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We think, “If only I had enough money, my life would change forever,” yet even a life-altering jackpot can’t easily eliminate the old self. Romans 6:10 tells us the death Christ died, He died to sin once for all, but the life He lives, He lives to God.
We long for fresh starts, yet even after coming to Christ we can feel the pull to return to the same old sins and familiar ways. Romans 6:6–9 says our old self was crucified with Christ and that death no longer rules him—so what does that new standing mean for believers still facing temptation, failure, and the daily work of living for him?
We know we’re going to die—it’s as inevitable as buttered toast landing face-down—but Romans 6:5 asks whether that death has to mean the same thing it did before Christ.
A voyage to the moon can feel finished once splashdown comes and the pictures stop, yet those who flew it insist it is only the start. Romans 6 challenges us to see the same of Easter: we’re not at the end of our old debt, but the beginning of our new life in Jesus.
We are good at recognizing what is wrong—and remarkably bad at fixing it. Isaiah 1 warns that the strong become tinder and their work a spark, exposing every human effort we trust to make life secure and lasting. What hope does Easter offer when the things we build, the solutions we devise, and even our own strength end in ash?
We love to DIY it, and those efforts can look impressive on the surface—but surface polish gives false confidence. Isaiah 1:30 warns that a life cut off from God withers like an oak without water. The question is whether we are still building kingdoms that burn, or rooting ourselves in the One who lasts.
Whatever looks triumphant—the people and things we hold out as the absolute measure of concrete, dependable success—still meets death that tramples it. Isaiah warns that rebels and sinners will together be shattered, and those who forsake the Lord will perish. What then are we going to hold onto?
How does a people God has blessed so richly turn their backs on him? Isaiah 1 opens with God’s lament over Jerusalem—once full of justice, now a harlot filled with murderers—and brings the question home for Lent: when he looks at you, does he lament?
When we want vengeance, we want to get back—but Isaiah 1:24–25 shows a God who wants to get back to good, and that difference is harder to hold onto than it sounds when the anger is righteous and the wrong is real.
How can those who have known God’s rescue still chase worldly compromise that looks so much like success? That is the exasperated cry of Isaiah 1:21 as the faithful city becomes a harlot—once full of justice, now only murderers, its silver turned to dross.