Across the many characters, eras, and stories of Scripture, one phrase repeatedly emerges at pivotal moments of prayer—and it can completely change the way we pray today.

No, that phrase is not the familiar “Heavenly Father…” or “in Jesus’ name…” or “Amen” (even as heaven-altering, world-changing, and self-transforming as they are).

It’s the phrase “Here I am,” expressed in just one Hebrew word: “Hineni.”

Three short syllables, carrying three related ideas—but all about one posture of prayer.

attention + surrender + trust

Hineni captures the essence of this humble cry to God: “You have my full attention, my full surrender, my full trust.”

But here’s what makes Hineni so faith-filled: it’s not merely about surrender, but pre-surrender. It’s saying “yes” to God…
…before hearing His requirements.
…before knowing His timeline.
…before seeing His outcomes.

Whatever. Whenever. Wherever. However.

It’s a posture of prayer that relinquishes our natural bent to evaluate risks, control outcomes, and understand every detail—and instead, trustingly bends to the character of God before knowing the plan of God.

How often does our prayer life focus on the details of our circumstances than surrender to the God above them?

Interestingly, hineni repeatedly appears in Scripture at major crossroads of life and faith—where ordinary people avail themselves to God before knowing what He will ask or how their lives will unfold.

But in many of these faith-filled moments, God’s intervention, revelation, or calling follows shortly thereafter. That’s the thread of hineni across Scripture:

Major crossroad —> Hineni, Here I am Prayer —> God’s Providential Hand At Work

Let’s take a look at each:

Subscribe now

Abraham’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Genesis 22, God calls out to Abraham, and he responds, “Hineni… Here I am.” At this point in Abraham’s life and faith, he had arrived at the end of his rope. He’d tried manipulating every circumstance to bring about his desired outcome—all to no avail. He was tired, exhausted, resigned.

He had no idea what God was going to do next, or how his life was going to turn out. But there, he finally made himself fully available to God and surrendered.

He had no idea what God was about to ask concerning Isaac.

But it was his pre-surrendered faith that gave him the strength unlike anything else to climb Mount Moriah, offer up his son, and only then—receive the covenants of God.

If he hadn’t pre-surrendered, he wouldn’t have taken one step towards the mountain. And the blessing of God would have remained out of view.

Jacob’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Genesis 46, God calls out to Jacob, and he responds, “Hineni… Here I am.” At this point in Jacob’s life and faith, he had spent decades living in the darkness of deception—deceiving others and being deceived by them.

Heartbreak. Heartache. Hardened faith. And because of that, he developed a vice-grip on what he did have. “Don’t take anymore away from me!” But one day, God called him to give up the very thing he held on to as much as anything else: home.

In his homeland, his family was safe. In his homeland, he could predict circumstances. In his homeland, he could manage outcomes. But over time, God wrestled control out of his clinched hands through trials he could not.

Eventually when God called him to Egypt, he packed up and moved. He didn’t understand all the reasons why. But in Egypt—of all places—God’s blessing followed in ways he could never predict, perceive, or prepare for.

Moses’ ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Exodus 3, God called out to Moses from the burning bush, and Moses answers, “Hineni… Here I am.” At this point in Moses’ life and faith, he was shepherding goats in the middle of a desert. Forsaken. Disappointed. Forgotten.

In a previous life, he was royalty in the greatest empire on earth. He had a bright, promising future. But now? Seemingly nothing more than a derailed, depressed life.

But at the burning bush, he questioned; he struggled; he argued; he made excuses; he hedged his bets. But he eventually yielded in faith—before knowing all that was before him.

And a deliverer was raised up. A law-giver was made. A leader was established. And after 10 plagues, 10 commandments, and 40 years later—he had led a nation out of oppression and all the way to the Promised Land.

Samuel’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Samuel 3, God called out to Samuel in the Temple, and he answers, “Hineni… Here I am.” At this point in Samuel’s life and faith, he was only a child—apprenticing under the High Priest.

Unlike Abraham, Jacob, and Moses who all responded to God in old age, after years of tested and refined faith—Samuel responds with a pure, child-like faith.

Samuel availed himself to God before he knew what God would say. And as he quickly discovered, it would end up leading to the most difficult conversation any child would dare to have with any adult—let along his authority, the High Priest.

But this confrontation would prove to much more than an isolated conversation of his childhood; it would end up serving as a defining marker of his entire ministry for the rest of his life. Confronting power with truth.

David’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In 2 Samuel 15, King David was living the aftermath of tragic decisions and in the consequences of great sin. Adultery. Murder. Passivity. At this point in his life and faith, his family was torn apart; his kingdom was divided; and his crown was at risk.

In a moment of desperation, he climbs the Mount of Olives with a “Hineni… Here I am” posture of prayer. There, he pre-surrenders to God anew, availing himself to whatever God might give, require, or withhold. On that Mount, his life hung in the balance of his sin and God’s mercy—not knowing what would happen to him.

It became a turning point for his life… and the nation’s.

Isaiah’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Isaiah 6, God called out to Isaiah, and Isaiah responds, “Hineni… Here I am.” At this point in Isaiah’s life and faith, he had no concept of his own relationship to God. But after seeing God’s holiness, understanding his own sinfulness, and then being made righteous by grace—his life changed.

Complacency catalyzed to passion. Stale faith ignited into zeal. He spoke for the first time in a new way, as a new man, for a new purpose. God called. Isaiah responded. And everything changed. His ‘hineni’ moment became another turning point—in his life and in the nation’s as well.

Mary’s ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Luke 1, God called out to a young woman, Mary, and she responds not with a literal “Hineni,” but with a phrase that captures the essence of it: “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).

At this point in her life and faith, she was only a teenager with a pure heart towards God. However, this was entirely new. The situation. The stakes. The sacredness. What would people think? Would Joseph ever understand? Could I ever have a normal life again?

Through it all, she pre-surrendered, trusting God with what she didn’t know based on what she could know: His steadfast love and faithfulness to her, and His promises to bring a Messiah.

At this crossroads, she could have demanded from God to know every answer—but that would not have helped her to receive this sacred calling and great blessing. Only a ‘hinen’ faith could.

Ananias’ ‘Hineni’ Prayer

In Acts 9, God called out to Ananias, and Ananias responds in the Greek equivalent of hineni… “Here I am, LORD” (Acts 9:10). As Ananias yielded God his full attention and eager service, God proceeded to tell him what he least expected and most feared:

“Rise and go to the street called Straight, and… look for a man of Tarsus named Saul… he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” (Acts 9:11-12)

God was calling him to minister to Saul—the greatest persecutor, abuser, hater, silencer of Christians. Ananias couldn’t have ever anticipated such a request from God, but his act of great faith would be the precursor for God’s great act of redemption—first in Paul, and then through Paul to the entire Roman World.

See, in each of these situations—across eras, stories, and characters—”hineni…here I am” faith takes place at a major crossroads of life.

And at each of these sacred places, each individual could have demanded from God to know all the details, timelines, and outcomes behind His call.

But that would not have led them forward at all. Why?

Because only those who pre-surrender before the journey starts are still surrendered when the journey gets tough. Those who do not pre-surrender cannot endure the journey once it eventually challenges the very thing they hadn't fully surrendered.

Therefore, this “Hineni… Here I am” posture of heart works not only like a compass, but also like an anchor. It establishes the direction from the start, and holds you steady when the storms roll in.

Hineni prays, “I will go before I know the way, before I know the cost, before I know the outcome—because I know You. And that’s enough.”

But at these sacred places of our pre-surrender, we are met with a an even greater promise from God: He says, “Here I am” and draws near to us (James 4:8).

In other words, our “hineni” prayer does not summon Him from His absence. It just awakens our souls to His presence and aligns us with His purpose.

Are you at a crossroads of life and faith today?

Are you holding on, holding out, or holding back?

Or, are you pre-surrendering anew with ‘hineni’ faith?

Draw near to God today, echoing that pure, sacred refrain:

“Here I am.”

Going Deeper (Paid)

If you want to go deeper, the remainder of this post includes 1) a ‘deep-cut’ Christ-connection, 2) a hidden gem, and 3) a ‘right-now’ application.

Read more

This is Part 4 of a 4-part study through Psalm 139 exploring God’s intimate involvement in every part of our lives.

Read here for Part 1, “God Knows Me Completely”
Read here for Part 2, “God Leads Me Perfectly”
Read here for Part 3, “God Forms Me Purposely”

Not many passages of Scripture capture the wonder of God’s heart towards His people quite like Psalm 139.

And over the last three posts, we’ve seen just that: Every line beams like the sun—bringing light, life, and warmth into the cold, dark, hopeless places of our heart, resonating in a way unlike any other.

Though the psalm is relatively short (only 24 verses in all!), it presents a picture of God that is grand—and grandly involved in our lives.

• Every detail of our experience—known and accounted for (v. 1-6).

• Every step of our journey—seen and planned out (v. 7-12).

• Every nuance of our design and development—custom-tailored and divinely purposed (v. 13-18).

In the final verses, v. 19-24, a main theme emerges as the culmination of everything before it, like the climax of a building crescendo: God remakes me increasingly.

As a quick disclaimer, this culminating truth—especially compared the truths before it (i.e., God knows me completely; God leads me perfectly; God forms me purposely)—can sound rather, well, anticlimactic.

After all, if we had a choice, wouldn’t we prefer to be known, led, and purposed by God… than remade? I mean, the process of being remade sounds painful, tenuous, and time-intensive! Our present self often prefers anything but!

However, this culminating truth—God remakes me increasingly—may very well stand as the greatest promise in the entire psalm. How so? Because the three prior themes collectively point to it and are ultimately fulfilled by it. Consider…

• God knows me completely (v. 1-6)—and yet, He uses every detail to completely remake me into all that I’m supposed to be, too.

• God leads me perfectly (v. 7-12)—and yet, His path involves not just where He takes me but also how He remakes me along the way.

• God forms me purposely (v. 13-18)—and yet, He does so in every season precisely as preparation for the unique purposes of the next.

But if that isn’t enough already, this promise that God remakes me increasingly moves concurrently inside the greater storyline of Scripture itself—that God is remaking and restoring all things into their destined glory. Therefore, if we are His, that means we too are caught up in this unstoppable arc of His restorative work, heading all the way to its final victory at His return—and eternity.

By the end verse 18, David finishes what feels like a sentimental prayer, reflecting upon the richness of God’s blessings and the greatness of God’s assurances over his life. But at the turn of verse 18, David changes gears—somewhat abruptly.

It can feel like a new thought, new feeling, or new perspective. But it’s actually a heightened emotional response of the same truths he’s been meditating upon throughout the psalm already.

That’s what we see in the final section of Psalm 139. Let’s begin:

¹⁹ Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God!
O men of blood, depart from me!
²⁰ They speak against you with malicious intent;
your enemies take your name in vain.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?
²² I hate them with complete hatred;
I count them my enemies.

At first impression, the tone change feels quite jarring: David’s sweet, sentimental meditations break to a sudden spike of anger and revenge!

In the moment, I imagine David tracing his quill along tanned parchment, gracefully inking serifs and linking together words that will forever be regarded as some the most emotionally resonant in all of Scripture… until suddenly, a volatile thought shocks his mind, bursting his complexion into an intense red. His brows furrow forcefully, his muscles tense angrily—and his quill snaps under the surging pressure of it all.

An emotional bomb detonated in his heart, and now there’s ink everywhere.

What happened?

How did David move from beautiful poetry and pensive prayer to steaming vitriol—and so fast? Here’s what’s going on:

As he ponders God’s great love for him, great love grows within him for God.

Consider for a moment—what happens when something challenges your love?

• If you’re a husband, how would you feel if someone talked disparagingly about your wife—accusing her, gossiping about her, mocking her?

• If you’re a father, how would you feel if someone threatened your child—to hurt them, abuse them, or mislead them?

• If you’re a grandson, how would you feel if someone tried manipulating your grandparents—lying to them, stealing from them, exploiting them in their old age?

We all know the answer. Anger would erupt like a volcano.

This anger is not wrong; it is a heightened response to protect what is real, right, good and true from harm, This kind of anger is not born from unbridled emotional control over unfavorable circumstances; no, this anger is born out of deeper loves for the right things in life—ie., ‘righteous anger.’

It’s intense, but it is not petty, uncalled-for revenge.
It’s an intensely profound, righteous love.

Too often, we understand love as sentimental feelings of warmth, favor, or attraction. But that’s not love in its fullest, biblical sense.

Love does involve affections and attractions—but it is ultimately grounded in allegiances and actions. It is a commitment to what is ultimately best for the individual according to God’s Word, Will, and Ways.

Biblical love recognizes what is real, right, good, and true and then aims to bring our lives—and the way we relate to others—into alignment with God’s nature and reality. In fact, you can see this principle cascading down every succeeding verse:

David’s blood boils when he sees “men of blood” wrecking others’ lives and wreaking havoc upon the world (v. 19).

His soul seethes when others “speak maliciously” against God, mock Him, and take His name in vain (v. 20).

And to those who openly hate God and rise up against Him? He hates and rises up against them, in response (v. 21).

And to those who wage war against God, against all that God owns, against all that God loves—he wages war against, in response. Why? Precisely because David loves God, cherishes all that God owns, and loves all that God loves (v. 22).

Love and hatred are not opposites; they are two sides of the same coin. What we hate is only the inverse—attraction, affection, allegiance, and action—of what we love. And in the same proportion to what we love, we hate what challenges it.

Therefore, as we abide in the love of God for us, it produces love for God in us—which eventually expresses in love for what God loves and hatred for what God hates.

As God remakes us increasingly, our loves become more distinct: that is, to the degree that we grow in our love for the things of God, we grow just as much in how we detest the things of evil. As believers today, we should rightly (and increasingly!) hate the following:

• Satan—the chief leader of deception and accusation.

• Demons—who manipulate the powers of our world.

• Death—the captor of so many lives, brought about by sin.

• Sin—that wrecks and ruins all things good, beautiful, and true.

• Disease—the result of a fallen world.

• Unforgiveness—the antithesis of the story of God.

• Partiality—because all ultimately have a common problem, common need, common Savior, and common hope.

And so forth. Any opposition to the character and work of God—there we will find the enemy who deceives, steals, kills, and destroys (John 10:10).

But right here, David realizes something important—and deeply sobering. And it’s something we all need to hear as well. Namely:

That problem is not just ‘out there’ — it is ‘in here.’

It is not just in the world around him; it is in the heart within him!

That’s how he continues next, and concludes.

²³ Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughts!
²⁴ And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting!

David concludes with a prayer of absolute humility and surrender.

Three exclamations in all.

And isn’t it interesting—that as angry as he was to the sin, suffering, and corruption around him—he only uses two exclamations (v. 19-24)?

Here, as he reflects on the sin, evil, and corruption of within, he uses three.

In other words, the intensity of righteous anger he felt towards the evil ‘out there’ climaxes with a plea to be changed ‘in here.’

He’s longing and earnestly praying for God to sanctify him from sin, to cleanse him from corruption, and to remake him increasingly for the better—because he knows he’s no better than anyone else deep down.

And here’s where it all comes to a head, with a call-to-action.

The entire psalm echoes with divine reassurance—that God reigns over every detail of his life. His steps. His circumstances. His seasons. So, in light of it all, David feels one great responsibility: to be holy.

Because God is wholly over his life, David’s life ought to be holy unto God.

Note the superlative scope of David’s prayer: “if there by any grievous way in me…”

Anything and everything that’s not of God—he is surrendering and wants removed.

Whatever, wherever, whenever, whoever, however.

It is a prayer of absolute surrender.

David is essentially praying this:

David knows God and God’s ways, and therefore, he wants nothing less than God’s best in his life, and in every way. So, he prays with full, total, absolute surrender.

This is a scary prayer to pray.

Why? Because God will answer it.

How do we know this? Because God promises to answer a prayer that is in His will.

An earnest prayer to be sanctified of sin, freed from idols, and remade for God’s purposes—is a prayer God will answer because it is a prayer in accordance with His will already.

It might be painful, uncomfortable, or challenging—but be assured, God will do it. And we will be better—far better—because of it.

Note, however, what happens next at the transition of verse 23 to verse 24. Because in it, we see a divine promise attached. David knows this promise, and he is echoing it to us all the same—all the way to today.

In verse 23, David pleads for God to purify him.
In verse 24, David asks for God to lead him.

Those are not segmented prayers—but synced ones.

David knows the grand truth: God moves us within so that He may move us along. Why? Because what rules us from within leads us through the world.

To conclude, David yields himself God fully, so God can lead him easily—and not against his own will—to the very places he needs to go and to do all he needs to do: What’s best.

Consider your own life.

• Where are you hesitant to trust, obey, or surrender?

• Is there something ruling your heart—and, inadvertently, it is governing your decisions, directing your steps, demanding your attention?

• How do you think God is working within you and around you?

Can you pray David’s prayer of total surrender?

See, we are only able to pray a scary prayer like this, only because we first have greater promises from a psalm like this. Be assured:

No prayer of full surrender can ‘out-risk’ God’s promise of full sovereignty.

The overarching promise of Psalm 139 is that God knows us and loves us and leads us—perfectly. And therefore, He will work in us, through us, around us, and for us—rightly.

In the right way. At the right time. For the right purpose.

God takes care of us by taking care of anything and everything around us.

His responsibility is outcome.
Ours is obedience.

Because God wholly takes care of us, we only need to be holy unto to Him.

That’s what Psalm 139 is all about —
God’s presence, promises, purposes, and providence.
And our renewed peace and perspective as His child.

Going Deeper (Paid)

If you want to go deeper, the remainder of this post includes 3 bonus items: 1) a ‘deep-cut’ Christ-connection, 2) a hidden gem, and 3) a ‘right-now’ application.

Read more

This is Part 3 of a 4-part study through Psalm 139 exploring God’s intimate involvement in every part of our lives.

Read here for Part 1, “God Knows Me Completely” and here for Part 2, “God Leads Me Perfectly.”

Not many passages of Scripture capture the wonder of God’s heart towards His people quite like Psalm 139.

Line after line, this psalm pumps the ‘lifeblood’ of hope and ‘oxygen’ of peace into our hearts, like a divine IV straight from Heaven, drip after drip.

In the first six verses (v. 1-6), we hear what the heart most deeply craves—to be fully known and fully loved. God knows me completely.

In the next six verses (v. 7-12), we find assurance for what we most naturally fear—to be left alone and left without direction. God leads me perfectly.

Now, in the next set of verses (v. 13-18), we discover the answer to what we most frequently wonder—to know with certainty that who we’re becoming and where we’re going is no accident. God forms me purposefully.

• Who He’s created me to be.

• What He’s called me to do.

• How He’s forming along the way.

• Where He’s placed me—to accomplish it all.

In these verses, we’ll see something truly awe-inspiring: God’s providential hand lies behind every uniquely encoded gene and every uniquely unfolded day.

Each gene—the smallest detail of our being—encoded with purpose.

Each day—the basic context of our experience—laden with meaning.

Behind it all, the Designer and Storyteller of our lives. Let’s begin:

¹³ For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

The womb is the place of our very beginning.

• It’s a place of inception, nurturing, and development.

• It’s a place of gentleness, vulnerability, and intimacy.

• It’s also a place of darkness, unknowns, and expectation.

And there, David proclaims the intensive handiwork of God.

In the womb, a mother can carry a child—but only God can create and design one. A mother can provide food and shelter—but only God can knit together double helixes of DNA with divine precision.

Consider the process of “knitting” that David invokes: hand-made; custom-tailored; personally-branded; labor-intensive. God fashioned and formed us like that. Just like a master knitter with a design in mind and then weaves it into existence with beautiful thread-work, so also did God conceive of us in His mind and then masterfully bring us into existence with His skillful, intentional hand.

This means something amazing—

Before my beginning, God saw in His mind—all of me.

At my beginning, God formed with His hands—all of me.

Since my beginning, God’s presence and purposes have never stopped abiding in my life. And when we trace the threads of His grace back to His hands and heart, here’s a truth we can find:

If this is who God was to me in the womb, then surely He would be just as much to me and more now that I am in the world!

Forming me. Nurturing me.
Developing me. Purposing me.

In the womb, I was covered in utter darkness, surrounded by the complete unknown, and at my weakest and most vulnerable moment—yet, He was there, always working.

And so He is today, and even more so—working in my darkness, moving beyond the unknowns, and nurturing me at my weakest.

If God was that personal, that gentle, and that purposeful with me in the womb, then why wouldn’t He be just as much to me now that I’m in His world—the very place He’s called me into all along?

Truly, the proof of His work in the womb is the promise we can hold onto in the world. He is always working on us, in us, and through us for what He has for us.

¹⁴ I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.

The literal translation of “wonderfully made” does not mean ‘beauty’ as Hollywood sees it, ‘intelligence’ as universities see it, or ‘skill’ as recruiting firms see it.

“Wonderfully made” conveys the idea of being “set apart” for a specific purpose — something far more substantial than earthly beauty (which fades), beneficial than IQ (which caps), and impactful than jobs (which change).

It’s describing divine purpose and special plan—from birth til death.

In other words, when God made me, He made me uniquely on purpose—for a unique purpose. And no one else gets that exact same design or exact same purpose.

God did not create me in general, as if I was just ‘another’ product in a largely-mindless, highly-efficient, mass-produced operation. I am not another number, another iteration, or another item in His story or purposes. I have a unique place, a unique part, and a unique purpose to fulfill in it.

Uniquely, specifically, personally, sacredly—set apart.

I am just as “wonderfully made” to God as if I were the only one.

Why? Because each person is a masterpiece is in His master plan.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.

A theme of hiddenness moves over this portion of text like a divine concealer: “hidden” and “secret” and “depths of the earth” — all alluding to what people cannot see, and only what God can.

• “My frame” (v. 15) — all of what I am — concealed from others, but clear to God.

• “My substance” (v. 16a) — all of who I am — indiscernible to others, but intimately known to God.

• “My days” (v. 16b) — all of when I am — unseen by others, foreseen by God.

In every dimension, God knows what no one else can.

The depth of who I’m created to be.
The extent of what I’m called to do.
The length of when and the location of where.

His purposes for me go down to the gene.
His plans for me scheduled down to the day.

As such, God plans and prepares what no one else can plan and prepare—because they do not have the same perspective. And therefore, His purposes often unfold in the world’s unforeseen places—in the “hidden” and “secret” and “depths”—that you and I would typically overlook.

Do you doubt God’s involvement?
Can you not see His hand?

Here’s the promise:

God is working in the hiddenness.
n the secret places; in the indiscernible; in the depths.
He has always has been.
Since the day you were born.

¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!

Psalm 139 has given us many examples of God’s thoughts towards us—what they are. But here, we see the nature of God’s thoughts towards us—how they are.

David describes the nature of God’s thoughts towards us in only two words, but they suffice the whole realm of the Heaven’s mind: “precious” and “vast.”

• “How precious” — the quality of Your thoughts towards me.

• “How vast” — the quantity of Your thoughts towards me.

Nothing is more personal than “precious.”
Nothing is more innumerable than “vast.”

Maximally personal. Maximally innumerable.

It is beyond humbling that God thinks towards us in that type of way: countlessly and constantly in love and for our good.

¹⁸ If I would count them, they are more than the sand.

What is “more” than the sand?
Sure, there is a number, technically.
But what is truly more? The tide.

What is more than the expanse of the shoreline?
The depths of the ocean.
What is more than the boundlessness of my thoughts?
The vastness God’s thoughts towards me.

Countlessly and constantly, God’s thoughts exceed the grains of sand on a seashore—like a divine tide.

Our seemingly endless and granular thoughts—like the grains of sand on a seashore—are met with God’s never-ending consideration, over and over again—like a steady tide of love, reaching out from an ocean of faithfulness. Flooding over me.

Completely submerging. Completely knowing. Completely washing.

What is more than the sand?

The tide.

Your thoughts toward me.

I awake, and I am still with you.

Dreams seem real and feel solid—but end as soon as sober-mindedness sets in.

But not God’s loving assurance over us.

It’s realer than we can ever imagine.
It’s more solid than we can ever hope.

And so is God’s purposes towards us.

It’s better than we can dream up.
It’s greater than we can plan out.

These promises work together to lead us into sober-mindedness as well as deep restfulness. Sober-mindedness in whose we are and who we are. Deep restfulness in where He’s leading us and how He’s forming us.

It is the fact that God is always with me and is always working—purposefully and providentially—that I can finally rest.

Truly, verses 13-18 build upon the prior 12 verses like a crescendo of steadfast lovingkindness: Because God completely knows me, perfectly leads me, and purposefully forms me—nothing in my life is unknown, mistaken, or accidental.

Continue the Journey

This article is Part 3 of a four-part journey through Psalm 139. For part 4, we’ll conclude with verses 19-24.

Part 4 — God Remakes Me Increasingly

Subscribe free to receive the next installment, straight to your inbox.

Subscribe now

Going Deeper (Paid)

For readers who want to explore Psalm 139 beyond today’s exposition, the remainder of this post includes additional reflections, Christ-centered connections, and ‘right-now’ application.

Read more

This is Part 2 of a 4-part study through Psalm 139 exploring God’s intimate involvement in every part of our lives.
Read Part 1, “God Knows Me Completely,” here.

Not many passages of Scripture capture the wonder of God’s heart towards His people quite like Psalm 139.

The psalm resounds with the very assurances every human heart naturally needs—and deeply craves. For all of us, common questions like…

Who really am I?
Who really knows me?
Does anyone fully see what I’m going through?
Does anyone truly care about how I’m doing?
Where am I going?
What’s next?

…often rise like insurmountable thresholds from within. But in just the first six verses, Psalm 139 overwhelms them with promise—like an ocean wave flushing out a dam of toothpicks in the sand. From the floodgates of heaven, God’s unfathomable knowledge downpours and ever-rushes towards His own, submerging them in perfect love. He knows me completely.

Verse 7 expands on this grand promise by following its heavenly current downstream towards its most immediate basin of truth: He leads me perfectly.

Steeped in God’s perfect knowledge of who we are, we now see how that truth overflows into every where, when, and how of our lives.

Personalized, custom-tailored assurances—that God not only knows me completely, but also goes with me perfectly—promising that my every step is not just seen and known from Heaven, but led and guided with Presence.

⁷ Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
⁹ If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.

Where is God in my life?
Is He leading? Is He with me?

This psalm leaves no room for doubt: He is not with you somewhere sometimes, but everywhere all the time.

Note the contrasting places of extreme in every dimension—ie, “heaven” (highest) and “Sheol” (lowest) and “uttermost parts of the sea” (furthest)—to emphasize that His presence spans the fullest possible extent of human experience.

Nowhere is too high, too low, or too far for Him.

The highest experiences of our rejoicing—
The deepest valleys of our mourning—
The furthest places of our wandering—

God is with us.

And that is the greatest assurance we could ever have.

Never forsaken. Never abandoned.

Note also two words in this section that are repeatedly used — “where…” and “if…” — that express, like short-heaved cries, our greatest concerns. Don’t we plead with God constantly something along the lines of, “Where, God?” and “What if, Lord?”

Hypotheticals. Uncertainties. Desires. Doubts.

• “God, where are You in this?”

• “God, where do I go?”

• “God, what if… I fail?”

• “God, what if… it backfires?”

• “God, what if… they don’t understand?”

But notice this:

Every “where” and “if” is followed by a “You are there!”

It is not just truth in theory: perspective.
It’s truth for hypothetical: promise.

Notice also the vivid imagery in verse 10: “even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.” What a moving image.

With one hand, God is pointing out the direction — He’s leading us.

With the other hand, God is holding on to us — He’s keeping us.

Picture a child being warmly held by his Father with one hand, while the Father points out the direction with the other hand: protection and direction.

But there’s even more. David even makes it a point to specifically emphasize which “hand” of God does what: namely, it’s God’s “right hand” that holds us, and it’s His other hand that leads us (v. 10). Here’s why that’s important:

Throughout Scripture, the “right hand” is a symbol of ultimate power and the “left hand” is a symbol of supporting strength or even hidden activity. So by referencing both ‘hands’ of God here, David is emphasizing God’s dual role of commitment to us:

The ‘right hand’ of God holds us unchangeably, unshakably, and in great honor.

The ‘left hand’ of God may move in ways unexpectedly to us—directionally and circumstantially—but always supporting us nevertheless.

More important than knowing the where, what, when, how, and why… is knowing Who holds onto us through it all, is with us, leads us every step of the way, and is committed to never letting us go.

When we cannot understand the “left hand” of God’s ways, we can trust His “right hand” of steadfast love. His hands move together towards us in perfect congruence and fulfillment—and never in conflict or confusion.

But even still, there are dark moments of life where we feel anything but these promises or presence of God. The spiraling thoughts viciously begin… Surely…

¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
¹² even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.

In the valleys of deep darkness—where we pass under the shadows of the very mountains we longed to climb—our audible cries often reverberate down the long valley walls. The echoes are sinister, spiraling soundbites.

The heartfelt cries linger… longer.
The distressed pleas echo… further.
And broken scenarios playback in our minds… louder.

The valley walls amplify—and distort—these soundbites.

Surely, God has abandoned me.
Surely, my situation is too dark.
Surely, it’s too messed up.
Surely, it’s too far gone.
Surely, God is cruel.
Surely, I’m too old.
Surely, I’m too young.
Surely, I’m too inexperienced.
Surely, they wouldn’t understand.
Surely, there is no further reason to hope.
Surely, the probabilities, possibilities, percentages, and problems—they’re all stacked against me!

But decisively, God assures us there is no darkness too dark for Him. In fact, the worst darkness that could come to our mind, is still as bright as day to Him.

Now, to be sure, David is not downplaying our darkness as light to God. He is saying our greatest darkness “is as light” to God. Meaning, in comparison to His love, wisdom, and faithfulness—our darkest confusion is not confusing to Him one bit; our haziest uncertainty is not unsettling to Him at all; our deepest grief is not lost on Him. In fact, He not only sees every ounce of our darkness in the perfect light of clarity—He also moves all of our darkness increasingly towards the light of eternity.

In Christ, life overcomes death, truth surpasses deception, peace conquers conflict, and joy outpaces sadness—ultimately and eternally. And since that’s true of Him, our lives in Him will follow the same arc—all the way until our final day.

In the deepest darkness, God gives that deeper assurance.
He sees with a perfect clarity for all of it…
He plans a perfect purpose beyond all of it… and
He loves us perfectly through all of it.

We might lose sight of God in our darkness, but our darkness never causes Him to lose sight of us. And that should give us great hope.

Through these times especially, He promises to make it all—even the worst and hardest and darkest—work together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

Only twelve verses into Psalm 139, and we’ve seen a level of personal intimacy—in knowledge towards us and leadership over us—that shows the abundant love of God for us.

The One who knows you best, loves you most, and leads you best—in every way.

Continue the Journey

This article is Part 2 of a four-part journey through Psalm 139. For part 3, we’ll continue with verses 13–18.

Part 3 — God Develops Me Purposefully

Subscribe free to receive the next installment, straight to your inbox.

Subscribe now

Going Deeper (Paid)

For readers who want to explore Psalm 139 beyond today’s exposition, the remainder of this post includes additional theological reflections, Christ-centered connections, and ‘right-now’ practical application.

Read more

This is Part 1 of a 4-part study through Psalm 139 exploring God’s intimate involvement in every part of our lives.

Not many passages of Scripture capture the wonder of God’s heart towards His people quite like Psalm 139.

It’s one of the most popular passages of the Bible—and rightfully so. It pulls on the heartstrings and resonates at the depths of the soul in a way that’s nearly impossible to express in words... but does.

In the most poetic way, this psalm traces the full landscape of the human heart—our deepest needs, our restless desires, and our most tangled thoughts—and then floods its every boundary line with the all-surpassing love of God.

This psalm overflows towards our comfort and confidence—about how completely God knows us (v. 1-6), how personally He leads us (v. 7-12), how intentionally He purposes us (v. 13-18), and how faithfully He refines us (v. 19-24).

For this four-part series, I’ll simply walk through the psalm verse-by-verse, because every line—when even lightly pressed—yields a fresh healing balm for the soul.

Let's begin…

¹ O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

From the very start, we can hear the cry of a heavy heart.

Not a polished introduction. Not a formal first impression.

Just an honest admission — straight from the heart — towards the God who knows, sees, and pursues me.

David, the psalmist, is holding nothing back from God, because he knows God knows it all anyways. And so, his prayer life less about impressing God and more about sheer, full-fledge expressing his heart unto God.

But that’s not all. More is happening than just an earnest, heartfelt cry. He specifically opens with “O LORD…”

That’s important. He could have referenced one of many names for God, such as Most High, Judge, Defender, Provider, or Creator. But see, those titles refer to God’s stature—what He does.

But here, David specifically draws on primary name for God that does not refer to His stature but His nature—who He is.

In our English Bibles, the name “LORD” (all caps) serves as a moniker for “Yahweh,” God’s personal, covenant-making, covenant-keeping nature; One is rich in steadfast love and faithfulness, mercy and justice; and a title-commitment to never leave us.

David draws on that name, in particular, to say that that type of God—infinite in tenderness and knowledge towards us—searches and knows us. All of our anxious thoughts. All of our heavy burdens. All of our prayers and petitions. All of our pains and pressures. All of our disappointment and despair.

He has searched and has known me — past tense! Meaning, before we even had any awareness or ability to process and pray, He has already searched out every dimension of what’s on our heart and mind—and known it completely.

² You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

Even the smallest moments of our lives—such as our sitting down and rising up—actions we do not even count or consider, God counts and considers.

If you think about it, our minds only have so much bandwidth to ponder and remember the details of our lives. We reserve space to remember the ‘big’ details, not the ‘small’ ones.

And since nothing could seem more insignificant or trivial than the number of times we sit down and rise up each day, we naturally discard any memory of them from our mental bank. Why remember sitting down and rising up, anyways?

And yet, we’re told God gives thought to them. In fact, He’s counted every single time we sat down and gotten back up—when, where, and why.

That’s how closely God is watching and looking after us. But it’s not just that God counts and considers. It means something more astounding: what we consider to be so utterly insignificant to us—is evidently significant to God.

This ought to give us great hope: If the most meaningless things to us actually matter to God, then clearly, the most weighty things to us matter so much more to God.

If our own sitting and rising do not command our own attention, but they do command the attention and care of God, then how much more then does our anxiety and anguish, despair and doubts, our trials and tribulations command the attention, care, and investment of God?

We may be dismayed and be tempted to think that God doesn’t know… oh, but He knows all that much—and much more. And that is a comfort.

you discern my thoughts from afar.

Not only does God know my thoughts, but He also discerns my thoughts.

In other words, He makes sense of them, especially when I am failing to make sense of them myself. In those tired moments when I am struggling helplessly through the thickest mental clutter and navigating through the heaviest brain fog—God discerns my thoughts with absolute clarity and logical precision.

What’s confusing and convoluted to me… is crystal clear to Him.

Through the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit, God the Spirit in me helps me groan to my Father with words beyond my limited capabilities, lifting up my heavy-heartedness and translating my messy-mindedness in a divine way that is too deep for words (Romans 8:26).

Do you ever struggle to express to God all that is on your heart and mind? By grace, the Holy Spirit joins that struggle with us—and then prays for us according to our heart’s desire and the Father’s will—expressing everything that we tried petitioning about, as if we knew everything He knew.

³ You search out my path and my lying down
and are acquainted with all my ways.

In addition to perfectly knowing our thoughts, God also is perfectly acquainted with all of our activity and non-activity.

He searches out “my path” – i.e., my daily schedule, my exact commute, my meetings, my responsibilities, where I’m going, what I’m doing, who I’m with, when I’m arriving, and how the day went.

Apple may tally the total of my steps.
Strava may trace the path of my stride.
Oura may check the pulse of my heart.

But only God knows the complete picture of what is happening behind all of my steps, path, and pulse—each and every hour of the day.

He also searches out “my lying down” – i.e., when I stop, when I feel overwhelmed, when I rest, when I am exhausted, when I feel burned out.

God knows when I’m going, going, going… and He also knows when I’m done and cannot do anything more.

He’s acquainted with all of our ways, the activity as well as the non-activity, and everything in between—from the moment we wake up to the moment we fall asleep.

⁴ Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

The transition from verse 3 to verse 4 is not just an added thought—but a crescendo of intimacy. Here, David expresses deeper awe for just how completely God knows and loves him—and does the same for us.

How so? In verse 3, David emphasizes God’s attention to detail regarding our external behavior: our working and our resting; our excitement and our exhaustion; our productivity and our leisure; and everything in between.

But verse 4 shifts from the external to the internal. God is not merely perfectly acquainted with what’s on the ‘outside’ of our lives; He is also completely aware of what’s happening on the ‘inside’ of our hearts.

All of our burdens, desires, struggles, anxieties, cares, and concerns.

In fact, He anticipates what we are beginning to feel—and does not merely guess and/or try to finish our sentences. No, what He anticipates in us, He knows “altogether” — before we even do ourselves!

Amazingly, God knows to the fullest degree what we’re about to pray for and why we feel that way—before we even have time to say the words.

Before we’ve fully processed, He’s fully perceived.

All of our groans; all of our sighing, all of our tears; and all of our longing is not hidden from Him (Psalm 38:9). God knows the way we are wrestling with X, working through Y, wondering about Z, worrying about A, walking through B, wading through C, and waiting in between it all.

He knows me—fully.

⁵ You hem me in, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.

An initial read of this verse might conjure up the image of a loving father tucking-in his child before bedtime: “You hem me in, behind and before,” i.e., tuck them in tightly, warmly, snugly. Complete with a final, “lay your hand upon me,” i.e., a personal touch, a signal of love, a time for rest.

However, the Hebrew word for ‘hem me in, behind and before’ invokes rather different image from the warm, cuddly, lullaby experience we might presume.

In fact, the Hebrew rendering of those verses does not imply a restful bedtime experience, but war-time ‘besiege.’ In the act of besieging, a stronger nation would completely surround a smaller city or town, functionally cutting off all imports and exports so that the city would be gradually drained of its own resources. Consequently, they would be forced into absolute dependence upon the nation besieging them.

Verse 5 conveys a picture of God surrounding us, though not in violence but in strong love. He lovingly ‘besieges’ us, surrounding us for the spiritual warfare He wants to fight on our behalf.

Ever-presently, God completely encircles us. From all sides, God is there. And oftentimes in His higher wisdom, He cuts off our other lesser ‘supplies’ and drives us into forcible dependence upon Him—so that we learn to increasingly draw on His abundant resources, not merely our own. Wisely, He drains us of our weak autonomy, so that we can be strong in His strength.

But not only does He surround and besiege us in love—He also lays His hand upon us. The picture is compelling: God is not just all around us; He is also above us.

No matter where I am — He is there — personally, powerfully, ever-presently.

⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.

We spend much of life wondering whether anyone truly understands us.

Or, even if they did understand us, would they still love us?

Psalm 139 opens with a remarkable assurance:

The One who knows you fully also loves you completely.

He knows you the best and loves you the most.

Continue the Journey

This article is Part 1 of a four-part journey through Psalm 139. Next week we’ll continue with verses 7–12:

Part 2 — God Leads Me Perfectly

Subscribe free to receive the next installment, straight to your inbox.

Subscribe now

Going Deeper (Paid)

For readers who want to explore Psalm 139 beyond today’s exposition, the remainder of this post includes additional theological reflections, Christ-centered connections, and ‘right-now’ practical application.

Read more

Of all the passages in Scripture that make us pause and ask, “What did Jesus mean by that?” Mark 7:24–30 may be among the most puzzling.

As the Master Communicator, Jesus does not always communicate in the same way.

• Oftentimes, He preaches straightforwardly—with direct commands and clear truth.

• Sometimes, He teaches strategically—through parable, story, and questions that invite deeper reflection.

• Other times, He speaks in subtlety—drawing on assumptions, wordplay, and rich nuance to make a point.

The latter is exactly what happens in Mark 7:24-30. As Jesus speaks with a Syrophoenician woman, He draws on certain nuances of their ancient context—one that is simply lost on us today. And that’s precisely why Jesus’ response is confusing to us, but clear to her.

In their conversation, there’s a lot going on: Demon possession. Dog food. Crumbs under the table. Leftovers in the fridge. And a statement of faith so powerful that it delivers a little girl in real time.

And, did Jesus insult the woman in the process? If not, then what?

Let’s sort through it. Immediately below, I have inserted Tim Keller’s explanation, taken straight from his book, Jesus The King. Then following, I’ve included a handful of additional applications we just can’t skip over from such a rich passage.

Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an evil spirit came and fell at his feet. The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter. (Mark 7:24–26)

The story begins with the mysterious statement that Jesus went to the vicinity of Tyre and did not want anyone to know it. What was going on? Well, Jesus had been spending all of his time ministering in Jewish provinces, and that ministry was drawing overwhelming crowds, and he was exhausted. So Jesus left the Jewish provinces and went into a Gentile territory, Tyre, in order to get some rest.

But it doesn’t work. A woman hears of his arrival and makes her way boldly to Jesus. Though she’s a Syrophoenician, because of Tyre’s proximity to Judea she would have known the Jewish customs. She knows that she has none of the religious, moral, and cultural credentials necessary to approach a Jewish rabbi—she is a Phoenician, a Gentile, a pagan, a woman, and her daughter has an unclean spirit. She knows that in every way, according to the standards of the day, she is unclean and therefore disqualified to approach any devout Jew, let alone a rabbi. But she doesn’t care. She enters the house without an invitation, falls down and begins begging Jesus to exorcise a demon from her daughter. The verb beg here is a present progressive—she keeps on begging. Nothing and no one can stop her. In Matthew’s Gospel chapter 15, the parallel account, the disciples urge Jesus to send her away. But she’s pleading with Jesus—she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

You know why she has this burst of boldness, don’t you? There are cowards, there are regular people, there are heroes, and then there are parents. Parents are not really on the spectrum from cowardice to courage, because if your child is in jeopardy, you simply do what it takes to save her. It doesn’t matter whether you’re normally timid or brazen—your personality is irrelevant. You don’t think twice; you do what it takes. So it’s not all that surprising that this desperate mother is willing to push past all the barriers.

So what is Jesus’ response to this woman as she is down on the floor begging? The story continues:

Subscribe now

She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter. “First let the children eat all they want,” he told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” (Mark 7:26–27)

On the surface, this appears to be an insult. We are a canine-loving society, but in New Testament times most dogs were scavengers—wild, dirty, uncouth in every way. Their society was not canine-loving, and to call someone a “dog” was a terrible insult. In Jesus’ day the Jews often called the Gentiles “dogs” because they were considered “unclean.” Is what Jesus says to her just an insult, then? No, it’s a parable. The word parable means “metaphor” or “likeness,” and that’s what this is. One key to understanding it is the very unusual word Jesus uses for “dogs” here. He uses a diminutive form, a word that really means “puppies.” Remember, the woman is a mother.

Jesus is saying to her, “You know how families eat: First the children eat at the table, and afterward their pets eat too. It is not right to violate that order. The puppies must not eat food from the table before the children do.” If we go to Matthew’s account of this incident, he gives us a slightly longer version of Jesus’s answer in which Jesus explains his meaning: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

Jesus concentrated his ministry on Israel, for all sorts of reasons. He was sent to show Israel that he was the fulfillment of all Scripture’s promises, the fulfillment of all the prophets, priests, and kings, the fulfillment of the temple. But after he was resurrected, he immediately said to the disciples, “Go to all the nations.” His words, then, are not the insult they appear to be. What he’s saying to the Syrophoenician woman is, “Please understand, there’s an order here. I’m going to Israel first, then the Gentiles (the other nations) later.” However, this mother comes back at him with an astounding reply:

Subscribe now

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.” She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone. (Mark 7:28–30)

In other words, she says, “Yes, Lord, but the puppies eat from that table too, and I’m here for mine.” Jesus has told her a parable in which he has given her a combination of challenge and offer, and she gets it. She responds to the challenge: “Okay, I understand. I am not from Israel, I do not worship the God that the Israelites worship. Therefore, I don’t have a place at the table. I accept that.”

Isn’t this amazing? She doesn’t take offense; she doesn’t stand on her rights. She says, “All right. I may not have a place at the table—but there’s more than enough on that table for everyone in the world, and I need mine now.” She is wrestling with Jesus in the most respectful way and she will not take ‘no’ for an answer. I love what this woman is doing.

In Western cultures we don’t have anything like this kind of assertiveness. We only have assertion of our rights. We do not know how to contend unless we’re standing up for our rights, standing on our dignity and our goodness and saying, “This is what I’m owed.” But this woman is not doing that at all. This is rightless assertiveness, something we know little about. She’s not saying, “Lord, give me what I deserve on the basis of my goodness.” She’s saying, “Give me what I don’t deserve on the basis of your goodness—and I need it now.”1

Keller explains the nuance and unearths the meaning so well.

The context, as always, brings the cryptic into clarity.

For paid subscribers—let’s now explore more deeply what this passage means in the larger story of Scripture and in our own lives as well.

Here are 3 deeper implications and applications:

Read more

Unlike some sins, pride might be the most difficult to identify in our lives.

If you think about it, most sins have rather obvious indicators.

Greed? Look at your statements and balances.
Anger? Listen to your volume and tone.
Anxiety? Check your heart rate and cortisol levels.
Envy? Track how often you compare and covet.

And the list goes on. But pride?

Pride is quieter. More deceptive. It shape-shifts.

And more often than not, it lurks behind the expression of other vices.

But make no mistake, it’s there—in all of us. And the most alarming part? We’re the worst at seeing it within ourselves, while embarrassingly, others are the best at identifying it in us. Pride is like a bad odor: others can smell its pungency, but we’re not privy to it. How does that work?

Perhaps the reason why pride is the most difficult to identify in our lives is because it lies at the very bottom of our hearts—underneath the other sins, vices, and perversions that manifest for all to see. Others can see our anger or greed or envy, they can tend to trace it back to a deeper selfishness: pride. (just ask your spouse…)

So, how do we identify pride in our lives?

The first step is naming it for what it is.
The second is discerning how it shows up.

I’ve heard it said that the meaning of pride is actually embedded in how it’s spelled: with “i” in the middle. At its core, pride is a life oriented around the self. It becomes the frame of reference for everything—what is right/wrong, true/false, good/bad, real/fake—all based on the self’s perspective, desires, and goals.

Pride, then, is an operating system—where life is centered upon, filtered through, and adjusted around the self.

This means pride does not always look like a rainbow flag or a bravado brag. At times, it can take the form of a pious prayer or a religious rite.

So how can we discern—with any level of certainty—the presence of pride?

In his first letter to the early churches, the Apostle Peter offers 5 diagnostics. And fittingly, like the hidden nature of pride, these diagnostics are also not what you might think. Just like a litmus test reveals the true nature of a substance, this passage exposes the underlying elements of pride.

Here’s how Peter lays out the ‘litmus test’…

for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, 7 casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. 8 Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. 9 Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. 10 And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. (1 Peter 5:5-10)

In Peter’s litmus test for pride, 5 diagnostics bring out its discrete presence into clear view—vividly. What are they?

Each diagnostic can actually be found in each of the five verses:

1. Impatience

The first sign of pride does not arise from our ability to succeed—but in our inability to wait.

6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you…

Pride fights with timelines, schedules, interruptions, and expectations. It constantly wrestles them into submitting to its own agenda and goals. Impatience, then, reveals a deeper issue: we do not trust in the timing of God.

Pride declares not only what I think is best, but also when I think is best—and time revolves around the self’s purposes and perspective. And when timing of God conflicts with the timing of self, we snap with irritability and impatience.

Humility, conversely, trusts in God’s timing and purposes—and therefore, is patient for what He deems is best, when He deems is best. Contrary to a pride, a humble posture of heart frames life’s circumstances around God’s loving sovereignty and surrenders its desires to God’s wise timeline.

Subscribe now

2. Fear / Anxiety

A second indicator of pride manifests in fear and anxiety—where we struggle with control.

7 casting all your cares on Him, because He cares for you.

Pride not only resists the timeline of God, but also the control of God.

It insists it knows better than God, does better than God, and cares more than God.

Pride essentially says, “I will not cast my cares on God, because I do not trust God. I’d rather trust myself with my cares and concerns!”

Note Peter’s logic: We do not cast our cares on God… because we do not trust God with our cares… because we do not believe He cares about our cares more than we do. Therefore, we must care for our cares, ourselves.

But therein lies the problem. We do not possess the level of control that our cares and concerns demand. Thus, in seeking to control what we ultimately cannot, we collapse into fear and anxiety.

Humility, however, trusts in the control and care of God. It declares, “God, I trust that you love me—and are powerful enough, wise enough, and loving enough—to manage my circumstances in the way that is best. I can cast my cares, because I know You care.”

Pride does not cast its cares—and tries to control them—which results in anxiety, fear, and restlessness.

Humility casts its cares on God—and releases them to God’s control—which leads to peace, confidence, and rest.

The solution to fear is not confidence in self’s ability to manage life; it’s rest in God’s loving, wise control to do so for you.

Subscribe now

3. Intoxication

The third indicator of pride is not merely a desire for control, but a loss of control altogether.

8 Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

Just as wine inebriates the brain, pride inebriates our life. It slows our thinking, stokes false confidence, and blurs our vision—so that reality is filtered and focused only by the self’s immediate impulses. And as the self fills the frame more and more, the less it can see anything else. When we are high on ourselves, we lose awareness—and then control.

Humility, however, is not intoxicated by the self’s incessant insecurities, needs, or circumstances. Because it receives security, provision, and assurance from God by faith, it is freed from looking elsewhere—and then can take account of everything else and live accordingly.

When the self takes up the whole frame, awareness becomes impossible and destruction becomes inevitable.

But when the self is removed, awareness only then becomes possible, and flourishing becomes promising.

Subscribe now

4. Resentfulness

The fourth element of pride rises to the surface only in the crucible of suffering: resentfulness.

9 Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.

Read more

We often assign images and caricatures to certain vices.

Anger? Furrowed eyebrows.
Lust? A tempting silhouette.
Pride? A warped mirror.
Gluttony? An endless buffet.
Sloth? A couch, a TV, and a bag of chips.

But what about greed? What does greed look like? If you could assign an image or caricature to greed, what would you choose? I’m sure to many, it would look like…

• Endless packages at the front door.

• Luxurious brands and high-end icons.

• Corporate takeovers and expanding empires.

• Obsession with what others have—and how we compare.

• Stockpiling more and more… and still not satisfied.

When most people think of greed, I’m sure these often come to mind.

But greed does not have to look like excess; it usually looks like everyday life… just never enough.

And while those icons touch on something of greed, the Bible actually assigns a different image to greed altogether — one far more nuanced and much more grotesque than we might imagine.

According to Scripture, underneath our…
superfluous spending
compulsive comparing
excessive stockpiling
cold withholding
…is a deeper reality, and therefore, a different picture.

In 1 Timothy 6, the Apostle Paul does not merely explain greed as a nefarious concept; he illustrates it with a startling picture:

6 But godliness with contentment is great gain, 7 for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. 8 But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. 9 But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. 10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs.

Subscribe now

Did you catch the images for greed?
There are three: a snare, a root, and a piercing.

These images might feel unrelated at first, but they’re deeply intertwined—specifically, at the level of our desires. That’s the context. Note Paul talks about “contentment” (v. 6); being “content” (v. 8); “desire” (v. 9); “love (v. 10); and “craving” (v. 10).

This passage about greed is not primarily a picture about money. It is ultimately a picture of the heart — and what the heart does with money.

The heart is the center of one’s desires, contentment, loves, and cravings—and greed happens when the heart looks to money for its fulfillment.

Greed essentially says, “More money will meet your God-given desires for more freedom, security, and satisfaction. So you need more money, not more God.”

In other words, greed seeks to fulfill soul-needs with earthly provision… and that’s exactly where it backfires. And it’s here where these ‘images’ of greed come into focus:

• Greed promises freedom… but actually ensnares you.

• Greed promises security… but actually roots you into all evil.

• Greed promises satisfaction… but actually pierces you with pain.

According to God’s Word, when we seek after more money to meet soul-needs — we engage in a grotesque form of self-sabotage.

The last line is especially vivid: “pierced themselves with many pangs” can be literally translated to, “stabbing oneself.” A shocking, incisive image — and one that also bleeds with irony.

Greed ravages what it promises to relieve. It is the effort to fill ourselves up, yet results in stabbing ourselves through and bleeding ourselves dry.

Greed is not a soother or a savior; it is a sickle and a scythe.

To be sure, the desires for freedom, security, and satisfaction are not unnatural; in fact, they are God-given—a spiritual, built-in signal directing us to God Himself. But greed happens when this God-given desire turns away from more of God and turns towards more of money instead. Meaning…

Greed is not about what we desire.
Greed is ultimately about how we desire.

Greed is not about money, but how our hearts relate to money. Consequently, we can depend on money or God to meet our spiritual desires—but we cannot choose both.

Paul continues by explaining that real fulfillment is not found on a socioeconomic spectrum, but on a generosity spectrum.

17 As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. 18 They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, 19 thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.

The real difference-maker when it comes to greed is not more money or less money, but greater stewardship.

Ironically, in the desire to gain more and more, greed will pierce us, bleed us, and empty us of all we have. But in giving, generosity will fill us up in greater ways.

This picture of greed—as grotesque and bloody as it is—actually gleams with the message of the gospel.

Greed pierces us, bleeds us dry, and empties us of all we have.

The gospel is that God was not greedy with us, but infinitely generous.

In fact, God was pierced for us, bled for us, and emptied himself of all He had—so that in Him, we might become rich (2 Corinthians 8:9).

Therefore, if we want our souls to be ever-filled—and not lacking or leaking—we can do two things:
1) Abide in God’s promises, presence, purposes.
2) Follow His example of lavish generosity.

Just as the way of greed subverts the way of God, the way of God redeems the way of greed.

• Excessive spending, compulsive saving, or self-preservation often feels like fast-track to fulfillment—but it leads to pain and lack.

• Lavish generosity, self-sacrifice, and wise stewardship often feels like the fast track to lack and emptiness—but it leads to great fulfillment.

Greed takes hold of you and pierces you to death. Generosity enables us to finally take hold of “that which is truly life” (v. 19).

The most fulfilled person to ever walk the earth was also the least greedy and most generous: Jesus Christ.

The Bible’s picture for greed is piercing. But its provision for greed is Jesus—who was pierced—and our practice of generosity.

If this post ministered to you, consider becoming a paid subscriber—it’s a meaningful way to support this labor of love, and it gives you access to all content each week.

Subscribe now

Matthew 27 records a scene leading up to the crucifixion that often goes overlooked:

Suspended between the dusty streets of Jerusalem where Jesus is tried and the rocky slopes of Golgotha where He is pierced—a brutal moment unfolds in Pilate’s stone-paved praetorium, where Jesus is mocked.

Once Pilate’s verdict had been made, the Jews’ chants “Crucify him!” settle down—but now the Roman soldiers pipe up.

In the polished and pillared praetorium, they surround Jesus like a pack of hyenas in a cold jagged den—barking, insulting, spitting.

“Hail, King of the Jews!” (v. 29)

Moments before they take Jesus to be crucified, they create a parody coronation… stripping Jesus naked and then donning Him in a crown of thorns, a scarlet sash, and a scepter made of reed.

But what they thought was parody and fun, was actually prophetic fulfillment—unfolding right before their eyes.

How they mocked this King in detail is precisely what God used to exalt this King—in divine fulfillment.

Unknowingly, the three items they used as random mockery are the same three items loaded with messianic meaning.

In other words…
While they loudly mocked Jesus as king,
God quietly made Jesus into the King.

Here’s how:

Subscribe now

The Crown of Thorns

…and twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on his head… (v. 29)

The Roman soldiers mocked, effectively deriding, “We won’t give you a crown of gold and glory, but one of gore and grueling pain instead—this is all you deserve—fraud!”

To the Romans, the thorn was just an object of torture.

But to the Jews, the thorn was a rich symbol—of sin and judgment.

The first time the thorn appears in the Scriptures is right after the Fall of Man, where sin enters the world—and God speaks a word of judgment over humanity and a newly fallen world.

“Cursed is the ground because of you... both thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you…” (Genesis 3:17–18)

Thorns were the first sign of the Fall and primary symbol of God’s judgment—and not just in the Garden of Eden, but across the Old Testament.

God frequently used the image of lush land and grotesque thorns as a metaphor for His own people and the reality of their sin (Isaiah 5:6; 7:23-25; 10:8; 12:13; 24:30-31; Jeremiah 12, Hosea 9-10, and Ezekiel 28 as well).

So here in this cold praetorian, unbeknownst to these soldiers, they take THE Old Testament symbol of judgment… THE ancient sign of the curse… and twist it into a crown… and press it down upon Jesus’ head.

The symbology is piercing—and every drop of Jesus’ blood drips down His meek face with deep irony and rich fulfillment.

This is not just the mockery of Jesus as King.
This is the theology of Jesus as King.

Movingly, He is symbolically taking the curse of sin, the judgment of God, and our guilt and shame—upon His head for us.

This is His crowning glory as King.

The Romans did not see it.
But the Jews should have gasped.

Subscribe now

The Robe of Scarlet

And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him… (v. 28)

Back then, the Roman soldiers were draped in robes of scarlet—symbols of the Empire’s strength and royalty. While purple donned the Emperor himself and his elite class, scarlet became the color of military might.

But to the Jews, scarlet symbolized something far different: this color did not mark the kings and the courts, but the priests and the Temple.

Scarlet represented sin, blood, sacrifice, and atonement.

…though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool” (Isaiah 1:18)

In addition, threads of scarlet were also woven through the two ‘barriers’ between God and man (Exodus 26-28).

1. The priestly garments, as priests mediated between God and man.

2. The Temple Veil that divided the presence of God from man.

So as the Roman guards drape a scarlet robe across Jesus’ naked body… they think they are only mocking Him with shame, but God is cloaking Him in the very color that symbolizes sin, atonement, and salvation.

The Romans did not see it.
But the Jews should have seen it…
Not only Jesus as King…
…but Jesus as their Great High Priest.

The Scepter of Reed

…and [they] put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him, they mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” And they spit on him and took the reed and struck him on the head. (v. 29-30)

In an ancient times, only kings held scepters and they were usually heavy, golden, and gemstone-entrusted—a grand statement piece symbolizing power, royalty, and stability.

Here again, the Romans mock Jesus by putting a ‘pseudo-scepter’ reed into His right hand. Unlike a scepter, it is flimsy, thin, light, and cheap.

To the Roman soldiers, this reed was just a simple stick—a convenient object for mockery.

But to the Jews, a reed was a specific symbol of idolatry, fragility, and instability.

A “broken reed” was a theological metaphor describing something Israel would trust in besides God—and when they would lean upon it, it would break and pierce the hand (Isaiah 36:6).

A “bruised reed” was also used to denote little power, little stability, and little purpose—referring to the spiritually, physically, or morally weak (Isaiah 42:1-4).

So when the soldiers placed a random reed in Jesus’ right hand as a pseudo-scepter, more was happening prophetically than they realized.

They thought they were mocking Jesus by forcing Him to hold on to it. But as Jesus held onto it, He was painting a prophetic picture—recasting Himself over the storyline of Israel, fulfilling its promises, and reigning in power through weakness.

Israel’s hands would be pierced metaphorically by trusting in “broken and bruised reeds” instead of God.

Jesus’ hands would be pierced literally for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities (Isaiah 53:5).

Don’t you see it?

To the soldiers, the crown of thorns, the robe of scarlet, and the scepter of reed was parody. But to God, it was prophecy.

The foolishness and weakness of the world became the wisdom and power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18-25).

If this post ministered to you, I’d love for you to consider becoming a paid subscriber—it’s a meaningful way to support this labor of love, and it gives you access to all content each week.

Subscribe now