Matthew 23:11-12 But he who is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whoever exalts himself shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.
If you were to visit Paris, you could see the statues of two men, both named Louis.
The first is of Louis XIV, France’s absolute monarch. He represents one of the supreme achievements of greatness through power. His philosophy of life was that the whole nation and the world, should serve him.
A few blocks away is another statue. There is no uniform on this figure carved in stone, no badge of office, no sword, no crown. It is a memorial to Louis Pasteur, a man whose life was unselfishly devoted to the research of immunization and disease prevention.
The statue of the monarch, Louis XIV, is nothing more than a piece of sculpture–who even remembers what he did? But the statue of Louis Pasteur has become a place where pilgrims throughout all the world pay grateful homage for his great work; and every time we drink a glass of milk, we remember his name. That milk we’re drinking has more than likely gone through a process called pasteurization, named after Pasteur’s research.
It is the uncrowned servant of mankind who wears the real crown of men’s love and honor.
Let’s ask the Lord to help us become more humble and available to serve to both Him and others. It is then that we will wear the true crown of glory!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]This piercing question opens Psalm 11 like a cry from the heart in troubled times. It’s a question we ask when law and order collapse, when truth is ridiculed, and when those who do evil seem to triumph. The foundations — the principles of righteousness, justice, and truth that uphold society — are under siege. And it begs the question: What can God’s people do when everything righteous seems to be crumbling?
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.
Elijah heard what no one else did — a storm was coming. Though the sky was still blue and the ground still cracked from years of drought, Elijah discerned the sound of abundance. It was a prophetic knowing, a spiritual sensitivity that saw past what was visible into what God was about to do.
When Elijah cast his cloak over Elisha in the field, it wasn’t just a symbolic act — it was a divine call. Elisha understood this and responded not with delay or excuse, but with decisive action. After asking to say goodbye to his parents, he returned, slaughtered his oxen, and used the wooden yokes as fuel for the sacrifice. Then he gave the meal to the people and walked away from everything familiar to follow the prophet Elijah.
Elijah had just come through one of the most intense seasons of his life. He had called down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel, seen the prophets of Baal defeated, and yet found himself running in fear from Jezebel, exhausted and discouraged. In the cave at Horeb, he cried out, believing he was alone and that all was lost. But it was there—in the still small voice—that God revealed His presence and His plan.
Over the weekend, the United States launched a bold operation aimed at ending Iran’s nuclear program. In the quiet of the night, unseen by human eyes, B-2 Spirit bombers initiated Operation Midnight Hammer—a precision strike designed to eliminate hidden threats before they could bring harm. With unmatched stealth, they cut through the darkness, delivering a decisive blow against danger.
Every true move of revival begins where few look for it—at the hidden brook, in the quiet place of God’s pruning. Cherith (נַחַל כְּרִית) means to cut off, to separate, to covenant. Before Elijah could stand on Mount Carmel and call down fire, he had to be separated, set apart for God’s purposes.