UNITY IN CHRIST ALONE

Unity among believers is one of the deepest desires of Christ’s heart, yet it is often one of the hardest realities for His people to live out. Real unity is not based on every believer seeing everything alike (Romans 14:1-4), nor is it about complete agreement on every point of doctrine. It rests on something much deeper—our shared allegiance to Jesus Christ.

When the apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians, he urged them: “I plead with you that you all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment” (1 Corinthians 1:10). He was not demanding identical thinking in every opinion, but a joining together in heart and in spirit because they belonged to the same Lord. The context reveals that they were speaking “different things” about to whom they belonged and that is what he was asking them to be united about: the fact that they belonged only to Jesus. We should just be Christians today and not use divisive names.

Paul later gave them room to differ about issues like eating meat offered to idols or observing special days (1 Corinthians 8:8-13; 10:23-33), showing that differences in non-essentials should not threaten fellowship.

A passage often used as a proof-text by those who would see us bow before their denominational authority and be divided from one another is Amos 3:3: “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” (KJV). The idea is that we cannot have unity unless we agree on everything, doctrinally speaking. That is not only not what the prophet was talking about, that whole idea is nonsensical, illogical and unscriptural.

The Hebrew word translated “agreed” in the King James Version means to agree to or make an appointment to meet (at a stated time). Thus the emphasis is not on intellectual uniformity in all matters, but rather on a prior mutual appointment or decision: two select to walk together, they set a time or a path, they commit to the journey. The idea is shared direction and purpose, not absolute synoptic doctrine. Various translations reflect this: “Do two walk together unless they have made an appointment to walk together?” (NASB). The practical application and thrust of what Amos was saying would be that we will never have Christian unity until we decide to have unity in Jesus and agree to walk together in fellowship with Him.

This helps us see that walking side-by-side in the journey of faith means choosing to move together beneath the same Lord, not insisting that every step look precisely the same. Our unity is built on a common destination and a common Guide, not on identical viewpoints.

In the analogy of a house, if we build on shifting sand of minor opinions and secondary traditions, the storms of disagreement will surely shake the structure. But when we build on the Rock—Christ Himself (Matthew 7:24-27)—the house stands firm. True unity stands like a tree planted by streams of living water, rooted deeply in one foundation.

Our Lord prayed for this unity: “That they all may be one—as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be one in Us—that the world may believe that You sent Me.” (John 17:21). The visible unity of believers is part of our witness to the world. When brothers and sisters live in love and mutual respect, despite their differences, the world catches a glimpse of God’s own oneness. When we fracture over secondary matters, the world sees only disunity and confusion.

Moreover, concentrating on the core identity in Christ, Paul writes in Ephesians 4:1-6: “…endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit…one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all…” Our unity flows from that reality. We are one because He is one. Differences in non-essentials remain, but our shared life in Christ binds us more deeply than any divergence could separate us.

In a world that grows more secular and doubtful of truth, the cost of our disunity is high. People look for hope, but too often they see confusion. The remedy is not to erase every difference, but to lift Christ higher than all of them. When He becomes our meeting place, our hearts find common ground.

True unity does not demand that we think alike on every point. It means walking together in love, bound by the same Spirit, following the same Lord, moving toward the same goal. We may not see everything the same way, but we can walk the same road if we have chosen to walk with Him. That is the unity Jesus prayed for—the unity that stands on the Rock and will never fall.

Lord Jesus,

You are the cornerstone upon which all true unity is built. You hold the body together when our opinions differ and our understanding falters. Teach us to build our lives around You alone—to let every plan, every thought, every relationship find its place in Your will. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

IN THE BEGINNING: CHRIST REVEALED

A reflection on Christ in Genesis 1-2

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1). With those sacred words, the curtain of eternity is drawn back. Creation bursts into being, not as a random display of power, but as the unfolding of a Person. For hidden within the opening verse stands Christ Himself, the eternal Word through whom all things were made. Before the eyes of man could behold Him, He was already there—the Wisdom of God, the voice that spoke light into darkness and order into chaos.

John later testified, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…all things were made through Him” (John 1:1, 3). The One who would one day hang upon a cross first hung the stars in their places. The same hands that would bear the marks of nails were the hands that shaped the galaxies. “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth” (Psalm 33:6). Creation itself was His first sermon, a testimony of His glory, a mirror of His majesty.

When God said, “Let there be light,” He was not only commanding the sun to shine. He was revealing the coming of His Son, “the true Light which gives light to every man” (John 1:9). The light that pierced the first darkness was a shadow of the greater Light that would one day pierce the darkness of the human heart. Jesus would later say, “I am the Light of the world” (John 8:12). What began in Genesis was fulfilled in Him. The first dawn whispered His name.

The Spirit, too, was there, moving over the face of the deep (Genesis 1:2). The same Spirit now moves over the hearts of men, breathing life where death has reigned. Just as He brought form out of emptiness and light out of void, so He brings new creation through Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17). The breath that gave life to Adam still breathes through the gospel, awakening the soul to know its Maker.

When God formed man from the dust and breathed into him the breath of life (Genesis 2:7), it was more than an act of creation. It was a prophecy. For one day the Second Adam would come, not from dust but from heaven. Adam received life. Christ is the Life (John 14:6). Where Adam fell in a garden, Jesus stood faithful in another. In Gethsemane He knelt and prayed, “Not My will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42). The first man brought death by disobedience. The second brought life by surrender.

And from Adam’s side came Eve, his bride, formed while he slept (Genesis 2:21–23). How tenderly that moment points to Calvary. As Adam slept, a bride was brought forth. As Christ slept the sleep of death, His side was opened, and out flowed blood and water—the purchase of His Bride, the Church (John 19:34). Paul would later say, “This is a great mystery…but I speak concerning Christ and the Church” (Ephesians 5:32). She was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. And so are we, joined to Christ by grace, one spirit with the Lord (1 Corinthians 6:17).

Even the seventh day rests in His shadow. When God finished His work of creation, He rested (Genesis 2:2). When Jesus finished His work of redemption, He too rested, seated at the right hand of the Father (Hebrews 10:12). The work was complete. The same peace that filled Eden now fills the believer’s heart. “There remains therefore a rest for the people of God” (Hebrews 4:9). In Him, we cease from striving. In Him, we find our Sabbath.

From the first verse of Scripture, Christ is present. He is the Word that speaks, the Light that shines, the Breath that gives life, the Image of the invisible God. The Bible is His story—from Genesis to Revelation, from creation to new creation. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end (Revelation 22:13). To read Genesis without seeing Jesus is to gaze at a sunrise and miss the sun itself.

When we picture the beauty of Eden—the trees, the rivers, the voice of God walking with man in the cool of the day (Genesis 3:8)—we catch a glimpse of what was lost through sin. Yet in Christ, we see what is being restored. He is not only the Creator of all things. He is the Redeemer of all things. In Him, paradise is regained. In Him, communion is restored. In Him, we find the beginning we long for and the home our hearts remember.

May we never read Genesis again as mere history, but as holy revelation—the unveiling of Jesus, the Lamb slain from before the foundation of the world (Revelation 13:8). He is the first Word and the final Word, the One through whom all things were made and through whom all things will be made new.

Lord Jesus, You were there in the beginning. You are here even now. Open my eyes to see You in every page of Your Word—in every dawn, every promise, every whisper of creation. Let the light that shone at the first shine again in me. Teach me to rest in the finished work of Your hands, and to walk in the beauty of Your presence. For You are my beginning and my end, my Creator and my Redeemer. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CYRUS THE GREAT: THE UNWITTING SERVANT OF JEHOVAH

God never sleeps. His sovereignty never grows weary. From the rise of kings to the stirring of a single heart, His rule is sure and His hand unseen (Psalm 103:19). Few lives show this more clearly than that of Cyrus the Great, the mighty Persian ruler whom the Scriptures call the Lord’s anointed (Isaiah 45:1). Though he never knew the God of Israel personally, his name was written in prophecy nearly two hundred years before he was born. Heaven had already planned his part long before history caught up.

Isaiah, the prophet of long ago, spoke of him by name: “Who says of Cyrus, He is My shepherd, and he shall perform all My pleasure” (Isaiah 44:28). Imagine it—a pagan king called God’s shepherd! Such is the wonder of God’s grace. He can use those outside the covenant to fulfill the covenant itself. He needs no permission to keep His promises.

When Cyrus entered the city of Babylon in 539 B.C., no one realized they were watching prophecy unfold before their eyes. Daniel, now an old man, must have seen it—the gates opening just as Isaiah had foretold. God was already moving history forward with divine precision. The bronze doors opened before Cyrus, not by his strength, but by the word of the Lord who had spoken it centuries earlier.

Soon the king of Persia issued a decree that shook the world: “The Lord, the God of heaven, has given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has charged me to build Him a house at Jerusalem” (Ezra 1:2). What mercy! The same empire that destroyed Jerusalem now financed its rebuilding. The same power that held Israel captive now sent her home. God had turned bondage into blessing, and He did it through a man who did not even know His name.

This is the God we trust. The same hand that guided Cyrus still governs every detail of our lives. He rules the nations, and He rules our tomorrows. He can work through the most unlikely people and the most unexpected moments to fulfill His purpose (Philippians 2:13). What looks like delay is often divine design.

Cyrus also gives us a glimpse of Jesus. Like Cyrus, Christ was chosen and anointed to set captives free (Luke 4:18). Cyrus opened the gates of Babylon. Jesus opened the gates of death. Cyrus sent God’s people back to rebuild a temple of stone. Jesus is gathering living stones into a temple of the Spirit (1 Peter 2:5). Cyrus gave freedom to a nation. Jesus gives freedom to every soul that believes (John 8:36). The shadow of Cyrus finds its substance in Christ.

And here is a humbling truth: God’s anointing is not bound by a man’s understanding of Him. “I have called you by name, though you have not known Me,” said the Lord to Cyrus (Isaiah 45:4). God can write His name across a life that has never spoken it aloud. This truth should quiet our fears about what He can do today. If He could move a heathen king to free His people, He can move any leader, any heart, any circumstance to fulfill His hidden will (Daniel 2:21).

Even history tells us that Cyrus was known for mercy and fairness. He allowed nations to keep their customs and faiths. Where did such compassion come from? Could it be that the unseen hand of God was already shaping him, softening him to reflect the mercy of the One who would use him? Before Cyrus ever touched Israel’s story, God was preparing him for it.

So it is with us. Long before we ever came to Christ, God was forming us, teaching us, humbling us, readying us for His call (Jeremiah 1:5). Nothing in our past is wasted in the workshop of grace.

When Cyrus sent forth his decree to rebuild Jerusalem, it was not just a royal command. It was a trumpet of promise. The seventy years foretold by Jeremiah had ended (Jeremiah 29:10). The captives who once hung their harps upon the willows could now sing again (Psalm 137:2–4). God had kept His word. Deliverance had come, and it came through the most unlikely of vessels.

And herein lies the heartbeat of this story: when God begins to move, He often works through unexpected means. He may use a stranger, a setback, a storm, or even a king who does not know His name. But His purpose will stand. Our task is to trust Him in the waiting, believing that His sovereignty never falters.

Cyrus, a Gentile monarch, became the instrument of Israel’s redemption. Jesus, the King of glory, became the Redeemer of the world. Cyrus opened earthly gates. Jesus opened heavenly ones. Cyrus’ name was written on a scroll of prophecy. Jesus’ name is written upon our hearts (2 Corinthians 3:3).

Take courage then. The God who turned the heart of a Persian emperor still turns the smallest details of your life. Kings and kingdoms rise and fall at His command, but He remains the same. History is not chaos. It is the unfolding of His divine plan.

He still calls men by name. He still opens doors that none can shut (Revelation 3:8). He still turns captivity into freedom for all who trust Him.

So let us walk in faith today, knowing that the same Lord who called Cyrus now calls us—not to rule a kingdom, but to reveal one.

Lord, You rule over kings and common men alike. Teach me to trust Your unseen hand when I cannot trace Your plan. Move my heart as You moved the heart of Cyrus, to fulfill Your will, even in ways I do not understand. Let my life become an instrument of Your purpose, a vessel through which Your kingdom is revealed. Use me, Lord, for Your glory.

In Jesus’ name, amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS

All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). No heart escapes that verdict, no life stands untouched by its weight. Before the blazing holiness of the Almighty, the proudest saint bows low, for even the best of men are but men at their best. Our righteousness, though we prize it, is as filthy rags before Him (Isaiah 64:6). The heart, deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, cannot lift itself into heaven (Jeremiah 17:9). It must be redeemed—or remain lost forever.

Yet out of the midnight of man’s ruin rose the mercy of God. Out of the dark soil of despair sprang the bright Morning Star (Revelation 22:16). The prophets had spoken long ago: “Behold, the days are coming…and this is His name by which He will be called: The Lord Our Righteousness” (Jeremiah 23:6). In Jesus Christ, that promise came to life. Heaven stooped to earth. The Eternal Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth (John 1:14).

And then, upon a lonely hill, the wonder of all wonders took place. The spotless Lamb of God was made sin for us, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him (2 Corinthians 5:21). He who knew no sin bore our curse (Galatians 3:13). The Innocent was condemned that the guilty might go free. The Prince of Glory wore a crown of thorns that we might receive a crown of life.

At the cross, the worst of us was laid upon the best of Heaven. There mercy and truth met together. Righteousness and peace kissed each other (Psalm 85:10). He bore the wrath that should have fallen upon us. He took our shame, our rebellion, our ruin, and in its place gave us His righteousness, His peace, His glory. From His wounded side flowed rivers of redeeming grace (John 19:34).

Now the sinner who believes stands before God robed in garments of salvation and covered with the robe of righteousness (Isaiah 61:10). No longer naked and ashamed, no longer a stranger to grace, but clothed in Christ Himself. The Father looks upon the believer and sees not the stains of sin, but the beauty of His Son. The ring of sonship is placed upon the finger, the robe upon the shoulders, the feast prepared, and the Father rejoices, “For this my son was dead and is alive again” (Luke 15:22–24).

When Satan accuses, Christ intercedes (Romans 8:34). When conscience trembles, His blood speaks peace (Hebrews 12:24). The soul that once fled in fear now draws near with confidence to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:16). The righteousness of Christ is not a fading cloak but an everlasting covering. He is our righteousness, our refuge, and our beauty forever.

Christ is not merely the giver of righteousness—He is righteousness itself (1 Corinthians 1:30). To be “in Christ” is to stand where judgment cannot reach. The believer’s safety lies not in his strength but in his Substitute. Our hope is not a ladder to climb, but a Rock to stand upon. His obedience is ours, His perfection counted as our own. The Father beholds us through the righteousness of the Son, and the verdict is forever changed from guilty to justified (Romans 5:19).

Every virtue we possess is borrowed light. Every holy affection is kindled from His flame. We have no goodness apart from Him, no standing but in Him, no glory save His cross (Galatians 6:14). To say “Christ is my righteousness” is to rest the soul entirely upon Him—to cease from striving and trust the finished work of Calvary.

And having been justified, the believer walks as a child of light. Grace does not make him careless, but consecrated. It teaches the heart to love holiness and to hate sin (Titus 2:11-12). The Holy Spirit breathes within, shaping the soul into the likeness of Christ. The cross that once broke his pride now becomes his pattern. Every trial is another chisel in the Sculptor’s hand, carving the image of the Son into the marble of the redeemed heart.

We no longer labor to earn His favor. We labor because we have seen His face. Gratitude becomes the melody of obedience. Love becomes the law of life. The one who was a slave now serves as a son (Galatians 4:7). Even when the path is steep and the night is long, the believer walks on with a song in his heart, for his Redeemer lives (Job 19:25).

Being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Romans 5:1). This peace is not like the calm before a storm—it is the calm no storm can shake. It is the stillness of a soul anchored in the Rock of Ages. And with that peace comes hope—strong, steady, and unbreakable (Hebrews 6:19).

The righteousness of Christ will never fade, for it was woven in eternity and sealed with His blood. By one offering He has perfected forever those who are being sanctified. Salvation is a twofold wonder: justification, the declaration of Heaven (Romans 4:5), and sanctification, Heaven’s work within (1 Thessalonians 5:23). We are made righteous in standing, and we grow righteous in spirit. The life of faith is not a climb toward favor but a walk within grace. The pierced hands now uphold us. The Shepherd who sought us now leads us home.

Oh, what a Gospel this is! That God should take the rags of sin and exchange them for robes of righteousness (Zechariah 3:4–5). That the guilty should become the beloved. That the rebel should sit at the Father’s table as a child of mercy.

So let us live by faith. Let us walk in gratitude. Let us fix our eyes upon Christ, who is our righteousness, our peace, and our everlasting joy. And when at last we stand before His throne, we will have no boasting—save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 2:8–9). We will lift our eyes to the Lamb and say,

“Thou, O Lord, art my righteousness and my song” (Exodus 15:2).

Lord Jesus, You are my righteousness, my refuge, and my Redeemer. I bring nothing to Your altar but my need, and You clothe me with Your grace. Keep me hidden in Your righteousness. Let Your cross silence my pride and Your Spirit sanctify my steps. Teach me to rest in Your finished work and to rise each day clothed in Your mercy. When Satan accuses, let me point to Your blood. When fear whispers, let me hear Your voice. Form in me the beauty of holiness until I stand complete in You. In Your holy name I pray, Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

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

MARRIAGE, DIVORCE, AND REMARRIAGE (5): What Jesus Said About It

There is perhaps no subject more tangled in human sorrow, confusion, and debate than the matter of marriage, divorce, and remarriage. The words of Jesus in Matthew 19 have been used to heal and to harm, to comfort and to condemn. But when we read His words, we must remember that He spoke into a world far different from ours—a world of Pharisees who used Deuteronomy 24 as a loophole to dismiss their wives for “any cause,” and of hearts hardened by selfishness. They were not asking how to love better, but how to legally escape love’s demands.

Jesus answered their trap with truth, but also with tenderness. He said: “Whoever divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another, commits adultery; and whoever marries the one who is divorced commits adultery” (Matthew 19:9).

Notice carefully what He said—and what He did not say. He did not say that a man and woman who are married, and who love each other faithfully, are living in adultery. He said that the act of divorcing and remarrying under wrongful pretenses is an act of adultery—a breaking of covenant. The sin is in the breaking, not in the new marriage itself. When the first bond is broken, and a new one is made, it is a real marriage in the eyes of God.

To say that a person “lives in adultery” with their spouse is to misuse the sacred word. Everyone knows what adultery means—it is unfaithfulness to a covenant, not faithfulness to a new one. Once you are married, you are married. The union is not a sin. The betrayal that came before it was.

Paul wrote, “But even if you do marry, you have not sinned” (1 Corinthians 7:28). The Pharisees of Jesus’ day were trying to trap Him, not to seek truth. They wanted Him to take sides between two rival schools of thought among their own teachers—Hillel, who said a man could divorce his wife for almost any reason, and Shammai, who said only for unfaithfulness. Jesus turned from both sides and pointed them back to God’s original intent: “From the beginning it was not so” (Matthew 19:8).

God’s design for marriage was never a revolving door. It was a covenant made in the garden when the Lord said, “The two shall become one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). Once two are tied together, their lives are like two mules hitched to the same yoke. If one pulls away, the other cannot keep dragging in a straight line without tearing the harness. If one is unhooked, who then is the other still tied to?

When God joined man and woman, He meant for love to last, for hearts to grow together like vines wrapping around the same trellis. But Jesus, knowing our frailty, also acknowledged the hard soil of human hearts. “Because of the hardness of your hearts, Moses permitted you to divorce your wives” (Matthew 19:8). Divorce was not His plan—it was His pity. It was mercy for the broken, not permission for the careless.

Moses required that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce (Deuteronomy 24:1). Why? To protect her from shame, to give her legal standing so she could remarry and live. God was guarding the woman from a cruel world where being “put away” could mean destitution or death. Jesus brought the people back to this heart of God—grace and protection—not to the rigid rules of men.

Luke’s account of this same exchange gives us a glimpse into the audience: “Now the Pharisees, who were lovers of money, also heard all these things, and they derided Him” (Luke 16:14). These men, obsessed with appearances and reputation, loved control more than compassion. They did not want truth—they wanted to trap Truth Himself.

The teaching of Jesus about marriage was not intended to shame those who have failed. It was to call all of us back to God’s design, to take the covenant seriously. He was not speaking to the abused wife who flees for her safety, nor to the neglected husband who is left behind. He was answering hypocrites, not the hurting.

The Greek word for “grace” means “delightful favor.” The gospel of Jesus is not bad news for those who have failed—it is good news. The message of Jesus about marriage is not a legal trap but a hand reaching out in mercy. Imagine opening an envelope only to find that you have won a great prize. That is how grace arrives. It is as though Jesus walks into the darkness of our failure carrying a lantern that lights up every shadowed regret.

If you have failed in marriage, you are not a castaway. You are not living in perpetual sin. You are not second-class in the kingdom. God’s grace reaches into every broken bond and every lonely heart. “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3). His grace does not condone our sin, but it does cover our shame.

The Bible nowhere teaches that a divorced person who remarries is still married to their former spouse “in the eyes of God.” That idea is not scriptural. It is superstition dressed in theology. God recognizes covenants made before Him, even those made after failure. His mercy is new every morning (Lamentations 3:22–23).

When Jesus said “except for sexual immorality,” He acknowledged that covenant can be broken. When one spouse unites with another, the one-flesh bond has already been shattered. Adultery is not the sin of remarriage. It is the sin of covenant-breaking. If two are handcuffed together and one unlocks the chain and walks away, the other is no longer bound by the same metal. The release may be painful, but it is real.

Marriage is not a prison. It is a partnership. God’s intention is always reconciliation, but when hearts harden beyond repair, His grace still remains. As Paul wrote, “But if the unbeliever departs, let him depart; a brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases” (1 Corinthians 7:15). God has called us to peace.

We must take marriage seriously, because it is a covenant that reflects Christ’s love for His church. Yet we must also take grace seriously, because it reflects His heart for the broken. The Lord does not stand at the door of our failure with folded arms. He stands there with open arms, saying, “Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more” (John 8:11).

Marriage is a picture of the gospel. When we are unfaithful, He remains faithful (2 Timothy 2:13). When we break covenant, He restores. When we walk away, He pursues. When the vows are shattered, His mercy still whispers, “Come home.”

To those who have failed in marriage, hear the invitation of grace. Begin again. Love well next time. Forgive deeply. Learn from the pain. Let God write a new story. Grace does not erase the past—it redeems it.

Jesus’ words on marriage are not a courtroom verdict. They are a classroom lesson. They teach us that the covenant of love matters, and that broken covenants still have a Redeemer. “Where sin abounded, grace abounded much more” (Romans 5:20).

When Jesus spoke, He did not thunder from the clouds. He stooped down into the dust where broken hearts lie. He came not to crush the bruised reed, but to heal it (Isaiah 42:3). His message is like a letter filled with good news, carried to us from Heaven’s post office, bearing the stamp of divine grace.

God still blesses new beginnings. Every sunrise is proof of that. If you have failed, the dawn still comes. If you have fallen, His hand still reaches down. And if you are standing strong in your marriage, guard it well, for it is holy ground.

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

WOMEN PREACHERS: The “Problem” of 1 Corinthians 14:34

The church at Corinth was alive with spiritual fervor. It was a gathering of believers freshly anointed by the Holy Spirit, but often lacking restraint. Spiritual gifts flowed freely—tongues, prophecies, revelations—but sometimes without order or discernment. There was excitement without structure, zeal without wisdom. So Paul wrote to bring light to their fire, direction to their enthusiasm, and order to their gatherings. “For God is not the author of confusion but of peace, as in all the churches of the saints” (1 Corinthians 14:33).

Chapter 14 is a masterpiece of divine order. Paul begins with love—always love. “Pursue love, and desire spiritual gifts, but especially that you may prophesy” (v. 1). The Greek word for “prophesy” is προφητεύω (prophēteuō), meaning to speak forth or declare the divine will; to proclaim the mind of God. In the early church, before the written New Testament was complete, the prophets were the living voice of God among His people. Their role was not unlike that of preachers today—to teach, edify, exhort, and comfort the body of Christ.

But the Corinthians, in their eagerness, had allowed worship to become a clamor of competing voices. Tongues were spoken without interpretation. Prophets spoke over one another. Wives interrupted their husbands during prophecy. The Spirit’s harmony had been replaced with noise. And so Paul, with pastoral firmness, called them back to reverence and order.

He laid down three principles of silence, each a boundary for the sake of peace. “If anyone speaks in a tongue, let there be two or at the most three, each in turn, and let one interpret. But if there is no interpreter, let him keep silent in church” (vv. 27–28). The phrase “keep silent” is from the Greek σιγάω (sigáō), meaning to be still, to refrain from speaking, to make no sound. It does not mean to be silenced forever, but to be quiet in that moment for the sake of order.

Next, Paul applies the same command to the prophets: “If a revelation comes to another who is seated, let the first keep silent” (v.30). Again, σιγάω—be still until the proper time. The Spirit of the prophets, Paul reminds them, “is subject to the prophets” (v. 32). In other words, the Holy Spirit does not cause chaos or compel interruption. God’s power does not overwhelm self-control.

Then comes the third command of silence: “Let your women keep silent in the churches, for they are not permitted to speak, but they are to be submissive, as the law also says” (v. 34). It is here that centuries of misunderstanding have taken root. Some have treated this as an eternal ban on women speaking, preaching, or teaching in any assembly. But Paul’s own words in the same letter prove otherwise.

Earlier, in 1 Corinthians 11:5, Paul wrote, “Every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head.” The implication is plain: women were praying and prophesying publicly.

The Greek word for “woman” in 1 Corinthians 14:34 (where he said, “women are to keep silent”) is γυνή (gynē), which also means wife. In the Greek, in other words, in which the New Testament was written, the word for women is the same word for wives. The context must determine the meaning. And Paul himself provides the key: “If they have anything to ask, let them ask their own husbands at home” (v.35). Not all women have husbands. Therefore, this cannot apply to all women. It applies specifically to wives. Which wives? All wives? Of course not. Wives who were interrupting their husbands, likely while their husbands were prophesying in the assembly.

These wives were speaking out of turn, questioning or commenting aloud during their husbands’ public ministry. Paul simply commands them to be quiet—σιγάω, the same command given to tongue-speakers and prophets—not because they were women, but because they were creating disorder.

If we apply Paul’s words universally, then no woman could sing, pray, confess faith, or even greet another believer aloud in the assembly. But that would contradict not only chapter 11 but also the rest of Scripture, where women played active, vocal roles in the life of God’s people. Miriam sang unto the Lord (Exodus 15:21). Deborah prophesied and judged Israel (Judges 4:4–5). Huldah prophesied to kings (2 Kings 22:14–20). Anna the prophetess “spoke of Him to all those who looked for redemption in Jerusalem” (Luke 2:38). Philip had “four virgin daughters who prophesied” (Acts 21:9).

The early church was not a silenced church. It was a Spirit-filled one. On the day of Pentecost, Peter stood with the eleven and declared the fulfillment of Joel’s prophecy: “Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy” (Acts 2:17). The fire that fell on Pentecost rested upon both men and women alike. The Holy Spirit is not partial in His anointing. He fills whom He calls.

Paul’s aim in 1 Corinthians 14 was not to muzzle women but to bring order to the exercise of spiritual gifts. He reminded the church that “God is not the author of confusion” (v. 33). That truth still applies. The gifts of the Spirit are to be used with reverence, humility, and love.

When Paul said, “If anyone thinks himself to be a prophet or spiritual, let him acknowledge that the things which I write to you are the commandments of the Lord” (v. 37), he was asserting apostolic authority over every prophetic voice in Corinth. The prophets could not contradict the apostle. Likewise today, no preacher, teacher, or tradition has authority to contradict what the apostles wrote. And the apostolic record—when read in full—shows that women prayed and prophesied publicly under the anointing of the Spirit.

To deny women that same right today is to deny the apostolic witness itself. It is to build fences where God has opened gates. It is to substitute human tradition for divine command.

Paul told Timothy, “Let the elders who rule well be counted worthy of double honor, especially those who labor in the word and doctrine” (1 Timothy 5:17). That labor—the preaching and teaching of the Word—has never been reserved by gender. What matters is not the voice, but the vessel. God said, “I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh” (Acts 2:17).

In Christ, the dividing walls have fallen. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). That does not erase distinction, but it does erase limitation. The same God who leads a man to preach may lead a woman. The same fire that burned in Peter may burn in Priscilla, who with her husband Aquila “explained the way of God more accurately” to Apollos (Acts 18:26).

The Lord’s body must not quench the Spirit by silencing those He has gifted. Here is the principle: “Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise prophecies. Test all things. Hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:19–21). When we refuse to test, we simply repeat tradition. When we hold fast to truth, we honor Christ.

Christ Himself is the head of His body, the church. He is the One who calls, equips, and sends. “He gave some to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers” (Ephesians 4:11). These gifts were not distributed by gender but by grace. The Spirit chooses His instruments as He wills.

In the end, the real issue is not whether a woman can preach, but whether God has gifted and led her to do so. And if He has, who are we to forbid her voice? “Who are you to judge another’s servant? To his own master he stands or falls” (Romans 14:4).

Let us walk humbly, honor God’s order, and open our hearts to His fullness. The gospel flame burns brighter when every tongue He has touched declares His praise. Let us not extinguish what Heaven has ignited.

Lord Jesus, You are the Builder of Your church, the Caller of Your servants, the Giver of every good gift. Thank You for pouring out Your Spirit on all flesh—sons and daughters, old and young, men and women—and for calling each of us into Your service. Teach us to honor Your Word, to walk in Your order, and to rejoice in the diversity of Your grace. Deliver us from the traditions that quench Your fire. May our hearts be open to every voice You have chosen, and may every word spoken be for Your glory alone.

Let the body of Christ be filled with holy order, humble power, and the living sound of Your Spirit’s truth.

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

THE GOSPEL IN EL SEGUNDO

El Segundo. Even the name sounds like sunshine and palm trees. It’s a small city tucked right beside Los Angeles. It is the home of the headquarters and practice facility of the NBA’s Lakers, my favorite team in the world. I catch a lot of “heat” for that, especially living around Hawks fans. But I’ve been a Laker fan too long to change now. There’s something about that purple and gold that runs deep. When I have watched them play through the years—from the days of Magic and Kareem until the late, great Kobe Bryant—I think about excellence, teamwork, and legacy. The very qualities the Lord builds into those who walk with Him. The Christian life is not a solo act. It is a body moving in unity toward a shared victory (1 Corinthians 12:12).

The first time I ever heard the name El Segundo wasn’t from a map, but from Sanford and Son. Fred Sanford would throw that name around like it was just some made-up place out west. For years I thought it was only part of his act, one of those funny California names he’d toss in for flavor. I was well into my twenties before I realized it was a real city sitting right there in Los Angeles County. That taught me something: sometimes the things we laugh at, the things we assume are fiction, turn out to be real after all. In the same way, the gospel once sounded like a nice story to many—too good to be true. But then one day they realized it was true. The Lord Jesus had really come. He had really died for sinners. He had really risen again (1 Corinthians 15:3–4).

El Segundo doesn’t get the attention Los Angeles gets. Nobody’s writing songs about it. (Although in one episode, Fred did write a song called “I Left My Heart in El Segundo.” He was obsessed with the place). People aren’t generally flying in from across the world to see it. Yet it sits right there in the shadow of a giant city—steady, quiet, and full of life.

That’s how Bethany was in the days of Jesus. Jerusalem got all the attention. The temple stood tall and the crowds filled the streets. But Bethany—that small town just two miles away—was where the Lord found rest. It was there He was anointed for burial (Mark 14:3–9). It was there He raised Lazarus from the grave (John 11:43–44). It was there He spent His last nights before the cross (Matthew 21:17). The world looked at Jerusalem, but Jesus looked toward Bethany.

It’s amazing how often God hides His greatest treasures in small places. The Savior of the world was born in Bethlehem, not Rome, not Athens, not Jerusalem (Micah 5:2). He chose fishermen instead of scholars, shepherds instead of priests, a manger instead of a palace. The world keeps looking for greatness in noise and numbers, but the Lord works quietly in hearts that are humble and willing. “God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

Maybe you “feel like El Segundo.” Overshadowed by something larger, living in the shadow of someone else’s success. Maybe you’ve wondered if your little life matters. Remember Bethany. Remember the widow’s two mites (Mark 12:41–44). Remember that the Lord still measures worth not by size but by surrender. A cup of cold water given in His name carries eternal weight (Matthew 10:42).

While the world chases headlines, Jesus still walks the side streets. He still stops in quiet towns. He still visits ordinary people with extraordinary love. And when He comes, He leaves behind more than attention. He leaves transformation. So live faithfully where you are. Shine right there in your “El Segundo.” The Lord knows your address. He knows your name. He lives in your heart. And in His eyes, no place is too small for glory to bloom.

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