“Those who say they live in God should live their lives as Jesus did.” — 1 John 2:6

To be like Jesus is more than admiring Him from afar—it is a call to imitate Him in thought, word, and deed. It is a journey, not a moment, a lifelong process of transformation that begins with the heart. In a world that often celebrates self-interest, success, and instant gratification, Jesus presents a radically different model: humility, service, and sacrificial love.

The first step toward being like Jesus is understanding His heart. Jesus loved the unlovable, forgave the unforgivable, and saw value where others saw none. He interacted with society’s outcasts, healed the sick, and comforted the brokenhearted. To follow Him is to open our eyes to the needs of those around us and allow compassion to guide our actions. This doesn’t mean we will always have the power to solve every problem, but it does mean choosing empathy over indifference and grace over judgment.

Humility is another mark of Jesus’ life. Philippians 2:5-7 reminds us: “You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges  he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being…” True humility is not self-deprecation but surrendering our ego, our agendas, and our desire for recognition so that God’s will may be done through us. When we serve quietly and selflessly, we reflect Jesus’ humility and make His presence visible in a world that often worships status and fame.

Being like Jesus requires us to stand firm in truth, to live consistently with our faith, and to let God’s principles guide our decisions. It means loving not only when it’s easy but especially when it’s hard. The world may scoff, misunderstand, or resist, but our commitment to Christ gives our lives an enduring purpose beyond fleeting approval.

Finally, being like Jesus is about love in action. John 13:34-35 declares, “So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.” Love is tangible; it is patient, kind, forgiving, and generous. Every act of love, no matter how small, mirrors Christ’s life and draws others toward Him.

To be like Jesus is not to achieve perfection in our own strength. It is to rely on His Spirit to shape us, to conform our hearts to His, and to let our lives become living testimonies of His love. Each day offers opportunities to reflect His humility, His compassion, His integrity, and His sacrificial love. The journey may be challenging, but the reward is a life that radiates the character of Christ and glorifies God.

As we meditate on Jesus’ life, let us ask ourselves: How can I love more like Him today? How can I serve with humility, forgive with grace, and walk in obedience? The path to being like Jesus begins with small, faithful steps taken each day in reliance on His strength.

Discussion Questions:

1. Compassion in Action: Jesus consistently reached out to the marginalized and hurting. How can we identify opportunities in our daily lives to show that same kind of love and compassion?
2. Humility and Service: In what ways does practicing humility and serving others challenge our natural desires for recognition or control? How can we follow Jesus’ example in this area?
3. Living Like Christ Daily: What are practical steps we can take this week to reflect Jesus’ character in our words, decisions, and interactions with others?

“We need silence to hear God; in the noise, we only hear ourselves.” – Anonymous.

In our fast-paced world, silence is often mistaken for inactivity, and stillness is confused with laziness. We measure productivity by the noise we make, the tasks we accomplish, and the agendas we check off. Yet Scripture calls us to a different rhythm—one in which stillness is not the absence of action but the presence of trust.

At first glance, stillness seems passive. How can simply being quiet or waiting accomplish anything? But in reality, stillness is a spiritual posture, an act of surrender that says, “I cannot solve this. I cannot fix everything. I am not God—but You are.”

Trusting God through stillness requires courage. It requires us to resist the urge to fill the silence with chatter, busywork, or distractions. We fear what might surface in those quiet moments—the doubts, the anxieties, the questions about life and faith. Yet it is in this space that God meets us. Elijah, after a whirlwind, an earthquake, and fire, found God not in the dramatic chaos but in a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:11–12). God’s presence is often revealed when we stop straining and start listening.

Stillness also restores perspective. In the stillness of prayer or meditation, we recognize the futility of striving to control outcomes that are not ours to command. It reminds us that our worth is not measured by activity or achievement but by our relationship with God. Even Jesus, who carried the weight of the world’s sin, often withdrew to solitary places to pray (Mark 1:35). His stillness was not avoidance—it was preparation, replenishment, and a conscious act of trust in the Father’s timing.

Practicing stillness is a discipline, not a one-time event. It can begin simply: a few quiet minutes in the morning before the day’s demands take over, a pause to breathe and pray in the middle of a busy schedule, or a deliberate walk without music or conversation, opening your heart to God’s voice. In these moments, we are not passive observers; we are participants in a divine exchange. We surrender our anxious agendas and receive His peace, guidance, and perspective.

Ultimately, stillness is an act of faith. It declares that we believe God is working even when we cannot see it, that He is listening even when we do not hear, and that His timing is perfect even when ours is impatient. It is in the quiet surrender of our hearts that we discover the profound strength of trust, the peace that surpasses understanding, and the power of God’s presence moving in ways we cannot manufacture.

The question is, can we embrace stillness—not as inactivity, but as intentional trust? Can we practice the courage of silence, the discipline of waiting, and the confidence that in letting go, we are letting God?

Discussion Questions:

1. When we practice stillness, what fears or distractions most often keep us from fully trusting God—and why do we resist letting go?
2. How might intentionally choosing silence and waiting on God change the way we speak, act, or respond in our daily lives?

“We too are called to withdraw at certain intervals into deeper silence and aloneness with God, together as a community as well as personally; to be alone with Him — not with our books, thoughts, and memories but completely stripped of everything — to dwell lovingly in His presence, silent, empty, expectant, and motionless. We cannot find God in noise or agitation.”― Mother Teresa, In the Heart of the World: Thoughts, Stories and Prayers

Most of us live in a constant hum of noise. Phones buzz. News cycles spin. Thoughts race. Even our prayers can sound like hurried voicemails—lists of needs, concerns, and updates in a two-minute drill to end a football game before we move on. Silence feels inefficient, even uncomfortable. Yet Scripture repeatedly shows that something powerful happens when God’s people get quiet before Him.

When we grow still, the first thing we notice is how loud we are on the inside. Silence has a way of pulling the curtain back on our anxiety, impatience, and need for control. At first, this can feel discouraging. But it’s actually a gift. In the quiet, God gently shows us what we’ve been carrying—worries we’ve normalized, fears we’ve viewed as “realism,” and distractions we’ve mistaken for busyness. Before God speaks, He often reveals.

Getting quiet with God also reminds us who is actually in charge. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Stillness is not passive; it is an act of trust. It’s saying, I don’t have to fix everything right now. I don’t have to fill the silence. I don’t have to be impressive. In the quiet, our striving slows, and our souls remember that God is sovereign without our assistance.

Quiet with God also deepens intimacy. Relationships grow not only through conversation but through presence. Sitting with someone you trust—without pressure, without performance—builds closeness. The same is true with God. Silence allows us to rest in His nearness rather than measure our faith by our words. We stop trying to sound faithful and simply be with the One who knows us fully.

There is also healing in the quiet. In stillness, God tends to the places we avoid because they hurt or confuse us. Without distractions, grief can surface, questions can breathe, and wounds can be acknowledged. God does not rush this process. He meets us there, not with condemnation, but with patience and mercy. Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is sit quietly and let God love us where we are.

Finally, when we rise from quiet moments with God, we often find clarity. Not always answers—but peace. Direction may come slowly, but confidence grows. We leave silence, less reactive, less driven by fear, and more anchored in God’s presence. The world may still be loud, but something inside us has shifted.

Getting quiet with God won’t solve everything overnight. It is a practice, not a trick. But over time, silence becomes a sacred space where trust grows, hearts soften, and faith deepens. In the quiet, we discover that God has been speaking all along—and that He is enough, even when words fall away.

Discussion Questions:

1. What are the biggest distractions in your life keeping you from deeper intimacy with God, and why do they have such power over your attention?
2. What makes silence with God uncomfortable for you, and what might that discomfort be revealing about where you place your trust or control?
3. Can you recall a time when getting quiet before God brought clarity, peace, or conviction—not through answers, but through His presence? What changed afterward?

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” – Colossians 3:12 (NIV).

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to feel compassion in moments of crisis—when a friend is grieving, a neighbor faces hardship, or a news story tugs at your heart? Those moments spark an immediate emotional response. But what if compassion wasn’t just a reaction to circumstance, but a deliberate way of living? What if it became the lens through which we see the world every day?

The Bible invites us into this kind of life. Colossians 3:12 (NIV) says, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” Notice the word clothe. We aren’t called to compassion as an occasional accessory, to pull out only when convenient. We are called to put it on, wear it, let it shape how we move, speak, and act—every day.

Living compassionately starts small. It begins in the quiet, ordinary moments: pausing to really listen to a co-worker, offering a word of encouragement to a stranger, choosing patience when someone frustrates you. These may seem minor, almost invisible, but they accumulate. Over time, they form habits that define our character. Compassion, in this sense, isn’t a feeling—it’s a choice, a deliberate lifestyle.

Think about Jesus. His compassion wasn’t occasional or selective. He healed the sick, fed the hungry, and sat with the outcasts—not just on holy days, not just when the crowds cheered, but constantly, intentionally. His heart for others wasn’t limited by convenience, popularity, or circumstance. He embodied compassion as a daily practice. If we follow Him, we are invited to do the same.

But living compassionately also means stretching beyond our comfort zones. It challenges our natural tendencies to avoid inconvenience or to prioritize our own agendas. It means showing love to those who may never repay it, listening to those whose views differ from ours, and forgiving those who have hurt us deeply. It’s not always easy—but it’s transformative. Compassion reshapes not just the lives of others but also our own hearts.

One of the most beautiful parts of a lifestyle of compassion is its ripple effect. A single act—a kind word, a patient gesture, a selfless choice—can inspire another person to act similarly. Compassion isn’t contained; it spreads. It reflects the character of God to a hurting world. And in showing compassion, we begin to experience God’s love more deeply ourselves.

Imagine if everyone chose to live this way. A lifestyle of compassion has the power to transform communities, families, workplaces—even the world. It’s not flashy, and it’s not always recognized, but it is deeply, radically effective. Jesus didn’t call us to a life of ease—He called us to a life of love, and love manifests most powerfully through compassion.

So today, let’s choose compassion—not just for the grand moments, but for every ordinary, imperfect, and challenging moment. In doing so, we reflect God’s heart, make a difference in others’ lives, and step more fully into the life Jesus has called us to live.

 Discussion Questions:

1. In what everyday situations do you find it easiest or hardest to show compassion, and why do you think that is?
2. How can we intentionally cultivate a lifestyle of compassion, rather than waiting to feel it only in crisis moments?

“We scroll endlessly, yet sit silently with God only rarely. Maybe our hearts are overdue for the attention our phones get daily.” – anonymous.   

It’s a strange reality of modern life: our phones often seem to know us better than we know ourselves. They remember our birthdays, anticipate our favorite restaurants, predict what shows we’ll binge-watch next, and even suggest what we might be feeling before we fully understand it. But here’s the tension: sometimes, that device seems to know our hearts more intimately than we do. It can track our moods, desires, fears, and habits, yet when it comes to prayer, we fumble for words—or avoid it altogether.

The Bible reminds us in Psalm 139:1-4, “O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord.” God knows us better than our phones do. He knows the worries we haven’t confessed, the hopes we’ve tucked away, the sins we’ve whispered only in the darkness. Unlike an app, He doesn’t just store data; He loves, corrects, and guides.

Our reliance on technology can sometimes reveal a deeper truth: we are afraid of vulnerability, even with God. It’s easier to let an algorithm analyze our moods or recommend a playlist than to admit we’re lonely, anxious, or struggling in prayer. Yet, the same God who knows us fully invites us into honest dialogue with Him. Prayer isn’t a performance, a neatly formatted status update, or a checklist of requests—it’s a conversation with the One who knows every hair on our head.

Consider Matthew 6:6, where Jesus teaches, “But when you pray, go away by yourself, shut the door behind you, and pray to your Father in private. Then your Father, who sees everything, will reward you.” Prayer is personal, intimate, and relational. God doesn’t need an app to know your heart—He already knows. Prayer is less about informing God and more about aligning ourselves with Him. It is a place to let Him shape our desires, calm our fears, and give us clarity in the midst of confusion.

So how do we bridge the gap between a life lived through notifications and a heart open to God? First, recognize the difference between convenience and connection. A phone delivers quick answers; God offers wisdom that transforms. Notifications may bring temporary relief or distraction, but prayer cultivates peace that endures. Second, give God your unfiltered self, even the parts you hide from your own reflection—or from your social media feed. Lastly, use the tools of technology wisely: let your devices remind you to pause, reflect, and pray intentionally, rather than allowing them to dictate your priorities or emotions.

Today, let your phone be a tool, not a replacement for intimacy with God. So, the next time your phone seems to “know you better than you know yourself,” turn that awareness into an invitation. Open your hands, close your eyes, and let prayer be the place where the One who truly knows you meets you, transforms you, and reminds you that you are never alone.

Discussion Questions:

1. In what ways does our reliance on technology—like phones predicting our habits or moods—highlight areas where we may be avoiding honest self-reflection or prayer? How can we use that awareness to deepen our connection with God?
2. Priorities in Prayer: If our phones can “know” our patterns better than we do, how might that challenge us to invest more intentional time in prayer? What practical steps can we take to ensure that God truly knows us—not just our schedules or preferences, but our hearts?

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” – Anonymous.

Have you ever noticed how often our devices act up, only to start working perfectly after we simply unplug them for a moment? A frozen phone, a sluggish computer, a smart TV that refuses to respond—sometimes the simplest solution is to step back, unplug, and wait. And the same principle applies to us.

Life has a way of wearing us down. We carry expectations, deadlines, disappointments, and responsibilities like cords pulling in every direction. Eventually, we freeze, overheat, or short-circuit—mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. We try harder, push longer, scroll faster, or grind away, hoping something will change. But often, the very thing we need is not more effort—but to unplug from the noise, the pressure, the constant ‘doing.’

It’s about permitting ourselves to stop trying to fix everything on our own. Just like we wouldn’t slam our phone against the wall to make it work, we shouldn’t load ourselves with endless to-do lists and self-criticism. Sometimes, the reset we need is a few intentional minutes, hours, or even days away from the chaos.

Imagine this: you’ve been working on a project all day. Your mind is spinning, your body aches, and your patience is threadbare. You reach for another cup of coffee, another checklist, another “just one more thing.” But your heart whispers, “Unplug. Rest. Breathe.” So you do. You step outside, stretch, breathe deeply, or sit in quiet prayer. You don’t solve the problem right away; slowly, your thoughts become clearer, your emotions softer, and your perspective wider. Just like a rebooted device, you start functioning better—not because you forced it, but because you allowed space for God to work.

Even Jesus modeled this. Mark 6:31 tells us that after a busy season of teaching and healing, He said to His disciples, “Let’s go off by ourselves to a quiet place and rest awhile.” If Jesus needed to unplug, how much more do we? Rest is not laziness. Silence is not failure. Pausing is not weakness. It’s an invitation to receive life back from the One who sustains it.

So, how do we “unplug” in our own lives? Start small. Turn off your phone for a few minutes. Close your laptop. Sit outside and notice the sky. Pray without an agenda. Take a walk without thinking about your to-do list. Allow yourself to breathe, to pause, and to simply be still.

Think of it like cleaning out a cluttered closet. If it’s packed to the brim, you can’t find what you’re looking for. But once you take the time to sort through, toss the unnecessary, and create room, suddenly everything you need is visible and accessible. Prayer and Scripture work the same way.

Remember, almost everything works better after a reset. Your body, your mind, your spirit—they are no different. When we unplug, we’re reminded that our value isn’t in constant productivity, our worth isn’t in endless output, and our strength doesn’t come solely from our own efforts. It comes from God, who renews us when we step back, recharge, and rest in His presence.

Discussion Questions:

1. What are the biggest distractions in your life that keep you from fully engaging in prayer or Scripture, and what practical steps can you take to create space for God?
2. How does intentionally slowing down and focusing on a single verse or passage change the way you hear God’s voice compared to reading quickly or multitasking?

“For those with eyes to see, Christ’s return is so imminent that it potently declutters our lives of everything that is superficial and renders all of our vain distractions irrelevant. To put it another way, our battle against the encumbering distractions of this world—especially the unnecessary distractions of our phones—is a heart war we can wage only if our affections are locked firmly on the glory of Christ.” – Tony Reinke’s, 12 Ways Your Phone Is Changing You.

Let’s be honest: life today is loud. Phones are constantly buzzing, emails pile up, social media never sleeps, and the news feels like it’s on fast-forward. We live in a world where connection is instant—but so is distraction. It’s easy to feel like we’re always behind, always reacting, always trying to keep up. And in the middle of it all, the quiet, gentle voice of God can be difficult to hear.

The Bible reminds us that God doesn’t always speak through big, dramatic things. In 1 Kings 19:11-12, Elijah waited for God in the midst of chaos. He experienced powerful winds, earthquakes, and fire—but God wasn’t in any of them. Instead, He came in a gentle whisper. That whisper can get lost in our world of constant notifications and digital noise, but it’s still there. And it’s still powerful.

Digital noise comes in many forms. There’s the pressure to keep up with everyone’s posts on social media, the constant stream of emails that demand immediate attention, or the endless scroll of articles, videos, and updates that never seem to end. Even when we’re trying to do good things, like stay informed or connected, our attention gets scattered, and our hearts get fatigued. We can get so caught up in the hum of the digital world that we forget to pause, reflect, and actually listen for God.

So, how do we hear Him in the midst of it all? First, we need intentional pauses. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Being still doesn’t require perfect silence or total isolation—it just means giving ourselves space to step back, breathe, and focus. It could be a short prayer before you check your email, a quiet walk without your phone, or a few minutes of reading Scripture instead of scrolling through your feed. These small choices create openings for God to speak.

Remember that finding God in a connected world isn’t about abandoning technology. It’s about reclaiming it as a tool rather than letting it control us. Silence the pings, close the tabs, and be intentional with your attention. Invite God into the scattered, busy moments—your commute, your chores, your coffee breaks. Even a short whisper of prayer can transform a chaotic day into a moment of connection with Him.

When we quiet the noise, we discover something remarkable: God’s presence doesn’t depend on signal strength, Wi-Fi, or screen time. His voice is always there, waiting for us to pause and listen. And the more we practice stepping back, the more clearly we’ll hear it cutting through the digital chatter.

So today, take a small step. Put your phone down for a few minutes, breathe deeply, and ask God to meet you in the stillness. Invite Him into your day, into your thoughts, and into the spaces where noise has taken over. In doing so, you’ll find that even in a world full of pings and notifications, His whisper is louder than ever—and it’s enough.

Discussion Questions:

1. In a world full of digital noise, what practical steps can you take this week to create intentional space to hear God’s voice?
2. How does filtering what we consume—social media, news, and online content—help us focus on what is true, noble, and admirable, as Philippians 4:8 suggests?

“But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.” – Luke 10:40-42.

Distraction has become one of the most subtle threats to a healthy spiritual life. It rarely appears as rebellion or outright disobedience. Instead, it arrives disguised as responsibility, opportunity, or harmless entertainment. Our days fill quickly with notifications, obligations, conversations, and concerns. None of these is inherently wrong, yet together they can crowd out the quiet space where God most often speaks.

Scripture repeatedly calls God’s people to attention. “Be still, and know that I am God” is not simply an invitation to rest but a command to refocus. Stillness is difficult in a culture that rewards speed, productivity, and constant connectivity. When life is loud, we learn to skim rather than dwell, to multitask rather than meditate. Over time, prayer becomes brief and functional. Distraction does not remove God from our lives, but it can move Him to the margins.

Jesus’ life offers a striking contrast. Surrounded by crowds, demands, and urgent needs, He repeatedly withdrew to quiet places to pray. If anyone could have justified constant activity, it was Jesus. Yet He modeled a rhythm of engagement and withdrawal, action and solitude. His effectiveness flowed from His intimacy with the Father. Jesus shows us that attentiveness to God is not a luxury but a necessity.

One of the most dangerous aspects of distraction is that it often involves good things. Work, family, service, news, and even church activities can become substitutes for time with God rather than expressions of it. We may confuse movement with growth, busyness with faithfulness. Like Martha in the Gospel story, we can be “worried and distracted by many things,” while missing the “one thing” that Jesus says is necessary. Distraction shifts our focus from relationship to performance.

The consequences of sustained distraction are subtle but serious. Over time, distraction erodes our capacity to listen, and without listening, intimacy with God fades.

God is not asking for more time so much as for more attention. Small, intentional practices can reclaim space for God: beginning the day in prayer before reaching for a phone, lingering over a short passage of Scripture, practicing moments of silence, or regularly examining what competes for our devotion. These choices may feel insignificant, but they slowly retrain our hearts.

God is not lost in the noise; He is waiting for us to listen. As we quiet our lives, even briefly, we find that God has been present all along, inviting us back to attentiveness, depth, and renewed intimacy.

Discussion Questions:

1. What are the biggest distractions in your life keeping you from deeper intimacy with God, and why do they have such power over your attention?
2. How can you intentionally create space to hear God’s voice amid the busyness and noise of daily life?

“I used to think my spiritual gifts were deep and impressive. Then I stacked chairs for ten minutes and realized humility, service, and sore shoulders might be my true calling. Turns out God does a lot of discipleship after the service ends.” — Northstar Nate, regular attender at Northstar.

The Apostle Paul tells us there are many gifts but one Spirit. What Paul does not tell us is that some gifts come with microphones, while others come with folding chairs and a vague sense of lower-back soreness.

If spiritual gifts were ranked by visibility, preaching would be near the top. Preachers stand under lights, speak for extended periods, and are thanked afterward—even when it is hard to recite the main points. Small group leaders juggle prayer, discussion, and snacks while keeping the conversation alive. Their visibility is subtle, but their impact is loud, lasting, and often underappreciated—spiritually essential work. Kids leaders survive sticky hands, glitter explosions, and endless “why” questions. Highly visible, occasionally chaotic, and always exhausting—but shaping future disciples, one crayon at a time. Worship leaders inspire hearts, hit high notes, endure tech glitches, and enjoy musical reinforcement, emotional crescendos, and the rare but meaningful compliment: “That song really moved me today.” God’s playlist in action.

Then there are the less visible gifts. Hospitality. Service. Helps. Administration. These operate quietly, faithfully, and almost entirely unnoticed—until they’re missing. Nobody writes a thank-you card that says, “Your flawless management of Connection Cards glorified God today,” but Connection Cards are small pieces of paper capturing big intentions. They turn curiosity into community, names into relationships, and “first-time visitors” into family, and are God’s networking tool in disguise.

This brings us to me and the undisputed champion of invisible ministry: stacking chairs.

Chair stackers rarely appear in spiritual gift inventories, yet we might be the backbone of church life. Our work begins when everyone else thinks church is over. While the regular attenders are discussing the sermon or heading to lunch, we chair stackers are engaged in a sacred liturgy of metal, plastic, and geometry. We do our work without affirmation. No one gathers afterward to say, “Did you feel the anointing during that final stack?”

Jesus, of course, had strong words about visibility. “Do not practice your righteousness before others to be seen by them.” Which is comforting, because chair stacking practically guarantees you won’t be seen.

Paul reminds us that the body has many parts, and not all can be eyes or mouths. Some parts are elbows—essential, unnoticed, and only missed when they stop working. We assume the gifts that draw attention must matter more. But Scripture flips that assumption upside down. The most visible gifts inspire us. The least visible gifts sustain us. Preaching may ignite faith, but someone unlocked the building. Worship may lift hearts, but someone brewed the coffee. Teaching may shape minds, but someone checked in the kids, fixed the microphone, refilled the toilet paper, and yes—stacked the chairs.

Chair stacking teaches us something profound about discipleship. It reminds us that faithfulness is not measured by applause but by obedience. That serving God often means doing what needs doing, even when no one is watching—or tweeting about it.

And if you’re ever unsure where your spiritual gifts fit, grab a chair. If you’re willing to stack it, God is already at work in you.

Discussion Questions:

1. Why do we tend to value visible spiritual gifts more than unseen ones, and how might that reveal what we really believe about success and significance in God’s Kingdom?
2. What are the “stacking chairs” roles in our church or daily lives, and how can we intentionally embrace them as genuine acts of discipleship rather than background tasks?

“Are you a cynic? Let’s take a moment for a little self-examination. Do you have difficulty seeing people and situations from a positive perspective? Are you quick to point out problems in a situation, but rarely, if ever, offer solutions? Do you give suggestions without ever offering to help?” – Randy Smith, overcoming cynicism.

Have you ever caught yourself thinking, “I’m not going to get my hopes up” or “People never really follow through anyway”? Most of us have. At first, it feels smart, like we’re protecting ourselves from disappointment. But the truth is, cynicism is sneaky. It doesn’t just guard us—it slowly steals our joy, hardens our hearts, and even dims our faith.

When we get cynical, it’s easy to stop fully trusting God. We start thinking, “I’ve done my part, and nothing ever changes,” or “God isn’t really going to show up this time.” I’ve been there. And it’s exhausting. Proverbs 3:5-6 reminds us to trust God with all our hearts, not leaning on what we think we know. Cynicism tempts us to rely on ourselves, but we’ve proven over and over again that it is not a smart strategy.

It also changes how we see people. When we let cynicism creep in, we catch ourselves judging more, forgiving less, and keeping our distance from people who might challenge or even bless us. Relationships feel flat, conversations feel shallow, and even the church community can start to feel like just another obligation. Hebrews 10:24-25 encourages us to spur one another on, to encourage each other in love. But cynicism builds invisible walls that block that encouragement, leaving us isolated, even when we’re surrounded by people.

Cynicism doesn’t just affect us outwardly—it affects how we see God’s work in our everyday lives. We can overlook small blessings, miss little miracles, and assume the worst instead of looking for the good. James 1:17 reminds us that every good gift comes from above. When cynicism takes root, it can blind us to God’s grace.

Even prayer suffers. If we start thinking, “Why bother praying? God probably won’t answer,” we stop reaching out to Him, and our spiritual connection weakens. Luke 18:1 tells us to pray persistently, showing that God honors hearts that refuse to give up. Cynicism quietly steals that persistence and replaces it with doubt.

The good news? God is patient, and He meets us right where we are. When we notice cynicism creeping in, we can choose hope instead. We can practice gratitude, look for God’s perspective, and remind ourselves of His faithfulness. Romans 12:2 calls us to be transformed by renewing our minds. That transformation is possible for any heart willing to let go of suspicion and trust God again.

Cynicism might feel safe, but it comes at a cost—our peace, our joy, and our faith. Choosing trust over cynicism isn’t naïve; it’s brave. And when we do, we open ourselves up to God’s work in our lives, to His love in others, and to the joy He wants for us every single day.

 Discussion Questions:

1. In what ways might cynicism be protecting us, and how does it simultaneously limit our spiritual growth or trust in God?
2. How can we practically choose hope and trust over cynicism in our daily lives, especially when faced with disappointment or the failings of others?