In “Christmas in Revelation,” Jay Mijares reminds us that Christmas is not only an earthly moment in Bethlehem, but a cosmic event that reverberates through heaven itself. Revelation 12 pulls back the curtain to show that the birth of Christ takes place in the middle of a spiritual war—one that stretches from Genesis to the end of time. What looks quiet and humble on earth is, in reality, a decisive moment in God’s plan to defeat evil and secure redemption for His people. The vision reveals Israel bringing forth the promised Messiah while Satan, pictured as a fierce dragon, stands ready to destroy Him. Yet the dragon fails. Christ is born, accomplishes His mission, ascends to the throne, and rules with unbreakable authority. Satan cannot stop the cross, cannot stop the resurrection, and cannot stop Christ’s reign. Though the enemy continues to deceive and accuse, his power has been decisively broken by the blood of the Lamb, and his time is now limited. Heaven rejoices because salvation is secure and the accuser’s claims against God’s people no longer stand. The message then turns personal and urgent. Followers of Christ live in the wilderness of a hostile world, but God provides nourishment and protection through His Word and through fellowship with His people. Satan still seeks to distract, discourage, and silence believers, especially by weakening their testimony. Yet Scripture reminds us that victory comes not through strength or fearlessness, but through trusting Christ’s finished work and boldly living out the truth. Christmas in Revelation calls us to see beyond the manger—to recognize the battle, cling to the victory already won, and live as faithful witnesses until the final triumph is fully revealed.

In “Mary’s Christmas Fiat,” Jay Mijares takes us into Luke 1:34–38 to see “Christmas in the present”—not as a sentimental scene, but as a moment when God interrupts an ordinary life with an impossible calling. In Nazareth—a town with little reputation—Mary hears Gabriel announce a virgin conception, and she responds with a question that isn’t doubt, but a desire to understand: “How will this be?” The lesson emphasizes that believers are allowed—even invited—to ask believing questions that draw us deeper into the mystery of God’s incarnation and the love that led from the manger to the cross. As the angel explains, the miracle rests entirely on God’s power: the Holy Spirit will “overshadow” Mary, and the child will be holy—the Son of God. We are reminded that the virgin birth is not optional or symbolic; it is foundational to the gospel, because it testifies that Jesus is fully God and fully man. The same God who formed life in Mary’s womb is the God who brings new life in us, and the same Spirit who hovered over creation is the Spirit who creates and sustains new creation in Christ. God even strengthens Mary with a sign—Elizabeth’s pregnancy—declaring that nothing is impossible with Him. Yet the lesson doesn’t romanticize the moment: Mary’s “yes” comes with real cost, risk, misunderstanding, and potential shame. Faith isn’t portrayed as easy; it’s portrayed as obedient. Then comes Mary’s response—her “fiat”: “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” We see surrender without bargaining, submission without delay, and a humility that places God’s will above personal plans. From there, the message turns our hearts toward the cross: Christmas is true because Calvary is necessary—God’s justice is real, sin brings death, and only a Savior born by God’s initiative can bear the penalty we could never pay. Finally, we are challenged with two searching questions: do we believe the truth of Christmas, and what is our own “fiat”? Whether God calls us to stay or go, to serve quietly or step into something costly, the invitation is to respond with Mary’s posture—humble, dependent, and willing—so that the true meaning of Christmas shines brighter than the lights, the busyness, and the noise.

In “Christian Growth After Baptism,” John Mulligan reminds us that baptism is a true beginning point—like arriving at an airport that brings you to a new destination. God cleanses the past, but He doesn’t leave us there; the call is to go forward. New Christians need clarity on what “forward” looks like, and longtime Christians need the same reminder because we’re not coasting to Zion—we’re still marching. Scripture gives direction for that journey, addressing not only what we do, but why we do it: our motives, attitudes, priorities, and affections. We are always under construction, and God’s work in us is both necessary and good. The central emphasis is character. Jesus begins the Sermon on the Mount with the Beatitudes (Matthew 5), placing the weight of discipleship on the inside—developing the kind of heart God has always desired for His people. These are qualities that shape how we respond (humility, mourning, meekness), how we act (hungering for righteousness, showing mercy), and how we influence (pure in heart, peacemakers, enduring persecution, living as salt and light). This isn’t instant holiness after baptism, but lifelong refinement—choosing a better response when we’re provoked, pursuing righteousness over being “right,” and seeking peace instead of fueling conflict. The world is repelled by hypocrisy, but it is drawn to consistent, humble people who admit failure, get back up, and live for God’s glory. Colossians 3 then presses the urgency of that pursuit: since we’ve been raised with Christ, we set our hearts and minds on things above, where Christ reigns. Our affections shift, our thinking is redirected, and we become increasingly uncomfortable with the old life we left behind. We remember where our life is headed—hidden with Christ now, and destined to appear with Him in glory—so we refuse to live for temporary “trivial pursuits.” Christian growth means blasting away what belongs to the old nature and building what reflects our Creator. The takeaway is simple but demanding: don’t settle for “just who you are.” Jesus accepts us as we are, but He will not leave us there. The work begins in the everyday places—on the road, at home, with coworkers, with neighbors—where real character is formed as we continually choose the things above.

In “Handling Sin After Baptism,” John Mulligan addresses a question many believers quietly carry but rarely voice: what do we do when we still sin after we’ve been baptized? Baptism moves us from darkness to light, but it does not remove temptation or the reality of our weakness. Instead of treating every failure as a reason to doubt our conversion or start over in the water, this lesson walks through Jesus’ teachings and the apostle John’s words in 1 John 1 to show God’s own prescription for dealing with sin on the other side of baptism: repentance, confession, and seeking forgiveness in faith. We learn that repentance is not a one-time promise but an ongoing decision to turn from old patterns and live under the rule of the King. We no longer make peace with sinful attitudes, habits, or excuses, even if they still tug at us. Jesus taught us to pray, “Your kingdom come, your will be done,” and to regularly ask, “Forgive us our debts,” which assumes we will still need forgiveness as we walk with God. In 1 John 1, we are warned not to pretend we are “above” sin, nor to return to walking in darkness as a lifestyle. Instead, we walk in the light—seeking God’s will, bringing our failures into His presence—and as we do, the blood of Jesus continually purifies us from all sin. Our part is honest confession; God’s part is faithful cleansing. This truth reshapes how we respond when we fall. Rather than hiding, minimizing, or drowning in shame, we come quickly and humbly to God with what He already knows. We acknowledge our sin, trust our Advocate, and believe that He really does forgive and restore us. We don’t use grace as a license to keep sinning, but as the reason we keep coming back to the light instead of giving up. When we fail, we don’t need a new baptism—we need renewed honesty and renewed trust. This is how we stay where God placed us on the day we were baptized: walking in the light, confident in Christ’s atoning sacrifice, and learning to live each day in the freedom of forgiven people who refuse to let sin, guilt, or Satan have the last word.

In “Life After Baptism,” John Mulligan reminds us that baptism is not the finish line but the birthplace of a new life with God. Just as a baby doesn’t stay in the hospital but goes home to grow, baptism is where our old self is buried and a new person is raised to walk in newness of life. From Matthew 28:18–20, he highlights that Jesus, who now holds all authority in heaven and on earth, commands His followers not only to be baptized but to live as disciples—ongoing learners and followers who are taught to obey everything He has commanded, with the promise that He is with us always, to the very end of the age. From there, we are invited to see what this “life after baptism” looks like in Romans 12:1–8. We are urged, in view of God’s mercy, to offer our bodies as living sacrifices—setting our whole selves apart to please God rather than chasing our old desires or the expectations of others. We no longer conform to the patterns of this world but are transformed by the renewing of our minds, constantly asking, “What is God’s will here?” in our relationships, choices, and responses. Humility becomes essential: we remember we are rescued sinners, not superior saints, and we think of ourselves with sober judgment even as we grow. This new life also means stepping into our place in the body of Christ. We recognize that we belong to one another, and that God has given each of us gifts to use—whether serving, teaching, encouraging, giving, leading, or showing mercy. Instead of drifting back into the old life or simply “avoiding sin,” we actively pour ourselves into what blesses others and honors God. We keep being transformed, not just in our early days as Christians but through every season, trusting that as we seek God’s will, refuse to conform to the world, and use our gifts faithfully, He will walk with us, shape us, and richly bless our journey from baptism all the way home.

In “Christmas in Genesis,” Jay Mijares takes us back to Genesis 3 to show that the story of Christmas doesn’t begin in Bethlehem, but in the Garden of Eden. After Adam and Eve’s sin, God pronounces judgment on the serpent and declares enmity between the serpent and the woman, between his offspring and hers. In that curse is also a promise: a single “seed” of the woman will one day crush the serpent’s head, even as His own heel is bruised. This first hint of the gospel—the protoevangelium—points forward to the child promised in Scripture, the Savior whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. As we walk through the passage, we see that God Himself establishes a lifelong war between Satan and humanity, and we are not meant to be at peace with evil. We learn what it looks like to belong to the serpent’s line—loving self, excusing sin, denying God’s authority, twisting His word—and what it looks like instead to belong to the woman’s seed: fighting our own sin, caring for others (even enemies), and remaining at odds with Satan’s schemes. We hear how God even turns Satan’s plan on its head, limiting his influence and preserving a line through which the promised Seed will come. That Seed is Christ—the one who resisted temptation, cast out demons, died for our sins, rose again, and will one day finally and publicly crush Satan forever. In the meantime, Satan still “bruises heels,” sifting and shaking us, but always under God’s sovereign hand. This message invites us to examine where we are at enmity today: with Satan’s evil, or with God and our neighbor. We ask whether we recognize Satan’s work in a world that normalizes sin and mocks holiness, and whether we also see the grace woven into God’s judgments. We were once God’s enemies, yet in Christ we now have peace with Him. When storms rise and we feel like a small boat in a violent bay, we “put on” Christ like a life preserver and cling to God’s promises—including that He will soon crush Satan under our feet. Christmas, seen through Genesis, assures us that from the very beginning God planned a Savior, and that in Jesus there is enduring grace, peace, and hope for all who repent and believe.

In “A Validation of Faith,” Jay Mijares walks us through Matthew 8:5–13, where Jesus meets a Roman centurion in Capernaum whose servant lies paralyzed and in terrible pain. Though a Gentile officer and an unlikely hero in the eyes of the Jews, this centurion comes in humility, calling Jesus “Lord” and believing that a simple word from Him is enough to heal. Jesus not only grants the request but marvels at this man’s faith, using the moment to reveal that the kingdom of heaven will welcome people from every nation who trust Him, while those who rely only on heritage or status face the outer darkness of judgment. As we sit with this story, we see a portrait of faith that goes beyond titles, background, or religious familiarity. We meet a man who loves a lowly slave enough to intercede, who understands real authority, and who recognizes that Jesus speaks and acts with the very authority of God. We are reminded that entrance into God’s kingdom is not secured by family line, religious tradition, or good works, but by genuine trust in Christ. The instant healing of the servant—at a distance, by a word—validates the centurion’s confidence that Jesus is sovereign over space, sickness, and circumstance. This passage presses us to examine our own hearts. Do we love others enough to intercede for them in desperate prayer, even our enemies? Do we truly submit to Jesus’ authority over every part of our lives, not just nature and disease, but our choices, desires, and sins? And do we believe that His word still speaks with power today—so much so that we open Scripture daily, hearing God as we read and even aloud? Like the centurion, we are invited to lay aside every claim to status, come in humility, trust that Christ crosses every barrier to save, and hold fast to His promise to reward those who earnestly seek Him with eternal life in His presence.

In this week’s lesson, John Mulligan continued teaching on the meaning of baptism in “Baptism and New Birth – Part 3.” John explained that baptism is not about what we accomplish, but what God accomplishes in us. It is the place where He performs His transforming work—washing away sin, granting forgiveness, and raising us to new life. Just as in earlier lessons, John emphasized that baptism is where God acts in power and mercy, and where we submit in faith to His will. In baptism, we go to die—to bury the old self that once ruled our hearts through sin. As Paul wrote in Romans 6, we are “baptized into Christ’s death” so that our former ways no longer have mastery over us. That old self, shaped by pride, anger, or addiction, must stay buried as we rise to walk in newness of life. Yet this death makes room for something beautiful: a life no longer enslaved to the impulses that destroy, but renewed by God’s Spirit to do what is right and good. Baptism is also where we go to live—to embrace the person God always intended us to be. Every act of kindness, honesty, and service becomes part of that resurrection life, one that outshines every old desire. And when temptation whispers, we can remember: we died to that; we were raised for this. In Christ, we live our truest, freest life—one that reflects the grace that first met us in the water.

"Baptism and New Birth – Part 2" centers on one big idea: baptism is the place of God’s work. John Mulligan shows from Scripture that Jesus invites us to a conscious, faith-filled meeting point where God does what only God can do—wash away sins, give the Spirit, and raise us into a new life. Like finding the correct gate before a flight or showing up in the operating room for surgery, the point isn’t our performance but being in the place God designated. In Acts 2:38, those cut to the heart are told to repent and be baptized “for the forgiveness of sins” and to receive “the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Paul’s own story echoes this: “Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away, calling on His name” (Acts 22:16). Peter is just as direct: “Baptism…now saves you—not the removal of dirt…but the pledge of a clear conscience toward God—it saves you by the resurrection of Jesus Christ” (1 Pet 3:21). Titus calls it “the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit” (Tit 3:4–7). And Colossians frames it as burial and resurrection “through your faith in the working of God” (Col 2:11–12). From these texts, several clarifications rise. Baptism isn’t a work that earns salvation; it’s the humble, trusting place where we receive it. It isn’t for infants or those unable to understand; it’s a conscious act tied to faith, repentance, and confessing Jesus as Lord. It isn’t a later badge that says “I was already saved”; biblically, it’s the moment sins are remitted and the Spirit is given. Nor is it a mere rinsing—Scripture ties it to Christ’s death and resurrection, a real new birth that changes our status and launches a lifelong transformation. Edge-case hypotheticals (the person “on the way to be baptized”) shouldn’t become excuses to delay obedience; we trust God’s character in uncommon scenarios, but we must not ignore His clear instructions for those fully able to respond now. So the call is both simple and searching. If you’ve been baptized as Scripture describes—immersed in faith, turning from sin, confessing Jesus—remember what God did there and live from it: purified, Spirit-indwelt, and confident in grace. If your “baptism” lacked understanding or faith (done to you, not by you in trust), consider revisiting it in light of God’s word—this isn’t about pride or perfectionism but about meeting Jesus where He promised to act. And if your heart is cut today, answer like the Ethiopian official: “Here is water—what prevents me from being baptized?” When we step into the water in faith, God does the surgery, God flies the plane, and we rise rejoicing—born again to a new life with Him.

In Baptism and New Birth, John Mulligan walks through what actually happens when someone is baptized — not culturally, not traditionally, but biblically. He ties recent baptisms in the church (and even national attention on mass ocean baptisms) to what Scripture shows in Acts 8, where Philip teaches and then baptizes the Ethiopian official. Baptism, he says, is not a ceremony for babies, not a public badge for people who already “made a decision,” and not an optional add-on for later. It is the moment of new birth, the point where God forgives sin, gives the Holy Spirit, and starts a brand new life. From Acts 8:26–39, we’re shown eight essentials. (1) Baptism is the final stage of conversion — it happens after someone is taught Jesus and is ready to respond. (2) It’s a conscious, informed choice — the Ethiopian is already reading Isaiah, already asking about Christ. Nobody drags him in, and nobody decides for him. (3) It is received in humility — “Philip baptized him.” The person being baptized doesn’t perform a ritual; they submit, handing their whole self over to God. (4) It’s immersion in water — they go down into the water and come up out of the water, matching the literal meaning of the word “baptize”: to immerse. (5) It doesn’t require a special priest or a holy location — just a believer who can help and enough water to bury the old life and raise the new one. (6) It doesn’t demand advanced theology — only honest faith, repentance, and the confession that Jesus is Lord. (7) It is an act of faith, not self-achievement — you’re not “earning salvation,” you’re surrendering to Christ where He promised to meet you. (8) And it leads to joy — the Ethiopian “went on his way rejoicing,” because he knew his sins were washed away and his life had truly begun again. So where does that leave us? First, baptism is not a symbol we schedule for later once we “clean ourselves up.” It’s the God-ordained point of new birth — the reset, the remission of sins, the moment you go from “knowing about Jesus” to actually being united with Him in His death, burial, and resurrection. Second, this is urgent and deeply personal. In Acts 8, when the Ethiopian sees water, he doesn’t say “maybe someday.” He says, “What’s stopping me from being baptized?” If you’re carrying guilt, if you know you need to turn from sin, if you’re ready to belong to Christ and walk in a different life — that question is the right question. And the door is open.

In Two Men in the Temple (Luke 18:9–14), Jay Mijares shows how prayer exposes the heart. Jesus targets those who “trusted in themselves that they were righteous” and despised others. A Pharisee and a tax collector enter the same court to pray—but one performs for people, the other pleads for mercy. Jesus’ verdict flips expectations: the humble sinner goes home justified; the proud religious man does not. We watch the Pharisee stand apart, reciting his résumé—fasting, tithing, and comparison: “I’m not like other men…or this tax collector.” The tax collector stands at a distance, can’t lift his eyes, beats his chest, and cries, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (v.13). That word “merciful” carries atonement overtones—he’s not asking for a pass; he’s asking for propitiation. Jesus concludes, “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.” Works can’t justify; grace received by faith does. So, what does your prayer posture say about your view of God—and yourself? Trade comparison for confession. Come “with confidence to the throne of grace” to receive mercy (Heb. 4:16). Let prayer align you with God’s will: repent quickly, seek reconciliation, intercede for the hurting, and thank Him that in Christ you are counted righteous. Today, echo the tax collector’s plea—and leave, like him, justified.

In this week’s lesson, The Resurrection of the Just and Unjust, John Mulligan taught plainly what Scripture reveals about the universal resurrection and the two eternal outcomes. Jesus Himself said, “All who are in the graves will hear His voice”—some to life, others to condemnation (John 5:24–29). Paul confirmed it: there will be a resurrection of both the righteous and the wicked (Acts 24:15). Like an honest doctor giving a hard diagnosis so treatment can begin, Scripture speaks truth so we’ll respond before it’s too late. Same event, different destinies. We will all stand before Christ’s judgment seat to receive what is due for deeds done in the body (2 Cor 5:10). For those in Christ, death does not erase hope—“the dead in Christ will rise,” and the living will be caught up with them to be with the Lord forever (1 Thess 4:13–18). For those who refuse God and do not obey the gospel, the future is “everlasting destruction” and being shut out from the Lord’s presence (2 Thess 1:5–10). The difference isn’t luck; it’s our response to Jesus. How to respond—and help others. Now is the time to move from death to life: believe, confess Jesus as Lord, repent, and be baptized for the remission of sins (Acts 2:38). Stay with Jesus and keep serving—your labor isn’t in vain. Pray for loved ones who’ve resisted; ask God to open their hearts. There’s a great day coming, and it will be experienced differently—choose the path that leads to life with the Lord forever.

John Mulligan sketched a clear, hope-filled picture of our life in heaven so we don’t cling to the temporary. Scripture shows what we’ll do and where we’ll be. What’s sown perishable will be raised imperishable; our future is victory, not vagueness (1 Cor 15:57; 15:42–44). What we’ll do: Heaven is not floating on clouds. It’s the joyful rhythm of praise, rest, service, and reigning. A countless multitude worships before the throne—“Salvation belongs to our God” (Rev 7:9–12). The battle with sin ends; we rest from our labors (Rev 14:13). As a kingdom of priests, we serve God (Rev 5:10) and reign with Christ—endless, God-given triumph (Rev 20:4; 22:5). Every tear wiped away, no more hunger, thirst, scorching heat—only the Shepherd leading us to living water (Rev 7:15–17). Where we’ll be: Home with the Lord. Paul longs to “depart and be with Christ” (Phil 1:23; 2 Cor 5:8). At His return we’ll be “with the Lord forever” (1 Thess 4:17). Revelation anchors the hope: God dwells with His people, removes death and pain (Rev 21:1–4), and we see His face; His light fills our forever (Rev 22:1–5). Let that future shape today: hold fast, keep serving, keep repenting—don’t trade eternal joy for momentary trinkets. We’re marching to Zion; our home is with our God.

In this week’s lesson, John Mulligan explored what Scripture says about your future body—so you can embrace eternity, not just tolerate it. Paul gives the frame: what is sown perishable, dishonored, weak, natural will be raised imperishable, in glory, in power, spiritual (1 Cor 15:42–44). The big idea: in heaven you will be the best version of yourself—truly you, yet freed from decay and fitted for God’s forever. How will that look? Jesus says we’ll be “like the angels”—no marriage ceremonies there, yet unmistakably personal and powerful (Matt 22:30). Paul adds that Christ will transform our lowly bodies to be like His glorious body (Phil 3:20–21). The Gospels then show what that means: after the resurrection Jesus stood, spoke, showed His wounds, ate, and was recognized—and also passed through locked doors (John 20:11–29; Acts 1:3–11). Put together, Scripture points to a recognizable, human appearance with supernatural capacities suited to heaven. You will know and love others, engage meaningfully, and fully experience the life God intended—“we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2). So what now? Let that hope reshape the present. Everyone who has this hope purifies themselves—honoring God with this “tent” while longing for the “building from God” to come (1 John 3:3; 2 Cor 5:1–5). Don’t fear being stuck with today’s limitations; don’t imagine a vague, foggy existence. In Christ, you cannot lose: your future is imperishable, glorious, powerful—and profoundly personal. Keep fighting the good fight, repent when you fall, and live today in light of the body you’ll wear forever.

At Golgotha (John 19:28–30), Jesus fulfilled Scripture to the last detail—declaring “I thirst” (Ps 69:21) and then crying out Tetelestai: “It is finished.” John’s focus isn’t on the spectacle of suffering but on the Savior who completes the Father’s plan. Even in agony, Jesus is deliberate, fulfilling prophecy and giving up His spirit by His own authority. “Tetelestai” means more than “paid in full.” It announces a mission completed: the spotless Lamb examined and accepted, the work accomplished, the debt canceled, the enemy defeated. The hyssop that lifted the sour wine recalls Passover—blood on the doorframe, judgment passing over—now fulfilled at the cross. Jesus’ physical thirst points to our spiritual thirst; only His finished work satisfies. Nothing can be added to His atonement—salvation is grace, not a joint project. So what now? Trust all of God’s Word—prophecies kept anchor confidence in promises yet to come. Rest in Christ’s finished work when accusing whispers rise: confess, repent, reconcile, and remember His promise, “whoever comes to me I will never cast out” (Jn 6:37). Because it is finished, we live as witnesses—enduring, generous, and hopeful—proclaiming the gospel until the end. In Christ, your debt is canceled, your future secure, and your heart can say with Him: Tetelestai.

In “The Future Body,” John Mulligan invites us to look forward with hope to the resurrection, reminding us that this world is not our home. While our present bodies bear the marks of weakness, decay, and limitation, God promises something greater. Scripture calls us to fix our eyes not on the temporary but on the eternal, knowing that when Christ returns, our earthly tent will be exchanged for something glorious. Paul tells the Philippians that Christ “will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (Phil. 3:21). John echoes the same truth: “We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2). Our future bodies will not be subject to pain, age, or disease; they will be imperishable, powerful, and suited for eternity with God. Just as Adam bore the image of the earthly man, we will bear the image of the heavenly man—Jesus Christ. The best version of ourselves awaits, crafted by God’s own design, freed from the frailty and dishonor we now experience. But this hope is not meant for passive waiting. John reminds us that “all who have this hope purify themselves, just as he is pure.” The promise of resurrection calls us to respect our present bodies as temples of the Holy Spirit and to live faithfully as salt and light in a world that is passing away. Each act of obedience, each step of godliness, is a preparation for the eternal life to come. Glorious will be our resurrected body—and glorious is the God who gives it.

In “The Present Body,” John Mulligan challenges us to see our bodies through God’s eyes, not just our own. While culture obsesses over appearance, youth, and fitness, Scripture reminds us that our bodies are both temples—dwelling places of the Holy Spirit—and tents—temporary shelters meant to point us to eternity. This balance keeps us from either neglecting or idolizing the body, calling us instead to use it to glorify God in the time we have. Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 6 make it clear: “You are not your own; you were bought with a price.” Our bodies belong to the Lord, and how we use them—what we do, where we go, and what we take in—matters to Him. Peter, nearing the end of his life, spoke of living in “the tent of this body,” highlighting its temporary nature. And Paul adds in 2 Corinthians 4 that while the outer self wastes away, the inner self is renewed day by day. Respecting our physical selves matters, but godliness has eternal value. “Physical training is of some value,” Paul tells Timothy, “but godliness holds value for all things, both for the present life and the life to come.” For us, this means disciplining our desires, keeping boundaries that honor God, and remembering our present struggles are not the final word. The aches, temptations, and frustrations of this life remind us that a new, resurrected body is coming—one free from weakness and decay. Until then, our calling is to live by faith, not by sight, honoring God with the bodies He has given us while fixing our hope on the greater glory yet to be revealed.

In “Where Is Your Treasure?” Jay Mijares walks through Matthew 6:19–24 and asks a simple but searching question: what do you treasure most? Jesus warns against hoarding “treasures on earth” that moth, rust, and thieves can reach, and urges us instead to lay up “treasures in heaven.” Jay notes this isn’t an attack on possessions themselves—it’s a heart issue. In the first century, wealth showed up as fine clothes and full granaries; today it’s phones, cars, accounts, and square footage. Either way, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Jesus then shifts to eyesight: “the eye is the lamp of the body.” Clear spiritual vision lets God’s light fill our lives; clouded vision lets darkness in. What we fix our eyes on shapes our desires—and eventually our character. God’s Word functions like a mirror and a diagnostic: it reveals what we truly prize and invites a course correction. The passage ends with a line we can’t wiggle past: “No one can serve two masters… You cannot serve God and mammon.” Jay explains that “mammon” isn’t just money; it’s anything material that becomes a rival god. The call is decisive: choose whom you will serve. When Jesus is our treasure, we hold earthly gifts loosely and use them generously for God and others. That re-aimed love—away from self and toward God—turns our resources into tools for eternal good. Seek the riches of heaven, keep your eyes clear, and remember daily: Jesus is your treasure, and He will never fail you.

In this week’s lesson “The Measure of Our Years,” John Mulligan delivered the third message in a series on life, reflecting on how God calls us to view our time not only in moments or days, but also across the decades. Drawing from Psalm 90 and other passages, he reminded us that our years are both precious and limited. Life is God’s gift, and each season—from youth to old age—carries unique opportunities to grow in wisdom, faith, and devotion. Looking at life decade by decade, we see natural shifts: childhood as a time of learning, early adulthood as a time of establishing priorities, middle years as a time of building and staying strong, and later years as times of reflection, planning, and deeper trust in God. Scripture shows us that even as our strength fades, God remains constant—sustaining, carrying, and rescuing us through every stage. Our decades are opportunities not only for growth but also for redirection. Because of God’s grace, we are never too far gone to make a U-turn. Conversion, repentance, and renewal remain open to us, no matter how many years have passed. Ultimately, our best years may still lie ahead if we surrender them to God. Each season of life—whether learning, building, reflecting, or waiting—can be filled with His presence, strength, and hope. As Abraham, Job, and others were described as “full of years,” so too can we finish well by letting God measure our lives with His wisdom and grace. Every decade, and every day within it, is a chance to live more fully for Him.

In this week’s lesson, “One Day at a Time,” John Mulligan taught from Psalm 139, Psalm 90, and Matthew 6 to remind us that our days are both precious and few. God created us with care, knows every detail of our lives, and is present in each moment—whether joyful or difficult. Since life is limited, we are called to live fully for Him today rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. Scripture teaches that wisdom begins with “numbering our days.” We can’t buy extra time, and no one knows how many days remain. Jesus’ words in Matthew 6 guide us to seek God’s kingdom and righteousness first, trusting Him to provide what we need. Living one day at a time means being present, attentive to God’s priorities, and faithful in the opportunities and challenges He places before us. Five practical ways help us do this: start the day with God; look for ways to honor Him; turn problems into opportunities to grow; let go of bitterness and resentment; and be thankful for everything. Each day counts in God’s eyes, and when we live it His way, we find joy, peace, and purpose no matter what comes.