Adventist World Podcasts

Make covenants, not resolutions, as you walk into the year, for covenants give us company in keeping what we pledge. A resolution with no witness is too often just a wish, a good intention with nothing but our declining willpower to make the vital difference.  The covenants we really need are bigger than our diets and more urgent than our visits to the gym. We need companions to whom we’ll make the most important promises of all: to tell each other just the truth; to remind each other of how good the gospel is; to continue walking side by side through any guilt or fear the new year brings.         Agree with someone in your life—a spouse, a friend, another sinner saved by grace—with whom you’ll travel in days ahead—by phone, by app, by real steps on real roads. Pledge perseverance, not perfection, for walking with another sinner will reveal how much you both need constant grace.           And when you stumble, as you will, a hand will lift you up, and brush you off, and help you keep on walking.          A

Each year, as New Year’s Day arrives, believers wrestle quietly with one of the Apostle Paul’s most puzzling assertions: “One thing I do, forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal” (Phil 3:13-14).   How—exactly—is it possible to “forget what lies behind”?   The year just lived was full of slights and insults:  they fester unforgettably each time that face or name appears.  The year just past brought wounds—both planned and unintentional. Can willing it remove the evidence of scars?   The year gone by saw failures—ours and others—whose effects cannot be trimmed by noting January 1. Will the famed power of positive thinking erase the pain of choices we or others made? We only can forget what we’ve forgiven—done by us, or done by others. And we only can forgive when we’re forgiven—by a power outside ourselves who cannot lie. God “never changes or casts a shifting shadow” (James 1:17).   “God was in Christ, reconciling the world to Himself, no longer counting

It’s the most frequently portrayed scene in all of human history.   Four-year olds sketch out the wise men, sheep, and cattle.  Sculptors craft three human figures beneath a simple roof, and we fill in the rest. Churches erect elaborate crèches, some with anxious animals, some with freezing actors. Billions of gilded Christmas cards imagine this one moment in its gentle innocence.    Why does the story of a humble birth 2000 years ago transfix a weary world? Because it is supremely a story of hope, of resistance, of pushing back against the dreadful narrative of death and power and pain. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it” (John 1:4-5).  Jesus entered this life we live by the low road, though He owns all roads that ever were. He was worshipped—yes, adored—by midnight shepherds stained with mud—men ignored by all the proud and powerful, though He is rightfully worshipped by archangels,  universal praise, and choirs

Our fascination with the stars is as old as . . . one gorgeous night in Eden. As darkness first descended on God’s rich, untrammeled world, there was no fear, no threat, no shying from the shadows. A dazzling panoply of stars entranced the first two humans ever subject to their brilliance, mystery, and power. We name the stars to tame them—just to counterfeit some ownership over what we never can control. We search for patterns, figures, shapes. We stare as fragments of their shining streak across our sky. But only once in all the history of the world did those the world counts wise pick up, strike tents, and follow what they couldn’t grasp or own. “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw His star as it rose, and we have come to worship Him” (Matt 2:2). What grace is this that leads us on to Jesus? How much like God to hang a symbol in the night that brings us to His Son! “‘I will be found by you,’ says the Lord. ‘I will end your captivity and restore your fortunes’” (Jer 29:14). Grace calls us first to

It’s a tough time to be selling “Peace on Earth.” In the Christmas Shoppe at the megastore, elves and reindeer move briskly out the door. Nativity scenes in warm pastels are inner-lit with bulbs and cheer. Miles and miles of twinkling lights unwind from endless shelves. But who is buying “Peace on Earth?” At first, it seems a quaint anachronism, harking back to simpler times and well-tuned carolers. But now, we fear our neighbors will think us terribly insensitive to be flaunting anything of peace when kids are dying in Kfar Aza, in Gaza, in Kharkiv. How can the gospel still proclaim a peace on earth that is so rarely lived or loved? The night sky circling Bethlehem 2000 years ago did not proclaim the end of wars or banish human savagery. What angels sang—and shepherds hoped, and wise men followed, and a weary couple trusted—was that heaven is fully on our side. There was no war—there is no war—between the heart of God and those He calls His sons and daughters. “For this is how God loved the world: He gave Hi

It’s a story filled with angels, and so a story filled with grace. An angel reveals to an aged priest that his wife will bear a son named John. The angel Gabriel announces to a virgin that she will be the mother of the promised Messiah, whose very name announces our salvation. Her fiancé—like Joseph of old, a man of dreams—is counseled by an angel to welcome the gracious plan devised by heaven to save the world. Another angel declares to startled shepherds that the Messiah has been born in Bethlehem, and the night sky shines like noon as thousands of angels celebrate the grace gifted to us. As the story of Jesus’ birth so richly shows, grace is always reaching out to weary, broken people like us. Carpenters and homemakers, shepherds and preachers—to each of us comes the good news that “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen His glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Every time we fear that we are desperately alone, heaven reminds us, as the poet s

“If you would tell me, tell me true,” a wise old man once said. “There isn’t time enough for lies.” And when we’ve polished all our trophies, and sung again our victory songs, we come at last to stories too painful to be false. Each honest story unwraps our wounds, our hurts—as well as those we’ve given. We grieve the loved ones whom we’ve lost—a spouse; a friend; a much-loved child—though some of them still live and breathe. We mourn the loss of innocence; we’ve soaked up toxic sums of greed. We laugh at violence and war; we cheer for “heroes” who display our poorest human qualities. We feel the sadness for what’s never fixed or mended or repaired. And so it’s not an accident that we know more of Jesus as a healer than any other role. He stepped into the broken story of our world with grace that made the lepers dance and unlocked tongues that never spoke. He gave the parents back lost children; He cast out evil spirits and refashioned sin-sick attitudes. He told us of a Father who kindly waits for us to fini

We are wary for good reasons. We’ve had too much of hurt, of wounds, of promises that didn’t deliver. Nothing “too good to be true” should ever be believed.  But grace presents us with impossibly good things—all backed up by the God who cannot lie and never exaggerates. “As far as the east is from the west, so far He removes our transgressions from us” (Ps 103:12). “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you” (Eze 36:26). Was there ever better news? Can the God we’ve so much offended be the same who offers us a rich, forgiven, guilt-free life when we believe in Jesus? “In Him every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes’” (2 Cor 2:20). Grace is the gift we’ll never earn from Him whose love we’ll never lose. What once we thought impossible is true and free and good—and ours. So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Where does kindness come from? Nothing in the narrative of evolutionary biology can tell us why one human would act with compassion or thoughtfulness toward another. In a world where survival alone is supposed to be the highest goal, nothing disinterested happens. All human behaviors should only produce results for the one doing them. Yet kindness exists. Parents nurture children, and not only to perpetuate their genetic line. Friends do “unnecessary” things for each other—providing emotional support in grief or loss or change. Even sworn enemies surprise us by laying down their weapons to offer comfort to the wounded. The Bible tells us that all good things, including acts of kindness, grow from the kindness that began with God: “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17). God’s enduring kindness toward each of us—for every human being is created in His image—flows from His

How do you find a quiet heart? You won’t find it in a deep evergreen forest, though walking in the fragrant woods may give you time to think. You won’t find it beside a thundering waterfall, though the welcome sound may block the din of autos, trains, and planes. You won’t even find that quiet heart in the sanctuary of a silent church, though everything around you points you to God’s presence. Changing our location doesn’t bring the peace we crave. A quiet heart is the gift we receive through the grace of a loving God. “Since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us” (Rom 5:1). “I have loved you with an everlasting love,” the Father says. “I have drawn you with unfailing kindness” (Jer 31:3). “This is how God loved the world: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Receive the peace you were made for. Believe in the God who has always believed in y

I bless them all—the friends who didn’t back away when I said clumsy, foolish things, or added insult to an injury. I bless the ones who held me in the grip of grace before I had an inkling they were doing anything at all. I call to mind the line of kind, consistent people who forgave before I knew how much I had offended, who didn’t hold my sins against me, or wait to even up the score. I thank the Lord who taught them grace so that when my life was stirred by grace, I had a living, breathing demonstration standing right beside me. Grace has a face—or faces, actually—one, two or ten who make the gospel come to life by holding, healing, loving, serving. They are my church, my backstop, my community. Because of them, I dare to do some gracious act that covers sin or heals pain. They’ve made a choice, and so have I. We stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“I don’t deserve this.” It’s a sentiment uttered—muttered—millions of times a day around the world. Our deep, unyielding sense of justice is aroused each time we aren’t treated fairly by a spouse or colleague, when we get unexpected charges from the tax office, when we think that God or fate has given us more than we can bear. Deep in our souls, we desperately want life to be fair. But it’s also a line heard millions of times each day by men and women marveling at the offer of the gospel. And whether we’re correct or not to sometimes protest our bad treatment or unlucky turns, we’re always accurate to say in the presence of God’s amazing grace, “I don’t deserve this.” “God is so rich in mercy, and He loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, He gave us life when He raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God’s grace that you have been saved!)” (Ephesians 2:4-5). Grace never ceases to amaze—just because it flows from a God of justice who ordained that Jesus would bear the penalty

More than 50 years ago, a wildly popular book and movie gave us a proverb worth forgetting: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Despite its commercial success, the line ignores the undeniable reality that broken human beings are always needing to repair the relationships they care most about—and usually with the words, “I’m sorry.” For love to bloom, it must be watered by apology and forgiveness. And so it is with God. By our foolish, selfish actions, we’ve failed His rightful expectations as our Creator. We’ve hurt His heart of love each time we’ve wounded others with our malice or indifference. But the good news is still good: “If we confess our sins to Him, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness” (1 John 1:9). Our broken relationship with God can be healed by a simple phrase: “I’m sorry, and I need You.” God’s rich embrace is all of grace. Restoration is one short prayer away. And this love story never ends. So say—and stay—in grace. -Bill Knott

So, what’s the most valuable commodity in the world? If you picked silver, gold, or platinum, 10,000 brokers might seek your business.  If you chose palladium or rhodium, you know your precious metals well. But none of these—nor all of them—can light a dream or spark a prayer when fear and pain fill all our night. There’s just one thing that billions want, including all who never own—or see—a precious metal. That thing is hope, and it is found, not in the ground, but in the skies. Hope is the trust that there is yet another truth about our lives—that we are loved and valued and worth holding. Hope rises high above our brokenness to affirm that God is not finished with us yet. Whatever we own, whatever we cherish, we are precious to the God who gave us hope by giving us what is most precious to Him: “For this is the way God loved the world: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Hope is our trust that God is good, that grace is ult

When we tell our peers the stories of our lives, how do we shape the narratives? Do we tell tales of high achievement, dogged persistence, and clever strategy? Are we the heroes of our stories? Or do we speak of the persistent, generous grace of God that launched us with rich opportunities, forgave us when we repeatedly failed, and healed us—time and again—when we felt broken and discouraged? God’s Word describes the inevitable trajectory of the hero-driven, self-directed life: “Sometimes there is a way that seems to be right, but in the end it is the way to death” (Prov 16:25). Jesus offers Himself as the living symbol of the grace that gives our stories deep meaning and lasting value: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). Grace tells a hero story, but it’s not about us. “You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. . . . God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:6,8). T

If there’s one thing that heaven hates, why surely, it must be—adultery? Pride? Hypocrisy? Murder? Greed?  Would you believe “unforgiveness”?   Consistent with the grace He both lived and taught, Jesus saved His hardest words for those who refused to forgive the brokenness of others.  He wept for those swept off their feet by lust or overcome by avarice, and even those who hurt or injure others. But He offered little hope for those who wouldn’t show the mercy shown to them.  In a famous story, Jesus made His values clear: “Then the king called in the man he had forgiven and said, ‘You evil servant! I forgave you that tremendous debt because you pleaded with me. Shouldn’t you have mercy on your fellow servant, just as I had mercy on you?” (Matt 18:32-33). We only forgive others as much as we imagine we need forgiveness.  “If we claim we have no sin, we are only fooling ourselves and not living in the truth. But if we confess our sins to Him, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from

“Lucky you!” we mumble when our rival’s putt drops in the cup from 50 feet away. “Wish I was you,” we grumble when our colleague lands the big promotion and the corner office with a view. “It must be nice,” we mutter when the car we can’t afford is parked across the street each night. But who is actually more fortunate—the one who wins a round of golf or office ladder-climbing—or the person who receives God’s offered gift of happiness forever? Add up the scorecard—tally all the perks—and there’s nothing that comes close in value to the new life we are given as believers. “Since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us to this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand” (Rom 5:1-2). It’s love, not luck, that makes us rich in grace. “To all who believed Him and accepted Him, He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). Receive the gift that’s offered you. And stay

Any faith worth putting at the center of your life must do at least three things. It must accurately describe the dark reality of our brokenness and pain. It must fully tell how we are rescued from our anger, pride and violence. It must show us a future we would want to live in. And so the gospel of Jesus Christ declares, “Once you were dead because of your disobedience and your many sins.” That’s why the Father acted to rescue us from the rebellion we had chosen: “God is so rich in mercy, and He loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, He gave us life when He raised Christ from the dead.” And finally, the Father offers us a future better than we ever imagined—or deserved: “For He raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with Him in the heavenly realms” (Eph 2:1; 2:4-5; 2:6). Jesus says, “I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:3). Grace is God’s kindness fitted to the story of our lives. And this story never ends. So sta

Until we grasp how much we’ve been forgiven, it will always seem unwise and difficult to forgive those who sin against us.  When we forgive another person, we abandon our leverage over them; release the debt they owe us; throw open prison doors. This is a graciousness we can’t summon from within: until we’ve received God’s grace, we have none to give to others. You can’t wring kindness from a stone, or from a stony, unforgiven heart.  But “the grace of God has appeared to all” (Titus 2:11), making possible our own redemption, and then the healing of our friendships, marriages, and communities.  Grace truly received always becomes grace given.  So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“Papa, please tell me a story.”  That’s Cain, or maybe Abel, asked Adam to tell them a story, a story that will make the past more clear so they can face the future with greater certainty, courage, and hope.  It’s a question every Father and Mother has been asked by the “inquiring minds” who sit beside them in the light of a cooling evening.    Each month I imagine that you have just invited me to “tell you a story,” a true tale of The Creator’s love that will help you understand the past and so face the future with more certainty, courage, and hope. I breath deeply for a long minute, and then pour my heart out to you through my computer. www.adventistworld.org