The Grace of Humility 

Matthew 23:11-12 

He who is greatest among you shall be your servant. 12 And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. 

Rebecca Luker, a name that once lingered in the wings, now echoes through the halls of Broadway’s memory. She graced the stage with a voice like velvet, a presence that shimmered not in sudden brilliance, but in a light that grew ever brighter with time. A three-time Tony Award nominee, she became one of the greats, but her path was not one of instant recognition. 

In the early years, she stood in the shadows of others, often a substitute, a name on the edge of a playbill. Yet, in 1988, when Sarah Brightman stepped away, Rebecca stepped forward—into the role of Christine in The Phantom of the Opera. And then, in 1991, she claimed her own light as Lily Craven in The Secret Garden. From there, for three decades, she became a towering figure in musical theater, not by force, but by grace. 

She once spoke of her late-blooming success, not as a stroke of fortune, but as a season of growth. The years spent in supporting roles had shaped her, carved depth into her artistry, and refined her soul for the leading parts to come. 

Is this not the way of life itself? The way of faith? The way of Christ? 

We honor those who endure, who persevere through the quiet, unseen work. It is easy to admire the ones who stand at the pinnacle, but how much more should we cherish the journey—the long and winding road of patience and humility? There is beauty in the waiting, wisdom in the background, and strength in the unseen toil. 

Christ Himself spoke of this mystery: “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” He washed the feet of His disciples, not as a sign of weakness, but as a lesson in divine strength. He called His followers to become like little children—pure, unassuming, and free of pride. 

To rise, one must first bow low. To be truly great, one must first embrace the unseen, the overlooked, the humble work of serving others. 

And when God lifts the lowly, He shows us a truth beyond measure—His presence fills all spaces, from the highest throne to the most hidden corner. His Spirit moves through the grandest stages and the quietest hearts. 

Rebecca Luker’s story is more than that of an artist; it is a testament to patience, to humility, to the sacred beauty of the journey. She reminds us that behind every moment of glory is a season of preparation, and behind every triumph is a soul that has learned to kneel. 

May we all learn to embrace the quiet work, the supporting roles, the unseen acts of love and grace. For in them, we are not forgotten—we are simply being prepared to rise.

The Rock, or Many Rocks? 

Matthew 16:18 

And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it. 

One sunny afternoon, Tim Haley was engaged in his usual task of maintaining the church grounds, operating his zero-turn mower with practiced efficiency. As I stood nearby observing his work, he maneuvered the mower close to where I was standing. At that moment, I noticed a look of mild exasperation on his face. With a roll of his eyes, he remarked, 

 “Jay, I can definitely see this church was built by Jesus himself 25 years ago. There are too many rocks all over the yard!” 

I was struck by the wit of his comment, which, despite its humor, carried a biblically perceptive undertone. His joke was grounded in scripture. Indeed, our church was established in Christ and, as the Lord declares, is built upon the rock. 

This prompts the question: What does "the rock" signify in this context? 

Several interpretations have been proposed: (1) the Apostle Peter himself, (2) Peter’s confession of faith, or (3) Christ Jesus. All three are theologically sound and supported by biblical scholarship. However, these interpretations likely reflect later doctrinal developments rather than the immediate understanding of Jesus’ original disciples. 

In the Old Testament, the image of a rock frequently symbolizes strength, divine protection, provision, and the enduring presence of God. A rock signifies a foundation that is secure and unshakable. Therefore, when Jesus referenced the rock, Peter and the other disciples may have understood it within this rich theological tradition—as a symbol of the secure, enduring nature of God's kingdom. 

What, then, does it mean that Christ builds His church upon the rock? 

It affirms that the church is established through the sacrificial work of Christ, secured by His divine authority, and sustained through His constant provision. Christ, our Shepherd, continues to lead us. 

 In that light, the abundance of literal rocks on our church lawn becomes a humorous, yet meaningful, reminder of the spiritual foundation on which we stand. Though inconvenient for mowing, these rocks are metaphorically quite fitting - Thanks to Tim. 

A Soul-Centered Foundation 

3 John 1:2 "Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, just as it is well with your soul”. 

This brief yet profound prayer reminds us that true well-being begins with the soul. When the soul is anchored in faith, all else—health, relationships, endeavors—tends to find its rightful order. 

This truth is reflected in the story of the early settlers of Plymouth, Massachusetts. Near the edge of a bay lies a rock known as the landing site of the Pilgrims in 1620. These 102 men and women, sailing across the perilous Atlantic for 66 days aboard the Mayflower, braved hardship not for gold or glory, but for the freedom to worship God. Their journey was not driven by conquest but by conviction. 

Upon arriving, the Pilgrims found a deserted Native American village and soon faced the brutal challenges of a New England winter. Only 57 of the original 102 survived that first year. Recognizing their plight, the Wampanoag tribe, led by its chief, extended compassion. They taught the settlers how to fish and cultivate the land, including how to tap sugar maple trees—giving rise to the beloved condiment we now know as maple syrup. In 1622, the settlers and the Native Americans came together to celebrate the first successful harvest, a moment now commemorated as the first Thanksgiving. 

It is important to acknowledge that other European explorers arrived in the Americas before the Puritans. The Spanish came in 1492, followed by the French and Portuguese. However, their motivations were largely economic—driven by the pursuit of treasure and expansion of empire. 

So, what made the Puritans' experience foundational to what would become modern America? 

The answer lies in the orientation of their hearts. While others sought material gain, the Puritans sought a life rooted in God. Their purpose was spiritual, not self-serving. This spiritual foundation enabled them to endure hardship, unite in purpose, and build community. Their faith turned obstacles into opportunities. 

John’s words, “It is well with your soul,” point to a profound spiritual truth: when our inner life is aligned with God, external circumstances lose their power to define us. Yet nurturing such a faith is no easy task. It will be refined through fire, challenged by worldly ambitions, and distorted by false narratives. Still, it is this spiritual resilience that sustains us. 

Many believe that once life improves, then they can fully dedicate themselves to God. But the inverse is true. It is through dedicating ourselves to God that life finds its meaning, direction, and ultimately, its peace. 

The Divine Editor of Our Lives 

Romans 8:28  And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.     

Last week, I had a phone conversation with a friend who works as a film editor in Hollywood. His role is part of a larger production team responsible for creating a television show. He begins by collecting all the raw footage, organizing it, and assembling the major segments of the program. Once his work is done, the next editor steps in to refine the material further, cutting out any content that doesn’t align with the central theme of the show. After that, a more experienced editor takes over, shaping the footage into a final version that is ready for broadcast. Finally, a cinematographer and a sound editor polish the production, enhancing the visual and auditory elements to create the best possible viewing experience. My friend often works late into the night, meticulously handling the raw footage to ensure that what follows flows smoothly. 

As I listened to him describe the process, I couldn’t help but reflect on the similarities between film editing and the journey of our lives. Much like the layers of editing in a television production, our lives go through various stages of development and refinement; 

• There are moments in life that, upon reflection, may need to be removed—experiences or habits that no longer serve our spiritual growth. 

 • Other aspects of who we are—such as our character, our relationships, and our values—require careful attention and refinement. These qualities are gradually shaped to reflect the design God has in mind for each of us. 

 • There also comes a time when the beauty of God’s work in our lives is revealed.  

• Just as a finished show is presented to an audience, there are moments when God highlights who we are and what we’ve become, using our lives to display His glory and grace to the world. 

Unlike a film, however, the progression of our lives is not always linear. We may find ourselves advancing, only to be brought back to the beginning to revisit lessons we thought we had already learned. This is not a setback, but part of God’s perfect timing and plan. He shapes different parts of us at different times, all with the purpose of making us whole in Him. 

No matter which stage we are in—whether we feel like raw footage being sorted, or a nearly finished work being fine-tuned—we can trust that God is the ultimate editor. He orchestrates every part of our journey and produces a masterpiece that reflects His purpose. Just like a great show captivates its viewers, our lives, shaped by His hands, are meant to inspire, reflect His love, and glorify His name.  

The Hidden Fragrance of Grace 

Luke 7:37 "As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears…continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment."  

On an episode of Antiques Roadshow, an elderly woman brought in a small, timeworn beauty box she had inherited from her mother—and her mother before her. She came simply seeking its monetary value, perhaps considering selling it. 

The expert examined the box with careful eyes. As he opened it, he noticed something peculiar—a hidden compartment beneath the base. Curious, he gently opened the secret chamber. To their surprise, inside was a fragile note the woman had written to her mother when she was just a little girl. Her mother had kept it tucked away in that box for decades. 

While the beauty box held value as an antique, in that moment its worth to the woman became far greater than any price. Holding the note with trembling hands, she said through tears, “I can smell my mom’s perfume on the paper.” 

What was hidden had been revealed. And in that revealing, something sacred came to life. 

There’s a story in Scripture of a woman who entered a room filled with people who knew her only by her reputation—a sinner. She came with a fragile alabaster jar of perfume and knelt at Jesus’ feet. She wept, letting her tears wash His feet, and then anointed them with oil. 

What a strange scene that must have been to the onlookers. Who was she to interrupt such a gathering? Why the tears? Why the perfume? 

Scripture doesn’t give us her name, but it tells us what we need to know: she was broken, desperate, and willing to bring her whole self—shame and all—before Jesus. Her alabaster jar wasn’t just a vessel of perfume. It was a symbol of her heart, cracked open in raw surrender. She exposed her pain, her past, and her longing for forgiveness. 

And Jesus didn’t turn away. 

Like the hidden note in the beauty box, our most vulnerable pieces are often tucked away in secret compartments of the soul—places we think are better left unopened. But God knows what’s hidden there. And when we dare to bring those parts to Him—our failures, our griefs, our untold stories—He receives them not with judgment, but with grace. 

Maybe you, too, have a secret box in your life. Something long hidden. Maybe opening it feels impossible. But when you do—when you offer your most broken places to Jesus—they become the very places where His fragrance fills the air. ㅠecause the most shameful things, when surrendered to Him, become the sweetest aroma in His presence 

Easter: Reaffirming God’s Sovereignty 

Genesis 1:27 “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” 

Barentsburg, the second largest settlement in the Svalbard archipelago of Norway, is home to approximately 455 inhabitants. Originally established as a coal mining town, its population is composed almost entirely of Russian and Ukrainian nationals. 

What sets Barentsburg apart is its extreme geographical location—it is one of the northernmost inhabited places on Earth. As a result, nearly everything in the town bears the superlative “northernmost,” from its school to its post office. 

Interestingly, due to logistical and environmental challenges, residents are legally prohibited from dying or giving birth in Barentsburg without prior governmental permission; violations can result in significant penalties. 

This peculiar reality invites reflection on the nature of human existence. Much like the residents of Barentsburg, individuals do not choose the moment of their birth, nor can they fully determine the timing of their death. These existential bookends—birth and death—lie beyond human control and rest in the hands of the Creator. This fundamental truth underscores a central aspect of human nature: we do not own our lives in absolute terms, nor do we exercise full authority over their course. 

As Christians enter Holy Week, marking the final days of Jesus Christ’s earthly ministry, this theme gains particular significance. The suffering endured by Christ is well understood as a redemptive act for the forgiveness of humanity’s sins. Yet, one might still ask: 

why did God choose to manifest His Son’s sacrifice so publicly? What deeper message is conveyed through the Cross? 

To answer this, one must return to the origins of creation, as stated in Genesis 1:27: “God created mankind in his own image.” This verse affirms a foundational truth—that God is the Creator, and as such, He holds ultimate authority over human life. The Cross serves as a profound reminder of this divine sovereignty. It challenges the human tendency to deny, reject, or forget this truth. The crucifixion is not merely a historical event; it is a theological statement declaring that our lives do not belong to us, but to God. 

This is the central message of Easter: that through Christ’s visible and sacrificial act, God reasserts His rightful place as the sovereign Lord over life and death. In recognizing this, we are invited to return to a posture of humility, trust, and reverence before the One who created us in His image.

Learning to Listen 

Isaiah 41:1 “Keep silence before me, O islands; and let the people renew their strength…” 

On a quiet, rainy day, I took a few winter blankets to a local laundromat. As I waited, I passed the time listening to music through my headphones. Amid the gentle hum of machines and the rhythm of raindrops on the windows, I noticed a young woman sitting silently near the door. She wasn’t on her phone or reading a book—just quietly gazing outside. 

Wondering if she was alright, I asked how she was doing. She smiled and replied that she was simply enjoying the sound of the rain. “Whenever I come here,” she said, “I like to listen to the natural sounds. It quiets my mind and helps me listen to myself.” 

Her words lingered with me, and later that day, Isaiah 41:1 came to mind with new meaning: “Keep silence before me… let the people renew their strength.” We often rush into prayer or spiritual activity without pausing long enough to quiet our own hearts. 

But how can we hear God clearly if we don’t first take time to listen to ourselves? 

Our hearts are often crowded with noise—worries, regrets, plans, emotions we haven’t processed. These inner distractions can muffle the voice of God, even though He is speaking. To hear Him well, we must learn to be still. That begins by noticing what’s happening within us and bringing it before Him. 

Spiritual discernment doesn’t happen overnight. It’s shaped over years of silence, listening, and prayer. But the first step is simple: quieting the noise inside so we can be present with ourselves—and open to God. 

Today, let the silence lead you. Let it be a space where your soul can breathe and your heart can hear. And in that quiet, may you find strength renewed and the gentle whisper of God’s voice.

Mustache 

Genesis 2:16-17 The Lord God commanded the man, saying, “Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” 

Last week, my oldest son asked me if I could buy him a new electric shaver. During our video chat, he showed me how quickly his mustache was growing and explained that he needed a quality shaver to manage it. In that moment, I was overcome by a surge of emotions—a complex blend of joy and sadness that defied clear boundaries. Deep within me, an unexpected thought echoed: “Already.” 

Later that day, a vivid memory from my own youth resurfaced. I recalled the excitement I felt when I first noticed a strip of hair above my upper lip. With pride and anticipation, I showed it to my father, eager to share what I believed was a symbol of becoming a man. I expected him to be just as excited, to affirm this moment of growth. But his response was more subdued. Though I could see that he was grateful to witness my healthy development, he simply remarked that a mustache could become itchy, and advised me to shave it before it grew too long. His neutral tone left me puzzled and disappointed. I had hoped for celebration, but instead I received pragmatic advice. 

Now, as a father myself, I understand what my dad was feeling. I was no longer the small child who needed his constant care, the boy who reached for his hand while walking a trail. In that moment, my father must have realized that I was beginning to step into independence, that the boy who once depended on him was becoming a man. While he was surely proud, there must have also been a quiet sadness—an awareness that our relationship was subtly shifting. 

This experience brought to mind a deeper spiritual reflection. In Genesis 2:16–17, God’s command to Adam not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is sometimes interpreted as a harsh restriction. But seen through a relational lens, it reveals something different. God’s intention was not to deny knowledge but to preserve Adam’s innocence and close communion with the Creator. Within the garden, Adam lived in a state of divine protection and provision, where his reliance on God was total and uninterrupted. 

This divine love did not end with Adam. It continues into our world today. God created us in His own image, desiring that we remain His children. Through the redemptive work of Christ, we are restored to a state of purity and innocence—like Adam and Eve in the garden before the fall. In Christ, we live once again in that divine realm, not physically, but spiritually. We are God's children—not temporarily, but permanently. 

As I reflect on my son’s growth and my own journey into adulthood, I see more clearly the heart of the Father. Both human and divine love contain the bittersweet tension of watching someone grow: the joy of witnessing maturity, and the ache of letting go. Yet in God's love, we are never truly let go. In His care, we remain forever His