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

WHAT IF YOU HAVE COMMITTED “THE UNPARDONABLE SIN”? (You Haven’t)

There are few words in the Bible more sobering than those of Jesus in Matthew 12:31–32. He said that every sin and blasphemy can be forgiven, “but the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven.” The context is vital. Jesus had just healed a man who was both blind and mute. The people were amazed, but the Pharisees, seeing what they could not deny, chose to attribute His power to Satan. They saw the Son of God in the flesh, performing a miracle by the Spirit of God, and yet with cold deliberation, they said, “He casts out demons by Beelzebul.” This was no mere slip of the tongue. It was a hardened rejection of divine truth. It was calling the light darkness.

The word “blasphemy” in Greek means to slander or speak evil against. Jesus was saying that to knowingly attribute the work of the Spirit to the power of the devil was a sin of such rebellion that forgiveness would be impossible—not because God’s mercy was too small, but because such a heart would never seek it. The unpardonable sin, therefore, was not a moment of doubt or anger or even a careless word; it was the deliberate rejection of God’s truth when that truth had been fully revealed in Christ Himself.

No one living today can commit that sin in the same way the Pharisees did, for no one today sees Jesus in the flesh performing miracles. That moment in history cannot be repeated. Yet the principle still remains: any sin a person will not repent of becomes, in that sense, unpardonable. God will not forgive a sin that one refuses to confess or turn from. The only unforgivable sin is the persistent, willful rejection of the Holy Spirit’s call to repentance and faith in Christ.

Modern theological scholarship affirms this. Many scholars note that the “eternal sin” of Mark 3:29 (aiōnios hamartia in the Greek) was a unique act of rebellion against the Spirit’s testimony about Jesus. Murray J. Harris has observed that anyone who fears they may have committed the unpardonable sin shows by that very fear that they have not, for such sensitivity is the mark of a heart still open to God. Others remind us that since Christ no longer walks among us performing miracles, we cannot repeat that historical sin. What remains possible is the condition of the heart that refuses to repent.

The Bible gives us the response of grace. The apostle Paul said, “I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man; but I obtained mercy” (1 Timothy 1:13). He was forgiven because he turned to Christ in faith. If even Paul could be cleansed from blasphemy, then no sin is beyond the reach of grace. Every sin can be forgiven when it is confessed. Only the one who will not come to the cross is left unforgiven.

Therefore, no believer today should live under the shadow of fear that they have committed an unpardonable sin. If you grieve over your sin, if you desire forgiveness, if you long to be restored—then you have not committed it. The Spirit who convicts is the same Spirit who comforts. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin. The mercy of God is greater than your past, stronger than your failures, and deeper than your fears.

The unpardonable sin was a deliberate rejection of the visible Christ, performed before the very eyes of those who knew better. That cannot happen again. But its warning still speaks: do not resist the Spirit of grace. Come to Him while the door is open. Confess freely and rest in the promise that “he who comes to Me I will by no means cast out.” The power of forgiveness remains the same. The grace of Christ is still sufficient. And no one who truly desires His mercy will ever be turned away.

BDD

ABIDING IN THE PRESENCE OF JESUS

There is so much that I cannot do. But this one thing I can—I can abide in Jesus. I can stay near to my Lord if I truly long to do so. I can walk with Him so closely that His presence becomes my very atmosphere. I can know Him, not as a distant King, but as the Beloved of my soul. He can be the One I think of when my eyes open each morning and the last thought before I drift into sleep. His name can become the sweetest sound my heart will ever hear. Such intimacy with Christ is not reserved for a chosen few; it belongs to every soul that desires Him more than the world.

When this becomes reality, He is not merely part of our lives—He is the center of them. Every decision bows to His will. Every ambition is filtered through His Word. His smile becomes our reward, and His displeasure our greatest grief. Our obedience flows not from duty, but from love. When we speak, His Spirit gives meaning to our words. When we act, His life directs our steps. The verdict of others, whether praise or scorn, matters little. Let them say what they will—“These people have been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13).

You will know Jesus as deeply as you desire. You will experience His closeness as strongly as you hunger for Him. You will have as much of Jesus as you truly want. Never forget this. The devil will tell you that such fellowship is impossible—that others may know Him so, but not you. Do not believe that lie. Surrender and desire open the door. Through these, you can walk with Christ as Paul did, and know the same holy fire that burned within him.

Jesus calls this life abiding. “Abide in Me,” He said (John 15:4). To abide is not to visit His presence occasionally, but to make His presence your dwelling place. Before we can speak of abiding, however, we must first speak of beginning—for this relationship is not the shallow faith of convenience. It is the deep union of a heart crucified with Christ. It is the very life Paul longed to see in the Galatians, who had begun in the Spirit but wandered into self-effort.

The Corinthians, too, though baptized and called “sanctified in Christ Jesus” (1 Corinthians 1:2), were still babes in Christ. Paul said he could not speak to them as spiritual but as worldly (1 Corinthians 3:1). His letter was a gentle summons—Come higher. Leave behind your carnality. Live in the fullness of Jesus.

That call still echoes through the ages. It is Christ Himself whispering, “Abide in Me.” Not just on the mountaintop, but in the valley. Not just in joy, but in the secret sorrow. Not just in the moment of prayer, but through every breath. And as we do, the life of the Vine will flow through the branch—Christ in us, the hope of glory.

Lord Jesus, draw me nearer. Teach me what it means to abide in You. Let my heart find its home in Your presence and my strength in Your love. Take away every distraction that keeps me from Your side. Let Your life flow through mine, until others see not me, but You alone. Amen.

BDD

CHRIST THE EVERLASTING COVENANT

Long before the manger, God spoke through His prophet, saying, “I will give You as a covenant for the people” (Isaiah 42:6; 49:8). That was not the promise of parchment and ink, but the promise of a Person. Christ did not merely bring the covenant—He is the covenant. He came as God’s living vow to a fallen world. His blood became the seal of divine mercy, His cross the altar of everlasting grace (Matthew 26:28; Luke 22:20).

The covenant given through Moses was holy, yet it could not heal. It was written on stone, not on the heart (Exodus 24:7–8). It revealed sin but could not remove it (Romans 3:20). Every sacrifice under that system was a shadow, a temporary covering for the guilt it could never cleanse (Hebrews 10:4). Humanity’s weakness showed our need for something more—something greater than law, something living. God, in His mercy, promised a new covenant that would not be written by human hands but by His own Spirit upon human hearts (Jeremiah 31:31–33).

When Jesus lifted the cup and said, “This is My blood of the new covenant,” heaven itself leaned near. Grace was no longer a prophecy—it was a Person (Matthew 26:28). The shadows vanished in the light of Calvary. The veil that had long stood between God and man was torn from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51).

Now, through His Spirit, that covenant lives within us. The law once engraved on stone is now written on tender hearts (Hebrews 10:16). The Holy Spirit leads, teaches, and empowers us to walk in the will of God (John 14:26; Romans 8:9–11). What once condemned now transforms. What once demanded obedience now inspires love.

Christ is not only the giver of this covenant—He is its mediator and its guarantee. “He is the Mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promise of the eternal inheritance” (Hebrews 9:15). The priests of old stood daily offering sacrifices that could never cleanse the soul, but Jesus offered Himself once for all (Hebrews 7:27). His perfect obedience became our righteousness (Romans 5:19). Our standing before God rests not in our striving, but in His finished work (Ephesians 2:8–9).

To live under this covenant is to live in freedom. No longer do we work to earn favor; we rest in the favor already given (Romans 6:14; Galatians 5:1). We are not laboring to become righteous—we are living from the righteousness of Christ. The Spirit within us shapes us day by day into His image (2 Corinthians 3:18).

And one day, when faith becomes sight, we will see the fullness of this everlasting promise. The covenant sealed by blood will end in glory. “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them” (Revelation 21:3–4). The story that began at the cross will find its final chapter in eternity, where love reigns forever.

Lord Jesus, You are the covenant of grace and the promise of eternal life. Write Your love upon my heart until it beats in rhythm with Yours. Teach me to rest in what You have finished and to walk daily in the power of Your Spirit. Keep me faithful, grateful, and full of praise until I see You face to face. Amen.

BDD

IF YOU LOVE HIM

“If you love Me, you will obey My commands.” (John 14:15). Love for Jesus is not measured by words alone. It is not found merely in the songs we sing, the prayers we pray, or the emotions we feel. True love for Christ is revealed in a simple, childlike desire to do what He says. Obedience is the language of love. The one who truly loves Jesus will seek to please Him in all things—not out of fear or duty, but out of a heart that has been captivated by grace.

To accept Jesus as Savior is to accept Him as Lord. He cannot be divided. The One who saves us also rules us. When you receive Christ, you are saying, “You are my Master. My life belongs to You.” The Lordship of Christ is not a burden; it is freedom. His commands are not heavy chains, but keys that open the gates to joy. “His commandments are not burdensome,” John reminds us (1 John 5:3), because they lead to life, peace, and holiness.

Think of Jesus as your loving Lord—your Boss, yes, but one whose heart beats with affection for you. He is not harsh or unreasonable. Every word He speaks is truth, every command He gives is for your good. When He says “Follow Me,” it is not to control you, but to lead you out of darkness into light (John 8:12). When He says “Forgive,” it is to free you from the poison of bitterness (Matthew 6:14). When He says “Love one another,” it is because He knows love is the very breath of heaven (John 13:34).

He tells you what to do not because He must prove that He is God, but because He is God. His authority flows naturally from His being. The sea obeys Him, the winds bow to Him, and even death itself trembles before His word (Mark 4:39; John 11:43-44). Shall we, who have been redeemed by His blood, do any less?

Every command of Christ is for your benefit. There is not a single “Thou shalt” or “Thou shalt not” that does not flow from love. His commandments are like guardrails on a dangerous mountain road—they keep us from falling over the edge. The path of obedience is not a narrow prison; it is a highway of peace that leads to life (Isaiah 35:8).

Notice how Jesus frames it: “If you love Me, you will obey My commands.” (John 14:15). It begins with love. Love first—obedience follows. Love is the root; obedience is the fruit. You cannot reverse the order. Trying to obey without love is religion. Obeying because you love Him is relationship.

Loving Jesus is a decision—a daily surrender of the heart. It is waking up each morning and saying, “Lord, You are my life. I trust You more than I trust myself.” It is choosing to dwell on His goodness, to reflect on His mercy, and to delight in His presence. When you truly see how much He loves you—how He left heaven, bore your sin, and suffered for your soul—your heart cannot help but love Him back (1 John 4:19).

And that love transforms everything. It softens the hardest heart. It melts rebellion. It purifies motives. When you love Jesus, obedience becomes natural. You begin to want what He wants. You find yourself drawn to His will like flowers turning toward the light. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.” (Psalm 37:4).

Of course, we are still in the flesh. We stumble. We fall. But even when we fail, love brings us back. Peter denied the Lord three times, but love restored him. On the seashore, Jesus asked him, “Do you love Me?” (John 21:15–17). Notice that Jesus did not ask, “Peter, will you promise never to fail again?” He asked, “Do you love Me?” Because if love is there, obedience will follow.

Obeying Christ’s commands is not a single act—it is a way of life. It is about direction, not perfection. The believer’s life is a steady walk toward the heart of Jesus. “Whoever says he abides in Him must walk as He walked.” (1 John 2:6). We do not measure our faith by how high we climb in a moment, but by the steady, faithful steps we take daily.

When love is the fire that burns in your heart, obedience becomes the smoke that rises to heaven. Get the love right, and everything else will follow. You will not have to force obedience—it will flow from within, like a river from its source. Jesus said, “Whoever believes in Me, out of his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:38).

To live for Christ daily is not a complicated mystery—it is the simplicity of faith expressed through love. It is the quiet surrender of your will to His. It is trusting Him when you cannot see, obeying Him when you do not understand, and resting in Him when you are weary. It is to abide in the vine, drawing life from His life, bearing fruit because His Spirit dwells within you (John 15:4–5).

The life of union with Christ is the secret of true holiness. It is not striving, but abiding. It is not laboring to be good, but yielding to the One who is good. The branch does not struggle to bear fruit—it simply stays connected to the vine. And as we remain in fellowship with Jesus, His life flows into us. His peace becomes ours. His strength becomes ours. His obedience becomes ours.

So, beloved, let love be your aim. Let your heart say, “Lord Jesus, I love You. Teach me to walk in Your ways.” The one who loves will obey—not out of compulsion, but out of joy. “For this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments. And His commandments are not heavy.” (1 John 5:3).

Love Him deeply. Follow Him closely. Trust Him fully. And you will find that obedience is no longer a burden—it is a delight. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light (Matthew 11:30).

When you love Him, your life will tell the story. Every step, every choice, every word will whisper one truth: “I love the Lord, because He first loved me.” (Psalm 116:1).

Lord Jesus, teach my heart to love You more each day. Let my life become a quiet testimony of that love. May every word I speak and every step I take echo the truth that You first loved me. Let gratitude be the melody of my days and obedience the rhythm of my walk. In Your precious name I pray, amen.

BDD

IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL ABOUT HEBREWS 13:17

The King James translators in 1611 worked in a world where church and monarchy were tightly connected. Authority and hierarchy were part of everyday life — both in government and religion. So when they came to Hebrews 13:17, they chose words like “obey” and “rule” that fit the tone of their culture’s structure, not necessarily the heart of the Greek text. They leaned toward institutional authority because that’s how the church functioned in their time.

Modern translations return to the original sense (some don’t) — describing leaders who guide and believers who trust and cooperate, not rulers and subjects. These versions better reflect the relational, servant-hearted leadership that Jesus taught and the early church practiced.

We’ve all heard that verse — “Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves…” It’s quoted often, especially when someone wants to remind you who’s “in charge.” But if you want to get technical about it — and sometimes you should — the original Greek doesn’t say obey or rule at all.

The verse in Greek reads:

Πείθεσθε τοῖς ἡγουμένοις ὑμῶν καὶ ὑπείκετε (Peithesthe tois hēgoumenois hymōn kai hypeikete)

At first glance, that may look like a mouthful. But let’s take it slow, because there’s gold in those words.

The first word, peithesthe, comes from peithō. It doesn’t mean “obey” in the sense of being commanded. It means “be persuaded,” “be won over,” or “trust.” The writer is saying, “Be open to those who lead you. Let yourself be convinced by their example.” It’s not about submission to an office; it’s about being inspired by a life.

Then there’s hēgoumenois, which our English Bibles often render as “them that have the rule over you.” But hēgoumenois simply means “leaders,” “guides,” or “those who go before.” It’s a relational term, not a hierarchical one. Think of someone walking ahead on a trail, showing you the way, not sitting above you giving orders.

Finally, hypeikete is translated “submit yourselves,” but it really means “yield,” “cooperate,” or “be receptive.” It’s the kind of openness that comes from respect and trust, not from fear or force.

So, if you put it all together, the verse really says something like:

“Be persuaded by your leaders and be open to them, for they watch over your souls as those who will give account.”

That sounds different, doesn’t it? It replaces the image of a ruler sitting in authority with the picture of a shepherd walking beside the flock. It calls for trust, not control — cooperation, not domination.

The early church never functioned as a corporation. Their leaders weren’t board members or businessmen; they were servants, shepherds, and spiritual guides. When the writer of Hebrews spoke of those who “watch for your souls,” he meant men and women who prayed for others, fed them the Word, and modeled faith by example.

Somewhere along the way, we began to read the Bible through the lens of power — building structures, hierarchies, and systems of control. But Christ’s kingdom was never meant to work that way. Jesus said plainly, “The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them…but it shall not be so among you” (Matthew 20:25–26).

When you understand Hebrews 13:17 in its true language, the pressure to “submit” to mere human systems begins to lift. You can respect godly leadership without surrendering your conscience. You can learn from shepherds without bowing to bosses.

God’s church doesn’t run on domination; it runs on love. Spiritual authority is not the power to control — it’s the grace to influence through example.

So if anyone ever tells you, “You can’t have an independent faith or ministry unless you’re under someone’s rule,” remember what the text really says. Be persuaded by those who genuinely lead you — those who live what they teach — but never trade the voice of Christ for the commands of men.

If my reading of Hebrews 13:17 is wrong, then who exactly are these “leaders” we are supposed to obey? Are they the Baptist pastors, the Catholic priests, the Presbyterian elders — each with their own rules, traditions, and interpretations of what it means to follow Christ? If they are not simply seasoned, Spirit‑filled believers who walk the path themselves, who guide by example, teach the Word faithfully, and help others grow in faith, then who are they? And if every group gives a different answer about what it means to live as a Christian, how can blind obedience to human authority be the standard? The verse is meant to point us to real shepherds, not human institutions, and if we lose that, we lose the very purpose of God’s design for leadership in the church.

The Shepherd of your soul still leads His sheep personally. And when He calls you to walk a certain path, you don’t need a board’s permission to follow Him.

BDD

“OBEY THEM THAT HAVE THE RULE OVER YOU” (Hebrews 13:17)

Hebrews 13:17 in the King James Version says, “Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you.”

At first glance, it sounds like the verse is commanding blind obedience to human authority — as if church leaders are rulers and the flock must submit to their control. But here’s the problem: the KJV translation is misleading and, frankly, a poor rendering of the original Greek. And some, unfortunately, take this to mean that believers must live under the authority of a certain hierarchy — that one cannot serve God or preach the gospel unless they have been approved, ordained, or managed by some denominational body. But that is not what this verse is teaching, nor what God intended for His church.

The old King James reflects the tone of its age — hierarchical and formal — but many newer translations bring us closer to the Greek intent: leadership by example, not by domination. Unfortunately, some of the modern translations were evidently afraid to break completely with what the KJV said. But ask the Greek scholars if the best translation of the verse would not go a little something like this:

“Be persuaded by those who lead you and willingly cooperate with them, for they keep watch over your souls and must give an account to God. Let them carry out this work with joy, not with grief, for your spiritual well-being depends on it.”

The words “obey” and “rule,” and the concept of “over you” are just simply not there.

(See the article on “If You Want to Get Technical About Hebrews 13:17” here on the website).

The church was never meant to be a corporation, and the elders were never meant to be a board of directors. The church is a flock, and elders are shepherds. A shepherd does not sit in an office giving orders; he walks among the sheep, knows their names, and lays down his life for them. His authority is moral, not mechanical — spiritual, not organizational. When Hebrews speaks of how to respond to those who “watch for your souls,” it speaks of spiritual care, not control.

There is a vast difference between spiritual leadership and institutional domination. True leaders are servants, not masters. Jesus said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them…Yet it shall not be so among you” (Matthew 20:25–26). The idea that men who may know little of the Scriptures, but possess business skill or social influence, should govern the direction of the church, is foreign to the New Testament. That kind of structure may succeed in the world, but it fails in the kingdom of God.

Many elders’ groups today operate more like administrative boards than like shepherds of souls. Decisions are made with charts, budgets, and votes — yet hearts are left hungry and untended. God’s church is to be led by spiritual people who walk in humility, pray often, and feed the flock with the Word. No one is to see themselves as overlords but as examples. Peter wrote, “Feed the flock of God which is among you…not as being lords over God’s heritage, but being examples to the flock” (1 Peter 5:2–3).

To say that one cannot minister independently of such human systems is to forget that every prophet, apostle, and revivalist God ever raised up began as an independent voice under divine authority. Amos was not on anyone’s payroll when God called him from the fields. John the Baptist did not wait for Jerusalem’s Sanhedrin to give him credentials. Paul did not seek approval from the apostles in Jerusalem before he began to preach — he said, “I did not immediately confer with flesh and blood” (Galatians 1:16).

The authority of Christ is the only true ordination. Every believer, and especially every preacher, must ultimately answer to Him. This does not mean rebellion against godly counsel or disregard for wise leadership. It means that our final submission is to the Lord who bought us, not to a human structure that may or may not reflect His will.

Independent faith is not arrogance — it is responsibility. Each of us must walk in obedience to the voice of God, tested by Scripture and guided by the Spirit. The church needs fewer administrators and more shepherds, fewer officials and more servants, fewer controllers and more comforters.

So yes, respond favorably to those who “watch for your souls.” But remember what that truly means: to follow those whose hearts are aligned with Christ, who labor for your growth, not their own power. Never surrender your conscience to men who rule like kings in a kingdom that belongs to God.

Lord Jesus, our true Shepherd, teach us to honor those who lead in Your Spirit, but never to worship human authority. Keep us humble, obedient, and free — servants of one Master and followers of one Voice. Amen.

BDD

MARRIAGE, DIVORCE AND REMARRIAGE (7): God’s Design for Marriage

When we open the sacred page and gaze upon the dawn of human life, we behold the first marriage — pure, unadorned, and heavenly in its simplicity. No choir sang. No priest spoke. No vows flickered beneath candlelight. There was only God, His creation, and two souls drawn together by His hand.

“Then the rib which the Lord God had taken from man He made into a woman, and He brought her to the man. And Adam said: ‘This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.’ Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” (Genesis 2:22–24)

God Himself was the witness, the officiant, and the author of this first holy union. Adam and Eve were not joined by words but by divine act. Their covenant was written not on parchment but in the mystery of flesh and spirit. The union was not performed — it was created.

Here we see marriage in its purest form: not ceremony, but covenant; not ritual, but reality. It is the sacred weaving of two lives into one, ordained by the Lord of heaven and sealed by His presence. What God joined in Eden was more than companionship; it was a reflection of His own image — two becoming one, even as the Father, Son, and Spirit are one. Every true marriage since that day is but an echo of that first divine joining.

Jacob and Leah: The Covenant in the Tent

If we allow Scripture to define marriage, we must let its narratives speak plainly. Genesis 29 tells of the strange and sorrowful joining of Jacob and Leah.

“And Laban gathered together all the men of the place and made a feast…Then he took Leah his daughter and brought her to Jacob; and he went in to her…So it came to pass in the morning, that behold, it was Leah!” (Genesis 29:22–25)

There was a feast, but the feast was not the marriage. There was celebration, but celebration was not covenant. The covenantal act occurred in the privacy of the tent, where Jacob — believing he was entering marriage — gave himself in the one-flesh union.

Here is the point: Jacob intended marriage, though he intended it with Rachel. His heart, his will, his covenant-aligning intention was set upon a bride. Laban’s deception changed the identity of the woman, but not the reality of the covenant. Jacob entered the union with the intention of marriage, and God counted the union as marriage — not because the act itself creates covenant indiscriminately, but because Jacob entered the act as a husband entering a covenant.

Had marriage been only a ritual, the deception could have been easily undone. But covenant runs deeper than ceremony. It is not made by men’s speeches, but by God’s recognition of two made one.

Still, the act alone does not create covenant. Union without intent is corruption; intent without union is incomplete. Marriage requires both — the heart’s will and the body’s sealing.

This is the weight and wonder of the one-flesh bond. It is sacred because it reflects Christ’s inseparable union with His Church.

The Wedding at Cana: A Celebration of Covenant

In the Gospel of John we find Christ attending a wedding in Cana. “On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee…Jesus and His disciples were invited” (John 2:1–2).

There was joy, laughter, and hope — yet no vows are recorded, no ritual detailed. What Christ blessed that day was not a ceremony in itself, but a covenant already formed. His miracle honored a union, not a script.

By turning water into wine, Jesus sanctified the gladness of marriage and declared that such joy is worthy of heaven’s smile. The feast celebrated what God had already joined.

So it is today: ceremonies may be holy, but God alone joins the hearts. The altar may bless the covenant; the Spirit alone seals it.

Marriage, Intention, and Covenant

From Eden to Cana, from the Garden to Calvary, Scripture speaks with one voice: marriage is a covenant of faithfulness between one man and one woman, joined as one flesh and blessed by God.

Sexual union, rightly ordered, is meant to seal that covenant — never to cheapen it. To enter that act without covenantal intent is sin; to enter it with covenantal intent is holy. Paul calls this “a great mystery” reflecting Christ and the Church (Ephesians 5:32).

The Role of Ceremony and Society

Although Scripture does not prescribe a formal ritual, it affirms the wisdom of public covenant. A ceremony does not create a marriage, but it declares it. Society records it; the church blesses it; God ordains it.

The joining is divine, but the witness is wise.

God’s Design and Human Distortion

In our day, marriage’s holy pattern has been blurred. But the Word remains unchanged: marriage is the sacred union of male and female — two distinct yet complementary, forming one flesh. Same-sex unions, however affectionate, cannot fulfill that design. They cannot mirror Christ and the Church.

Truth must be spoken with compassion. Holiness without love is harsh; love without holiness is hollow.

Grace, Repentance, and Renewal

Where hearts are wounded, grace still flows. Many have stumbled in passion or ignorance; yet Christ forgives, cleanses, and restores. The past can be washed, the covenant renewed, the heart made whole.

Repentance opens the door; mercy rushes in.

Walking in God’s Covenant

Marriage was born in Eden and will be fulfilled at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Every faithful union is a small reflection of that final glory. When a man and woman join their lives with lifelong intent, God blesses the covenant they form.

Let our homes be sanctuaries of grace. Let husbands love as Christ loves; let wives honor as the Church honors her Lord. Every true marriage becomes a sermon — a living parable of redemption.

For “from the beginning it was not so” that man should stand alone. And from the beginning until the end, God’s design remains the same:

two made one, joined by His hand, blessed by His Spirit, and kept by His grace.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE IDOL OF ORTHODOXY

We have made an idol out of orthodoxy. What was meant to guard our faith has too often become a golden calf in the midst of it. We recite words once forged in the fires of devotion, but now they serve as cold test stones for who belongs and who does not. We say sola scriptura, but we speak English. Why then do we cling to Latin phrases as if heaven required them? Nowhere in Scripture does God command that His truth be preserved in a tongue foreign to love. He asks for hearts that tremble at His Word, not tongues that recite it in proper form (Isaiah 66:2).

When Jesus restored Peter after his fall, He did not ask, “Peter, do you affirm the right creed?” He asked, “Do you love Me?” (John 21:15). That is the measure of all true religion. The first and greatest commandment is not “Understand perfectly,” but “Love the Lord your God with all your heart” (Matthew 22:37). The second is like it, to love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:39). On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets (Matthew 22:40). Yet many would rather divide over formulas than unite under these words of Christ.

We have built fences around fellowship that Christ never built. We decide who is “sound” by what phrases they sign their name to, not by the fruit of their lives. Yet the Lord said, “By their fruits you shall know them” (Matthew 7:20). If a brother loves the Lord Jesus in sincerity, if he walks humbly, helps the weak, and bears the burdens of others, how dare we deny him fellowship? The apostles rejoiced when Christ was preached, even if others did it differently (Philippians 1:18). The only thing that counts is faith working through love (Galatians 5:6).

Christ never said, “By this shall all men know you are My disciples, if you can articulate My attributes correctly.” He said, “If you love one another” (John 13:35). That is the badge of true orthodoxy. If we speak with tongues of angels and have all knowledge, but have not love, we are nothing (1 Corinthians 13:1–2). Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up (1 Corinthians 8:1). The Spirit does not rest upon the scholar but upon the humble and contrite heart (Isaiah 57:15).

We have traded communion for competition. We no longer ask, “Do you know Christ?” but “Do you agree with my confession?” Yet the thief on the cross had no confession but Christ Himself (Luke 23:42). The woman who washed His feet had no creed but tears and love (Luke 7:47–48). The man born blind did not even know who Jesus was when he was healed; he only said, “One thing I know, that I was blind, and now I see” (John 9:25). These are the souls heaven calls blessed. Their orthodoxy was love. Their confession was Christ.

The Bible teaches that love fulfills the law (Romans 13:10). It says that whoever loves is born of God and knows God (1 John 4:7). It says that if anyone loves God, that one is known by Him (1 Corinthians 8:3). Love is not a lesser truth but the greatest one. To love Christ is to know Him, and to know Him is eternal life (John 17:3). The Father is not seeking those who can sign statements, but those who will worship Him in spirit and in truth (John 4:23).

Let us therefore leave behind the pride of being “right” and seek the purity of being “real.” Let us measure soundness not by precision of speech but by passion for Christ. For where the heart burns with love for Him, the mind will follow in humility, and the lips will speak what pleases the Spirit. The Church needs fewer debates and more devotion, fewer watchmen of words and more lovers of the Word made flesh.

It is not the creed that saves. It is Christ. It is not the phrase that preserves us. It is the Person who died and rose again. Sola scriptura may remind us that Scripture is supreme, but Scripture itself points us to Jesus (John 5:39). If we love Him, we will love one another (1 John 4:11). And in that love, we will find the unity for which He prayed (John 17:21).

Let every heart return to its first love. Let the Church repent of its pride in formulas and fall again at the feet of the Lamb. For it is love that never fails (1 Corinthians 13:8), and only love that will last when every creed and slogan has turned to dust.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

JOINED TO THE LORD

To be joined to the Lord is not a small thing, nor an advanced stage of the Christian walk. It is the very heart of it. Our life in Christ begins and continues in this union. “He who is joined to the Lord is one spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:17). That is not fellowship for a moment or communion on occasion—it is a living oneness. It is the pulse of real Christianity.

In Him we live, and move, and have our being (Acts 17:28). Outside of Him there is only striving. But in Him, everything takes root and grows. All grace flows from that living union. All power, all purity, all peace—spring from the same fountain.

The Jordan and the Mantle

When Elijah and Elisha stood by the Jordan, heaven was preparing to unveil a mystery (2 Kings 2). The prophet was about to cross, not only a river, but a threshold. As the waters parted, the story turned toward the realm of the Spirit. Elijah said, “Ask what I shall do for you before I am taken.” Elisha’s heart cried, “Let a double portion of your spirit be upon me.” Elijah answered, “You have asked a hard thing; yet if you see me when I am taken, it shall be so.”

And he saw. The chariot of fire descended. The whirlwind caught the old prophet away. Elisha cried out, “My father, my father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” Then the mantle fell—the symbol of transferred life and power. Elisha walked back to the river and struck the waters, crying, “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” The waters parted again, and he crossed over.

That crossing speaks of death and resurrection. It is the picture of baptism, of passing out of the old life into the new. As Israel crossed into the promised land, so we, by faith and through baptism, are joined into the life of Christ (Romans 6:3–5; Galatians 3:27).

After the Jordan came the Spirit. After baptism came the power. Jesus stood in that same river, and as He prayed, the Spirit descended upon Him (Matthew 3:16). So it is with every believer who truly enters union with Christ. We receive His life, His Spirit, His strength (Acts 2:38; Romans 8:9).

Seeing the Unseen

Union opens the eyes of faith. When Elisha’s servant trembled before the enemy armies, the prophet prayed, “Lord, open his eyes that he may see.” And the young man saw the mountain full of horses and chariots of fire (2 Kings 6:17).

So it is with those who walk in union with Christ. They live in two worlds at once. Their eyes see beyond what others see. They know that “those who are with us are more than those who are with them” (2 Kings 6:16). The veil is lifted, and the heart knows that Heaven is near.

The Still Small Voice

Elijah once stood upon another mountain, weary and alone (1 Kings 19). The wind roared, the earth quaked, the fire blazed—but the Lord was not in them. Then came a still small voice. That is union. It is not found in noise or spectacle, but in the whisper of God to the soul that abides in Him. The Christian life is not a code of conduct—it is communion with Christ Himself.

When we are joined to Him, He becomes our strength in battle. The armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-18) is not a set of separate virtues, but the person of Christ clothing the believer. Faith is His shield, salvation His helmet, the Spirit His sword. The victory is never ours alone—it is His life manifest in us (Galatians 2:20).

Abiding in the Secret Place

Union with Christ is not one doctrine among many. It is the very core of everything we believe and live. To abide in Him is to live in power (John 15:4–5). To draw near to Him is to be drawn near by Him (James 4:8). The greatest glory of the Christian is not what he does for Christ, but that Christ lives in him. That is the secret of holiness, discernment, endurance, and peace.

So walk with Him. Lean upon Him. Be found in Him. For in Him we live, and move, and have our being (Acts 17:28).

And to Him be all the praise.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

WHO WAS WATCHMAN NEE?

There are some names that seem to shine long after the voice itself has fallen silent. Watchman Nee is one of those names. He was not famous in the way the world counts fame. He didn’t build a grand cathedral or lead a movement that bore his own name. He simply gave his life to Christ — and then gave that life away for the sake of the gospel.

Watchman Nee was born in 1903 in Foochow (now Fuzhou), a coastal city in southern China. He was converted to Christ as a young man through the witness of a Chinese evangelist named Dora Yu, and from that moment his heart was set aflame with a single purpose — to know Christ and make Him known. He often said that when he surrendered to the Lord, he saw clearly that his old life had been crucified with Christ. From that moment forward, he lived only for the glory of God.

He never traveled widely outside his country, yet his influence spread far beyond it. In his twenties and thirties, Nee began teaching, preaching, and writing with a clarity and depth that startled even seasoned believers. He gathered small groups of Christians in homes, not to start a denomination, but to restore the simplicity of New Testament fellowship. He believed the church was not an organization but a living body — Christ expressed through His people.

His ministry became known as the “Local Church Movement.” It was not built around structure but around life — the life of Jesus flowing freely among His members. Through his sermons and writings, Watchman Nee called believers to abandon self-effort, pride, and religious striving, and to live by the indwelling Christ. His words were not lofty for the sake of loftiness; they were spiritual truths forged in prayer and obedience.

One of his most enduring books, The Normal Christian Life, was compiled from a series of messages he gave in England in the 1930s. In it, he describes the believer’s life not as a struggle to imitate Christ, but as a surrender that allows Christ to live His life through us. The cross, he taught, is not only for our forgiveness but for our deliverance from the old self. That book has changed countless lives, drawing hearts back to the simplicity of abiding in Christ.

But his life was not easy. When the Communist government rose to power in China, public Christianity was declared a threat. Nee was offered the chance to compromise his message in exchange for freedom, but he refused. In 1952, he was arrested for his faith, accused falsely of political crimes, and imprisoned. He spent the last twenty years of his life behind bars. His health failed, his body weakened, and most of his writings were banned. Yet even in chains, his faith remained unbroken.

In 1972, Watchman Nee died in prison, a quiet martyr for the Lord he loved. When his family was finally allowed to collect his few belongings, they found a small scrap of paper on which he had written his final testimony: “Christ is the Son of God who died for the redemption of sinners and was resurrected after three days. This is the greatest truth in the universe. I die because of my belief in Christ.”

This was obviously his way of letting his loved ones and the world know that he had not abandoned his faith, despite the fact that he had been cut off from the outside world for two decades under intense pressure to do so. Those words, simple and pure, carry the fragrance of his whole life.

Watchman Nee’s influence continues today through his writings and the spiritual fruit of those he discipled. I don’t agree with every position he took and I don’t recommend everything he wrote. But when it comes to the things that matter most — our life in Christ and how to surrender more to Him — Nee was a God-gifted genius. He reminds us that the Christian life is not about religious performance but about spiritual reality. It is not what we do for Christ, but what Christ does in us. His life stands as a living witness that even in suffering, God’s power can flow through a yielded vessel.

Many have called him a theologian, a pastor, a reformer. But perhaps it’s truer to call him what he always desired to be — a watchman. One who stood on the walls of a darkened world, sounding the call to awaken, to repent, to trust in Christ alone. His words still echo that call today.

May we live as he did — watchful, faithful, surrendered to the One who loved us and gave Himself for us.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE NORMAL CHRISTIAN LIFE: SIMPLE, DEEP, TRANSFORMATIVE

One of the writers who has helped my walk more than most is Watchman Nee. He was a man who loved Jesus with a quiet, burning intensity. Living in China in the early 20th century, he poured himself into teaching ordinary believers how to live an extraordinary life in Christ. He founded churches, trained leaders, and wrote books that are alive with insight and love for God. His most famous work, The Normal Christian Life, is a guide not to a checklist or a set of rules, but to a life fully surrendered to Jesus, a life flowing with His presence.

Likely no extra-biblical book has ever helped me more than that one. I used to say every Christian should read it, but then I noticed how some people read it and seemed to miss its power, and I hesitated, wondering if I should still recommend it. Different authors and books hit people differently. So now I say simply: it helped me, and it may help you. That’s all. There is no pressure here. Just a quiet invitation to step into something deeper, to learn to live from the life of Christ instead of trying to push life out of your own effort.

Nee’s teaching is simple, yet it penetrates the soul. He begins with the truth that we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection. Sin no longer rules over us, not because we are strong, but because we have been crucified with Him. Paul said it beautifully: “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). So much of our struggle comes from living as though we are still under the weight of the old self, as though we must carry the world alone. But the normal Christian life is learned when we remember that Christ’s life is flowing through us, unseen yet powerful, carrying us through the valleys, lifting us above the storms, giving us victory over what once had dominion.

The second truth Nee presses upon us is that the Christian life is not about striving or polishing ourselves. It is about Christ-expression. We are not called to make ourselves holy; He is the Holy One. He is the River, the Source, the Life that flows through the clay jars of our ordinary days. The more we release ourselves, the more fully He inhabits our hearts. The more we lay down our agendas, our fears, our ambitions, the more His life can breathe through us, shaping our words, our thoughts, our very being. As Paul prayed, “That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith” (Ephesians 3:17), we find that even the mundane becomes sacred, even the ordinary hours are touched by His glory.

Reading The Normal Christian Life is not about adding more duty or obligation to your day. It is about stepping out of the futile labor of trying to live the Christian life on your own. It is about trusting Him, letting Him do through you what you could never do for yourself, and discovering the quiet, persistent beauty of a life lived from the inside out. This is a life that is simple, yet astonishing; ordinary, yet eternal; hidden in the heart, yet radiant before God.

If you have not read it, I cannot promise you will grasp it all the first time. But perhaps, if you open the pages gently, God will use it to whisper truth to your soul, to lead you into a deeper, quieter joy, and to teach you to live — truly live — in the flow of Christ.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE FAITH THAT THINKS: WHY TRUE SCIENCE HONORS GOD

Christianity and science are not strange bedfellows. They are not enemies glaring at one another across some imagined battlefield. They are, in truth, great partners. Each—when rightly understood—leads the honest heart toward the glory of God.

Real science is a good thing. I’m not afraid of it, and no Christian needs to be. The same God who wrote the Bible also wrote the laws of nature. He is the Author of both revelation and reason. Science, when it is true science, helps us to understand God’s created order. It shows us the precision, the beauty, and the intelligence behind what we call “the natural world.”

The Psalmist said, “The heavens declare the glory of God and the skies show His handiwork” (Psalm 19:1). Paul echoed the same truth when he wrote, “Because since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead” (Romans 1:20).

When we look through a telescope, we see the craftsmanship of God on a cosmic scale. When we look through a microscope, we see the same glory at the cellular level. There is no contradiction between faith and fact, between creation and discovery. The God who made the atom also made the galaxies, and both obey His voice.

But here is where the trouble comes. The problem is not with science itself, but with philosophy masquerading as science. When unbelief dresses itself in a lab coat, it becomes deceitful. Science, as a method, is the process of observing, measuring, testing, and repeating. It deals with what can be verified and demonstrated. True science is humble—it admits what it can and cannot do.

When men step outside those boundaries—when they try to explain ultimate origins, eternal purposes, and moral truths—they are no longer doing science. They have crossed over into philosophy or theology, and often bad theology at that.

No scientist can run a laboratory test to determine where the universe came from. No one can recreate the beginning of all things. The scientific method requires controlled experiments and repeatable results. But creation happened once. There is no “control group” for Genesis 1. You cannot put eternity in a test tube.

That’s why theories about the ultimate origin of the universe or of life itself belong partly to philosophy rather than pure science. They involve assumptions about the unseen past. You may have heard of the Big Bang theory or of the idea of evolution as an explanation for all life. These ideas use scientific observations, but they also include philosophical interpretations about what those observations mean.

For example, scientists can observe microevolution—small variations and adaptations within species. That is genuine science, based on real data. But macroevolution, the claim that all life arose from a single ancestor through unguided natural processes, is not something that can be tested or repeated. It is a historical inference about unobserved events. Such theories may use scientific evidence, but they rest on philosophical assumptions—especially the assumption that no divine cause was involved.

Science, by definition, cannot determine whether God acted or not. It can only study how things behave in the present. Therefore, when someone says that science “proves” there is no Creator, they are no longer speaking scientifically—they are speaking philosophically.

The Bible begins with certainty: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1). From that single declaration flows all true knowledge. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). When man starts with God, his thinking becomes clear. When he starts without Him, confusion follows.

Isaac Asimov observed that science is built on curiosity and humility—on the willingness to admit ignorance and seek understanding. The Christian can go further still. He seeks knowledge not for pride, but for praise. Every discovery, every formula, every new element of understanding becomes another reason to worship.

The more deeply we study nature, the more we stand amazed at the wisdom of God. True science magnifies the Lord; false science magnifies man. One bows in reverence; the other struts in rebellion.

Paul warned Timothy about this very thing when he wrote, “Guard what was committed to your trust, avoiding the profane and idle babblings and contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge” (1 Timothy 6:20). The Greek word there for “knowledge” is gnosis—what we might call “science.” Paul’s warning still echoes today: beware of false science, the kind that claims certainty about questions it cannot actually test.

Real science never contradicts Scripture, because both come from the same God. When there seems to be a conflict, the issue lies in our understanding, not in the truth itself. The Christian should never fear to learn, to study, to think deeply. God gave us minds not to suspend but to sanctify.

When we explore the laws of physics, we are uncovering the order of God. When we study biology, we are examining His artistry in life. When we consider the vastness of the cosmos, we are glimpsing His majesty. As the old hymn says, “This is my Father’s world.”

Science can show us the hand of God, but only faith can bring us to His heart. The microscope can show His design, but only Scripture reveals His desire—to save sinners and restore creation through Christ Jesus our Lord.

At the cross, we meet the greatest revelation of all—the wisdom of God that confounds the wisdom of this world. Paul wrote, “For since, in the wisdom of God, the world through wisdom did not know God, it pleased God through the foolishness of the message we preach to save those who believe” (1 Corinthians 1:21). Science may tell us how the heavens go, but the Bible tells us how to go to heaven.

So, let us love truth wherever it is found. Let us honor honest science, and let us reject proud speculation. The same Christ who walked on water also made the laws that govern it. He is the Lord of all truth, whether revealed in Scripture or discovered in nature.

When we see clearly, when we think rightly, and when we worship humbly, we find that faith and reason are not enemies but companions on the same road—each leading us nearer to the God of all creation.

Lord of all truth, teach us to think as Your children. Help us to see Your wisdom in every law of nature and Your beauty in every living thing. Guard us from pride and from false knowledge. Give us the humility to learn and the faith to worship. May all our study lead us to Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

WORKING FOR CHRIST

Working for Christ is one of the greatest privileges given to a redeemed soul. The Bible says that we are “laborers together with God” and that “each one will receive his reward according to his own labor” (1 Corinthians 3:9; 3:8). Think of a faithful worker in a vineyard, toiling under the kind and watchful eye of his supervisor. Every movement of the hand, every seed planted, every burden carried, is seen and remembered. Our Lord is not a harsh taskmaster but a gracious Shepherd who delights to bless His servants. His watchful gaze is not to condemn but to strengthen. He does not drive us with whips of fear but draws us with cords of love (Hosea 11.4).

Anything done out of love for Jesus is a good work. The Bible says that we are to “walk in good works” and to “let our light shine before men, that they may see our good works and glorify our Father in heaven” (Ephesians 2:10; Matthew 5:16). We are to be careful to maintain good works, for these things are good and profitable unto men (Titus 3:8). Good works are not the root of salvation, but they are its fruit. We are not rescued from the abyss of sin and ruin by our own labor, but by grace through faith in Christ alone (Ephesians 2:8-9). Yet when His mercy lifts us from the pit of corruption, He sets our feet upon the Rock and builds us into His spiritual house — the body of Christ, the temple of the living God (Psalm 40:2; 1 Peter 2:5; Ephesians 1:22-23)

In that holy fellowship we belong. We are called, not only to believe, but to work out our salvation with reverent diligence, knowing that God Himself works in us to will and to do His good pleasure (Philippians 2:12-13). Every act done for love’s sake becomes sacred. To visit the sick, to comfort the weary, to speak a kind word, to serve unnoticed — all are offerings of worship when done unto Christ (Colossians 3:23-24; Matthew 25:40) He who gave a cup of water in His name would never lose their reward (Mark 9:41).

So do your good works, not to be seen by men, but by the eyes of the Lord who searches every heart (Matthew 6:1-4; 1 Samuel 16:7). Rest in Christ, for the work of salvation is finished (John 19:30). You do not labor under fear, but in the freedom of grace. The cross has turned duty into delight and obedience into love. Freedom means peace, and gratitude becomes effort. The more we love Him, the more we long to serve Him (2 Corinthians 5:14-15).

Therefore, like Jesus, go about doing good (Acts 10:38). Whether your deeds are great or small, perform them as an act of devotion to the Master. Nothing done for Him is wasted. Every unseen kindness, every humble task, every quiet act of faithfulness ascends like fragrance before the throne. He takes note of it all and records it as the labor of love that flows from a heart redeemed by grace.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE VOICE THAT CALLS MY NAME

“My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” (John 10:27)

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and share fellowship with him.” (Revelation 3:20)

There is nothing quite like hearing the voice of Jesus. It is not always audible, but it is unmistakable. His words do not echo through the air as much as they move through the heart. There are many voices in this world, but only one carries the sound of eternal love — the voice that calls us by name.

When Jesus speaks, He speaks personally. He knows who we are, where we are, and what we need most. He never mistakes one sheep for another. The world may pass us by unnoticed, but the Shepherd never does. When He calls, His voice is gentle yet full of power — the power that awakens faith, calms fear, and turns the wandering heart homeward.

I have learned that hearing His voice begins with quietness. The Shepherd’s call is not heard through hurried living. It comes when the soul has grown weary of its own noise and bows low enough to listen. Many times I could not hear Him because I was speaking too much, planning too much, or worrying too much. But when I grew still and honest before Him, His voice came softly, and peace followed closely behind.

The voice of Jesus does not accuse or condemn. It calls us out of darkness into light. Even His rebuke is clothed in mercy, for it is meant to restore what sin has broken. I have felt His correction pierce deeply, yet always with the tenderness of a hand that heals as it wounds. That is how love speaks — firmly, faithfully, and always for our good.

Sometimes He calls through Scripture, other times through prayer, and often through circumstances that bring us to our knees. Yet no matter how He speaks, the purpose is always the same — to draw us nearer to Himself. The call of Christ is not to religion or routine; it is to relationship. He wants our hearts, not our performance.

There was a time I thought hearing from God was rare, reserved for the saints of old. But now I see that He still speaks — to the humble, to the hungry, to the ones who dare to listen. His sheep still know His voice because He still knows His sheep. When the heart is tuned to trust, even the faintest whisper of His will becomes clear.

If you have ever wondered whether He still calls your name, know this: He has never stopped. Even if you have wandered far, His love has gone farther. Even if you have failed, His grace remains greater. Open your heart once more, and you will find Him standing near, knocking softly, calling you to come and walk with Him again.

His voice is life. It is the voice that spoke the world into being, the voice that stilled the sea, the voice that will one day raise the dead. And yet, that same voice bends low enough to speak peace to your troubled heart.

Lord Jesus, help me to hear Your voice above all others. Quiet my heart and clear my mind until Your Word becomes the song of my soul. Call my name again, and give me the grace to answer. Let Your voice lead me in love and keep me near to You always. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SECRET PLACE OF PRAYER

“When you pray, go into your room and shut the door. Pray to your Father who is unseen, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.” (Matthew 6:6)

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:6–7)

There is a place known only to those who seek it — a sacred meeting place between the soul and God. It cannot be entered by pride or pretense, but by humility and hunger. Jesus called it the secret place. It is not found in a building or a ceremony, but within the quiet chambers of a heart turned toward Heaven.

The world prizes what is seen, but God treasures what is hidden. In the secret place, no applause is heard, no crowd is watching, no reputation is built. Yet it is there, unseen by others, that the greatest work of grace is done. The unseen prayers of the humble shape eternity more than the loudest voices of earth.

Prayer is not an exercise to impress God; it is the soul’s lifeline to Him. It is not the length of our words that moves Heaven, but the love behind them. Some of my most sincere prayers have been nothing more than a whisper — “Lord, help me.” Yet those were the moments when His peace flooded my heart like a river.

When we shut the door to the world and open our hearts to the Father, we discover what prayer truly is — not a ritual, but a relationship. The Father who sees in secret knows every longing we cannot express. Even when words fail, the Spirit intercedes with groanings too deep for speech.

There have been times when I entered the secret place burdened, confused, and empty. But somehow, through tears and silence, I left renewed. The secret place changes nothing around us at first — it changes something within us. The peace of God begins to guard the heart like a fortress. Fear loses its grip, and faith begins to rise again.

Every believer needs that hidden fellowship — that place where the soul can breathe, confess, and commune. Public worship is powerful, but private prayer sustains it. Our strength in the open comes from what we receive in secret. When we draw near to God there, His presence fills the unseen corners of our days.

The secret place is not about isolation but intimacy. It is where we learn that we are never truly alone. God is not waiting at a distance; He is waiting behind the closed door of a yielded heart. And when we meet Him there, we find that His presence is reward enough.

Father, draw me often into the secret place where You wait. Teach me to close the door on every distraction and open my heart fully to You. Hear my simple prayers and fill me with Your peace. Let Your presence be my refuge, my renewal, and my greatest joy. Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

SEATED AT THE KING’S TABLE

I often think of the story of Mephibosheth when I read Ephesians 2:1–3: “And you He made alive, who were dead in trespasses and sins, in which you once walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience, among whom also we all once conducted ourselves in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, just as the others.”

Mephibosheth was crippled and living in Lodebar — a barren place whose name means “no pasture” (2 Samuel 9:4). He was the grandson of Saul, the fallen king, and by birth had no claim to David’s table. Like us before Christ, he was cut off, helpless, and unable to help himself.

But God, rich in mercy, moves in ways that defy our expectations, as Ephesians 2:4–5 reminds us: “But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved).”

David remembered the covenant he made with Saul’s son Jonathan, Mephibosheth’s father, and out of pure mercy said, “Is there anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1) That is how God works toward us — not because of our worthiness, but because of His covenant love through Jesus Christ. His mercy finds the broken, the lost, and the overlooked, calling us to Himself.

David sent for Mephibosheth, lifted him from Lodebar to Jerusalem, and said, “You shall eat bread at my table continually” (2 Samuel 9:7). This illustrates Ephesians 2:6–7: “And raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.” From that day forward, Mephibosheth sat among the king’s sons, welcomed and honored. In the same way, God has raised us up in Christ and seated us in heavenly places. We dine daily at His table of grace, not because of our merit, but because of His love.

Mephibosheth brought nothing with him — no strength, no merit, no offering. He said, “What is your servant, that you should look upon such a dead dog as I am?” (2 Samuel 9:8) Yet David gave him everything: land, servants, and honor. Salvation works the same way. Ephesians 2:8–9 says: “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” We come empty-handed, and grace fills our cup.

From that day, Mephibosheth lived in humility and gratitude, walking in the kindness shown to him (2 Samuel 9:11). His life became a quiet testimony to the mercy of the king. Likewise, when we are redeemed by grace, our lives become living reflections of God’s workmanship. Ephesians 2:10 reminds us: “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.” We are called to live in His goodness, reflecting His love to a world that is still lost without Him.

We were Mephibosheth — broken, hiding, unworthy. Christ is our greater David — seeking us, lifting us, and seating us in His presence. His mercy is personal, His grace abundant, and His love unending.

Lord Jesus, I thank You for calling me when I was lost and helpless. Thank You for lifting me from the pit of sin and seating me at Your table, not because of anything I have done, but because of Your covenant love and mercy. Help me to walk in gratitude and humility, reflecting Your workmanship in every good work. Let my life be a quiet testimony to Your grace, and may I always remember that it is Your love that saves and sustains me. In Your holy name, Amen.

BDD

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

THE PSYCHOSIS OF RACISM

Racism is not only a sin of the tongue or of the hand — it is a sickness of the heart and a blindness of the soul. It is a spiritual psychosis, a delusion that separates man from the truth of God’s creation. The racist mind does not see men and women as God made them — in His image — but through the distorted lens of pride and fear.

When people say, “Some of my best friends are black,” they imagine they are proving their innocence. Yet friendship with those of another race does not cancel prejudice any more than being near a church makes one holy. When love is pure, it does not measure or label. It simply loves. A heart free in Christ does not think, “This is my black friend,” or “This is my white friend.” It simply rejoices, “This is my friend.”

James wrote, “If ye have respect to persons, ye commit sin, and are convinced of the law as transgressors” (James 2:9 KJV). What is “respect to persons“? The New Living Translation (NLT) clears it up: “But if you favor some people over others, you are committing a sin. You are guilty of breaking the law.”

The apostle was not merely speaking of wealth or social class. The principle reaches deeper — to every form of partiality that divides those whom Christ died to make one. At the Cross, the blood of Jesus washed away every dividing wall. To rebuild those walls is to deny the work of Calvary.

Jesus said, “You shall know them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). The fruit of racism is hatred, suspicion, mockery, and division. The fruit of the Spirit is “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23). When a person consistently bears fruit that separates and scorns, we must face the truth: they are walking in darkness, not in the light of Christ.

Think of Archie Bunker and Fred Sanford — two men from old television who made us laugh, yet were written to expose the foolishness of prejudice. They didn’t see themselves as racist. They believed they were just “telling it like it is.” But that’s the tragedy of the psychosis of racism — it blinds its victim to the disease itself. Those who watched only for humor and not for lesson missed the mirror being held before them.

Contrast Archie and Fred with Lionel and Julio. Lionel from All in the Family, and Julio from Sanford and Son — men who met the ignorance of others with grace, dignity, and patience. They rose above hatred without becoming hateful. They saw people as people, not as colors. You could live next door to a Julio or a Lionel and find peace (not so with Fred or Archie). That is the fruit of a heart in touch with reality — God’s reality — that all men are one in Adam and redeemed by one Christ.

Paul declared, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). In the kingdom of God, the dividing lines of flesh are erased by the blood of the Lamb. When a man still insists on drawing them, he is walking contrary to heaven’s design.

The psychosis of racism is that it makes people see color first and character later, if at all. The mind enslaved by prejudice cannot rejoice in diversity as God’s artistry. It sees difference as danger, not design. But to be renewed in Christ is to have the mind of Christ — to see with His eyes, to love with His love.

When we stop saying, “I don’t see color,” and start saying, “I see Christ in every person,” we begin to heal. For we are not called to blindness, but to truth — and the truth is that every soul is precious. Every shade of skin is a brushstroke of the Creator’s beauty.

Let us then repent of all respect of persons, for in doing so we draw nearer to the heart of God. Let us put away the delusion that love can coexist with prejudice. Let us look at one another and see not color, but creation — not difference, but divine design.

Lord, heal our eyes that we may see one another as You see us. Deliver us from the madness of pride and the blindness of hate. Let the mind that was in Christ Jesus be in us, that we may walk in humility, justice, and love. Teach us to live as citizens of one kingdom, one family, one redemption. In Jesus’ name, Amen

BDD