Weekly Email Archive

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: most of us have made worry a spiritual practice. We’ve convinced ourselves that anxiety is the same as responsibility. That if we’re not worrying, we’re not taking life seriously. We wear our stress like a badge of faithfulness, as if God is more impressed by our fretting than by our trust.

Don’t worry about what you’ll eat or wear. Easy for Jesus to say, right? Except it’s not easy at all. These aren’t trivial concerns. Food and clothing represent survival itself. Jesus isn’t dismissing our needs as unimportant. He’s doing something far more radical: he’s inviting us to see them differently.

Jesus doesn’t say it’s difficult to serve two masters. He doesn’t say we shouldn’t try. He says we cannot. It’s impossible. We like to think we can compartmentalize. A little devotion here, a little devotion there. We’ll give God our Sundays and our prayers, and money can have our weekdays and our planning. We’ll balance it all out. But Jesus sees through our illusions. He knows that whatever captures our ultimate allegiance will shape everything else. One master will always win.

The eye, Jesus says, is the lamp of the body. Think about that. A lamp doesn’t generate light for itself—it illuminates everything around it. Your “eyes” work the same way spiritually. They’re the gateway through which light enters your soul. What you look at, what you focus on, what you give your attention to—these things flood your inner life with either light or darkness.

Yet there’s a deeper truth Jesus reveals: our hearts follow our treasure. We think we choose what matters to us, but Jesus flips the script. Show me your bank statement, your calendar, your browser history, and I’ll show you what you treasure. Show me what you treasure, and I’ll show you where your heart lives.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with sharing with others. But Jesus invites us to examine our motives. Are we seeking to impress people with our spiritual feats or connect with God? Are we building a reputation or deepening a relationship?

Here’s what Jesus understands about human nature: we’re really good at receiving forgiveness and really bad at extending it. We want mercy for ourselves and justice for everyone else. We hold grudges like treasures while expecting God to wipe our slate clean.

This prayer reveals our need for daily dependence on God. We’re not strong enough to navigate life’s spiritual minefields alone. We need divine wisdom to see danger before we stumble into it, and divine strength when we can’t avoid the trial.

Forgiveness is the gift of release. Not reconciliation, though forgiveness is essential to reconciliation. Not absolution, as if we’re declaring the other person innocent. Not amnesia, pretending the wound never happened. Forgiveness acknowledges that a loss occurred, that something was owed or expected but not given. Then it makes a radical choice—to release the debtor from the obligation.

Most of us live with an illusion of self-sufficiency. We stock our pantries, pad our bank accounts, and plan our futures as if we’re the primary providers of our own lives. There’s wisdom in preparation, of course. But Jesus invites us into something deeper—a daily recognition that every breath, every bite, every blessing flows from the generous heart of our Father.

God’s kingdom operates completely differently. Where earthly powers grasp and control, God’s kingdom flows through love and invitation. Where human authority demands compliance, divine authority offers transformation. Where worldly kingdoms create insiders and outsiders, God’s kingdom welcomes everyone who’s willing to receive it.

When we say “hallowed be your name,” we’re not asking God to make his name holy—it already is. We’re asking that his name would be treated as holy in our world, in our lives, in our very hearts. That we ourselves would find wonder and delight in that name—and that our lives would radiate the light of its beauty.