Thursday was a beautiful day. And since I am the descriptor, perfect.

It was 74 degrees—sunny, no humidity, no southern haze. A cool breeze, green grass, and blue sky.

James Spann got a full night's sleep. His suspenders stayed comfortably hidden all day—not a tornado in sight.

The grass didn't need a cut, and the shrubs are still fine from their fall trim.

Driving with the window down (God allowed me to be allergy-free), I decided to pull over and enjoy the moment…in front of a cemetery.

All those graves, as far as you can see, didn't change my mood. I'll tell you why in a minute.

My dad would say, “Graveyards will talk to you if you'll listen.”

So I did.

How did each person choose their place? Did they get to choose?

Some got the hilltop, some the shade tree. Others have cars drive by their feet all day.

Married couples are still together, children are there. Many who died alone lay next to strangers. And the oldest of them all finally died and is there also.

Some are surrounded by stone, others by brick. Some markers you could hold in your hand; others you would need a crane for. Some rich, some poor. The old and young are all in the same neighborhood.

And, they are all dead.

A few days earlier, four astronauts went farther into the heavens than anyone ever—about 252,000 miles.

The span of the known universe is around 92 billion light-years. That would be 2.2 billion billion trips to the moon.

No one in any cemetery can afford a ticket to heaven nor live long enough for the trip.

Yet every believer, only six feet underground, has traveled the perfect distance: “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.”

So no, my mood didn't change. It got better. I only need to go six feet!

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!”

Stand firm. Walk worthy. Abide in Christ 

High school, somewhere in the 70's.

Mrs. Bailey. She wasn't flashy. One-piece dresses. Short, dark, curled hair. A necklace. That was the extent of her daily presentation. Serious, to the point, but not stern. She meant business. She taught me how to type.

Mrs. Davis. Four straight years, she had the pleasure of my attendance in her math courses. I think she actually smiled at me twice--twice as much as she smiled at anyone else. You know, being her favorite and all.

I don't think about these ladies every day, but what I learned from them--well, it shows up every day. I can type as fast as any old-school sports writer. And I like doing math in my head, or out loud just to agitate the Brunette.

Their teachings became a part of my life. I do it without thinking. It's built in. They made a difference in my life.

Last week, in a Baptist church that felt like a childhood home, we sang an old Bill and Gloria Gaither song: The Old Rugged Cross Made the Difference.

When the chorus started and I heard those words, it stopped me. Has the cross made a difference to me? I didn't hear another word. I thought about it all during Holy Week.

It made a difference when God called me at age 14 at Gladeview Baptist Church. It made a difference when I was ordained a deacon. It made a difference when we decided to walk out in faith and be a part of the beginning of Grace Fellowship.

But has the cross--the pre-paid cost of life forever with Christ--permeated my being? Did I become, am I, a "new creature"?

There are days I don't read my Bible, but I think on it all the time. I don't "pray without ceasing", but I talk to God constantly. And it's hard at times to "be angry and sin not", but I'm better than I used to be.

Am I--are we--some minotaur-esque hybrid? Half saint, half sinner?

Scripture says we're not. God's call to His elect is sure and secure--100% saints. 

But here's where we live...the war is won, the battle continues.

We will fail Him. "For the desire of the flesh is against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another". (Gal 5:17) The battle between flesh and spirit produces some losses.

God will not fail us. “My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; and no one is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand.” (John 10:29) Double security; the war is won.

The cross has made a difference to me--exactly to the degree of God's intent. It's everywhere inside of me, of us. The battle is for the flesh to clear a path, to yield...

“…yield yourselves unto God… and your members as instruments of righteousness…” (Rom 6:13)


Stand firm. Walk worthy. Abide in Christ.

Jacob arrived at the well in Haran exhausted, alone, and still running on self-reliance. He had manipulated his way through life, bargaining even with God at Bethel: “If You will be with me… then the Lord shall be my God” (Genesis 28:20–21). At the well he saw Rachel, “pounced” in impulsive affection, and immediately began working to win her—seven years that felt like a few days because of love (Genesis 29:20). Yet even here, his path was shaped by haste, calculation, and the deceit of others. Laban tricked him, forcing another seven years of labor. Sin distorted relationships, turning family into rivals and love into a transaction.

God sovereignly ruled over Jacob’s sin-shaped journey. He did not abandon the deceiver; instead, He used Laban’s deception to discipline Jacob and advance His redemptive plan. As Cory’s sermon reminds us, God weaves even our flawed choices and the sins of others into His unthwartable purpose—the glory of His Son through the redemption and sanctification of His people.

Jacob’s story exposes our tendency to walk self-directed paths. We bargain with God, rush ahead, and treat relationships transactionally, much like Jacob treated both God and Rachel. Proverbs 14:12 warns, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.” Left to ourselves, we build lonely ladders and chase wells that cannot satisfy what we truly desire.

This is why biblical friendship is such a profound grace! Biblical friendship is “an affectionate and eternal bond forged between two or more people as they journey through life together with openness and trust for the glory of God.” Because it is eternal, it can only exist between believers—those whose souls are knit together in Christ, like David and Jonathan. Unlike Jacob’s conditional vows or calculated labor, true friendship offers faithful presence, honest counsel, and mutual sharpening (Proverbs 27:17). It calls us from peacekeepers who avoid truth to keep surface peace to peacemakers speaking truth in love for long-term sanctification!

The Holy Spirit most often changes us not in isolation, but through the grace of these Christ-centered friendships within the household of faith (Galatians 6:10). A faithful friend can confront our self-reliance, remind us of God’s sovereignty in our failures, and point us back to Jesus—the greatest Friend who laid down His life for us (John 15:13). Jesus never bargains; He gives unconditional grace and invites us into His eternal family.

If you are a covenant member of our Grace Fellowship family, this means you are obligated to hold a place of faithful friendship for all the other members, even the ones you have yet to meet.  That’s what it means to BELONG to the Body of Christ. “You are not your own. You were bought with a price” (1 Cor 6:19-20).

Today, open yourself to biblical friendship with the GFC family. These relationships are eternal!  Like a dad bragging on his son’s baseball stats, let’s hold a bias for our church family, “regarding one another as more important than ourselves” (Phil 2:3) and living vicariously through the blessings and steadfastly through the sufferings of our eternal brothers and sisters. I believe that by doing this, we will discover the same God who redeemed Jacob’s messy journey is still sovereignly at work through us who love him and are called according to His purpose (Rom 8:28).

Where did Jesus go when He died? This has been one of the most debated theological issues throughout church history, especially in light of the Apostles' Creed, which states “he descended to hell” after the cross. What are we to make of this statement? Did Jesus suffer in hell for three days? Was it during this time that He went and made proclamations to imprisoned spirits from the days of Noah (1 Peter 3:19)? Is this just a description of His suffering upon the cross? Or is this just speaking to the fact that He truly died?

I think we can get a better idea of what is being communicated here when we understand the phrase can be translated “He descended into the place of the dead.” Based on this translation, I tend to think that this is just referring to His physical death. Though it is debated whether the original authors of the creed intended this meaning, it is the one that best aligns with the biblical data.

During the time between the cross and resurrection Sunday, Jesus truly was bodily dead. Yet, I think it is best to believe that His spirit was with the Father in heaven, awaiting His reunification with His renewed heavenly body.

Three Biblical Proofs for Paradise
Let me back this up with a few points. First, on the cross Jesus states to the thief beside Him that “today you shall be with Me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43). In Luke and Acts, the word for today (σήμερον in the Greek) always speaks about events happening the same day (e.g., 2:11, 4:21, 5:26).

Second, when Jesus cries out upon the cross “it is finished” (John 19:30), this speaks to the finishing of His atoning suffering upon the cross, thus making additional suffering after His death unnecessary.

Third, 1 Peter 3:18 states that it was after He was “made alive in the Spirit” that His proclamation to the imprisoned spirits took place, thus it is not relevant to our discussion since this activity succeeds His resurrection.

Comfort in the "Already, But Not Yet"
Why should the fact that Christ was with the Father be comforting to us? Because we too are in a state of existence where our salvation has been accomplished, and yet we still have not experienced the fullness of what that redemption is bringing about.

Because of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection we too are seated in the heavens with Christ (Ephesians 2:6), and yet we still have to live in a world groaning for redemption (Romans 8:22) while struggling against this body of death in which we currently reside (Romans 7:24).

From Hopeless Saturday to Holy Saturday
Too often we can behave like the disciples probably did on Holy Saturday, as if all is lost because our problems and our sin give our lives the appearance of hopelessness. I mean, at least the disciples had the excuse that Jesus was still physically in the grave. We, on the other hand, just act like He is still there.

But like them, we should know better. Because Jesus rose again, we know that we too will rise in victory over sin and death (1 Corinthians 15:23). Because Jesus rose again, we know that our loved ones who knew Christ, who are dead like Jesus was on Saturday, are with Him now and will rise one day just like He did on Easter Sunday. When you visit them next, know you are visiting a grave that is just waiting to be emptied.

Because Jesus rose again, we are not trapped in our sin, because we can have confident hope of progressive victory over it in this life, and total victory in the next (Romans 8:1–11). There is a reason we call today Holy Saturday and not Hopeless Saturday. Because Jesus rose again!

Prayer: Father, we pray that You would prepare our hearts this Holy Saturday for our gathering on Sunday. We thank You for both the atoning work of Christ on Friday and His vindicating resurrection on Sunday. Remind us that, although we are not yet all that His work has purchased, we can know that one day we will be. Remind us that right now Christ lives to bring about this reality (how much more will we be saved by this life! – Romans 5:10). Already, You have made us new, but not yet are all things made new. Let us not grow weary of doing good, and let us be a holy, not hopeless, people. In the holy Name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

Song: “Is He Worthy” Andrew Peterson

Recently, I was reflecting on our time of Communion that we observe on Sunday mornings. A few years ago, while having coffee with Cory Hughes and Carlton Weathers at a local coffee shop, the topic came up of the possibility of observing Communion every Sunday. At the time, we only observed the Lord’s Table monthly. I remember not feeling very good about this idea. Like many, I feared that moving to a weekly observance would cause it to lose its significance and become rote. After all, this is an ordinance that all of God’s people should take seriously.

What I have found since we instituted the weekly practice of Communion is the complete opposite of my fear. Instead of becoming rote, the Lord’s Table has become far more significant and precious to me. Here are a few reasons the Lord has turned concern into conviction and comfort.

As Christ’s sheep, we are called to be holy. First Peter 1:16 states, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” Each time we take the bread and the cup—pictures of Christ’s body and blood—we are reminded that His body was broken for us and His blood was poured out for us. It is this great outpouring of love that calls us to holiness. Therefore, each week as we come together and share Communion, it becomes a call to confess our sins and remember His love and forgiveness. In a real sense, it is the Christian’s altar call.

Communion reminds us that we are all in the process of becoming what God has declared us to be. It reminds us that we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ. When I partake of the Lord’s Table, I am reminded that I have been saved by God’s grace. As I look around at all the saints gathered each Sunday, I am reminded that I am not alone in my walk with Christ. There are others who struggle with life’s burdens and are relying on His love and forgiveness.

Indeed, weekly Communion is far from rote—it is a precious gift the Lord has given to us. Each week, I am reminded to look back to Christ’s sacrifice and, at the same time, look forward to the day He has promised when He will share this meal with us in His Kingdom.

I close with this encouragement: prepare your heart to be blessed as we share this meal in Communion with our Lord. This profound practice, when embraced rightly, helps keep us clean and close to our Lord Jesus Christ.

Song: "We Receive" Sovereign Grace Music

We’ve all seen those heart‑melting videos of a military parent returning home to surprise their children, or the moment someone hears for the first time after a transplant. It’s nearly impossible to watch without feeling tears well up. Human tears, however, are not all the same. Some flow from joy, others from tragedy, and still others from the deep ache of regret.

Of all the tears we shed, perhaps none cut deeper than those born of remorse. I often think about wishing I could hug my parents one more time, say one more goodbye. But there is another kind of regret—one tied not to loss, but to sin. Scripture gives us sobering examples of this kind of sorrow.

Consider Esau: “As soon as Esau heard the words of his father, he cried out with an exceedingly great and bitter cry and said to his father, ‘Bless me, even me also, O my father!’” — Genesis 27:34. Esau’s cry was real, raw, and desperate. Yet Scripture never shows him turning to God, confessing sin, or seeking repentance. His tears were genuine, but they were not godly.

Then there is Judas. After betraying Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, he was so overwhelmed with guilt that he returned the money and ultimately took his own life. His remorse was undeniable, but again, Scripture gives no indication that he turned to God in repentance or faith.

These are tragic portraits of worldly grief—emotion without transformation. Paul draws the distinction clearly: “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death.” — 2 Corinthians 7:10

Now contrast Esau and Judas with the thief on the cross. The thief acknowledged his guilt. He confessed his sin. He feared God. He proclaimed Jesus’ innocence. And he cried out for mercy: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” — Luke 23:42. There is no mention of tears, but it’s hard to imagine his eyes were dry. And when Jesus responded with compassion: “Today you will be with me in paradise." Those tears of regret surely became tears of joy.

Esau had the promise of a great lineage. Judas walked in Jesus’ inner circle. By earthly standards, both men had impressive résumés. Yet neither knew God. Neither humbled himself. Neither repented.

The thief had nothing to offer but his sin—and that was enough for Jesus.

A Word to Parents: Are we raising children who look more like Esau and Judas—successful, capable, admired—but spiritually blind? Or are we raising children like the thief, who recognize their need for a Savior? Even in our Isaac‑and‑Rebekah‑like failures as parents, imagine the grace of standing beside a wayward child at the end of their broken road and hearing them cry out to Jesus in repentance. What greater joy could there be?

Prayer: Lord, help us long for You more each day. As parents, guard us from the temptation to pursue worldly success for our children at the expense of their souls. May we be found guilty of nothing more than faithfully pointing them to the cross. Amen.

Song: “Oh Lord, You're Beautiful” Keith Green

How have you typically pictured Jesus in the dark hours of His betrayal? I think it’s been easy for me to imagine Him marked by a kind of tough, long-suffering resolve in the scenes of His arrest, trial, crucifixion, and burial. However, this brief transition in the Holy Week account gives us an important insight into the heart of our Savior in these moments.

Brothers and sisters, our Savior was singing.

This one verse sits between the euphoria of the Upper Room’s celebratory supper and the depths of cosmic judgment in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus had already been betrayed by Judas, and our all-knowing Savior knew the descent He was about to enter into—the judgment of God. Yet He chose to gather these weak, unbelieving misfits into a circle to sing a very important song together.

So what “hymn” did they sing? (No, it wasn’t one of our favorites here at Grace Fellowship.) Historians and scholars say they likely sang from Psalm 118, which was part of the Hallel Psalms traditionally sung after the Jewish Passover meal. I would encourage you to read this psalm with fresh eyes. Imagine with me: the disciples gather together to sing their “traditional” song once again, yet Jesus, with a joyful shout, leads them in worship, singing these 900-year-old words:

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His steadfast love endures forever!
The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me?
I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.
This is the gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter through it.
The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.
Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar.

We know on this side of the cross that these truths can be about no other than our Savior. Yet on their side of the cross, the fog of fear and the weariness of waiting kept them from seeing so clearly what Jesus was doing. And yet, Jesus still sang with them.
He sang because He could see the joy beyond the cross. Though the clouds of Calvary were horrifyingly grim, the sun of eternal joy shone through it all—and this hope left our Savior singing. The same Savior who sang through His suffering now invites us to do the same.

You may be weary and ready to give up this Easter, but your Savior takes hold of your hand and sings. You may be struggling with unbelief, yet your Savior still leads the song. Whatever your circumstances, know this Easter: your Savior sings because He is able to love His own to the very end (John 13:1).

Prayer: Our Father, would you give us eyes to see this Easter your faithfulness above every trail that faces us. Stir our affections and deepen our joy at the thought of your eternal love for us in Christ. Amen

Song: “He Will Hold Me Fast” Shane and Shane

Rebecca knew the will of God.

Before her twin sons were born, the Lord had spoken clearly: “The older will serve the younger.” (Gen. 25:23). She carried that promise in her heart for decades. Yet when the moment came for the promise to be fulfilled, she chose not to trust the One who gave it. Instead, she decided to help Him.

Isaac, old and blind, prepared to bless Esau, the son he loved and the one whom the culture and custom said should receive the blessing.

Rebecca overheard the plan.

So, what did she do? Did she pray or rest in the Lord’s promise? Did she go to her husband and remind him of God’s decree? No.

She dressed Jacob in Esau’s clothes, covered his smooth skin with goat hair, and coached him to steal what God had already promised to give him! The cost was immediate and lasting: a fractured marriage, a fleeing son, and a family torn apart for years.

Rebecca thought the end justified the means. She believed God’s will was right, but that His timing and method needed her assistance. In doing so, she treated the sovereign God like a project she had to complete.

Now stand at the edge of Holy Week and another moment of decision. Jesus knows the Father’s will with absolute clarity. The cross is not a surprise; it is the plan. Yet in Gethsemane He does not scheme. He does not manipulate circumstances or people. He does not look for a quicker, cleaner way. Instead, He falls on His face and prays, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will” (Matt. 26:39).

Do you notice the difference? Rebecca said, in effect, “I know God’s will; now let me make it happen.” Jesus said, “I know God’s will; let me become the means by which it happens—even if the means is betrayal, scourging, and death.” Rebecca reached for control. Jesus released it.

Rebecca deceived her husband. Jesus submitted to His Father. Rebecca’s way produced exile and regret. Christ’s way produced salvation for the world. Jesus accomplished the Father’s will, refusing every shortcut along the way. He would not lie to Pilate, bribe a soldier, or call down angels. He would only obey—fully, painfully, perfectly.

We are more like Rebecca than we admit. We know God’s promises—forgiveness, provision, sanctification—and then we reach for our own goat skins and clever words to hurry them along. We manipulate relationships, shade the truth, or grasp for control “for a good cause.” Holy Week confronts us with the better way: the way of the cross.

Grace Fellowship Church… don’t seek the will of God more than you seek God Himself in the person of Christ. He is both the MEANS and the END of all we desire. Nothing fills our hearts like Jesus!

This week, lay down all your schemes and pray as Jesus did: “Not my will, but Yours, be done.”

The God who needs no help from Rebecca is the same God who was pleased to save us through the willing obedience of His Son. In that surrender, we find the blessing Rebecca tried so hard to steal—the blessing that can only be received as a gift of grace.

Prayer: Ask the Lord to forgive any Rebecca-like scheming to accomplish His will your way. Ask Him to teach you Christ’s full surrender so you can pray with Jesus, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” Amen.

Song: “Your Will Be Done” CityAlight

Have you ever thought about the triumphal entry recorded in John 12:12-19? I imagine what it must have looked like from the perspective of the Jews who have gathered in Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover.

As you and your family are preparing for the feast, you hear a commotion outside the city. You look out at the flock of sacrificial lambs being brought into the city and riding on a donkey in the midst of the flock is Jesus. Your mind immediately turns to the prophecy in Psalm 118:25-29:

“Save us, we pray, O LORD! O LORD, we pray, give us success! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! We bless You from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God, and He has made His light shine upon us. Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar! You are my God, and I will give thanks to You; You are my God; I will extol You. Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever!”

The next thing you know is you are running out to meet Him on the way with the words of Zechariah 9:9 on your mind and heart: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your King is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is He, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

This is the moment that your people have waited on for so many centuries. You lift up your voice and shout and praise Him as He rides into the city of Zion as a conquering and triumphant King. This is a moment of rapture for the people of God.

Are you longing for this triumphant King to come again? Do you look for the day of His coming? This Holy Week should be a time for all of us to reflect on Christ’s first coming and look forward to His second coming.

I want us all to join in the chorus of the ultimate triumphal entry as recorded in Revelation 7:9-12:

“After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, 'Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!' And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, 'Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.'”

Prayer: Ask the Lord to cause your heart to rejoice in his first coming which saved you and his second coming that will fully deliver you into his eternal Kingdom.

Song: “O Worship the King” Hymns of Grace #135

Adapted from the sermon, Womb Warfare: Wanted, Not Worthy. Listen here!
 
There's something profoundly uncomfortable about the idea that God chooses those whom He saves. It challenges our sense of fairness, our belief in meritocracy, and our desire to control our own destiny. Yet woven throughout the fabric of Scripture is a truth that both humbles and liberates: God's electing love is the foundation of our salvation, and it has nothing to do with our worthiness.

A Story of Two Brothers
The narrative of Jacob and Esau presents us with one of the most striking examples of divine election in all of Scripture. Before these twin boys ever drew breath, before they had done anything good or bad, God made His choice clear: "The older will serve the younger."

This wasn't the natural order of things. In their culture, the firstborn received the inheritance, the blessing, and the family legacy. Esau emerged from the womb first—red, hairy, robust. He looked like a man's man, the obvious choice for carrying forward the promises God had made to Abraham. Jacob came second, grasping his brother's heel, already appearing as the trickster his name would suggest.

If we were choosing based on appearances, on potential, on who seemed most qualified, we'd pick Esau every time. But God doesn't choose the way we choose.
 
The Problem of the Barren Womb
The story begins, as so many biblical narratives do, with barrenness. Isaac's wife Rebekah could not conceive. In the ancient world, a barren womb was like death itself—the end of hope, the cessation of legacy, the closing of possibility.

But Isaac knew something about his God. He had been born to a barren woman himself. He had walked up a mountain as good as dead and come back down alive through God's miraculous provision. He served the God of resurrection, the God who brings life from death.
So Isaac prayed. And here's where we encounter our first tension: God had already promised Isaac that nations would come from him. The promise was secure. Yet it was precisely because of that promise that Isaac prayed. He didn't see God's sovereignty as eliminating the need for prayer; he saw it as the very foundation that made prayer meaningful.

How often do we fall into the trap of thinking our prayers don't matter because God has already determined what will happen? This is fatalism, not biblical faith. The truth is that God ordains both the ends and the means. Things happen because we pray for them. God's sovereignty doesn't erase the significance of our actions—it establishes it.

Isaac prayed, and God heard. But the answer didn't come immediately. Twenty years passed before Rebekah conceived. Twenty years of waiting, wondering, trusting. Sometimes the hardest part of faith isn't believing God can do something, but waiting for Him to do it in His timing.

Wrestling in the Womb
When Rebekah finally conceived, something was terribly wrong. The Hebrew text describes a violent struggle within her womb—not gentle kicks, but a crushing, breaking force. Two nations were at war before they were even born.

This theme of brother against brother runs throughout Scripture: Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, and now Jacob and Esau. It reflects the cosmic reality declared in Genesis 3—that humanity is divided into two warring factions, the seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent. And because both can come from the same womb, it is often impossible to tell them apart by external observation.

Many of us know this pain intimately. Families divided. One child walks with God while another walks away. One sibling embraces faith while another rejects it. The question haunts us: Why me and not them?

The Uncomfortable Answer
Here's where we must let Scripture shape our thinking rather than allowing our feelings to shape Scripture. God's answer to Rebekah was clear and uncomfortable: "Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples from within you shall be divided. The one shall be stronger than the other. The older shall serve the younger."

The Apostle Paul, reflecting on this passage in Romans 9, makes the point explicit: "Though they were not yet born and had done nothing, either good or bad, in order that God's purpose of election might continue, not because of works, but because of him who calls, she was told, 'The older will serve the younger.'"

Not because of their works. Not because of their choices. Not because Jacob was somehow better or more virtuous than Esau. But because of Him who calls.

This is the doctrine of election, and it strips away every shred of human pride. We bring to God not our gifts but our brokenness. We are all scoundrels by birth, deserving nothing but judgment. The mystery isn't that some people go to hell—the mystery is that anyone goes to heaven. The mystery is the cross.

Amazing Love
When we truly grasp our unworthiness, the love of God becomes staggering. We didn't earn it. We can't lose it. God's love for His elect is full and unchanging.

As one saint of old wisely observed, the greatest sorrow we can give to God is not believing that He loves us. On days when we're conquering sin and on days when sin seems to be conquering us, God's love remains the same. Full. Complete. Unending.

This should radically transform how we view God. If you're trusting in Christ, you can be certain of God's incomprehensible love for you. Not because you've been good enough, but because He has chosen you. Not because you are worthy, but because you are wanted.

Living as the Elect
This doctrine should also transform how we treat one another. Because God loved us when we were unlovable, we should extend that same grace to our brothers and sisters. We should assume the best motives, forgive quickly, seek reconciliation eagerly, and intentionally pursue friendship even with those we might not naturally like.

And what about evangelism? If God has already chosen who will be saved, does our witness matter? Absolutely. Divine sovereignty and human responsibility aren't enemies—they're friends working together. We are called to be faithful in declaring the gospel. God brings the fruit. We can't mess up His plan, but we get the privilege of participating in it.

The gospel remains free to all who would come. And those whom the Father has chosen will come.

A Seat at the Table
The story of Jacob and Esau reminds us that God's ways are not our ways. He chooses the weak, the unlikely, the undeserving. He brings life from barren wombs and calls dead things to life. His election is rooted not in our merit but in His mysterious, sovereign love.

We are all like Jacob—heel-grabbers, deceivers, second-born losers. Yet if we are in Christ, we are chosen. Wanted. Loved with a love that fills all of God.

So come to the table. Sit down and eat. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Not because you deserve it, but because He has set His love upon you from before the foundation of the world.

As the old hymn states: “Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?”

Adapted from the sermon, What You Despise Reveals Who You Are. Listen here!

There's a profound truth hidden in the ordinary moments of our lives: what we despise reveals who we truly are. Not just the obvious things—the wickedness we all condemn—but the subtle dismissals, the quiet judgments, the preferences we've elevated to moral positions without even realizing it.

The biblical concept of "despising" something is simpler than you might think. To despise doesn't necessarily mean to hate with burning passion. Rather, it means to value one thing so much more than another that the lesser thing becomes worthless in comparison. When we place greater value on immediate satisfaction than eternal promises, we despise those promises. When we treasure our comfort more than holiness, we despise holiness—even if we'd never admit it out loud.

The Danger of Exhaustion
Consider the story of Esau, the firstborn son of Isaac, who should have inherited the covenant promises passed down from Abraham. Esau was a man's man—a skilled hunter, an entrepreneur type, always on the move and making things happen. His brother Jacob was quieter, more ordinary, content to dwell in tents. By every human expectation, Esau had it all.

But one day, Esau came in from the field exhausted. His brother was cooking stew, and the aroma filled the air. In that moment of weakness, Esau made a trade that would echo through eternity: "Give me some of that red stew," he said, "and I'll give you my birthright."

Think about that. He traded an inheritance—everything God had promised his family—for a single meal. The text is brutally honest: "Thus Esau despised his birthright."

How does someone make such a catastrophic decision? It rarely happens in a single moment. Exhaustion is often the culmination of despising discipline, of running too hard in our own strength, and valuing the wrong things for too long.

The Trap of Personality Worship
Here's where it gets uncomfortable for all of us: we often despise personalities different from our own. The go-getters look down on the contemplatives. The planners dismiss the improvisers. The artists can't understand the athletes, and vice versa.

This isn't just about preference. When we add moral value to personality types — when we believe our way of being is somehow more godly — we become blind. Blind to our own weaknesses. Blind to the strengths in others. Blind to the ways God wants to use different people to shape us.

God isn't interested in making all the skilled hunters become tent dwellers, or all the tent dwellers become hunters. He's interested in making both holy. He sanctifies us by pushing back against our natural proclivities, whatever they may be. The call to follow Jesus includes a call to deny ourselves—and that self includes our personality, our preferences, and our natural way of doing things.

Esau likely despised his brother's quiet, ordinary life. He was out there making things happen, being productive, providing for the family. What was Jacob doing? Just sitting around. This contempt for a different way of being made Esau susceptible to his downfall.

The Gift of Discipline
When we despise how others live and operate, we inevitably despise the discipline God wants to bring into our own lives through them. We can see others' flaws better than we see our own. You can have a log in your eye and still spot the speck in your brother's.

This is why community is essential. We need people who are vastly different from us. Not echo chamber friends who validate all our choices, but people who make us uncomfortable, who question our assumptions and pull back on our excesses.

The same sun that hardens clay melts ice. The same boiling water that makes an egg hard softens a potato. A single circumstance can have multiple outcomes on different people. What shapes one person for good might lead to another's ruin. The difference? What we value and what we're willing to be disciplined in.

God uses discipline to transform us from self-centered people into those who love Him, love others, and care about His purposes. When we begin valuing things based merely on their usefulness to us—"Of what use is this birthright to me?"—we've become dangerously narrow in our thinking.

The Birthright We Risk
Here's the spiritual reality behind Esau's story: if we're not careful, we will sell our salvation for an impulse. We will trade our inheritance for far less than it's worth.

In Christ, every believer has a birthright. We are co-heirs with Christ, destined to reign with Him and to inherit all that God has. This inheritance is beyond our wildest imagination—we're talking about a God who speaks worlds into existence.

Yet day by day, moment by moment, we're tempted to trade it. For what? For the approval of others. For temporary comfort. For the satisfaction of being right. For avoiding the discomfort of discipline. For the exhaustion-driven decision that seems to make sense in the moment.

The warning is clear in Hebrews 12: "Strive for peace with everyone and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord […] See to it that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal."

Today Is the Day
The most dangerous game we can play with God is waiting. Waiting to repent. Waiting to change. Waiting to take holiness seriously. Esau found out too late that when he finally wanted to repent, he couldn't. He sought it with tears, but found no opportunity.

Today is the day of repentance. If you're reading this, the Lord is offering you that chance right now.

Lift your drooping hands. Strengthen your weak knees. Make straight paths for your feet. Don't let the cares and concerns of this world choke out what matters most. Don't get so exhausted running your own race that you trade away everything for temporary relief.

The question isn't whether you're good enough. The question is: what do you treasure? What do you value most? What would you trade away when you're at your weakest?

What you despise reveals who you are. May we despise nothing that God values, and may we value nothing more than knowing Christ and being found in Him.

Adapted from The Grace Fellowship Podcast series, “The Promises of Satan”. Listen here!

In our walk with the Lord, we often expect Satan to approach with an obvious "pitchfork"—an invitation to overt evil that we would recognize instantly. But Scripture warns us of a more subtle tactic: he is the Father of Lies, and his primary weapon is the counterfeit promise. He doesn't just invite us to rebel; he offers us an "upgrade." He mimics the language of God, disguising himself as an "angel of light", to offer us a version of the abundant life that eventually leads to a dead end.

To walk in victory, we must learn to recognize the hollow promises that pull us away from the Truth.


The Promise of Autonomy
The first lie whispered in the Garden was the promise that we could be the masters of our own fate. The enemy presents obedience to the Father as a restriction on our joy, suggesting that true freedom is found in stepping outside of His Word. But this is a trap. When we try to be our own "god," we don't find liberation. Instead, we find the crushing weight of a responsibility we were never meant to carry. True flourishing only happens within the "fences" God has built for our protection.

The Promise of Satisfaction
We are often tempted to look for satisfaction in "broken cisterns"—status, material wealth, digital validation, or physical highs. The enemy promises that these things will finally make us "complete." However, these are strategic shortcuts to the "lust of the eyes and the lust of the flesh” that lead only to deeper emptiness and bondage. As Jeremiah warned, we often forsake the Fountain of Living Water to dig our own cisterns that cannot hold water. We must remember that Christ is the only Living Water; true satisfaction isn't found in what we possess, but in Whose we are.

The Promise of Self-Made Worth
"You have what it takes within yourself." This modern mantra is a direct echo of the enemy’s own fall, characterized by the prideful "I will" statements found in Isaiah 14. Satan promises that your worth is defined by what you achieve—your career success, your parenting, or even your religious performance. But Scripture tells us that God opposes the proud and gives Grace to the humble. We must fire ourselves from the job of being our own savior and rest in the identity that was bought for us at such a high price. Our worth is a gift, firmly rooted in the Finished Work of Christ.

The Promise of Control
Finally, the enemy tries to make "safety" our ultimate priority. He promises that if we can just control enough variables—our finances, our children's futures, our health—we will finally be at peace. This pursuit of a risk-free life is a delusion that leads to chronic anxiety. Jesus commanded us not to be anxious about our lives, reminding us of the Father’s perfect provision. True peace isn't the absence of danger, but the presence of the Savior. We find our only real security when we surrender our "right" to be safe and trust in the Sovereignty of the Father, Who is our refuge and strength.


The promises of the enemy are intended to distract us from the True Promises of God—promises that are "Yes and Amen" in Jesus' Name. While the enemy is a "roaring lion, seeking someone to devour," we serve a King Who does not lie and a Kingdom that cannot be shaken.

As you navigate this week, ask yourself: What is the enemy promising me right now, and what has the Lord already spoken? Stop negotiating with the shortcuts and start resting in the Truth. Submit yourselves to God, resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

Adapted from the sermon, What You Despise Reveals Who You Are. Listen here!

There are seasons in life when everything feels uncertain—when the resources you counted on feel scarce, the future feels unclear, and fear starts to creep in. Scripture calls these moments “famines,” not just physical, but emotional and spiritual ones too.

In Genesis 26, Isaac finds himself in exactly that kind of season. And what we discover in his story is both deeply relatable and incredibly hopeful: God’s faithfulness does not change, even when circumstances do—and even when our own faith falters.

This 5-day devotional invites you to walk through Isaac’s story and see how God remains steady across generations, meets us in our fear, strengthens us in hardship, and ultimately rescues us through grace. Whether you’re navigating uncertainty, wrestling with fear, or simply needing to be reminded of God’s promises, these reflections will help you anchor your faith in who He is—not in what you can control.

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Day 1: God's Unchanging Promises
Reading: Genesis 26:1-5

Devotional: Isaac faced famine just as his father Abraham had, yet God appeared to him with the same covenant promises. New generations face new challenges, but our God never changes. The promises He made to those who came before us remain steadfast for us today. When circumstances threaten to overwhelm you—financial strain, health concerns, relational struggles—remember that God's faithfulness transcends generations. He doesn't need perfect conditions to keep His word. Just as He told Isaac, "I will be with you and will bless you," He speaks the same promise over your life. Your current trial doesn't negate God's eternal covenant. Stand firm on the promises of Scripture, knowing the God who was faithful to Abraham and Isaac remains faithful to you today.


Day 2: Fear and Faith Cannot Coexist
Reading: Genesis 26:6-11; 1 John 4:18

Devotional: Isaac's fear led him to lie about Rebekah, repeating his father's mistake. When fear dominates our hearts, faith takes a back seat. Fear whispers that God's protection isn't enough, that we must manipulate circumstances to save ourselves. Yet perfect love casts out fear. Isaac had just received God's promise of presence and blessing, but fear made him forget. How often do we do the same? We hear God's Word on Sunday, then live in anxiety by Tuesday. The antidote to fear isn't willpower—it's remembering who God is. When you're tempted to take control through deception or compromise, pause and recall God's character. He rescued Isaac despite his faithlessness. He will sustain you too, not because you're strong, but because He is faithful.


Day 3: Strength in the Midst of Famine
Reading: Psalm 34:1-10; Matthew 6:25-34

Devotional: Famine represents those seasons when resources run dry—financially, emotionally, spiritually. Isaac faced literal famine; you may face metaphorical drought. Jesus addressed this anxiety directly: your Heavenly Father knows what you need. The setting and conditions of life constantly test our faith. Will we trust what we can see or believe in the God we cannot see? Physical and spiritual growth only come through strain. The famine wasn't punishment; it was the context for faith to flourish. God doesn't promise you'll never face hardship, but He promises His presence through it. When you feel depleted and afraid, remember that He who feeds the ravens and clothes the lilies will certainly provide for His beloved children. Seek first His kingdom, and watch Him supply your needs.


Day 4: The Greater Isaac
Reading: Philippians 2:5-11; John 10:11-18

Devotional: Isaac was unwilling to die for Rebecca, willing instead to sacrifice her safety for his own. But centuries later, the greater Isaac—Jesus Christ—willingly laid down His life for His bride, the Church. Where Isaac failed, Jesus succeeded perfectly. In Gethsemane, facing the cup of God's wrath, Jesus didn't lie or manipulate. He said, "Not my will, but yours be done." He became our shield, absorbing the judgment we deserved. This is the rescue story that Isaac's failure points toward. You cannot save yourself through perfect obedience any more than Isaac could. Your hope rests entirely on Christ's finished work. He lived the righteous life you couldn't live and died the death you deserved. Rest in His completed sacrifice, not your incomplete efforts.


Day 5: Rescued by Grace
Reading: Ephesians 2:1-10; Romans 5:6-11

Devotional: God rescued Isaac through a pagan king—an unlikely instrument of grace. Sometimes God's deliverance comes through unexpected means, reminding us that salvation belongs to the Lord alone. You cannot orchestrate your own rescue. Isaac's sin should have brought disaster, yet God's sovereign grace prevailed. This is the gospel pattern: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Not after we cleaned up our act, not when we finally got it together, but while we were His enemies. God's rescue is so gracious that He brings in sinners like us, washing us clean and making us His own. If you're struggling with guilt over past failures or present weakness, remember Isaac. God kept him despite his sin. Through Christ, He keeps you too—not because you're faithful, but because He is.