DEVOTION: John 1:5 "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
THOUGHT:The other night, the fire danced. It wasn’t roaring or fierce, just steady—crackling gently, casting warm hues on the faces gathered around. There were even moments when it would “POP” and send a message, I am still here. The darkness of evening settled in, but it never felt overwhelming. Why? Because the fire remained. And the light... was enough.
I love sitting out in the cool air near a fire. There’s something sacred about firelight. It doesn’t chase away all the shadows. It doesn’t turn night into day. But it offers presence. Warmth. Peace. And in that moment by the fire, we weren’t trying to fix anything. We weren’t seeking answers. We were simply being. Resting. Trusting the light to do what light does.
How often do we think we need more? More answers. More clarity. More control. But maybe, this Sunday morning, we just need to remember that the light we already have—the light of Christ—is enough. It doesn’t eliminate every uncertainty, it doesn’t take away hatred, or racism hidden under the cover of something else, but it leads us through. It warms the soul. It invites us to gather close.
You may be carrying worry today. Or disappointments. Or perhaps your heart is filled with gratitude and stillness. Either way, pause for a moment. Imagine that fire. Hear its rhythm. See its glow. Know this truth: You are not alone in night. His presence burns steadily, and the light has not gone out.
PRAYER:
Almighty and Holy God, we gather in the stillness of this new day, thankful for the gift of life, the breath in our lungs, and the hope that rises with the dawn. Your mercies are new every morning, and Your faithfulness never fails. Yet, Lord, our hearts are heavy for the brokenness around us. We grieve the unnecessary violence that scars our communities and our nation. Lives cut short, dreams undone, families left with aching hearts—these wounds cry out for Your comfort and peace. We lift to You all who have been touched by such loss. Wrap them in Your compassion, give them strength to endure, and heal their shattered spirits with Your tender presence.
We lift before You our nation, its leaders, and all those who bear responsibility for justice and peace. Grant them wisdom, humility, and compassion to serve faithfully. We pray for those in our community who are hurting—those who are sick, grieving, lonely, or searching for meaning. Surround them with Your healing presence and remind them that they are never alone. Guide this church family to be salt and light in a hurting world—witnesses of Your love where despair seems strongest.
Bless this church family, O Lord. Knit us together in love, strengthen us in our discipleship, and send us into the world as carriers of Your light. May our worship today not end in an hour but flow into every act of kindness, every word of truth, and every step of faith we take in the week ahead. Lord, may Your teachings be at the forefront of every action and conversation. Strengthen bonds of love, restore what is broken, and plant seeds of reconciliation. Keep safe those who travel, uphold the weary, and pour joy into the hearts of the discouraged.
We entrust all things into Your hands, knowing You are able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine. Lord, make us instruments of Your peace. Let today’s worship flow into our words and deeds, so that through us, Your kingdom of love may be known. In the name of Jesus Christ, our risen Lord and Savior, we pray. Amen.
The other night, the fire danced. It wasn’t roaring or fierce, just steady—crackling gently, casting warm hues on the faces gathered around. There were even moments when it would “POP” and send a message, I am still here. The darkness of evening settled in, but it never felt overwhelming. Why? Because the fire remained. And the light... was enough.
I love sitting out in the cool air near a fire. There’s something sacred about firelight. It doesn’t chase away all the shadows. It doesn’t turn night into day. But it offers presence. Warmth. Peace. And in that moment by the fire, we weren’t trying to fix anything. We weren’t seeking answers. We were simply being. Resting. Trusting the light to do what light does.
How often do we think we need more? More answers. More clarity. More control. But maybe, this Sunday morning, we just need to remember that the light we already have—the light of Christ—is enough. It doesn’t eliminate every uncertainty, it doesn’t take away hatred, or racism hidden under the cover of something else, but it leads us through. It warms the soul. It invites us to gather close.
You may be carrying worry today. Or disappointments. Or perhaps your heart is filled with gratitude and stillness. Either way, pause for a moment. Imagine that fire. Hear its rhythm. See its glow. Know this truth: You are not alone in night. His presence burns steadily, and the light has not gone out.
PRAYER:
Almighty and Holy God, we gather in the stillness of this new day, thankful for the gift of life, the breath in our lungs, and the hope that rises with the dawn. Your mercies are new every morning, and Your faithfulness never fails. Yet, Lord, our hearts are heavy for the brokenness around us. We grieve the unnecessary violence that scars our communities and our nation. Lives cut short, dreams undone, families left with aching hearts—these wounds cry out for Your comfort and peace. We lift to You all who have been touched by such loss. Wrap them in Your compassion, give them strength to endure, and heal their shattered spirits with Your tender presence.
We lift before You our nation, its leaders, and all those who bear responsibility for justice and peace. Grant them wisdom, humility, and compassion to serve faithfully. We pray for those in our community who are hurting—those who are sick, grieving, lonely, or searching for meaning. Surround them with Your healing presence and remind them that they are never alone. Guide this church family to be salt and light in a hurting world—witnesses of Your love where despair seems strongest.
Bless this church family, O Lord. Knit us together in love, strengthen us in our discipleship, and send us into the world as carriers of Your light. May our worship today not end in an hour but flow into every act of kindness, every word of truth, and every step of faith we take in the week ahead. Lord, may Your teachings be at the forefront of every action and conversation. Strengthen bonds of love, restore what is broken, and plant seeds of reconciliation. Keep safe those who travel, uphold the weary, and pour joy into the hearts of the discouraged.
We entrust all things into Your hands, knowing You are able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine. Lord, make us instruments of Your peace. Let today’s worship flow into our words and deeds, so that through us, Your kingdom of love may be known. In the name of Jesus Christ, our risen Lord and Savior, we pray. Amen.