, His Intimate Knowledge of Us: Psalm 139 is from Seedbed.com and is written by Dr. Timothy Tennent. Dr. Tennent is the president of Asbury Theological Seminary. We hope this devotional encourages your faith.

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. Psalm 139:1 (NIV)

In this psalm, David celebrates God’s intimate ­knowledge of us. The opening phrase “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me” summarizes the entire psalm. He knows us when we rise in the morning; he knows us when we go about our daily activities; he knows us when we lie down at night. There is no place to hide from his presence. He is in heaven. He is even with us when we are in the depths of Sheol (the place of the dead). Even if we move and settle on the other side of the world, “even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast” (v. 10). He even knew us before we were born, knitting us together in our mother’s womb. This psalm is the inspiration for those familiar words in the liturgy known as the Collect for Purity, dating back to the eleventh century: “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid . . .”

We live in a time when life is regarded as a personal commodity. We are told that we are the masters of our own lives and have autonomy over the direction of our lives. This is not the worldview of the Psalms. God’s eyes saw our unformed bodies in the womb (v. 16). Even before we draw our first breath, he has already ordained the very number of days we will live (v. 16). Our lives from inception to the grave belong to him. He alone sets the path of our lives and directs us according to his gracious plan. The fact that we are his creation means that there are certain moral boundaries to the decisions we make regarding our lives. When we feel overwhelmed and think our life is going all wrong, we must remember that he knows so much more than we do: “How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand” (vv. 17–18). Life is not a random sequence of days determined simply by chance or even by the feeble choices we make. Ultimately, our lives are in his hands.

When we reflect on God’s intimate knowledge of us, it should bring us both comfort and disruption. On the one hand, it is comforting to know that God knows everything about us, including all our sins, fears, cowardice, and just plain kookiness, and yet still loves us everlastingly. On the other hand, it is disquieting, to say the least, that he knows everything about us, including every inner thought, every impure motive, every jealousy, and so on. This psalm even goes so far as to say that he not only “perceive[s] [our] thoughts” but even “before a word is on [our] tongue[s],” he knows it “completely” (vv. 2, 4). When this psalmist asks, “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” (v. 7) it is both comforting (God is always with me and will never forsake me) and terrifying (I cannot hide from him; his eyes are always upon me).

At times, all of us resist this great truth and want to maintain control of our own lives. We want to determine our own destiny and do it our way. Alternatively, we deceive ourselves into thinking that we can hide from God. When this happens, we should turn to the concluding prayer of this psalm: “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (vv. 23–24).

Before we leave this remarkable psalm, we should clarify two rather disturbing verses that appear just before this final prayer. David says, “Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord, and abhor those who rise up against you? I have nothing but hatred for them; I count them my enemies” (vv. 21–22). These verses are not about any personal vendetta that David has against his enemies. Rather, he is zealous for the preservation of the glory of God and this is expressed by the word “hatred”—which, as we have noted earlier, means his “standing against” all those who plot and scheme against the rule and reign of God in the world. The New Testament will, of course, redirect this zeal by showing the even greater power of love. In the end, God’s foes are defeated, not through an exercise of power and righteous vehemence, but through kindness, love, and prayer. Jesus’ admonition for us to love our enemies (Matt. 5:44) is, remarkably, not the cancellation or erasure of David’s prayer. Rather, it is the fulfillment of it. It was through Jesus’ own sacrifice, bearing the curses that were deservedly cast upon the wicked, that a “new and living way” is opened up (Heb. 10:20). The way of love is an even more powerful way of standing against evil. The zeal of David in these closing verses is not cancelled by the New Testament, but we are shown a “more excellent way” (1 Cor. 12:31 ESV) in how that zeal interfaces with those who defy God’s rule.

Prayer: The Posture of Prayer

This weeks devotion is written by Pastor Brian Rhea, a contributing author to Seedbed.com, and is entitled, “Moment of Silence Before God.” We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Every Sunday morning, after a hymn of praise and praying a Collect together, the churches I serve have a “moment of silence before God.” I conclude the silence with an extemporaneous prayer, usually inviting God to encounter us during our worship service. I’ve never timed how long the silence lasts—and it probably varies week to week—but I wait until it feels uncomfortable, and then wait some more. It may be the only time each week that our children are that quiet! While there’s usually a little bit of rustling or coughing, we have a genuine moment of stillness.

Long ago, during my first pastorate, I left the worship service one morning with the sinking feeling I’d not offered any space for people to meet God. Oh, I hoped they would meet God during the hymns we sang or the sermon I preached or the Scriptures we’d read—but there was no rest from the activity of the service. Content was constant. And while I had carefully prepared that content, while I’d arranged those Scriptures and hymns and sermon as a unified whole to offer a focused Word from God, there was no breathing room. There was no opportunity to allow that content to sink in, no place to meditate on that content; and there was certainly no space to meet God outside the bounds of my carefully crafted service. After that realization, I tried regularly including a place for silent prayer, usually with the pianist playing quietly.

Some years later I became an associate pastor at a large church where, unless I was preaching, I was handed the order of worship I was expected to lead. That first Sunday, I saw there was a “moment of silence” after the opening prayer. So, to be an obliging associate, we were silent. After the service a couple thanked me. “You actually led us in a true moment of silence! Not just a few seconds, but a real, deep silence!” They were from a Quaker background, and the church itself was in a town founded by Quakers. The idea of beginning worship with silence was new to me, but I now deeply treasure it.

Silence gives us space to pray as we have need. Silence allows us to center ourselves and prepare to meet with God. Silence calls us out of the noise of the world and acts as a threshold into the holy space of worship. Silence molds us into an attitude of humility before our Creator—being slow to speak and quick to listen (James 1:19).

This silence is not a void; it is not empty of content. Eastern religions privilege an emptying of one’s mind (for in silence we can realize there is essentially no distinction between our own selves, the universe, or deity), but for Judaism and Christianity silence is about space to fill one’s mind properly. We meditate on Torah, God’s instruction for us (Joshua 1:8; Psalm 1:2). We become still, in order to know that the LORD is God (Psalm 46:10). We let silence drown out the wind, earthquake, and fire, because God is present in the voice of sheer silence (2 Kings 19:12).

Likewise, our “moment of silence before God” in Sunday morning worship is not meant to be completely void of content. We have just prayed a Collect and invoked the Trinity, so we are aware of which God we are being silent before. Prior to the Collect we stood and sang a hymn praising this God; prior to the hymn we heard words from Scripture calling us to worship this God. Our silence is space, but it is intentional space—space directing us toward the One who, in the midst of primeval silence, spoke the words “Let light be,” and it was. What word of new creation might that One speak into our present silence?

I see our moment of silence before God as a necessary call to attention, and space enabling that attention. I should probably incorporate silence, or at least reflective space, elsewhere in the service on a regular basis. Some reasons—which could all become articles in their own right!—include:

  1. Silence is Biblical. It’s Biblical not simply because some Scripture passages exhort silence (Habakkuk 2:20; Zephaniah 1:7; Zechariah 2:13; cf. Ecclesiastes 5:1-2), but because silence was an integral part of Temple worship (cf. the Letter of Aristeas 92-95).

  1. Silence is traditional. It has long been part of Christian prayer in monastic practice, especially in the Hesychast tradition.

  1. Silence is necessary for human health. Science shows the need for silence, as a quick internet search will demonstrate.

  1. Silence is counter-cultural. Our world has a love affair with noise. We love the sound our own voices. We also know that sound is safer than silence. Noise insulates us from pondering spiritual realities. We can cheerfully move from distraction to distraction and ignore our obligations to our Creator.

  1. Silence expresses our dependence on God. The weekly Sabbath proclaimed to the antagonistic nations that human striving could not achieve human potential; God alone is the ground of our being. So, too, a moment of silence testifies to the inadequacy of our words. God is the Word before whom all speech falls mute.

Prayer: The Paradise of God's Presence

Our devotion this week is written by J.D. Walt and is entitled, “Right Here. Right Now.” J.D. Walt is the Executive Director at Seedbed.com. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

“He ascended into Heaven and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.”

I love how Timothy Tennent, who writes our Daily Text each Sunday, puts it. He says Jesus did not just ascend from here to there. Because he ascended into the Heavens, he ascended from here to everywhere.

This is perhaps the first and most important teaching on prayer. We aren’t sending our prayers “up there somewhere.” We are speaking directly and immediately to the Risen Son of God. Though unseen to the naked eye, he is right here, right now. Jesus is not with us in the sense that someone who can’t come to our birthday party says they will be with us “in spirit.” Jesus is not with us “in spirit,” but in person–in the power of the Holy Spirit.

The Great Commission Jesus gave his disciples ends with the words, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” By this he did not mean, “I’ll be pulling for you in Heaven.” No, he meant WITH YOU. In fact, it is the very meaning of his name: Emmanuel—God with us.

The ascension of Jesus mysteriously means two completely different things all at the same time. He is high and lifted up. He is nearer than our breath. This makes prayer “in the name of Jesus” far more than the expression of human longing. Jesus raises prayer to the level of participation in the unfolding of the will of God— on Earth as it is in Heaven.

The Ascension of Jesus Christ makes Christian prayer possible. To pray as a Christian does not mean, “I’ll be thinking about you,” as well-meaning people are prone to say when our life goes off the rails. It does not mean, “We will keep you in our thoughts and prayers,” as the anchor person on the evening news casually repeats in the wake of unthinkable tragedy. To pray as a Christian means immediacy of access to Jesus, who is right here, right now.

I want you to deeply ponder those four words. They are the foundation on which everything else we will discuss concerning prayer stands.

Right here. Right now. Most people wait until the end of their life to finally discover this ultimate reality.

Discover it now.

Right here. Right now.

Advent 2022: Seeing the Unseen

We are excited to share with you this week’s devotional written by our own Judi Morrison. As we focus on Advent through the lens of family, we hope this devotional encourages your faith.

The sign on my office door read, “Santa’s Workshop: Do NOT Enter.”

The grandkids were delighted.

There is nothing like the joy of anticipation! Their smiles broadened and their excitement bubbled over into giggles when I said that, Yes, there were two presents for each one behind that forbidden and barricaded door. There were more than two weeks to go til Christmas morning and that seemed like a long time to wait.

Waiting is hard when what we anticipate holds good surprises and the possibility of longings fulfilled.

Millennia ago, God promised His people, “Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and you shall call his name Immanuel, which means, ‘God with us’” (Matthew 1:23 quoting Isaiah).

Hope arose and the waiting began. They waited, and waited, and waited. Then one day, the angel came and said, “Now is the time!”

He spoke to Zechariah who said, “I’m not sure I believe this.” He spoke to Mary who said, “How can this happen...I will do whatever God asks;” to Joseph who said Yes to the upheaval and danger that would follow. He spoke to the shepherds who said, “We’ve got to see this for ourselves!”

The responses of these people - doubt, confusion, obedience, wonder...I’ve experienced them all. I am thankful that the coming of the Messiah didn’t depend on the frailty of human understanding. I am thankful God’s promises do not depend on us. Rather, it is He who is the faithful one. What He has promised, He will do.

The gifts Mark and I give our grandchildren will fade away pretty quickly, though I hope they give them some temporary happiness. But, at Christmas, God gave us Himself; He is Immanuel, God With Us.

My prayer for you, my prayer for myself, is that this Christmas God will make the wonder

of that fulfilled promise very real in our hearts.

Have a blessed and joyful Christmas!

Advent 2022: Everyday Significance

This weeks devotional is entitled, “No Room At The Inn” and is written by our very own Char Seawell. As we focus on Advent through the lens of family, we hope this devotion encourages your faith.

No room at the inn.

And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.  Luke 2:7

Two pastors had come to this desert to cook carne asada on a small barbecue, hoping to feed and comfort any desert wanderer searching for freedom.

They were not alone in the desert: local vigilante groups had taken to this dry wilderness to harass children fleeing persecution in their homelands and the dangers that enveloped their families as they waited on the other side of the wall.

One pastor wondered aloud, “What will we do if the vigilantes come for us?”

We will offer them some carne asada.

They drove the border road together and in minutes encountered  a young boy standing in the middle of the road.

Mijo, que pasa (My Son, what’s going on)?

Tears fell from the boy’s face, only five years old, as he told the story of his family’s 3,000 mile journey from Guatemala.

What is your name? asked one of the pastors in Spanish.

Mi nombre es Esteban.

Cartels and the violence they perpetrated against those waiting at the wall had precipitated his solo journey through the desert.  In his pocket was the number of a relative to call in the U.S. if he was found.

A few months later, one of these same pastors hiked the canyon near his home seeking peace and solitude.  Cries for helped flew out of the canyon below.  Working his way down the mountainside, he encountered a couple holding a migrant clinging to life, hypothermic from a fall into a stream.  The hikers spoke no Spanish.  But the pastor did.

What is your name?

Barely conscious ,the struggling migrant answered.

Mi nombre es Javier.

One hiker ran for help.  The pastor spoke words of comfort while the hiker’s wife wrapped her coat and scarf around Javier’s shivering body using her own body heat as she wrapped herself around him, cradling his head in her lap until help could arrive.

They were not alone.

Jesus was in the boy wandering in the desert.
Jesus was in the stranger dying in the canyon.

Then and now, there were no rooms in the inn.  Our inn.  The richest inn in the world.  The inn with limitless resources.  The inn dubbed a nation of followers of Jesus.

But the Good Samaritan had room - for carne asada, for a boy lost in the desert, for a phone call for help.  For Estevan.

And the Good Samaritan had room - for a coat for warmth, and words of comfort, and a loving touch cradled in the lap of a stranger who heard his cries.  For Javier.

Because there is always room at the inn

for those who encounter the Good Samaritan.

Advent 2022: Wrestling With God

We are excited to share with you this week’s devotional written by our own Judi Morrison. As we focus on Advent through the lens of family, we hope this devotional encourages your faith.

They sat at the table reminiscing, two girls enjoying one another’s company as they sipped their afternoon cocoa. The room was dim, unlit by lamps, surrendering slowly to afternoon shadows. As the sun sank behind the mountains, they recalled shared memories of holidays and times spent together. It was the quiet hour…the hush of the day. The table had long been cleared from lunch and dinner was just beginning to be thought of in the kitchen. It would be a meal of leftovers reheated from the Thanksgiving feast, a no fuss meal. The two sat in stillness, their voices low, remembering, holding onto the quiet.

The girls are cousins and two of my granddaughters, ages 6 and 7. I love that already they share memories. I am grateful they love and enjoy one another. I am grateful that they know they are loved by their parents and siblings, and by the greater family that includes cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I am grateful that their hearts are tender toward one another. I am thankful they have already begun to know the comfortable pleasure of a quiet conversation.

To belong to one another is one of the great blessings of a loving family, to know that whatever the circumstance, whatever one’s mood, in joy, in sorrow, in shame, or fear, with family, there is sanctuary.

Family is our starting place; sometimes it is wonderful, sometimes miserable, always imperfect. It is the context wherein we begin to question who we are, where we fit, and how to make sense of life. However clearly or unclearly we discern our value as individuals by learning our place within our families of origin, each one of us needs to realize the astounding truth that we are invited to be part of God’s family. It is in His family that we can, without fear, allow ourselves to be known, loved, forgiven. Within the milieu of God’s unconditional love and grace, we are free to let go of defenses, accept our weaknesses, and grow in the freedom of humility and kindness.  It is with Him that we are safe, cherished, delighted in, and it is within the Church we learn how to include and embrace one another as co-members of the Family of God.

Psalm 68 tells us:

Sing to God, sing in praise of his name,
    extol him who rides on the clouds;
    rejoice before him—his name is the Lord.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
    is God in his holy dwelling.
God sets the lonely in families,
    he leads out the prisoners with singing.

 CrossView Church, we are God’s family. You are welcome here. You belong here. You are loved.

Our prayer for you this Christmas season is that you will grow in understanding that the God of Creation, the Savior whose birth we celebrate,  is the One who welcomes you and calls you His own.

Advent 2022 - A Family Story

This weeks devotional is entitled, “Someday I Will Go Home” and is written by our very own Char Seawell. As we focus on Advent through the lens of family, we hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Someday we are all going home. Not to the address that is listed on our driver’s license or to the place of our childhood memories, but to the place that is etched in our souls from before birth...our place of deepest longing.

I am reminded of this while walking yesterday on a trail that meandered along a nature preserve at low tide.

As we rested on a bench along the trail listening to the spring birds, a woman passed us, her feet crunching in the gravel. Many yards behind her, a husky young man followed with a shuffling gate. His voice cried out to her, the deep voice of a man with the soul of a four year old. “Mama... mama... HOME.” He was focused on her form in front of him and his voice became increasingly insistent. “Mama...HOME!”

Suddenly he noticed us and said something we could not make out. He approached, put his fingers together in a pretend gun and, like a little boy at play, made shooting noises. We smiled, he broke into a face splitting grin, and then, turning towards mom, called out again. “Mama…home,” shuffling after her.

We rose to complete our walk and followed some distance behind, assuming they were headed to the same parking lot. Suddenly, she turned and came towards us. From a distance we heard her son cry out with great joy, “Me...Home!” and saw his pace quicken and his shoulders lift.

As he approached, his steps were lighter and his soul seemed happy. “Home! Home! Home!” He almost sang the words. “Home!”

As we passed, I stopped before him. “You won,” I said and put my hands up for a high five. His hands leapt into the air, and he gleefully slapped my hands. His faced glowed with joy.

“Home!”

Then he looked at me and he spread his arms open, his gaze inviting a bear hug. When I reached back, he pulled me close and tight, and I could feel his absolute abandonment to the feeling of gratitude he felt in his heart. He was going home.

He looked at my husband and again spread his arms wide open. Another bear hug ensued, and then he turned to me again for a second hug, this time patting my back. He pulled away and looked me straight in the eye, his face aglow, “Home.”

Mom looked at us and then her son. “You need to thank them for letting you hug them,” she admonished. He looked at me and hugged again. “He loves hugging,” she explained, though we had guessed as much.

I glanced back after they had walked away, watching their two forms disappear on the trail.

So it will be with us someday.

We walk this trail, this life, following a Heavenly parent, calling out from the deepest place of our souls for home. We follow footsteps that guide us in our heart’s cry for peace and rest. We grow weary and unsure if the journey will ever end.

But our journey, like all journeys, will end. Whatever marker on the path is destined for us, we will reach it. And when the time comes for the end of mine, I want to meet it with the joy of the young man on the trail today. I want to experience the overflowing of my heart for having my deepest desires met and open my arms wide to the fullness of an embrace that will welcome me there.

I want to feel my soul’s deepest longing for a home that transcends my earthly experience satisfied at last.

And someday I will.

King David Series: An Ending Conversation

This week’s devotion is entitled “A Holy Inactivity” and is an excerpt from The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence. From Renovare: “Broth­er Lawrence of the Res­ur­rec­tion (c. 1614 – 12 Feb­ru­ary 1691) served as a lay broth­er in a Carmelite monastery in Paris. Chris­tians com­mon­ly remem­ber him for the inti­ma­cy he expressed con­cern­ing his rela­tion­ship to God as record­ed in a book com­piled after his death, the clas­sic Chris­t­ian text, The Prac­tice of the Pres­ence of God.”

I have ceased all forms of devo­tion and set prayers except those to which my state requires. I make it my pri­or­i­ty to per­se­vere in His holy pres­ence, where­in I main­tain a sim­ple atten­tion and a fond regard for God, which I may call an actu­al pres­ence of God. Or, to put it anoth­er way, it is an habit­u­al, silent, and pri­vate con­ver­sa­tion of the soul with God. This gives me much joy and con­tent­ment. In short, I am sure, beyond all doubt, that my soul has been with God above these past thir­ty years. I pass over many things that I may not be tedious to you.

Yet, I think it is appro­pri­ate to tell you how I per­ceive myself before God, whom I behold as my King. I con­sid­er myself as the most wretched of men. I am full of faults, flaws, and weak­ness­es, and have com­mit­ted all sorts of crimes against his King. Touched with a sen­si­ble regret I con­fess all my wicked­ness to Him. I ask His for­give­ness. I aban­don myself in His hands that He may do what He pleas­es with me.

My King is full of mer­cy and good­ness. Far from chastis­ing me, He embraces me with love. He makes me eat at His table. He serves me with His own hands and gives me the key to His trea­sures. He con­vers­es and delights Him­self with me inces­sant­ly, in a thou­sand and a thou­sand ways. And He treats me in all respects as His favorite. In this way I con­sid­er myself con­tin­u­al­ly in His holy presence.

My most usu­al method is this sim­ple atten­tion, an affec­tion­ate regard for God to whom I find myself often attached with greater sweet­ness and delight than that of an infant at the moth­er’s breast. To choose an expres­sion, I would call this state the bosom of God, for the inex­press­ible sweet­ness which I taste and expe­ri­ence there. If, at any time, my thoughts wan­der from it from neces­si­ty or infir­mi­ty, I am present­ly recalled by inward emo­tions so charm­ing and deli­cious that I can­not find words to describe them. Please reflect on my great wretched­ness, of which you are ful­ly informed, rather than on the great favors God does one as unwor­thy and ungrate­ful as I am.

As for my set hours of prayer, they are sim­ply a con­tin­u­a­tion of the same exer­cise. Some­times I con­sid­er myself as a stone before a carv­er, where­of He is to make a stat­ue. Pre­sent­ing myself thus before God, I desire Him to make His per­fect image in my soul and ren­der me entire­ly like Him­self. At oth­er times, when I apply myself to prayer, I feel all my spir­it lift­ed up with­out any care or effort on my part. This often con­tin­ues as if it was sus­pend­ed yet firm­ly fixed in God like a cen­ter or place of rest.

I know that some charge this state with inac­tiv­i­ty, delu­sion, and self-love. I con­fess that it is a holy inac­tiv­i­ty. And it would be a hap­py self-love if the soul, in that state, were capa­ble of it. But while the soul is in this repose, she can­not be dis­turbed by the kinds of things to which she was for­mer­ly accus­tomed. The things that the soul used to depend on would now hin­der rather than assist her.

Yet, I can­not see how this could be called imag­i­na­tion or delu­sion because the soul which enjoys God in this way wants noth­ing but Him. If this is delu­sion, then only God can rem­e­dy it. Let Him do what He pleas­es with me. I desire only Him and to be whol­ly devot­ed to Him.

Excerpt­ed from The Prac­tice of the Pres­ence of God by Broth­er Lawrence of the Res­ur­rec­tion, ​“Sec­ond Let­ter” (in the pub­lic domain via Project Guten­berg).

King David Series: Fully Alive

This weeks devotion is entitled, “David Was Dancing Before the Lord” and is written by Pastor Wayne Monbleau. Wayne is a pastor, counselor, teacher and radio host based on the east cost. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

“David was dancing before the Lord with all his might, and David was wearing a linen ephod. So David and all the house of Israel were bringing up the ark of the Lord with shouting and the sound of the trumpet.” - 2 Samuel 6:14-15

This is the account of the ark of the covenant being brought into Jerusalem, and David was leading as a minister to the Lord, not as a king of Israel.

“David was wearing a linen ephod,” which was a priest’s most simple garment, meaning this was the identity David chose to display before the people of Israel on this very special occasion.

David could have come with all the pomp of kingship. But instead, David came as a humble minister to the lord, showing Israel Who the True King of his life was.

In David’s mind and heart, he “was dancing before the Lord,” meaning that David was beholding the Lord, and not so much the scene around him.

When we minister to the Lord, we are blessed to enter God’s presence where it is all about our Lord; Who He is, His glory, and ourselves only as dedicated priests in His presence.

What a beautiful picture this was of how David loved God and had God first in his life. David wasn’t even thinking about how he looked to people because He was looking at God. He was beholding the Lord and he saw himself in God’s sight as he danced in exultation as a priest in His presence, rejoicing in and desiring to please His Lord.

This is the true leadership model the body of Christ so needs today; people who will wear their identity as priests and their devotion to Christ first, for the entire body of Christ to see.

This is true kingship manifestation, when God’s people see themselves first in relationship to Him, our King, with His sovereignty over us and our blessed yielded priestly discipleship to Him, so that Jesus may be strongly known amongst His own and proclaimed to this world.

In your heart today, be clothed with the simple linen ephod of a priest, and let your true identity come forth, as a beloved child of God in Jesus’ name, ministering (and dancing) as a priest to your Lord in His blessed presence. Hallelujah!

King David Series: The Goal of the Gospel

This weeks devotion is entitled, “Altars of Worship and the Mercies of God” and is written by Dan Wilt. Dan is a member of the Seedbed team. He has decades experience as a pastor, worship leader, teacher, and leader of creatives across the globe.

CONSIDER THIS

There are marked moments in our lifetimes, indelibly and internally etched in a Christian’s memory, where we can each say with confidence: “God did this for me, and I was forever changed.”

I like to imagine that each of us has a number of internal altars where, upon remembering a personal, transformative moment, we have the opportunity to kneel to give thanks again and again. Perhaps we built an internal altar when we experienced a moment of great success, a time when circumstances flowed in our favor and a deep sense of communion with God’s Spirit was made all the sweeter by an advantageous result. 

There are other moments, however, like those that preceded Psalm 51 in the life of David, where an internal altar was built because we experienced utter, divine rescue. And that rescue was not from an outward enemy—that rescue was fromourselves. We were headed in one direction, full and strong, and by the mercy of God, the Spirit brought revelation through our pain, our suffering, or as a sovereign gift of divine mercy. We were diverted from a path that led to death (Prov. 14:12), and we are so grateful that we were.

You may have some of those moments in your own life, and are visiting your internal altar of thanks even now. I know that I do. Feel free to pause here, and to sing a song of praise with me.

Psalm 51 is David’s song of praise. It’s a powerful, remarkable external expression of how grateful David was for the Holy Spirit, the Spirit who entered the chaos he had caused and saved him from himself. We know the story. David had sinned with Bathsheba. He had her husband Uriah murdered. He weaved a tangled web, and was using his power to justify it, fix it, and ultimately, to hide it under a rug. He lacked accountability; he was the top of the food chain. Now, on the same track as all the other queens and kings of his time, he was headed toward their fate, following unbridled lusts toward a hell of one’s own making.

But one thing set David apart from all the others. David had the Holy Spirit at work in his life. David had a covenant with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob running through his mind and heart. David had the worship habits of his people ingraining truth into his dispositions and habits. David belonged to God—and the Spirit was making sure he didn’t completely forget who he was and whose he was. The Spirit saw the chaos coming, and out of sheer mercy, stepped in to make something good out of it (Rom. 8:28). Nathan the prophet steps in, speaks by the Spirit, and David chooses to repent. Psalm 51 is the outer altar he builds for the inward altar of remembrance that is now set permanently in his soul.

Pray David’s deep and enduring awakening prayer as your own today: “Do not . . . take your Holy Spirit from me.” David was unwilling to go on without God’s abiding presence searching his life, scanning his heart to expose wicked ways that lead to chaos and death, leading him into ways that are everlasting (Ps. 139:23-24). The Holy Spirit does this for us as well. 

Do not take your Holy Spirit from me, O God. Your presence is life to me.

King David: Special Guest Mark Morrison

 
 

Every so often, we will have a guest speaker at CrossView Church. We are so grateful for the gifted women and men that serve the Lord through teaching the word. This week we hear from Pastor Mark Morrison. Pastor Mark serves as the director of Shepherd Ministries. You can find out more information about Shepherd Ministries here.

Usually, when we have a guest speaker, we will not have a weekly devotion. We encourage you to watch the message again at some point throughout the week and listen to the discussion podcast.

Blessings on you and your week.

Pastor Kyle

Freedom Sunday: Special Guest Kevin Austin

 
 

Every so often, we will have a guest speaker at CrossView Church. We are so grateful for the gifted women and men that serve the Lord through teaching the word. This week we hear from Pastor Kevin Austin. Pastor Kevin serves Director of the Set Free Movement. The Set Free Movement works to mobilize faith communities, financial partners, and all segments of society towards ending human trafficking and creating new futures through community-based action. You can find out more information about The Set Free Movement by clicking here.

Usually, when we have a guest speaker, we will not have a weekly devotion. We encourage you to watch the message again at some point throughout the week and listen to the discussion podcast.

Blessings on you and your week.

Pastor Kyle

King David: Surprising Love

This weeks devotion is entitled, “Mephibosheth’s Example” and is written by C. H. Spurgeon, revised and updated by Alistair Begg. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Mephibosheth was not an attractive guest at the royal table; yet he had an open invitation because King David could see in his face the features of the beloved Jonathan. Like Mephibosheth, we may exclaim to the King of Glory, “What is Your servant, that You should show regard for a dead dog such as I?” But still the Lord invites us to share intimately with Him, because He sees in our countenances the remembrance of His dearly-beloved Jesus.

It is on account of Jesus that the Lord’s people are dear to God. Such is the love that the Father bears to His only begotten that for His sake He raises His lowly brothers and sisters from poverty and exile to enjoy the king’s court, noble rank, and royal provision. Their deformity shall not rob them of their privileges. Lameness is no bar to sonship; the disabled is as much the heir as if he could run like a gazelle.

Our ability to enter may be impaired but not our right of entry. A king’s table is a noble hiding-place for lame legs, and at the gospel feast we learn to rejoice in infirmities because the power of Christ rests upon us. Yet serious disability may spoil the journey of the best-loved saints. Here is one feasted by David, and yet so lame in both his feet that he could not go up with the king when he fled from the city and was therefore maligned and injured by his servant. Lord, help the lame to leap like the hart, and satisfy all Your people with the bread of Your table!

King David: God’s Promise Through Us

This weeks devotion is entitled “Commentary on 2 Samuel 7:1-11,16” and is written by Casey Thornburgh Sigmon. Casey is an Assistant Professor of Preaching and Worship and Director of Contextual Education at Saint Paul School of Theology in Leawood, Kansas. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

A new king has a grand idea to build a fancy temple for God. But God has other ideas for David.

An emerging monarchy

First and 2 Samuel speak to Israel’s transition period from “a loose federation of tribes” to “an emerging monarchy.”1 As scholar Bruce C. Birch makes clear in his introduction to these books of the Hebrew Bible, the thesis is that God is “at work in these turbulent times.”2

King David is coming off of a high note in chapter 6: the return of the ark of God to Jerusalem under his leadership. This event marks the beginning of a theologically legitimized Davidic monarchy. Saul’s reign is over. The people have a center of power, both political and theological. God’s presence, symbolized by the ark, returns and remains through this Davidic dynasty.

Then why does God seem to challenge King David about notions of God’s presence in our pericope for today?

David wants to take God’s house to the next level 

Our pericope opens with “the king settled in his house” and resting from trials and tribulation. But in his palace, David is unsettled about something.

That something? The house for the ark of God. Is a tent good enough of a home for the Lord who has delivered Israel through turbulent times? This God deserves a temple.

David runs to his seer, the prophet Nathan. Without skipping a beat, Nathan affirms David’s vision for a more permanent home for the ark. “Go, and do all that you have in mind.”

But then God has words with Nathan in the night. Nathan, the go-between of God and David, will be tasked with bringing King David back down to earth.

David, unable to discern the will and way of God because he only sees things from his point of view.

God doesn’t need a fancy house built of stone. God needs a people built by God.

The tension is when we project our needs onto God. God, through Nathan, reminds David of who and how God is—omnipresent, not tied down to one place, not a genie in a bottle, not so high and mighty to refuse presence in a humble tent.

This anamnestic move punctuates the Hebrew Scriptures at transitional moments. It is also the way in which the psalms sing of who and how God is. Before King David rushes to secure a dwelling place in the seat of political power, God reminds David that no such thing is required. Ark, exile, pasture, tent, God has been and will be with David and Israel. This is the covenant God makes in chapter 7.

Verse 7 is a playful image for preachers: God walking in all the places the tribes of Israel walked. God in the shoes of Israel when enslaved by Pharaoh. God in the shoes of Israel as they ran on dry ground through a parted Red Sea…When did I ever demand a temple from you? I go where you go. I am with you. No matter what happenstance or setting.

God takes David’s house to the next level instead

But God also sees that Israel needs a place, a home. Israel needs refuge from enemies, ground to cultivate, roots to grow. This is the plot twist in verse 11: “You will not build me a house,” replied the Lord, “I shall build you a house.”3

And the house that God builds is not a house in the sense of four walls either. In time, another meaning for the Hebrew word for house, bayit, will come to the fore: “dynasty”. Through the Davidic line, God dwells. God’s grace extends beyond what is shown to David and through a family line. And we know who is to come in that line: Jesus. Ultimately it is God who takes this covenant to the next level when God becomes present in human flesh as Jesus Christ. And we are heirs of this promise. God dwells with us and through us as we journey through turbulent times and when we dance in joyful processions.

God doesn’t need us to build a fancy new dwelling. God wants to build us.

Maybe what we need to overhear in this pericope are these words to David and the reminder that God does not need us to take anything to the next level when we have so little energy, time, or technological know-how to give. Rather, we need to slow down and let God build us—dwell in us—in humble, simple, ordinary ways.

King David: The Power to Serve

This weeks devotion is entitled, “Servant Leadership: The Most Important Thing” and is written by Gabe Lawson serves as the Pastor of Discipleship and Care at First Alliance Church in Lexington, KY. He also serves as a chaplain in the US Air Force Reserves and is an ordained minister in the Christian & Missionary Alliance. We hope this devotion encourages your faith.

Once upon a time, when I was in 8th grade, my church was having a time of prayer. They invited all the young people who had just returned from a mission trip to be available to pray for others. While there, one of the pastors of the church—someone for whom I had great respect and admiration—came up to me and said, “Hi, Gabe, would you pray for me?” Astounded, I thought, you want me to pray for you?  That doesn’t sound right. This pastor who I really looked up to came to me, an awkward, goofy 12 year old, for prayer.

This memory reminds me of when Jesus told his disciples he was going to wash their feet (John 13). Peter had much the same response I had when my pastor came to me for prayer. Peter responded, “Jesus you want to wash my feet?  No way!” But Jesus insisted on humbling himself and serving his disciples in this very lowly manner and showing us what true servant leadership is all about.

This is the Jesus who has turned water into wine and healed the roman official’s son with just a word. This is the Jesus who fed thousands upon thousands by the sea of Galilee with a few loaves and fish, and healed the blind and the lame. This is the Jesus who the disciples saw walk on water, for crying out loud! This is the Jesus who went to the tomb of a man dead four days, calling out to him. The dead man came staggering out of the grave still shrouded in burial clothes.

And this same Jesus laid down his clean outer garments, put on a towel, and stooped to do the unclean, menial work of the lowest of servants.

After Jesus washes their feet, he challenges his disciples to go out and do the same. Jesus tells them, “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet (John 13:14.)” Leadership like this takes true humility, flowing out of deep love of God and a rich understanding of mission.

Jesus challenges us to follow his example.

It is easy to get bogged down in all the tasks that need to get done. If you’re like me, I far too often find myself so task oriented that I forget the most important task of all—serving people in meaningful, practical ways. Servant leadership requires us to be intentional, looking for ways to put others above ourselves. We set the example for others in service to follow. It’s all in the simple things, like carving out time to visit, writing a personal note, helping someone move, taking someone a meal, or even asking a goofy twelve-year-old kid for prayer.

When we intentionally put others above ourselves, we are actively living out the Gospel, walking in obedience, and following in the footsteps of Jesus.  It’s the most important work we can do.