One question has occupied my thoughts lately: When this life is over, who will have been right?

I am thinking about Christians—people who have truly been saved and born again through faith in Jesus Christ. I am not referring exclusively to Baptists or any other denomination. I am talking about those who have trusted Christ according to Scripture:

“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” —Romans 10:9, KJV

A person’s religious background does not place salvation beyond reach. Someone raised Muslim, Buddhist, Catholic, Baptist, or without any religion can come to Christ. Salvation rests in Him, not in the name someone has worn.

Yet among those who profess Christ, we encounter so many different teachings.

Some teach that salvation can be lost. Others teach that it cannot. Some insist that the King James Bible is the only Bible Christians should use, while others accept other translations. Some practice closed communion; others practice open communion. Some speak as though their denomination alone has understood Christianity correctly.

When we stand before the Lord, which of us will discover that we misunderstood something? What will we have been right about? What will we have been wrong about?

I suspect every denomination will have something to answer for.

When Loyalty Becomes Misplaced

My concern is that we sometimes become so committed to defending our denomination that we stop examining whether everything it teaches agrees with Scripture.

Each denomination has its familiar positions, customs, and ways of thinking. Those things can become so settled that questioning them feels unacceptable. Sometimes a sincere question about a tradition is treated as though it were an attack on God Himself.

But a denomination is not God. Its traditions are not equal to Scripture.

Consider how strongly some Christians might react to the suggestion that their denominational name be removed from the church sign. I am not proposing that every church do that. I am asking what our reaction might reveal.

Why would losing a denominational title trouble us so deeply? Is it because the name communicates what we believe, or because our identity has become so attached to it that we struggle to distinguish loyalty to our denomination from loyalty to the Lord?

Our denomination does not save us. Its name does not make us faithful. Its history does not place its teachings beyond examination.

I do not want to become so occupied with defending a religious identity that I fail to recognize when it needs correction.

Truth Does Not Move

The best illustration I can think of is true north.

True north is a fixed reference. A traveler’s heading can change, but changing direction does not change where north is.

In this illustration, God’s truth is true north. Our understanding of that truth is the heading we take.

A denomination may be close to the truth on one matter and farther from it on another. An individual Christian may recognize something his denomination has overlooked. He may also misunderstand something that others around him understand correctly.

The standard remains fixed. Our understanding does not.

Being surrounded by people traveling in the same direction can make us feel confident. But agreement within a group does not establish that the group is headed correctly. A shared mistake is still a mistake.

And a small deviation matters. The farther we continue on an incorrect heading, the farther we travel from where we intended to go.

That is why I believe we must be willing to examine our direction, even when doing so means questioning something familiar or going against what is popular among the Christians around us.

The question cannot simply be, “Is this what my denomination teaches?”

We must also ask, “Is this what Scripture teaches?”

When Preferences Become Requirements

One area where this concerns me is the way personal convictions and cultural expectations can become measures of spirituality.

Consider clothing.

Some churches place tremendous emphasis on men wearing suits, especially when preaching. A suit may be appropriate for a particular setting. A man may wear one because he wants to express respect for the occasion. But that is different from claiming that wearing a suit is a biblical requirement or proof of spiritual maturity.

The people of Bible times did not wear modern suits and ties. We should be careful about presenting a familiar church custom as though God explicitly commanded it.

Music raises similar questions. Some churches reject musical instruments in worship, even though instruments appear throughout Scripture. Whatever argument someone makes for that position, it deserves examination from the Bible. Simply inheriting a practice does not settle the question.

The broader concern is what happens when we give our opinions the authority of God’s Word.

Personal convictions matter. If I believe the Lord has convicted me about something, I should take that seriously. But I must be careful before declaring that every other Christian is required to follow my conviction.

There is a difference between explaining why I practice something and claiming that God has commanded everyone to practice it.

When we lose that distinction, we can burden people with requirements God never gave. When we make those requirements conditions of salvation, we distort the very message we claim to defend.

We can also make the opposite mistake. We can explain away something Scripture teaches because accepting it would disrupt our lifestyle.

Both errors move us away from true north: adding what suits our traditions and dismissing what challenges our preferences.

Our Understanding Has Limits

I do not believe any Christian will understand every passage of Scripture completely in this life.

We are human. We misunderstand. We overlook things. We inherit assumptions and sometimes fail to recognize them as assumptions.

Scripture says, “For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.” —Psalm 103:14, KJV

That gives me comfort. God understands our limitations more fully than we do.

But there is a difference between not knowing the truth and refusing to accept it. Sometimes we are mistaken because we have not yet understood. Other times, we resist correction because accepting it would cost us something—our pride, our comfort, or the approval of people whose opinions matter to us.

I do not want to use human fallibility as an excuse to remain wrong. I want the knowledge of my fallibility to make me teachable.

Neither do I believe a person who has truly been born again loses salvation because he misunderstands a passage or holds an incorrect position on a secondary matter. My confidence rests in Christ and His promise, not in my ability to arrive at perfect understanding.

Faith means trusting Him without having everything before my eyes or every question resolved.

What Heading Am I Taking?

I am becoming less interested in defending denominational positions merely because they are denominational positions. I want to know whether they are true.

That requires examining my own beliefs as honestly as I examine someone else’s.

It is easy to recognize traditions in another church. It is harder to recognize them in our own. It is easy to accuse others of adjusting Scripture to fit their preferences. It is harder to admit where we may have done the same.

When this life is over, I do not expect any denomination to discover that it understood everything perfectly. I expect we will discover things we missed, things we misunderstood, and things we defended with more confidence than our understanding justified.

That possibility should make us humble. It should also make us more determined to seek the truth.

I do not want to worship a denomination. I want to worship God. My loyalty to a denomination must remain subject to my loyalty to Him.

True north does not change because a church votes, a preacher insists, or a tradition becomes familiar.

The question is whether we are willing to correct our heading when Scripture shows us that we have drifted.

As churches, as denominations, and as individual Christians, what direction are we taking?

And when the truth challenges the direction we have always traveled, will we follow it?

There is a difference between saying we are surrendered to the Lord and being willing to follow Him wherever He leads. It is easy to say, “Lord, I will do whatever You want,” while His plans remain unknown. The test comes when He asks us to do something we never expected—or something we would not have chosen for ourselves.

Sometimes we discover that our surrender came with conditions. We were willing to follow as long as His plans aligned with our own. We wanted to serve Him, but we also wanted some say over where that service would take us and what it would require.

Genuine surrender means being willing to obey before we know every detail. If we tell the Lord He can send us anywhere, we must be willing for “anywhere” to include the place we never imagined going.

That willingness does not mean we will never struggle. A Christian may sincerely desire God’s will and still experience discouragement, hesitation, or defeat. There may be seasons when the way forward seems unclear and other possibilities begin to look appealing.

We can imagine a different future. We can make reasonable plans, consider worthwhile opportunities, and picture a life that offers comfort, enjoyment, or earthly gain. Yet when we believe the Lord has called us to a particular work, those alternatives may leave something unresolved. They sound appealing, but our hearts keep returning to what we believe He has asked us to do.

Picture that calling as an elevated, central place. Other paths stretch out in different directions, each offering its own possibilities. We may spend time considering them, but our thoughts keep returning to that same central place.

The alternatives may have much to offer. We may even enjoy thinking about them for a while. But as we consider them more seriously, we begin to recognize that they do not satisfy the desire that keeps drawing us toward the work God has placed on our hearts.

A temporary interest can fade when circumstances become difficult. A passing enthusiasm may disappear when the excitement wears off. But a burden that remains through years of uncertainty and discouragement deserves careful attention. When that desire continues to return, even after we have tried to set it aside, its persistence can be a meaningful confirmation of what we believe the Lord has called us to do.

The feeling itself should not become the sole measure of God’s direction. Still, there is something significant about a heart that keeps returning to the same work while other ambitions gradually lose their appeal.

One of the changes that can accompany surrender is a change in what we want. Things we once considered essential become less important. A place or responsibility we once would have resisted becomes something we increasingly desire.

We begin to have a heart for what the Lord has asked of us, even when we never thought we could want it.

That does not answer every question. We may have a conviction about the direction while knowing very little about the timing. We may carry a burden without understanding how the opportunity will come. We may want to move forward while being unable to see the next step.

Those uncertainties can be difficult, especially for someone who wants a clear plan. They can also tempt us to build an entirely different future simply because it seems easier to understand or arrange.

But an understandable plan will not necessarily bring contentment if we are using it to avoid what we believe God has asked us to do. We can account for the practical details and still find our hearts unsettled.

The question of surrender becomes very personal: Are we willing to follow the Lord when His direction differs from the life we had pictured?

It is a question we must answer honestly. Saying we are available is easy. Remaining available when obedience carries a cost reveals how much we meant those words.

We may stumble along the way. We may become weary or discouraged. We may spend too much time imagining other possibilities. Yet through it all, our hearts may keep returning to the same burden—the same work, the same desire to follow where we believe the Lord is leading.

We may not know the timing or the pathway. But we can remain willing, trusting that following Him will bring a deeper fulfillment than arranging our lives entirely around our own plans.

While visiting Andorra la Vella, I found a sculpture by Salvador Dalí that gave me something to think about. I had heard his name before, but I certainly do not look to him as a model for my spiritual beliefs. Still, a piece of artwork can prompt a worthwhile observation without requiring us to embrace the artist’s worldview.

The sculpture is called La Noblesse du Temps—French for The Nobility of Time. It stands in Plaça de la Rotonda in Andorra la Vella. Its most noticeable feature is a melting clock draped over a damaged tree trunk, with a royal crown at the top. The crown represents time’s dominion over humanity. (turismeandorralavella.com)

That idea caught my attention. We make our plans, arrange our schedules, and talk about “our time” as though we own it. Yet we cannot stop its passage, recover what has passed, or determine how much we have left.

Several details of the sculpture help develop that thought:

• The crown represents authority. On an ordinary watch, the crown is the small mechanism used to set the hands. Dalí turns it into a royal crown, reversing the suggestion of human control: we can adjust a watch, but we cannot command time.
• The tree combines damage with new growth. The clock rests against the remains of a tree that still sprouts life. That combination can suggest decay and renewal, aging and endurance.
• The angel and the draped woman accompany the crowned clock. In Dalí Paris’s description, they appear as attendants to time, reinforcing its portrayal as a sovereign. (artsy.net)

The melting clock also invites reflection. Its distorted shape makes something we normally associate with precision appear soft and unstable. To me, it brings to mind how differently we experience time. Some moments seem to fly by; others seem to last forever. Either way, time continues to pass.

My own thoughts went especially to the image of a burning candle. As it burns down, what remains becomes smaller. Eventually, it is spent. Looking at that melting clock reminded me that the time available to us is steadily passing, whether we pay attention to it or not.

We do not know how much time we have on this earth. We may live to be one hundred, or our lives may end tomorrow. We make plans on the assumption that more time will be available, but we cannot guarantee it.

And yet, we waste so much of it.

That observation applies whether a person is a Christian or not. We spend hours doing things that amount to very little, often without considering how much of our lives those hours represent. What stood out to me was how easily we spend something we cannot replace.

As a Christian, however, I must qualify the sculpture’s picture of time ruling over humanity. I do not believe that time is an independent power, or that an unknown, impersonal force governs our existence. God rules and reigns. Our time is under His authority.

We live within the limits of time, but God is not bound by those limits. We cannot see the whole of our lives or know what tomorrow holds. He can. Our understanding is finite, and His sovereignty reaches beyond what we can fully comprehend.

For that reason, I would not take this sculpture as a complete spiritual explanation of life. Nor would I assume that appreciating its imagery means accepting every philosophical idea someone might attach to it. My reflection is simply an application of what I saw: our time is limited, our control is limited, and we often live as though neither were true.

I found The Nobility of Time interesting because it offered a small reality check. We can set the hands of a clock, but we cannot stop the hours from passing. God determines the time we have; we should give more thought to how we spend it.

A conversation with a friend today brought my attention to something Job said during his suffering:

“Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived.”

—Job 3:3, KJV

Those words are striking when we remember who Job was. God Himself described him as “a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and escheweth evil” (Job 1:8). He was a man whom the Lord commended, yet he reached a point where he wished the day of his birth had never come.

That contrast led me to consider four men in Scripture: Job, Jeremiah, Elijah, and Jonah. Each expressed devotion to God, and each also expressed a desire to die or sorrow over having been born.

Looking at their words together raises a question worth considering: Do we trust God beyond what we can personally handle, or only within the boundaries of what we can understand and endure?

Job: From Worship to Anguish

After losing his possessions and his children, Job responded with worship:

“Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped,

“And said, Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”

—Job 1:20–21, KJV

Job’s praise did not depend entirely on favorable circumstances. He blessed the Lord after devastating losses. His grief and his worship were present together.

Yet, after further suffering and seven days of silence with his friends, his words changed:

“After this opened Job his mouth, and cursed his day. And Job spake, and said, Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived.”

—Job 3:1–3, KJV

He went on to ask:

“Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?”

—Job 3:11, KJV

The same man who had said, “Blessed be the name of the LORD,” now wished he had died at birth.

That change brings me back to the thought of a tipping point. Job had endured tremendous loss while continuing to worship, but his suffering eventually brought him to words of profound anguish.

Jeremiah: Praise Followed by Sorrow

Jeremiah’s contrasting statements appear immediately beside one another:

“Sing unto the LORD, praise ye the LORD: for he hath delivered the soul of the poor from the hand of evildoers.”

—Jeremiah 20:13, KJV

Then, in the very next verse:

“Cursed be the day wherein I was born: let not the day wherein my mother bare me be blessed.”

—Jeremiah 20:14, KJV

One verse calls for praise because of God’s deliverance. The next expresses sorrow over the prophet’s birth.

The closeness of those statements reveals how sharply a person’s expressions can shift between confidence in God and anguish over life.

Elijah: Seeking God’s Glory, Then Asking to Die

On Mount Carmel, Elijah prayed that God would be known:

“LORD God of Abraham, Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known this day that thou art God in Israel, and that I am thy servant, and that I have done all these things at thy word.”

—1 Kings 18:36, KJV

His prayer acknowledged God’s authority. Elijah was His servant, acting at His word.

In the next chapter, however, Elijah sat beneath a juniper tree and asked to die:

“It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers.”

—1 Kings 19:4, KJV

Here was a man who had sought God’s glory and witnessed His power, yet later reached a place where he felt he had endured enough.

Jonah: Thanksgiving, Then a Desire to Die

Jonah expressed thanksgiving in his prayer:

“But I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving; I will pay that that I have vowed. Salvation is of the LORD.”

—Jonah 2:9, KJV

Later, he prayed:

“Therefore now, O LORD, take, I beseech thee, my life from me; for it is better for me to die than to live.”

—Jonah 4:3, KJV

The contrast is plain: thanksgiving and acknowledgment of God’s salvation in one passage, followed by a request for death in another.

These men faced different circumstances, and their statements should be understood within their individual accounts. Still, placing their words together gives us an opportunity to examine the relationship between our circumstances, our emotions, and our confidence in God.

Where Does Our Trust End?

It is easy to praise God when life is going well. When blessings are evident and circumstances make sense, giving Him glory may come naturally.

We may even continue praising Him through considerable hardship. Job certainly did.

But what happens when the difficulty exceeds what we believe we can handle?

Imagine a scale from one to one hundred. Perhaps we feel able to trust God through eighty. Life is difficult, but we can still process it. We can still imagine a resolution. We feel that we have enough strength to continue.

Then the difficulty reaches eighty-one.

The circumstances have crossed the boundary of our understanding or endurance. We cannot see how the situation will improve, and we cannot find the strength to manage it ourselves.

Does our trust continue beyond that boundary?

That is the question these passages bring to my mind. If my confidence collapses precisely where my ability ends, I need to consider how much of that confidence was resting on God and how much was resting on my own capacity to endure.

The Danger of Making Ourselves the Measure

To me, there can be an element of pride in making our own understanding or strength the deciding factor.

That pride may have little resemblance to boasting. It may appear as an excessive emphasis on ourselves: what we can explain, what we can fix, and what we can bear.

We may begin thinking, “Everything is going wrong. I must be responsible. I cannot make it better, so there is no reason to continue.”

But if we make ourselves responsible for resolving everything that goes wrong, are we also treating ourselves as the ones upon whom everything going right depends?

We give God credit for the blessings, yet when hardship becomes overwhelming, we may take the entire burden onto ourselves. We then judge the future according to our own inability.

That seems backward to me.

Our limitations are real, but they do not establish God’s limitations. The fact that we cannot see a way through a circumstance does not mean He cannot work within it.

Peter’s experience on the water provides a related picture. When his attention turned toward the storm, he began to sink (Matthew 14:28–31). The danger for us is similar: our circumstances can become so large in our attention that we lose sight of the One upon whom we depend.

Trust Beyond Understanding

My conviction is that complete trust in God should extend beyond the point where we can understand our circumstances or see how they will improve.

That is why expressions such as “I wish I had never been born” cause me to examine where our attention has gone. Have our pain and limitations become the measure by which we judge the value of our lives? Have we reached a conclusion about the future because we cannot presently see what God may do?

These are searching questions, and they are much easier to discuss than to live through.

The loss of a loved one, prolonged suffering, or a series of devastating circumstances can overwhelm a person emotionally, mentally, and physically. Job’s losses were real. The anguish recorded in these passages was real.

As I consider these men, I also have to consider myself. It is easy to speak confidently about trusting God while standing outside the circumstances that test that trust.

Yet I believe that continuing to depend on Him through hardship can strengthen our relationship with Him and develop endurance, character, and resilience. We learn to rely upon Him where our own strength proves insufficient.

The contrast between praise and despair in these four men leaves me with a personal challenge: Will I continue trusting God when life moves beyond what I can handle?

I want my confidence in Him to extend beyond my understanding, beyond my emotional strength, and beyond my ability to see a solution.

My inability must not become the measure of His ability.

Today I have been considering a question that sounds simple until we begin looking beneath the surface: What is worship?

Lois and India sing a song by that name. Their songs often strike me as thoughtful and doctrinally sound, but this particular song raises questions that deserve more than a passing consideration. It asks us to think about worship beyond music, emotion, and the church building.

Those questions led me to consider what worship means, why God is worthy of it, and what worship looks like in everyday life.

Listen to “What Is Worship?” by Lois and India — the song that prompted this journal.

What Does Worship Mean?

Two words commonly translated as worship in the King James Bible help establish the foundation.

The Hebrew word shachah, identified in Strong’s Concordance as H7812, includes the meaning “to depress,” or to bow down and prostrate oneself. Here, depress refers to lowering oneself, not to an emotional condition.

The Greek word proskuneo, identified as G4352, includes the meaning “to prostrate oneself in homage,” with the explanation “to do reverence to, adore.”

To prostrate oneself is to bow down or lie face down. Homage is an expression of honor or reverence toward someone recognized as superior. In reference to God, these definitions convey humbling ourselves before Him in reverence and adoration.

That gives us a foundation, but it also causes me to think about how reverence and adoration are expressed. What we recognize about someone affects our thoughts, our attitudes, our words, and our actions.

Worship can therefore be expressed in different ways. Yet whatever form it takes, the central consideration remains the same: Are we humbling ourselves before God and giving Him the honor He deserves?

Why Is God Worthy?

In Revelation, John records the twenty-four elders falling before God and declaring:

“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”

— Revelation 4:11, KJV

God’s worthiness is the foundation of worship. But why is He worthy?

First, He created all things. Everything that exists owes its existence to Him. We did not create ourselves, and we do not sustain ourselves independently of Him.

Then there is the matter of salvation.

God sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die and shed His blood for our sins. We owed a debt we could not resolve ourselves. Apart from Christ, we face the eternal consequences of our sin. But God provided the Saviour so that we could receive forgiveness rather than bear that judgment ourselves.

That alone gives us reason to reverence and adore Him.

His worthiness does not depend on whether our day has gone well, whether a song has moved us, or whether we currently feel close to Him. He is worthy because of who He is and what He has done.

Worship in Spirit and in Truth

Jesus said:

“But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.

God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”

— John 4:23–24, KJV

I believe this is especially important because we can become so caught up in the emotion of a song, a sermon, or a particular situation that we begin treating the feeling itself as worship.

But a strong emotion does not establish that something is true. Feelings can mislead us. They can rise and fall with our circumstances.

Our worship ought to rest on the truth of God’s Word and the truth of who He is.

The distinction I keep returning to is this: Worship can produce emotion, but emotion should not be the foundation of worship.

A song may stir our hearts because it reminds us of something true about God. A sermon may move us because Scripture brings His grace or goodness into clearer view. Those emotions can accompany worship, but the truth remains the reason for it.

When the music stops and the feeling fades, God is still worthy.

God Sees the Heart

Worship involves the inner person—our heart, our spirit, and the sincerity of our response to God.

An outward appearance can be convincing while the motive behind it is entirely different. A person may participate because others are watching, because he wants recognition, or because he wants to maintain a certain image.

Others may seek God primarily for what they hope to receive.

After the feeding of the multitude, Jesus addressed people who sought Him because they had eaten and were filled. Later in that same chapter, many of His disciples turned back and no longer walked with Him. Their interest did not necessarily reflect a lasting commitment to Him. (John 6:26, 66.)

That makes the question personal: Am I honoring God because He is worthy, or am I interested only while I am receiving something I want?

We ought to worship Him even when there is no immediate personal advantage. We ought to worship when no one is watching and when no one will know what we have done.

God sees beyond the appearance. He knows the heart behind it.

Worship Beyond the Church Building

The questions raised in the song challenge the idea that worship is confined to the emotional experience of music or to a Sunday morning service.

Do we think about God only when we enter the church building? Does our recognition of His worthiness disappear when the service ends?

Worship belongs in the ordinary parts of life as well.

There is intentionality in opening Scripture in the privacy of our homes, praying when no one hears us, and lifting up His name throughout the week. There is intentionality in doing something for His glory rather than for our own recognition.

Those actions do not become worship merely because we perform them. The heart and purpose behind them matter.

But when they proceed from sincere reverence for God, they give expression to what we believe about Him. We are acknowledging His worthiness in the quiet, ordinary places where much of our life is lived.

Worship Through Sacrifice and Surrender

The song also draws attention to the poor widow who gave her two mites.

Jesus said:

“For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”

— Mark 12:44, KJV

Her gift was small in monetary value, but it represented all she had.

That causes me to consider the place of sacrifice and surrender in worship. Reverence for God can be expressed through a willingness to place what we have into His hands.

The amount alone does not tell the whole story. God knows what a gift represents. He knows what we are holding back, and He knows when we are surrendering something costly.

The widow’s example brings the question close to home: Does my recognition of God’s worthiness reach the things I am reluctant to surrender?

Worship Through Gratitude

Another example is the leper who returned to thank Jesus after being healed.

“And fell down on his face at his feet, giving him thanks: and he was a Samaritan.”

— Luke 17:16, KJV

Ten were cleansed, but one returned to give glory to God.

We can understand the relief of being healed or having something broken made right. We are thankful when a doctor helps us, when pain subsides, or when a serious problem is resolved.

But do we return our gratitude to the Lord?

It is possible to become so occupied with enjoying the answer that we give little thought to the One who provided it. The returning leper reminds me that gratitude should turn our attention back to God.

Worship Through Grief and Brokenness

Worship is also possible when circumstances are painful.

We do not have to feel emotionally happy to worship God. Christ gives joy, but that does not mean every situation feels pleasant or that grief disappears.

Job’s response makes this clear. After devastating loss, he fell to the ground and worshipped:

“And said, Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”

— Job 1:21, KJV

Job was hurting. His circumstances were grievous. Yet he acknowledged God and blessed His name.

There is a sincerity in worship that continues through sorrow. It recognizes that God’s worthiness remains even when life brings something we would never have chosen.

We can worship through tears, through unanswered questions, and through brokenness. We can acknowledge His worthiness while still feeling the weight of our loss.

Worship Through Enduring Faith

The song’s questions about imprisonment, persecution, and martyrdom are especially searching.

What if a person has nothing left to give? What if he is imprisoned and cannot carry on the activities he once associated with serving God?

He can still hold fast to Christ. He can refuse to deny His name.

A person facing persecution can continue to honor the Lord. A person facing death for the name of Christ can remain faithful, even to his final breath.

That is a profound expression of reverence. It acknowledges that Christ is worthy even when identifying with Him comes at the greatest personal cost.

These examples challenge the way we sometimes measure worship. We readily recognize it in a moving song or a gathered congregation. But we ought also to recognize the devotion of someone who continues to honor Christ when doing so brings suffering.

What Is in Our Heart?

God knows that we are human. He knows our weakness.

“For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

— Psalm 103:14, KJV

We will not always have an emotional rush. We will not always be surrounded by a large congregation. We will not always be healthy, comfortable, or free from sorrow.

Yet we can still worship Him.

We can express reverence through sacrifice and surrender, gratitude and faithfulness. We can honor Him in private, in grief, and under persecution. We can continue to acknowledge His worthiness when our circumstances give us no reason to feel happy.

The question of worship deserves deeper consideration than we often give it.

Outward actions have a place. Emotions can accompany them. But neither tells the whole story.

At the heart of worship is a heart humbled before God—recognizing His worthiness and responding to Him in spirit and in truth.

There is a thought I have wrestled with that may not sound particularly kind or even particularly spiritual at first. But I believe it is worth considering:

Why do Christians pick and choose which sins we are willing to confront and/or accept?

There is an important distinction between committing a sin and deliberately continuing in sin without repentance.

Christians sin. When we sin, we are commanded to confess it to God. First John 1:9 tells us:

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

The Christian life is not a life of sinless perfection. It is a life in which sin should produce conviction, confession, repentance, and a desire to walk rightly before God.

What concerns me is something different: open, continuing sin accompanied by no apparent guilt, remorse, confession, or desire to change.

Suppose, for example, that a preacher were openly and unapologetically living in adultery or fornication. Suppose everyone knew about it, and he made no attempt to repent. Would Christians simply overlook it while he climbed into the pulpit and preached against sin?

Probably not.

Suppose a preacher openly lived a drunken or drug-addicted lifestyle, defended it, and had no desire to change. Would churches continue inviting him to preach revival meetings and conferences as though nothing were wrong?

Again, probably not.

Most Bible-believing Christians would immediately recognize the contradiction. A man openly practicing the very wickedness Scripture condemns would severely damage his credibility when he stood before others and called them to holiness.

And rightly so.

But then I have to ask: Why are we sometimes much less concerned about other sins that Scripture also condemns?

One example is gluttony.

The Bible plainly speaks negatively of gluttony. Proverbs 23:20–21 warns:

“Be not among winebibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh:
For the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty: and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.”

Scripture repeatedly warns against allowing physical appetites to become our masters. Philippians 3:19 speaks of those “whose God is their belly,” and the broader principle of Christian stewardship certainly includes what we do with our bodies.

Yet gluttony is often treated almost humorously in Christian culture.

Among Baptists especially, we joke about fried chicken, church dinners, second helpings, and overflowing plates. Of course, there is nothing inherently sinful about fried chicken, enjoying a church meal, or occasionally eating more than usual. Fellowship around food is not the problem.

The problem is when an appetite controls us and we refuse to confront it.

And this is where I believe we can become inconsistent.

We may hear a preacher thunder against alcohol because drunkenness destroys the body. We may hear him preach against drugs because they enslave a person and damage the body. We may hear strong preaching about sexual immorality, tobacco, addiction, and other forms of bodily indulgence.

But what happens when that same spirit of uncontrolled appetite appears in another form?

Do we still call it sin?

Or do we laugh about it because it is socially acceptable in our particular Christian culture?

This question becomes especially difficult when we see preachers, missionaries, evangelists, and other Christian leaders who are severely or morbidly obese—men of average height weighing 300, 350, or even 400 pounds—standing in pulpits preaching strongly against the sins of everybody else.

I realize that statement will make some people uncomfortable.

I also want to be careful here. Obesity itself is not automatic proof of gluttony. A person's weight can be affected by medical conditions, medications, genetics, mobility limitations, metabolic issues, age, and other legitimate factors. No one should look at a stranger and presume to know every detail of his health or spiritual condition merely from his appearance.

But neither do I believe we should pretend that weight can never tell us anything at all.

When a man is 300, 350, or 400 pounds, particularly where there is no known medical explanation and where patterns of excessive eating are openly evident, I believe it is reasonable to ask whether gluttony has become part of the problem. We would not hesitate to ask similar questions if we saw obvious evidence that another appetite had gained control of a man's life.

That does not mean every obese person is a glutton.

It does mean that extreme obesity should not automatically be placed beyond examination simply because discussing it makes us uncomfortable.

A thin person can certainly be a glutton. A heavy person may have legitimate medical circumstances. The number on a scale is not the final judge.

But when gluttony truly is present—when a person knowingly lives under the control of appetite, continually indulges it, refuses correction, and has no desire to practice self-control—then I do not believe Christians should pretend that it becomes acceptable merely because the particular appetite involved is food.

That is the inconsistency that bothers me.

Why should we be outraged by one form of fleshly indulgence while making jokes about another?

Why should adultery destroy a preacher's credibility while another known and openly defended pattern of sinful excess is dismissed as personality, culture, or simply “how Baptists are”?

And this leads me to a conclusion that some people may find even more uncomfortable.

I do not believe a Christian is obligated to sit and listen to a preacher who is knowingly and unrepentantly living in gluttony.

If I discovered that a preacher was openly living in adultery and had no intention of repenting, I would not feel obligated to remain in the service and listen to him preach. If I knew that he was living in fornication, drunkenness, or drug abuse without conviction or repentance, I would have serious difficulty receiving spiritual instruction from him.

Why should gluttony automatically receive a different standard?

If a preacher's life gives clear evidence that he is controlled by appetite, if that pattern is known rather than merely assumed from appearance, and if there is no repentance or desire for self-control, then I believe a Christian may rightly decide, “I am not going to sit under this man's preaching.”

That may mean refusing an invitation to hear him.

It may mean choosing another service.

And, in some circumstances, it may mean quietly getting up and leaving.

That is not necessarily an act of cruelty or self-righteousness. It can simply be a recognition that the life of the messenger matters.

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 9:27:

“But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.”

That verse strikes directly at the issue.

A preacher is not merely called to tell other people to bring their bodies, appetites, desires, and passions under subjection. He is supposed to practice that discipline himself.

If a man continually preaches self-control while openly refusing to exercise it in his own life, the contradiction cannot simply be ignored.

This does not mean preachers must be physically perfect.

It does not mean a preacher cannot struggle.

It does not mean a preacher who is overweight should never enter a pulpit.

A preacher may be fighting a battle with his weight, losing weight slowly, dealing with legitimate health issues, confessing failures, and sincerely attempting to bring his appetite under control. That is entirely different from a man who has simply surrendered himself to excess and has no intention of changing.

The distinction is not perfection versus imperfection.

The distinction is repentance versus acceptance.

There is a vast difference between saying, “I struggle with this sin, and by God's grace I am fighting it,” and saying through one's lifestyle, “This is simply how I live, and I see nothing wrong with it.”

Why do we sometimes create a hierarchy in which certain sins are treated as scandalous while others become respectable?

Scripture does distinguish between sins in certain respects. Some sins carry different earthly consequences. Some directly disqualify a man from particular areas of ministry. Some cause immediate harm to other people in ways that other sins may not. I am not arguing that gluttony and adultery produce identical earthly consequences.

But sin is still sin, and repentance should never become optional simply because a particular sin is socially acceptable among us.

The real issue is not whether gluttony is identical in every consequence to adultery, drunkenness, or fornication.

The issue is whether we are willing to let Scripture confront our sins as strongly as we want Scripture to confront someone else's sins.

It is very easy to preach hard against sins we have no desire to commit.

It is considerably harder to allow God to put His finger on the appetite, habit, attitude, or indulgence that we enjoy.

And perhaps that is why certain sins become respectable.

We condemn the sins that disgust us.

We excuse the sins that comfort us.

That is the double standard I believe Christians should examine.

If we are going to preach holiness, then holiness cannot merely mean avoiding the particular sins our denomination has traditionally placed on its list. It must mean allowing the Word of God to confront every area of life—including the areas we joke about, tolerate, excuse, or would rather not discuss.

And if we would refuse to place ourselves under the preaching of a man openly and unrepentantly living in adultery, drunkenness, or fornication, then I believe we should at least be willing to ask why known, unrepentant gluttony would automatically be treated differently.

The question is not simply:

“What sins are other people committing?”

The more uncomfortable question is:

“What has become so normal among us that we have stopped calling it sin?”

That is worth considering.

There is a kind of giving up that is not spiritual defeat.

It is giving up on self.

Not giving up on God. Not giving up on faith. Not giving up on hope. Not abandoning obedience or becoming passive.

It is giving up on the idea that spiritual victory can be produced through human strength, determination, discipline, or willpower.

The Christian life is often spoken of in terms of grace, mercy, dependence upon God, and strength from the Lord. Yet beneath that language, there can still remain a quiet confidence in self.

A person may ask God for strength while still believing that part of the strength must come from within.

A person may ask for grace while still assuming that personal willpower must contribute something.

A person may believe that God must help, while still carrying the expectation that self must bring something essential to the equation.

But when it comes to what is truly spiritual, righteous, and eternally valuable, how much credit can human strength honestly claim?

If a person possesses even 10% of the ability necessary to produce spiritual good, then logically that person could claim 10% of the credit.

If self contributes 5%, then self could claim 5%.

But grace does not work that way.

No Christian would say that salvation is 90% the work of Christ and 10% human effort. Salvation is entirely the work of God and is received by faith.

While salvation and Christian living are not identical subjects, there is still an important principle involved: dependence upon God should not end at salvation.

It is possible to understand complete dependence upon Christ when it comes to being saved, yet afterward begin living as though sanctification, victory over sin, spiritual usefulness, and eternal fruit are largely produced through personal effort.

That mindset eventually becomes exhausting.

There is a difference between obedience and self-reliance.

There is a difference between effort and confidence in the flesh.

There is a difference between responding to God's enabling and believing that everything ultimately depends upon human ability.

This is not an argument for laziness or complacency.

If God opens a door, it should be entered.

If He gives strength, it should be used.

If He gives an opportunity to obey, obedience should follow.

If He enables someone to do what is right, then that person should do it.

But the mindset should not be, “I can accomplish this in my own strength.”

It should be, “God can accomplish this through me.”

The mindset should not be, “I have to somehow make myself strong enough.”

It should be, “If this is going to be done rightly, God must enable it.”

Perhaps some Christians who describe themselves as spiritually defeated are first experiencing defeat with themselves.

They have tried.

They have failed.

They have tried harder.

They have made promises to themselves.

They have summoned more determination, more discipline, and more willpower.

Eventually, they become exhausted.

The danger comes when losing confidence in self becomes confused with losing confidence in God.

Those are not the same thing.

A person can come to the end of human strength without coming to the end of God's strength.

A person can lose confidence in the flesh without losing confidence in Christ.

A person can say, “I cannot do this,” while still believing, “God can.”

That distinction matters.

There may actually be something spiritually healthy about reaching the place where confidence in self finally collapses.

Human ability can be surrendered.

Human strength can be surrendered.

The expectation of personal spiritual sufficiency can be surrendered.

And the full weight of confidence can be placed where it belonged all along: upon Christ.

The flesh has nothing in which to boast.

The human heart is not the source of righteousness.

Anything genuinely spiritual, righteous, lasting, and eternal must ultimately come from Jesus Christ.

So perhaps there is a kind of giving up that is not defeat at all.

Perhaps it is surrender.

Perhaps the problem is not that confidence in self has finally been lost.

Perhaps the problem was that there was ever so much confidence in self to begin with.

The Christian should never give up on God.

Never give up on faith.

Never give up on the hope found in Christ.

But it may be entirely appropriate to give up on the belief that the Christian life can be produced through human strength.

There is a weight that was never meant to be carried by the flesh.

What God desires to accomplish in and through a believer, He is able to sustain by His grace.

If there is any spiritual good, any victory, any righteousness, any usefulness, or anything that lasts for eternity, the credit belongs to Jesus Christ.

All of it.

There are two small phrases in Luke 15 that reveal a remarkable change in the heart of the prodigal son:

“Give me.”

And later:

“Make me.”

In those two phrases, we can see the difference between pride and humility, selfishness and surrender—between my will and God’s will.

Luke 15 begins with publicans and sinners drawing near to Jesus. The Pharisees and scribes murmured against Him, saying:

“This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.” Luke 15:2, KJV

In response, Jesus begins teaching through a series of parables. One of them is the story we often call the parable of the prodigal son.

“A certain man had two sons:

And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living.” Luke 15:11–12, KJV

Notice the words of the younger son:

“Give me.”

He wanted what belonged to him. He wanted his inheritance, and he wanted the freedom to do with it whatever he pleased.

Not many days later, he gathered everything together and left for a far country.

“And there wasted his substance with riotous living.” Luke 15:13, KJV

He wasted what his father had given him.

The word riotous carries the idea of wild, uncontrolled living. Whatever pleasures the young man pursued, the result was the same: eventually, everything was gone.

Then his circumstances became even worse.

“And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want.” Luke 15:14, KJV

He had spent everything.

He had made no preparation for what might come next. And when famine struck the land, the young man who once had an inheritance suddenly found himself with nothing.

He joined himself to a citizen of that country, who sent him into the fields to feed swine.

Think about how far this young man had fallen.

He had left his father’s house with wealth in his possession. Now he was in a field feeding pigs.

“And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him.” Luke 15:16, KJV

He would have gladly eaten what the pigs were eating.

He had gone from having abundance to wanting the food of swine.

But then something changed.

He Came to Himself

“And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father’s have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger!” Luke 15:17, KJV

Those words stand out to me:

“He came to himself.”

This was the moment when he finally recognized what he had done and where his choices had brought him.

I can imagine that there may have been a time when he looked at his father’s servants simply as servants. Yet now, sitting in his misery, even the servants in his father’s house seemed blessed.

They had bread enough—and more to spare—while he was starving.

Something in his heart had changed.

“I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,

And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants.” Luke 15:18–19, KJV

There is the contrast.

Before, it was:

Give me.

Now it was:

Make me.

Before, he approached his father with a sense of entitlement.

Now he approached him with humility.

Before, he wanted what his father could give him.

Now he simply wanted to be near his father again—even if the only place available to him was the place of a servant.

He knew he had been wrong.

He knew he deserved nothing.

He was no longer demanding his rights. He was asking for mercy.

The Father Ran to Him

The young man did more than think about returning home.

He got up and went.

“And he arose, and came to his father.” Luke 15:20, KJV

But what happened next is one of the most beautiful parts of the entire passage:

“But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” Luke 15:20, KJV

His father saw him.

His father had compassion on him.

And his father ran to him.

The son began the confession he had rehearsed:

“Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.” Luke 15:21, KJV

But instead of treating him merely as a hired servant, his father said:

“Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:

And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry:

For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” Luke 15:22–24, KJV

What a picture of compassion.

The young man returned believing that becoming one of his father’s hired servants was more than he deserved.

Instead, his father received him with open arms.

The son had wasted what he had been given. He had lived foolishly. He had sinned.

But he came home.

He came home humble.

He came home admitting that he was wrong.

And his father received him.

From “Give Me” to “Make Me”

I believe there is a tremendous lesson for our relationship with God in this story.

How often do we approach the Lord with a “give me” mentality?

Give me what I want.

Give me success.

Give me comfort.

Give me the life I have planned.

But perhaps our prayer should more often be:

“Make me.”

“Make me, Lord, what You want me to be.”

“Use me.”

“Mold me.”

“Change me.”

There is a great difference between asking God merely to give us what we want and surrendering ourselves to become what He wants.

The first is focused on what I can receive.

The second is focused on what God can make of me.

We should be like soft clay in the hands of the Potter—willing to be molded into whatever form pleases the Lord.

I would rather be a servant of the Lord than have all the wealth, success, and power this world could offer without Him.

That is the transformation we see in this young man.

He left home saying:

“Give me.”

He returned saying:

“Make me.”

“Give me” reflected his pride.

“Make me” revealed his humility.

Confession and Restoration

Another part of this passage that stands out to me is the importance of admitting when we have done wrong.

The turning point begins in verse 17:

“And when he came to himself…” Luke 15:17, KJV

Before he ever returned to his father, he first had to recognize the truth about himself.

He had sinned.

He had made foolish choices.

He had gone the wrong direction.

And rather than continuing to justify himself, he admitted it.

That realization led him home.

There is something here that reminds me of 1 John 1:9:

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9, KJV

Sometimes, after we have failed the Lord, we may think we have to somehow earn our way back.

We may think we need to work harder, do more, or somehow prove ourselves worthy before God will receive us.

But forgiveness is not something we earn through extra labor.

We confess.

We admit that we were wrong.

And we return to the Lord.

The prodigal son did not return home pretending that nothing had happened. Neither did he return defending what he had done.

He came home saying:

“Father, I have sinned.”

He came back broken.

He came back humble.

And his father had compassion on him.

That is what makes this story so powerful to me.

The young man left his father wanting what his father could give him.

But after losing everything, he discovered that being with his father was worth more than everything he had taken away.

Maybe that is one of the greatest lessons in the entire story.

Instead of living before God with the attitude,

“Lord, give me what I want,”

may our prayer become:

“Lord, make me what You want.”

Make me. Mold me. Use me.

Because “give me” asks God to conform our circumstances to our desires.

But “make me” places our lives into His hands.

Reading the account in Genesis of Abraham and Isaac, as well as some other commentary-like books, I became very interested in the near-sacrifice of Isaac. For years, Abraham prayed for a son whom he feared he would never have. In Abraham’s old age, God promised him a son, and He fulfilled that promise. The son’s name was Isaac.

Some time later, God called Abraham to sacrifice his son—the son God had promised him. Abraham obeyed. He took his son and was willing to sacrifice him to the Lord. We know that God provided a sacrifice at the last moment, sparing Isaac’s life.

This is a very well-known account in Genesis, but it had never crossed my mind to ask, “Why did God want Abraham to sacrifice his son?”

In The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer, Tozer suggests that Abraham may have allowed his son Isaac to take the place of God in his heart. God may have asked Abraham to sacrifice his son as a way of testing his heart—to see if he would obey the Lord. That test would ultimately reveal whether Abraham’s heart had become filled with something other than the Lord.

What if Abraham had refused to sacrifice Isaac to God? Would God have taken Isaac through other means? I do not know.

Prominence or Preeminence

God can have “prominence” in our heart, or He can have “preeminence” in our heart. Prominence would indicate that God has somewhere between 51 and 99 percent of our heart. Preeminence would indicate that God has 100 percent of our heart.

I do not know of any living human being who can honestly say that God has 100 percent of their heart all of the time. That is a great goal to strive and pray for, but is it possible?

I believe God can see our hearts, and He can see our hearts’ true desires. Although we fail God each and every day, I do believe that, by God’s grace, we can give Him our all. Does that mean we will never stumble? No. But God knows our frame (Psalm 103:14), and He knows what we are and are not capable of.

God knows that we are completely dependent on Him, even when we do not want to admit it! God knew that Abraham was completely dependent on Him, too. I do not believe that Abraham nearly sacrificed his son Isaac in his own strength. I believe he drew his strength from God to do it.

What Place Does God Have?

What place does God have in my heart?

To my shame, I do not believe I would pass a test that required me to give up something—or someone—so precious to me.

Lord, please empty me of myself and fill me with You.

The Lord has given me all that I have, and if I am not willing to be obedient to Him in whatever He calls me to do, how can I say that my heart is surrendered to the Lord? He promises to take care of us, so what do we really have to fear? He also says that He will not give us more than we can handle.

Our problem—my problem—is that we want control of our lives. We want what we want. We do not want to be controlled by anyone, including God. We often give God conditions concerning what He can and cannot do. We will be “surrendered” to Him, just as long as His plans do not interfere with ours.

That is such a wrong approach, and God can see right through that selfish facade.

Strength From God

We do not have to draw strength from within ourselves! We have a God who has all the strength we could ever need. We simply have to ask Him for it, and He will give us what we need. Again, we just like to do things on our own and for ourselves.

We tend to act so independent when, in reality, we are completely dependent upon the things God has created and provided for us—even something as basic as oxygen and water.

I desire to have a relationship with the Lord that is so close that I could do what Abraham did without questioning God.

That is true fellowship, in my opinion.

The book of Esther is remarkable for many reasons, but one detail stands out almost immediately: the name of God is never mentioned in the book.

And yet, God is everywhere in the story.

He is seen in the timing. He is seen in the open doors. He is seen in circumstances that appear coincidental at first but later reveal a much greater purpose. Most of all, He is seen in the courage of a young woman who was willing to risk her life to do what was right.

Her words have echoed through the centuries:

Those words are at the heart of Esther's story.

A Door Esther Never Planned to Walk Through

The book begins with King Ahasuerus and Queen Vashti. After Vashti refuses the king's command to appear before him at a royal feast, she is removed from her position as queen.

Her removal opens the door for Esther.

Esther had not set out to become queen. Yet through a series of events she could never have arranged for herself, she is brought into the palace, finds favor, and eventually becomes queen.

At the time, it may have seemed like nothing more than an unexpected turn in Esther's life. Looking at the whole story, however, it is difficult not to see the providence of God at work.

Esther had been placed in a position she did not yet understand.

That position would soon become incredibly important.

Her cousin Mordecai also plays an important role. At one point, Mordecai discovers a plot to assassinate King Ahasuerus. He reports it, the matter is investigated, and Mordecai's actions are recorded in the royal chronicles.

For the moment, nothing more seems to come of it.

But it has been recorded.

That detail will matter later.

Haman's Plot

Eventually, a man named Haman is promoted to a position of tremendous authority within the kingdom. The king commands that his servants bow before Haman, but Mordecai refuses.

Haman becomes furious.

His anger goes far beyond Mordecai himself. After learning that Mordecai is a Jew, Haman sets his sights on the destruction of the entire Jewish people throughout the Persian Empire.

He persuades King Ahasuerus to issue a decree ordering their destruction.

When word of the decree reaches the Jews, there is mourning, fasting, weeping, and wailing throughout the kingdom.

Mordecai puts on sackcloth and ashes.

Esther hears about his grief and sends clothing to him, but Mordecai refuses it. Eventually, through one of the king's chamberlains, Mordecai explains the situation to Esther and sends her a copy of the decree.

Then he gives her a charge.

She must go before the king and plead for her people.

There is only one problem.

Doing so could cost Esther her life.

“For Such a Time as This”

Esther explains that anyone who enters the king's inner court without being summoned is subject to death unless the king extends the golden sceptre.

She had not been called to see the king for thirty days.

Going before him uninvited was not simply uncomfortable or politically risky. It could result in her execution.

“Think not with thyself that thou shalt escape in the king's house, more than all the Jews.

For if thou altogether holdest thy peace at this time, then shall there enlargement and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place; but thou and thy father's house shall be destroyed: and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” Esther 4:13–14, KJV

That final question changes the way we see Esther's entire story.

“Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

Perhaps becoming queen was not merely an unexpected change in Esther's circumstances.

Perhaps the position she had been given was connected to a responsibility she had not yet seen.

Perhaps God had made provision before the crisis ever arrived.

Esther now had a choice.

She could remain silent and attempt to protect herself, or she could use the position she had been given to stand for her people.

Her answer is one of the most courageous statements in Scripture:

“Go, gather together all the Jews that are present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and neither eat nor drink three days, night or day: I also and my maidens will fast likewise; and so will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law: and if I perish, I perish.” Esther 4:16, KJV

Esther understood the consequences.

She knew what could happen.

She went anyway.

Providence Behind the Scenes

Esther enters the king's court, and the king receives her favorably, extending the golden sceptre.

She eventually prepares banquets for the king and Haman, carefully choosing the time to reveal what is happening.

Meanwhile, Haman's hatred for Mordecai continues to grow. He prepares gallows with the intention of having Mordecai killed.

Then another seemingly small event occurs.

The king cannot sleep.

He orders the royal chronicles to be read to him, and while listening, he discovers the record of Mordecai exposing the assassination plot.

The king asks what reward Mordecai had received.

The answer is essentially: nothing.

At almost the same time, Haman arrives intending to request Mordecai's death.

Instead, Haman is commanded to publicly honor him.

The man who wanted Mordecai destroyed is forced to lead him through the city in honor.

The reversal is striking.

And it is not the final one.

At Esther's second banquet, she reveals that she is Jewish and exposes Haman's plot against her people.

Haman's plan collapses.

The gallows he built for Mordecai become the place of his own execution.

Haman's house is given to Esther, and Mordecai is elevated to a position of great authority.

Because the original Persian decree could not simply be reversed, another decree is issued allowing the Jews to gather together and defend themselves.

The people who had been marked for destruction are given the ability to stand against their enemies.

They prevail.

The Feast of Purim is established as a remembrance of their deliverance.

And by the end of the book, Mordecai is described as being second unto King Ahasuerus.

When God Seems Silent

One of the greatest lessons in Esther is found in what the book does not say.

God's name is not mentioned.

There is no dramatic voice from heaven.

There is no burning bush.

There is no pillar of fire.

There is no recorded miracle like the dividing of the Red Sea.

Yet God's providence can be seen from beginning to end.

A queen is removed.

Esther is chosen.

Mordecai discovers an assassination plot.

His actions are recorded but initially unrewarded.

Haman rises to power.

A crisis comes.

Esther happens to be in the one position that allows her to intervene.

The king happens to be unable to sleep.

The chronicles happen to be read.

Mordecai's forgotten service happens to be discovered at exactly the right time.

Again and again, what might appear to be coincidence becomes part of a much larger picture.

That is one of the reasons Esther is such an encouragement.

There are times in life when God may seem quiet.

We may not clearly see what He is doing. We may not understand why a particular door opened, why a certain circumstance changed, or why we have been placed where we are.

But God's silence does not mean God's absence.

Esther reminds us that He can be working long before we recognize what He is doing.

What looks insignificant today may become important tomorrow.

What seems like an unexpected turn may become part of God's provision.

We may not always understand the purpose of our position until the moment comes when courage is required.

The Courage to Do What Is Right

Esther's story is not only about providence.

It is also about courage.

Providence placed Esther in the palace, but Esther still had to walk into the king's court.

She had to make a decision.

She had to accept the possibility that doing what was right might cost her something.

For Esther, that cost could have been her life.

That makes her words even more powerful:

“If I perish, I perish.”

She was not guaranteed the outcome before she obeyed.

She simply knew what needed to be done.

There is a lesson in that for every believer.

We ought to be willing to stand for what is right, even when doing so is difficult.

We ought to be courageous for the Lord when courage is required.

And when we cannot see exactly what God is doing, we can still trust that He is at work.

The book of Esther never has to announce God's presence for His providence to become visible.

Sometimes we see what God is doing immediately.

Sometimes we only recognize it when we look back.

And sometimes, like Esther, we may find ourselves standing in a place we never expected to be, facing a moment we never expected to face.

Perhaps the question then becomes the same one Mordecai placed before Esther:

Who knows whether you have come to this place for such a time as this?

In Old Testament days, access to the presence of God was restricted in a way that can be difficult for us to fully imagine today. The high priest would enter the Holy of Holies once each year to make atonement for the sins of the people. Behind the veil was the place associated with the presence of God, and only the high priest was permitted to enter.

Most Christians are familiar with that picture. We are also familiar with the New Testament account of the crucifixion, when Jesus cried, “It is finished,” and the veil of the temple was torn in two.

But how often do we stop to consider what that torn veil means for us today?

When Jesus died on the cross, the tearing of the temple veil signified that the separation between God and man had been dealt with through the sacrifice of Christ. Isaiah 59:2 speaks of sin separating people from God, but the blood Jesus shed on the cross accomplished what no animal sacrifice ever could. His sacrifice was perfect. He was without sin, and His blood provided the way for us to draw near to God.

We may hear that and think, “That’s wonderful. We no longer need a priest to go before God on our behalf.” But I wonder whether we truly understand the full reality of what that means.

The Veil We Leave in Place

The veil in the temple was a physical object, but I believe many Christians still live as though a veil remains in their hearts.

We live as though we do not really have access to the presence of God. We live as though closeness with Him is reserved for certain moments, certain places, or certain people. We may believe intellectually that we have access to God while failing to live as though that access is a present reality.

The veil I am speaking of is not one God has placed there. It is one we often put there ourselves.

Sometimes we treat access to God as merely a spiritual position rather than a daily reality. But what would happen if we truly believed, with our whole hearts, that we can and should live in the presence of God every day?

Would it change what we do?

Would it change what we say?

Would it change what we think?

Walking in the Light

For the born-again believer, access to God is not merely a theological idea. It is a reality.

John 1:5 says, “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” Scripture repeatedly presents Jesus as the Light, and darkness cannot overcome that Light.

If we are truly walking in the presence of God, then we are choosing to live in that Light. If we ask God to tear down the veil we have allowed to remain in our hearts, and if we truly believe what Scripture says about the power of His Light over darkness, then we can begin to experience a life increasingly shaped by the presence of Jesus Christ.

Of course, that sounds easier in theory than it often feels in practice.

There will still be times when sin weighs us down. There will be trials, discouragement, temptation, and weakness. We should not expect perfection while we are still living on this earth.

But if living near to God—walking in His Light and remaining conscious of His presence—is even a glimpse of what the Christian life can be, then what a beautiful life that is.

Questions Worth Asking

That realization ought to make us pause. If Christ has opened the way for us to draw near to God, why do so many of us still live as though we are at a distance from Him?

Perhaps we should ask ourselves:

• Why are we not living with greater joy?
• Why are we not living the way God desires us to live?
• Why do we struggle to love others the way we should?
• Why do we so often struggle to understand God’s will?

I would never want to assume the answer is the same for every person. There can be many reasons for spiritual struggle. But perhaps, for some of us, part of the problem is that the temple veil is still very much present in our hearts.

Not because Christ failed to tear it down.

Not because God is withholding His presence.

But because we continue living as though the barrier remains.

My Prayer

I have spent a great deal of time thinking about this, and my prayer has become simple: God, tear the veil in my heart.

There are certainly other parts of living a life devoted to God. We must die to ourselves daily. We must walk by faith. We must obey, trust, repent, and surrender. But the image of the torn veil has remained heavily on my mind, and I believe it is worth considering.

Christ has already opened the way.

So perhaps the question is not whether the veil has been torn.

The question is whether we are living as though it has.

Christian, ask yourself:

Is the same veil that once restricted access to the presence of God still hanging in your heart?

And I must ask myself the same question:

Is it still hanging in mine?

• Be soft on the person and hard on the problem. Address the issue directly while treating the person with respect.
• Approach everyone as someone who can teach me something. Stay curious and willing to learn from different experiences and perspectives.
• Use pauses and natural eye contact. Speak deliberately and become comfortable with a moment of silence.
• Make people feel seen, heard, and remembered. Pay attention, listen closely, and follow up on details they have shared.
• Remember and use people’s names. A small effort can make an interaction feel more personal.
• Praise publicly and criticize privately. Recognize accomplishments openly and offer correction with discretion.
• Show that I care before giving feedback. People are more receptive when they know I have their interests at heart.
• Communicate expectations clearly. Unspoken expectations can become unnecessary resentment.
• Build connections by helping others first. Offer something useful without immediately expecting a favor in return.
• Remember that others want connection, too. Take a chance on starting a conversation while respecting their response.
• Practice going first. Introduce myself, extend the invitation, or send the first message.
• Respond with “Yes, and…” when appropriate. Look for ways to develop someone’s idea and contribute something constructive.
• Avoid habitual complaining and gossip. Be someone whose conversation builds trust.
• Develop my storytelling skills. Give a clear setup, explain the tension, and bring the story to a meaningful resolution.
• Be friendly and approachable. Warmth, kindness, and a little humor make it easier for people to connect with me.
• Prioritize the quality of my relationships. Strong connections deserve consistent time and attention.
• Build an inner circle that gives honest feedback. Surround myself with people who will help me recognize my blind spots.
• Get comfortable saying, “I don’t know about that yet.” Be honest about what I know and open to learning more.
• Study how I speak. Review recordings to improve my tone, pacing, clarity, and delivery.
• Develop other leaders. Use my influence to help others grow in confidence, exercise judgment, and take initiative.

The Bible consistently presents belief in Jesus Christ as the requirement for salvation. For Christians, this is familiar ground. Scripture says:

• John 3:16 — “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
• John 6:47 — “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me hath everlasting life.”
• John 5:24 — “Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.”
• Acts 16:31 — “And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.”

The question I want to consider is this: Does belief not require some level of understanding?

I understand that salvation is based upon faith in Christ, and faith necessarily involves believing without seeing. Because of that, I do not believe a person must fully understand God—or possess some deep theological knowledge—before being saved. None of us fully understands God.

But there is a difference between not fully comprehending God and not understanding the basic truth of the Gospel at all.

If a person does not understand who Jesus is, what salvation means, what they are being saved from, or why they need Christ, then what exactly are they believing? How can someone meaningfully “believe on Christ” if they have no understanding of the Christ upon whom they are being told to believe?

I realize that this can sound as though I am making salvation unnecessarily complicated. I am not trying to do that. I believe salvation is simple. But simple does not mean mindless, and faith is not the same thing as merely repeating words someone else has told you to say.

I once heard a sermon discussing what might be called “salvation quotas”—the pressure, present in some Christian circles, to produce a certain number of professions of faith. The preacher told of Bible college students bragging about how many “souls they had won” during the week. One student supposedly described pulling up beside someone at a stoplight, rolling down the window, and saying something along the lines of, “Do you want to be saved? Just say this prayer and you’ll be saved!”

That example illustrates the concern I have.

Surely there must be some foundation of understanding before a person can genuinely believe upon Christ.

A person must first recognize that he needs Christ. He must understand, at least in a basic sense, what Christ did on the Cross. And he must personally choose to turn to Christ.

Salvation is not about cornering someone, pressuring them, or making them feel obligated to “believe” when they do not understand who Christ is, why they need Him, or what they are being asked to believe. There must be some degree of understanding, along with a genuine willingness of the heart.

Once that understanding is present and the person is willing to turn to Christ, then yes—believing upon Christ is sufficient. Salvation is not earned through theological expertise, religious works, or complicated rituals. A person simply turns to Christ in faith.

But that is very different from pressuring someone into repeating a prayer.

This is where what is sometimes called “easy believism” becomes dangerous. The danger is not in saying that salvation is simple. Salvation should not be made complicated. The danger comes when belief is reduced to nothing more than saying the correct words, regardless of whether the person understands or believes what those words mean.

If someone—especially a child—does not yet understand Christ or the Gospel, then forcing that person to say a prayer accomplishes nothing. Likewise, if someone understands but is unwilling to turn to Christ, pressuring that person into repeating words does not change the condition of the heart.

That raises another uncomfortable question: Why are Christians sometimes so determined to get someone to say the prayer?

I believe pride can sometimes be part of the answer.

Imagine that you have an opportunity to speak with someone about Christ. You explain the Gospel, but the person does not fully understand yet. Or perhaps they understand but are not ready or willing to make that decision.

How does that make us feel?

We may feel as though we failed.

We wanted to be able to say that we “led someone to Christ.” We wanted to return to church and tell others about the person who got saved. We wanted the satisfaction of knowing that our evangelistic effort produced an immediate result.

And when that result does not come, pride can begin to interfere.

The temptation then becomes: If I can just convince this person to say the prayer, I can count this as a success.

Of course, I am not saying that every Christian who strongly encourages someone to be saved is motivated by pride. Many believers genuinely love people and sincerely desire to see them come to Christ. That desire is good.

But Christians are still human. We still struggle with pride. We still dislike failure. We still want visible results. We still want to feel that we accomplished what we set out to accomplish.

Because of that, I believe we must examine our motives carefully. Are we trying to help someone understand the Gospel and genuinely come to Christ, or are we trying to produce a profession of faith so that we can feel successful?

There is an enormous difference.

At the end of the day, God does the saving. We do not.

Our responsibility is to faithfully give people the truth. We can explain who Christ is. We can explain sin, the Cross, salvation, and the need for faith. We can answer questions. We can plead with people to consider the Gospel seriously. We can pray for them.

But we cannot make their decision for them.

God has given each person the responsibility to respond to Him. The believer sharing the Gospel does not receive control over the free will of the person hearing it.

That point is worth emphasizing:

God does not place the free will of the lost person into the hands of the Christian trying to win them.

You cannot believe for someone else.

You cannot repent for someone else.

You cannot choose Christ for someone else.

And you cannot turn someone into a believer simply by persuading them to repeat a prayer.

Our task is not to manufacture conversions. Our task is to faithfully present Christ so that people can understand what they are being called to believe.

Then the decision belongs to them.

We give them the truth.

God does the saving.

And they must make the choice for themselves.

This is why I believe we should take the danger of the so-called “Sinner’s Prayer” far more seriously than we often do. There is nothing inherently wrong with a sincere believer expressing faith in Christ through prayer. The danger comes when the prayer itself is treated as the thing that saves.

I submit that a misused Sinner’s Prayer may give far more people a false assurance of salvation—and ultimately leave far more people lost—than many Christians would like to admit. A person can repeat every word correctly, walk away convinced that a transaction has taken place, and yet never truly understand or believe upon Christ at all.

The prayer does not save.

Christ saves.

The Heart of a “Doer”

Tonight during my prayer time, the Lord put something on my heart about the kind of Christian who is a “doer”—someone who likes to figure everything out on his own, who is headstrong, likes to take control, and tends to live by the mindset, “If you want something done right, just do it yourself.”

That describes me in a lot of ways. I often want to be the one doing everything because I feel as though I am the only one who can do it right. I do not always like working on projects with a team because I can easily begin thinking that everyone else is doing things wrong and that I would be better off handling everything myself. I like being capable. I like being in control. I like knowing that I can accomplish something through my own effort.

Coming to the End of My Strength

Tonight, though, I began wondering whether this might be connected to some of the struggles I have been experiencing. God may work differently with different people, depending on what He is trying to teach them. There may be Christians who are not as headstrong, controlling, or determined to do everything themselves as I tend to be, and perhaps God deals with them differently. But what if, in my case, God is allowing me to reach the end of my own strength because that is exactly where I need to be?

The thought that struck me tonight was this: What if the Lord wants me to come completely to the end of my rope? What if He is allowing me to become defeated, overtaken, powerless, and weak—not because He wants to destroy me, but because He wants me to finally stop depending on myself?

Maybe I need to reach a place where I know beyond any doubt that my strength is coming from God and not from me.

His Strength, Not Mine

That possibility feels significant because if I accomplish something good while I still believe I am capable of doing everything on my own, I can easily take credit for it. I can look at the result and say, “I did that.” Maybe God does not want me living that way. Maybe He wants to bring me to a place where, when something good happens, I know that it was His strength carrying me rather than my own ability.

I keep thinking about the words of Scripture: “For when I am weak, then am I strong.” I believe that means there is a kind of strength that only becomes available when I recognize my own weakness and draw my strength from Christ. When I believe I am strong enough in myself, I naturally depend on myself. In that state of mind, I am not looking to God for strength because I believe I already possess what I need.

Maybe that is part of the lesson God is trying to teach me.

Where God Meets Me

Maybe my weakness is not merely an obstacle that I need to overcome. Maybe it is the very place where God wants to meet me. Perhaps I have spent so much of my life trying to become stronger, more capable, more independent, and more in control that I have not fully learned what it means to depend upon Him.

And perhaps, for someone like me, learning dependence on God requires reaching a point where my own strength simply is not enough anymore.

I do not know for certain that this is what God is doing, and I want to be careful about assuming that I completely understand His purposes. But the thought deeply affected me tonight. What if coming to the end of myself is not the end at all? What if it is the place where I finally begin learning how to draw my strength from Him?