Adventist Review Podcasts

When most of what we read and see is governed by some soulless algorithm built to anger us or sell us something—it’s hard to know if joy is real, if love is kind, if gentle words are really meant to bless.  And yet joy lingers, gentleness persists, and tens of millions of times a day, someone whispers “I love you” to a child, a spouse, a friend, a former enemy.    This is true for both those who do not own the name of Jesus and for those who celebrate His power and love:  “God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Rom 5:5).  The tenderness we witness, the patient words we find when stressed, the arms with which we wrap the hurting and the sinful—these are the remnants of the love once given at Creation and now given us preeminently in Jesus: “This grace was given us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior, Christ Jesus, who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Tim 1:9-10). Resist the anger amped by code. Love with the grace by which you are forever loved.  And stay in it. -Bill Knott

“He’s so much better than I am,” we say, proving just how little we know of someone else’s life. “She’s a saint,” we say admiringly, assuming that the woman we can see is always just as good as we imagine. We assign a top-notch grade to behaviors we observe, and make assumptions that the life consistency we can’t achieve is somehow available to others. But grace reminds us of the brokenness we share—each one of us—regardless of the estimate of others. Behind the fair façade of piety and cool, we each know just how far we fall below the expectations of our God—and how each well-lived life is only, always, saved by grace. All ranks, all grades, all estimates are vanities and not realities. If you can find a soul not absolutely saved by grace, then you have found the rarest form of human life. Give up your search: there is no other way. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Going underground is one of humanity’s oldest responses to fear, war, or pestilence. Archaeologists have uncovered vast subterranean cities, carved out by those who believed that living in the light made them vulnerable. Victims of persecution, fugitives—even families fleeing natural disasters or climate shifts—all chose to dwell where only torches and flickering lamps could pierce the darkness. But human beings weren’t made for life underground. Our bodies, our minds, and even our food sources depend on what’s green and growing and bathed in sunlight. Only fear—without and within—could cause us to live where we otherwise bury our dead. And the darkness is never only physical. Living without sunlight distorts our grasp of reality, and even of God. If we never see the sun or the stars of the Milky Way, we think He is no bigger than what scares us. Yet there is light for us—warm, welcoming, life-giving. God’s Word declares the good news of our liberation: “He has rescued us from the kingdom of darkness and transferred us into the Kingdom of His dear Son, who purchased our freedom and forgave our sins” (Colossians 1:13–14). You were made to live in the light. Be done with all that’s buried, fearful, and dark. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“I just can’t catch a break,” he sighs, watching floodwaters climb five feet up the walls of his ruined home. “I’ve got plenty of luck,” she weeps over the crumpled fender of her old Toyota. “It’s just all bad.” The weary chorus of this world is a dirge about how little control we truly have. Medical bills crush us. Friendships we cherish grow distant and cold. The machines on which our lives depend break down with unnerving frequency. Those we love get sick and die. Is any of this seen by Someone—anyone—who can do something about it? To doubting, disheartened people just like us, the apostle Paul wrote one of history’s most radiant lines: “God’s Son was before all else, and by Him everything is held together” (Col. 1:17). With all their seeming randomness and pain, our lives and our futures are held in the embrace of One whose arms stretched wide for us from a broken tree: “God was pleased for Him to make peace by sacrificing His blood on the cross, so that all beings in heaven and on earth could be brought back to God” (v. 20). “I am the Alpha and the Omega—the Beginning and the End,” Jesus said of Himself. Nothing escapes His notice. Nothing lies outside His control. Our pain is real—but it is temporary. Hope endures. The grace of God outlasts our brokenness. So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Most of us inherited a God no kinder than we were—a deity whose major role seemed meting out tough penalties for willful or impetuous mistakes. Like primitive believers everywhere, we read His displeasure in thunderstorms, bruised knees, and lost puppies—for was there anything for which we weren’t somehow to blame? So it is that finding grace is the great unlearning of our past, the sweet and joyful discovery that in Jesus, our sins aren’t being counted against us. What we sang in innocence was actually, fundamentally true: “Jesus loves me”—genuinely loves me. He can’t imagine a greater happiness than enjoying my trust and affection. How glorious to have been wrong about it all—to celebrate the truth that undermines our youthful foolishness and fear. His perfect love still casts out fear, and makes us wise unto salvation. By grace, our thinking—and our living—is renewed. So stay in grace. -Bill KNott

Ever thought of running away from God? Like naive children in moments of hot shame and brokenness, we imagine there’s some deeply-hidden spot where what we’ve done cannot be seen, where we can huddle with our guilt. Perhaps in some dark mountain cave. Perhaps beneath the blankets of our bed. Perhaps beneath the cellar stairs. But God—and grace—are inescapable, and our most private hiding spots are never hid from Him. The psalmist said it best: “Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast” (Ps 139: 7-10). Grace seeks us even when we’ve blown it big—to heal and forgive us, not in vengeance or to punish. We hide in foolishness and fear: God teases us into His light. And when we’re found, hot tears blend into easy, grateful smiles. Be sensible: choose not to hide. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Sometimes through the dust and smoke, we trace the features of a friend—someone whose rich, remembered kindness soothes the soul and calms the turbulence. We hold on to such people for good reason: they have held us—gripped us, even—when the world seemed topsy-turvy and every voice was loud. They were—they are—God’s grace in human form, a bit of heaven lingering to give us hope and get us through. In some faint way, they call to mind the one Who came to live among us and be one with us: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us. . . . full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Friends hold us for a minute, or perhaps an hour: He holds us for eternity, and promises to never willingly let go. “Be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt 28:20). Knowing how we doubt His love, Jesus repeatedly reminds us, “Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me” (Jn 15:15). Grace visits us through selfless souls, and heals us through their acts of kindness. The God who motivates such generosity is no further from you than a friend who shares dark roads and waits with you for dawn’s first light. So when you pray, thank God for friends who live His grace. And stay in it. -Bill Knott

What is the speed of trust? It’s an odd question, since rapid acceleration and safe, human connection seem antithetical—moving in opposite directions. And there’s the point—and the reason we don’t attempt lasting friendships while driving Formula 1 cars, in the backstretch of an 800-meter race, or while racing each other to the top of the corporate ladder. Speed implies competition, a desire to be better than the other. Trust cannot rush, for it unfolds only when our usual pride and combativeness have been set aside. The God who inhabits a universe where stars collide and light itself moves at more than 670,000,000 miles per hour sent His Son to a tiny planet. He came to walk long, winding roads with us, start conversations in homes and at wells, and play with children. “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” (Phil 2:6-7). There is no hurrying the pace of trust, and trust is the Father’s fondest hope for us. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Eph.2.8). When we trust His grace, we give ourselves to the One who has loved us through all eternity. Now stay in grace. -Bill Knott

We come naturally by our self-absorption. From our earliest moments, we’re congratulated for taking first steps, trying new foods, mastering new skills, for learning how to navigate the myriad complexities of an ever-widening world. The story is, and has always been, about us—our goals, our striving, our gaining, our getting. But then one day the world refused to be our private oyster.  There was no pearl inside—just grit and sand and disappointment. And we began to long from somewhere deeper than the ocean floor for rescue from our pain, our foolishness, our disillusion with ourselves. Enter the selfless hero who became one of us to teach us how to find the joy. The Pearl of great price offers each of us His priceless grace. In Jesus, we discover One who never disappoints, who never falls short of saving us, who never walks away in righteous indignation from our follies and our failures. He’s the friend who knows both when to speak and when to be silent, when to laugh and when to weep—the incomparable companion who merged His story with our own. “In Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). His gracious offer of relief and liberation alters every other storyline. And yes, this hero always gets the last word.  So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Grace isn’t fully knowable inside the monuments we’ve built. Our finest structures merely hint at what the Scriptures call the “breadth and length and height and depth” (Eph 3:18) of love the Father gives us. Cathedral arches just suggest the soaring kindness of our God. Our well-stocked libraries of knowledge—comprehensively collected; exquisitely curated—tell but a fraction of the story, deeper than our minds can grasp and gentler than our hearts can feel. Until you stand upon the ocean shore, calling actively to mind that all your sins have been cast into its depths when you believe in Jesus (Mic 7:19), you’ve only sampled moments of God’s grace. Until you stare in wonder at a midnight sky replete with billions of star galaxies—unknown to us yet still within the orbit of God’s grace—you cannot grasp the promise made to Abraham, whose faith was counted righteousness: “I will multiply your descendants beyond number, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore” (Gen 22:17). We fall in awe before the love that wouldn’t let this planet go: “For this is how God loved the world: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).  The impulse to adore the God whose love for us is infinite is one sure sign that grace has found a home in you. So stay in it. -Bill Knott

We dream of exploits that ensure our fame—of fortunes gained or mountains climbed or roles where we control the lives of other, lesser mortals. We gather things—disposables—to fill the hole made urgent by our angry greed. But we would gladly trade them all to be two modest, undramatic things at once: both deeply loved and finally forgiven. No accolades or billions earned will ever soothe a heart that can’t be reconciled. No power can heal the wound within unless it offers what no human skill can offer. For these we need a Father’s “Welcome Home” embrace. For these we need the Sun of Righteousness to rise with healing in His wings (Mal 4:2). For these we need the Spirit’s gentle, unrelenting voice, reminding us of grace. “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast” (Eph 2:8-9). When boasting wanes; when posing fades, there is no finer thing we do than give each other grace we have been given. It’s time to reimagine your success. Be known for love. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

It’s every parent’s greatest joy to see a child at play—freely, joyously at play. And children—of whatever age—only play when they understand they’re safe—deeply, seriously safe. We don’t play on battlefields, in lightning storms, or when we doubt we’ll ever see tomorrow. And so the God of Scripture frequently must wait until we’ve outlived our fears before we grasp the fullness of His affection. We spend a lifetime learning just how richly we are loved, and why our God is always murmuring, “Fear not.” “Be not afraid.” Or better yet, “You can stop being afraid now.” Our Father is supremely patient, waiting for the day when we—at last—discover how kind He has always been, and grow accustomed to His goodness. “Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you” (Isaiah 30:18). Unwind the spool of anxious thoughts that keep you wondering if you are loved, if Jesus deeply values you. Your joy today will be in measure with your trust. And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

HEALED ON THE WAY Learning grace is slow and hard the way recovery of any kind is usually slow and hard. When a bone is broken or a muscle torn, no supply of godly wishing can speed the pace at which the healing happens. This moment’s not for optics, not for show: nothing less than patient, cellular recovery can make us whole again. And so no project that contemplates the complete overhaul of our personal theology, the transformation of our hearts and minds, and the mending of our wounded relationships should be described as easy or expected in less than years or even decades. Hear the present, active tense of these amazing verbs: “Bless the Lord, O my soul,   and forget not all His benefits, who forgives all your iniquity,   who heals all your diseases,  who redeems your life from the Pit,   who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good as long as you live   so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s” (Psalm 103:2-5). We may sometimes be privileged to discern the day on which grace first began to heal us. But it will take millennia at least to help us comprehend the length and breadth and height and depth of grace beyond degree. So stay in grace. -Bill Knott  

Ah, to be the wounded one—the one who gets to be the powerful forgiver.  We covet this rare role because we’re usually more sinning than we’re sinned against.  And when it comes our turn to show the grace once given us, we linger with the choice, as if it were a heavy thing to pardon what’s been done. We can’t, of course, refuse forgiveness outright:  Jesus tied our own forgiveness to the habit of forgiving.  But first, a little groveling, we say.  Some real contrition, perhaps a tear or ten.  Some promises to never—ever—injure us again. And so we fall far short of grace.  We strike a lender’s bargain with the sinner:  pardon only if the penitent submits to our superiority. But grace is always washinbg someone’s feet—abandoning all power in the goal to make the sinner whole.  We cannot—dare not—charge for what was freely offered us.  If it’s not free, then it’s not grace. Remind yourself of how forgiveness made you valuable to you.  And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“Forgive me,” we say flippantly, painting on a shallow smile, when we discover we are misaligned with someone greater or more powerful—someone who might make us hurt. We view our error lightly—just a minor inconvenience—and we hope the one offended will quickly do the same. Why do the humbling work of owning all that happened and acknowledging its impact? But true forgiveness is a thoughtful, time-intensive mercy—never rushed if genuine; never brushed away if real. Unless we face the injury we’ve caused, we ask for restoration without repentance, a mere smoothing of ruffled surfaces.  If the needed words are “I’m sorry that I hurt you,” or “I can see how I was wrong,” speak truthfully, and find the needed healing. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Gal 6:1-2). And when we are the ones offended and it is our turn to forgive, we plant the seeds of our own future grudges if we pretend a painful hurt is only minor and dismissible. What goes unsaid is usually unforgiven as well. Both grace and truth are called for each time there is an injury. Only those who know themselves forgiven by the One who was always “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14) ever truly forgive another broken soul. Only in the field of grace can reconciliation blossom. So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Wherever grace is welcomed and received, joy follows, just as daylight follows dawn. And so we can read backwards from so many grayed-out, joyless souls to learn how few have heard and loved and lived the gospel. All fearful, anxious following of Jesus—all dim preoccupation with the things we've done or left undone—reveals that we are still in darkness, wrestling with the shadows Jesus rose to vanquish. “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5). So hear the gospel chorus in the songbirds’ pre-dawn trilling, bringing light to weary souls—like yours: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, 
  and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, 
  and thick darkness the peoples; 
but the Lord will arise upon you, 
  and His glory will be seen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1-2). The Light of all the world invites you: be done with anxious, midnight brooding. The day that dawns is meant to be abundant and eternal, the endless morning of the Son. And stay in grace. – Bill Knott

In every soul who has ever been healed, conviction rises that they must tell the story of how God’s goodness rebuilt a broken body or a wounded spirit.  Bones got mended; diseases conquered; mobility advanced; relationships renewed. When grace restores what pain has taken, “Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them” (Psalm 126:2).  We gladly own we couldn’t—didn’t—heal ourselves. No self-help remedies can knit the muscles of a heart—or reconcile two wounded hearts. Only a power outside ourselves—a love that will not let us go—would care enough to build our peace, to make us whole. And so the world daily echoes with the praise of those who once feared darkness and despair would be their final verdict: “O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever” (Psa 136:1). So do not be surprised if you should feel like singing—if contagious joy spills on from you to half a dozen or a hundred. Your healing was for them as well as you. “You, God, have turned my mourning into dancing” (Psa 30:11).  Irrepressible—and irresistible—joy is the lasting legacy of grace.  Move in it. And stay in it. – Bill Knott

My pride is stung. My spirit’s wounded. The untrue, unjust thing that someone said, that someone wrote, went viral with unheard-of speed, fanned on by evil angels. And rising with the bitter righteousness of bile, the fantasy of sweet revenge becomes more urgent every hour. “Strike back!” say Truth and Justice. “Set the twisted record straight. Unmask the gossiper for who he is, for what she wrote. Redeem your ruined reputation.” And then Grace whispers, “You have already been redeemed. Your reputation is the best that it could ever be because your life is hid with Christ in God. The pleasures of retaliation are nothing—meaningless—beside the joys of being both forgiven AND forgiving.” Grace dulls our taste for vengefulness, and makes us hungry for the fullness of God’s joy. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22). “Taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps 34:8). And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

If you revisit all the beaches where you built sandcastles in the sun, chances are, you’ll never even find a one.  The constant pull of wash and wave reduces all the outposts where we once asserted sovereignty. Our turrets and our towers, our moats and battlements have long since lost the struggle to insist on what was never really ours. And so it is as grace subdues the castles of our pride and self-assertion. The lovely, unrelenting rhythm of God’s kindness and His mercy overruns our fierce objections and erodes our staked positions. While we were sleeping at our stations, we were flooded by forgiveness, cracked and circled by repeated offers of redemption. And for many—all who acknowledge they are beaten—grace reclaims a life that always was the property of God. Unless you build cement into your soul—unless you daily and deliberately refuse the pull of God’s unceasing love—you’ll yet surrender to the grace that outmaneuvers all our pride. With the apostle Paul, you’ll soon exclaim, “But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ” (1 Tim 1:13-14). There is an hour for yielding crumbling fortresses to grace. Your hour has come. The tide is in. Rejoice in what you used to fight. And stay in grace. -Bill Knot

It’s the most famous line ever written about grace by an author not recorded in God’s Word: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.” Every week, around the globe, it’s sung and said uncounted times, bringing joy and certainty to billions of believers. Whole lives are built on this. But the lived reality of grace requires that we move beyond the first person voice, and grasp our role within the choir. For while grace operates for each of us as individuals, we learn it by and through and with—and for—believers Christ in grace puts near us. “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor 3:18). We gather grace from gracious people. We forgive as we’re forgiven. We speak kindly when we listen to kind words. We risk embracing others when we’ve found the deep security of being gripped in love. A solo Christian is theoretically possible but practically unheard of. God has ordained that all our growth in grace comes through the community of others. We’re taught; we stretch; we struggle; we discover among the others who are also on the journey. From them we gain what no one wretch might ever know: “Amazing grace, no sweeter words Were ever sung by choir; From them we learn the lovely song, The passion, and the fire.” Now stay in grace. -Bill Knott