The Memory of Mercy

Reading: Isaiah 63:7–14

I will tell of the kindnesses of the Lord, 

the deeds for which He is to be praised, 

according to all the Lord has done for us.

Isaiah 63:7

Isaiah 63 invites us to practice the "Great Exchange" by trading our short-term anxieties for the long-term memory of God’s faithfulness. In this passage, the prophet looks back at Israel’s history—not to dwell on their failures, but to recount the "abundance of His mercy." Isaiah reminds us that God is not a distant observer; in all His people's affliction, He too was afflicted. This is the heart of receiving mercy: knowing that God carries us like a father carries his child. Isaiah shows us that what we could never afford was a God who would willingly share in our suffering to bring us out of the depths.

However, the "Great Exchange" also involves a difficult transition: moving from being a recipient of mercy to becoming a conduit of it. This shift often requires us to forgive those who have "grieved His Holy Spirit" (v. 10). The story of Corrie ten Boom perfectly illustrates this struggle. After surviving the horrors of a concentration camp, she was approached by a former guard who asked for her forgiveness. She felt paralyzed by bitterness until she realized that she could not produce mercy from her own strength. She prayed, "Jesus, give me Your forgiveness," and as she reached out her hand, the "Great Exchange" occurred—God’s infinite mercy flowed through her where her own had run dry. We are reminded that “mercy does not just forgive the debt; it restores the debtor.”

To live in the abundance of God’s mercy is to realize that we are part of a continuous "movement" of grace. Just as the Holy Spirit gave the Israelites rest after their wandering (v. 14), we are called to bring that same rest to others. Jesus’ words, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy” (Matthew 5:7), are not a simple moral rule but a revelation about how life in God’s kingdom works. Mercy is the family resemblance of those who live near the heart of God. When we choose to remember His mercy instead of our grievances, we become a bridge for others to find their way home. Like a "fountain that is always full," God’s mercy provides enough for us to receive our fill and still have an abundance to pour out on a thirsty world.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, we thank You for the abundance of Your mercy and for the way You have carried us through every affliction. We confess that we often forget Your kindnesses when we face new trials. Teach us to practice the "Great Exchange," trading our bitterness for Your grace and our fear for Your faithfulness. Help us to be conduits of Your love, extending to others the same restoration You have so freely given to us. Amen.

Ashes and Abundant Mercy

“Return to the Lord your God,

 for He is gracious and merciful, 

slow to anger and abounding in love.” 

Joel 2:13

Ash Wednesday begins with a sober truth: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). The ashes name our frailty and our sin honestly. Yet Scripture never gives ashes without also giving invitation: “Return to Me with all your heart” (Joel 2:12–13). On Ash Wednesday we have learned to carry this invitation within us through the simple prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Repeated slowly, it was not a formula but a homecoming — repentance not as humiliation but as turning toward the One who is already near.

God’s mercy is abundant precisely because our need is great. David prayed, “Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love” (Psalm 51:1). He did not appeal to his record but to God’s character. The gospel reveals that the cross is where dust and mercy meet — our sin fully acknowledged, yet fully carried by Christ (Isaiah 53:5). Ashes remind us who we are; mercy reminds us whose we are. We kneel in honesty, yet we rise in hope because “His compassions never fail; they are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23).

So Lent begins not with despair but with trust. We fast not to earn love but to clear space for the love already given. We confess not to reopen wounds but to let God heal them. The journey toward Easter starts here: in humility, in truth, and in confidence that grace is larger than our failure. The God who forms us from dust also breathes new life into us again (Psalm 103:13–14). Therefore we walk forward quietly, carrying ashes on our foreheads and mercy in our hearts.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, we come before You in humility and truth. Create in us clean hearts and renew steadfast spirits within us. Lead us through this Lenten journey in the assurance of Your abundant mercy, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Returning Hearts

 The Way Home 

Reading: Jeremiah 3:1–14

“‘Return, faithless people,’ declares the Lord, ‘for I am merciful.’” (Jeremiah 3:12)

In the book of Jeremiah, we encounter a God who speaks to His wandering people not with the coldness of a judge, but with the ache of a wounded husband. To understand the weight of this call, we must look at the "legal scandal" of the ancient world: under Mosaic Law, a husband was forbidden from taking back a spouse who had abandoned him. Judah had "married" herself to idols, and by all legal standards, the relationship was over. Yet, God subverts His own protocol to reach for His people, proving that divine holiness does not eliminate tenderness—it intensifies it. As Thomas Watson captured, “The mercy of God is a fountain that is always full; it is a sun that is always shining.” Even when we turn our backs to that sun, its warmth remains constant, waiting for us to face the light again.

As we stand on the eve of Ash Wednesday, this call to "Return" takes on a seasonal urgency. Tomorrow marks the beginning of Lent, a journey of repentance where we acknowledge we are but "leaking jugs" of clay. The Desert Father Abba Moses illustrated this perfectly: when called to judge a fellow monk’s sin, he arrived carrying a leaking jug of sand. When asked why, he replied, “My sins run out behind me, and I do not see them, yet today I am coming to judge the error of another.” This humility is the heart of Lent. We realize that human logic says, “You failed; therefore, distance,” but God says, “You failed; therefore, come closer.” We remember that “mercy does not just forgive the debt; it restores the debtor.”

As we prepare for the Lenten fast, we realize that our identity is maintained by this daily act of returning. Repentance is not a performance of groveling to appease an angry deity; it is the act of returning to the One who never stopped watching the road for our arrival. We are prone to wander, yet we are met by a compassion that is “fresh and new every morning,” ensuring we never have to live in the shadows of yesterday’s failures. As we prepare to receive the ashes of repentance, let us do so with joy, walking back toward a Father whose arms are already open. We realize that our shame is a liar and His welcome is the only truth that lasts.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, we return to You again today, acknowledging the ways our hearts have wandered from Your truth. As we approach the season of Lent and the solemnity of Ash Wednesday, remind us that we are all "leaking jugs" in need of Your grace. We thank You that Your mercy reaches beyond the legal limits of our failures to bring us home. Heal our divided hearts and teach us to trust Your open arms more than our own shame. Amen.

Built by Mercy

Reading: 1 Peter 2:1–10

Once you had not received mercy, 

but now you have received mercy.

1 Peter 2:10

Peter gently reminds us that the Christian life does not begin with what we build for God, but with what God lovingly builds for us. We are “living stones” being placed into a spiritual house (1 Peter 2:5). We did not find our way into belonging; mercy carried us there. Many of us know the quiet ache of feeling unworthy, scattered, or unseen — yet the Lord gathers us and gives us a home among His people. The church exists because God chose not to treat us as our sins deserved (Psalm 103:10). Centuries ago, a hardened sea captain named John Newton discovered this in a violent storm when he cried, “Lord, have mercy.” The storm did not end immediately, but a deeper rescue had begun. Grace received him in a moment, yet reshaped him over years.

Mercy does more than forgive — it restores identity. “You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood” (1 Peter 2:9–10). Newton would later leave the slave trade, become a pastor, and spend his remaining years helping oppose the suffering he once caused. Near the end of his life he said, “I remember two things: that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior.” He never outgrew his need for mercy; instead, it became the ground beneath his feet (Ephesians 2:4–5). When he wrote, “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see,” he was simply describing what mercy feels like — not instant perfection, but patient redemption. In the same way, God forms us slowly, replacing our shame with gratitude and our hardness with gentleness.

So the Christian life begins each day with remembrance: once we had not received mercy — now we have. From that assurance we learn how to treat one another: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). We do not force compassion out of ourselves; we receive it and pass it on. The more we rest in the mercy that holds us, the more naturally our words soften, our judgments quiet, and our love widens. Like living stones shaped by careful hands, we are being built together into a house where others may also discover mercy.

Prayer

Heavenly Father, You have welcomed us when we did not deserve a place. Teach us to rest in Your mercy and let gratitude grow in our hearts. Make us gentle and merciful toward others, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Choosing Life Through Obedience

Reading: Deuteronomy 30:15–20

Now choose life, so that you and your children may live 

and that you may love the Lord your God, 

listen to his voice, and hold fast to him.

Deuteronomy 30:19–20

Moses places before God’s people a clear crossroads: “I have set before you life and prosperity, death and destruction” (v.15). This great choice is not a single emotional decision but a daily direction of the heart. To choose life is to walk with God, listen to His voice, and hold fast to Him. The way is narrow because it asks us to release our own way in order to receive His. Each ordinary moment — a word spoken, a reaction formed, a decision made — quietly shapes whether we move toward life or away from it.

God defines life relationally: “Love the Lord your God, walk in obedience to him, and keep his commands” (v.16). Obedience is not mere restriction but alignment with the Source of life itself, echoed later by Jesus: “If you love me, keep my commands” (John 14:15). The witness of faithful believers across history reminds us that faithfulness is better than safety and Christ is more precious than life. The week’s lessons — humility, trust, and hope — converge here, where belief becomes obedience and devotion becomes visible.

Choosing life today may look like truth instead of convenience, forgiveness instead of resentment, or blessing instead of silence. By obedience we offer our lives back to the One who first loved us, trusting His promise: “you will live and increase, and the Lord your God will bless you” (v.16). We discover that we are not merely following commands but entering relationship, for “the Lord is your life” (v.20). In choosing Him again today, we choose the life that truly endures.

Prayer

Heavenly Father,

We choose life by choosing You today. Teach us to love You, listen to Your voice, and walk faithfully in all we do. Keep our hearts steadfast in obedience and hope.

Amen.

Choosing Hope in Christ’s Return

Reading: 1 Thessalonians 4:1–18

And so we will be with the Lord forever. 

Therefore encourage one another with these words.

 1 Thessalonians 4:17–18

In the final stretch of our weekly journey, Paul lifts our gaze from the dusty roads of daily life to the horizon of eternity. He urges believers to “live in order to please God” (v.1), reminding us that our present choices prepare us for an everlasting kingdom. Holiness is no longer religious duty but relational readiness — we are learning how to live with the One we will soon meet. As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.” Choosing life today means anchoring our souls in the promise of Christ’s return and letting that future hope shape our present obedience.

History gives us a picture of such hope. On this day in the year 269 AD, a priest named Valentine was martyred in Rome for preaching Christ to Emperor Claudius and secretly marrying persecuted Christians. Tradition says he cut small hearts from parchment to remind them of God’s love, and another account tells how he healed the blindness of his jailer’s daughter and signed a final note, “Your Valentine.” Ironically, the great symbol of romantic love was himself single and celibate. Yet his courage reveals a deeper love — he lived not for earthly fulfillment but for eternal belonging. He believed Christ was truly coming again, and that hope steadied him even in suffering.

Paul offers the same comfort: “We do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope” (v.13), for “the Lord himself will come down from heaven” (v.16). Every tear, sacrifice, and quiet obedience is seen by the returning King. This hope becomes an anchor when life feels uncertain and a motivation for holiness when the path feels narrow. To live faithfully until He comes is to live attentively — not only watching our steps but watching the sky. As the week closes and we move toward worship, we remember: the best part of the journey is still ahead. Before his death in Ecuador in 1956, missionary Jim Elliot wrote in his journal that the exchange of the temporary for the eternal is not sacrifice but wisdom: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.”

Prayer

Lord Jesus,

Please keep our hearts hopeful and ready. Teach us to live faithfully and love courageously until You come. Let the promise of forever shape how we live today.

Amen.

Choosing Trust Over Worry

 

Choosing Trust Over Worry

Reading: Luke 12:22–32

“Do not be afraid, little flock, 

for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.” 

Luke 12:32

Jesus addresses one of the greatest obstacles on the narrow path — the quiet tyranny of anxiety. He tells us, “Do not worry about your life” (v.22), and then points to ravens that neither sow nor store yet are fed, and lilies clothed more beautifully than kings (vv.24–28). Creation itself becomes a sermon: God is not distant but attentive. Worry lives as though everything depends on us; faith rests in the Father who already knows our needs. Choosing life means choosing peace over anxiety because we trust the One who sustains us — “how much more valuable you are than birds!” (v.24).

To choose trust over worry requires a shift of focus. Anxiety tries to control a future we cannot see, but Jesus says, “Seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well” (v.31). When fear governs our decisions, we begin living like spiritual orphans. Yet the gospel declares adoption: the Father delights in caring for His children. Peace comes not from certainty about circumstances but from confidence in His character — “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (v.25).

A family once spent a long night in a hospital waiting room while a loved one was in surgery. Every possible outcome ran through their minds. Nearby, an elderly woman quietly read her Bible and hummed hymns. When asked how she remained calm, she gently replied, “I’ve learned something — worrying never changed the doctor’s skill or God’s plan. So I pray, and then I rest.” The situation remained uncertain, but peace slowly filled the room. Her trust illustrated Jesus’ words (v.25). Every surrendered fear becomes an act of worship, and every moment of trust declares we belong to a Father who gladly gives us the kingdom.

Prayer

Heavenly Father,

We place our fears and our “what-ifs” before You today. Please forgive us for living as though we were alone. Teach us to trust Your faithful care and seek Your kingdom first. Quiet our anxious hearts and fill us with Your peace.

Amen.