Holy Ground

 Walking in Reverence 

Tremble and Trust

Reverence and Awe in the Presence of the Holy One

“Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our ‘God is a consuming fire.

Hebrews 12:28–29 

In a  world that is often casual about everything—even the sacred—the Lenten season invites us to return to the holy ground of reverence. Not fear in the sense of dread or terror, but a trembling delight, a reverent awe in the presence of the One who is both infinitely loving and infinitely holy.

The Bible speaks of the fear of the Lord as the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10), a fear not rooted in dread but in awe. It is the kind of fear that bows low before a God who is both infinitely good and gloriously holy.

Eugene Peterson once wrote, “Fear-of-God is not studying about God but living in reverent relationship with Him… It is the beginning of wisdom, not its end.” This fear doesn’t push us away—it draws us close. It burns away pride and distraction. It humbles us and gives us clarity.

Hebrews reminds us that “our God is a consuming fire.” God’s holiness is not passive. It purifies like flame, consuming what is false and refining what is true. To live in the fear of the Lord is to live in His light—exposed, refined, and transformed.

Elisabeth Elliot put it this way: “Fear rises when we imagine we are in the hands of fate. But reverent awe comes when we know we are in the hands of God.” That’s the fear Lent calls us to recover. Not fear of judgment for the forgiven, but awe in the presence of the One who forgives. To live in His presence is to live ablaze—with wonder, humility, and joy.

Prayer

Lord, teach me to fear You rightly—not with dread, but with awe. Let me not become casual with Your holiness, but rather bow in reverent love. Cleanse me with Your fire, and let this fear become the beginning of wisdom, the root of worship, and the mark of true faith in my life. Amen.

The Soil of the Soul

Parable of the Sower

Wholehearted Soil 

But the seed on good soil stands for 

those with a noble and good heart, 

who hear the word, retain it, 

and by persevering produce a crop. 

Luke 8:15 

Lent reminds us of our roots and our need. “Then the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” (Genesis 2:7). We are dust and breath—earth formed by divine hands. The condition of our hearts still reflects the soil from which we were made.

In the Parable of the Sower, Jesus paints a vivid picture of how people respond to the Word of God. The Word is the seed—scattered generously across every heart. It is never the fault of the seed when fruit does not appear; it is the quality of the soil that determines the harvest.

Yet this seed is not mere information or instruction—it is a Person. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). Christ Himself is the seed, sown into the soil of our lives. And as Paul wrote, “I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you” (Galatians 4:19). True spiritual growth is not just about knowing more—it is about being transformed, about Christ being fully formed in us.

Nicky Gumbel highlights the profound truth in Jesus’ Parable of the Sower: the state of the soil reflects the state of our hearts. Some hearts are hard, resistant to the Word. Others are faint, lacking depth and perseverance. Some are crowded, divided by the cares and pleasures of life—half-hearted. But only the wholehearted—those who receive, nurture, and persevere in the Word—bear fruit that truly lasts.

Some hearts are hard-hearted—trampled down by bitterness, pride, or unbelief. The Word never penetrates, and the enemy snatches it away. As C.S. Lewis wrote, “The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men.” God breaks us open not to destroy but to restore.

Others are faint-hearted—quick to rejoice but slow to endure. Shallow roots cannot survive seasons of trial. Dallas Willard once said, “Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if He were you.” That formation happens slowly, beneath the surface, in the depths.

Some hearts are half-hearted—crowded with thorns of worry, wealth, and worldly desire. These distractions choke the seed before it matures. Richard Foster reminds us, “The disciplines allow us to place ourselves before God so that He can transform us.” Lent invites us to make room, to clear space for the Spirit’s quiet work.

Only the wholehearted bear lasting fruit. These are the ones who receive the Word deeply, cling to it fiercely, and allow it to take root through daily surrender and perseverance. In such soil, the Living Word takes shape. Christ is not only among us—He is being formed within us.

His truth becomes our compass, His Spirit our strength, His love our fruit. The seed of His Word, planted by grace, grows into lives that reflect His character—full of joy, peace, patience, kindness, and faithfulness. We become gardens of His glory, where the presence of Jesus is visible and fragrant to the world.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus, You are the Living Word, sown into the soil of my life. Break up what is hard in me. Deepen what is shallow. Clear away what entangles. Let Your life take root in me. Be formed in my heart, that I may bear lasting fruit for Your glory. Amen.

Peace in the Midst of Chaos

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.

 I do not give to you as the world gives. 

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

John 14:27

There are seasons in life when the chaos around us threatens to undo the calm within us. Storms rise without warning. Fear seeps into our thoughts. Old wounds resurface. And sometimes, the noise isn’t outside—it’s the inner storm, the unseen torment, that shakes us most.

Luke 8:22–39 offers two scenes of such unrest—and two miracles of peace.

In the first, Jesus and His disciples are caught in a violent storm. The disciples panic, convinced they will drown. But Jesus wakes, speaks, and the winds obey. The sea, once raging, becomes still. The disciples, filled with awe, ask, “Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.” (v.25)

In the second, Jesus meets a man possessed by demons. His life has been stripped of dignity, community, and peace. But at the feet of Jesus, the demons flee, and the man is found “clothed and in his right mind.” (v.35) He begs to follow Jesus, but is told instead to return home and tell how much God has done for him.

In both stories, chaos gives way to calm. Fear gives way to faith. And Jesus stands at the center—not as a distant observer, but as the Lord who enters into our chaos and speaks peace.

That’s why John 14:27 is so powerful:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you…”

The peace Jesus offers isn’t conditional or fragile. It is not the kind of peace the world offers—based on control, success, or the absence of trouble. His peace is rooted in His presence—calming storms and quieting souls.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus, You are the One who stills storms and restores souls. Speak peace over the chaos in my life. Calm the noise in my heart. Cast out fear, anxiety, and anything that robs me of Your presence. Let Your peace, not the world’s, guard my heart and mind. And send me to share Your peace with others. Amen.

Jesus Sees Your Sorrow

 

From Mourning to Joy

When the Lord saw her, 

His heart went out to her and He said,

 ‘Don’t cry.’

 Luke 7:13 

Lent is a season of remembering. We journey with Jesus toward the cross, walking through sorrow, repentance, and the longing for resurrection. Along this path, we encounter stories that shine like lanterns in the dark—stories of grief, and also of joy.

One such story is found in Luke 7:11-17.

A widow walks behind the funeral procession of her only son. With him, her future is buried. No plea escapes her lips. No one expects a miracle. Her world has ended quietly. But Jesus saw her.

Not just her tears, but her.

Not just her loss, but her life.

And His heart went out to her.

That is the heart of our Savior—the one we reflect on during Lent. He does not wait for eloquent prayers. He doesn’t require perfect faith. He comes near in compassion. He speaks a gentle word—“Don’t cry”—and then does the unthinkable.

He touches the bier.

He calls the dead to life.

And then, in one of the most tender lines in Scripture, He gives the young man back to his mother.

Imagine the astonishing joy that filled her heart.

Just moments ago, she was crushed under the weight of death—now, she holds her son alive in her arms. Her mourning turns to dancing, her despair to laughter, her hopeless silence to a song of praise. In one encounter with Jesus, everything changed.

This is the kind of Savior we follow.

One who steps into our suffering and raises what we thought was lost.

One who sees us, speaks life, and restores joy.

Lent invites us to hold space for both sorrow and resurrection. We remember the cross and anticipate the empty tomb. We grieve what is broken while watching for the touch of Christ that brings healing. Like the widow, we may not have the words to pray—but Jesus sees us, and His heart is already moving toward us.

He sees. He feels. He acts.

And He gives back what we thought was gone—restored, renewed, resurrected.

Prayer:

Jesus, during this Lenten season, I bring You my grief, my silence, my buried hope. Thank You for being the God who sees me and is moved with compassion. Raise to life what I thought was lost. Speak joy into my sorrow. Teach me to wait for Your resurrection touch, and to trust that You are near, even now. Amen.

Remember the Lord Your God

The Wilderness Teaches Us to Remember

“Apart from Me you can do nothing.”

—Jesus (John 15:5)

During the wilderness journey, Moses helped the people of Israel understand the bigger picture: their hardships were not meaningless, but divinely purposed. God was using the desert to form their hearts—to teach them dependence, trust, and humility. In Deuteronomy 8, Moses warned them not to forget the Lord once they entered the Promised Land:

“You may say to yourself, ‘My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me.’ But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth…” (Deuteronomy 8:17–18)

This message is timeless. Lent is our own wilderness season—a time to strip away distractions and remember where our help truly comes from. Jesus, echoing the heart of Moses, said, “Apart from Me you can do nothing.” These words challenge every illusion of self-sufficiency we carry. We are not the masters of our destiny. Every gift, every breath, every success—flows from His hand.

In seasons of hardship, our need for God is obvious. But in seasons of abundance, the temptation to forget Him is great. Lent reminds us to hold tightly to Him in both. Whether we are walking through a barren desert or basking in fruitful fields, our dependence on God never changes.

Thousands of years have passed since Moses addressed the people, but his words still speak with urgency: “Remember the Lord your God.”

Let this Lenten season be one of remembrance. Let us confess our pride, renew our dependence, and return to the One who gives us life.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus, forgive me for the times I’ve relied on my own strength. In this season of Lent, help me remember that apart from You, I can do nothing. Teach me to walk in humility and daily dependence on Your grace. Amen.

Look and Live

In the wilderness, the people of Israel grew impatient and rebellious. God’s judgment came in the form of venomous snakes. But when they confessed, the Lord gave an unexpected command: make a bronze serpent and lift it high. Whoever looked at it would live (Numbers 21:8–9).

Jesus referenced this moment in John 3:14–15: “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up…” The bronze serpent foreshadowed the cross. Just as the Israelites were healed by looking at the symbol of their affliction, we are saved by looking in faith to Christ crucified—who bore our sin.

Charles Spurgeon wrote, “It is ever the Holy Spirit’s work to turn our eyes away from self to Jesus.” We cannot heal ourselves. But if we look to Jesus—lifted up in love—we find life.

Henri Nouwen reminds us, “The cross is the center of our faith because it is the sign of God’s greatest act of love.” Jesus became the very likeness of sin so we could be freed from it.

This Lent, we are invited again to lift our eyes. Not to the distractions of the world, or the failures of self—but to the cross. In looking, we live.

Prayer:

Lord Jesus,

Help us turn from every false remedy and look to You alone.

Thank You for taking our sin and becoming our salvation.

Teach us to look—and truly live.

Amen.