Php 1:21 For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
I happened (on rare occasion) the other day to see a CNN headline, “Health Officials Brace for Three Major Viruses this Fall”. Immediately, I thought, “Not again!” Yet, scouring the headlines, it now appears that several colleges are instituting mask mandates even though there isn’t a case of illness yet. While the world is being prepared for an “outbreak” of disease, I’m hoping we may learn a lesson from history so that, perhaps, we’ll see an “outbreak” of revival!
Church history reveals that God used pandemics to test the saints, demonstrate their faith, courage, and love, and dramatically advance the gospel. The Antonine Plague in the 2nd century lasted over 10 years, resulting in at least 5 million deaths. The Plague of Cyprian in the 3rd century devastated the population of Alexandria, dropping it from 500,000 to 190,000.
While pagan priests were fleeing the plague and leaving the sick to die, it was the steadfast faith of the saints that cared for the sick in the face of death. This rarely acknowledged Christian heroism radically transformed the Roman Empire, leading to the eradication of the pagan gods and eventually to a massive social transformation.
Cyprian, the bishop of Carthage, witnessed and described the atmosphere of the time:
“There is nothing remarkable in cherishing merely our own people with the due attentions of love, but that one might become perfect, he who should do something more than heathen men or publicans; overcoming evil with good, and practicing a merciful kindness like that of God, he should love his enemies as well…Thus the good was done to all men, not merely to the household of faith.”
“By the terrors of mortality and of the times, lukewarm men are heartened, the listless nerved, the sluggish awakened; deserters are compelled to return; heathens brought to believe; the congregation of established believers is called to rest; fresh and numerous champions are banded in heartier strength for the conflict, and having come into warfare in the season of death, will fight without fear of death, when the battle comes.”
Historians noted that the Christians’ compassion and devotion to tending the sick during the pandemics caused the pagan world to collapse and saw an explosive growth of Christianity with many coming to faith.
Our brother Paul wrote, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” [Philippians 1:21] Death threats, which came to him in many forms, did not deter him at all from his divine purpose in the Gospel; they simply became part of his amazing testimony, bringing innumerable souls to the revelation of the Messiah. Cyprian’s marvelous account of fearless and faith-filled saints exemplifies the power and love of Christ. If the above headline is true, let’s seize the opportunity.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Life wears us down. We live in a world of relentless motion, pressure, and performance. Yeshua (Jesus) doesn’t deny this. Instead, He speaks directly to those who are “weary and heavy-laden.” The Greek for “weary” (kopiao) means utterly worn out—soul-tired, not just physically fatigued. The burdens He mentions aren’t only external tasks but inward baggage: guilt, shame, expectations, and hidden wounds. Yeshua’s call isn’t merely an invitation to stop—it’s a call to come. He offers what no one else can: rest that restores.
When we read the promises of God, we must read them the way we ourselves want to be heard—in full context. Just as we expect others to understand our words in light of what we’ve said before, God expects us to interpret His promises in light of all He has revealed in His Word.
A few days ago, I shared a quote from B.J. Willhite, and today I want to delve deeper into his powerful insight. He wrote, “The law of prayer is the highest law of the universe—it can overcome the other laws by sanctioning God’s intervention. When implemented properly, the law of prayer permits God to exercise His sovereignty in a world under the dominion of a rebel with free will, in a universe governed by natural law.”
When God spoke to Abram, the command was clear yet profoundly personal. The Hebrew phrase lech lecha carries a dual meaning: “go forth” and “go for yourself.” This journey wasn’t just a physical relocation; it was a spiritual pilgrimage—a call to walk out God’s will and to walk into his divine inheritance. Abram’s journey was not merely about distance but about destiny.
In the stillness of a desert night, surrounded by cut offerings and the lingering scent of sacrifice, Abram beheld something utterly sacred — God Himself, in the form of a smoking oven and a burning torch, passing between the pieces of a covenant. It was not Abram who walked through the blood-soaked path. It was God alone. And that changes everything.
Tonight we’ll participate in the Independence Day celebration in Israel — and what a party! — shows, fireworks, music, dancing, everything under the sun!
Yesterday, Israel observed Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day—honoring the memory of the six million Jews who perished. Tragically, a recent poll reveals that nearly half of Israelis fear the possibility of another Holocaust. In light of this sobering reality, I want to share a powerful story of one remarkable woman who rescued 2,500 Jewish children from the ghettos during World War II.