CHRIST FORMED WITHIN

God’s purpose for us is not only that we be forgiven, but that Christ be formed within. Salvation is the beginning of a far greater journey—the shaping of the soul into the likeness of the Savior. The Father’s desire is not just to make us better, but to make us His. Paul wrote with holy yearning, “My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you” (Galatians 4:19). This is the mystery of the Christian life—not us trying to be like Him, but Him living in us, expressing His life through clay vessels.

This forming comes through the Cross. The Cross is not only the place where Christ died for us; it is where we die with Him. It is where pride is broken, where self-will is surrendered, and where our hearts are emptied so His Spirit can fill them. Each time we yield our way for His way, His image grows clearer in us. “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). The Cross is not the end of life—it is the beginning of His life in us.

Christ in us is the secret to all fruitfulness. Without Him, we can do nothing (John 15:5). But when we abide in Him, His love flows through us like living water. Our words become softer, our service becomes purer, and our hearts begin to reflect His patience and peace. We do not strain to bear fruit; we simply stay near the Vine, and His life produces what our effort never could. The more we rest in His presence, the more His beauty begins to shine through.

This is the true work of grace—not achievement, but transformation. God’s goal is not to make us famous, but faithful. Not powerful in the eyes of men, but pure in the sight of Heaven. Day by day, the Holy Spirit shapes us, often quietly, through trials, tears, and tender mercies, until the life of Christ is seen. And when that happens, heaven touches earth. The fragrance of His life fills our days, and the world sees not us, but Him who lives within.

Lord Jesus,

Let Your life be formed within me. Shape my heart to mirror Yours. Teach me to yield where I once resisted, to love where I once judged, to trust where I once feared. May the Cross do its holy work in me until pride is broken and Your peace reigns. Let my life be a reflection of Your gentleness and strength. Abide in me as the Vine in the branch. Let Your words find a home in my heart, and let Your Spirit breathe through my days. When I am weak, be my strength. When I am silent, speak through me. When I am still, fill me. And when I stand before You at last, may the world have seen not me, but You living in me.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SPIRIT WHO GIVES LIFE

The Spirit of God has always been moving—hovering over the waters in the beginning, breathing life into creation, whispering truth through prophets, and filling hearts with holy fire. From Genesis to Revelation, His presence marks the heartbeat of God’s work among men. Wherever the Spirit moves, death yields to life, despair gives way to hope, and dry ground blossoms again.

In the Old Testament, we see the Spirit at work in promise and power. The prophets spoke of His coming as rain upon the wilderness. Isaiah said, “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him—the Spirit of wisdom and understanding” (Isaiah 11:2). Ezekiel heard God say, “I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes” (Ezekiel 36:27). Joel declared, “I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh” (Joel 2:28). The same breath that hovered over the deep in creation now enters the hearts of the redeemed in new creation.

Few scenes portray this better than Ezekiel’s vision in the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1–14). The prophet stands amid lifeless remains—symbols of a people without hope. Yet when God commands him to speak, the bones begin to rattle, the sinews stretch, the flesh returns, and finally the breath of God fills them. What was once dead stands alive, an army raised by the Spirit’s breath. So it is with every believer who receives the Spirit of Christ. We who were dead in sin are made alive unto God, not by effort, but by the indwelling breath of Heaven.

In the New Testament, the promise becomes personal. Jesus calls the Spirit a Helper, Teacher, and Comforter (John 14:26). He guided first century men into all truth (John 16:13). Today, He fills us with divine love (Romans 5:5), and empowers us to live and share Christ boldly, in principle the way He did the apostles of Christ (Acts 1:8). Paul reminds us that we are temples of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16), that the Spirit intercedes when words fail (Romans 8:26), and that His fruit is love, joy, peace, and all that reflects the life of Christ (Galatians 5:22–23). The same power that raised Jesus from the dead now works in us to produce holiness and strength.

Discipleship without the Spirit becomes labor without life. But when the Spirit fills us, the Christian walk ceases to be duty and becomes delight. The Spirit does not make us perfect overnight, but He makes us alive. And in that life, Christ is formed within. Let us yield daily to His quiet leading, letting His wind blow through every thought and desire, until our hearts echo the faith of Ezekiel’s valley: “Thus says the Lord God…I will put My Spirit in you, and you shall live.”

Holy Spirit of Christ, breathe upon me again. Move within the dry valleys of my heart and make them green with Your life. Teach me to walk in Your ways, to love as Christ loved, and to live in constant fellowship with You. May every word I speak and every step I take bear the fruit of Your presence. Fill me, renew me, and make me a vessel through whom the breath of Heaven flows. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ANTONY FLEW: THE THINKER WHO FOLLOWED THE EVIDENCE WHERE IT LED

Antony Flew was not a careless atheist. He was a philosopher of formidable intellect, a man who demanded evidence for everything and refused to rest his mind on anything less than reason. For more than fifty years he argued that belief in God was an illusion of the human heart — a comforting story told to quiet our fear of death. He became, in the eyes of many, the high priest of unbelief. Yet as time passed and science revealed more of the intricacy of the world, the fortress of his skepticism began to tremble.

In his later years, Flew startled the intellectual world by confessing that he now believed there must be a God. The announcement sent ripples through universities and lecture halls. The man who had long championed atheism declared that he had been compelled by evidence — that he had simply “followed the argument where it led.” It led him, not to a personal Savior, but to an Intelligent Mind behind all existence. The precision of natural law, the order of the cosmos, and most of all the mystery of life itself drew him to concede that mind must precede matter.

He pointed especially to DNA. Its astonishing complexity, its code of information written in every living cell, convinced him that life could not have arisen from non-life by accident. He admitted that naturalistic explanations had failed to account for this wonder. “The only reason I have for beginning to think of believing in a First Cause God,” he said, “is the impossibility of providing a naturalistic account of the origin of the first reproducing species.” Thus, at the threshold of eternity, the old skeptic acknowledged a Creator.

And yet, one cannot help but feel both joy and sorrow at his discovery — joy that truth finally pierced his heart, sorrow that it took the marvel of DNA to convince him when the universe itself had been preaching to him all along. For every sunrise declares a Designer, every tree in springtime a renewal beyond chance. The very air he breathed, the beauty of a child’s laughter, the order of mathematics, the moral longing in every human soul — these were sermons enough to humble the wise. But pride blinds even brilliant men. The Scriptures speak truly: “The fool has said in his heart, ‘There is no God’” (Psalm 14:1). Not the fool of low intelligence, but the fool of high pride, who cannot see because he refuses to bow.

Yet we must speak kindly of Flew, for there is grace even in his late awakening. He did not discover all the way to Calvary, but he walked further than he had ever thought he would. He came to believe in a Creator — an eternal Mind who designed and sustains all things. He admitted that life’s very existence was a miracle, not a mistake. He died still pondering who that Mind might be, and perhaps, in the mercy of God, he now knows.

His story reminds us that reason, when honest, leads not to emptiness but to awe. Every path of inquiry, if followed with humility, will end at the feet of Christ, for He is the Truth toward which all truths point. Antony Flew, the lifelong skeptic, teaches us that even the mind which denies God may yet become a witness to His glory. And though it took the alphabet of DNA to open his eyes, it is the same Word — eternal and living — that upholds both the cell and the soul.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

WHY WE BELIEVE ANYTHING: THE NATURE OF FAITH AND REASON

Every human being, whether believer or skeptic, lives by faith. We may call it confidence, trust, or probability, but the essence is the same. We act every day on what we cannot prove exhaustively. We trust the pilot who flies our plane, the surgeon who wields the scalpel, the historian who records the past. We live by belief before we ever speak of religion. The mind itself cannot function without faith, for even reason must begin with certain assumptions—assumptions about truth, logic, and reality that cannot be proven by reason itself. Faith, therefore, is not a denial of reason but its foundation.

Yet the word “faith” has been so misused that many imagine it means believing something without evidence. In truth, real faith is the most rational thing in the world. It is the mind’s acknowledgment of what reason discovers but cannot fully comprehend. The universe around us proclaims order. The conscience within us proclaims moral law. The longing of the heart proclaims purpose. All these voices sing together in harmony, pointing to a single Composer. Reason hears the melody and recognizes its beauty. Faith rises to its feet and joins the song.

True faith is not blind; it is enlightened trust. It is the soul’s response to the evidence that surrounds it on every side. Reason examines the structure of the cosmos and sees the trace of design. Faith bows before the Designer. Reason studies the human heart and finds a hunger that nothing temporal can fill. Faith turns toward eternity and says, “You are what I have been seeking.” The two are not enemies but companions—reason is the lamp that shows the path, and faith is the step that takes it.

But faith, to be real, must have an object worthy of it. The strength of faith lies not in how tightly we hold it, but in the reliability of what we hold. A frail hand grasping a strong rope is safer than a strong hand grasping air. To believe in mere chance or chaos is to trust in nothing. To believe in God—the eternal Mind behind all minds—is to anchor our reason in the very ground of reality. The God who made the brain does not despise its logic. The God who gave us the power to think calls us to use it in seeking Him.

When faith and reason walk together, they lead the soul home. Reason builds the bridge from the earth upward; faith walks across it to the heart of God. To believe, then, is not to close one’s eyes to truth but to open them to its fullness. It is to see that behind every cause stands the First Cause, behind every thought the Thinker, behind every law the Lawgiver. Faith is the light that dawns when reason runs out of words—and in that light, the universe makes sense.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

HOLY DESIRE AND HOLY LOVE

“So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27).

When the heart truly desires God, it also desires to walk in His design. In every generation, the people of God must learn again that love is not defined by the shifting winds of culture, but by the unchanging Word of the Lord. Marriage is a holy covenant, born in the garden before sin entered the world, between one man and one woman (Genesis 2:24; Matthew 19:4-6). It is God’s appointed place for the beauty of physical intimacy, a reflection of Christ and His Church (Ephesians 5:31-32).

Yet our fallen hearts often long for things outside of that sacred boundary. Some wrestle with desires for those of the same sex; others are tempted toward adultery or impurity of many kinds. All are called to the same cross. The call of Christ is to deny ourselves, take up our cross daily, and follow Him (Luke 9:23). We are not condemned for temptation, but we are called to resist its pull and submit every desire to the Lordship of Christ.

It is not a sin to love another person. Love, in its purest form, is the very essence of God (1 John 4:8). But sin enters when love is distorted into lust or when affection moves outside the bounds God has ordained. The world says we find freedom in self-expression; Christ says we find freedom in obedience (John 8:31-32).

Many who follow Jesus experience deep, lifelong struggles in this area. They are not less loved, nor are they beyond grace. The church must learn to embrace with compassion those who walk this narrow road. We dare not single out one sin for condemnation while excusing others such as greed, pride, or materialism (Romans 2:1). The same grace that forgives the liar and the self-righteous also forgives the sexually broken. The gospel levels us all at the foot of the cross.

To desire God above all else means surrendering even the most personal parts of our identity to His will. It means believing that His ways are not only right but good (Psalm 18:30). His commands are not chains—they are the pathway to joy. The Holy Spirit enables what the flesh cannot do. He gives strength to the weary heart and purity to the willing soul (Galatians 5:16).

The church must speak truth, but always with tears in its eyes. Christ came full of grace and truth (John 1:14), never one without the other. To follow Him means holding both firmly—standing with Scripture and kneeling beside the sinner.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE UNIVERSAL NEED FOR SALVATION

There is no truth more solemn, and yet none more filled with hope, than this: everyone in this world stands in need of salvation. From the palace to the prison, from the scholar to the shepherd, from the young man’s first rebellion to the aged man’s last sigh—each one stands in need of Christ. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Sin has entered every heart, polluted every thought, and cast a long shadow upon every path. It is the great leveler of mankind. No crown, no creed, no culture can erase its stain.

And yet, into this darkness shines the light of a greater truth: the love of God that seeks, saves, and restores. The story of the gospel begins not with our worthiness, but with His mercy. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). The cross of Christ stands as heaven’s answer to the universal need of man’s soul.

The Fall and the Fracture

When Adam stood in the garden, clothed in innocence and fellowship with God, he was the picture of what man was meant to be. But when he disobeyed, something far deeper than physical death began to work in him. The soul that had walked with God turned inward, and darkness settled upon the heart. Sin broke the bond between the creature and the Creator. What had been light became shadow, what had been peace became fear.

When the Lord called out, “Adam, where are you?” (Genesis 3:9), it was not the question of One who did not know—it was the cry of divine grief. God was searching not for information but for reconciliation.

Sin is not merely the breaking of a rule; it is the breaking of a relationship. It is rebellion against the holiness of God. It blinds the mind, hardens the heart, and weakens the will. It separates us from the very Source of life. Sin has made self the center of the universe. This is the sickness that infects all humanity: we have chosen self over God, pride over humility, pleasure over purity.

The consequence is clear—death reigns. “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23). Man’s condition is not one of minor injury but of spiritual death. Without Christ, we are lifeless toward God, powerless to change ourselves, and unable to produce righteousness.

The Cry of the Conscience

Even those who deny God cannot silence the whisper of conscience. Deep within, there is a knowing that things are not as they should be. The conscience, though marred by sin, still bears the echo of God’s moral image. “When Gentiles, who do not have the law, by nature do the things in the law…they show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness” (Romans 2:14–15).

This inner voice calls to every man and woman: You are accountable. Humanity may clothe itself with philosophy, morality, or religion, yet the heart still trembles when it hears that still, small voice of conviction. When David sinned, he said, “My sin is always before me. Against You, You only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Your sight” (Psalm 51:3–4). The conscience awakens to this truth—our greatest wrong is not against man but against God.

And if our sin is against God, then only God can forgive. The soul that feels the weight of guilt begins to look upward. It cries for mercy, and that cry is the first movement toward salvation. A sense of sin is the doorstep to the house of mercy. Until the sinner feels lost, he will not seek to be found. Until the heart is broken, it cannot be healed.

The Hopelessness of Human Effort

Since the fall, man has been trying to climb back to God by the ladder of his own goodness. Religion without redemption has filled the world with false hope. Men have built temples, offered sacrifices, and multiplied prayers—all in an effort to bridge the gulf between holiness and sin. But no human hand can build a bridge to heaven. The height is too great, and the foundation too weak.

God’s Word exposes the futility of self-righteousness. “By the deeds of the law no flesh will be justified in His sight” (Romans 3:20). “All our righteousnesses are like filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6). Even the best of men stand guilty before the throne. If salvation could be earned, Christ died in vain. The gospel does not call us to try harder but to surrender fully.

Man’s part is to yield and trust; God’s part is to cleanse and fill. The sinner’s great mistake is believing that he can fix himself. The cross reveals otherwise. Only the blood of Jesus can wash away sin. Only the grace of God can create a new heart. As long as a man trusts in himself, he remains outside of salvation.

The man who believes himself righteous is the man most in danger. The man who feels himself a sinner is the one nearest to grace. The first step to life is admitting death. The first step to peace is surrendering pride. Salvation begins where self ends.

The Justice and the Love of God

The holiness of God demands justice; His love provides mercy. Both meet perfectly in Jesus Christ. At the cross, justice and mercy kiss. The same God who cannot overlook sin has chosen to bear it Himself. He is both Judge and Justifier of the one who believes in Jesus (Romans 3:26).

Sin cannot simply be excused. Every act of rebellion must be judged, for the universe stands upon the moral law of a righteous God. Yet that judgment fell upon the sinless One. “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

This is the wonder of divine love: God took upon Himself the penalty we deserved. On that cross, Christ bore the weight of every lie, every betrayal, every act of pride and cruelty. He entered the darkness that we might walk in the light. “Christ also suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God” (1 Peter 3:18).

Holiness does not destroy the sinner—it transforms him through the fire of grace. The cross reveals that salvation is not man reaching up, but God stooping down. It is the outstretched arms of Jesus saying, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

The Universality of the Call

Because the need is universal, so is the call. “Whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Romans 10:13). No nation, no class, no past sin can disqualify one from the invitation of grace. The gospel is for the whole world. The blood of Christ speaks a language that every heart can understand—the language of mercy.

Consider the thief on the cross. In his dying moments, he turned to Jesus and said, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” And Jesus answered, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise” (Luke 23:42–43). There was no time for works, no ceremony, no pretense—only faith in the Savior beside him.

Or think of Saul of Tarsus, once a persecutor of the church, yet transformed by the very One he sought to destroy. The same Jesus who met him on the Damascus road now calls to every sinner, “Why do you resist Me?” (Acts 9:4). None are beyond His reach. The arms that were stretched out in suffering are still stretched out in invitation.

Christ died for the ungodly (Romans 5:6). He came “to seek and to save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10). The universality of sin is matched only by the universality of grace. Wherever sin abounds, grace abounds much more (Romans 5:20).

The Gift and the Response

Salvation, though freely offered, must be personally received. God will not force His love upon a soul that will not yield. “As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12).

Faith is the open hand that takes what grace provides. Repentance is the turning of the heart from self to God. Baptism is the act of obedience by which we call upon His name (Acts 22:16). Each element belongs to the one great response of faith.

When the crowd at Pentecost cried, “What shall we do?” Peter answered, “Repent, and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:37–38). The gospel is not vague; it is clear. The sinner’s path to salvation is illuminated by divine instruction.

Faith is dependence upon God in the moment of need. Repentance is the heart’s farewell to sin and its warm embrace of Christ. To be saved is not merely to escape punishment—it is to be united with the Savior, to live in His fellowship, to walk in His light.

The Urgency of the Hour

There is a tender solemnity in the voice of the gospel. It calls now. “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2). Tomorrow is not promised. Every hour brings eternity closer. To delay is to risk the soul.

The tragedy of our age is not ignorance of religion but indifference to it. Men speak of grace as though it were a luxury, not a necessity. But eternity is real. Death is certain. Judgment is sure. “It is appointed for men to die once, but after this the judgment” (Hebrews 9:27). The only safe refuge is Christ.

Spurgeon once cried from his pulpit, “You are hanging over the flames by a thread, and that thread is breaking.” Yet he would also lift his hands and say, “But there is life in a look at the Crucified One.” The same Jesus who warned of hell also wept over Jerusalem. He desires that all be saved.

Do not wait for a more convenient time. The Spirit of God calls today. The same voice that said, “Lazarus, come forth,” still speaks to dead hearts and brings them to life. The power that raised Christ from the grave can raise you from sin.

The Joy of the Redeemed

When a soul comes to Christ, the universe itself seems to rejoice. “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (Luke 15:10). The burden of guilt is lifted, the chains of fear are broken, and the heart that once fled from God now runs toward Him.

Salvation is not the end of the story—it is the beginning of a new life. The believer becomes a new creation. “Old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new” (2 Corinthians 5:17). The Spirit of God dwells within, bearing witness that we are His children. The Word of God becomes our food, the will of God our delight, the glory of God our aim.

Conclusion

The need for salvation is universal because sin is universal. But the provision of salvation is equally universal because the Savior is sufficient for all. There is no pit so deep that His love cannot reach, no stain so dark that His blood cannot cleanse, no heart so hard that His grace cannot soften.

If you have never come to Him, come now. Confess your need. Call upon His name. Lay your sins at His feet and rise to walk in newness of life. The same Jesus who died for the world waits for you. He has promised, “The one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out” (John 6:37).

Let your heart echo the words of the psalmist: “I will take up the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord” (Psalm 116:13). For in that call lies the answer to every need, the peace for every heart, the salvation of every soul.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST UPHOLDS ALL THINGS

“He is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His power” (Hebrews 1:3).

All creation hangs upon a single Word—the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ. Every star that burns in the vast heavens, every wave that breaks upon the shore, every breath that fills a human lung—each continues because Christ wills it to be so. He is not a distant Creator who set the universe in motion and withdrew. He is the ever-present Sustainer, holding all things together by the power of His spoken will (Colossians 1:17).

What a humbling thought—that the same Word that healed the leper and calmed the storm is the Word that even now sustains the atoms of our existence. If Christ were to withdraw His power for a single moment, all would collapse into nothingness. The universe endures, not by the laws of nature alone, but by the authority of the One who authored them. His Word is law, His will is life.

This truth is not merely cosmic—it is personal. The Christ who upholds galaxies also upholds souls. He holds together our fragile faith when doubts arise, our trembling hearts when fears surround, and our broken lives when sin has shattered our peace. When we feel as though all strength is gone, He whispers again the creative word, “Peace, be still” (Mark 4:39). And life is renewed.

Many imagine the world as spiraling toward chaos, yet Scripture reveals a deeper reality: the Son of God reigns over every molecule of matter, every movement of history, every heartbeat of creation (Ephesians 1:20–22). Nothing is outside His sustaining power. Even the darkness that confuses us is not outside His control. What we see as disorder, He orders according to the counsel of His will (Romans 8:28).

To believe that Christ upholds all things is to find rest in the midst of uncertainty. The Christian does not need to understand every mystery of life, for he trusts the One who governs all. We can cast every care upon Him, knowing that the hand that shaped the stars also carries our burdens (1 Peter 5:7). He upholds us when we stumble, strengthens us when we fall, and keeps us until the day we see Him face to face (Jude 24).

One day, the same Word that now sustains will speak again, and all creation will be made new. The heavens and the earth will melt away, not in destruction but in transformation, as the glory of Christ fills all things (Revelation 21:5). Until that day, we live in the comfort of this truth: He who upholds all things will also uphold us. His Word will never fail.

Lord Jesus, You hold the stars in Your hand and the breath in my lungs. Uphold me by the word of Your power. When my faith wavers, strengthen it. When my heart grows weary, renew it. Help me to rest in the assurance that nothing in heaven or on earth is beyond Your care. Keep me near to You until the day all things are made new in Your light. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE LIFE OF THE CROSS

The Christian life is not a stroll through the world’s gardens, but a pilgrimage toward the City of God.  We walk as strangers among shadows, knowing that this present world is passing away.  Yet the heart that clings to Christ walks with quiet confidence, for the cross we carry today will become the crown we cast before His throne.

The apostle said, “I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”  To know Christ in this way is to see everything else fade into its proper place. The Christian’s whole outlook must be governed by the cross. Our thoughts, our ambitions, and our very identity are to be crucified with Him.  Only then do we see how hollow the applause of the world really is, and how solid the hope of glory.

When a believer learns to rest in the finished work of Jesus, he no longer hungers for the praise of men.  His joy is drawn from a deeper well — from the endless grace that flows from Calvary.  The mind that once chased after the wisdom of this age now finds satisfaction in knowing Christ.  The heart that once trembled at death now rejoices in the promise of resurrection life.

This is not theory; it is transformation.  The gospel is not a call to improve but a call to die — and to rise again in Him.  The Spirit forms within us a new affection, a longing for the things above.  We begin to see our sufferings not as obstacles but as instruments shaping us into the likeness of our Lord.  Here is true freedom: to be bound only to Jesus, and to walk through the world as those who already belong elsewhere.

So let us fix our eyes upon Him.  Let every thought, every plan, every heartbeat revolve around the cross.  For in knowing Christ crucified, we find everything our souls were made to seek — wisdom, righteousness, redemption, and peace.  Nothing but Christ, and in Him, everything.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

FAITH THAT LIVES

Faith is not a word we wear—it is a life we live. It is not a certificate of belief, but a continual surrender to the will of Christ. True faith moves the heart to obedience and the hands to service. It is more than something we say; it is something we show. As James wrote, “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). Real faith breathes, walks, and loves. It is seen in the quiet acts of those who trust God when the night is long and the way is hidden.

Jesus never called anyone to half-hearted belief. He called us to follow—to take up our cross and walk in His steps (Luke 9:23). Faith that only speaks will fade, but faith that serves will shine. It is one thing to say, “I believe,” and another to live as though Christ is truly Lord. The world listens more to the sermon we live than to the one we preach. A single act of kindness born of faith often says more than a thousand words of theology.

The early disciples turned their world upside down because they first turned their hearts right side up. They believed deeply and loved boldly. Their faith was not hidden behind closed doors; it walked the streets, fed the hungry, and comforted the broken. That same living faith can still change hearts today—one prayer, one act of mercy, one word of truth at a time. Faith that loves cannot stay silent.

Our faith is tested not in comfort but in trial. It holds steady when the winds blow and hope seems dim. It trusts when understanding fails. When our strength gives out, faith leans harder on the everlasting arms. The fire of adversity does not destroy real faith—it refines it. In the furnace of hardship, we learn that our foundation is not in ourselves, but in Christ alone.

So let us keep our faith alive—faith that prays, faith that works, faith that endures. Let it be known not merely by what we say, but by how we serve. Let our hearts reflect His love, and our lives display His light. For when faith is alive, it points beyond us—to the One who said, “Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Revelation 2:10).

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

HE HEARS THE WHISPER OF YOUR HEART

There is a time to bow the head and fold the hands in prayer. There is a time to rise from that place and go on with the day. Yet prayer does not end when we rise. The truest prayer continues in the quiet places of the heart, where words give way to awareness. “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). This does not mean that our lips must never close, but that our spirit must never wander far from God. We walk with Him as one who speaks and listens at once.

The Holy Spirit helps us in this constant communion. “For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us” (Romans 8:26). There are moments when we cannot find words, yet heaven understands our sighs. You only have to think something in your heart, and the Spirit carries that thought to the Father. The whisper of your soul becomes a prayer. God hears before you speak because His ear is always turned toward His children.

Prayer does not have to be long or heavy. It can be as simple as a glance toward heaven, a thank you whispered under your breath, or a cry for help that never reaches your lips. When someone asks for prayer, do not wait for a perfect time or place. Pray right then in your spirit. Lift that name quietly to the Lord and trust that He receives it. There are times to lead another in prayer, but there are also moments when the heart prays silently and just as powerfully.

In every moment we may keep the heart open to God. Think the thoughts you would speak to Him. Let your mind become a sanctuary where faith breathes and hope grows. Jesus walked this way, always in fellowship with the Father. Even when crowds pressed around Him, He was never out of communion. That same Spirit lives in us. To abide in Christ is to remain in that constant conversation of love.

Lord, keep me near enough that I never stop hearing Your voice. Teach me to pray without ceasing. Let my thoughts rise to You as gentle offerings, and let Your peace guard my heart. When I cannot find the words, hear the whisper of my soul. Help me to walk through this day aware of Your presence, speaking to You and listening for You in every moment. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ON FALSE TEACHERS AND TRUE HEARTS

There is a solemn hush that comes over the soul when we open Peter’s words: “But there were also false prophets among the people, even as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction. And many will follow their sensuality, and because of them the way of truth will be blasphemed. In their greed they will exploit you with false words; their judgment from long ago is not idle, and their destruction is not asleep.” (2 Peter 2:1–3)

How dreadful it is when the holy name of Christ becomes a banner under which hearts not yielded to Him take refuge! The apostle’s warning is not written in anger but in tears. The word false here, notice, does not merely modify their doctrine, but their very selves: “false teachers.” Their deceit is not only in the lips, but in the life. Their words are poisoned because the fountain of their heart is corrupt.

Yes, their teachings were false, but their falseness began deeper still. The root of their error lay not in the mind alone, but in the will — the dark will that resists surrender to Christ. They denied the Master who bought them, not merely by argument, but by living for self while wearing His name.

It is a serious thing to charge another with being a “false teacher,” for to do so is not to judge an idea but to judge a soul. There is a vast difference between a mistaken brother and a malicious deceiver; between one who errs from weakness and one who twists truth for gain. A weak sheep and a greedy wolf may both stray, but they are of different nature altogether.

Consider Apollos, mighty in the Scriptures, yet knowing only the baptism of John (Acts 18:24–25). He spoke boldly, and yes — imperfectly. But when Aquila and Priscilla “explained to him the way of God more accurately,” he received correction, not rebuke. His heart was true even when his understanding was small. Likewise, in Corinth some believers were confused about idols and the one God (1 Corinthians 8), but Paul did not call them heretics. They were babes needing milk, not wolves needing chains.

Let us beware of mistaking ignorance for wickedness, or immaturity for apostasy. Not every cracked vessel is discarded by the Potter.

The Fruit of the Heart

Our Lord said, “You shall know them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). Not by their opinions, nor by the sharpness of their arguments, but by the fragrance or the foulness that follows in their wake. The tree may be clothed in leaves of orthodoxy, but if the fruit beneath is envy, strife, and self-glory, its root is not in Christ.

Paul described such men: “He is proud, knowing nothing, but obsessed with disputes and arguments over words, from which come envy, strife, reviling, evil suspicions…” (1 Timothy 6:4). Where false teachers live, there is constant friction. The air grows heavy with contention. The gentle fruit of the Spirit — love, joy, peace, patience, kindness — withers in their shadow.

Peter paints them in solemn colors: “They indulge the flesh in its corrupt desires…they are stains and blemishes, reveling in their deceptions…having eyes full of adultery and that never cease from sin, enticing unstable souls, having a heart trained in greed” (2 Peter 2:10–14). These are not mere doctrinal mistakes, but moral diseases. Pride is the root, greed the sap, sensuality the blossom, and ruin the harvest.

And Jude adds, “They turn the grace of our God into license to sin” (Jude 4). They are clouds without rain — promising refreshment, bringing only darkness. They defile the flesh, they feed themselves, they care not for the flock (Jude 12).

What a contrast to the humble shepherd who tends the sheep with tears and tenderness.

The Secret Poison

False teaching often enters not with a trumpet, but a whisper. Peter says they “secretly introduce” their heresies. Falsehood loves disguise; it borrows the garments of truth, as the wolf borrows the fleece of the lamb. The deceit lies not always in the content of their sermons, but in the craving of their souls. Some even “preach Christ out of selfish ambition” (Philippians 1:17). The words may be right, but the music is off-key.

Soundness, in Scripture, means health. “Wholesome words,” Paul calls them — words that heal, not merely words that are correct (1 Timothy 6:3). A man may defend the truth and yet wound it by his spirit. He may preach about love with a sword in his tongue. He may uphold the cross while crucifying his brother.

God, who sees not as man sees, looks first upon the heart.

The Gentle Way of Correction

If you believe a brother to be mistaken, go to him. Sit down with the open Word between you. Speak as one beggar showing another where to find bread. How far this is from the secret meetings, the letters, the whispered warnings — all the dark machinery of fear! Christ does not call us to shadowy tribunals, but to honest communion.

Remember Apollos again. He was not shouted down in public; he was gently guided in private. Oh, that we might recover that spirit — correction in love, reproof in meekness, restoration in hope. “A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but be gentle to all, able to teach, patient, in humility correcting those who are in opposition” (2 Timothy 2:24–25).

The truth is never honored by the spirit of hate. The devil loves to fight under the banner of orthodoxy.

The Judgment of the Lord

Let us tremble before the words: “Their destruction is not asleep” (2 Peter 2:3). Judgment walks with patient steps, but it walks surely. “God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap” (Galatians 6:7).

Yet even here, we must not take pleasure in such thoughts. We must mourn that anyone should harden their heart until the day of mercy is past. The tears of Christ over Jerusalem are holier than the laughter of men over Babylon’s fall.

A Word for the Humble

My brother, my sister — do not think yourself above error. “We all stumble in many things” (James 3:2). The only teachers God uses are those who have learned to sit at His feet. “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18). Growth implies incompleteness; grace implies need.

If your definition of a false teacher is anyone who errs in doctrine, then you have condemned the whole church, including yourself. We know only in part. The purest mind among us still sees through a glass dimly. The most faithful preacher still limps toward heaven.

Therefore, speak truth with tears, not with triumph. Correct with courage, but with compassion. Remember that truth without love is as cold as a star — bright, but lifeless.

Lord, keep me from the pride that teaches without love. Save me from the zeal that wounds Your body in Your name. Let truth and tenderness walk hand in hand within me. Teach me to discern without despising, to warn without wounding, to correct without condemning.

Let my words carry the fragrance of Christ, not the smoke of self. And when I see another stumble, let me remember that I too have feet of clay. For You alone are the Teacher of truth, the Shepherd of souls, the One whose judgment is just, and whose mercy is greater still.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

GRACE GREATER THAN OUR DIFFERENCES

It is a wonderful day when a man discovers that God loves him in spite of himself. Many of us have spent years trying to prove ourselves worthy of His acceptance. We measured ourselves by rules and judged others by the same fragile yardstick. Yet one day, the truth of grace broke through our narrow thinking, and we saw that God’s love is not earned by the perfection of our performance, but received through the perfection of Christ.

The church was never meant to be a gallery of flawless saints, but a fellowship of forgiven sinners. Each of us comes to the table of the Lord with our scars and stories, our strengths and our stumblings. The blood of Christ makes room for all who come in humble faith. When we understand that, we cease to divide His family over matters of opinion, and we begin to see one another as brothers and sisters redeemed by the same mercy. It is only pride that builds walls where Christ died to build bridges.

The unity of the Spirit is not created by us; it is kept by us (Ephesians 4:3). We do not manufacture the body of Christ; we merely recognize it. If Christ has received a man, who am I to reject him? If Christ has forgiven a soul, who am I to hold his past against him? Love compels us to see beyond the surface and to honor the work of God in every heart that calls upon His name in sincerity and truth.

True fellowship grows not from uniformity but from shared humility. The closer we draw to Christ, the nearer we come to each other. It is in His presence that our differences fade and our hearts soften. The man who kneels before the cross has no time to look down upon his brother. The ground is level there. All are debtors to grace, and none have room to boast.

So let us walk together as those who have been forgiven much. Let us love with patience, listen with gentleness, and labor for peace within the household of faith. The world will know we are His not by our arguments but by our love. And in that love, imperfect though we are, the glory of Christ will shine through.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE AUTHORITY OF CHRIST ALONE

There is a quiet power in submitting to Christ alone. When the heart bows before His Word, confusion fades, and light begins to shine again. Through the centuries, voices have multiplied and opinions have divided, yet the gentle call of the Lord still rings clear: “Follow Me.”  His Word is not uncertain. It is living truth, spoken in love, breathed by the Spirit, written that we might know Him and walk in His steps. “Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus” (Colossians 3:17).

The voice of Christ speaks through Scripture. The Bible is not man’s invention—it is Heaven’s invitation. In its pages, we meet not a system but a Savior, not a creed but a cross. When we cling to His Word, we find freedom, for His truth liberates rather than binds. The early believers were not known by divisions or denominational names, but by their devotion to the Lord and to one another. They were simply disciples—followers of the risen Christ. Their unity flowed not from sameness of opinion, but from oneness of heart.

Faith is born where the Word is heard. “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17). The message of the gospel still pricks the heart as it did on Pentecost, calling us to repentance and new life. The Spirit moves through the Word to awaken trust, to reveal grace, to draw us near to the Father through the Son. It is a holy summons that demands not debate, but obedience.

Obedience is not the work of pride, but the fruit of love. When we repent, confess, and are baptized into Christ, we are not earning salvation—we are surrendering to it. We are buried with Him, raised with Him, and sealed by His promise (Romans 6:3-4). Every act of obedience is an act of faith—a way of saying, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

Let us, then, return with humble hearts to the authority of Christ alone. Let us listen before we speak, love before we argue, and serve before we seek to lead. The church shines brightest when it stands upon the Word and bows before the Lord. If we live and love by His Word, our unity will not be forced—it will be found. And in that beautiful oneness, the world will see Jesus.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

CHRIST OUR TRUE REST (Or, “Should Christians Keep the Sabbath?)

There are few subjects more often misunderstood than the Sabbath. Many still imagine that to please God, one must simply attend worship on Saturday, as though this fulfills the ancient command to “remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy” (Exodus 20:8). But when we look closer into the law itself, we find that the Sabbath was far more than a weekly observance. It was an entire system of rest woven into the fabric of Israel’s life—a shadow of a greater rest to come in Christ.

The law of Moses commanded not only a seventh-day rest, but also a seventh-year Sabbath, when the land itself would lie inactive (Leviticus 25:4). Every fiftieth year was the Jubilee, a great Sabbath of release when debts were forgiven and slaves set free (Leviticus 25:10). The Sabbath, then, was not merely about one day each week, but about the rhythm of redemption—the promise of restoration, rest, and freedom that only God could give.

To “keep the Sabbath” in the Old Testament sense meant far more than refraining from labor. It required strict sacrifices, precise offerings, and ceremonial purity (Numbers 28:9–10). If one seeks to be justified by observing any part of that law, he must accept all of it. “For whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all” (James 2:10). To choose one commandment from that covenant and neglect the others is to misunderstand the very nature of the covenant itself.

The apostle Paul wrote that the law was “our tutor to bring us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith” (Galatians 3:24). The Sabbath, with all its rest and renewal, pointed forward to the true rest found only in Jesus Christ. He Himself declared, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Christ did not abolish rest—He fulfilled it. He is the Lord of the Sabbath (Mark 2:28), and in Him every believer finds the peace that the Sabbath prefigured.

Those who seek to bind others to the Old Testament Sabbath forget that the covenant written on stone has been taken away in Christ. Paul told the Colossians, “Let no one judge you in food or in drink, or regarding a festival or a new moon or Sabbaths, which are a shadow of things to come, but the substance is of Christ” (Colossians 2:16–17). The shadow has passed because the Light has come.

In Christ, there are no sacred calendars or holy seasons that make us righteous. “One person esteems one day above another; another esteems every day alike. Let each be fully convinced in his own mind” (Romans 14:5). The early Christians gathered on the first day of the week—not as a new Sabbath, but as a joyful remembrance of the risen Lord (Acts 20:7). Sunday is not a “Christian Sabbath.” It is simply the day believers chose to assemble in freedom, celebrating the victory of grace.

We cannot pick and choose which parts of the Mosaic law to keep. The moment one places himself under the law, he is bound by all of it. “You who attempt to be justified by law; you have fallen from grace” (Galatians 5:4). But praise be to God, we are not under law but under grace (Romans 6:14). The Sabbath rest has found its completion in the pierced hands of Jesus. On the cross, He cried, “It is finished” (John 19:30), and the old covenant gave way to the new.

So now, our rest is not in a day, but in a Person. Our worship is not tied to a temple, but to a Savior. Every day is holy when the heart is devoted to Christ. Every moment can be worship when life is yielded to His Spirit. We do not labor to enter His rest—we rest because He has labored for us.

The old Sabbaths spoke of release, forgiveness, and restoration. In Jesus, those promises have come true. He is our Jubilee, our Sabbath, our Rest. When we abide in Him, the weary soul finds peace at last.

“There remains therefore a rest for the people of God. For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His” (Hebrews 4:9–10). That is all about Jesus.

Lord, teach me to rest, not in a day, but in Your grace. Keep me from the bondage of old shadows, and let me live in the light of Your finished work. May every day be Yours, and every breath be worship to the One who fulfilled the law and gave me rest for my soul.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE GOD WHO COMES TO VISIT

There are moments in Scripture when heaven seems to lean down and touch the earth — when the eternal folds His robe and steps quietly into the dust of man. Such a moment came to Abraham beneath the oaks of Mamre. The day was hot, the air still, and the faithful patriarch sat at the door of his tent. He looked up and saw three men standing nearby (Genesis 18:1–15). Without waiting for explanation, Abraham ran to meet them, bowed to the ground, and spoke as one who knew that God Himself was near.

The scene is simple yet sacred. A tent, a meal, a promise. The Lord disguised His glory in human form, showing that grace often enters softly, not with thunder, but with tenderness. “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” was His question to Sarah when she laughed at the thought of bearing a child in her old age. And still He asks the same of us when our faith trembles at the edge of impossibility.

In that moment under the trees, Abraham learned that God is the visitor who still comes — not merely to announce blessings, but to sit down at our table and share our bread. His presence transforms the ordinary into the holy. What we think is common ground becomes the threshold of heaven.

The Word and the Child

It began with a promise: “Sarah your wife shall have a son.” Centuries later another promise came — one even greater. “Now the birth of Jesus Christ was as follows…” (Matthew 1:18). In Abraham’s tent, the Lord foretold a miracle of life from a barren womb. In Nazareth, the angel foretold life from a virgin womb. The pattern is divine — grace brings forth what nature cannot.

“All things were made through Him,” John wrote, “and without Him nothing was made that was made” (John 1:3). That same creative Word who spoke worlds into being formed Isaac in Sarah’s womb, and in the fullness of time, He Himself took flesh in Mary’s. The Maker entered His own creation, the Guest became the Host, and heaven visited earth again.

Those who receive Him are changed forever. “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). Abraham believed the promise and became the father of many nations. We believe the greater promise and become children of grace.

The House of Prayer

Jesus once entered the temple and overturned the tables of the money changers, saying, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you have made it a den of thieves” (Matthew 21:13). In that moment, He did in Jerusalem what He had done long ago in Mamre — He purified the place of meeting. God’s presence demands holiness. The tent of Abraham, the temple of Solomon, and the heart of every disciple must all be cleansed for the Lord to dwell there.

The same Christ who visited Abraham now visits the heart of the believer. He finds the clutter of pride and the noise of greed and begins to turn over our tables. He calls us to prayer, to simplicity, to purity. “Therefore, having these promises, beloved,” Paul writes, “let us cleanse ourselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God” (2 Corinthians 7:1).

The Gift Beyond Words

The God who visited Abraham still gives beyond measure. “Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!” (2 Corinthians 9:15). That gift is not merely the blessings of life, but Life Himself — Jesus, the Son of God, born of Mary, crucified for sinners, risen in glory.

“The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul” (Psalm 19:7). It points us to our need for this gift. The law cannot save, but it drives us to the Savior. Deuteronomy warns, “You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor take from it” (Deuteronomy 4:2). The gospel stands pure, needing no polish from man’s hands. Salvation is not for sale in the marketplace of religion; it is freely given to those who bow in faith at the feet of the Redeemer.

When Heaven Opens

Jesus told Nathanael, “Hereafter you shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man” (John 1:51). It is the ladder Jacob dreamed of, now fulfilled in Christ. He is the bridge between heaven and earth, between the promise to Abraham and the mercy that reached us.

Christ said of his calling of Saul of Tarsus: “I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake” (Acts 9:16). To walk with God is to share both His burden and His blessing. The true disciple knows that glory and suffering often walk hand in hand.

But how comforting to know that every step is watched by a Shepherd who reigns forever. “David My servant shall be king over them, and they shall all have one shepherd” (Ezekiel 37:24). This King is Jesus — the greater David, the eternal Shepherd, the Lord our Righteousness (Jeremiah 23:6).

The Folly of Self-Trust

Luke tells us that Jesus spoke a parable “to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous” (Luke 18:9). That spirit of self-trust is still the ruin of many. “Take heed and beware of covetousness,” He warned, “for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of the things he possesses” (Luke 12:15). The wicked “shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God” (Psalm 9:17).

The world still bows before its golden calves, still judges righteousness by wealth and influence. But Jesus turns our eyes heavenward. Micah prophesied, “It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established on top of the mountains” (Micah 4:1). True greatness is not found in the towers of men but in the humble hearts that wait upon the Lord.

Those Who Wait Upon the Lord

Isaiah’s words ring across the centuries: “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength” (Isaiah 40:31). Abraham waited long — twenty-five years from promise to fulfillment — yet he never stopped believing. The waiting heart is the worshiping heart. Waiting is not idleness; it is faith at rest.

And those who wait find that grace has wings. “They shall mount up with wings like eagles.” The storm that breaks others lifts them higher. The same Spirit who hovered over Abraham’s tent now hovers over our lives, whispering, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”

The House Not Made With Hands

When Jesus cleansed the temple, He was pointing to something deeper — the coming kingdom, built not of stone but of souls. The prophets foresaw it: “In the last days…the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established.” This is the Church, the bride, the living body of Christ.

We look forward to the day when “Judah will be saved and Israel will dwell safely” (Jeremiah 23:6), when there will be “one King and one Shepherd” (Ezekiel 37:24). Until then, our tents remain in the wilderness, but our hearts belong to the city whose builder and maker is God.

The Visitor Still Comes

Abraham’s story is our story. He entertained angels unaware; we entertain the Spirit who dwells within. The Lord who dined beneath Mamre’s trees now knocks at the door of every heart. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” He says. “If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him.”

He still visits the humble. He still speaks promises into barren hearts. He still turns laughter of disbelief into laughter of joy.

And one day, when the final tent is folded and the journey is done, we shall look up and see not three travelers in the heat of the day, but the King Himself coming in glory — the same Lord who once sat at Abraham’s table and who now invites us to His eternal feast.

O Lord, who visited Abraham in the quiet of the day and Mary in the stillness of the night, visit me also. Let my heart be a tent where You find welcome and rest. Cleanse the cluttered corners of pride and self-reliance. Teach me to wait upon You until my faith becomes sight. Remind me that You are the promise and the fulfillment, the Giver and the Gift, the Guest and the King. In Your mercy, Lord Jesus, sit with me today, and may Your presence turn the ordinary moments of this life into holy ground.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

ABIDING IN THE LIFE OF CHRIST

When Jesus said, “I am the true Vine, and My Father is the Vinedresser” (John 15:1), His words were spoken in the quiet upper room, where shadows deepened and love overflowed. He had washed their feet (John 13:5), broken the bread, shared the cup (Luke 22:19–20), and now He shared His very heart. The Vine was before them—not just an illustration, but a revelation. He is the true Source of life (John 14:6), the unseen power that turns faith into fruit and sorrow into song. Every branch that abides in Him draws its strength from His life (John 15:4). Every word He speaks becomes the sap that nourishes the soul (John 6:63).

He is the perfect Teacher because He is the truth itself (John 14:6). Others point toward light, but He is the Light (John 8:12). Others tell us how to live, but He gives the life that makes living possible. He calls us not merely to learn from Him but to live in Him (John 15:4). This is more than discipleship. It is divine union. The Christian life is not imitation but participation—Christ living in us, as the branch lives through the vine (Galatians 2:20).

The Father, as the Vinedresser, prunes every fruitful branch (John 15:2). His knife is never harsh but holy. What feels like loss is love’s refinement. He cuts away pride, fear, and the clutter of self that we might yield more of His likeness. “No chastening seems joyful for the present,” Scripture says, “but afterward it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness” (Hebrews 12:11). Every tear shed in faith becomes the dew that nourishes new growth. The soul that submits to His hand becomes radiant with quiet strength.

We are cleansed by the word He speaks (John 15:3). Just as the gardener washes the dust from the leaves so the light may touch them, the Spirit uses Scripture to wash the soul (Ephesians 5:26). The blood of the Lamb makes us clean, but the Word keeps us clean. The heart renewed daily by truth will always bear fruit that glorifies the Lord (John 15:8). His cleansing is not condemnation but communion, restoring the shine of grace where the dust of the world had dimmed it.

Salvation itself is pure gift (Ephesians 2:8). We come to the Vine not with merit but with need. Christ fulfilled every righteous demand on our behalf (Romans 8:3-4). We do not work to earn salvation. We work because we have been saved. Love becomes our motive, gratitude our labor. “If you love Me, keep My commandments” (John 14:15). The fruit of obedience does not purchase life—it proves it. The branch that abides in the Vine cannot help but bear fruit. It is the natural outflow of divine life within (John 15:5).

To abide is to remain—to rest, to trust, to draw our strength from Him continually (John 15:9–10). It is not striving but surrender, not performance but dependence. It is waking each morning with the quiet prayer, “Without You I can do nothing” (John 15:5). Abiding fills the soul with peace in the storm and joy in the pruning. It turns ordinary days into holy ones, because the life within the believer is no longer his own. “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).

When the night grows dark and the branches seem barren, we remember His promise: “Abide in Me” (John 15:4). Beneath the soil, unseen, the roots still live. The sap will rise again. The fruit will return. So we wait, resting in His unchanging love. Seasons of barrenness are not abandonment but preparation. The joy will come, the fruit will ripen, and the Vine will be glorified (John 15:8).

Lord Jesus, let my heart abide in You today, that Your life may flow through me forever.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SIMPLE WAY OF CHRIST

It is one of the great tragedies of our age that men have made complex what God made simple. The gospel of Christ is not a maze of doctrines but a message of redemption. Jesus did not come to burden men with systems; He came to set men free. His call was not to an institution of walls and names but to a life of love and truth. He said, “Follow Me,” not “Follow your party.” He invited us to a Person, not a program.

In the early church, believers were known simply as “disciples” and “brethren.” Their fellowship was grounded not in uniformity of thought but in their shared faith in Christ Jesus. They broke bread together, prayed together, and cared for one another as members of the same spiritual family. Their bond was not organizational, but relational. They were united not because they agreed on every issue, but because they belonged to the same Lord who had washed them in His blood.

Over time, we have often drifted from that simplicity. We have sometimes built fences where the Lord built doors. We have measured one another by forms and phrases instead of faith and fruit. But truth is not confined to our boundaries, nor is grace limited to our understanding. Wherever Christ is honored, and souls are being changed by His Spirit, there we should rejoice. The work of God cannot be confined to our labels or limited to our sight.

The gospel calls us back to the heart of things — to love God and to love one another. Jesus said that on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets (Matthew 22:37–40). The Christian life begins and ends there. If we love as He loved, truth will not divide us but deepen us. If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we will have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son will cleanse us from all sin (1 John 1:7).

May we return to the simple way of Christ — not proud of our heritage but humbled by His grace. Let us seek unity, not by compromise of truth, but by a fuller devotion to the One who is the Truth. In Him we find both freedom and fellowship, both purity and peace. When we stand together beneath His cross, our divisions fade, and the world can once again see in us what God intended from the beginning — a people of love, redeemed by grace, and devoted to His Son.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SCHOOL OF CHRIST

In the School of Christ, we are the students, and He is the Master Teacher. To be His disciple is to sit at His feet and learn. He says, “Come unto Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28–30).

The invitation is not to labor for Him, but first to learn of Him. Many rush into service before sitting in silence. Yet the soul must be taught before it can be trusted with the weight of ministry. A yoke is not a shackle but a shared burden. To be yoked with Christ is to walk beside Him, learning His pace, His patience, His peace.

No man ever taught as He taught. When He opened His mouth, eternity spoke through human lips. His words pierced the conscience like lightning through a cloud. The crowds marveled because He spoke with authority—not the borrowed authority of men but the voice of heaven. That authority was His by divine right. The Father gave it to Him. And through His perfect life, His sacrificial death, and His triumphant resurrection, that authority shines with eternal glory (Matthew 28:18).

The School of Christ has no graduation, no final bell. We learn until we see His face. Every trial becomes a classroom, every disappointment a lesson, every blessing a test of gratitude. He teaches us by truth and by tears. Sometimes His chalk is suffering, and the board upon which He writes is our own heart. But when the lesson is complete, the soul glows with a deeper love for the Teacher.

Paul understood this when he said, “That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death” (Philippians 3:10). To know Christ is to know life at its fullest and love at its deepest. Even after visions and miracles, Paul’s longing cry was still this: That I may know Him.

Father, I want to know you. You are the longing of my soul. Thank you for hearing me when I pray and help me to be molded into the image of Jesus. May I never graduate from the school of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Help me to learn and follow every day as His faithful disciple. In Jesus name, amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

WHO AM I TO TALK ABOUT JESUS?

Me Without Christ

Who am I to talk about Jesus? On my own, I am nothing but a sinner scraped from the gutter of my own pride. I was a man splattered with the mud of selfishness, a canvas ruined before the Artist ever touched it. My heart was like a polluted river—cloudy, bitter, and carrying death downstream. I spoke of goodness but drank from the well of my own deceit. Like the prodigal son, I wandered far from the Father’s house, chasing shadows that vanished when I reached for them.

My soul was an unlit room, full of cobwebs and echoes of wasted time. I loved the world, and the world loved me right back into darkness. Anything you could say about sin’s corruption—I wore it. I was every inch the rebel, every bit the hypocrite. I walked after the flesh, feeding the old man that only ever wanted more.

Part of me believed and always wanted to be a good man. But without Christ, I am not a good man. And realizing that, accepting it, taking responsibility for it—those were the steps. Just admit the truth about yourself and ask for help. Christ will take it from there.

Me in Christ

Because then came Jesus. He found me where I had fallen—face down in the mud of my own making—and He lifted me with nail-scarred hands. The blood that dripped from His cross became the crimson paint that covered my stains. The man who had no right to speak His name now speaks it with trembling joy. “By the grace of God I am what I am,” Paul said (1 Corinthians 15:10), and I echo those words with every breath. The same grace that knocked Saul from his horse blinded me to the world and opened my eyes to glory. If He could save me, He can save you. If He could turn a persecutor into a preacher, a thief into a testimony, a broken heart into a burning light—then no one is beyond His reach.

I have every right to talk about Jesus, not because I’m worthy, but because He is. My life has become His living canvas. The stains have become brushstrokes of mercy. The cracks are filled with grace like gold in pottery. And I will not let His grace toward me be in vain. I will use my story, my scars, my past, and my present to glorify Him. For I was dead, but now I live—and my song forever will be, Jesus saves.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SPIRIT WHO GIVES LIFE

The Spirit of God has always been moving—hovering over the waters in the beginning, breathing life into creation, whispering truth through prophets, and filling hearts with holy fire. From Genesis to Revelation, His presence marks the heartbeat of God’s work among men. Wherever the Spirit moves, death yields to life, despair gives way to hope, and dry ground blossoms again.

In the Old Testament, we see the Spirit at work in promise and power. The prophets spoke of His coming as rain upon the wilderness. Isaiah said, “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him—the Spirit of wisdom and understanding” (Isaiah 11:2). Ezekiel heard God say, “I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes” (Ezekiel 36:27). Joel declared, “I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh” (Joel 2:28). The same breath that hovered over the deep in creation now enters the hearts of the redeemed in new creation.

Few scenes portray this better than Ezekiel’s vision in the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1–14). The prophet stands amid lifeless remains—symbols of a people without hope. Yet when God commands him to speak, the bones begin to rattle, the sinews stretch, the flesh returns, and finally the breath of God fills them. What was once dead stands alive, an army raised by the Spirit’s breath. So it is with every believer who receives the Spirit of Christ. We who were dead in sin are made alive unto God, not by effort, but by the indwelling breath of Heaven.

In the New Testament, the promise becomes personal. Jesus calls the Spirit a Helper, Teacher, and Comforter (John 14:26). He guided first century men into all truth (John 16:13). Today, He fills us with divine love (Romans 5:5), and empowers us to live and share Christ boldly, in principle the way He did the apostles of Christ (Acts 1:8). Paul reminds us that we are temples of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16), that the Spirit intercedes when words fail (Romans 8:26), and that His fruit is love, joy, peace, and all that reflects the life of Christ (Galatians 5:22–23). The same power that raised Jesus from the dead now works in us to produce holiness and strength.

Discipleship without the Spirit becomes labor without life. But when the Spirit fills us, the Christian walk ceases to be duty and becomes delight. The Spirit does not make us perfect overnight, but He makes us alive. And in that life, Christ is formed within. Let us yield daily to His quiet leading, letting His wind blow through every thought and desire, until our hearts echo the faith of Ezekiel’s valley: “Thus says the Lord God…I will put My Spirit in you, and you shall live.”

Holy Spirit of Christ, breathe upon me again. Move within the dry valleys of my heart and make them green with Your life. Teach me to walk in Your ways, to love as Christ loved, and to live in constant fellowship with You. May every word I speak and every step I take bear the fruit of Your presence. Fill me, renew me, and make me a vessel through whom the breath of Heaven flows. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway