You Need God Today

Christian, if you are not reading God’s Word each day in order to commune with God, then you are not living the Christian life from day to day.

This is not a call to religious box-checking.

Reading the Bible every day does not earn favor with God. The issue is much more fundamental than that.

The Christian life is a life lived in fellowship with God.

Jesus told His disciples:

“Abide in me, and I in you.” – John 15.4

And just a few verses later:

“If you abide in me, and my words abide in you…” – John 15.7

Christianity is not merely believing the right things about God and then going about our lives. We have been brought into a relationship with Him. We are called to walk with Him, depend upon Him, listen to Him, trust Him, and increasingly have our lives shaped by Him.

That means Bible reading is about much more than information. You can read three chapters every morning, study difficult passages, know a great deal about the Bible, and still fail to come to the Scriptures to commune with God.

Yes, God has given us His Word. But the goal isn’t simply to get God’s Word into your schedule.

The goal is to get God’s Word into you.

To hear what God has said. To have your thinking corrected, your desires exposed, your fears confronted, and your priorities reordered. To be reminded again of what is true about God, about yourself, about this world, and about the life He has called you to live.

That is why yesterday isn’t enough.

Yesterday you needed God’s truth. Today you need it again. Yesterday your mind needed to be renewed. Today it does too. Yesterday you needed your heart redirected away from yourself and toward God. You will need that again today.

You cannot live today’s Christian life on yesterday’s communion with God.

This is not about guilt. It is about need.

The God who created you has spoken. The God who saved you has made Himself known. And He has graciously given you His Word so that you might know Him, believe Him, obey Him, delight in Him, and walk with Him.

So, Christian, open your Bible today.

Not merely because Christians are supposed to read their Bibles. Not so you can check another box. Not so you can feel better about yourself.

Open it because you need God today.

Don’t Miss a Day

My phone really doesn’t want me to miss a day.

Apps congratulate us for opening them several days in a row. Games reward us for coming back tomorrow. Fitness and weight-management apps keep track of our consecutive days. Miss one, and the counter may start over.

They’re called streaks, and there is a reason they work. They help form habits. They give us a small sense of accomplishment. And, of course, they keep us coming back to the app. None of that is necessarily bad.

But I wonder if all this streak-building is also training us to think that consistency is the same thing as relationship.

It isn’t. And that matters when we open our Bibles.

A streak can tell you whether you did something. It cannot tell you why you did it – or what happened while you were there.

You can read your Bible every morning. You can complete the assigned chapters. You can check the box. You can watch the number on your Bible app climb from 30 days to 100 days to 365 days. And you can do all of that without really communing with God.

God warned His people through Isaiah:

“This people draw near with their mouth
and honor me with their lips,
while their hearts are far from me.”
– Isaiah 29.13

The problem wasn’t that they were doing nothing religious. They were. The problem was that their outward activity had become disconnected from their hearts.

That danger hasn’t disappeared. We can become very disciplined at doing Christian things without paying much attention to the God those things are supposed to draw us toward.

That doesn’t make habits bad. Discipline matters. There will be mornings when discipline gets you out of bed and into the Word when you don’t particularly feel like doing it. There is something good about developing habits that regularly put us in places where our hearts can be shaped by God’s truth.

But the habit is not the goal. 

God is.

Imagine measuring your closest relationships by streaks. Talked to my wife today. Another day completed. Streak intact.

Something about that immediately feels wrong. I don’t want merely to maintain contact with my wife. 

I want to know her. Listen to her. Talk with her. Share life with her. A relationship is more than repeated interaction.

When we open the Bible, there is a Person there whom we are seeking to know. God has spoken.

So the question isn’t simply, Did I read my Bible today There are better questions:

Did I listen? 

Did I believe what God said? 

Did I allow His Word to correct my thinking? 

Did I submit myself to what He said? 

Did I come to Scripture because I wanted to know Him – or merely because I didn’t want to miss a day?

Don’t confuse consistency with communion.

Keep the habit. Build the discipline. Read your Bible every day. But don’t settle for the streak.

Don’t open your Bible tomorrow merely because you opened it today.

Open it because there is a God you need to know, hear, trust, and walk with.

When Knowing Isn’t Enough

Forked paths lead toward churches beneath sunrise and moonlight, with book and anchor

There is a version of Christianity that can look remarkably faithful from a distance.

You know what Christians are supposed to believe. You know what Christians are supposed to reject. You avoid the bad things. You affirm the good things. You know which boxes to check.

And yet, you can do all of that without developing much wisdom for actually living as a Christian.

That becomes a problem because most of life does not arrive in neatly labeled boxes.

The difficult coworker isn’t a theological proposition. Neither is the neighbor whose life looks completely different from yours. Neither is deciding what to do with your money… responding when someone wounds you… navigating a difficult cultural question… raising children… handling disagreement… or knowing when to speak and when to remain silent… or so much more.

Those things require more than knowing which answers are Christian.

They require discernment.

That is something Paul specifically prayed believers would develop:

“And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent.” – Philippians 1.9-10

Notice the connection: love, knowledge, and discernment.
Paul wanted believers who knew the truth – and who were increasingly able to recognize what faithfulness to that truth looked like in the complexities of actual life.

Because biblical truth is meant to give us a way of seeing the whole world.

Scripture teaches us who God is, who we are, what has gone wrong with this world, what God values, what sin does to us, what people desperately need, and what ultimately matters.

And then we have to learn to live accordingly.

Without that kind of discernment, Christians can drift toward two very different extremes.

Some are seduced by the world.

They may know biblical truth, but they have never learned to think biblically about the world around them. So when complicated questions arise, the world supplies the categories. Its assumptions gradually become their assumptions. Its definitions of success, happiness, identity, sexuality, money, freedom, and the good life begin to feel perfectly reasonable.

Others become cocooned from the world.

They preserve their Christian answers by keeping everything complicated safely outside. They know what they oppose. They know what they don’t watch. They know where they don’t go. They know which people are wrong.

Their convictions may remain intact. But those convictions increasingly have little contact with anyone or anything outside the cocoon.

Neither is Christian discernment.

Discernment asks a harder question:
* What does faithfulness to God look like right here?
* Not merely, What am I supposed to believe about this?
* But how should what I believe change how I respond?
* How does the gospel shape the way I treat this person?
* What does obedience to God require of me in this decision?
* What desires are driving me?
* What assumptions have I accepted without examining them?
* How can I demonstrate both truth and love here?
That is very different from checking boxes.

We desperately need Christians whose minds are so saturated with Scripture that they can recognize the world’s lies without being terrified of the world.

Christians whose convictions are strong enough to resist cultural pressure, but whose love is strong enough to move toward people rather than away from them.

Christians who don’t merely know what the Bible says, but are learning how God’s truth bears upon conversations, relationships, decisions, disappointments, opportunities, temptations, and ordinary responsibilities.

So perhaps the question isn’t simply: Do I believe the right things?

We should.

But there is another question worth asking: Am I learning to live wisely because I believe them?

Grace assumes the best; pride suspects the worst.

Pride is remarkably confident about other people’s motives.

“He did that because…”

“She only said that because…”

“I know what they’re really trying to do…”

But most of the time, we don’t know.

Grace does not ignore sin or pretend that evil is good. But neither does it manufacture motives, presume guilt, or fill gaps in our knowledge with suspicion.

Grace asks before accusing.

Grace leaves room for explanation.

Grace is willing to believe the best that the facts will allow.

And when something truly is wrong, grace grieves rather than delights in having its suspicions confirmed.

Love does not require us to ignore sin.

It does require us to stop inventing it.

“Love… is not resentful… bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” – 1 Corinthians 13.5, 7

But I Had a Reason

We almost always have a reason.

A reason we became angry.
A reason we said what we said.
A reason we weren’t completely honest.
A reason we treated someone poorly.
A reason we refused to forgive.
A reason we did what we knew we probably shouldn’t do.

And sometimes our reasons are pretty good ones.
We were tired.
We were afraid.
We had been hurt.
Someone betrayed us.
We were under tremendous pressure.
We didn’t know what else to do.

The circumstances may be real. The hurt may be real. The pressure may be real.
But having a reason for doing something does not necessarily make what we did right.

There is an important difference between an explanation and a justification.

An explanation answers the question: Why did I do this?

A justification answers a very different question: Was I right to do it?

And those are not the same thing.

Scripture is filled with people who had reasons for what they did. Adam blamed the woman God had given him. Eve pointed to the serpent. Aaron had an explanation for the golden calf.

Saul had a reason for keeping what God had commanded him to destroy. He even made his disobedience sound spiritual. The animals, he explained, had been spared so they could be sacrificed to the Lord.
Samuel’s response was simple: “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.” – 1 Samuel 15.22

Saul had a reason. But his reason didn’t make his disobedience obedience.
And perhaps that is where we sometimes get ourselves into trouble.

We begin to believe that if our circumstances are difficult enough, our hurt deep enough, or our reasoning understandable enough, then what would normally be wrong becomes right. But our circumstances do not have the authority to rewrite what God has said.

That doesn’t mean circumstances don’t matter.

They can help us understand why someone did what they did. They can move us toward compassion. They can help us recognize the pressures, fears, wounds, or desires that contributed to a decision.

But circumstances do not define righteousness. God does. And before we apply that truth to someone else’s choices, we should probably apply it to our own.

I may have been tired.
I may have been frustrated.
I may have been treated unfairly.
I may have been deeply hurt.
I may even have a perfectly understandable reason for what I did. But if God says it was wrong, my reason cannot make it right.

Perhaps that is why one of the most difficult sentences for us to say is also one of the simplest: I was wrong.

No explanation.
No qualification.
No – “but you have to understand.”

Just confession.

And thankfully, Christians do not have to justify what God has already offered to forgive.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” – 1 John 1.9

There may be reasons for what we have done. But God has not asked us to justify our sin. He has invited us to confess it.

Be Still, and Know

Photo by Warren Griffiths on Pexels.com

It is possible to stop working without actually resting.

You can leave the office while continuing the conversation in your head. You can sit down while mentally working through tomorrow’s list. You can take a day off and spend most of it thinking about everything you aren’t getting done. You can even go on vacation and bring your worries with you.

Sometimes our bodies stop long before our minds do.

Last week I wrote about Jesus telling His disciples, “Come away…and rest a while.” There is something important about recognizing our limits and learning to stop. But stopping and resting are not always the same thing. Sometimes we stop what we are doing only to discover how much we are still carrying.

Perhaps that is one reason these familiar words from Psalm 46 are so important: “Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

Psalm 46 is not describing peaceful circumstances. The earth gives way. Mountains are moved. Waters roar. Nations rage. Kingdoms totter. And right in the middle of all that turmoil, God says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

In other words, this isn’t simply an invitation to find a quiet place. It is a call to stop striving and remember who is actually in control.

Notice that God doesn’t simply say, “Be still.” He says, “Be still, and know.” Biblical stillness is not merely inactivity. It gives us an opportunity to remember what our anxious activity so easily forgets.

He is God. I am not.

He is sovereign. I am not.

He knows what tomorrow holds. I do not.

He is able to carry what I cannot.

He is at work in places I cannot see, and in circumstances I cannot control.

Sometimes the hardest part of resting isn’t stopping what our hands are doing. It is releasing what our hearts are carrying.

We rehearse conversations that have already happened.

We anticipate problems that haven’t happened.

We imagine outcomes.

We try to solve tomorrow’s difficulties today.

And somewhere along the way, we can begin carrying responsibilities God never actually gave us. That can feel like responsibility. It can even feel productive. But there are things we simply cannot control, no matter how many times we turn them over in our minds.

Jesus asked a wonderfully simple question: “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” – Matthew 6.27

Worry accomplishes remarkably little for all the energy it consumes. Perhaps that is why genuine rest requires more than an empty calendar. It requires trust.

There are burdens we need to put down. There are questions we need to leave unanswered. There are circumstances we need to entrust to God. There are conversations we cannot control. There are outcomes we cannot guarantee. And there are tomorrows we need to leave where God put them – in tomorrow.

None of this means that we stop caring, planning, praying, or acting responsibly. It means that after we have done what God has given us to do, we trust Him with what He has not given us to control.

That may be one of the hardest forms of rest. But it may also be one of the sweetest. “Be still, and know that I am God.”

Sometimes we need to stop long enough to remember who God is.

And sometimes remembering who God is is what finally allows our hearts to rest.

Come Away and Rest Awhile

There is almost always something else that could be done.

Another email could be answered. Another project could be finished. Another room could be cleaned. Another phone call could be made. Another problem could be solved.

And if we aren’t careful, we can begin to live as though stopping is irresponsible.

After all, Scripture has a great deal to say about hard work. God does not commend laziness. We are called to diligence, faithfulness, and making good use of the time He gives us. There is something good about going to bed tired after a day spent doing what God has given us to do.

But apparently faithfulness also includes knowing when to stop.

After a particularly busy season of ministry, Jesus said to His disciples, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.” – Mark 6.31

What makes those words especially striking is what Mark tells us next: “For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.” There were people everywhere. There were needs to be met. There was ministry to be done. And Jesus said, Come away and rest. That is worth thinking about.

Sometimes we imagine that rest is what we do when everything else is finished. We will slow down when the project is completed. We will take some time off when things settle down. We will rest when there is nothing pressing that needs our attention.

The problem is that everything is rarely finished. There will always be something more we could do. Which means that if we only permit ourselves to rest when there is nothing left to do, we may never really rest at all.

Perhaps learning to rest is also learning to trust.

There is a kind of humility in stopping. When I stop working, I am reminded that I am not indispensable. I have limits. I get tired. I need sleep. I need quiet. I need time away. God made me that way. And while I rest, God does not.

The psalmist says, “He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121.4). What a comforting distinction. I need rest. God does not.

The world does not depend upon my constant activity. My family does not ultimately depend upon me. My church does not ultimately depend upon me. My work does not ultimately depend upon me. Everything ultimately depends upon Him.

That doesn’t make me less diligent. It frees me to work hard when it is time to work – and to rest without guilt when it is time to rest.

Of course, there are seasons that require unusual effort. There are late nights and early mornings. There are emergencies and deadlines. There are babies who don’t sleep, people who need us, unexpected problems, and responsibilities that cannot simply be postponed.

Sometimes faithfulness really does require us to keep going when we would rather stop. But those seasons should also remind us why rhythms of rest matter.

We were never designed for constant activity. And sometimes our refusal to stop may say less about our diligence than we think. It may reveal how difficult it is for us to believe that things can continue without us.

Rest reminds us that we are creatures – and God is God.

So sometimes the godly thing to do really is to take the afternoon off. To go for a walk. To sit somewhere quiet. To take the vacation. Maybe even to take the nap. Not because our responsibilities don’t matter. Not because diligence is unimportant. But because we trust the One who remains at work when we are not.

Jesus looked at tired disciples surrounded by unfinished ministry and unmet needs and said, “Come away…and rest a while.”

Maybe some of us need to hear Him say that again.

Still My Favorite Love Story

Thirty-three years ago today, a young man and a young woman stood before God, surrounded by family and friends, and promised one another a lifetime.

Like every young couple, we had plans. We had dreams. We wondered where life would take us.

We talked about children – possibly two or three… maybe four if we were feeling especially adventurous.

We smiled at the future because we imagined we knew what it might look like. We didn’t. Not even close.

We had no idea that God would entrust us with eight wonderful children. We had no idea that one day our home would be filled with laughter, music, muddy shoes, backpacks, late-night conversations, birthday parties, grandchildren, and more memories than either of us could ever count.

We had no idea how many miles we would travel together. How many churches we would serve. How many prayers we would pray. How many tears we would quietly wipe away.

How many times we would find ourselves standing in hospital rooms, sitting beside grieving families, rejoicing at weddings, celebrating new life, or simply holding one another after another long day.

Looking back now, I realize something. We spent a lot of time making plans. God spent all along writing a far better story.

One of His greatest gifts to me was Jenny.

Most people know her as sweet – and they are absolutely right. She is. But they don’t always get to see the whole picture.

They don’t know how quick she is with a comeback. How delightfully sharp her sense of humor can be. Or that every now and then she can say something so unexpectedly funny that I find myself laughing long after everyone else has moved on.

They don’t always know that after thirty-three years she still has the remarkable ability to roll her eyes at one of my jokes with perfect timing. (It is still my opinion that the audience is occasionally the problem.)

I still love her beautiful red hair.

I still love her smile.

I still love the sparkle in her eyes.

And yes… after all these years, we still enjoy “sporting” together.

Some things simply get better with time.

But if all I said were those things, I would miss what I admire most. I have watched Jenny quietly pour herself into people for decades.

She loves children – not because she has to, but because she genuinely delights in them. She notices widows. She encourages women. She serves our church without seeking attention. She sings God’s praises with sincerity. She opens her Bible faithfully. Again and again, I have watched her choose faithfulness in all the ordinary places where character is truly formed.

The world often celebrates the loud and the impressive. God delights in the faithful.

That is the woman I married.

There is one more thing I want to say – something that perhaps very few people know.

There have been seasons when I have felt weary. Moments when leadership felt heavy. Days when I questioned myself more than I questioned anyone else. And in those moments, God has often strengthened me through Jenny.

Her confidence in me has steadied me. Her affection has comforted me. Her prayers have upheld me. Her quiet faith has reminded me to trust the Lord again. She probably doesn’t even realize how many times God has used her to help me stand when I felt weak.

For that, I will always be grateful.

When I married Jenny, I thought I was choosing the woman who would make my life happier. Thirty-three years later, I realize God was giving me the woman who would help make me more like Christ. That is a far greater gift.

Jenny… Thank you for believing in a young man who had more enthusiasm than wisdom.

Thank you for walking beside me through every season God has ordained. Thank you for laughing with me. Praying with me. Forgiving me. Encouraging me. Serving with me. Growing with me.

Most of all, thank you for loving Christ more than you have ever loved me. That has been one of the greatest blessings of my life.

If someone were to ask me whether I would do it all again – knowing every joy, every hardship, every surprise, every blessing, and every sorrow these thirty-three years would hold…

My answer would be immediate. Without hesitation. Without reservation. Without changing a single thing that brought me to this moment beside you.

I would still choose you.

Thirty-three years ago, I thought I was inviting you to share my life. Looking back, I realize God was inviting both of us into a story that neither of us could have imagined. And what a beautiful story it has been.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

Thank you for thirty-three wonderful years.

By God’s grace, I look forward to whatever chapters He is pleased to write next.

Why We Sing What We Sing

Have you ever left Sunday morning worship thinking, “I just didn’t get much out of the singing today”?

Perhaps the songs weren’t familiar. Perhaps they weren’t your preferred style. Perhaps they simply didn’t resonate with you the way you hoped they would. I have.

Sometimes I’ve concluded that I simply preferred different songs. Churches don’t always make the same musical choices, and not every song will resonate with every believer in exactly the same way.

But sometimes the problem wasn’t the songs. Sometimes I just forgot what congregational singing was actually for. It’s very easy to evaluate worship by asking questions like:

– Did I enjoy those songs?
– Did they move me emotionally?
– Did I connect with them?

Those aren’t unimportant questions, but perhaps they may not be the first questions.

The Apostle Paul gives us a different perspective in Colossians 3.16. He tells us that as God’s people sing, “the word of Christ” dwells richly among them. Their songs teach. They admonish. They encourage. They fill hearts and minds with truth.

That means congregational singing is doing far more than creating an emotional experience. God is using it to shape His people.

I’ve found myself increasingly grateful for faithful congregational singing. Not because every song has been my favorite, or because every arrangement has reflected my personal preferences, but because I’ve been reminded what God is doing through it.

Faithful congregational singing doesn’t simply accompany worship; it quietly helps shape the hearts of those who participate in it. Congregational singing is the weekly rehearsal of reality.

Every Sunday the church helps one another remember what the rest of the week conspires to make us forget:
– God is still holy.
 – Christ is still worthy.
 – The gospel is still true.
 – Our hope is still secure.

We are not teaching God these things. We are reminding our emotions of them.

The world spends six days pulling our attention in a thousand different directions. It quietly teaches us to measure life by our circumstances, our emotions, our successes, our disappointments, and our fears.
Then the Lord’s Day comes.

God gathers His people, and together they sing truths that gently reorient their hearts toward what is eternally true.

That also helps explain why the songs we sing matter. The question isn’t whether a song is old or new. Nor is it simply whether it is musically excellent or emotionally moving. The better question is this: Where is this song directing my attention?

Some songs primarily magnify the greatness, holiness, faithfulness, and worthiness of God. Others spend most of their time occupied with us – our feelings, our experiences, our commitments, and our responses.

To be sure, there is a proper place for singing about what God has done in our lives. Scripture itself does that often. But biblical worship has a remarkable way of lifting our eyes beyond ourselves to the One who is worthy of our praise.

The next time you gather with God’s people, don’t begin by asking, “Did I enjoy the singing?”

Rather ask: Did these songs help me see God more clearly?

Because perhaps the greatest gift of congregational singing isn’t that it simply gives expression to our hearts. It’s that, week after week, it gently teaches our hearts where they belong.