Is your kitchen cabinet like mine? Every other cereal bowl has a chip in it, and a few are cracked. Yet I want to avoid the significant cost to replace them. So day after day, we continue to use them.
We’re kinda like that as humans. Chipped and cracked, this world has beat up on us a little, but we keep going. And God can still use us.
Paul writes to the Corinthians that God gives us “the knowledge” of His glory and the salvation He offers through His Son Jesus.

“But we have this treasure [this knowledge] in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our bodies.” (2 Corinthians 4:7-10)

The Bible uses the image of jars of clay to portray human weakness. When clay is wet, it is pliable and can be easily molded. And then each jar, even when created by the same potter, is uniquely shaped and colored. It has its own bumps and dimples, imperfections and areas of strength. Each jar has its own purpose and story, from the ground to the shelf.

But clay jars easily break, and when shattered, the remnants return to dust. Paul is telling us that despite our fragility and our weaknesses, God still uses us to display the glory of His work and exhibit the power of Jesus’ grace.

Think about that for a minute. What an extraordinary Father He is! He chooses us, imperfect vessels, to demonstrate His perfect power of transformation. In His hands, our brokenness allows Jesus to reshape us. Our cracks are filled with His grace, and our chips are smoothed with His love. Our suffering is purposed for our good and His glory.

Our brokenness does not exclude us from being used by God; it is the very essence that He uses to bring us and others closer to Himself.

Let’s pray.

Dear Jesus, thank you for not forsaking us. Thank you for giving our pain purpose and our broken hearts hope. Mold us in your hands to be more like you and work in our weakness for your glory. As we leave here today, may we place at your feet anything that no longer serves our healing and keeps us from fully knowing you. Amen.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Jesus reiterates this Old Testament commandment in the Gospels. On one hand, it’s a picture of HOW to love other people. In Matthew 7:12, Jesus says, “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.”

But let’s rotate this command just slightly, as if it were a prism, and peer into another facet. Jesus is also reminding us to love ourselves. Not in a selfish way that gives us permission to take from others (2 Timothy 3:12) or even in ways that we think we deserve but actually can cause us harm.

As we learn to love ourselves as Jesus says, we must first consider the first and “most important” commandment: “‘Hear O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). Jesus was referring to the Shema from the Old Testament. Making God first and foremost in every aspect of our being helps us better understand who we are and how fully and deeply He loves us.

We were made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26). And our capacity to love others — and ourselves — flows from Him. 1 John 4:19 says, “We love because He first loved us.”

1 Corinthians 13 offers characteristics of His love, and we ought to remind ourselves of the entire list frequently. But for the sake of time, we’ll reflect on just a few.

Love is “patient and kind” (v. 4a). Are you patient with yourself? Do you give yourself grace when you make mistakes? Is your self talk kind? Do you care for yourself emotionally, spiritually and physically?

Love “does not envy” (1 Corinthians 13:4b). Are we loving ourselves as we should when we compare ourselves to others and envy what they have? We have a tendency to look around and wish we had her body, her skin, her opportunities, her qualities, her family, her friends. But that envy is rotting our wellbeing.

Love “rejoices with truth” (1 Corinthians 13:6). We don’t lie to anyone more than we lie to ourselves. Being honest with ourselves centers our minds and hearts and gives us the ability to move forward and move on.

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7). Loving yourself is pushing through hard things and believing you can. Loving yourself is forgiving yourself. Loving yourself is allowing yourself to have hope.

Hope that you are worthy of love.

And hope that you are loved by an almighty God and Savior.

Let’s pray.

Jesus, you love us so much that you went to the cross for each woman in this room and every person who may read this message later. Teach us to love ourselves rightly — with humility, truth and grace. Show us how to love others with patience and kindness. And most of all, help us to love God with all our heart, our soul, our mind and our strength. Amen

During the early days of Arize Together, when it was more of an idea than an organization, the three founders spent much time in prayer and the Word to discern where God was leading us. And this verse from Ezra struck me, “Arise, for it is your task, and we are with you. Be strong and do it” (10:4).

Ezra was pleading with the Jewish people to renew their covenant with God, for they had lost their identity as His people. Their “task” was to overcome the enemies who threatened them and keep God’s law. Similarly, this verse reminds me of what we do here as a community: reclaiming our identity as children of God, gaining strength, and doing the next thing with the support and encouragement of each other. We arise together.

The verb “arise” appears 136 times in the English Standard Version of the Bible. In the Old Testament, “arise” is often a command, commonly coupled with a directive to go. For God does not want us to stay stagnate. He’s with us right where we’re at, but He has so much more for us where He is calling us to step out in faith.

On several occasions in the New Testament, with the advent of Christ, “arise” is a command for the dead through His divine power. Mark 5 tells of one such account: “Taking her by the hand, [Jesus] said to her, ‘Talitha cumi,’ which means, ‘Little girl, I say to you arise.’ And immediately the girl got up and began walking” (41-42). Friend, imagine Jesus taking your hand and telling you to arise. Imagine the kindness in His eyes and gentleness of His touch. He is with you as take your next step. He is with you as He calls you out of death and into new life.

In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, he ties together the prophecy of Isaiah with this glory that is ours through Jesus, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you” (5:14). What areas of your life are dead? Is Jesus calling you out old patterns, relationships or habits that no longer serve you? Is He calling you to new ways, to new people, to new experiences?

Feeling overwhelmed is a natural response when we don’t know exactly how to do that next thing. But we don’t have to have it all figured out, for that is the journey, and it’s easier to find our way with supportive community around us. We need only to trust that Jesus is with us as well, and His one ask for this moment is that we arise.

Let’s pray.
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Dear Jesus,
As we begin a new year, open our ears to your command to arise, and open our eyes to the direction you would have us go. Thank you for this community you have put around us to strengthen us. You make all things new, including our hearts. Grant us strength to renew our minds and courage to take that next step. Amen.

It’s the time of year when we revisit one of our favorite characters, Clark Griswold from Christmas Vacation. Clark sets out on a mission to create a “good old-fashioned family Christmas” with extreme light displays, the biggest tree and a houseful of family guests. We laugh at the small truths in this modern classic because we can relate. We all want Christmas to be idyllic for ourselves and our kids.

But the reality is that Christmas is a string of unmet expectations — of us and by us. It brings complicated relationships to the forefront. It highlights how we cannot buy love with gifts and how we never are truly satisfied. We bump into others with expectations on our time, and we’re disappointed with their behavior. We sing of comfort and joy, but we’re cursing a defective strand of lights.

We get you, Clark.

What’s more concerning is that expectations distract us from Jesus. They cloud who He is and why He stepped into our human mess.

The Old Testament contains at least 300 prophecies that foretold the coming of a Messiah, passages first-century Jews knew well. But instead of understanding Christ’s eternal purpose of salvation and peace, the Jews were looking for a leader who would overthrow their oppressive Roman rulers and restore the glory of their kingdom. Their circumstances defined their expectations. And although Jesus fulfilled prophecies through His birth, His life and His ministry, He was rejected by His own people because He did not meet those expectations.

The apostle John writes, “The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, yet the world did not know Him. He came to his own, and His own people did not receive Him.” (John 1:9-11)

The truth is, we are not so different as the first-century Jews. We miss the point that Jesus is our hope for salvation because somewhere, somehow He didn’t meet our little kingdom expectations. We forget that His purpose is far more beautiful and everlasting than anything we could ever fathom in our human flesh. He is better than our expectations.
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So what if we gave ourselves a gift during this holiday season? Let’s give ourselves the presence of the real, all-powerful Jesus, who is the Christ and Son of God, and leave behind our Ricky Bobby versions of baby Jesus. Let’s live in freedom from expectations through Jesus’ gift of grace. And let’s truly embrace peace and joy through Him.

Let’s pray.

Jesus, forgive us for putting our expectations on you and on others. Teach us to live in freedom from our own worldly ideations, especially during this Christmas season. Help us to prepare our hearts and minds for the coming of your Kingdom, which will be perfectly whole and everything we long for in this broken world. Amen.

It’s a cliche. But still a perfect picture. Is my cup half full or half empty? Do I fixate on what I don’t have, or am I grateful for what I have been given?

Paul wrote, “Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:11).

Paul was a guy who was imprisoned, shipwrecked, beaten and ultimately executed.

I want that kind of faith, that no matter what life hands me, I can be content in knowing that Jesus uses all things for my good and His glory, and that my strength comes from Him and not my own very limited power.

Several years ago, my cousin was dying from breast cancer. She had shriveled to nothing but bones, and her eyes were sunken into her skull. At 37 years old, she was leaving behind her husband and three young kids, the youngest of whom was a toddler. Her cancer journey was filled all the emotions you would expect: anger, fear, grief. But along the way, she grew closer to Jesus.

He used her illness to grow her faith and that of those around her. In her final weeks, which was about this time of year, she celebrated one last Christmas with her children and said her goodbyes. And she was content. In the end, all that mattered was faith, hope and love, and it took cancer to get to that place.

I think of her when I read this verse. Her illness was a roller coaster of ups and downs, late nights of worry, rivers of tears, and much suffering from the fight. And the grief of her family still reverberates today. So I know, and all those who were watching knew, that kind of strength to face death so contentedly could only come from Jesus. Although those of us who loved her no longer have her, we now have more of Him.

Let’s pray.

Dear Jesus, in this season when we pause to give thanks, teach us to count it all joy and to be content — even in our struggles, even in our pain. Give us the faith to trust that you are working for our good and the goggles to see our cups overflowing with your blessings. And as we celebrate with our friends today, may they always point us to you. Amen.

On the fifth day, after God had created light and land, vegetation and the stars, the sun and moon, and fish and animals of all kinds, He said,”Let us make man in our image, after our likeness, And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth” (Genesis 1:26).

That “us” was the Trinity: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, who were all there in the beginning. And if we continue to examine this passage more closely, the term “man” was interpreted from the Hebrew word adam, which has meaning more like the English word human. It means male AND female. So all of us bear our heavenly Father’s image.

But what did God mean by “our image,” “our likeness”? What is His imprint on you and me?

He has given us the ability to create, to imagine, to reason, to understand morality and complex language.

He has given us the responsibility and authority to steward his creation and to cultivate it.

And He has given us the capacity to be in committed and loving relationships with one another and with Him.

Every human is an image bearer of God, and every human is precious to Him. So much so that He sent His Son, Jesus, to give His body and blood as payment for our sins. That is how much He loves us, that is how much He desires to be in relationship with you and with me.

Dear Jesus,
As we explore this menagerie today, we ask for wonder and awe at the beauty and creativity of creation. After we leave this place, we ask that every animal we encounter — from butterflies to cattle, lizards to squirrels — reminds us how we are different. That we are image bearers of God, and we are deeply, wildly and completely loved. Thank you for today, for the friendship and the fun. You are good. Amen.

The Old Testament Book of Ruth reads like a romance about a Jewish kinsman redeemer and his bride. But it’s actually a love story for us, a historical account that gifts us with a message that we too have a Redeemer and our true identity is in Him.

Ruth marries into a Hebrew family after they had relocated to her homeland of Moab during a famine. After about a decade, her husband and her brother-in-law die. Her mother-in-law Naomi, a widow who is now grieving both of her sons, decides to return to her homeland of Judah, and Ruth accompanies her.

A stranger in this new land, she becomes known as “Ruth the Moabite.”

While it’s true that Ruth was a Moabite, we are also seeing a label adhered to Ruth that is repeated several times in the Scripture. To offer some context, Ruth’s homeland was an area settled by a cousin tribe to the Hebrews that descended from Moab, who was the son of Lot from an incestuous relationship. Biblical history depicts the Moabites’ relationship with the Hebrews as complicated, and the Moabites were notoriously a “bad influence” because of their pagan practices.

Like Ruth, we are strangers in this broken and corrupt world. It is not our home. And it’s eager to slap some labels on our names: addict, orphan, bitch. The list goes on. Labels have a tendency to attach handles to our identity — if we let them.

It was a Jewish custom to allow the needy to pick up any remaining grain left in the fields after a harvest. So at Naomi’s suggestion, Ruth gleans from Boaz’s field and when she first meets him, we get a glimpse of how she sees herself as an outsider. “Why have I found favor in your eyes, my lord, that you should take notice of me, since I am a foreigner? … you have comforted me and spoken kindly to your servant, though I am not one of your servants” (Ruth 2:10,13).

Another Jewish custom were kinsman redeemers, male relatives who had the right and responsibility of caring for relatives who were in danger and needed protection. If they were unmarried, they would marry widows of their brothers or cousins. Boaz was a relative to Naomi and was in line to be Ruth’s kinsman redeemer. You can read for yourself about Naomi’s matchmaking, but for our focus today, we can see the transformation of Ruth’s worth and identity as Boaz shows her kindness.

“He said, ‘Who are you?’ And she said, ‘I am Ruth, your servant. Spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer’” (Ruth 3:9). Notice the shift; she is no longer Ruth the Moabite. Now she belongs.

We see Ruth mentioned again in the New Testament as one of three women personally named in the genealogy of Jesus (Matthew 1:5). From “Ruth the Moabite” to Ruth, great grandmother to King David and ancestor to Christ the Redeemer.
So who are you? Today, we’re going to recognize some qualities your Arize Together community sees in you. Your accomplishments, your gifts, your potential.

But more importantly, how does your Redeemer see you? When you place your hope in Jesus, you are his workmanship (Ephesians 2:10), you are chosen (Ephesians 1:4), you are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17), you are a child of God (John 1:12), you are the light of the world (Matthew 5:14), you are his friend (John 15:15), you are an heir of God (Galatians 3:26, Romans 8:17), and you are a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20).

Let’s pray.
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Jesus, we were lost and in danger, but as our Redeemer, you have covered our sins with your work on the cross and placed us under your protection. We are not the labels that the world has slapped on us; we are not the lies that the enemy has spread about us. We are who you say we are, and your Word has spoken life and freedom over us. Silence the noise in our ears and help us to trust in the truth and “walk as children of light” (Ephesians 5:8). Amen.

I’ve spent some time lately reflecting on forgiveness. As a Christ follower, my head knows I should forgive others. But my heart has been searching for just how to do that.

I have found it’s essential to understand what forgiveness is and what it is not. The verb forgive is defined as “to give up resentment of” or “to grant relief from payment of.” When we put our faith in Jesus, we receive grace that covers our sins. Every last one of them. His work on the cross relieves us from the wages of sin, which is death (Romans 6:23). 

But following Jesus also means that we are called to let go of resentment of others when they have sinned against us (Matthew 6:14-15). Science has proven that holding onto resentment is physically, emotionally and spiritually destructive to our bodies and minds. And Jesus tells us to forgive because we are forgiven. That is the why.

Forgiving is not forgetting though. While our Father is divinely able to forget our sins (Isaiah 43:25), He does not expect us to do so. He created us, and He knows our natures. Recalling pain is a method of protection for us from future harm — like a child who learns from experience not to touch a hot stove. In our relationships, forgiving is not the same as excusing. It is not the same as trusting until the trust is earned again. 

And forgiveness is not an on-off switch. While it is a willful choice, I am learning how to forgive is a process that Jesus yearns for me to bring to Him.

I begin by acknowledging the pain. We are allowed to feel angry and brokenhearted when others have wronged us. David was on the run from Saul, who was trying to kill him, when he wrote, “How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” (Psalm 13:2). 

I can safely bring my pain to the Lord and trust Him with the outcome. He knows what happened. He knows the depth of my sorrow. He knows my actions and intentions just like He knows the actions and intentions of those who hurt me. He heard the conversations that I didn’t hear and foresaw the circumstances that I didn’t see. And where justice is needed, He will act. “Vengeance is mine, I will repay” (Romans 12:19). But I must trust His justice, His timing, and His purposes.

We know this truth from Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his own brothers. Over a period of several years and in another land, God placed Joseph in a position of authority, and his brothers came to him to purchase grain during a famine. Joseph recognized God’s sovereignty and how He worked for good what Joseph’s repentant brothers originally intended for evil. And Joseph forgave them (Genesis 45). Granted, often it’s not easy to see how God can possibly use the pain inflicted by others. 

And sometimes our anger burns against Him. Back to Psalm 13, David writes at the beginning, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” But he ends with, “I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.” God can handle our anger, our questions and our doubts; He just wants us to come to Him — even when we don’t feel like it and we don’t see how any good can possibly come from the offense. He will bind up our wounds and help us to heal.

The process of forgiveness also entails stepping outside of myself and acting against my nature. In Matthew 5:44, Jesus says, “I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” I don’t know about you, my friend, but I find this command very difficult. Yet when I have taken this step of obedience, my heart changes toward my offender and the resentment I was harboring dissipates. I am freed — from the anger, the bitterness, and the pain. Sometimes those feelings can return, and my Savior reminds me to forgive again and again. Not just seven times but 70 times seven (Matthew 18:22).

Forgiveness is the point of God’s manifested presence in human history. It is our hope for eternity and our key to experiencing true love. It is how I can join with you and dance in freedom, like David in the song of forgiveness that is Psalm 32: “Many are the sorrows of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord. Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart (10-11)!”

Let’s pray. 

Dear Jesus, I ask you to free me from any resentment to which I still cling. Help me to forgive others just as you have forgiven me. Teach me how as you did David, Joseph, Esau and so many others, and comfort my broken heart as you give me the words to pray over my enemies. Help me to reconcile relationships that you would have me continue and wisdom to put boundaries around those where trust has not yet be restored. Grant me the faith to trust you in the process of forgiveness. Amen.

The Gospel writer Matthew recorded these now familiar words of Jesus, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (11:28-30)


At the time, Jesus was speaking to Jews who were under the authority of scribes and Pharisees. These officials were “rule-igious” and strictly enforced the 613 prescribed laws of the Old Testament in a legalistic way that propped up themselves with power and brought shame on everyone else. Jesus told his audience, and he is telling us, that he is offering a better way. Himself.


For I am gentle and lowly in heart.


To understand how Jesus is gentle and lowly, close your eyes. Notice the breeze on your cheek, how it cools and tickles. That breeze is invisible, yet we can see its effect all around us, the way it carries a single tiny grain of pollen miles away and pushes waves to the shore.


Then look into the deep of a horse’s eyes; notice the curl of his lashes. Put your hand on his coat, and feel his raw strength just beneath the surface of his natural gentility.


Jesus’ power is undeniable, yet he is good. He is the Prince of Peace who yearns to give us rest for our souls.


Almost 700 years before Jesus spoke these words, the prophet Zechariah wrote, “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.” (9:9)


Compare that image to Luke’s account of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem: “And [the disciples] brought [the colt] to Jesus, and throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. And as he rode along, they spread their cloaks on the road. As he was drawing near — already on the way down the Mount of Olives — the whole multitude of his disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, ‘Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!'”


It was the first-century version of a ticker tape parade. However, the disciples didn’t know that triumph would only come with sacrifice.


Let’s go back to the verse from Matthew. A yoke is a wooden bar used to team draft animals or to balance a person who is carrying a heavy load. Compare that image to the cross beam that Jesus carried through the streets of Jerusalem just a few days after he entered Jerusalem on a colt. The cross beam on which he would willingly lay down his life in the ultimate act of humility. Of lowliness. For us.


We don’t have to do the right things, or religious things, to earn our salvation. Jesus has already done the heavy lifting on the cross, and we need only to trust Him.


King Jesus, to be honest, trusting you isn’t always easy. We want to add to the Gospel, to earn our salvation, to trust the world because we see it and hear it. It’s in our faces. But oh, how we yearn for rest for our souls. Remove our heavy yokes that are not of you, and assure us of your gentleness and your goodness. Teach us to come to you with all of our burdens, our doubts and our failings. Teach us to walk by faith and not by sight. Amen.