THE WAY OF SALVATION IS CHRIST JESUS

Jesus Christ is the only way that leads to life everlasting. He did not point us to a path—He IS the path. He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:6). That is not merely a statement. It is the heartbeat of Scripture. Every word from Genesis to Revelation echoes this one truth: that salvation is found in Jesus alone.

Without Him, we are lost wanderers in a vast wilderness, searching for light and finding none. Like sheep, we have all gone astray (Isaiah 53:6). We stumble, we fall, and we cannot find our way home. But Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost (Luke 19:10). He is not just a guide on the road. He is the road itself. He does not merely show the way. He is the way.

God has placed honor on one name alone when it comes to salvation, and that name is Jesus. “There is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12). “For there is one God and one Mediator between God and mankind, the Man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself a ransom for all” (1 Timothy 2:5–6). Every promise, every prophecy, every act of mercy in the Bible leads to Him. The cross is not the end of the story—it is the center of it.

Jesus reveals how deeply God loves us. The very person of Christ is God’s declaration that you matter to Him. You may wonder how much you are worth—look to the cross, and you will know. For it was there that God’s Son stretched out His arms and said, “This much.”

Jesus also said, “I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture…I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly” (John 10:9–10). Anyone who enters by Him will be saved. Not might be, not could be, but will be. There is no exclusion, no secret code, no impossible task. He is an open door to every soul that desires life.

A door serves two purposes. It welcomes in those who belong and keeps out those who do not. Jesus is that door. Through Him, heaven opens wide—or remains closed—depending on what one does with Him. The most important question in the world is not what you think about religion, or church, or doctrine, but what you do with Jesus.

The good news—the gospel—is that this door is open to all who will come. It is never locked to a seeking heart. The Savior still calls, “Come unto Me.” But the call is not forever. Jesus once told of the wise and foolish virgins (Matthew 25:1–13). Those who were careless found the door shut, while those who were ready entered into the joy of the Bridegroom.

As long as you draw breath, the door stands open. Christ waits with mercy in His hands. Enter while you may. Trust Him now. Love Him with all your heart. For one day the door will close, and what you have done with Jesus will echo for eternity.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

JESUS OUR HIGH PRIEST AND OUR LIVES AS HIS TEMPLE

Back in the Old Testament days, only the high priest could step into the Holy of Holies. He carried the blood of sacrifice and went in trembling, because he was standing in the very presence of God. Everything he did—every sprinkle of blood, every prayer, every bit of incense—had meaning. It all pointed ahead to something greater.

That “something greater” is Jesus.

He’s not just another priest. He’s the High Priest—the One every priest was only a shadow of. When He gave His life on the cross, the veil in the temple tore from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51). That was God’s way of saying, “You can come close now.” Jesus didn’t walk into an earthly temple made by men. He entered into heaven itself, bringing His own blood—not the blood of animals—as the final and perfect offering (Hebrews 9:11–12).

Now, the temple isn’t a building anymore. It’s us. “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that His Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16).

That means church isn’t just a Sunday event. It is a living reality, carried inside every believer. Wherever you go, the presence of God goes too.

We Are Priests Now, Too

Because Jesus is our High Priest, we’ve been made priests under Him. Peter said we’re “a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:5). So what does that look like?

It means our whole life becomes an offering. Paul wrote in Romans 12:1, “Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God.” That’s not about dying on an altar, it’s about living each day for Him. It’s about giving our time, our love, our service, our obedience, not out of guilt, but out of gratitude.

Our prayers rise like incense before Him (Revelation 5:8). Our words of praise are called “the fruit of our lips giving thanks to His name” (Hebrews 13:15). Even our giving is seen by God as “a fragrant offering, acceptable and pleasing to Him” (Philippians 4:18).

Every act of kindness, every bit of faithfulness, every choice to love instead of complain—all of it is worship.

Everyday Altars

You don’t have to wear a robe or light candles to serve God. The kitchen sink, the office desk, the steering wheel, the classroom—all of these can become altars when you do what you do for the Lord.

When you forgive someone who hurt you, you’re offering a sacrifice of mercy. When you help someone in need, you’re presenting an offering of love. When you stay faithful in the small things, you’re burning incense before His throne. And when you praise Him in the middle of pain, that’s one of the sweetest sacrifices of all.

Paul said, “Whatever you do, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Colossians 3:17). Every moment, every task, every word can carry His fragrance. That’s how the world catches the scent of heaven, through lives quietly burning with His love.

The Temple Still Stands

We don’t have to bring lambs or doves anymore. The perfect Lamb has already been offered. Now, the Lord wants something far more personal: us. Our hearts, our days, our decisions.

Jesus didn’t just die to save us from something. He died to make us into something—a living, breathing temple where His presence can dwell. Our High Priest lives forever, praying for us, leading us, and teaching us how to serve in the holy place of everyday life (Hebrews 7:25).

So let’s keep the fire burning. Let’s live like priests who know the presence of God is near. Let’s treat our words, our work, and our worship as sacred things. Because we’re not just in the temple anymore. By His mercy, we are the temple.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

DRIVING DOWN THE ROAD OF LIFE WITH JESUS

Life is a winding road, full of turns we never expected and stretches we never planned. Some days the sun warms our path and everything feels steady and sure. Other days the sky darkens and the way ahead grows hard to see. Yet through it all, one truth remains: Christ is the road, the map, and the destination. “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6).

There are ditches on both sides of this road. On one side lies the ditch of indulgence, where freedom is twisted into an excuse for sin. The world calls this liberty, but the soul finds it hollow. The Scripture warns, “Do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another” (Galatians 5:13). True freedom is not found in doing whatever we please but in belonging wholly to Jesus, who frees us to love and obey.

On the other side lies the ditch of legalism—the dry dust of self-righteousness. Here the road feels narrow and the heart grows weary from trying to earn what can only be received. The Pharisees knew every letter of the Law, yet they missed the heart of it—love. Jesus said concerning the Scriptures, “These are they which testify of Me” (John 5:39). To walk with Christ is not to measure every step by rules but to be guided by grace. His yoke is easy, His burden light (Matthew 11:29–30).

Between these two ditches is the road of grace, the narrow way that leads to life (Matthew 7:14). It is the way of abiding, of keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus. “I have set the Lord always before me. Because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved” (Psalm 16:8). When He is before us, balance comes. We learn to walk in truth without pride and in freedom without folly. His Spirit becomes our steering, His Word our guardrail, His love our fuel for the journey.

Each mile teaches us something of His faithfulness. Even the rough roads and detours are not wasted, for He uses them to draw us closer, to deepen our dependence, to teach us to trust when the path makes no sense. “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way” (Psalm 37:23).

And when we reach the end of the road, we will see that every turn led us nearer home, nearer to Him who walked with us all the way.

Lord Jesus, keep my heart steady on the narrow road. When my flesh pulls toward indulgence, remind me of the cross. When pride pushes me toward self-righteousness, humble me in Your grace. Teach me to walk in step with Your Spirit and to find joy in Your will. Be my compass when I am confused, my strength when I am weary, and my song when the road is long. Let my life’s journey lead always toward You, until the day I see You face to face. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE HEART THAT GIVES

There is a sacred joy known only to the soul that gives. It is the quiet gladness of one who has learned that the heart of Christ beats outward, never inward. Love, if it be divine, cannot be confined. It must move, it must bless, it must spend itself. The true follower of Jesus does not ask, “How far must my kindness go?” but “How much of Christ can I show?”

Our Lord gave without measure. He fed the hungry crowds who neither understood His mission nor embraced His message (Mark 6:34–44). He healed those who would later cry for His crucifixion (Luke 23:21). His hands opened to the undeserving, for His heart was ruled by mercy. The spirit of Christ is the spirit of unbounded giving. When we set limits upon our compassion, we set limits upon our likeness to Him (Philippians 2:5–8).

Yet how subtle the temptation to guard what God meant to give. There are those who would fence their benevolence within the walls of their own fellowship, as though love could be divided by doctrine. They fear that grace will be wasted if it crosses the boundaries of the faithful. But such fear betrays a misunderstanding of grace itself. Grace, by its very nature, flows to the unworthy. If it stops to measure merit, it ceases to be grace (Romans 11:6).

The Apostle wrote, “As we have opportunity, let us do good to all men, especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Galatians 6:10). That one word—all—unlocks the heart of God. We do not serve men because they are saints, but because we are. The love of God within us recognizes no stranger. The moment we ask whether a person is “one of us,” we have already stepped away from the spirit of Christ.

Our Father in heaven gives to all. The sun does not inquire who is righteous before it shines. The rain does not select who may drink (Matthew 5:45). God gives because He is good. When His Spirit reigns within us, we too will give because we are filled with Him. The hand that is slow to open is a heart not yet free.

True religion, says James, is “to visit orphans and widows in their trouble” (James 1:27). The purest worship is not always sung from a church bench but lived in compassion. The funds of the church are not her treasure—they are her testimony. To withhold them from the hurting world is to hide the light under a bushel that Christ commanded us to lift high (Matthew 5:14–16).

There is no danger in giving too much. There is great danger in giving too little. The church that hoards her gold will soon find her spirit impoverished. But the church that pours herself out for others discovers that the oil never runs dry (1 Kings 17:14–16). For every act of love is a vessel through which the Lord fills anew.

When believers learn that the true stewardship of grace is not in calculation but in consecration, they will find that generosity is not a loss but a liberty. Every coin given in Christ’s name becomes a seed of eternal harvest (2 Corinthians 9:6–8). Every meal shared, every need met, every kindness offered is another echo of the cross—where God’s love gave all and kept nothing.

The heart that loves like this becomes a living altar, where Christ Himself dwells and delights (Romans 12:1–2). The secret of holy giving is not in abundance but in abandonment—the surrender of the will to the Spirit who loves through us.

Let us therefore give as God gives—freely, joyfully, without discrimination and without demand. Let us pour out our lives for the lost and the lonely, the broken and the bound. For when the church gives with open hands, she shows that her heart has been opened by grace.

“Freely you have received, freely give.” (Matthew 10:8)

Lord Jesus, teach me to love as You love. Let my hands be open because my heart is Yours. Deliver me from the fear that withholds and fill me with the faith that gives. Make my life a vessel of mercy, my words a balm of grace, and my heart a reflection of Yours. May all I do be done for Your glory and for the good of others. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ABIDING IN JESUS

To abide in Jesus is to live close to His heart. It is not enough to know about Him. We must know Him. We walk with Him as friend with friend, trusting His hand and resting in His love (John 15:4–5). The branch does not strain to bear fruit. It simply stays connected to the vine, and life flows through it. So it is with the believer who abides in Christ. His strength is not in effort but in union. His peace is not earned but received. His fruit is not forced but formed (Galatians 5:22–23).

To abide is to linger in His presence until His peace becomes the very air we breathe (John 15:9–10). It is to listen for His whisper in the stillness of the soul (Psalm 46:10). The world is restless, but His presence quiets every storm (Mark 4:39). Enoch walked with God until heaven became home (Genesis 5:24). Mary sat at His feet while others hurried past the moment (Luke 10:39–42). Those who dwell with Him find rest that cannot be stolen and love that cannot fade (Matthew 11:28–29).

The secret place of the Most High is not found by travel, but by trust. It is the inner life of a soul surrendered (Psalm 91:1–2). There, under the shadow of the Almighty, fears lose their power and faith grows strong. To abide is to give Him every room of the heart and to keep no door locked against His love (Revelation 3:20). It is to let His Word take root until His thoughts become our thoughts and His will becomes our way (John 15:7; Philippians 2:5).

Abiding means surrender. It means laying down every weight that hinders and drawing near in prayer (Hebrews 12:1; James 4:8). Even our Lord withdrew to quiet places to commune with His Father (Luke 5:16). If He sought that stillness, how much more must we? To read His Word is to feed on living bread (Matthew 4:4). To pray is to breathe the air of heaven (1 Thessalonians 5:17). To worship is to dwell in His beauty until the heart is full again (Psalm 27:4).

Those who abide do not chase after blessing—they live in it (Ephesians 1:3). They find their joy not in what He gives, but in who He is (Psalm 16:11). The abiding soul learns that God Himself is the portion of the heart (Lamentations 3:24). The more we rest in Him, the more we reflect Him (2 Corinthians 3:18). We shine not with our own glow, but with His (Matthew 5:14–16).

Let every day begin with this desire: to abide. To walk slowly with Jesus (Micah 6:8), to speak His name often (Psalm 34:1), to keep our thoughts near the cross (Galatians 6:14), and our hearts open to His Spirit (Romans 8:14). For life is not truly life without His presence (John 14:6). He is the vine, and we are the branches. Apart from Him, we can do nothing. But with Him, all things are possible (John 15:5; Matthew 19:26).

Lord Jesus, teach me to abide. Let Your life flow through mine. Keep me close enough to hear Your whisper and quiet enough to know Your peace. Fill my heart with Your presence until Your love becomes my breath and Your will becomes my way. Abide in me, Lord, as I seek to abide in You. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

SEEING JESUS ON EVERY PAGE OF THE BIBLE

All Scripture is God-breathed. It is His voice to His people, living and true (2 Timothy 3:16–17). The Bible is not just an old book full of stories. It is the heart of God revealed in words. When His Word fills the soul, it begins to shape us from within. It teaches us, corrects us, comforts us, and slowly changes us until the life of Jesus shines through our own (Colossians 3:16). The Word does not simply inform. It transforms.

From Genesis to Revelation, the Bible is one story—the story of Jesus. He is the promised Seed who would crush the serpent’s head (Genesis 3:15). He is the Lamb that God Himself would provide (Genesis 22:8). He is the Prophet greater than Moses (Deuteronomy 18:15), the Son of David whose throne will never fall (2 Samuel 7:16). Every page, every promise, every prophecy points to Him. Jesus said the Scriptures “testify of Me” (John 5:39). To read the Bible rightly is to see Christ in every line.

The law was given to lead us to the Savior (Galatians 3:24). It shows our sin, that we might run to His mercy. The old covenant was filled with shadows that all find their meaning in Christ (Hebrews 10:1). Yet so many in Jesus’ day searched the words and missed the Word made flesh (John 1:14). The danger still exists—to know the text, but not the Author. To hold the Book, but miss the Lord.

The Word of God is like a river flowing from the throne of grace (Revelation 22:1). Those who drink of it will never thirst again (John 4:14). It is bread for the hungry soul (John 6:35), honey for the weary heart (Psalm 19:10), and light for those who walk in darkness (2 Peter 1:19). When the Word takes root in us, faith grows, love deepens, and hope burns bright within the heart.

The Bible is also a sword in the hand of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:17). It cuts through pride and pierces unbelief (Hebrews 4:12). It is a seed that bears fruit when planted in good soil (Luke 8:15). It is a lamp to guide our steps (Psalm 119:105). It burns like fire, cleansing and refining the soul (Jeremiah 23:29). The one who treasures it stands firm through every season like a tree planted by rivers of living water (Psalm 1:3). For within its pages, Jesus Himself walks beside us, just as He did on the road to Emmaus, causing our hearts to burn within us (Luke 24:32).

To read the Bible without seeing Christ is to read with a veil still in place. A person may be right in doctrine but wrong in heart. Knowledge without love is lifeless. Truth without the Spirit is a tomb. The Scriptures were never meant to lead us to pride, but to a Person. They are not a ladder to climb toward God, but a light that leads us to His Son (Psalm 119:105).

So when we open the Bible, let our prayer be simple: “Open my eyes, Lord, that I may see wondrous things from Your law” (Psalm 119:18). The same Spirit who inspired the Word must now illumine it in our hearts. Then the Book becomes living and powerful, and Christ Himself becomes the life within it (Hebrews 4:12). The goal is not information but intimacy. Not knowledge alone, but communion with Jesus. For to know Him is eternal life (John 17:3).

Lord Jesus, open my eyes to see You in every page of Your Word. Let the Scriptures draw me close to Your heart. Teach me to hear Your voice and walk in Your truth. May Your Word live in me, shaping my thoughts and guiding my steps. Let every verse I read lead me deeper into Your love.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

INVITE THE LORD IN

Invite the Lord to come ever closer. He stands at the door and knocks. He longs for intimacy with you, more than you could ever long for Him. It was His idea all along. His voice calls to us through every moment, through every breath, through every quiet stirring of the heart. How fitting that we should open our hearts and bid Him come in.

The Lord is gentle. He never forces His way inside. He waits to be wanted. He waits to be welcomed. And when we invite Him, He brings with Him the very things our souls have been aching for—the acceptance we crave, the love we were made for, the purpose we seek, the peace that passes understanding, the joy that endures. Every longing finds its answer in Jesus. Our true identity, our truest self, is discovered only in Him.

He stands close even now, speaking softly above the noise of this world. His whisper fills the quiet spaces of the heart. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Every sunrise, every mercy, every gentle conviction is His way of saying, “Let Me in.”

And when He enters, He never comes empty-handed. He brings peace where there was turmoil, light where there was confusion, healing where there was pain. He makes His home within us and fills the ordinary with His glory (Revelation 3:20; John 14:23). His presence turns a simple day into holy ground.

If we draw near to Him, He draws near to us (James 4:8). When our hearts open wide, heaven meets earth inside. The King of glory waits for the gates to lift, that He may come in (Psalm 24:7). Open the door of your heart and let Him fill every room with His light, every shadow with His peace.

When Christ comes, the air changes. The heart grows warm. The shadows flee. His peace flows like oil upon the waters (John 14:27). His joy becomes our strength (Nehemiah 8:10). His voice brings calm, and His touch restores what was broken.

To walk with Him is to walk in light. The path may lead through valleys, but His rod and His staff comfort us (Psalm 23:4). His Word lights the way, and His Spirit guides each step (Psalm 119:105; John 16:13). He does not leave us halfway. He walks with us all the way home.

And one day, the knocking will cease. The door will open wide to glory, and we will see Him face to face. Until that day, let every prayer be an invitation. Let every day be an open door to His presence. For the cry of heaven and the cry of the heart are the same: “Even so, come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20).

Lord, come close. Fill every empty space in my heart with Your peace. Let Your presence quiet the noise around me and the restlessness within me.

Teach me to open the door wide to welcome You, to walk with You, and to rest in You. Be my light, my strength, my joy, and my constant home.

Stay with me, Lord, until faith becomes sight and I see Your face.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

WITHOUT LOVE, I AM NOTHING

“If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1).

How piercing are Paul’s words. Even the most gifted speech, even tongues that rise like music from heaven, lose all sweetness when love is not the melody of the heart. The Corinthians valued eloquence and the beauty of expression, yet Paul reminded them that without love, their words were hollow sound, metal striking metal, noise without spirit, movement without grace.

Jesus spoke with power, yet His voice carried gentleness and truth. His words calmed the sea and comforted the weary (Matthew 8:26; John 14:27). Every syllable flowed from a heart filled with divine compassion. When love fills the heart, speech becomes a stream of grace. When it is absent, even sacred words are lifeless.

The prophet wrote, “The Lord God has given me the tongue of the learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him who is weary” (Isaiah 50:4). Only love can give our words life and tenderness. The psalmist prayed, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord” (Psalm 19:14). When love is present, even the simplest word carries the fragrance of Christ (Ephesians 4:29; 2 Corinthians 2:15; Colossians 4:6).

“If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2).

Paul now lifts his thought to the highest peaks of spiritual life. He speaks of deep understanding, of knowledge that sees into the hidden things of God, of faith strong enough to move mountains. Yet even such dazzling gifts can be barren if love is not their root. Knowledge without love becomes pride. Faith without love becomes empty display. And even though it is impossible to have true, saving faith without having love for Christ at the same time, if such were possible, a lack of love would make even faith null and void.

James tells us that even demons believe and tremble (James 2:19). They have knowledge, but they do not love. True faith always “works through love” (Galatians 5:6). It is not the ability to perform wonders, but the surrender of the heart to the will of God (Hebrews 11:6; Romans 10:17; John 15:5). Love humbles knowledge and sanctifies faith.

“The Lord is high, yet He respects the lowly” (Psalm 138:6). When love reigns, understanding bows in reverence, and faith becomes quiet trust that serves instead of boasting (Philippians 2:3–5; Romans 12:3; Matthew 11:29). Jesus, who knew all things, knelt to wash His disciples’ feet (John 13:12–15). That is the wisdom of love.

“If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:3).

How solemn is this truth. Even the greatest sacrifice can be void of heaven’s approval if it is not born of love. One may give away wealth, or even life itself, and yet heaven may find no fragrance in the gift. It is not the act, but the heart behind the act, that God receives.

Jesus watched a poor widow cast two tiny coins into the treasury. He said she had given more than all the others, for her heart was in her offering (Mark 12:41–44). On the other hand, Ananias and Sapphira gave much, but without love or truth, and their offering brought judgment (Acts 5:1–11).

Love alone gives value to sacrifice. It was love that took Jesus to the cross and held Him there (John 3:16; Romans 5:8; Ephesians 5:2). “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). When love moves us, even the smallest act carries eternal weight (Matthew 10:42; Hebrews 6:10; 1 John 4:12). When love is absent, the grandest act is empty.

Love is the breath of the Christian life. It gives life to every gift, meaning to every act, and beauty to every truth. Without it, our service is noise, our faith is hollow, and our sacrifice is lifeless. With it, we reflect the heart of God Himself, for “God is love” (1 John 4:8).

Let us seek not greater gifts, but greater love. Let us walk in the way of Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us, that our words, our faith, and our service may carry His fragrance to the world.

Lord Jesus, fill my heart with Your love. Let every word I speak, every truth I hold, every act I offer be born of Your Spirit. Empty me of pride, of noise, and of self, until only Your love remains. Teach me to love as You have loved me, with patience, with kindness, with a heart that never fails. In Your holy name, Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

IN CHRIST

There is a resting place for the weary soul. A quiet refuge from the noise and striving of this world. A holy hiding place where peace reigns and fear cannot enter. The Bible calls this sacred refuge “in Christ.”

Long ago, the Lord appointed cities of refuge for His people (Joshua 20:7–9; Numbers 35:6–28; Deuteronomy 19:1–13). Within those walls, the guilty could flee and live. No avenger could touch them there. Those ancient cities were only shadows of a greater refuge—the safety we find in Jesus Himself. “We who have fled for refuge lay hold of the hope set before us” (Hebrews 6:18–20).

Christ is our City of Safety. The one who runs to Him finds mercy instead of wrath, rest instead of ruin. To be in Christ is to live surrounded by the strong walls of grace, sheltered beneath the covering of righteousness, and guarded by the gates of God’s everlasting promise.

In Him, every blessing of heaven is already ours (Ephesians 1:3). Not beside Him, not near Him, but in Him. Outside of Christ there is no peace, no pardon, no power. Within Him there is joy that cannot be stolen and life that cannot die (John 10:28).

When Adam fell, sin entered the world and death followed close behind (Romans 5:12). But through Jesus, life returned to those who believe (Romans 6:23). He bore our sins in His own body on the cross (1 Peter 2:24). He cried, “It is finished” (John 19:30), and the veil that kept us from God was torn in two. Those who come to Christ need never fear again, for He Himself has become our life and our peace.

To be in Christ is to be joined with Him forever, like a branch joined to the vine (John 15:5), like a child held in the Father’s hand (John 10:29). His Spirit fills our emptiness. His strength steadies our weakness. His righteousness covers our shame. The Father sees us now through the beauty of His Son, clothed in grace, accepted in the Beloved (Ephesians 1:6; 2 Corinthians 5:21; Colossians 3:3; Galatians 3:27).

This is not imagination, it is truth. God does not only forgive us, He transforms us. His purpose is to shape us into the likeness of Jesus (Romans 8:29). The more we abide, the more we reflect Him. Like the moon reflecting the sun, we shine not by our own light but by His glory (2 Corinthians 3:18).

The old man fades and the new man rises, renewed each day in the image of Christ (Colossians 3:10). “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. Old things have passed away, behold, all things have become new” (2 Corinthians 5:17).

This is the secret of the Christian life—Christ in you, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27). It is not about striving harder but trusting deeper. The same Savior who redeemed you now lives in you to sanctify you. Apart from Him we can do nothing, but with Him all things become possible (John 15:5).

So abide in Christ. Let His Word wash your soul. Whisper His name through your day. Open every hidden room of your heart and let His presence fill it. There is no safer dwelling, no sweeter rest, no surer hope than this: to live and move and have your being in Christ (Psalm 91:2; Acts 17:28).

Lord Jesus, my Refuge and my Rest, draw me deeper into Yourself. Teach me to dwell in Your presence and not wander from Your love. Let every thought and every breath be filled with Your peace. Keep me hidden beneath the shadow of Your wings, and let Your life be seen through mine until that day when faith becomes sight and I see You face to face.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ROOTED IN CHRIST: FINDING STRENGTH IN HIS PRESENCE

Life takes us through many seasons—some gentle and bright, others heavy with storm and shadow (Ecclesiastes 3:1–2; Psalm 23:4). Yet through them all, the strength of a believer never comes from the calmness of the weather, but from the depth of our roots in Jesus Christ (John 15:4–5; Colossians 2:6–7). Those who trust in the Lord are like trees planted by the waters, steadfast when others wither, fruitful when others faint (Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7–8).

A tree bends but does not break when its roots are deep. Faith is much the same. The winds of trial will come, but every storm drives us deeper into His grace (2 Corinthians 4:8–9; James 1:2–4). When we lean into Christ, His strength becomes our own. His presence steadies what fear would shake (Psalm 46:1–2; Isaiah 40:31).

Our lives are not random. God is shaping us with love in every detail (Romans 8:28; Philippians 1:6). The rough edges are being smoothed by mercy. The broken places are being healed by His hand. He is not trying to undo us—He is forming Christ within us (Romans 8:29; 2 Corinthians 3:18). Even when we cannot understand His ways, we can trust His heart (Proverbs 3:5–6).

To walk in righteousness is to walk in step with Jesus, the Light of the world (John 8:12). The closer we walk with Him, the less the darkness can hold us. His Word becomes our lamp, His Spirit our guide, and His peace our path.

Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, rises upon His people with healing in His wings (Malachi 4:2). In His presence there is peace that cannot be shaken and joy that cannot be stolen. Apart from Him, we can do nothing—but in Him, even weakness becomes strength (John 15:5; 2 Corinthians 12:9–10).

To walk with Jesus is to live with purpose (Ephesians 2:10). Like clay in the Potter’s hand, we are being shaped by His will. Each day He gives grace for what is before us, strength for the next step, and love that will not let go.

So rest beneath His branches. Let His life fill yours. Let His Word quiet your worries. The more we abide in Him, the more heaven’s rhythm fills our hearts. May our lives bear fruit that points to Jesus, for He alone deserves the glory—now and forever.

Lord Jesus, let my roots sink deep into You. When the winds of life blow, keep me steady in Your grace. Teach me to draw strength from Your presence and to rest beneath the shadow of Your wings.

Help me to trust Your hand when I cannot trace Your plan. Shape my heart until it reflects Yours. Let my words bear fruit, my thoughts bring You glory, and my life become a quiet testimony of Your love.

Be my peace in every storm, my strength in every weakness, and my song in every season. I rest in You, Lord—my Rock, my Redeemer, and my unfailing hope. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE HEART OF TRUE WORSHIP

In the quiet places of the soul, there is a longing that nothing on earth can quiet. It is the call of eternity echoing within us, the voice of God drawing us to Himself. Worship begins there—not in a building, not in a song, but in the heart that answers His call. “O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our Maker” (Psalm 95:6).

To worship is to come thirsty and to drink deeply from Christ, the fountain of living water (John 7:37). It is not ceremony that satisfies us, but communion. It is not noise or movement, but His nearness. When the heart truly meets Jesus, joy flows where dryness once was. “In Your presence is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11).

Worship is not measured by what can be seen, but by what has been surrendered. God looks upon the heart, not the outward show (1 Samuel 16:7). A song without surrender is sound without spirit. But a yielded heart—even in silence—becomes a song that reaches heaven. “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8).

True worship lifts our eyes away from ourselves and fixes them upon the Savior. It is not about our feelings or our worthiness. It is about Jesus alone. “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). In His presence, the proud heart bows low, and the restless heart finds peace. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

Worship is not just a moment. It is a way of living. Jesus said, “Abide in Me, and I in you” (John 15:4). To worship is to abide—to make Him the dwelling place of every thought, every step, every breath. “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1). When love for Christ fills the soul, life itself becomes worship.

Let every act of service, every prayer, every breath rise like incense before His throne. Let all we do be done with love and gladness, not for reward, but for His glory. True worship is both upward and outward—upward in adoration, outward in kindness.

May our hearts be places where Jesus finds welcome, where His love transforms, where His presence is the sweetest treasure.

Lord Jesus, teach my heart the beauty of true worship. Let me seek You not for what You give, but for who You are. Quiet every lesser sound within me until only Your voice remains. Draw me near to drink deeply of Your presence, and fill every empty place with Your peace.

Dwell within me, Lord, and let my worship never end. May all I am bring honor to Your name, for You alone are worthy. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST BEHIND THE VEIL

When the High Priest of Israel stepped behind the veil, all of heaven seemed to hold its breath. Once a year, on the Day of Atonement, he entered that most sacred place, carrying the blood of a spotless sacrifice. It was a fearful and holy act. He came trembling, not in pride but in obedience, for within that veil dwelt the glory of God. The people waited in silence, knowing their hope rested on that priest’s acceptance before the Lord.

All of it was a shadow of something greater. Every drop of blood that stained the mercy seat in the tabernacle pointed to a day when the true High Priest would come. Hebrews 9:11 says that Christ came as High Priest of the good things to come. He did not enter an earthly tabernacle built with hands, but a heavenly one. The veil in Jerusalem was only a picture of the real veil, that barrier between a holy God and sinful man.

When Jesus died, that veil was torn from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51). The hands of man could not have done it. God Himself was declaring that the way into His presence was now open. Yet though the veil was torn on earth, the great work continued in heaven. The cross was the altar, but heaven was the sanctuary. Christ had to enter in, not with the blood of goats or calves, but with His own blood, having obtained eternal redemption (Hebrews 9:12).

The moment came when the risen Christ ascended to the Father. It was not a public scene. No earthly eye witnessed that holy meeting. Mary saw Him in the garden and would have clung to Him, but He said, “Do not hold Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father” (John 20:17). There was still something He must do. The sacrifice was finished, but the presentation was yet to be made.

In that sacred moment, beyond the sight of men or angels, the Son stood before the Father. The marks of the nails were upon His hands. The thorns had pierced His brow. The wounds spoke more than words could ever say. He stood there as the Lamb once slain, alive forevermore. The glory that filled the temple of old now shone in fullness around Him. The Father beheld the face of His beloved Son and saw the beauty of holiness fulfilled.

Hebrews 9:24 tells us that Christ did not enter a holy place made with hands, but into heaven itself, to appear in the presence of God for us. Those two words, “for us,” hold the weight of eternity. He stood there not for Himself, but for His people. Every sinner who would ever believe in His name was represented in that presentation. The justice of God, satisfied at Calvary, was now displayed before the throne. The mercy of God, opened to all, was sealed forever in the presence of His Son.

In that holy meeting, the remission of sins was declared complete. The blood that was shed on the cross now spoke in heaven’s court. Hebrews 12:24 says that the blood of Jesus speaks better things than that of Abel. Abel’s blood cried for vengeance, but the blood of Christ cries for mercy. It does not accuse. It pleads. It satisfies. It cleanses. The Father beheld that blood and was pleased. Sin’s debt was paid in full.

No High Priest of Israel ever stayed behind the veil. He went in quickly, made atonement, and came out again. But Jesus sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high (Hebrews 1:3). He sat because the work was finished. The priests of old never sat down. Their work was never done. But Christ’s offering was once for all. There is nothing more to add, nothing more to bring.

When we read of the veil and the High Priest, we must see the gospel hidden in those shadows. The incense that rose like a cloud was a picture of Christ’s intercession. The mercy seat sprinkled with blood was a picture of the throne of grace. The priest’s garments, white and pure, were a picture of the righteousness of Christ. And when that priest emerged from the Most Holy Place, the people rejoiced, for it meant that God had accepted the sacrifice.

So it was when Jesus rose from the dead. It was the Father’s declaration to all creation that the offering was accepted. Romans 4:25 says that He was delivered up because of our offenses and raised because of our justification. The resurrection was heaven’s answer to the cross. It was the echo of the Father’s approval, the sound of mercy triumphant.

Now the veil is gone. The way into the holiest place stands open. Every believer, washed in His blood, may draw near. We come not with trembling, but with thanksgiving. We come not with the blood of another, but by the blood of the Lamb. Hebrews 10:19 says that we have boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus. What once belonged only to the High Priest belongs now to every child of God.

Think of what that means. The glory that once consumed the temple now dwells within the hearts of believers. The presence that the priest approached with fear now abides with comfort. We are no longer shut out. We are brought in. The veil of separation has become the door of communion.

And yet, even now, Jesus continues His priestly work. He ever lives to make intercession for us (Hebrews 7:25). The same hands that offered His blood still uphold His people. The same voice that spoke peace on earth now speaks our names in heaven. He is not only the Priest who offered the sacrifice, He is the sacrifice itself. He is both the Offerer and the Offering, both the Mercy Seat and the Mediator.

The Old Testament priest went in with blood that was not his own. But Jesus entered with His own life poured out. He did not bring a lamb. He was the Lamb. He did not sprinkle blood upon a golden ark. He presented His own wounds before the throne of God. There, in that eternal temple, He met the Father face to face and offered the finished work of redemption.

That moment was the turning point of all creation. Sin was forever removed from the record of the redeemed. The law’s demand was met, the curse broken, the wrath satisfied, the door opened. Heaven rejoiced. The angels who had guarded Eden’s gate now watched that gate swing wide for all who believe.

And now, every time a sinner comes to Christ in faith, the blood still speaks. The mercy shown that day still flows. The grace that opened heaven’s door still calls out, “Come.”

Behind the veil the Savior stood, and when He did, He changed eternity. The shadow met the substance. The copy gave way to the true. The High Priest of old went in trembling, but our Great High Priest went in triumphant. And because He entered in, we may now enter too.

The way is open. The price is paid. The blood still speaks. And the Father still receives all who come through the Son.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

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

MARRIAGE, DIVORCE AND REMARRIAGE (4): What is a Marriage?

The great confusion about divorce and remarriage often springs from this: most believers do not even understand what marriage is. How can a person speak with authority on what ends a marriage if he cannot say what begins one? Ask the leading voices of modern Christianity to show from the Bible the moment a man and woman become husband and wife, and watch how quickly they shift from Scripture to tradition. You will hear eloquent opinions, but not divine definition. They cannot tell you what a marriage is because they have quietly rejected what the Word says. It does not fit the systems they have built. It shakes their tidy theology. It undermines their authority. So they teach around it. But the Bible is clear, and it must speak louder than our ceremonies and customs.

If we are to let the Bible define marriage, we must return to its first mention in Genesis. The modern church has allowed culture to draw the lines, and once the culture defines marriage, every doctrine about divorce collapses. “The Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and while he slept, He took one of his ribs and made it into a woman, and brought her to the man. And Adam said, ‘This one is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman, for she was taken out of man.’ Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother, be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh” (Genesis 2:21–24). There is the Bible’s definition. Not ceremony. Not legal status. Not a social agreement. It is covenantal union—“the two shall become one flesh.”

That phrase—one flesh—is the essence of biblical marriage. It is covenant, expressed through union. It is not a temporary joining, not a casual act of passion, but the giving of two entire selves before God. When Adam received Eve, there was no priest, no paperwork, no vows written in ink—only covenant sealed in body and soul. The act of union did not create the covenant, but it sealed it. It was the visible expression of a spiritual truth. The covenant sanctifies the union. The union displays the covenant.

This is what Paul reaffirmed centuries later. “For this reason,” he wrote, “a man will leave his father and mother, and be united to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh” (Ephesians 5:31). The Spirit of God did not change the definition. Marriage has always been the covenantal union of two becoming one under God’s authority. Ceremonies can honor it, governments can recognize it, but only covenant makes it real. When the church allows culture to define what God designed, truth becomes tangled in tradition.

Marriage in the sight of heaven is a holy covenant, not a civil agreement. It is not the preacher who makes a man and woman one, nor the witnesses who confirm it—it is God Himself. “What God has joined together, let no man separate.” (Matthew 19:6). The physical union does not create the marriage apart from covenant, but within covenant it is the expression of that joining. When Isaac took Rebekah into his mother’s tent, the record says, “She became his wife, and he loved her” (Genesis 24:67). She became his wife “in the tent.“ What are we to make of that? No mention of ceremony, no public vow, just covenantal union under divine providence.

The Bible itself proves the point: covenant and becoming one flesh—not ceremony—makes marriage.

This teaching cuts deep, because it exposes the layers of man-made religion that have smothered simple truth. Many in the modern church cling to a legalistic, clergy-controlled view of marriage that owes more to Roman Catholic tradition than to the Word of God. Pastors and elders often refuse to face this truth because it topples their own false security. They think, “I have only had one ceremony, therefore I have only had one wife,” while ignoring the fact that they have joined themselves to others in their past. The word of God will not bend to protect pride. Truth exposes hypocrisy. The Pharisee spirit is still among us—it hides under robes and suits and “reverence,” but it trembles when light shines through.

Paul drives the truth home in 1 Corinthians 6. “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ and join them to a prostitute? Never! Do you not know that he who is joined to a prostitute is one body with her? For it is said, ‘The two shall become one flesh’” (1 Corinthians 6:15–16). That verse alone destroys centuries of man-made tradition. The joining of bodies is not trivial—it is covenantal. God sees that act as one flesh. Even when done sinfully, the pattern of creation still applies. This is why sexual immorality is not just another sin. It takes what God made sacred and profanes it.

Paul continues, “Flee sexual immorality. Every other sin a man commits is outside the body, but the one who commits sexual sin sins against his own body” (1 Corinthians 6:18). Why? Why is sexual sin a sin against one’s own body? Because the body is meant for covenant. Sexual sin is a counterfeit marriage. It imitates the physical sign of covenant while denying the covenant itself. That is why it is unique among sins. It defiles the very image of Christ and the church—a union meant to be holy, exclusive, and eternal.

Fornication, then, is not simply lust out of control—it is covenant torn from its roots. It is saying with the body what the soul refuses to say with the heart. It joins what God never authorized to be joined. A man who gives himself to another in that way joins his body to one he does not intend to love, protect, or honor in covenant. He sins against his own flesh because that flesh was designed to belong to one woman in covenantal union. “So husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself” (Ephesians 5:28). The husband’s body is his wife’s body, and the wife’s body is his. They are not two, but one.

This mystery runs deeper than human understanding. Marriage is not merely about companionship or pleasure. It is a divine portrait of redemption. Christ and His church are one. He has joined Himself to His Bride through the covenant of His blood. The two have become one Spirit. That is why the one-flesh union between a husband and wife is sacred. It reflects the gospel. To distort it is to blur the image of Christ’s love for His people.

The world laughs at this truth. The modern church avoids it. But the Bible stands unmoved. Marriage is covenant. Union without covenant is sin, and covenant without union is—generally speaking— incomplete. God designed both to mirror His own nature—faithful, holy, and indivisible. The one-flesh relationship is not just physical. It is the visible sign of a spiritual truth. To treat it lightly is to mock the Creator.

So what, then, is marriage? It is the covenantal joining of a man and a woman before God, expressed and sealed through the one-flesh union. No ceremony can create it, and no man can dissolve it apart from sin. It is sacred because it reflects the deepest mystery in all of Scripture: “This is a great mystery,” Paul wrote when he was talking about husbands and wives being one flesh. “But I speak concerning Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:32).

To understand marriage is to glimpse the gospel. To misunderstand it is to twist the very image of Christ’s redeeming love. Let every believer tremble before this truth: the covenant is the marriage. The one-flesh union is its expression. To give either away without the other is to take what is holy and make it hollow.

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