Tag Archives: jesus

It Is Finished: Living in the Light of the Work Already Done

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When Jesus had received the sour wine, He said, ‘It is finished.’
And bowing His head, He gave up His spirit.”
— John 19:30

Three words.
One declaration.
A moment that split history in two.

“It is finished.”

Not I am finished.
Not This is over.
But It is finished.
A triumphant cry, not a whisper of defeat.

Jesus spoke these words from the cross—not in surrender to death, but in victory over sin.
He wasn’t giving up; He was completing what He came to do.

A Word That Still Speaks

These thoughts began to stir in me during Sunday’s sermon by Pastor Thomas. His message invited us to consider what Jesus truly meant when He declared, “It is finished.” And ever since, those words have been echoing in my heart—calling me to live differently, to live from what’s already been accomplished.

The work of salvation is finished.
The debt is paid.
The way is made.
The curtain is torn.

Our part is not to finish what’s already done—our part is to trust it, live in it, and walk it out.

Ours Is Simply to Walk It Out

If it is finished—if the ultimate work of redemption is already complete—what now?

We walk.
We walk in obedience.
We walk in surrender.
We walk in grace.
We do the next right thing.

Not to earn salvation, but to live from it.
Not to prove ourselves, but to reflect the One who proved His love for us on the cross.

Ephesians 2:8–10 reminds us: we are saved by grace—not by works—but for good works, which God prepared in advance for us. The work doesn’t save us, but it’s still ours to do in response to what has already been accomplished.

Obedience Isn’t Earning—It’s Alignment

When we obey, we’re not trying to earn God’s love. We’re aligning our hearts with His.

Sometimes that obedience looks like something bold.
Sometimes it looks quiet, even ordinary.
But always, it looks like trust.

It’s choosing to believe that “finished” really means finished.

Do the Next Right Thing

You don’t need a full plan. You don’t need all the answers.
You just need to take one step of faithful obedience.
Ask God:

What’s the next right thing?

And then—do that.

Rest in His finished work.
Live like you’re already loved.
Move forward with grace.

Because It Is Finished…

You can stop striving.
You can stop hustling for what’s already yours.
You can stop believing it’s all up to you.

And you can start living with open hands and a steady heart, doing the next right thing in the strength of the One who finished it all.

Bold love disarms evil through generosity.

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When Love Looks Like Strength — and Feels Like Kindness

We live in a world where loud often wins.
Where whoever shouts the longest or posts the most outrage gets the final word.
Where we confuse sarcasm with strength, and power with harshness.

But lately, I’ve been wondering…
What if true strength doesn’t look like control, but like compassion?

What if the fiercest kind of love is the kind that doesn’t shout to be heard—but speaks life anyway?
What if the most courageous thing we can do in a culture of criticism… is to choose kindness?

Bold love disarms evil through generosity.
Tender love surprises hardness with kindness.

That phrase has stayed with me.

As a counselor—and just as a human trying to love well—I’ve seen how easy it is to react instead of respond. To mirror someone’s bitterness instead of bringing in warmth. To defend instead of delight. To protect yourself instead of pursuing someone else’s good.

But bold, Christlike love doesn’t behave that way.

It doesn’t need to overpower or prove itself.
It is secure enough to be generous—even when misunderstood.
It is holy enough to be kind—even to those who aren’t.

Because real love—gospel love—has both weight and gentleness.
It is both lion and lamb.
Strength and stillness.
Power and peace.

This kind of love doesn’t ignore harm.
But it doesn’t repay it, either.

It confronts evil—not by mimicking it, but by offering a better way.
It doesn’t stoop to the level of the insult.
It raises the conversation entirely.

It’s the kind of love that causes those who expect retaliation to pause in surprise.

And sometimes, that pause… is where redemption begins.

It’s not weak to love gently.
It’s not naive to respond with blessing.
It’s not passive to refuse to participate in the cycle of harm.

It’s brave.

So today, may we love boldly.
May we forgive when it’s hard.
May we speak life into conversations that have gone dry with cynicism.
May we surprise someone with kindness they didn’t expect—and didn’t earn.

Because that’s what Jesus did for us.

And we’re never more like Him than when we love like that.