A Devotional Reflection for 2026

The Bible does not shy away from strong images: kings on thrones, battles fought, enemies defeated, weapons raised. Psalm 45 sings of a royal warrior; Isaiah speaks of a highway through the wilderness; Revelation announces a coming Judge; Zechariah’s song in Luke 1 celebrates deliverance from enemies. To modern ears—especially in a world weary of violence—these images can feel unsettling, even at odds with the Jesus who teaches us to love our enemies and lay down our lives.

Yet these Scriptures are not glorifying violence. They are speaking into fear.

Power Reimagined

Psalm 45 presents a king whose glory is bound to truth, humility, and righteousness. His “victory” is not conquest for its own sake, but the establishment of justice. This is already a clue that biblical power is not raw force, but moral authority. In a world where leadership in 2026 is often defined by domination, manipulation, or outrage, Scripture reminds us that true kingship serves the vulnerable and restores what has been broken.

Isaiah 35 expands this vision even further. There is no battle scene here—only deserts blooming, the blind seeing, the lame leaping, and the fearful finding courage. God’s reign does not arrive with scorched earth but with healing. The “highway” through the wilderness is not a road for armies, but a path home for the wounded and the lost.

From Enemies to Fear

Zechariah’s song in Luke 1 speaks of being “saved from our enemies,” but as his prophecy unfolds, it becomes clear that the deeper enemy is not another nation or army—it is fear itself. The promise is that we might serve God “without fear, in holiness and righteousness.” The salvation announced at the dawn of Jesus’ life is not revenge, but freedom: freedom from sin, from shame, from living small and guarded lives.

This is crucial for our time. In 2026, fear remains one of the most powerful forces shaping politics, relationships, and even faith communities. Scripture’s strong language about deliverance is not an endorsement of violence; it is God’s answer to a world held hostage by fear.

The Last Word Is Invitation

Revelation 22 brings the Bible’s story to its close, not with a battlefield, but with an invitation: “Come.” The One who is coming brings justice, yes—but also healing, mercy, and life. The final image is not a weapon, but water freely given. Grace is the last word.

The King of Revelation does not conquer by killing; He conquers by enduring the cross and rising from the grave. Judgment is not opposed to love—it is love’s refusal to let cruelty, lies, and death have the final say.

What This Means for Us in 2026

These Scriptures call us to rethink power, strength, and victory. God’s reign does not mirror the violence of the world; it redeems it. We are invited to lay down our own weapons—our bitterness, our need to be right, our fear of the other—and walk the holy highway of healing and trust.

In a fractured and anxious world, the Church’s calling is not to wield power like the nations do, but to witness to a different kind of King: one whose crown is compassion, whose authority flows from love, and whose victory is life for all who thirst.

The Spirit and the Bride still say, “Come.”
And in 2026, that invitation matters more than ever.

There are days when the ache for more—for justice, peace, and truth—feels almost unbearable. Reading Psalm 61, Isaiah 11:1–9, Revelation 20:1–10, and John 5:30–47 invites us to admit that longing rather than suppress it. These Scriptures give voice to a prayer many of us carry quietly: How long, O Lord, until the world is made right?

A Cry from the Overwhelmed Heart

Psalm 61 begins not with triumph, but with exhaustion:

“Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the end of the earth I call to you, when my heart is faint.”

This is not the prayer of someone who has it all together. It is the prayer of one who feels small in the face of chaos and danger. The psalmist does not pretend strength; instead, he asks to be led to “the rock that is higher than I.” In our day—marked by political division, violence, climate anxiety, and spiritual confusion—this cry feels deeply familiar. Faith does not deny our weariness; it directs it toward God.

A Vision of the World as God Intends It

Isaiah 11:1–9 offers one of the most breathtaking pictures in all of Scripture: a Spirit-anointed ruler from the line of Jesse who judges with righteousness, defends the poor, and ushers in a creation where predators and prey live in peace.

This is not escapism. It is moral imagination. Isaiah gives us a vision of what the world looks like when God’s justice fully reigns—not just in human hearts, but in social structures and even creation itself. The longing you feel for this passage is holy longing. It is the ache for a world where violence no longer defines relationships and fear no longer governs lives.

Isaiah reminds us that peace is not merely the absence of conflict; it is the presence of justice, wisdom, and reverence for God.

The Hope—and Tension—of Revelation

Revelation 20:1–10 speaks of evil being restrained and ultimately destroyed. However one understands the details of this passage, its core message is clear: evil does not have the final word. The forces that deceive, dominate, and destroy are not eternal. God sets limits. God brings judgment. God brings renewal.

Our longing for this fulfillment is not impatience; it is protest. To long for Revelation’s promise is to say that the cruelty and deception we see every day are unacceptable—and temporary. Christians live in this tension: we know the victory is promised, but we also know it is not yet fully realized.

Jesus at the Center of It All

John 5:30–47 brings the focus sharply back to Jesus. He speaks not as an isolated teacher, but as one sent by the Father, bearing witness to God’s truth. Jesus confronts religious leaders who know the Scriptures well but fail to recognize the life to which those Scriptures point.

This is a warning for our day. It is possible to long for God’s future while missing God’s presence right in front of us. Jesus reminds us that eternal life is not only a future hope; it begins now, in hearing his voice and trusting his way of love, justice, humility, and truth.

Living Between Longing and Faithfulness

So how do these Scriptures apply to our day?

They tell us it is faithful to long for God’s promised future.
They remind us to bring our weariness honestly before God.
They call us to resist evil—not with despair or violence, but with trust in God’s ultimate justice.
And they challenge us to live now as citizens of the world we are praying for.

We may not yet see the wolf and the lamb lying down together. But every act of compassion, every pursuit of justice, every refusal to participate in deception or hatred is a quiet witness that God’s reign is coming.

Until that day, we stand on the rock higher than ourselves, holding fast to the hope that “the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”

Closing Prayer

Faithful God,
You hear our cries when our hearts are faint.
You have shown us a vision of peace we can scarcely imagine,
and a promise that evil will not endure forever.
Give us courage to live as people of that promise today.
Root us in Christ, keep us faithful in the waiting,
and deepen our hope until the day your justice and peace fill all creation.
Amen.

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A Devotional Reflection on Psalm 23, Job 42:1-6, I Peter 1:3-9, and Thomas, the Follower and Disciple of Jesus

Psalm 23 is often the first Scripture we reach for in times of comfort—and in times of fear. Its familiar words speak of a God who leads, restores, and stays near, even “through the valley of the shadow of death.” Yet what makes this psalm enduring is not its sentimentality but its honesty. The psalmist does not deny the valley. Faith does not eliminate danger, loss, or uncertainty; it trusts the Shepherd within them.

That theme comes into sharp focus in Job 42:1–6. After chapters of suffering, questions, arguments, and silence, Job finally speaks—not with answers, but with surrender. “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,” Job says, “but now my eye sees you.” Job’s confession is not one of shame but of transformation. He learns that faith is not control or certainty; it is humility before a God whose wisdom exceeds human explanation. Job does not receive a tidy reason for his suffering. He receives a deeper encounter with God.

Peter echoes this movement from certainty to trust in 1 Peter 1:3–9. Writing to believers who are suffering and scattered, Peter speaks of a “living hope” rooted not in circumstances but in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. He names the paradox of faith plainly: “Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him.” Faith here is not blind optimism—it is resilient trust, refined by trials, anchored in hope that reaches beyond what is visible.

This brings us to Thomas, the disciple who has been unfairly labeled “the doubter.” Thomas is not faithless; he is honest. He refuses to pretend belief when his heart is broken and his world has been shattered. He wants what the others have already received: an encounter with the risen Christ. When Jesus appears and invites Thomas to touch his wounds, He does not shame him. Instead, Jesus meets Thomas where he is. Thomas responds with one of the clearest confessions of faith in the Gospels: “My Lord and my God.”

Jesus then speaks words that echo across generations: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” This is not a rebuke. It is a blessing—for those who walk the path of Psalm 23, who sit in the ashes with Job, who endure trials with Peter’s fragile churches, and who live in the long space between promise and fulfillment.

Together, these Scriptures remind us that faith is not the absence of questions or wounds. Faith is the courage to trust God’s presence when the path is unclear, the valley is dark, and certainty is out of reach. The Shepherd leads. God reveals Himself not through easy answers, but through relationship. Hope lives—not because we see clearly, but because we are held securely.

In our own time, when anxiety, loss, and skepticism are everywhere, these texts invite us to a quieter, deeper faith: one that walks, waits, and worships—even when we do not fully understand. Like Thomas, we are invited not to suppress our doubts, but to bring them honestly to Christ. Like Job, we learn that encountering God changes us more than explanations ever could. And like the psalmist, we discover that goodness and mercy do not chase us only in peaceful seasons, but follow us all the days of our lives.

Faith, in the end, is not about seeing everything clearly. It is about trusting the One who walks with us—through every valley—until we are finally home.

Psalm 40, Isaiah 10:5–19, Matthew 11:2–15, and 2 Peter 2:17–22 paint an unsettling picture. They speak of pits and prisons, of arrogant power and shattered illusions, of leaders who promise much and deliver nothing. These are not gentle texts. They do not flatter us or numb us. Instead, they confront us with a truth our age desperately needs: darkness becomes most dangerous when it disguises itself as light.

Psalm 40 begins in desperation. The psalmist is stuck in “the pit of destruction, the muddy bog,” waiting—patiently, painfully—for God. This is not triumphant faith; it is faith stripped down to survival. Yet the psalm insists that God hears. Deliverance does not come because the psalmist escapes on their own strength, but because God bends low and lifts them out. In our day of burnout, grief, and quiet despair, Psalm 40 reassures us that waiting is not failure and honesty is not unbelief.

Isaiah 10:5–19 exposes a different darkness—the arrogance of power. Assyria is used as an instrument, yet it mistakes its role and assumes it is self-made, self-justified, and untouchable. The warning is stark: when nations, leaders, or systems believe their success proves their righteousness, they are already on the path to collapse. Isaiah speaks directly to our modern obsession with dominance, control, and supremacy. God reminds us that no empire lasts forever, and no power escapes accountability.

Then Matthew 11:2–15 brings the darkness closer to home. John the Baptist, faithful and imprisoned, questions Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we wait for another?” This is not rebellion—it is disappointment. John expected fire and judgment; instead, Jesus points to healing, restoration, and good news for the poor. Jesus honors John, yet offers a sobering word: “Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.” In other words, God’s work may not look the way we expect, and faith is tested when God refuses to fit our assumptions.

2 Peter 2:17–22 sharpens the warning even further. Peter describes false teachers as “waterless springs” and “mists driven by a storm”—promising refreshment but delivering emptiness. They speak of freedom while remaining enslaved themselves. This passage is unsettling because it reminds us that not all religious language leads to life. Not all confident voices speak truth. In our age of loud opinions, spiritual influencers, political prophets, and moral certainty, Peter warns us that returning to destructive patterns after knowing the truth is not progress—it is bondage disguised as enlightenment.

Taken together, these Scriptures tell a unified story for our time:

• Psalm 40 speaks to those trapped and waiting.
• Isaiah 10 confronts unchecked power and pride.
• Matthew 11 acknowledges doubt and unmet expectations.
• 2 Peter 2 warns against hollow promises and false freedom.

The darkness they describe is real, but it is not hopeless. The danger is not simply suffering or doubt—it is arrogance, deception, and the refusal to be transformed. God is not absent in these texts; God is discerning, exposing, and inviting repentance.

The question for our day is not, “Why is everything so broken?”
It is, “Who are we trusting, and where are we being led?”

True hope does not come from loud promises or quick fixes. It comes from a God who lifts us from pits, humbles the proud, meets us in our doubts, and calls us to a deeper, truer freedom.

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Closing Prayer

God of truth and mercy,
When the world feels dark and voices compete for our trust,
anchor us in your faithfulness.
Lift us from the pits that trap us,
strip away the pride that blinds us,
and guard us from empty promises that lead us astray.
Give us discernment to recognize your work,
patience to trust your timing,
and courage to follow your way of life.
Amen.