As the American Revolution concluded with England’s improbable surrender, many politicians and military leaders maneuvered to make General George Washington a new monarch. The world watched, wondering if Washington would stick to his ideals of freedom and liberty when absolute power was within his grasp. England’s King George III saw another reality, however. He was convinced that if Washington resisted the power pull and returned to his Virginia farm, he would be “the greatest man in the world.” The king knew that the greatness evidenced in resisting the allure to power is a sign of true nobility and significance. 

Paul knew this same truth and encouraged us to follow Christ’s humble way. Even though Jesus was “in very nature God,” he “did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage” (Philippians 2:6). Instead, He surrendered His power, became “a servant” and “humbled himself by becoming obedient to death” (vv. 7–8) The One who held all power surrendered every bit of it for the sake of love.

And yet, in the ultimate reversal, God exalted Christ from a criminal’s cross “to the highest place” (v. 9). Jesus, who could demand our praise or force us to be obedient, laid down His power in a breathtaking act that won our worship and devotion. Through absolute humility, Jesus demonstrated true greatness, turning the world upside down.

A teenager named Aldi was working alone on a fishing hut anchored about 125 kilometres (about 78 miles) off Indonesia’s Sulawesi Island when heavy winds knocked the hut off its mooring and sent it out to sea. For forty-nine days, Aldi drifted in the ocean. Every time he spotted a ship he would turn on his lamp to try and get the sailors’ attention, only to be disappointed. About ten ships passed the malnourished teen before he was rescued by a Panamanian vessel.

Jesus told a parable to an “expert in the law” (Luke 10:25) about someone who needed to be rescued. Two men—a priest and a Levite—saw an injured man as they were traveling. But rather than help him, both “passed by on the other side” (vv. 31–32). We aren’t told why they failed to help. Both were religious men and would have been familiar with God’s law to love their neighbor (Leviticus 19:17–18). They may have thought it was too dangerous. Or perhaps they didn’t want to break Jewish laws about touching dead bodies, making them ceremonially unclean and unable to serve in the temple. In contrast, however, a Samaritan—who was despised by the Jews—acted nobly. He saw the man in need and took care of him selflessly.

Jesus wrapped up His teaching with the command that His followers should “go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37). May God give us the willingness to reach out in love and take the risk to help others.

In the middle of the crowd at a motorcycle demonstration where riders performed breathtaking motorbike tricks, I found myself needing to stand on my tiptoes to see. Glancing around, I noticed three children perched in a nearby tree, apparently because they also couldn’t get to the front of the crowd to see the action. 

Watching the kids peer out from their lofty location, I couldn’t help but think of Zacchaeus, who Luke identifies as a wealthy tax collector (Luke 19:1). Jews often viewed tax collectors as traitors for working for the Roman government collecting taxes from fellow Israelites, as well as frequently demanding additional money to pad their personal bank accounts. So Zacchaeus was likely shunned from his community. 

As Jesus passed through Jericho, Zacchaeus longed to see Him but was unable to see over the crowd. So, perhaps feeling both desperate and lonely, he climbed into a sycamore tree to catch a glimpse (v. 3). And it was there, on the outskirts of the crowd, that Jesus searched him out and announced his intention to be a guest at his home (v. 5). 

Zacchaeus’s story reminds us that Jesus came to “seek and to save the lost,” offering His friendship and the gift of salvation (vv. 9–10). Even if we feel on the edges of our communities, pushed to the “back of the crowd,” we can be assured that, even there, Jesus finds us.

Fifteenth-century monk Thomas à Kempis, in the beloved classic The Imitation of Christ, offers a perspective on temptation that might be a bit surprising. Instead of focusing on the pain and difficulties temptation can lead to, he writes, “[temptations] are useful because they can make us humble, they can cleanse us, and they can teach us.” Kempis explains, “The key to victory is true humility and patience; in them we overcome the enemy.”

Humility and patience. How different my walk with Christ would be if that were how I naturally responded to temptation! More often, I react with shame, frustration, and impatient attempts to get rid of the struggle.

But, as we learn from James 1, the temptations and trials we face don’t have to be without purpose or merely a threat we endure. Although giving in to temptation can bring heartbreak and devastation (vv. 13–15), when we turn to God, with humble hearts seeking His wisdom and grace, we find He “gives generously to all without finding fault” (v. 5). Through His power in us, our trials and struggles to resist sin build perseverance, “so that [we] may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (v. 4).

As we trust in Jesus, there’s no reason to live in fear. As God’s dearly loved children, we can find peace as we rest in His loving arms even as we face temptation.

They looked down at the faded photograph, then up at me, then over at my father, then back at me, then back at my father. Their eyes were wide as the proverbial saucers. “Dad, you look just like Papa when he was young!” My father and I grinned because this was something we’ve known for a long time, but it wasn’t until recently that my children came to the same realization. While my father and I are different people, in a very real sense to see me is to see my father as a younger man: tall lanky frame, full head of dark hair, prominent nose, and rather large ears. No, I am not my father, but I am most definitely my father’s son.      

A follower of Jesus named Philip once asked, “Lord, show us the Father” (John 14:8). And while it wasn’t the first time Jesus had indicated as much, His response was still cause for pause: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father” (v. 9). Unlike the physical resemblances between my earthly father and me, what Jesus says here is revolutionary: “Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me?” (v. 10). His very essence and character were the same as His Father’s.

In that moment Jesus was being straightforward with His beloved disciples and us: If you want to know what God is like, look at Me.   

Our group of friends reunited for a long weekend together on the shores of a lake in Washington state. The days were spent playing in the water and sharing meals, but it was the evening conversations I treasured the most. As darkness fell, our hearts opened to one another with uncommon depth and vulnerability, sharing the pains of faltering marriages and the aftermath of trauma some of our children were enduring. Without glossing over the brokenness of our realities, we pointed one another to God and His faithfulness throughout such extreme difficulties. Those evenings are among the most sacred in my life. 

I imagine those nights are similar to what God intended when He instructed His people to gather each year for the Festival of Tabernacles. This feast, like many others, required the Israelites to travel to Jerusalem. Once they arrived, God instructed His people to gather together in worship and to “do no regular work” for the duration of the feast—about a week! (Leviticus 23:35) The Festival of Tabernacles celebrated God’s provision and commemorated their time in the wilderness after leaving Egypt (vv. 42–43). 

This gathering cemented the Israelites’ sense of identity as God’s people and proclaimed His goodness despite their collective and individual hardships. When we gather with those we love to recall God’s provision and presence in our lives we too are strengthened in faith.  

As a middle-schooler, Patrick Ireland first sensed God had chosen him for something. But what? Later as a survivor of the horrific Columbine High School massacre where thirteen were killed and twenty-four wounded, including Patrick, he began to understand an answer.

Through his long recovery, Patrick learned that clinging to bitterness causes further wounding. God showed Patrick that the key to forgiveness is to stop focusing on what others have done to us and to focus on what Jesus has done for us. Christ’s words on the cross toward His tormenters, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34), fulfilled Zechariah’s prophecy of Luke 1:77. Additionally, the example of Jesus revealed a purpose for Patrick, and twenty years after the tragedy, Patrick shared, “Maybe I was chosen to forgive.”

While most of us will not endure an unimaginable calamity such as the one committed at Columbine, each of us has been wronged in some way. A spouse betrays. A child rebels. An employer abuses. How do we move forward? Perhaps we look to the example of our Savior. In the face of rejection and cruelty, He forgave. It is through Jesus’s forgiveness of our sins that we, ourselves, find salvation, which includes the ability to forgive others. And like Patrick, we can choose to let go of our bitterness to open our hearts to forgiveness.