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]In a world wearied by the failures of men, Isaiah 9:6 offers a startling promise of hope and strength: “The government shall be upon His shoulder.” This is not the language of politics as we know it — it’s the language of divine dominion. The Hebrew word for “government” here is misrah (מִשְׂרָה), a word so unique it appears only in these two verses—Isaiah 9:6 and 9:7. Unlike more common Hebrew words for government — mamlachah or memshalah, misrah speaks of a rare and elevated rule—divinely ordained, gentle in character, and eternal in scope. This is a government not imposed, but carried. Not tyrannical, but righteous and restorative.
The prophet Isaiah begins with language so familiar that it’s often read too quickly. Yet within this brief phrase lies a depth of mystery and majesty that anchors the entire gospel. “For unto us a Child is born” speaks of an earthly event–Messiah’s humanity. He was born as all men are born, taking on flesh, entering a specific culture, time, and lineage. The Hebrew word for “born” (yalad) reinforces His full identification with us. This is the miracle of the incarnation: God wrapped in the vulnerability of a newborn child.
When the Lord called us to be His ambassadors, He didn’t merely give us a message — He gave us a lifestyle to embody it. An ambassador is not just a messenger, but a living representation of the Kingdom they serve. That means our behavior, words, and example all matter deeply.
As ambassadors of Christ, we don’t just represent His Kingdom–we reflect His heart. Paul’s words in Colossians 4:5-6 are not just good advice; they’re a commissioning. We are called to walk wisely among those who do not yet know Christ, recognizing that every interaction is a divine opportunity.
“All this is from God…” These words usher us into the breathtaking reality that salvation is not born of human effort, wisdom, or willpower — it is entirely the work of God. From beginning to end, it is His plan, His initiative, His unrelenting grace. Through Yeshua (Jesus), God stepped into our brokenness and reconciled us to Himself, repairing the relationship that sin had shattered. Reconciliation is not merely a theological concept — it is the restoration of intimacy with the Father. We did not ascend to Him in holiness; He descended to us in mercy. The Creator did not wait for us to find our way back. No, He came down in Yeshua, arms stretched wide in love, calling us home.
In the age of social media, where hot takes go viral, outrage spreads in seconds, and comment sections become battlegrounds, James offers a divine pattern that stands in stark contrast to the digital frenzy. His instruction is timeless but urgently needed today: be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. These three commands — revolutionary yet straightforward — cut through the noise of our reaction-driven culture and call us to a Spirit-led posture in a screen-lit world.
In Matthew 21, Yeshua (Jesus) approached a fig tree full of leaves but found no fruit. He cursed it, and it withered. This dramatic act was not about the tree—it was about Israel. The fig tree had the appearance of life, but it lacked the substance of transformation. It was a warning to a nation full of religion but void of repentance. The tree became a symbol of spiritual barrenness, of form without fruit.