REALIZED ESCHATOLOGY? NO, NOT COMPLETELY

From the first breath of Genesis to the last word of Revelation, Scripture sings of a story both fulfilled and unfolding—the triumph of Christ already begun, yet not yet complete. The cross was not the conclusion of God’s plan, but its turning point. The kingdom has come, but it has not yet reached its full harvest. The promises are planted. The fruit is still ripening. Redemption’s work has entered history, yet history itself still waits for the final restoration. The fire of judgment has already fallen upon Jerusalem, just as Jesus foretold, but the story of His glory is not confined to the first century. “Of the increase of His government and of peace there will be no end” (Isaiah 9:7). The gospel invites us to live in the tension of the “already” and the “not yet.” To rejoice in what God has finished and to yearn for what He has promised still to do.

The Lord did come in judgment upon that generation. Every word He spoke concerning the temple and the city came to pass. “This generation will not pass away until all these things are fulfilled” (Matthew 24:34). The smoke of Jerusalem’s fall bore witness that His words were true. The old covenant age was brought to its close, and the new creation dawned in the risen Christ. But though that day fulfilled prophecy, it did not exhaust hope. It proved that His word cannot fail, and therefore it assures us of the greater return still to come. The same Jesus who came in judgment upon Israel will come again in glory for His church. “This same Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way you saw Him go” (Acts 1:11).

The resurrection of Christ was the down payment of what is yet to be revealed. “Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Corinthians 15:20). His rising was not the end of the story, but the beginning of the harvest. Our own resurrection still lies ahead. The new life we taste now in the Spirit is the first breeze of an everlasting spring. “He will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body” (Philippians 3:21). Death has been defeated, but it has not yet been destroyed. The grave has lost its claim, but not yet its presence. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death” (1 Corinthians 15:26). The believer stands between two resurrections—one already accomplished in the heart and one yet to come in the body (John 5:25, 28).

The judgment of A.D. 70 was a shadow of the greater judgment yet to come. The fall of Jerusalem was a trumpet of warning to the nations. But the Bible still points beyond it to the final day when “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ” (2 Corinthians 5:10). Jesus said, “The Son of Man will come in His glory, and all the nations will be gathered before Him” (Matthew 25:31–32). The Judge stands at the door even now (James 5:9). He delays in mercy, calling the nations to repentance before that great and terrible day. What fell upon one city will one day confront the whole earth, and the only safe refuge will be found in Him who bore our judgment on the cross.

The early church lived with this balanced hope. They saw prophecy fulfilled in their own generation, yet their hearts burned for what was still to come. They knew the kingdom had arrived in power, yet they prayed, “Thy kingdom come.” They rejoiced in the Spirit’s presence, yet they cried, “Come, Lord Jesus.” Their hope was not nostalgia for a past visitation but longing for the final revelation. “The creation itself waits with eager expectation for the revealing of the sons of God” (Romans 8:19). The already fulfilled promises are not the end of expectation but the foundation of it.

If we forget that, we lose the sweetness of hope. “We look for the blessed hope and the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13). Hope is the anchor that keeps us steady between fulfillment and fulfillment (Hebrews 6:19). The kingdom has come, yet it is still coming. The reign of Christ is real, yet the world still groans. The new creation has begun, yet the old one has not yet vanished away. The Christian life lives in this holy tension, where gratitude and anticipation meet.

So let us hold both truths with faith and love. Christ has come, and Christ will come again. The covenant promises have been fulfilled, and they are still unfolding. The same hands that once bore our sins will one day wipe away our tears (Revelation 21:4). The same voice that said, “It is finished,” will yet declare, “Behold, I make all things new” (Revelation 21:5). Until that hour, we stand between two dawns—grateful for the light that has already risen, and longing for the day when the Sun of Righteousness shall rise with healing in His wings (Malachi 4:2).

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

REST IN CHRIST

To rest in Christ is one of the most comforting truths in all of Scripture. It is not discussed often, yet it should be. It is the heart of the gospel. To know that Christ has already done all that must be done to set us right with God, and that we may now rest, is almost too wonderful for words. It silences human pride and brings peace to the weary soul. The gospel tells us that the work is finished. What remains is to trust and rest.

The Bible teaches that rest is the inheritance of those who belong to Jesus. It is not something to be argued or analyzed. It is to be received and enjoyed. Begin at once. Begin resting in Jesus. When ancient Israel entered Canaan, that land was their inheritance, their rest (Deuteronomy 3:18–20; 12:9–11). The writer of Hebrews uses that picture to describe the believer’s rest in Christ. “If Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken later of another day. So there remains a rest for the people of God. For anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from their works, just as God did from His” (Hebrews 4:8–10). This is not merely about the future. It is something believers can know now.

The theme of inheritance runs throughout the book of Hebrews (Hebrews 1:14; 6:12; 9:15). The land of promise in the Old Testament is a shadow of the spiritual rest found in Christ. It was never meant to picture heaven directly, but the believer’s present fellowship with Jesus. Heaven will indeed be a place of rest, but the writer of Hebrews is pointing us to something we can already enjoy—rest in our Redeemer. This rest is not only a destination but a condition of the heart that trusts in the finished work of the Savior.

Rest follows work. After God completed creation, He rested (Genesis 2:1–3; Hebrews 4:3–4). Under the Law of Moses, the Sabbath was a command to rest after labor, a pattern of something deeper that would one day be fulfilled in Christ. Just as God’s work was finished, so Christ’s redemptive work has been finished. When He died upon the cross, He cried, “It is finished” (John 19:30). Then He sat down at the right hand of God (Hebrews 10:12). The sitting down speaks of a work completed, a victory secured, a rest obtained. Because Christ has finished the work, those who are in Him now rest.

To rest in Christ is to believe that His accomplishments are enough. “To the one who does not work but believes in Him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is accounted for righteousness” (Romans 4:5). Faith lays down its labor and rests in the merit of another. It no longer strives to earn what has already been freely given. Rest begins where self-effort ends. It begins at the cross.

If you are in Christ, rest. Those who believe in Him are to see themselves as having finished their work. They rest in His fullness. “You are complete in Him” (Colossians 2:10). The rest that Joshua and Caleb entered was a picture of what believers now experience in Christ. The Israelites who refused to believe perished in the wilderness. The same truth holds today. Those who trust in Christ enter rest. Those who rely on themselves remain restless and burdened. “Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

Your inheritance from God is rest in Christ. When the writer of Hebrews says that a rest remains for the people of God (Hebrews 4:9), he means that in Christ we have been fully accepted. Jesus is our righteousness, sanctification, and redemption (1 Corinthians 1:30). Salvation begins and ends with faith (Romans 1:17). He is the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2). Because His work is finished, we can rest.

When you realize that Christ has accomplished everything for you, then peace fills the heart. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ” (Ephesians 1:3). Times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord bring rest to the soul (Acts 3:19). The old life of striving fades away. The new life in Christ begins. “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

After this life is over, we will enter a rest that never ends. The heavenly rest is the final portion of those who have rested in Christ now. He gives us a taste of it even here on earth. We are seated with Him in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6). Our inheritance is already secured. Christ is the captain of our salvation (Hebrews 2:10) and our forerunner into heaven (Hebrews 6:20). We are as certain of heaven as if we were already there. That is why we rest.

To rest is to trust. After God finished His work of creation, He rested. After Jesus finished His work of redemption, He rested. When we rest in Him, we share in His peace. We rest from working for salvation. We rest from the opinions of others. We rest from the burden of guilt and fear. We live in continual dependence on the One who loves us.

Yet resting in Christ never means idleness. It means that while we no longer labor for salvation, we now labor from it. The one who rests in Christ’s finished work becomes the most willing worker for His cause. Paul said, “By the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain. I labored more abundantly than they all, yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me” (1 Corinthians 15:10). The believer’s service flows from gratitude, not guilt. We serve because the work of salvation is done. We love because we are loved. We labor because we have found rest in the One who said, “My yoke is easy and My burden is light” (Matthew 11:30).

Those who disbelieved in the wilderness died without entering their rest. The same is true for those who reject Christ. They remain in the wilderness of unbelief. Do not fall short. Do not delay. Enter into the life of grace and rest that Jesus offers. Give your heart to Him. Trust fully in what He has done for you. Rest in Christ.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

RECONCILED TO GOD

There is no word sweeter to the soul than reconciled. It speaks of a broken friendship mended, of a guilty sinner brought home, of a heart once at war now at peace. When Paul writes of our salvation, he does not begin with what man must do, but with what Christ has done. “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:1).

Man could never climb to God. Two barriers stand in the way. The first is that sin has made us powerless. We are dead in trespasses and sins (Ephesians 2:1). The second is that there is no need for man to “climb” at all—for Christ has already descended to us. He has done what we could never do. He has reconciled us to God by His own death. “While we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son. Much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life” (Romans 5:10).

This work was not done within us, but outside of us, upon a hill, beneath a darkened sky, when the Son of God died upon a cross. There the distance was closed, the wrath was satisfied, and peace was made. Before you ever heard the name of Jesus, before you ever lifted a prayer, before faith ever stirred in your heart, He had already finished the work. That is why Paul could say, “You trusted in Christ after you heard the word of truth, the good news of your salvation. Having believed, you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise” (Ephesians 1:13). You were included in Him when you believed. Included in what? In His victory. In His death and resurrection. In what He already accomplished.

The gospel is not good advice about how to be saved. It is good news that salvation has been accomplished. “We declare to you glad tidings,” Paul said, “that the promise which was made to our fathers, God has fulfilled” (Acts 13:32). The gospel does not merely offer possibility. It proclaims reality. It does not whisper, “try harder.” It shouts, “it is finished.” At the cross, Christ reconciled us to God. At the empty tomb, He brought life and immortality to light. The gospel is not just a call to make peace with God. It is the announcement that peace has already been made through the blood of His cross (Colossians 1:20) and that is what we must decide to believe.

Have you ever heard it that way? Has it struck you that salvation is not a process you begin, but a work Christ has already completed? Whoever believes in Him is made right in the sight of God—something the law of Moses could never do (Acts 13:38–39). The good news does not tell you to save yourself. It tells you to believe that you have been saved by another. You were not standing beside Christ on the cross. You offered no strength, no wisdom, no worth. He bore the nails alone. He entered the judgment alone. He made peace alone. Yet all that He did there, He did for you.

And now, what remains is faith. “The gospel is the power of God unto salvation to everyone who believes” (Romans 1:16). Faith does not create the truth, it receives it. It does not earn reconciliation, it embraces it. Faith looks at the cross and says, “That is for me.” It looks at the empty tomb and says, “He lives, and because He lives, I shall live also.” Faith stretches its hand toward the finished work of Christ and finds that grace has already reached out first.

This is the heart of it all: “We were reconciled to God through the death of His Son.” That is not poetry. That is fact. The war is over for those who believe. The wall that sin built has been torn down. The heart that once trembled under wrath now rests in peace. This is not the achievement of the saint, it is the gift of the Savior.

You can have that peace. You can know that reconciliation. It is but one step of faith away. Turn to Him who already turned toward you. Lay down your striving, your guilt, your delay. Christ has already done what you could never do. Hear His voice saying, “It is finished.” Come home, for you have been reconciled to God.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

PAUL’S LOVE FOR CHRIST

The apostle Paul was not driven by ambition, pride, or recognition. He was driven by love for Jesus Christ. From the moment the light of the risen Lord shone on the Damascus road, Paul’s life became one long act of devotion (Acts 9:3–6). The man who once hunted believers became the one who could not stop speaking of Christ. He was not motivated by duty but by delight. The glory of Jesus changed everything about him. What once mattered now seemed worthless compared to knowing the Lord (Philippians 3:8). His conversion was not just a change of direction. It was a transformation of affection.

Paul’s heart burned with a singular passion: to know Christ and to make Him known. He did not see ministry as a career but as communion with the living Savior. He said that to live was Christ and to die was gain (Philippians 1:21). His entire existence was centered around the person of Jesus. Every city he entered, every letter he wrote, every sermon he preached was soaked with that same theme. He could endure chains, ridicule, and hardship because he was captured by a greater love. The same Christ who met him in mercy now moved in him with power (Galatians 2:20).

Paul’s letters show that love for Jesus is not measured by feelings but by faithfulness. His devotion did not fade in the face of pain. Shipwrecks, imprisonments, betrayals, and hunger could not turn him away (2 Corinthians 11:24–28). He had found something worth suffering for. Love made him strong. Grace made him steadfast. He did not complain about his chains. He rejoiced that they advanced the gospel (Philippians 1:12–14). Paul knew that to walk with Jesus was to share in His sufferings and also in His resurrection life (Romans 8:17).

The secret to Paul’s power was not intellect or training, though he had both. It was intimacy with Jesus. He prayed to know the Lord in deeper ways, not only in glory but in weakness and surrender (Philippians 3:10). His prayers were not filled with self-seeking requests. They overflowed with longing for others to see Christ more clearly and love Him more dearly. To Paul, theology was not a subject to be studied but a song to be sung. Every truth he taught found its melody in the grace of the Savior.

Paul’s love for Christ was also practical. It showed in how he loved the churches. He prayed for them constantly. He carried their burdens as though they were his own children (2 Corinthians 11:28–29). His letters were not cold instruction but warm encouragement. He urged believers to imitate him only as he imitated Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1). The apostle’s leadership flowed from love, not authority. He saw himself not as a master but as a servant. The same humility that led Jesus to wash feet had washed over Paul’s heart.

Even in correction, Paul’s words were guided by compassion. He wept over sin. He pleaded with believers to walk in the Spirit, not in the flesh (Galatians 5:16). He pointed them always back to the cross. The cross was his compass. It kept him steady when others turned aside. It reminded him that his strength was not in his flesh but in Christ alone (2 Corinthians 12:9). Love made him gentle. Truth made him firm. Together they shaped a man who reflected the Savior he adored.

As Paul neared the end of his journey, his love had only deepened. He looked back not with regret but with gratitude. He could say with quiet confidence that he had fought the good fight, finished the race, and kept the faith (2 Timothy 4:7). His heart was set on the Lord who had saved him, the crown of righteousness awaiting him, and the joy of being with Christ forever (2 Timothy 4:8). Death was not a loss to Paul. It was the fulfillment of the longing that had guided his life—to be with Jesus.

Paul’s story reminds every believer that true greatness in the kingdom is measured by love for Christ. Knowledge fades. Strength fails. Titles mean nothing. But love endures forever (1 Corinthians 13:8). To love Jesus as Paul did is to live with eternity in your eyes and grace in your heart. It is to count every gain as loss except for Him. The world may not understand such devotion, but heaven does. For love like that still burns with the same fire that began on the Damascus road—a fire that no darkness can ever put out.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ROSES IN THE RAIN

There are certain flowers that do not open their beauty until the rain begins to fall. They wait for the clouds. They need the storm. The petals may tremble under the weight of the water, but the fragrance they release could never come from sunshine alone. Such is the life of every believer who walks with Christ through the sorrows and struggles of this world. The downpour that the world calls destruction becomes the very thing that draws out the beauty of His grace within us. Heaven’s garden grows brightest when watered by tears.

The path of the Christian was never meant to be smooth or sheltered. Jesus said plainly that “in this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Those words are not a warning meant to frighten us. They are a promise meant to steady us. We are not asked to suffer alone. The One who overcame the storm walks with us through every drop of rain. He does not always calm the wind, but He always stands beside His child in the middle of it. And the sound of His voice in the storm is worth more than a thousand calm days.

Every disciple must carry a cross. Jesus said, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matthew 16:24). The cross is not a decoration we wear. It is a daily dying to self, a willingness to suffer for the sake of His love. The thorns of this world may pierce deeply, but they cannot touch the soul that abides in Him. When we suffer because we belong to Christ, we share in His fellowship. And that fellowship turns even pain into praise.

“All who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution” (2 Timothy 3:12). The rain of rejection and misunderstanding will fall upon every true follower of Christ. Yet every drop of it is caught in His hands. Not one tear is wasted. He uses it all to water the roots of faith. The early church grew strong through the storms of persecution. They sang in prisons, rejoiced in tribulation, and found that the fire which threatened to destroy them only refined them into pure gold. What was true then is true now. The same grace that strengthened them still sustains us.

Suffering is the classroom of spiritual maturity. Faith that is never tested remains shallow. It is in the furnace of affliction that trust becomes unshakable. Just as muscles are strengthened by resistance, so our faith grows through hardship. When a weightlifter trains, he does not grow weaker by lifting weight. He tears the muscle so that it might heal stronger than before. The same law of growth applies to the soul. The trials that seem to break us are often God’s tools to build us. Every tear shed in faith becomes a seed from which endurance blossoms.

The rose cannot choose the weather. It simply receives what the Gardener sends. When the rain falls, its petals bow, but its roots drink deeply. And after the storm passes, it stands taller and blooms brighter. So it is with the believer. When suffering bends us low, grace runs deeper into our hearts. We learn to draw strength not from what we see but from who He is. Pain becomes a pathway to deeper love. The fragrance of Christ is released most fully from the broken heart.

Do not measure your faith by how often you fall. Measure it by how you rise. The righteous man may fall seven times, but he rises again (Proverbs 24:16). Every stumble, every scar, every tear becomes a testimony to the faithfulness of God. When the world sees you stand again after the rain, they will know that something divine lives within you. Your endurance preaches louder than your ease. The darkest nights often produce the brightest dawns.

The rain will come. Sometimes softly, sometimes in torrents that flood the heart. But do not fear it. The same Lord who sends the rain also commands the rainbow. His love is not absent in the storm. It is most active there. He is shaping something eternal in you, something that will outlast every sorrow. For even now, “our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17).

So let the rain fall. Let it wash away pride and self-reliance. Let it water the seed of faith until it blooms into patience, humility, and hope. You are not forgotten in the downpour. You are being refined in the rain. The fragrance of your worship, rising from a heart that still trusts, fills the courts of Heaven. The same Savior who was anointed with perfume before His suffering now anoints you with His presence in yours. And when the clouds part at last, you will find that the rose He planted in your heart has grown through every drop.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

COME ALL THE WAY TO CHRIST

There are so many who stand just outside the door of grace. They’ve heard the gospel. They believe it’s true. They even admire the Savior from a distance. But they’ve never stepped through the door. They stand close enough to feel the warmth of the light, yet they stay in the shadows. They are almost persuaded, but still lost (Acts 26:28). Christ still calls, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

It’s not enough to admire the beauty of the gate—you must go through it. You can study the cross, sing about the cross, even preach about the cross, and still be outside its shelter. Salvation doesn’t come through knowledge or emotion, but by trusting the living Christ Himself (Ephesians 2:8). When the flood came in Noah’s day, standing near the ark didn’t save anyone. You had to be inside, sealed in by grace (Genesis 7:16).

Some wait until they feel ready. They think, “I’ll come when I feel more sorry…when I’ve cleaned myself up a bit.” But that’s not how it works. The prodigal didn’t wash up before coming home—he came home to be washed (Luke 15:20–24). The Savior doesn’t ask you to fix yourself before coming. He opens His arms while the stains are still on your soul. “Whoever comes to Me, I will never cast out” (John 6:37). His invitation isn’t for the worthy. It’s for the weary.

Faith isn’t complicated. It’s leaning your full weight on Christ and saying, “Lord, I can’t, but You can.” That’s all. When Israel looked up at the bronze serpent, they were healed, not because they understood everything, but because they looked (Numbers 21:8–9; John 3:14–15). You may not feel holy. You may not feel strong. Just look. The power isn’t in your gaze—it’s in the One you’re gazing at.

Many confuse repentance with earning God’s favor. They think if they cry hard enough, or suffer long enough, they’ll be accepted. But tears don’t save. The blood of Jesus does (1 John 1:7). Repentance isn’t payment, it’s turning. It is not the price of pardon, it is the pathway to it. It’s stepping away from sin and toward the Savior (Acts 3:19). You don’t get clean and then come. You come and then He cleanses. He binds up the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3).

Others stumble because it seems too simple. They want a religion that gives them something to boast about. But grace won’t let pride through the door. The gospel is a gift, not a paycheck (Romans 6:23). True faith says, “I have nothing to offer but my sin—yet I come because Jesus died for me.” That’s salvation.

Maybe your faith feels weak. That’s okay. A trembling hand can still reach the hem of His garment and be healed (Mark 5:27–29). It’s not the size of your faith that saves, it’s the strength of your Savior. He doesn’t crush the bruised reed or snuff out the faint flame (Matthew 12:20). His mercy is deeper than your doubt.

If you’ve stood long at the door, hear this: it’s not locked. The only thing keeping you out is hesitation. The cross has already opened the way. The blood still speaks louder than your fear (Hebrews 12:24). Don’t wait for a softer heart or a better time. The Spirit says, “Today if you hear His voice, don’t harden your heart” (Hebrews 3:15). The water is stirred. Step in.

When you come, don’t bring your merit. Bring your need. Christ saves completely those who come to God through Him (Hebrews 7:25). The gate is narrow, but it’s wide enough for any sinner who’s willing to bow low. The proud can’t enter, but the humble find it open. “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” Jesus said. “No one comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:6).

Don’t linger at the light and die in the dark. Don’t stand at the door and never enter. Step inside the mercy of Christ. Trust Him. His blood still speaks peace. His love still welcomes. His arms are still open. The gate stands open not because of your worth, but because of His wounds.

And when you enter, you’ll find not a Judge waiting, but a Father. Not condemnation, but compassion. Not wrath, but welcome. The same God who calls you will keep you. “He who began a good work in you will finish it until the day of Christ” (Philippians 1:6). Salvation isn’t a moment to remember. It’s a life to live, walking daily with the One who loved you and gave Himself for you (Galatians 2:20).

Don’t be almost saved. Don’t be near the kingdom—be in it (Mark 12:34). The Lamb of God still takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29). The time is short, eternity is long, and the door of grace is open wide. Come in. Come now.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE TABLE OF REMEMBRANCE

Mark 14:22–25

In an upstairs room, the Passover meal took on new meaning. What for centuries had looked back to Egypt now pointed forward to the cross. The Lamb sat among His disciples, and as He broke the bread, He was breaking the pattern of the old covenant. “This is My body,” He said. The bread was simple, yet sacred—a symbol of Himself freely given. He gave thanks before He broke it, showing us that gratitude must always precede surrender. Around that table, the old story found its fulfillment: the Deliverer had come again, not to set Israel free from Pharaoh, but humanity from sin.

Bread Broken, Cup Poured

The cup passed from hand to hand, and with it came a promise sealed in blood. “This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” The wine spoke of what would soon flow from His side. The One who turned water into wine would now turn wine into witness—the sign of a new and everlasting covenant. In that moment, the shadow of Calvary lay across the table, but love sat at the head of it. He gave thanks for the very thing that would crush Him, because He saw what it would purchase—our redemption.

The Meal That Preaches

Each time we come to the Lord’s table, we preach the gospel without words. The bread reminds us that He was broken so we could be made whole. The cup tells us that His blood still speaks mercy. Paul wrote, “As often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death till He comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26). This is no mere ritual—it is remembrance wrapped in relationship. It’s the place where we trade our self-sufficiency for His sufficiency, our sin for His righteousness, and our emptiness for His fullness.

Until He Drinks It New

Jesus ended the meal with a promise: “I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” What began as a supper in sorrow will end as a feast in glory. Every communion table whispers of another table yet to come—the marriage supper of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9). He communes with us now in the kingdom of God when we partake of the supper, and that is a taste of the eternal fellowship we will have with Him in heaven. Until then, we eat and drink as those abiding in Him and waiting for Him. The bread reminds us that He came. The cup reminds us that He’s coming again. And when He does, we’ll sit at His table, face to face with the One who once gave thanks for broken bread and now gives joy forevermore.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

JESUS ANOINTED AT BETHANY (Mark’s Account)

Love Poured Out Before the Cross

Jesus was in Bethany, sitting at the table in the home of Simon, who had once been a leper. As they reclined together, a woman came in carrying a small alabaster jar filled with very costly oil made of pure nard. She broke the jar open and poured the fragrant oil upon His head. Some who were present grew upset and whispered among themselves, “Why was this perfume wasted? It could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” Their hearts turned against her, and they scolded her sharply. But Jesus spoke up. “Leave her alone,” He said. “Why are you troubling her? She has done something beautiful for Me. The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them anytime you wish. But you will not always have Me. She has done what she could. She has anointed My body in advance for burial.” And then He added, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed throughout the whole world, what this woman has done will also be told in memory of her” (Mark 14:3–9).

It happened quietly in Bethany, in the home of a man once marked by leprosy. While others talked, Mary knelt. In her hands was an alabaster jar—fragile, beautiful, and costly. With one decisive act, she broke it open and poured out everything she had upon the head of her Lord. It was love expressed without restraint, devotion unmeasured by logic or approval. What others called waste, Jesus called beautiful. She saw what others missed: the shadow of the cross was already falling, and love demanded no half-measure.

A Costly Act of Worship

True worship always costs something. For Mary, it was her treasure. For Jesus, it would soon be His life. As the fragrance filled the room, a silent sermon was preached—one of surrender, sacrifice, and extravagant love. The disciples saw expense. Jesus saw expression. The world counts value by what is kept, but heaven measures worth by what is given. To love Him rightly is to break the jar and pour out the heart, holding nothing back. Our faith grows fragrant when it ceases to calculate.

The Fragrance That Fills the World

The scent of that anointing didn’t stay in that room. It followed Jesus to Gethsemane, to the judgment hall, and to the cross. Every step He took carried the aroma of her worship. In the same way, Paul would later write that our lives are to be “a fragrance of Christ” (2 Corinthians 2:15). When we live for Him, serve Him, and suffer with Him, the world catches the perfume of grace. Mary’s moment became a message: what is poured out for Jesus is never wasted—it fills the air of eternity.

Poured Out for Many

Mary’s act was a picture of what Jesus Himself was about to do. She broke her jar. He would be broken for the sins of the world. She poured out her perfume. He would pour out His blood. Her offering was temporary. His was eternal. The fragrance of her love filled a house, but the fragrance of His sacrifice would fill heaven and earth. He calls us now to live as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1)—not stored away in safe containers, but broken and poured out, that others might breathe the sweetness of His love.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

TAKE TIME TO SURRENDER

Each day calls for a fresh surrender of our hearts to Christ. The heart must learn again and again to turn from the noise and meet with the Lord. The world rushes, but the Spirit whispers. We cannot walk in peace until we pause long enough to listen. Even Jesus withdrew from the crowds to pray. He chose the lonely places where His heart could breathe in the Father’s will (Luke 5:16). He did not draw strength from applause but from communion. His power came from His prayer life. When the night was darkest or the demand was greatest, He retreated to the mountains or the garden to be alone with His Father (Mark 1:35; Matthew 14:23). Let us not miss the lesson there.

There, in the quiet, the soul is fed with heavenly bread. For man does not live by earthly provision alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of God (Deuteronomy 8:3; Matthew 4:4). The world will feed the flesh, but only the Word feeds the spirit. When we open the Scriptures with a heart that is yielded and still, the Spirit breathes life into the words. They stop being ink and paper and become food and fire within us (Jeremiah 15:16).

Holiness is not born in crowds. It is born in hidden places. The sanctified life begins when we kneel before God and whisper again, “Not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42). Every day we are faced with a thousand little choices—the choice to serve self or to yield to Him. Taking time to be holy is not about perfection but direction. It means setting apart time for Him, laying down our hurry so His peace can settle over our hearts like morning dew (Isaiah 26:3).

In a world that celebrates busyness, surrender looks like weakness. Yet in the kingdom of God, surrender is strength. The branch that bends in the storm is not broken. It is the one that stands stiff that snaps. So it is with the soul that refuses to yield. When we bow before the Lord in humility, He lifts us up in His strength (James 4:10). The surrendered heart is not empty. It is filled with His presence.

We often say we have no time to pray, but the truth is we have no peace because we do not pray. The day that begins in God’s presence ends in His strength. When the heart is quiet before Him, anxiety loses its grip. Prayer does not always change our situation, but it always changes us. Moses went up the mountain burdened, but he came down radiant (Exodus 34:29). The presence of God left a mark that no man could erase.

To take time to surrender is to live deliberately. It means we step away from the world long enough to see it from heaven’s view. Elijah found God not in the wind or fire but in the still, small voice (1 Kings 19:11–12). That same voice still speaks, but we must silence the noise to hear it.

We have Christ, yet we also pursue Christ. The treasure is already ours, but our hearts still long to know Him more (Philippians 3:8–10). Love never says, “Enough.” The moment we stop pursuing, our love grows stale. The Christian life is not a single decision but a daily devotion. Every sunrise is a new call to follow Him again.

Jesus is the pearl of great price, worth selling all to gain (Matthew 13:45–46). The world offers a thousand imitations, but none can satisfy. The one who has truly seen His beauty counts everything else as loss. In Him we live and move and have our being, for He is our life and our reason for living (Acts 17:28; Colossians 3:4).

David understood this when he prayed, “Whom have I in heaven but You, and on earth I desire none beside You” (Psalm 73:25). The more we walk with Him, the more this world loses its glitter. The pleasures that once drew us fade in the light of His glory. Like a candle before the sunrise, they disappear. The more we behold His face, the more our hearts are captured by His beauty (2 Corinthians 4:6).

To surrender is not to lose life but to find it. Jesus said that whoever loses his life for His sake will find it (Matthew 16:25). The world calls that foolishness, but heaven calls it wisdom. The surrendered life is the only truly free life, for it is anchored not in circumstance but in Christ.

We cannot live in His fullness without first kneeling in His presence. The altar of surrender is not a one-time event but a daily invitation. Every morning we rise, we must choose again whom we will serve (Joshua 24:15). Every night we rest, we can lay our hearts down in peace, knowing we are held by the One who never sleeps (Psalm 4:8).

When the heart is yielded, even the smallest act becomes worship. Washing dishes, driving to work, caring for others—all can become holy when done in His name. The surrendered life does not belong to the preacher alone but to every believer who desires to walk in step with Jesus.

The secret to peace is not found in control but in trust. When we stop fighting for our own way and start resting in His, the soul finds quiet waters (Psalm 23:2). The shepherd still leads, the sheep still follow. The way of surrender is the way home.

So today, take time to surrender. Step away from the noise. Lay down the weight. Open the Word. Let His voice be the first you hear and His will be the path you walk. His presence will renew your strength, and His peace will steady your heart. And as you yield yourself afresh to Him, you will find that surrender is not the end of your journey. It is the beginning of life abundant (John 10:10).

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST’S “FINAL” TEMPTATION

The last and deepest trial of Jesus came not in the wilderness, but on the hill of Calvary. Judas had betrayed Him with a kiss, and the hidden glory of the Messiah was at last uncovered. The Son of Man was handed over to those who hated Him, and they judged Him guilty for claiming to be what He truly was—the Christ, the King of Israel (Matthew 26:63–66, Mark 15:1–12, Luke 22:70–71, John 19:7). Yet their understanding of Messiah was shallow and earthly. They imagined a conqueror in shining armor, not a Redeemer with blood on His brow. From the very beginning, Jesus faced the constant pressure to be the kind of Savior men wanted rather than the One God had promised (John 6:15).

Throughout His ministry, He was urged to display His power in ways that would win applause instead of obedience. In the wilderness, Satan’s whisper had been clear: “If You are the Son of God, prove it” (Matthew 4:3). But the Lord refused to trade the Father’s will for the crowd’s admiration. His kingdom was not of this world, and His throne would not be built on popularity or pride (John 18:36). Yet that same old temptation followed Him to the Cross. As He hung there, bloodied and mocked, the voices below repeated the same challenge: “If You are the Christ, come down that we may see and believe” (Mark 15:32).

They could not see that His refusal to come down was not weakness but victory. The nails that held Him were not stronger than His power but steadied by His purpose. The very thing they mocked was the thing that saved them. The suffering servant was fulfilling the will of God through His wounds, not despite them (Isaiah 53:4–6). The false Messiah they longed for would have crushed nations. The true Messiah chose to be crushed for sinners.

Even as He hung in agony, the great struggle between human expectation and divine truth reached its climax. The people wanted spectacle. Heaven offered sacrifice. They wanted signs. God gave them salvation. The Messiah they taunted was the very Lamb who took away their sin. He was veiled in weakness, yet crowned in obedience. While they waited for Him to come down, He was lifting the world up to the mercy of God (John 12:32).

That last temptation did not tempt Him to fail but revealed why He came—to obey unto death, even death on a cross (Philippians 2:8). In that moment of deepest humiliation, He was never more majestic. The King of Glory wore no crown but thorns, and His throne was a cross. What men saw as defeat, heaven recorded as triumph. What seemed hidden was, in truth, the fullest revelation of divine love.

So the story ends as it began—with the world asking for a Messiah of their own making, and God giving them the Savior they truly need. The cross stands forever as the answer to both temptation and pride. It reminds us that Christ’s power is perfected in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9), and that glory often hides itself beneath suffering. The One who refused to come down is the very One who now reigns above all.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

A PRAYER FOR WALKING FAITHFULLY WITH CHRIST

Help me to be faithful today, Lord. You will not make the choice for me, for love must be chosen and faith must be lived (Deuteronomy 30:19). You have given me the power to choose life, and I desire to abide in Your love with all my heart (John 15:9).

Teach me to remain where grace flows freely, like a branch resting in the vine that bears fruit because it draws from You alone (John 15:4–5). Keep me planted by the rivers of living water, where my roots go deep and my leaves stay green even in the heat of trial (Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7–8).

Make me like the tree in the garden that stands firm and fruitful because it is planted where You placed it (Genesis 2:9). Like Noah’s ark, keep me steady when the floods of temptation rise around me (Genesis 7:17). Like the pillar of cloud and fire, guide me step by step through every wilderness I face (Exodus 13:21–22).

If I drift from Your path, send someone to call me back, or let Your Word awaken my heart again (Galatians 6:1; Psalm 119:105). Do whatever it takes to bring me home when I wander, for I know Your discipline is mercy in disguise (Hebrews 12:6).

Be my God, not in name only but in living reality. Let my heart beat with devotion and my steps follow the Shepherd who laid down His life for me (John 10:27–28). Teach me to walk in love as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us (Ephesians 5:2).

I follow You, Lord Jesus. I want to keep following You in every thought, every word, and every choice (Luke 9:23). Let Your Spirit shape me into a vessel of grace that carries Your kindness into every room I enter (2 Timothy 2:21).

When people look my way, may they see something of You — the gentleness, the truth, the love that never fails (2 Corinthians 4:7; 1 Corinthians 13:8). Keep drawing me after You so I never stop abiding, never stop believing, never stop becoming more like You (Philippians 3:12–14).

This is my prayer for today and forever. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

LORD, TEACH US TO PRAY (Luke 11)

When the disciples watched Jesus pray, they saw something more than words. They saw life flowing heavenward. They saw rest and power in the same breath. It was then they asked, “Lord, teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1). The Master’s reply did not give them a formula to memorize but a heart to imitate.

He began with relationship. “Our Father.” Prayer is not the cry of a stranger but the whisper of a child. The helpless heart turns to the Father who never turns away.

Then comes reverence. “Hallowed be Your name.” To pray rightly is to lift our gaze and remember that His name is holy, His throne is sure, and His will is right.

Submission follows naturally. “Your will be done.” The soul that trusts God most will yield the quickest.

Dependence breathes in every word. “Give us this day our daily bread.” We live by what His hand provides. No more. No less.

Penitence bows the heart. “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” The one who has been forgiven much forgives much in return.

Finally comes holy aspiration. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” The believer longs not only to be cleansed but to be kept.

Jesus then told a story to show the spirit of true prayer. It was about a friend knocking at midnight. In that quiet hour, we learn what prayer really is.

Prayer begins with friendship. The man went to his friend’s house and called him by name. God invites us into this same nearness. Prayer is not a cold duty but a warm relationship.

The next lesson is intercession. The friend did not come for himself but for another who was in need. Real prayer always reaches beyond self.

Then comes the lesson of faith’s clarity. He asked for three loaves, not two or four. True prayer is not vague. It is definite. It names its need before God.

Next, we see the spirit of persistence. The man kept knocking. Though the hour was late and his request inconvenient, he would not give up until help came. That is how faith prays. It holds fast until the answer arrives (Luke 11:8). And when the door opened, the supply met the need. The man received as much as he required. God always gives what is right, in the measure that is needed, and never too late.

Then Jesus spoke again and said, “Ask and you will receive. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened to you” (Luke 11:9) He calls us to pray with bold trust. Asking means we bring our petitions. Seeking means we press into His presence. Knocking means we keep believing until heaven answers.

To make His lesson plain, the Lord gave three pictures—a father, a child, and three simple requests. “If a son asks for bread, will his father give him a stone? If he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent? If he asks for an egg, will he hand him a scorpion?” (Luke 11:11–12)

Why such questions? Because Jesus knew how easily we misjudge the heart of God. The loaves of that land were round and dark, baked beside the fire, and often covered with ashes. They could easily resemble the stones scattered along the ground. A careless glance might not tell them apart.

But a father who loves his child would never mock his hunger by giving him a stone instead of bread. So too, God never mocks our prayers. He will never offer us something that only looks like an answer but leaves our souls empty.

The same truth shines in the second picture. Certain fish of the Galilean waters looked much like the slender serpents that swam beside them. A child might not know the difference, but a father would. When we pray, our heavenly Father knows what is good for us. He will not place a serpent in our hands when we ask for food that gives life.

And then, the last image. In the heat of that desert land lived a pale scorpion that, when curled tightly, could be mistaken for an egg. Imagine a child reaching out to pick it up, thinking it harmless, and finding death instead. Jesus wanted us to know that our Father in heaven will never allow that. When His children ask for what is good, He will never send what is deadly.

These pictures carry one golden truth: God never deceives those who trust Him. He never mocks His children. His answers may come wrapped in mystery, but never in malice. The Father gives what is best, and in His wisdom, He gives when the time is right.

The lesson of the passage is simple yet sacred. Prayer is not a test of God’s goodness. It is the proof of it. The Father delights to give. He hears every whisper of the believing heart. He gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask. He provides bread for the hungry, peace for the weary, strength for the weak, and light for those who walk in the dark.

Let every soul, then, come boldly to the throne of grace. Do not fear to knock at midnight. Do not doubt His goodness when the answer delays. The heart of God is open. His ear is attentive. His hand is ready. He who said, “Ask, and you will receive,” still speaks the same word today.

Prayer is not persuasion. It is participation in the will of a loving Father. When we pray, heaven bends near. When we trust, the Father smiles. When we persist, the door opens. And when we receive, all glory belongs to Him who never mocks the cry of His child.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

JESUS—THE PROPHET LIKE MOSES

“The Lord your God will raise up for you a Prophet from among your own people—one of your brothers—and you must listen to Him. This is what you asked of the Lord your God at Mount Horeb on the day the people gathered, when you said, ‘Don’t let us hear the voice of the Lord our God again or see this great fire anymore, or we will die.’ And the Lord said to me, ‘What they have said is right. I will raise up a Prophet from among their brothers, one like you, and I will put My words in His mouth. He will speak to them everything I command Him’” (Deuteronomy 18:15–18).

When Moses climbed Mount Sinai, the mountain trembled beneath the weight of glory. The summit blazed like a forge in heaven, and the air itself seemed alive with holiness (Exodus 19:18). That mountain was more than a geographical location. It was a meeting place between frail humanity and eternal majesty. There, God gave a man His words written in fire and thunder. Yet even then, hidden in that smoke and glory, God whispered of another Prophet to come—one greater than Moses, one who would not just speak the Word but be the Word (Deuteronomy 18:15; John 1:14).

Jesus is that Prophet. The fulfillment, not the echo. The substance, not the shadow. Moses was a servant in the house; Jesus is the Son over it (Hebrews 3.5–6).

The Call and the Fire

Moses first met God in the desert when he saw a bush that burned but was not consumed (Exodus 3:2). It was as though creation itself had caught fire with the presence of its Maker, and yet it endured. That bush was a prophecy of the Christ to come. For Jesus too would burn with the holiness of God, carrying divinity in the frailty of flesh. And yet He would not be consumed. The fire of deity dwelt safely within the bush of humanity.

The Lord told Moses to remove his sandals because the ground had become holy. In Christ, the ground of our hearts becomes holy. When Jesus dwells within us, ordinary people become burning bushes, aflame with divine purpose yet unconsumed by the fire.

The Deliverer and the Cross

When God sent Moses back to Egypt, he went with a rod in his hand and heaven’s authority in his heart. That rod parted seas and shattered chains. Moses stood before the waters, and they fled from his command (Exodus 14:21). Yet when Jesus came, He did not raise a rod but a cross. With outstretched arms, He parted the sea of sin and opened a path through death itself.

Moses delivered Israel from Pharaoh’s whip. Jesus delivers souls from Satan’s grip. Moses led them out of Egypt’s brick pits. Jesus leads us out of the bondage of sin. Pharaoh’s armies drowned in the Red Sea. The hosts of hell were disarmed at the cross (Colossians 2:15). What Moses did with a rod of wood, Jesus did with a tree of Calvary.

The Law and the Grace

Moses ascended Sinai to receive the Law, the Word carved in stone (Exodus 31:18). When he descended, his face shone with reflected glory (Exodus 34:29). He carried commandments that revealed the holiness of God and the sinfulness of man. But when Jesus climbed another mountain—the Mount of Transfiguration—His face shone not with reflected light but with light from within (Matthew 17:2). He was not a mirror; He was the Sun. Moses gave the Law that could reveal guilt. Jesus gave grace that could remove it (John 1:17).

Moses placed the Law inside the Ark. Jesus placed the Law inside the believer’s heart (Jeremiah 31:33; Romans 8:4). The tablets of stone have become tablets of flesh, and the same finger that wrote on Sinai now writes upon the soul.

The Intercessor and the Mediator

Moses interceded for the people when they sinned. He stood in the gap when the wrath of God threatened to destroy them (Exodus 32:11-14). He pleaded, “Yet now, if You will forgive their sin. But if not, blot me out of Your book.” That was the heart of a shepherd willing to die for his sheep. But there was one greater still. Jesus did not merely offer to be blotted out—He was. He bore our sins in His own body on the tree (1 Peter 2:24). He did not just stand in the gap; He became the bridge.

Moses lifted his hands to intercede for Israel in battle, and when his arms grew weary, Aaron and Hur held them up (Exodus 17:12). Jesus intercedes with hands that never grow weary, for they are nail-scarred hands of eternal priesthood (Hebrews 7:25).

The Wilderness and the Word

Moses led the people through the wilderness—a place of testing, manna, and murmuring (Exodus 16:4). Jesus too entered the wilderness, not to murmur but to conquer (Matthew 4:1). Where Israel failed, He prevailed. He fed the multitudes with bread, showing that He was the true manna that came down from heaven (John 6:35). Moses struck the rock and water flowed. Jesus was struck at Calvary and living water flowed from His side (John 19:34; 1 Corinthians 10:4).

Every miracle of Moses was a signpost pointing toward Christ. The serpent lifted on a pole in the desert (Numbers 21:9) found its fulfillment when Jesus said, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up” (John 3:14). Moses lifted a symbol. Jesus lifted salvation.

The Glory and the Face

When Moses asked to see God’s glory, the Lord said, “You cannot see My face, for no man shall see Me and live” (Exodus 33:20). Yet in Jesus, that glory became visible. The invisible became flesh. He is “the brightness of God’s glory and the express image of His person” (Hebrews 1:3). To look at Jesus is to see what Moses longed for but could only glimpse.

Imagine standing before a sunrise after a long night. That’s what Israel experienced when Jesus came. The Law was like the moon—bright, yet borrowed light. Grace and truth came like the dawn. The shadows fled, and the full day appeared.

The Death and the Promise

Moses died within sight of the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 34:5). He could see it, but he could not enter. The Law could bring you to the border of salvation, but it could not take you across. Only Jesus could lead us in. Moses was buried in a hidden grave. Jesus rose from an open one. Moses’ tomb was guarded by God. Jesus’ tomb was opened by God (Matthew 28:2).

Even in his death, Moses pointed to another. On the Mount of Transfiguration, Moses appeared beside Elijah, speaking with Jesus about the “exodus” He would accomplish at Jerusalem (Luke 9:31). The old prophet who once led slaves out of Egypt now stood beside the Savior who would lead souls out of death. The shadow met the substance, and all heaven sang.

The Prophet and the Heart

The people once said, “Never again has there arisen in Israel a prophet like Moses” (Deuteronomy 34:10). They were right—until Bethlehem. The baby laid in a manger was the Prophet like Moses, yet infinitely more. He was not merely a messenger of God’s Word; He was God’s Word made flesh. He was the new Moses who would lead a new exodus.

If Moses’ rod could split the sea, how much more can Christ’s cross split the chains of sin? If manna could sustain a nation, how much more can His Spirit sustain the soul? If Moses could turn aside from a burning bush, how much more should we turn aside from every lesser thing to look upon the blazing beauty of Christ?

The Lesson and the Life

So what does it mean for us, here and now? It means we must live as people of the greater covenant, not clinging to the fading glory of Sinai but walking in the radiant grace of Calvary. To be a follower of Jesus is to be a disciple of the Prophet like Moses—one who still speaks, still leads, and still brings water from the rock of His own mercy.

When the road feels like wilderness, remember the manna. When the sea stands before you, remember the staff. When the mountain seems too high, remember the fire that never consumes. The same God who led Moses by cloud and fire now leads you by His Spirit. The same Christ who fulfilled every shadow of the Law now walks beside you as your daily companion.

And one day, like Moses, we too will climb our mountain. We’ll see the Promised Land not from afar, but face to face. Only then will we fully understand how every wilderness, every Red Sea, every burning bush was leading us to one place—to Jesus, the Prophet like Moses, the Deliverer who never fails.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE CENTRALITY OF LOVE

The Centrality of Love (1 Corinthians 13:1–3)

Paul begins this chapter like a holy roar of thunder. Before he paints the beauty of love, he exposes the emptiness of religion without it. His words strip away every appearance of greatness until only the heart remains. Love, he says, is not one virtue among many. It is the lifeblood of them all. Without love, everything else—speech, faith, knowledge, sacrifice—turns hollow.

“Even if I could speak every human language, and even the language of angels, if love isn’t in it, my words are just noise—like a clanging cymbal with no song in it” (v. 1).

That image stays with you. A cymbal that crashes, but never carries a tune. Noise that fills the air but never touches the heart. It is possible to speak beautifully and still sound empty in heaven’s ears. Without love, even the most powerful message becomes nothing but echo.

The early church knew what it meant to speak with tongues—a gift given for a time to confirm the gospel as it broke into new lands. But even then, Paul warned: gifts fade, signs cease, languages stop. The proof of God’s power was never in sound but in love. And now, though those temporary gifts have fulfilled their purpose, the greater gift remains. Love still speaks every language.

Words without love are sound without soul. The Spirit reminds us, “Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12:34). If love doesn’t live in the heart, truth turns harsh. The voice may speak Scripture, but without love, it cannot reveal Christ.

Paul then moves from speech to sight.

“Even if I could see what others can’t, understand every mystery, and know everything there is to know—even if I had the kind of faith that could move mountains—but don’t have love, I am nothing” (v. 2).

There’s a difference between having gifts and having grace. You can understand the Word of God yet miss the heart of God. You can know doctrine and still lack devotion. Knowledge makes a man look tall, but love makes him real.

Faith that moves mountains may still leave the heart unmoved. The miracles of the early days confirmed the Word, but now the completed Word confirms itself. What we need now is not more signs, but more love. True faith doesn’t need fireworks. It needs faithfulness.

“Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1). It’s possible to be brilliant in truth and barren in tenderness. The mind can be sharp, and the heart still cold. But love warms both.

Then Paul brings it closer. “Even if I gave everything I owned to feed the hungry, and even gave my body up to be burned alive—if love isn’t the reason behind it, it counts for nothing” (v. 3).

Here he confronts every false motive that hides behind good deeds. You can give generously and still not give yourself. You can look holy but live hollow.

Think of the widow in the temple. She had almost nothing, yet gave everything. Just two coins, but her heart was in both. Heaven watched her hand and smiled (Mark 12:41–44).

Now think of Ananias and Sapphira. They gave much but lied in the giving. They didn’t die for what they kept. They died because their hearts were not in what they gave. Their gift was covered in pretense, not love (Acts 5:1–11).

Love is what makes a small gift great. Love turns sacrifice into song. Love makes the least look like the most in God’s eyes.

Without love, even the most impressive work is nothing more than smoke without fire.

The truth hits deep. The measure of a man is not found in his gifts or knowledge or even his service. It is found in his love. Without it, ministry becomes machinery. Duty becomes drudgery. Truth becomes noise.

Love is not an emotion we stir up. It is a life that flows down, from Christ through His Spirit to us. “The love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit” (Romans 5:5). It is not something we achieve. It is something we receive.

When we love, the world sees Christ. “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35). The power of the early church wasn’t in its miracles but in its mercy. And the proof of the Spirit’s presence today isn’t in tongues or signs but in love that never fails.

So before we seek to preach or to know or to do, we must first seek to love. All gifts fade. All signs cease. All knowledge passes. But love—love remains.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST THE ARK OF SAFETY

The days of the flood are coming again. The Lord said that as it was in the days of Noah, so it will be in the days when the Son of Man returns (Luke 17:26). In those days, every imagination of mankind’s heart was continually evil (Genesis 6:5). We are watching that same darkness rise once more—people loving pleasure more than God, truth being traded for lies, and pride drowning out the voice of repentance. Of course, the world has, since the garden, always been a wicked place. But any reasonable assessment would have to say that it is not getting better, it is getting worse. But just as surely as the storm came in the days of Noah, the grace of God still calls His people to safety.

Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord (Genesis 6:8). That same grace is calling us now—not to a wooden ark, but to the living Christ. The world laughed at Noah, but he built anyway. He obeyed exactly as God commanded (Genesis 6:22). Every hammer strike was an act of faith. Every board was a sermon. And when the rains came, it was obedience that kept him afloat.

In the same way, the Father sent His Son to prepare a refuge for us. Christ came into the world to receive sinners, and just as Noah finished the ark, Jesus finished the work the Father gave Him to do (John 17:4). He lived the life we could not live, and He died the death we deserved. He became the doorway, the covering, the safety of all who enter in by faith.

When the storms of judgment begin to break, only those who are in Christ will stand secure. He is our ark. He is the refuge God Himself has provided. “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe” (Proverbs 18:10). The floodwaters of sin and sorrow will rise, but they cannot drown the soul that is hidden in Jesus.

Just as Noah was shut in by God’s own hand (Genesis 7:16), so are we sealed in Christ by the Spirit until the day of redemption (Ephesians 1:13). Nothing can remove the love of God from our hearts. “Neither death nor life, nor angels nor powers, nor anything in all creation, can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39).

So come into the ark while there is still time. The door is open now, but one day it will close. The day of reckoning is drawing near, but the Lord still calls, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

The rainbow after the storm was a promise of mercy, and the return of Christ will be the fulfillment of that promise. The earth will once again be soaked—not just with judgment, but with His glory. “The earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea” (Habakkuk 2:14).

Until that day, let us walk with God as Noah did. Let us build our lives in obedience and faith, knowing that Christ is our Hope, our Refuge, our Ark of Safety.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

LOVING JESUS

We are to love Jesus Christ. How could we not? He loved us first. “We love Him because He loved us first” (1 John 4:19).

Nothing motivates like the love of Jesus Christ. Nothing can change your world like Jesus. When you realize that He is reaching His hand out to you so that you will take hold and let Him guide you and love you, your life will never be the same.

The love of Christ compels us to do things a certain way. “For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that all died, because He died for all. And He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for Him who died for them and was raised to life again” (2 Cor. 5:14-15).

He died for us so that we would live for Him. That is the only fitting response to what Jesus has done for us—to present our bodies to Him as living sacrifices in view of how merciful He has been (Rom. 12:1). The only fitting response to the love of Jesus is to live for Him.

By focusing on how much Christ loves you, you will love Christ back. That is the way to grow in our love for Him. The wonderful love of Jesus needs to occupy your mind. You need to meditate on it and think about what it means. Think about how He knows you by name. You existed in His mind before He created you. He knows all about you and loves you. No one will ever love you like Jesus. Don’t ever forget that.

Sometimes we ask, how can I love God more? And the answer is to stop focusing on your love for God and focus on God’s love for you. By being reminded of how much God loves you, you will love God. And your love will grow.

The love of God causes things to change in our minds and in our hearts. Love for God leads us to do things that we would never have done before. To do good and to do right.

And loving Jesus is the key to loving others. Realizing how much you are loved by Christ will make your love for Him grow, and it will also make your love for other people grow.

Knowing how much people mean to Jesus will cause them to mean more to you. We are human, we are in the flesh. We have problems. And we don’t always love the way we should. We don’t always think the way we should. But we can change. The love of Christ can change us. All things can be new in Him (2 Cor. 5:17).

“In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:10-11).

The death of Christ proves His love for us. He thought enough of you to die for your sins. He thought enough of you to go to the Cross so that you could go to heaven and spend eternity with Him. Don’t ever doubt how much you mean to Him.

When you wonder whether or not God loves you, think about the Cross. When you wonder whether or not God really cares about this world and the people in it, think about the Cross. It is the death of Christ that proves His love. And since He loves us so much, we should turn around and love others in His name.

Embrace the love of God and be excited that God loves you. Because He does. He always has and He always will.

   Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD (John 3:16)

Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. He was a man of position and power, a ruler of the Jews, a teacher of the Law, a man who had studied the Scriptures his entire life. He knew the prophecies, the promises, and the longings of Israel for the coming Messiah. But like so many others in his day, Nicodemus was looking for a political deliverer, not a spiritual Savior. He expected the Messiah to overthrow Rome, to restore the throne of David, and to make Israel great again.

So when he slipped through the darkness to speak with Jesus, he came respectfully, but cautiously. “Rabbi, we know that You are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs unless God is with him” (John 3:2). Nicodemus thought he was beginning a theological discussion, but Jesus went straight to the heart. Without introduction, without easing into the topic, He said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3).

That statement must have hit Nicodemus like a bolt of lighting. Born again? He had expected talk of kingdoms and crowns, not birth and new life. He had physical descent from Abraham, circumcision according to the Law, and a life devoted to the Torah. Wasn’t that enough? Yet Jesus shattered every religious illusion with one simple truth: the kingdom of God is not inherited by lineage or earned by law, but received by new birth through the Spirit.

Nicodemus tried to make sense of it with wooden literalism. “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter again into his mother’s womb?” (John 3:4). Jesus answered with divine patience, “Unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). In other words, this is not a physical birth but a spiritual one. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit” (John 3:6).

Nicodemus, the scholar of Israel, stood puzzled. The Scriptures he had taught for years were now standing before him in living flesh, unfolding their true meaning. He had been reading prophecy through the eyes of tradition, expecting an earthly kingdom. But Jesus spoke of a heavenly one, a kingdom that begins not with swords or banners, but with rebirth.

And then, to explain the mystery, Jesus reached back into one of the oldest stories in Israel’s history—the wilderness wanderings of Moses. He said, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:14–15).

It was a story Nicodemus knew well. In Numbers 21, when Israel grumbled against God, fiery serpents came among them, and many were bitten and died. The people cried out in repentance, and God told Moses to make a serpent of bronze and lift it high on a pole. Whoever looked at the bronze serpent lived. The poison in their veins was deadly, but healing came not by effort, not by ritual, but by faith — by looking.

Jesus used that story to teach a divine lesson. The serpent of brass was a symbol of judgment already borne. The image of the curse became the means of healing. In the same way, Jesus—the sinless One—would bear the curse of sin on the cross. He would be lifted up before the world, just as the serpent was lifted in the wilderness, so that whoever looks to Him in faith would live.

That was the gospel in shadow. The bitten Israelites could not save themselves. No medicine, no self-help, no strength of will could draw the poison out. They had to look to something outside themselves. Salvation came through a look, not a long look, not a perfect look, but a believing look. And that is still true today.

We, too, have been bitten by the serpent of sin. Its venom runs through the human race. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). We may try to cover it with religion or morality or good intentions, but no human effort can cure the soul. Healing comes when we turn our eyes from ourselves and look to the crucified Christ. The moment we look—truly look—life enters in. “Look unto Me and be saved, all the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 45:22).

It is not our strength, our heritage, or our knowledge that saves us. It is the grace of God revealed in the lifted Savior. The cross is heaven’s remedy for earth’s sickness. There the Son of God was lifted up, bearing our sin, enduring our shame, paying our debt so that through His wounds, we might be healed (1 Peter 2:24).

That’s when Jesus spoke the words that have echoed through the centuries, words Nicodemus would never forget: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).

We often quote that verse so quickly that we miss the weight of it. But imagine hearing it for the first time as Nicodemus did. His world was small. His faith was national. He believed God loved Israel, but now Jesus said something far greater: God loves the world.

That would have stunned him. The word “world” in that moment broke every boundary and shattered every prejudice. God’s love was not limited to one people, one tribe, or one tongue. It stretched beyond the walls of Jerusalem, beyond the borders of Judea, beyond the bloodline of Abraham. God so loved the world—the Jew, the Roman, the Samaritan, the Gentile, the pagan, the proud, and the poor. Every color. Every culture. Every sinner.

Nicodemus had believed that salvation came through birth. That being a child of Abraham was the key. But Jesus revealed that salvation comes through new birth, a birth that opens heaven to all who believe. “Whoever believes.” That is the heart of grace. Not whoever earns, or deserves, or performs. Whoever believes. The door is wide enough for the world to walk through.

God’s covenant with Abraham had always pointed to this. When God told Abraham that through his seed all nations of the earth would be blessed (Genesis 12:3), He was not speaking of one nation’s privilege but of one Savior’s promise. The blessing was not political. It was redemptive. It was Christ Himself, the true Seed, through whom salvation would come to all who believe (Galatians 3:16).

So when Jesus spoke those words in the quiet of the night, Nicodemus was standing in the presence of the fulfillment of every promise. The Messiah he sought was not here to overthrow Rome, but to overthrow sin. He came not to sit on an earthly throne, but to hang on a wooden cross. Not to destroy nations, but to redeem them.

The greatest surprise of John 3:16 is not that God has power, or wisdom, or justice. We expect that of God. The greatest surprise is that God loves. And not just that He loves, but that He “so” loves—so deeply, so completely, so freely—that He gave His only Son. Love gave. Love lifted. Love saved.

When Nicodemus heard those words, he must have been silent. But the seed was planted. Later in the gospel, after the crucifixion, it is Nicodemus who helps take Jesus’ body down from the cross and lay it in the tomb (John 19:39–40). The one who came in darkness now stands in the light. Grace had done its work.

The message of John 3:16 still calls to us today. Look to the lifted Savior. Believe. Receive. “For God so loved the world.” And that means He so loved you.

His love is vast enough for the world and personal enough for your heart. It is not earned. It is not deserved. It is given. And all who look to Him will live.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

LISTEN TO THE VOICE OF THE LORD

Listen to the voice of the Lord. Not the noise of the world, not the endless chatter of opinions and fears, but that still, steady voice that calls your name in the quiet of the soul. There is a voice that does not shout, yet it commands all creation. It does not argue, yet it silences every doubt. When He speaks, the restless heart finds rest. “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me” (John 10:27).

Walk as a man or woman of God. The world may stumble in darkness, but you were made to walk in light. Stand tall in the forest of confusion, among the trees of wickedness that grow thick around us. The way may seem narrow, but the Lord walks beside you. When others bow to fear, you keep your eyes lifted to heaven, for “the steps of a righteous man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way” (Psalm 37:23).

Even the hardest heart knows there is a God. Though people deny Him with their words, deep inside they cannot escape the truth He wrote into their being. “God has set eternity in their hearts” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). There is no true atheist in the soul—only those who have tried to drown out the sound of His presence. Yet, even there, His mercy calls to them. “The fool says in his heart, there is no God,” but the Lord looks from heaven on all the children of men, searching for those who will seek His face (Psalm 14:1–2).

We walk with Him because He holds our hand. When we stumble, He steadies us. When we fall, He lifts us up. When we are weary, His strength becomes ours. “I am the Lord your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear, I will help you” (Isaiah 41:13). Life looks different when you walk with God. You begin to see through the eyes of grace. What once seemed meaningless begins to glow with eternal purpose. From the sky above to the sea below, from the mountain peaks to the blades of grass beneath your feet, His fingerprints are everywhere. “Since the creation of the world, His invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—are clearly seen” (Romans 1:20).

Never again must you feel alone when you have embraced the love of God revealed in Christ Jesus. The world may forsake you. People may turn away. But His love does not leave, and His Spirit does not depart. “I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels nor demons, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in creation, can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39). When His love fills you, loneliness loses its voice. You begin to realize you were never walking alone—He has been beside you through every shadow and storm.

We are called into the covenant of grace, to stand in the very center of it. This covenant was not sealed with our words but with His blood. God Himself passed through the sacrifice, promising to be faithful to His people forever (Genesis 15:17). The covenant of Christ is not written on tablets of stone but on hearts made tender by mercy. “This is the covenant I will make with them, says the Lord: I will put My laws into their hearts, and write them upon their minds” (Hebrews 10:16). When you belong to Him, your soul becomes the dwelling place of His Spirit.

Listen for the gentle whisper of Jesus. He does not force Himself upon you; He comes in quiet power. His voice is the breeze that moves through the trees, the soft nudge that says, “This is the way, walk in it” (Isaiah 30:21). When Elijah hid in the cave, God did not speak in the earthquake or the fire, but in a still small voice (1 Kings 19:12). That same voice still speaks today. It’s not found in the roar of religion but in the hush of surrender. It is the breath of His Spirit moving within you (John 20:22).

And when that voice calls you to obedience, don’t delay. Nothing shows that we belong to Christ more than knowing His will and walking in it daily (John 14:15). To follow Him is to live in joyful surrender—where our will bows to His, and our ways begin to mirror His heart. “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matthew 16:24).

Every command of God is rooted in love. Every boundary He sets is meant to protect your joy. To obey Him is not to lose your freedom—it is to find it. “Choose life, that you may live; love the Lord your God, obey His voice, and hold fast to Him, for He is your life” (Deuteronomy 30:19–20).

To live this way is to live differently. It is to walk with a quiet confidence that heaven is your home and the Spirit of the living God dwells within you. It is to be unshaken in a shaking world, to walk upright when others bow to fear, to love when others hate, and to shine light where others curse the darkness.

So, listen to His voice today. Let it calm your fears and steady your steps. Let it remind you who you are and whose you are. You are not forgotten. You are not forsaken. You are His—and He still speaks.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

PRAY EVERY DAY

Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 that we are to “pray without ceasing.” That short verse holds more power than most believers ever realize. It is not just a suggestion—it’s a divine command. And since Paul was writing under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, that means this command didn’t originate with him. Prayer was God’s idea from the very beginning. When you and I bow our heads, whisper His name, or even sigh in His presence, we are responding to His invitation to commune with Him.

There are days when prayer feels natural and easy—when your heart is full and your words seem to flow like a river. But there are other days when prayer feels heavy, when you wonder if God is even listening. In those moments, remember this truth: the same God who told you to pray is the God who promised to hear. He is not ignoring you. He is not tired of your voice. He told you to pray because He longs for fellowship with you. The command to pray is proof of His desire to listen.

In Philippians 4:6–7, Paul gives us another window into the heart of God. He writes, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God.” Then he adds, “And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Notice the contrast—anxiety or prayer. Those are your two options. When the heart is weighed down, when the mind is spinning, when life feels unstable, the believer is not left without direction. God says, Don’t carry it—pray it.

There is always something to worry about in this fallen world. That is why we must always have something to pray about. If your life feels anxious, overwhelmed, or uncertain, that is simply your invitation to step back into prayer. Worry is the world’s reflex; prayer is the Christian’s response. Every concern you have is an opportunity to turn your attention heavenward and say, “Father, You know. Father, You see. Father, I trust You.”

Maintaining a constant state of communion with God is vital to the Christian life. The Bible feeds your mind with truth, but prayer keeps your heart alive to God’s presence. You can’t grow spiritually without the Word, and you can’t stay strong without prayer. They are like two wings on the same bird—both necessary if you want to soar. You can study every doctrine, know every verse, and still wither spiritually if you neglect the quiet practice of daily prayer.

The most important thing you can do as a Christian every single day is pray. Before you step into your work, your ministry, or your plans, make sure you have stepped first into the secret place of communion with your Heavenly Father. You cannot do God’s work in your own strength. You cannot represent Him well if you have not first rested in His presence. It is in prayer that you receive wisdom for the day, courage for the task, and peace for the storm.

Sometimes prayer looks like deep intercession, where you pour out your heart with tears. Sometimes it looks like silent meditation—just sitting before the Lord, thinking about His goodness and letting His presence quiet your soul. Sometimes it’s just whispering His name in the middle of the day when life gets noisy. All of it counts. All of it matters. Prayer is not about performance—it’s about presence. It’s about walking with God moment by moment.

So, before you try to do something for God, make sure you have been with God. Before you plan, preach, serve, or lead, spend time simply loving Him, listening to Him, and resting in His care. That is the secret of spiritual strength. Prayer is not the least you can do—it is the most powerful thing you can do.

The strength of your Christian life will never rise higher than your prayer life. The power of your ministry will never go deeper than your time alone with God. The peace you long for is not found in solving every problem—it’s found in surrendering every problem through prayer.

So, my friend, pray every day. Pray when the sun rises and when it sets. Pray when your heart is full and when it’s breaking. Pray when you feel strong and when you can barely stand. The Lord is listening. The Lord is near. And the more you pray, the more you’ll find that He was there all along—waiting, ready, and eager to meet with you.

Pray without ceasing.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

DEATH BEFORE LIFE

The Christian life is not built on trying harder but on dying deeper. Every true work of God in us begins at an altar. Before the life of Christ can flow through us, the self-life must be laid down. The cross is not only a symbol of suffering. It is the place of surrender. There is no resurrection without crucifixion. There is no glory without humility. There is no life without death.

Paul urges us to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, for this is our true and reasonable worship (Romans 12:1). God does not force Himself upon us. He waits for a willing heart, a heart that climbs upon the altar and says, “Lord, not my will but Yours be done.” This offering is not a one-time act. It is a daily surrender. It is a continual yielding of our body, soul, and spirit to the purpose of the King.

In the natural realm, life comes before death. We are born and eventually we die. But in the spiritual realm, the order is reversed. We die first so that we may truly live. Paul said that we were once dead in our trespasses and sins (Ephesians 2:1). We were breathing but lifeless in spirit, cut off from the very source of life. Like Lazarus, we lay in the tomb until the voice of Jesus called us by name and said, “Come forth.” When Christ speaks, the dead rise. When His Word reaches the heart, the cold becomes warm and the still begin to move (John 11:43–44).

The One who raised Jesus from the dead also gives life to our mortal bodies through His Spirit that lives within us (Romans 8:11). We were like the valley of dry bones that Ezekiel saw—bleached, brittle, and hopeless—until God breathed His breath into us and said, “Live” (Ezekiel 37:5). That is the wonder of new birth. It is not the improvement of a broken life. It is the raising of a dead one.

Sin brought us to the coffin, but grace calls us out. The gospel is the great awakening of the soul. It does not polish the old nature. It creates a new one. If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away and the new has come (2 Corinthians 5:17). The God who created man in His image now recreates man in the image of His Son. The same power that formed Adam from the dust now forms Christ within us.

Yet this life begins with death. When we believe, we are united with Christ not only in His life but also in His death. We were buried with Him by baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead, we too might walk in newness of life (Romans 6:4). Faith does not only look to the cross for forgiveness. It looks through the cross for transformation. We were crucified with Christ. Our old self, with all its pride and striving, was nailed there. The life we now live is no longer ours. It is His life living in us (Galatians 2:20).

This is the mystery of grace. Death is not the end. It is the doorway. When we consider ourselves dead to sin and alive to God through Jesus Christ (Romans 6:11), we find a peace that the world cannot give. We stop trying to fix what God has already crucified. We rest in the truth that our salvation is complete and that our old nature is powerless. Our true life is hidden with Christ in God (Colossians 3:3).

Humility is the displacement of self by the life of God. That is the essence of being a living sacrifice. When self is emptied, Christ can fill. When self dies, Christ can live. The surrendered soul becomes a dwelling place for divine power. The Spirit can only fill what has first been emptied.

We must put to death whatever belongs to the old life—the desires of the flesh, the pride of life, and the stubborn will that refuses to yield (Romans 8:13; Colossians 3:5). We cannot manage sin. It must be crucified. We cannot control self. It must die. This death does not come through effort or willpower. It comes through abiding. As we draw near to Christ, His Spirit works within us what we could never accomplish on our own.

Here lies the beautiful paradox. The death God calls us to is the very path to fullness of life. He asks us to die so He can live through us. He calls us to lose our lives so we may find them in Him (Matthew 16:24–25). The altar that consumes our flesh releases our freedom.

This is why the Word speaks of a living sacrifice. It is not a dead offering that lies motionless. It is a life continually yielded to God. It is life burning with the fire of His presence and sustained by the breath of His Spirit. Every act of obedience, every prayer of surrender, every quiet “yes, Lord” becomes another spark in that flame.

The living sacrifice walks in daily death and daily resurrection. It learns to say, “I die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:31). It no longer measures life by comfort or success but by how much of Christ is seen. It finds joy in weakness because God’s strength is made perfect there (2 Corinthians 12:9). It counts all things loss that it may gain Christ (Philippians 3:8).

So what is our response to such grace? It is to come to the altar again and again, offering our bodies, our minds, our will, and our desires. We come not to add to what Christ has done, but to yield completely to it. We come to the One who died that we might live and say, “Lord, here I am. Breathe Your life through me.”

This is the way of the cross. It is the narrow path that leads to abundance. It is the only road where death gives birth to life. To die with Christ is to live with Him. To surrender all is to gain everything.

Let the heart that once resisted His will now rest in it. Let the hands that once clung to self now lift in surrender. Let the lips that once complained now praise. The life of Christ is not found in striving but in dying. And when you have died with Him, you will discover the secret joy of the living sacrifice—the life that never ends.

We were “dead” in our sins, but we come to life by choosing to “die” with Jesus. Once we are made “alive” together with Him, we serve Him by “dying” to self every day.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway