Tag: GRace

A Greater Priesthood

In Hebrews 7, the author pauses to unpack the story of Melchizedek, a mysterious figure from Genesis. At first glance, Melchizedek’s brief appearance as “king of Salem” and “priest of God Most High” might seem like a random historical footnote, but there’s so much more going on. The writer of Hebrews uses Melchizedek to show us something profound about Jesus and what His priesthood means for us.

Melchizedek is unique. He’s both a king and a priest—two roles that were strictly separate under the old covenant. Kings came from David’s family line, while priests descended from Aaron. But Melchizedek doesn’t fit into either category. He appears with no genealogy, no record of birth or death, and the author of Hebrews sees this as a picture of Jesus—eternal and unlike any other priest.

Here’s why this matters. In the Old Testament, priests acted as go-betweens, offering sacrifices to cover the people’s sins. But their work was temporary and incomplete. Sacrifices had to be made over and over because they could never fully deal with sin. Jesus, however, offers something better. His priesthood, like Melchizedek’s, doesn’t depend on human ancestry or temporary rules. It’s eternal. And instead of offering sacrifices repeatedly, Jesus gave Himself—once and for all—to make a way for us to be right with God forever.

The connection to Melchizedek isn’t just an interesting Bible trivia fact. It’s a reminder that Jesus’s priesthood was part of God’s plan all along. When Abraham, the father of faith, gave Melchizedek a tenth of his spoils and received his blessing, it pointed forward to something greater: a priesthood that’s not bound by human limitations. Jesus is that greater priest, and His work changes everything.

What does this mean for us? It means we have someone who represents us before God perfectly and eternally. It means we don’t need to rely on our own efforts to get right with God or wonder if we’ve done enough. Jesus’s sacrifice is enough. It’s finished. And because of Him, we can approach God with confidence, knowing we’re loved and forgiven.

It also challenges us to move beyond a rule-based faith. The old covenant—with its rituals and sacrifices—pointed toward Jesus. Now that He’s come, we’re invited into something far better: a relationship with the living God. Jesus’s priesthood means we’re not just forgiven; we’re also brought near to God, adopted into His family, and given hope that lasts forever.

The story of Melchizedek reminds us that God’s plan has always been bigger than we can imagine. It’s a plan that brings freedom, forgiveness, and peace. Let’s rest in that truth today and live with the confidence that Jesus has done it all.

How Do You See?

“To the pure, all things are pure. But to those who are corrupt and unbelieving, nothing is pure, but both their minds and consciences are corrupted.” (Titus 1:15, NET)

We often think that the world around us determines how we see things. If life is good, we feel good. If life is bad, we feel bad. But Paul reminds Titus of a deeper truth—everything we experience is filtered through the lens of our own hearts and worldview. What we see and how we interpret it reflects who we are.

To the pure, Paul says, all things are pure. This isn’t naivety; it’s the result of a heart transformed by Christ. A pure heart views the world through the lens of grace, love, and trust in God. It seeks the good. It extends charity. It assumes the best intentions and sees opportunities for redemption, even in brokenness.

But to the corrupt, nothing is pure. Why? Because a corrupt heart projects its own intentions outward. Someone who lives in dishonesty assumes others are lying too. A bitter person sees only offense. A lustful heart objectifies. An unbelieving mind interprets everything as meaningless. In other words, our perception of the world becomes a mirror reflecting what’s already in us.

Jesus said something similar: “For the mouth speaks from what fills the heart” (Matthew 12:34). What’s in us comes out—not just in our words, but in how we see and interact with everything. If we’re holding onto sin, anger, or doubt, we’ll project that onto people, situations, and even God. But if we’re holding fast to Christ, we’ll see the world differently.

This truth calls us to examine our hearts. If cynicism, suspicion, or negativity seem to dominate your thoughts, ask: What am I filtering life through? Is my heart shaped by the purity of God’s truth, or am I projecting my brokenness onto the world?

The beauty of the Gospel is that Christ doesn’t leave us trapped in corruption. He transforms our hearts, renews our minds, and purifies our conscience. When we walk in that transformation, we begin to see life for what it really is: a place where God is working, redeeming, and calling us to reflect His goodness.

Today, consider your lens. Are you interpreting life through the purity of Christ, or through the corruption of your own brokenness? Surrender your heart to Him and let Him renew how you see—because the condition of your heart determines the clarity of your vision.

Status Update

The book of Philemon is more than just a short letter—it’s a window into the radical redefinition of relationships that the Gospel brings. Onesimus, once a slave and a fugitive, is now described as a “beloved brother” in Christ. Imagine how shocking this must have been in a world that defined people by their status, wealth, or social position.

Paul’s appeal to Philemon isn’t grounded in authority or obligation but in love. He invites Philemon to see Onesimus not through the lens of societal hierarchy but through the eyes of Christ. This status update—from slave to brother—demonstrates the transformative power of the Gospel, which dismantles human divisions and unites us as one family in Christ.

But the letter doesn’t stop there. Paul steps in as an intercessor, offering to absorb any debt Onesimus owes. This act mirrors Christ’s work on the cross, taking our sins upon Himself and restoring our relationship with God. It’s a reminder of the grace we’ve been given and a call to extend that same grace to others.

So, how does this apply to us today?

We live in a world that constantly categorizes people: by their job, income, political views, or past mistakes. Like Philemon, we are called to update our perspective. In Christ, no one is “less than.” Are there people you’ve written off because of their past? Relationships you’ve allowed to remain broken? Paul’s letter challenges us to see others as God sees them—worthy of love, forgiveness, and restoration.

Let this be your status update: forgiven, redeemed, and called to reconcile with others.

Precision Speech

Ephesians 4:29 offers us a vital reminder: “You must let no unwholesome word come out of your mouth, but only what is beneficial for the building up of the one in need, that it may give grace to those who hear” (NET). The command here isn’t just about avoiding foul language or gossip but speaks to a broader discipline—intentionality in our speech.

Words have incredible power. Proverbs 18:21 teaches us that “the tongue has the power of life and death.” With our words, we can build up or tear down, give grace or grief, spark joy or sorrow. Paul’s instruction calls us to a higher standard: speaking not what comes easiest or feels satisfying in the moment, but what is thoughtful and beneficial for others.

Consider how often we speak without thinking. An offhand comment, an unfiltered reply, or a casual critique can leave wounds we never intended. Yet, when we choose our words with care—offering encouragement, speaking truth in love, or simply remaining silent when needed—we can profoundly bless those around us.

The challenge of precision speech is compounded in a world of instant communication. Social media, texting, and emails invite rapid, reactionary replies. But what if we approached every word with the intentionality Paul prescribes? Before speaking or typing, we could pause and ask:

  • Does this build someone up?
  • Does it meet a real need?
  • Does it reflect God’s grace?

Precision in speech isn’t about perfection but purpose. It’s about using our words as tools for edification rather than weapons of division. This discipline mirrors the character of Jesus, who always spoke with wisdom, truth, and grace.

Today, let’s embrace the challenge of intentional words. Speak life, encouragement, and hope. Build up, bless, and be silent when necessary. In doing so, our speech will reflect the God who speaks with purpose and love.

Embracing Contentment: When God Says No

Paul’s thorn in the flesh, as described in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, is a powerful reminder that God’s answers to prayer aren’t always what we want, but they are always what we need. Paul begged God three times to remove his thorn, but instead of removing it, God offered a profound assurance: “My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” This wasn’t the answer Paul sought, but it was the one he needed to embrace contentment despite his circumstances.

How often do we find ourselves pleading for God to change our situation? Whether it’s a physical ailment, a relational wound, or a persistent obstacle, we want relief, solutions, and comfort. Yet, like Paul, we might hear “no” from God—not because He doesn’t care, but because His grace is shaping us into something greater. It’s in those moments of denial that we discover the richness of His presence and the depth of His sustaining power.

Contentment doesn’t come from having an easy life but from trusting a sovereign God. Paul could say, “I am content with weaknesses, with insults, with troubles, with persecutions and difficulties for the sake of Christ” because he understood that every “no” carried a greater purpose: “For whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” God’s power shines through our limitations, showing that our worth isn’t tied to self-sufficiency but to His all-sufficient grace.

When we embrace contentment, we’re choosing to rest in God’s plan rather than wrestle with it. We may not understand why the thorn remains, but we can trust that He is using it for His glory and our ultimate good. True peace comes not from the absence of struggle but from the presence of Christ in the struggle. His grace sustains us, and His power transforms our weakness into a testimony of His faithfulness.

What are you facing today that feels insurmountable? Have you brought it to God in prayer? If His answer is “no,” can you trust Him to provide the strength you need to endure? Contentment isn’t passive resignation; it’s active faith in the One who knows what’s best for us.

In a world that tells us to fight for comfort and control, Paul’s example invites us to a different way: to boast in our weaknesses and to find joy in God’s strength. When God says no, it’s not a rejection but an invitation—to trust deeper, to lean harder, and to experience His grace more fully than we ever thought possible.

Does Romans 9 Prove Calvinism?

Romans 9:11-24 is one of the most debated passages in Scripture, often pitting Calvinism’s emphasis on God’s sovereignty and predestination against Arminianism’s focus on free will and human responsibility. Yet, neither system fully reconciles the tension between divine providence and human freedom. A Molinist perspective offers a middle way, affirming both God’s exhaustive foreknowledge and His desire for a genuine relationship with free moral agents.

Verse-by-Verse Exploration

Romans 9:11-13

Paul cites Jacob and Esau to demonstrate God’s sovereign election. Before the twins were born, God chose Jacob over Esau “so that God’s purpose in election would stand.” A Calvinist may argue this supports unconditional election, where God’s choice is entirely independent of human actions. However, a Molinist would point out that God’s foreknowledge of all possible worlds (including the one where Jacob’s lineage fulfilled His redemptive plan) allows for this choice without overriding Esau’s freedom. God chose the line of Jacob because, in His omniscience, He knew Jacob’s descendants would cooperate with His purposes.

Romans 9:14-16

Paul anticipates the objection: Is God unjust? His answer: “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy.” Calvinists see this as God unilaterally bestowing mercy. However, Molinism emphasizes God’s mercy is perfectly compatible with free will. God’s choice to show mercy or harden hearts (like Pharaoh’s) is based on His exhaustive foreknowledge of how individuals will freely respond to His grace. Mercy is not arbitrary but aligned with His plan to bring about redemption while respecting free will.

Romans 9:17-18

Pharaoh’s hardening raises another question. Calvinists often assert that God actively hardened Pharaoh’s heart to display His power. Molinists, however, interpret this as God actualizing a world where Pharaoh freely chose to resist Him, knowing that Pharaoh’s rebellion would ultimately magnify His glory. This aligns with the broader biblical narrative, where God desires repentance but allows individuals to reject Him (e.g., Ezekiel 33:11).

Romans 9:19-21

The analogy of the potter and clay underscores God’s authority over creation. Calvinists see this as evidence that humans have no say in their destiny. Arminians might soften it, emphasizing human responsibility. Molinists affirm God’s sovereignty but highlight that He creates vessels of honor or dishonor based on His foreknowledge of their free choices. God’s shaping of individuals respects their agency while fulfilling His providential plan.

Romans 9:22-24

Here, Paul speaks of God’s patience with objects of wrath to make His glory known to objects of mercy. Molinism sees this as God allowing free agents to persist in rebellion, using even their defiance to serve His purposes. God’s foreknowledge ensures His glory is revealed without coercion.

Reading Romans 10 in Context

Romans 10 expands on the universal availability of salvation: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13). This inclusivity challenges Calvinism’s limited atonement. It also highlights human responsibility, countering the idea that salvation is purely God’s unilateral action. Molinism bridges these chapters by showing that God’s sovereign plan incorporates human freedom. God foreknew who would call on Him and actualized a world where His grace is universally sufficient, but salvation depends on individual response.

Is God Less Glorious in Molinism?

Some might argue that acknowledging human freedom diminishes God’s glory. On the contrary, Molinism magnifies God’s glory by showcasing His ability to orchestrate a world where His purposes are achieved without violating free will. A God who can sovereignly guide free agents toward His ends is more glorious than one who relies on deterministic control.

The Call to Abraham-Like Faith

Paul’s argument in Romans 9-10 ultimately points us back to faith, as exemplified by Abraham. Faith is the humble acknowledgment that salvation is God’s work, and our response is to trust Him. God’s plan is perfect, not because He compels us, but because He foreknew how we would respond and crafted a plan where all things work together for good (Romans 8:28).

Final Reflection

Are we willing to trust God’s sovereignty and submit our lives to His will, knowing He has accounted for every choice we will make? Romans 9-10 calls us to marvel at a God whose grace is both sovereign and accessible. His invitation is open: Will you freely choose to call on His name?

What is Faith?

Faith is at the heart of salvation, as Paul makes clear in Romans 2–4. Abraham was justified by faith, not by works, so that salvation would be a gift of grace and not something earned (Romans 4:2–3). The picture Paul paints is that of absolute dependence on God, where even the smallest notion of taking credit for our salvation is absurd.

Think about it like this: In the movie Aladdin (1992), there’s a moment where Aladdin is drowning, and Genie, bound by the rules of magic, cannot save him unless Aladdin makes a wish. Aladdin, nearly unconscious, appears to nod his head, which Genie interprets as permission to act. Genie then rescues him. It would be laughable for Aladdin to boast afterward about saving himself. He played no active role in his own rescue; his faint acknowledgment was simply the condition through which the saving power of Genie could be applied.

Faith is like that. It is not a work or a contribution to salvation; it’s the means by which God’s grace is activated in our lives. Ephesians 2:8–9 underscores this: “For by grace you are saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so that no one can boast” (NET). Faith doesn’t earn salvation—it’s merely the channel through which grace flows. It’s as though God says, “Will you trust me to save you?” and our faith is the feeble nod that says, “Yes.”

Abraham’s story embodies this beautifully. When God promised him descendants as numerous as the stars, Abraham had no reason to believe based on his circumstances. His body was as good as dead, and Sarah’s womb was barren (Romans 4:19). Yet Abraham’s faith wasn’t about his ability to bring about the promise but about trusting that God would do what He said He would do (Romans 4:20–21). That’s what God counted as righteousness.

Here’s where this becomes a challenge for us. Do we have Abraham-like faith? Are we fully relying on God’s grace, or are we subtly trying to “help” God save us? Maybe we feel the need to perform, to prove ourselves worthy of His love. But true faith lays all of that down. It acknowledges our inability and rests entirely in His ability.

Faith isn’t about earning or even contributing to salvation. It’s about surrendering completely and trusting God to accomplish what we never could. Like Aladdin, who needed rescuing when he could do nothing to save himself, we nod our heads and trust in the One who lifts us from certain death into eternal life.

When You’re Here, You’re Family

Paul’s letters to the Galatians brim with a message of liberation, none more so than his family illustration in Galatians 3–4. He reminds believers that, through faith in Jesus Christ, we are no longer slaves but children of God, heirs to His promises. This shift in status is monumental. Slaves live in constant worry, striving to prove their worth and avoid punishment. But children? They rest securely, knowing their place in the family is unshakable.

As believers, we often fall into an “employee” mindset, measuring our worth by what we do. Did I serve enough? Pray enough? Give enough? But Paul tells us that our relationship with God is not transactional. We are not hired hands, working for approval. Instead, we’re sons and daughters, adopted into God’s family. This changes everything. Family doesn’t keep score; family loves unconditionally.

Consider the joyful security this brings. As part of God’s family, we don’t have to earn His favor—it’s already ours. We can work with freedom and passion, not out of fear but out of love. Our service becomes an overflow of gratitude, not an attempt to maintain our place. And when we stumble or fall short, we don’t lose our status. God’s grace restores and reassures us, just as a loving parent embraces a wayward child.

So today, let go of the exhausting weight of “earning” and step fully into the family of God. Rejoice in the truth that your place is secure, not because of what you’ve done but because of who He is. You’re not just accepted—you’re beloved. And nothing can ever change that.

Good Enough? Not Even Close!

In the opening chapters of Galatians, Paul confronts a troubling idea: that righteousness before God can be earned through human effort. For some early Christians, the path to holiness seemed tied to strict adherence to the Mosaic law—a rigorous system that no one could keep perfectly. Paul knew firsthand how impossible it was to attain righteousness this way. The law, as Paul explains, is not a ladder to God; rather, it’s a mirror, showing us just how far we fall short.

This is why Paul’s words still ring true: the law wasn’t given to save us but to reveal our need for a Savior. If it were possible to be “good enough” on our own, then Jesus’ sacrifice would be unnecessary. But in our imperfection, Christ’s perfect obedience becomes our saving grace. Jesus fulfilled the law in ways no one else could, and because of our relationship with Him, we’re declared righteous—not by our actions, but by His.

When we live with this understanding, good works take on a new meaning. They’re not a checklist for salvation or proof of our worth but rather a response of gratitude for what Jesus has already done. We live righteously because we’re loved and saved, not in an attempt to become loved or saved. This mindset frees us from the endless cycle of trying to “measure up” and invites us to rest in the assurance that Christ has already bridged the gap.

Let’s not allow ourselves to be drawn back into performance-based religion. Instead, let’s remember that our worth is found in Christ’s fulfillment of the law and His deep, unwavering love for us. We live righteously not out of obligation but out of joy, thankful for a salvation we could never earn but freely receive.

In Defense of Peter

The account of Peter in Gethsemane is a stirring reminder of how human we are, even when we deeply desire to follow Jesus. Peter, who had walked with Christ, witnessed miracles, and even claimed he would follow Him to the death, shows us that the spirit is indeed willing, but the flesh is weak (Matthew 26:41). We might critique Peter for his actions that night—falling asleep, impulsively wielding a sword, and then ultimately denying Jesus—but perhaps, his story is also ours. In Peter, we find relatable lessons that urge us toward deeper discipline, patience, and boldness in our faith.

At Gethsemane, Jesus invited Peter, James, and John to keep watch with Him during His agonizing prayer. But Peter’s spirit gave way to fatigue, and three times he fell asleep as Jesus wrestled with the reality of the cross. In these moments, we see a call to better discipline. Just as Peter needed discipline to stay awake and pray, we, too, are called to “watch and pray” that we do not fall into temptation. Distractions and weariness can easily pull us away from prayer and obedience, but discipline helps us continually seek God’s strength, especially in trying times.

Next, we see Peter’s struggle with patience. When the soldiers arrived to arrest Jesus, Peter acted instinctively, drawing his sword to protect his Lord. He acted out of zeal, but it wasn’t what Jesus had asked of him. Jesus had already made it clear that He must go to the cross, yet Peter acted on impulse, unwilling to wait for the Lord’s guidance. Here, we learn the importance of waiting on God, resisting the urge to take matters into our own hands. Jesus often leads us through unexpected paths, and patience allows us to stay in step with His timing, trusting that He has a purpose beyond what we can see.

Finally, after Jesus was arrested, Peter’s courage seemed to fade. Standing by the fire, surrounded by strangers, Peter denied knowing Jesus—not once, but three times. His boldness faltered when it was most needed. It is easy to judge Peter’s fear, but it’s also a moment to recognize our own hesitations to fully identify with Jesus. True boldness means openly claiming our faith, even when it feels risky. We may face fear, awkwardness, or discomfort, but Jesus is our strength. Through Him, we find the courage to stand firm, even when the stakes are high.

Peter’s journey in Gethsemane reminds us that Jesus isn’t looking for flawless followers—He seeks willing hearts. Yes, we may stumble as Peter did, but God’s grace meets us in our weakness. As we grow in discipline, patience, and boldness, we find that Jesus is always there, shaping us into people who are prepared to follow Him, even when it’s hard. Let’s remember that Jesus restored Peter after his denials and used him to build the Church. In the same way, He is patient with us, guiding us into lives that glorify Him, no matter how many times we fall.