Devotions

rescue on demand

Posted on September 28, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:53-56

⁵³ When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. ⁵⁴ When they got out of the boat, people just then recognized him, ⁵⁵ and rushed around that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. ⁵⁶ And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the edge of his cloak; and all who touched it were rescued.

rescue on demand

There is something in all of us that envies the people in those villages. They lived in a moment of history when Jesus walked their streets in flesh and blood. All they had to do was place themselves in His path, reach out a hand, whisper a request, and they received undeniable proof of His power. No theological debates. No long seasons of waiting. No wrestling with silence. Just Jesus—present, visible, touchable—bringing wholeness wherever He went.

And right now, you can probably think of people who desperately need that kind of rescue. People whose bodies are failing. People whose minds are unraveling. People whose hearts are breaking. People you would carry to Jesus yourself if only you knew where to find Him in that same immediate, guaranteed way. You believe in Him. You don’t need a miracle to prove He is real. The resurrection is enough. But that doesn’t stop you from longing—aching—to help those who need Him now.

Eventually, Jesus is going to make His way back to us. His return is not a metaphor. It is a promise. And when He comes, every sickness will bow, every wound will heal, every broken thing will be restored. Until then, His Holy Spirit is here—present, powerful, able to heal just as Jesus did. But learning to walk in that power is not an exact science. It is not a formula. It is not a button we press. It is a relationship of trust, surrender, and mystery.

Some prayers are answered with a yes.
Some are answered with a slow.
And many, painfully, are answered with a no.

We don’t always know why. We don’t always understand the timing. We don’t always see the purpose. But we do know this: Jesus is coming back. And because He is coming back, we refuse to give up. We refuse to stop praying. We refuse to stop hoping. We refuse to stop longing for His presence and His power. There is no plan B for ultimate rescue. There is only Him.

So we live in the tension—believing in His power, longing for His touch, trusting His timing, and waiting for His return. And in that waiting, our hearts learn to hunger for Him more deeply than for the miracles themselves.

LORD, make us people who long for the power of Your presence, even if we have to wait for Your return to see it. Teach us to trust Your heart when Your hand seems hidden, and to hope in the day when You will make all things new.

Posted in faith, faithfulness, healing, second coming | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

seeing the ghost of Jesus

Posted on September 27, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:45-52

⁴⁵ Just then he compelled his disciples to get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. ⁴⁶ After saying farewell to them, he went up on the mountain to pray. ⁴⁷ By the time evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. ⁴⁸ When he saw that they were straining at the oars against an adverse wind, he came towards them about the fourth watch, walking on the sea. He intended to pass them by. ⁴⁹ But when they saw him walking on the sea, they thought he was a ghost and cried out; ⁵⁰ because they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” ⁵¹ Then he got into the boat with them and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, ⁵² because they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts had been hardened.

seeing the ghost of Jesus

These were committed disciples—men who had left their nets, their families, their livelihoods, and their reputations to follow Jesus. They had seen miracles with their own eyes. They had participated in ministry themselves. They had just returned from preaching, healing, and casting out demons in His name. Their faith had been tested and strengthened. Their confidence in Jesus had grown. And yet, all it took was a few hours of difficulty with Jesus not physically present for everything to unravel inside them.

The storm rose. The night grew long. Their strength failed. Their fear grew. And the absence of Jesus’ visible presence became, in their minds, the absence of His actual presence. When He finally came to them—walking on the water, doing the impossible—they didn’t even recognize Him. They thought He was a ghost. The very One they needed most was mistaken for something frightening and unreal.

This is not just their story. It is ours.

You may have seasons—hours, months, even years—when you cannot feel the presence of your Savior. You pray, and the heavens feel silent. You worship, and your heart feels numb. You read Scripture, and the words seem distant. You look for signs of His nearness, and all you see is darkness. Like the disciples, you may assume that because you cannot sense Him, He must not be there. But that is never true. He sees. He knows. He is closer than the waves that threaten you.

You will cry out for help, and sometimes there will be no immediate answer. You will plead for relief, and sometimes the storm will continue. Your heart may even begin to harden under the weight of disappointment. And in those moments, the danger is not the storm outside—it is the storm inside. Some people, in seasons like this, turn away from what once seemed like genuine faith. They interpret silence as abandonment. They interpret delay as disinterest. They interpret hardship as evidence that God has withdrawn.

But stories like this are in the Bible for a reason. They remind us that the absence of feeling is not the absence of God. They remind us that Jesus sometimes comes to us in ways we do not immediately recognize. They remind us that what looks like a ghost—what looks like fear, confusion, or uncertainty—may actually be the first glimpse of His real presence coming to rescue.

The disciples’ fear did not keep Jesus away. Their confusion did not offend Him. Their failure to recognize Him did not stop Him from climbing into the boat. And the moment He stepped in, the storm ceased. That is the promise for us as well. He will come. He will speak. He will steady the waves. But He often allows us to endure the storm long enough to learn trust that is deeper than sight, deeper than emotion, deeper than circumstance.

Faith is not proven in calm waters. Faith is proven in the dark hours when Jesus feels far away but is, in truth, drawing near.

LORD, prepare our hearts to trust You during the storm, and wait for Your return. Teach us to recognize Your presence even when it comes in unexpected ways, and to hold fast until You step into our boat and bring peace again.

Posted in faith, fear, presence of God, trust | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

an experiment in trust

Posted on September 26, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:35-44

³⁵ When it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now very late; ³⁶ send them away so that they may go into the country and villages around and purchase something for themselves to eat.” ³⁷ But he answered them, “You give them something to eat.” They said to him, “Are we to go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread, and give it to them to eat?” ³⁸ And he said to them, “How many loaves have you got? Go and see.” When they had found out, they said, “Five, and two fish.” ³⁹ Then he ordered them to get all the people to recline in groups on the green grass. ⁴⁰ So they reclined in groups of hundreds and of fifties. ⁴¹ Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and he divided the two fish among them all. ⁴² And all ate and were filled; ⁴³ and they took up twelve baskets full of bread fragments and of the fish. ⁴⁴ Those who had eaten the loaves included five thousand men.

an experiment in trust

When Jesus sent His disciples out on their first evangelistic tour through the Galilean villages, He told them to travel light—no extra bag, no extra tunic, no extra provisions. It was a lesson in trust, not austerity. And now, as they return from that mission, they face another test that presses the same point. A massive crowd has gathered. The people are hungry. The disciples know full well that the meager meal they’ve found—five loaves and two fish—is nowhere near enough. This is not a situation where “making do with less” will keep the ministry going. This is a situation where nothing short of divine provision will do.

And that is precisely the point.

Jesus wasn’t teaching them to survive on scraps. He was teaching them to trust the God who sends them to also sustain them. The lesson was never about minimalism. It was about dependence. It was about learning that the God who calls us into ministry is the same God who brings us to our destination and supplies what we need along the way. The disciples needed to see that the scarcity in their hands was not the final word. The abundance in God’s hands was.

Our Lord wants to teach us the same truth. He wants us to know—not theoretically, not theologically, but experientially—that He provides what we need to accomplish what He calls us to do. Once we truly know that, we won’t need the “mass fish sandwich” experience to convince us. Until we know that, all the fish sandwiches in the world won’t bring Him glory, because the miracle is not the point. The trust is.

Provision is not meant to replace faith. Provision is meant to confirm faith. And Jesus wants His disciples—then and now—to trust Him before the provision comes, not only after it arrives. He wants us to step into ministry with confidence that He already knows what we need, already sees the crowd, already has the solution, already holds the abundance we cannot yet see.

So we pray—not merely for the miracle, but for the heart that trusts before the miracle appears.

LORD, show Your glory by providing for our needs as we minister. But help us to trust You before the provision comes.

Posted in faith, ministry, miracles, trust | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

he chose to continue

Posted on September 25, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:29-34

²⁹ When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his corpse, and laid it in a tomb. ³⁰ Then the apostles gathered around Jesus again, and told him all that they had done and taught. ³¹ He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a little.” Because many were coming and going, and they had no free time even to eat. ³² And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. ³³ Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. ³⁴ As he went ashore, he saw a large crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he started teaching them many things.

he chose to continue

In His deep sorrow, our Lord looked around Him—and what He saw were the crowds. They had followed Him across towns, across hillsides, across the shoreline. He could not escape them, not because He lacked the strength to withdraw, but because people needed Him. When He longed for quiet, they brought their noise. When He needed space to grieve, they pressed in with their sicknesses. When His heart was breaking, theirs were breaking too. And instead of sending them away—which He had every right to do—He stayed.

He stayed when His emotions were raw.
He stayed when His heart was heavy.
He stayed when His own need for healing was real.

He stayed because compassion moved Him.

Jesus was not obligated by any law—human or divine—to keep ministering that day. No one would have blamed Him for stepping aside, for taking time to mourn, for letting the disciples handle the crowd. But He chose the path of self‑giving love. He put the needs of others above His own sorrow. He allowed compassion to redirect His steps. And that is the Savior we follow—the One who came not to be served, but to serve, even when His own heart was wounded.

Matthew tells us that two great miracles happened that day: Jesus fed the five thousand, and He walked on water. But perhaps the greatest miracle of all was quieter, hidden beneath the surface—the miracle of a grieving Savior choosing ministry over withdrawal, choosing compassion over self‑protection, choosing to pour Himself out even when His own soul was aching.

That is divine love.
That is holy strength.
That is the heart of Christ.

And it speaks to us, because we know what it feels like to face tragedy and disappointment. We know what it feels like to want to retreat, to shut down, to step away from the needs around us. Grief drains us. Pain isolates us. Loss makes us want to curl inward. But Jesus shows us another way—not a denial of our sorrow, but a grace that empowers us to keep loving even while we are hurting.

He does not ask us to pretend we are strong. He offers His strength so we can keep serving. He does not ask us to ignore our grief. He walks with us in it. And He teaches us that compassion, even in seasons of pain, can become a channel of healing—not only for others, but for us as well.

LORD, fill us with Your compassion for the needy. When we face tragedy and disappointment, may we find strength to stay committed to ministry to others. Teach us to love as You loved, to serve as You served, and to trust that Your grace is enough for every sorrow we carry.

Posted in compassion, Jesus Christ, ministry | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

what Herod was thinking

Posted on September 24, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:21-28

²¹ But a day of opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and high ranking officers and for the leaders of Galilee. ²² When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you want, and I will give it.” ²³ And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” ²⁴ She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” ²⁵ Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptizer on a platter.” ²⁶ The king was deeply grieved; yet because of his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. ²⁷ Immediately the king sent an executioner with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, ²⁸ brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother.

what Herod was thinking

Herod, what were you thinking? It’s easy to ask that question when we read the story, but the truth is far more uncomfortable: most of us have been caught in the same trap. We may not have ordered anyone’s execution, but we have all spoken rashly, impulsively, foolishly. We have all let words slip out in anger, or lust, or fear, or self‑defense—words we wish we could pull back the moment they leave our mouths. Words that wound. Words that complicate. Words that corner us into choices we never intended to make.

The enemy loves to use our own words against us. He twists them. He magnifies them. He turns a careless sentence into a relational fracture. He turns a heated comment into a long‑term regret. He turns a moment of pride into a trap we cannot easily escape. Herod is a tragic example of this. He was intrigued by John’s message. Something in him recognized truth when he heard it. But his ego, his lust, and his need to save face were stronger than his desire to obey God. One rash promise—made in the heat of a moment, in front of the wrong audience—became the noose that tightened around John’s life.

Herod, the mighty king, was ruled by his own mouth. And that is the warning for all of us. Power does not protect us from foolishness. Influence does not shield us from impulsive speech. Even spiritual interest, like Herod’s fascination with John, cannot save us from the consequences of words spoken without thought. A hair‑trigger tongue can undo years of wisdom. A single sentence can unravel a relationship. A moment of pride can silence the voice of God in our lives.

But the story also invites us to humility. It reminds us that self‑control is not something we muster on our own. It is a fruit of the Spirit. It grows in us as we walk with Christ, as we slow down, as we learn to pause before we speak. It grows as we surrender our impulses to the One who speaks only what is true, what is necessary, what is life‑giving.

So we pray—not because we are strong, but because we know how easily we stumble. We pray because we want our words to heal, not harm. We pray because we want our mouths to serve Christ, not our egos. We pray because we know the damage a single sentence can do, and we long for the Spirit to guard our tongues.

LORD, give us the capacity to stop and think before we say something that does more harm than we would ever want. Teach us to speak with wisdom, to pause with humility, and to let Your Spirit shape every word that leaves our lips.

Posted in anger, fear, self-control | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

inner conflict

Posted on September 23, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:14-20

¹⁴ King Herod heard about this, because Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised up from the dead ones; and for this reason these energies[1] are at work in him.” ¹⁵ But others said, “It is Elijah.” And others said, “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” ¹⁶ But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” ¹⁷ Because Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. ¹⁸ Because John had been telling Herod, “It is not proper for you to have your brother’s wife.” ¹⁹ And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, ²⁰ because Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he listened to him, he was seriously confused; but he still liked to listen to him.

inner conflict

Herod’s actions give us a window into the inner conflict that so many unsaved people live with every single day. He was trapped in a sinful life of his own making, yet he was still drawn to spiritual truth. He liked listening to John. He felt the pull of conviction. Something in him recognized the voice of God when he heard it. But he was also tangled in fear, lust, pride, and political pressure. He was interested in spiritual things, yet seriously confused and unable to commit to the truth that stood right in front of him. His heart was divided, and that division tore him apart.

This is not unusual. In fact, it is far more common than we think. When someone rejects the gospel, we often assume they do so with a clear conscience, as if they have calmly and confidently decided that Christ is not for them. But that is almost never the case. Most people who push the gospel away are not at peace. They are conflicted. They are restless. They are haunted by questions they cannot silence. They are drawn to the light even as they cling to the darkness. They are like Herod—fascinated, fearful, and spiritually torn.

So do not assume your neighbor is unreachable. Do not assume your coworker has made up her mind. Do not assume your family member is hardened beyond hope. The people who seem indifferent are often the ones wrestling the most. The ones who appear confident in their unbelief are often the ones lying awake at night, wondering if they are wrong. The ones who seem to have no interest in Christ may be the ones who feel His pull most deeply but are afraid of what obedience would cost them.

These people need Jesus—and deep down, they know it. They may not admit it. They may not show it. They may not even understand it. But the Spirit is at work in places we cannot see. The gospel is stirring in hearts that look cold on the surface. And our calling is not to judge who is reachable and who is not. Our calling is to keep sowing the seed, keep speaking the truth, keep living the gospel, and keep praying for the Spirit to break through.

Herod reminds us that the battle for the human heart is often invisible. And that is why we must not give up on those who seem far away. God has a way of reaching people who appear unreachable.

LORD, show us how to reach those who seem to have put themselves out of reach. Give us patience, compassion, and courage as we speak Your truth into conflicted hearts.

[1] ενεργεω

Posted in commitment, evangelism, witness | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

travelling light

Posted on September 22, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:7-13

⁷ He summoned the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them the right to deal with unclean spirits. ⁸ He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; ⁹ only to wear sandals but not to put on two tunics. ¹⁰ He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. ¹¹ If any place will not welcome^{^[1]} you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” ¹² So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. ¹³ They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.

travelling light

The instructions Jesus gave His apostles must always be read with an appreciation for their context. When we think about missions today—especially cross‑cultural missions—we naturally assume that preparation means resources. We train workers, raise support, secure housing, plan for transportation, and make sure they have everything they need to survive and serve in a place that is unfamiliar to them. That is wise. That is responsible. And in most cases, that is absolutely necessary.

But Jesus, in this moment, seems to advocate something very different. He tells His apostles to travel light—no bag, no extra tunic, no money, no backup plan. At first glance, it feels reckless. But the difference in strategy has everything to do with the difference in context. The apostles were not being sent across cultures. They were not entering foreign lands. They were not stepping into places where they would be strangers. They were being sent into familiar territory—villages that shared their customs, their language, their worldview, and their expectations of hospitality. They had every reason to expect that people would welcome them, feed them, and receive their message with openness. In that setting, traveling light was not a burden. It was the right strategy. It allowed them to move quickly, depend on God, and stay focused on the mission rather than the logistics.

There may be a word of wisdom here for us as we think about how we fund and support the ministries of our churches. Not all ministries require the same level of investment. Some efforts—especially those aimed at people who already share our culture, our language, and our values—may thrive with minimal resources because the soil is already soft. But other ministries, especially those that reach across cultural, economic, or social boundaries, may require far more support. They may need more preparation, more funding, more training, and more long‑term investment because the people they are trying to reach are not yet ready to support the work themselves.

Jesus’ instructions remind us that strategy matters. Stewardship matters. Context matters. And wisdom means recognizing that not all mission fields are the same. Some ministries can travel light. Others need a full supply line. And part of our calling as the church is to discern which is which—to invest generously where the ground is hard, and to equip lightly where the ground is already welcoming.

LORD, show us how to spread the excellent message strategically and efficiently. Teach us to discern where to invest deeply, where to travel light, and how to steward Your resources for the sake of Your kingdom.

[1] δεχομαι (6:11; 9:37; 10:15).

Posted in ministry, missions, money, wisdom | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

faithless fatherland

Posted on September 21, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 6:1-6

He left from there and came to his fatherland,[1] and his disciples followed him. ² On the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “From where did this man get all these teachings? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What works of power are being done by his hands! ³ Is not this the builder, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense[2] at him. ⁴ Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not dishonoured, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” ⁵ And he could do no work of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and healed them. ⁶ And he was amazed at their unbelief. Then he went about among the villages teaching.

faithless fatherland

So you say you’re “called” to stay in your hometown and minister to the people who have known you since childhood. That may be true. God certainly does call some to stay. But let’s be honest about how that often plays out. How’s that working out for you? Are you experiencing what Jesus Himself experienced—faithless fatherland syndrome? Because He did. The people who watched Him grow up, who knew His family, who heard the stories of His early years, recognized the wisdom in His teaching and the power in His miracles. They could not deny it. But it didn’t matter. Familiarity became their stumbling block. They were offended that someone so local could be used so greatly. They could accept life‑changing counsel from anyone except the hometown carpenter’s son.

And that’s the tension many hometown ministers feel. You may be called to stay, but staying is not easy. The people who know your past often struggle to receive your present. They remember your mistakes. They remember your immaturity. They remember your awkward teenage years. They remember the version of you that no longer exists. And sometimes, no matter how faithfully you serve, they simply cannot see beyond the old stories.

Now, I’ll admit something important. Most believers are not called to cross‑cultural ministry in distant lands. And I’ll also admit that changing your location does not magically change your character or grant you new spiritual power. That was certainly true for Jesus. His authority was absolute everywhere. His power was not limited by geography. He chose to respond to Nazareth’s unbelief with fewer displays of power, but He could have transformed the entire town against their will if He had desired. Their unbelief did not diminish His ability—only their experience of it.

And I cannot promise you that if you go overseas, you will suddenly have a powerful ministry. Geography does not guarantee fruitfulness. But that’s not the point. The point is that there is a whole world full of people who need the gospel. There are villages, towns, cities, and nations where people are longing for hope, where the soil is ready, where the harvest is waiting. And if your Nazareth refuses to listen—if your hometown cannot receive what God has placed in you—then perhaps it is time to consider the villages.

Jesus did. When Nazareth rejected Him, He did not stay and argue. He did not force His ministry on them. He did not let their unbelief define His calling. He simply moved on to the next towns, the next hearts, the next opportunities. And the gospel flourished there.

Sometimes obedience means staying. Sometimes obedience means going. But obedience never means clinging to a place simply because it is familiar. And it never means limiting your ministry to the expectations of people who cannot see what God is doing in you.

So if you feel the Spirit stirring you beyond your comfort zone—if you sense that your ministry zone lies somewhere outside the boundaries of your hometown—pay attention. The God who called you is the God who sends you. And He may be calling you to the villages.

LORD, speak to the heart of those You are calling outside their comfort zone, into their ministry zone. Teach us to hear Your voice above the voices of familiarity, and to follow wherever You lead.

[1] πατρις

[2] σκανδαλιζω

Posted in Jesus Christ, ministry, miracles, missions | Tagged Mark 6 | Leave a comment

miracles and ministry

Posted on September 20, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 5:40 – 43

⁴⁰ And they ridiculed him. But he threw them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and entered where the child was. ⁴¹ He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,”[1] which means, “Little girl, get up!” ⁴² And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years old). At this they were ecstatic.[2] ⁴³ He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

miracles and ministry

I’m struck with two thoughts about today’s reading as well, and both of them reveal something important about the way Jesus moves through a world full of noise, pain, and misunderstanding.

The first thing that stands out is the contrast in His tone. Jesus deals with the critical crowd in a way that feels almost abrupt—firm, unyielding, unwilling to entertain their cynicism. He puts them outside. He silences their laughter. He refuses to let their unbelief dominate the atmosphere. And yet, moments later, He turns toward the little girl and her grieving parents with a tenderness that feels almost whispered. He takes her by the hand. He speaks gently. He restores her quietly. The same Jesus who confronts the scoffers with strength comforts the broken with softness. Both attitudes are holy. Both are appropriate. Both reveal a Savior who knows exactly what each moment requires.

The second thing that strikes me is how carefully Jesus avoids letting the miracle become the message. If something like this happened in my family, I would want to tell everyone. I would want the world to know. I would want the miracle to be the headline. But Jesus resists that impulse. He tells them not to broadcast it. He refuses to let the extraordinary overshadow the essential. He knows that miracles can gather crowds, but only the gospel can save souls. He knows that signs can stir excitement, but only the message of the kingdom can transform a life. He knows that power can attract attention, but only truth can anchor faith.

And that is a needed reminder for us. Followers of Christ will experience manifestations of God’s power—answers to prayer, moments of healing, unexpected deliverance, divine intervention that leaves us speechless. But those moments, as beautiful as they are, must never eclipse the message. They are not the center. They are not the foundation. They are not the hope we proclaim. The gospel is the only message with eternal weight. The gospel is the only truth that rescues the soul. The gospel is the only proclamation that outlives every miracle.

The Holy Spirit’s ministry—healing, deliverance, guidance, empowerment—is real and precious. But it is never meant to replace the proclamation of Christ crucified and risen. Power accompanies the message, but it does not replace it. Power confirms the message, but it does not overshadow it. Power flows from the message, but it does not become the message.

There is power for ministry, yes. But the ministry of the excellent message must always come first and last. The gospel is the frame in which every miracle finds its meaning.

LORD, give us the courage to proclaim Your gospel, and the expectation that Your power will demonstrate its validity. Teach us to keep the message central, even as we rejoice in the works of Your mighty hand.

[1] טליתא קום

[2] εκστασις

Posted in gospel, ministry, miracles, spiritual gifts | Tagged Mark 5 | Leave a comment

time to trust Jesus

Posted on September 19, 2015 by Jefferson Vann

Mark 5:35-39

³⁵ While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house saying, “Your daughter is dead. Why still annoy the teacher?” ³⁶ But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not be afraid, just trust me.” ³⁷ He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. ³⁸ When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw an uproar, people weeping and wailing loudly. ³⁹ When he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you disturbed and weep? The child is not dead but sleeps.”

time to trust Jesus

Facing the untimely death or terminal illness of someone we love does something inside us that words can barely touch. It feels like something breaks deep within—a fracture of the heart, a wound that never fully closes. The pain is sharp, but the sense of betrayal can be even sharper. Life was not supposed to work this way. Love was not supposed to end like this. And even when time softens the edges, there is a part of us that never returns to what it was before.

In moments like these, the Word of God becomes more than a text. It becomes a lifeline. It becomes the voice that steadies us when everything else is shaking. And in Jairus’ story, we see the kind of lessons Jesus offers to those who are walking through the valley of shadows.

Jairus learned that when death draws near, Jesus speaks a different word than fear. While the mourners wailed and the news crushed his spirit, Jesus looked him in the eye and said, “Do not fear. Only believe.” That is not a denial of reality. It is an invitation to trust a deeper reality. It is Jesus saying, “Let My presence interpret what you see, not the other way around.”

Jairus also learned that death, as final as it feels, is not final to Jesus. He calls it sleep—not because it is gentle, but because it is temporary. Sleep is something you wake from. Sleep is something you rise out of. And Jesus is the One whose voice will one day awaken every sleeper, calling each one by name. What looks like the end to us is only an intermission to Him.

These are not easy truths. They do not erase the ache. They do not undo the loss. But they give us something solid to hold when the world feels like it is collapsing. They remind us that Jesus does not abandon us in the darkest rooms of our lives. He steps into them. He speaks into them. He brings a calm assurance that does not come from explanations, but from His presence.

So when we face the horrible realities of life—when grief feels unbearable and hope feels thin—we cling to the words Jesus spoke to Jairus. Words that still carry power. Words that still steady trembling hearts. Words that still whisper life into places that feel dead.

LORD, thank You for Your words of calm assurance that we can hold on to when we face the horrible realities of life. Teach us to trust Your voice more than our fear, and to rest in the promise that death is not the end.

Posted in resurrection, sleep of death, trust | Tagged Mark 5 | Leave a comment