by Eron Henry | Mar 25, 2025 | Lent 2025
No one escapes suffering, whether through physical pain, emotional anguish, relational fracture, or spiritual darkness. Christian tradition offers a distinctive perspective on suffering through the person of Jesus, who not only experienced agonizing suffering but transformed our understanding of it.
The writer of Hebrews captures this idea perfectly, encouraging believers to “fix our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame” (Hebrews 12:2). What makes Jesus’ example so powerful is not merely that He suffered, but how He suffered with purpose, dignity, and unwavering trust in God’s ultimate purposes.
Jesus’ journey to the cross reveals several dimensions of faithful endurance. First, He remained honest about suffering’s reality. In Gethsemane, He didn’t minimize His anguish but acknowledged it fully: “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). This gives us permission to name our pain rather than denying it.
Second, Jesus maintained communion with God throughout His ordeal. His prayers in Gethsemane and His cries from the cross (“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”) demonstrate that suffering doesn’t require spiritual stoicism. Honest lament remains an authentic expression of faith.
Third, Jesus oriented Himself toward a larger purpose beyond immediate relief. “For the joy set before Him” suggests that endurance becomes possible when suffering is contextualized within a broader narrative of redemption. Our sufferings, like His, can participate in purposes that transcend our immediate circumstances.
Perhaps most importantly, Jesus’ resurrection transforms our understanding of suffering’s finality. Without diminishing suffering’s reality, the empty tomb declares that suffering does not have the last word. The God who raised Jesus promises that our tears, too, will eventually be wiped away.
When we look to Jesus in our darkest moments, we find not a distant deity untouched by pain, but one who “has been tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15). His example offers not just inspiration but identification, the assurance that whatever valley we walk through, we follow footsteps already imprinted there. In this lies our hope and strength to persevere.
Prayer
Faithful God,
When the weight of suffering bears down upon us and the path ahead seems too difficult to walk, help us fix our eyes on Jesus, who endured the cross for the joy set before Him.
Thank You that we do not follow a Savior who is unfamiliar with pain. In our darkest valleys and most troubled nights, remind us that Jesus walked this way before us, honest in His anguish, steadfast in His faith.
When we are tempted to hide our suffering behind masks of false strength, grant us the courage to be truthful about our pain, as Jesus was in Gethsemane. When words fail us, may we remember that even Christ cried out in moments of desolation.
Help us maintain communion with You even when we feel most abandoned. Teach us to pray through our tears and to trust beyond our understanding. Like Jesus, may we seek Your presence especially when it seems most distant.
When we cannot see purpose in our pain, give us faith to believe that our suffering is not meaningless. May we glimpse, even dimly, the redemptive possibilities that lie beyond our present circumstances.
And in our moments of deepest despair, whisper to us the promise of resurrection, that suffering, however real and raw, does not have the final word in our story.
We look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who transformed suffering through faithful endurance. In His name we pray, trusting in Your mercy that sustains us through every trial.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 24, 2025 | Lent 2025
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John chapter 1 presents four distinct recognitions of Jesus, each deeper than the last. When Andrew and his companion first approach Jesus, they address Him simply as “Rabbi” or Teacher (v. 38). This represents the initial way many encounter Jesus—as a wise instructor whose teachings merit attention. The title acknowledges Jesus’s authority to interpret truth, but remains within familiar religious categories.
Soon after, Andrew declares to his brother Simon: “We have found the Messiah” (v. 41). This recognition elevates Jesus from respected teacher to the long-awaited anointed one of Israel. The title carries political and eschatological significance, identifying Jesus as the fulfillment of national hopes and divine promises.
Philip further expands this understanding when he tells Nathanael: “We have found Him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote” (v. 45). This recognition places Jesus as the prophet like Moses promised in Deuteronomy 18:15, the culmination of Israel’s prophetic tradition and the authoritative interpreter of divine law.
The crescendo comes with Nathanael’s confession: “Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” (v. 49). This dual acknowledgment transcends previous titles, recognizing both Jesus’s divine identity and royal authority. Nathanael’s confession anticipates the Gospel’s central claim about Jesus’s unique relationship with the Father.
Yet Jesus suggests even these exalted titles don’t capture His full identity. He promises Nathanael: “You will see greater things than these… heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man” (vv. 50-51). The allusion to Jacob’s ladder indicates Jesus as the connection point between heaven and earth, the place where divine and human realms meet.
This progression reveals something deep about spiritual understanding. Our recognition of Jesus rarely comes in a single moment of complete comprehension but unfolds through ongoing encounter. We begin with partial insights that gradually deepen. The journey from seeing Jesus as teacher to acknowledging Him as divine Son mirrors the path many believers travel, a progressive revelation that continues to unfold throughout John’s Gospel and in our own lives of faith.
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You who revealed Yourself gradually to those first disciples, we come before You with hearts open to deeper understanding.
When we first meet You as Teacher, grant us the humility to sit at Your feet and learn. May we follow You and embrace your teaching.
As You revealed Yourself as Messiah, open our eyes to recognize You as the fulfillment of ancient promises. May we share our discoveries with eager hearts.
When You appear as Prophet, help us see how You fulfill the law and the prophets. May we invite others to encounter You beyond the limitations of our preconceptions.
And as You stand revealed as Son of God and King of Israel, may we move from skepticism to sincere confession, recognizing Your divine nature and authority.
Yet we know that even these titles cannot contain You. Expand our vision to glimpse the greater things You promised.
Guide us through each stage of knowing You more fully. When we settle for partial understanding, draw us deeper. When we think we have You figured out, surprise us with new facets of Your glory.
May our journey with You continue to unfold, until that day when we shall know fully, even as we are fully known.
Amen.
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by Eron Henry | Mar 23, 2025 | Lent 2025
Within the Jewish prophetic tradition, figures like Amos and Isaiah spoke with uncompromising moral clarity, confronting kings and challenging social systems that failed to embody divine justice. To understand Jesus of Nazareth fully, we must recognize Him as standing firmly within this prophetic heritage.
Like Amos, Jesus confronted economic exploitation and religious hypocrisy. Amos thundered, “They sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals” (Amos 2:6), condemning an economic system that treated vulnerable people as commodities. Jesus similarly overturned the tables in the Temple, denouncing the exploitation that had infiltrated sacred spaces. Both spoke from the margins—Amos as a shepherd from Tekoa, Jesus as a woodworker from Nazareth—yet addressed the centers of power with divine authority.
Like Isaiah, Jesus proclaimed a vision of God’s reign that would transform society. Isaiah’s vision of swords beaten into plowshares finds resonance in Jesus’ teachings about the Kingdom of God, a realm where the first become last, enemies are loved, and the poor receive good news. Both prophets embodied their message through symbolic actions that made their words visible and undeniable.
The prophetic tradition emphasized that authentic worship is inseparable from social justice. “I hate, I despise your religious festivals,” declared Amos, “But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!” (Amos 5:21,24). Jesus echoed this sentiment when He quoted Hosea: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Matthew 9:13).
Jesus’ self-understanding appears deeply shaped by the prophetic calling. His inaugural sermon in Nazareth deliberately invoked Isaiah’s vision of liberation and jubilee. His parables challenged conventional assumptions about power, wealth, and status, continuing the prophetic tradition of subverting dominant narratives with alternative visions of reality.
Recognizing Jesus as Hebrew prophet doesn’t diminish other claims about His identity but enriches them. It grounds His ministry in the soil of Israel’s ongoing covenant relationship with God and reveals the continuity between His message and the ethical monotheism championed by His prophetic predecessors. In Jesus, the prophetic voice of Israel reaches its fullest expression— calling for justice, mercy, and faithful relationship with God and neighbor.
Prayer
Holy One of Israel,
You who spoke through the voices of Amos and Isaiah, who thundered justice through the prophets of old, we come before You with hearts open to Your prophetic word.
We give thanks for Jesus of Nazareth, faithful Hebrew prophet, who stood in the long line of those who spoke truth to power. Like Amos, He challenged the marketplaces that exploit the vulnerable. Like Isaiah, He proclaimed Your vision of peace and restoration.
Grant us ears to hear the prophetic call that echoes through the centuries, that demands justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
When we are comfortable with systems that oppress, disturb us with Your prophetic voice. When we separate worship from justice, remind us that You desire mercy, not sacrifice.
Help us to see as Jesus saw. To recognize the widow’s mite, to value the marginalized, to overturn the tables of exploitation in our own time. May we, like Him, proclaim good news to the poor, freedom for captives, and liberation for the oppressed.
Make us students of Your prophets, guardians of Your covenant, and practitioners of the justice and mercy that Jesus embodied. May we learn from the soil of Israel’s faith where Your prophetic word took root and flowered.
In the name of Jesus, Hebrew prophet and fulfillment of prophecy, we pray.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 22, 2025 | Lent 2025
The church, when true to its calling, exists as a countercultural community that defies the dominant narratives of power, consumerism, and individualism. Yet this defiance springs not from hatred or fear but from a profound love for God, for neighbor, and for creation.
Jesus exemplified this loving defiance throughout His ministry. He defied religious legalism while affirming the spirit of the law. He challenged the powerful while embracing the marginalized. His ultimate act of loving defiance came through the cross, submitting to death while simultaneously subverting its finality.
When churches embody loving defiance, they follow this pattern. They reject the logic of empire while offering an alternative rooted in radical hospitality. They stand firm against injustice while remaining open to reconciliation. They speak truth to power while maintaining humility about their own limitations.
This posture requires both courage and tenderness. It means creating spaces where genuine community can flourish amid a fractured society. It means practicing forgiveness while refusing to normalize harm. It means celebrating beauty and goodness while naming brokenness honestly.
The church as communities of loving defiance doesn’t merely criticize what is wrong but demonstrates what is possible. In doing so, it bears witness to a Kingdom both present and yet to come, a reality where love defies every force that diminishes human flourishing.
Prayer
Loving God,
Make us communities of loving defiance in a world that too often settles for indifference and conformity.
Grant us the courage to stand against the powers that diminish and divide, not with bitterness or self-righteousness, but with the revolutionary tenderness that Christ showed us.
When we are tempted to mirror the very systems we oppose, remind us that our defiance must always be rooted in love. When we grow weary of standing apart, strengthen our resolve through the fellowship of Your Spirit.
Help us reject the false comforts of empire while embodying the radical hospitality of Your Kingdom. May we speak truth boldly while listening humbly, challenge injustice firmly while offering grace freely.
In our communities, let reconciliation and justice embrace. Let our lives together demonstrate what is possible when love defies fear, when grace defies retribution, when hope defies despair.
Make us faithful witnesses to Your upside-down Kingdom, where the last are first, the lost are found, and love has the final word.
In the name of Jesus, who loved to the end and defied death itself, we pray.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 21, 2025 | Lent 2025
A striking convergence emerges across seemingly disparate early Christian apostolic traditions. The epistles of Titus, 1 Peter, and James—representing the Pauline, Petrine, and Judaizing streams respectively—reveal a shared preoccupation with Christian conduct within their surrounding social contexts. This commonality across such varied theological perspectives suggests something fundamental about early Christian self-understanding.
Titus, firmly situated within the Pauline corpus, emphasizes appropriate behavior as essential to Christian witness. The letter repeatedly instructs believers to be “above reproach” and to demonstrate lives “adorned with good works” that would make the teaching about God attractive to outsiders (Titus 2:10). This concern extends across social relationships—from household dynamics to civic obligations—with the explicit aim that opponents “may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us” (Titus 2:8). For the Pauline tradition, ethical conduct becomes the visible manifestation of the grace-based salvation it so ardently proclaims.
Similarly, 1 Peter—representing the Petrine tradition—focuses intensely on behavior that would silence critics and potentially win them to faith. The letter’s recurring counsel to “do good” amid suffering functions not merely as moral instruction but as strategic witness in a hostile environment: “Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God” (1 Peter 2:12). The emphasis on submission to various authorities, while spiritually complex, aims pragmatically at demonstrating that Christians pose no threat to social stability despite their ultimate allegiance to Christ.
James, often associated with the Jerusalem church and its more Judaizing approach, likewise centers on behavior as the authentic expression of faith. Its famous declaration that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:26) emerges from a theological framework distinct from Paul’s, yet reveals the same fundamental concern that belief must manifest in observable conduct. James’ practical focus on controlling speech, showing impartiality, and caring for the marginalized addresses how faith must be embodied in community life and social relationships.
What explains this remarkable convergence across such diverse traditions? Several factors illuminate this shared ethical preoccupation.
First, early Christianity emerged as a minority movement under suspicion from both Jewish and Roman authorities. These letters reflect a common strategic concern with how Christian communities could survive and even flourish amid hostility. Exemplary conduct offered a pragmatic defense against misrepresentation and persecution.
Second, this ethical emphasis reveals Christianity’s inherent social dimension. Despite theological differences, all three traditions recognized that Christian faith was not merely private belief but visible community identity. The credibility of the gospel message depended partly on the visible transformation of believers’ lives and relationships.
Third, this shared concern reflects the core teaching of Jesus Himself, whose message consistently linked internal faith with external behavior. Despite their different emphases, all apostolic traditions preserved this fundamental connection between believing and doing, between confession and conduct.
The convergence of these diverse traditions around ethical witness challenges contemporary Christianity’s tendency toward either privatized spirituality divorced from social conduct or social activism detached from theological foundation. The apostolic consensus suggests that authentic Christian faith necessarily manifests in distinctive conduct within social contexts, and that such conduct serves not merely moral ends but missional purposes.
In our fragmented religious landscape, this ancient convergence offers a compelling vision of unity amid diversity. While early Christian traditions maintained distinctive theological emphases, they shared a common conviction that the truth of the gospel must be visible in the transformed lives of those who profess it.
Prayer
God of unity amid diversity, guide us to embody our faith in visible ways that speak clearly to the watching world.
We thank You for the witness of the apostles who, despite their different emphases, shared a common conviction that belief must transform behavior, that faith without works remains incomplete.
In our own divided Christian landscape, help us find unity in this essential truth: that the gospel we profess must be visible in the lives we lead and the relationships we build.
When we are tempted toward privatized faith that makes no demands on our social conduct, remind us of Titus’ concern that our good works might adorn the teaching about You.
When we face hostility or misunderstanding, grant us the wisdom reflected in Peter’s counsel to maintain honorable conduct among our critics that they might see our good deeds and glorify You.
When we separate belief from action, bring to mind James’ conviction that authentic faith necessarily manifests in care for the marginalized and control of our speech.
Shape our communities to be living witnesses, where the credibility of our message is supported by the visible transformation of our lives, where outsiders encounter not just our words but our works.
In a world that scrutinizes our consistency, may our conduct across every relationship and role reflect the reality of Your grace at work within us, not to earn salvation but to demonstrate its power.
Unite us, diverse as we are, in this common purpose shared across the centuries: that we might live in such a way that others are drawn to the Christ we follow.
Through Jesus, who perfectly united word and deed.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 20, 2025 | Lent 2025
In an age where calamity dominates our news cycles and suffering seems to spread without restraint, the human spirit naturally bends under the weight of accumulating despair. Yet Christian faith offers a counternarrative that acknowledges the reality of present suffering while placing it within a larger cosmic framework that reorients our perspective on where true and lasting power resides.
Scripture consistently portrays worldly power and the suffering it inflicts as ultimately ephemeral. The psalmist observes that the wicked “flourish like the grass” only to be “destroyed forever” (Psalm 92:7). Isaiah declares that “all flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field… The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:6-8). This imagery of transient botanical splendor—beautiful yet inherently temporary—provides a lens for interpreting the seemingly dominant forces of our present moment.
What appears overwhelming in its immediate context—whether political tyranny, economic exploitation, or environmental devastation—exists within a larger divine timeline. Like the flower that briefly dominates the garden before wilting under the sun’s heat, the most fearsome manifestations of human corruption and natural disaster remain constrained by their impermanence. They may occupy center stage in our immediate experience, but they do not constitute the final act in God’s unfolding drama of redemption.
This does not minimize present suffering or counsel passive acceptance of injustice. Rather, it offers strategic hope that informs faithful action. The early Christians endured persecution not through denial of its pain but through confidence in its ultimate impotence against God’s purposes. As Paul writes, “this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:17). Their resistance drew strength precisely from recognizing the transience of their oppressors’ power compared to the permanence of divine reality.
The crucifixion and resurrection of Christ stand as the definitive statement on this tension between apparent defeat and ultimate victory. What seemed to be the triumph of political and religious authority over Jesus—his brutal execution—proved instead to be the very means through which God’s redemptive purpose advanced. The cross, momentarily dominant in its horror, gave way to resurrection, revealing where true power ultimately resides.
For believers navigating cascading crises, this offers not escapism but sustainable resilience. It invites us to neither exaggerate the finality of present suffering nor trivialize its real pain, but rather to locate it accurately within God’s larger timeline of redemption. It reminds us that human history, with all its atrocities and disasters, remains encompassed within divine history, which moves inexorably toward shalom.
As we assimilate each day’s litany of bad news, we are called to a disciplined remembrance of where enduring power truly resides, not in the systems and forces that currently dominate our landscape but in the God whose purposes they cannot ultimately thwart. Like flowers that temporarily command attention before fading away, the powers of this present darkness will pass, while what remains is the unshakable reality of divine love working all things toward ultimate redemption.
Prayer
Eternal God, whose purposes outlast every temporary power, reorient our vision when bad news overwhelms us.
As headlines cascade with calamity, as suffering seems to spread without restraint, as we bend under the weight of accumulating despair, remind us where true and lasting power resides.
Grant us eyes to see what appears dominant in our garden, the blooming flowers of corruption, violence, and fear, as what they truly are: temporary growths that will wither under the heat of Your enduring truth.
We acknowledge, Lord, the real pain of present suffering. We do not minimize the anguish of those who weep, the legitimate fears of those who tremble, the righteous anger of those who witness injustice. Yet place these realities within Your larger timeline, where what seems overwhelming now remains constrained by its impermanence.
When we are tempted toward despair, draw our minds to the cross and empty tomb, the definitive statement that apparent defeat gives way to ultimate victory in Your divine economy.
Give us the strategic hope that informed the early Christians, who endured persecution not through denial of its pain but through confidence in its ultimate impotence against Your unstoppable purposes.
As we absorb each day’s litany of troubling news, strengthen us with disciplined remembrance that human history, with all its atrocities, remains encompassed within Your divine history, moving inexorably toward shalom.
May this firm conviction birth in us not passive acceptance but sustainable resilience and faithful action, as we participate in Your work of redemption That outlasts every transient darkness.
Through Christ, who transformed the world’s worst moment into humanity’s greatest hope.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 19, 2025 | Lent 2025
Christianity is not a faith of settlement and stasis but a dynamic movement propelled by divine initiative and human response. The central narratives that shape Christian identity—exodus, exile, pilgrimage, and mission—all embody a sacred restlessness that stands in stark contrast to religious traditions centered on territorial claims or institutional permanence.
The exodus narrative serves as Christianity’s primal theological pattern. Israel’s liberation from Egyptian bondage established not merely a historical memory but a fundamental mode of divine action. God leads people from captivity toward promise through wilderness journeys. Early Christians interpreted their own experience through this exodus lens, understanding Christ as the new Moses leading a new exodus from the bondage of sin toward the promised inheritance of resurrection life. This exodus paradigm imbues Christianity with a restless quality that resists settling into comfortable accommodation with oppressive systems.
Exile further shapes Christian identity through the formative experience of Israel’s displacement from land and temple. The prophetic tradition developed its deepest theological insights precisely when separated from traditional security. Jesus himself emerged from a people living under imperial occupation, and his followers would soon experience displacement from their synagogue communities. From these experiences arose a perspective that refuses to equate God’s presence with territorial possession or institutional power. As Augustine would later reflect in City of God, Christians remain “resident aliens” whose ultimate citizenship lies elsewhere.
Pilgrimage naturally extends from these foundations as Christians understand themselves as people perpetually in transit. This is not mere physical movement but spiritual orientation, what the letter to the Hebrews describes as seeking “a better country, that is, a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:16). The medieval practice of pilgrimage expressed this theological reality through physical journey, but the deeper significance lies in Christianity’s self-understanding as movement toward a destination not yet reached. As the early Christian Epistle to Diognetus described believers: “They live in their own countries, but only as aliens… Every foreign country is their homeland, and every homeland is foreign.”
Mission completes this restless pattern as Christians are called not to settle into religious enclaves but to cross boundaries with transformative purpose. Jesus’ final commission—”Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19)—establishes movement as essential to Christian identity. Unlike religious traditions focused on maintaining sacred boundaries, Christianity’s missionary impulse propels believers outward, across cultural, linguistic, and social frontiers. This missional restlessness prevents Christianity from becoming merely a cultural inheritance or ethnic identity.
Together, these interwoven themes create a faith inherently resistant to comfortable establishment or static institution. Christianity flourishes not when settled into positions of cultural dominance but when embracing its identity as a movement of divine restlessness. This explains why the faith often finds renewed vitality during periods of marginalization or persecution, when its essential character as exodus-shaped, exile-conscious, pilgrimage-oriented, and mission-driven comes to the foreground.
Christians living in contexts of religious establishment or cultural privilege face the particular challenge of recovering this restless essence. When Christianity becomes identified with national identity, territorial claims, or political power, it betrays its fundamental character as a faith perpetually on the move, leaving behind false securities, journeying through uncertain terrain, and crossing boundaries to participate in God’s redemptive movement in the world.
Christianity is inherently restless. It offers not anxiety but hope for a faith defined by exodus, exile, pilgrimage, and mission.
Prayer
God of the journey, who calls us ever forward, stir within us the sacred restlessness that defines our faith.
When we are tempted to settle into comfortable religion, remind us of our exodus identity, a people liberated from bondage, led through wilderness toward promise, always responding to Your liberating movement in history.
When we cling to security and stability, awaken us to our exile consciousness. that we are resident aliens in this present age, never fully at home in systems of power and privilege, finding Your presence not in territorial claims but in faithful witness on the margins.
Lord Christ, who had no place to lay Your head, shape our hearts for pilgrimage, not merely physical journeys to sacred sites, But the deeper spiritual orientation of those who seek a better country, a heavenly homeland, who know every foreign land can be home and every homeland remains foreign.
Holy Spirit, who crosses every boundary, propel us into mission, not to conquer or dominate, but to cross frontiers with transformative purpose, to participate in Your redemptive movement that refuses to stop at comfortable borders.
We confess our tendency to domesticate Your gospel, to transform Your dynamic movement into static institution, to exchange Your call to journey for the security of settlement.
Liberate Your Church, O God, to rediscover Its fundamental character as a people on the move, shaped by exodus, formed in exile, oriented toward pilgrimage, propelled into mission.
In a world of rapid change and uncertainty, may we find not anxiety but hope in our restless identity, recognizing that a faith always in motion stands ready to follow wherever You lead.
Through Christ, our exodus leader and pioneer of faith.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 18, 2025 | Lent 2025
Radical transformation lies at the heart of Christian faith and practice. When Jesus employed the metaphors of wineskins and patched garments in Matthew 9:16-17, he was not merely offering practical advice about ancient containers and clothing. Rather, he was articulating a fundamental principle: authentic encounter with the divine necessarily produces profound change.
The wineskins metaphor speaks to this necessity with striking clarity. New wine—still fermenting, expanding, bubbling with life—cannot be contained in wineskins that have already been stretched to their limit. They lack the flexibility to accommodate the dynamic, transformative nature of what God is doing. Similarly, sewing new cloth onto an old garment only ensures that both will be ruined when the new cloth shrinks. These images vividly illustrate how the gospel’s transformative power cannot simply be grafted onto existing structures, whether personal or institutional, without fundamentally altering them.
This principle of necessary change finds its clearest expression in Jesus’ inaugural proclamation: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1:15). The Greek term for repentance, metanoia, signifies far more than superficial remorse or cognitive adjustment. It denotes a comprehensive reorientation, a turning that encompasses one’s entire being and direction. Jesus calls not merely for modified thinking but for transformed living.
The early church embodied this transformation dramatically. Disciples left behind occupations, social standing, and security to follow Christ. The Jerusalem community reorganized economic relationships in radical ways. Paul, once a persecutor, became the persecuted for the sake of the gospel he once sought to destroy. In each case, encounter with Christ rendered the old wineskins insufficient for the new wine of God’s kingdom.
Throughout Christian history, this pattern repeats. St. Augustine’s conversion required abandoning not just his former beliefs but his former way of life. Martin Luther’s rediscovery of justification by faith necessitated institutional reformation beyond mere theological correction. John Wesley’s heart “strangely warmed” led to methodical discipleship that transformed individuals and communities. In each case, new wine demanded new wineskins.
This necessary change challenges contemporary Christianity on multiple levels. For individuals, it confronts comfortable spirituality that seeks divine blessing without personal transformation. If our encounter with Christ leaves our priorities, relationships, and daily practices essentially unchanged, we have likely received something less than the full gospel. The new wine of God’s kingdom cannot be contained in the old wineskins of self-centered living.
For communities and institutions, this principle challenges the tendency toward calcification and self-preservation. Churches that prioritize maintaining traditional forms over responding to the Spirit’s fresh movement risk becoming old wineskins that cannot contain new wine. Theological education that merely transmits existing knowledge without forming transformative leaders produces patched garments that cannot withstand the tension.
Yet this imperative for change must be distinguished from change for its own sake or mere accommodation to cultural trends. The change Jesus demands stems not from external pressure but from internal encounter with divine reality. The new wine comes from heaven, not human innovation. The transformation required is not progress toward human ideals but conformity to Christ’s character and priorities.
The Christian gospel proclaims change as good news. The call to transformation is simultaneously a call to liberation from patterns that no longer serve God’s purposes, from structures that constrain kingdom living, from habits that diminish rather than enhance human flourishing. The new wineskins, while demanding the death of the old, preserve rather than waste the precious new wine.
The transformative essence of Christianity thus stands as both challenge and promise. It challenges our natural resistance to change, our preference for the familiar, our tendency toward spiritual stasis. Yet it promises that the God who calls us to transformation also empowers it, that the one who demands new wineskins also provides them, that the Christ who says “repent” also says “follow me” and walks alongside us in the journey of becoming new.
Prayer
Divine Lord, who pours new life into willing vessels, give us courage to embrace Your call to change.
When we cling to comfortable patterns, when we resist Your transforming touch, when we attempt to contain Your fresh movement within the brittle wineskins of familiar ways, soften our hearts and make them supple again.
We confess our fear of the unknown, our attachment to what is rather than what could be, our tendency to patch old garments rather than be clothed anew in You.
Grant us the wisdom to discern between change that merely conforms us to the world and transformation that conforms us to You. May we welcome not every shifting wind, but the mighty rushing wind of Your Spirit.
As You called Your first disciples to leave their nets, as You invited the rich young ruler to surrender his wealth, as You transformed Paul from persecutor to apostle, call us now into deeper surrender and more radical obedience.
Help us hear afresh Your inaugural proclamation: “The kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe.” May our response be not merely changed minds but completely reoriented lives.
Where our communities have calcified, where our institutions preserve form at the expense of spirit, where we have chosen self-preservation over kingdom advancement, break open new wineskins to receive Your new wine.
Thank You that Your demand for change is simultaneously Your invitation to freedom from patterns that diminish, from structures that constrain, from habits that destroy.
Transform us, O Lord, from glory to glory, until we fully reflect Your image.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 17, 2025 | Lent 2025
Divine love, revealed most fully in Christ, manifests not as passive sentiment or conditional acceptance, but as active, persistent pursuit—a love that refuses to abandon its beloved even when rejected.
The parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) stands as perhaps the most vivid portrayal of this divine pursuit. The father in Jesus’ narrative does not merely wait stoically for his son’s return. Rather, while the son “was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion” (Luke 15:20). This detail reveals a father who had been watching the horizon, scanning the distance daily, maintaining an active vigil of expectation. His subsequent running—culturally undignified for an elderly man of status—further demonstrates love as pursuit rather than mere passive reception.
This pursuing love reflects God’s consistent pattern throughout scripture. The prophet Hosea receives the jarring command to pursue and reclaim his unfaithful wife as a living metaphor of God’s relationship with Israel: “Go, show your love to your wife again, though she is loved by another man and is an adulteress. Love her as the LORD loves the Israelites” (Hosea 3:1). This divine love persists precisely where human love typically fails—in the face of rejection, unfaithfulness, and betrayal.
Ezekiel presents this pursuing love through the metaphor of a shepherd: “I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep” (Ezekiel 34:11-12). God does not merely open the sheepfold and hope for return; God actively searches, traversing difficult terrain to recover what is lost. Jesus amplifies this image in His parable of the lost sheep, where the shepherd leaves ninety-nine to pursue one that has strayed (Matthew 18:12-14).
The incarnation itself represents the ultimate expression of divine pursuit. In Christ, God does not merely extend an invitation from heaven’s balcony, but descends into human experience, embracing its limitations and sufferings. As Paul writes, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Divine love initiates reconciliation before any human movement toward repentance.
This love as persistent pursuit challenges contemporary notions of love as primarily emotional affirmation or acceptance of another’s autonomous choices. Divine love certainly affirms human worth, but it does not remain neutral toward human self-destruction. It pursues precisely because it desires the beloved’s flourishing, even when the beloved has chosen paths of self-harm.
Yet crucially, this pursuing love never becomes coercive. The father in Jesus’ parable does not send servants to drag his son home; Hosea does not force his wife’s return; the shepherd calls the sheep but does not drag it by the neck. Divine love maintains the tension between persistent pursuit and respect for freedom—creating space for authentic response while never abandoning hope for restoration.
The implications of this divine love extend into Christian ethics and practice. If divine love pursues the wandering, then human love, particularly within the church, must develop similar tenacity. The community that embodies divine love cannot practice casual dismissal of those who stray, cannot build walls of separation, cannot declare any person beyond hope of return.
For the individual believer, this divine pursuit offers assurance—that no distance is too great, no failure too significant, no rejection too final to place us beyond love’s reach. God’s love maintains eternal vigilance, scanning the horizon for our return, ready not merely to accept but to celebrate our homecoming with extravagant joy.
In a world where relationships often fracture beyond repair, where grudges harden into permanent boundaries, where people are casually discarded when they become difficult, the God who pursues offers a radically different vision of love—one that refuses to give up, that maintains hope beyond reason, that celebrates rather than begrudges return. This love, more than any doctrine or ritual, constitutes the heart of Christian faith and the truest reflection of divine character.
Prayer
God of relentless love, who scans the horizon for our return, who runs undignified toward our homecoming, who celebrates our arrival before we can speak our rehearsed apologies, fill us with wonder at the tenacity of Your pursuit.
When we wander far from You, when we squander our inheritance on empty promises, then we find ourselves feeding on husks meant for swine, thank You that Your love maintains eternal vigilance, watching, waiting, hoping for our return.
We confess how often we have practiced a small and cautious love toward others—quick to write off those who disappoint us, ready to build walls where bridges are needed, prone to declare some beyond the reach of grace.
Transform us into channels of Your pursuing love: give us eyes to scan the horizon for the wandering, feet quick to run toward the broken and ashamed, arms ready to embrace without condition or hesitation, hearts that celebrate rather than begrudge another’s restoration.
For those we love who seem far from You, grant us courage to keep hoping beyond reason, to maintain prayer’s vigil when change seems impossible, to persist in love when our human strength would falter, to believe that no one is beyond the reach of Your grace.
When we ourselves feel unworthy of pursuit— too broken, too rebellious, too far gone— remind us of the Shepherd who leaves ninety-nine to search relentlessly for one, of the God who became flesh to bring us home.
May Your church become a living parable of this divine pursuit that defines Your heart, a community where no one is easily discarded, where love refuses to surrender hope, where every return is celebrated with feasting and joy.
Through Christ, who pursued us even unto death, that we might know the relentless nature of Your love.
Amen.
by Eron Henry | Mar 16, 2025 | Lent 2025
In the economy of God’s kingdom, the cross stands not merely as a historical event but as the definitive pattern for the church’s journey through history. What appears as defeat in worldly terms becomes, in God’s upside-down kingdom, the very path to victory. This paradox fundamentally reshapes how we understand success, power, and triumph in the life of the church.
The cross represents the supreme divine paradox—the moment of apparent ultimate defeat that becomes the foundation of cosmic victory. As Paul boldly proclaims, Christ “disarmed the powers and authorities, making a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross” (Colossians 2:15). What appeared to be Christ’s humiliation became the very means through which evil was defeated and death itself was conquered.
This pattern was not meant to remain unique to Christ. Rather, it establishes the fundamental rhythm for all who would follow Him. Jesus made this explicit: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). The church’s victory comes not through domination, force, or triumphalism, but through the same self-giving love that led Christ to Calvary.
Throughout history, the church has been repeatedly tempted to abandon this cruciform path. When aligned with imperial power, wielding political influence, or imposing faith through coercion, it has sought victory through worldly means. Yet these apparent successes have invariably led to spiritual defeat—compromising the gospel’s integrity and betraying its essential character.
Conversely, in moments when the church has embraced the way of the cross—standing with the marginalized, speaking truth to power, offering forgiveness to enemies, and being willing to suffer rather than inflict suffering—it has paradoxically revealed its greatest strength. The blood of martyrs has indeed been the seed of the church, not because suffering is intrinsically valuable, but because suffering love reveals the true nature of God’s kingdom.
This cruciform pattern challenges contemporary ecclesiology, particularly in contexts where Christianity has historical privilege. The cross reminds us that the church advances not by protecting its rights or status but by following its Lord in self-giving love. Its authenticity is measured not by worldly influence but by conformity to Christ’s crucified and risen life.
The cross stands as a perpetual rebuke to any theology of glory that bypasses suffering. It reminds the church that its path to victory lies not in avoiding pain but in transforming it through love. Like its Lord, the church finds its truest triumph not in being served but in serving, not in self-preservation but in self-giving for the life of the world.
Prayer
Lord of paradox and power, who turned an instrument of shame into the means of our salvation, Guide Your church along the narrow path of the cross.
When we are tempted by worldly definitions of success, remind us that Your victory came through surrender, Your power through weakness, Your glory through humiliation.
Forgive us, merciful God, for seeking triumph through domination rather than service, for protecting our status rather than embracing vulnerability, for avoiding suffering rather than transforming it through love.
Give us courage to follow where our Crucified Lord has led— standing with those on society’s margins, speaking truth though our voices may tremble, offering forgiveness to those who wound us, Choosing to suffer rather than to inflict suffering.
Shape Your church, O God, into the image of Christ crucified, that we might reveal the upside-down values of Your kingdom: Where the last become first, where the weak confound the strong, where dying becomes the path to true living.
When the way seems too difficult or costly, remind us that the cross is not just our burden but our pathway to authentic victory.
May Your church find its truest triumph not in being served but in serving, not in self-preservation but in self-giving for the life of the world.
Transform us through this cruciform journey until we become living testimonies to Your paradoxical power— where love conquers hate, mercy overcomes judgment, and sacrifice leads to resurrection.
Through Christ our Lord.
Amen.
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