Tag Archive for: Isaiah 25:8

Saturday Isn’t the End

,

Isaiah 25:8 — He will swallow up death forever! The Sovereign Lord will wipe away all tears. He will remove forever all insults and mockery against his land and people. The Lord has spoken!

They had done everything they could.

Jesus of Nazareth was dead. The threat removed. A problem solved.

For years, the religious leaders had tolerated His disruptions—the way He drew crowds, defied their tradition, and unsettled power. Now the Romans had driven the nails, and His body lay sealed in a tomb.

Finally, they could move on.

And yet His claim lingered: after three days, He would rise.

If the disciples stole the body, then rumors would start. If hope caught fire again, then they would have a worse problem than before.

So, the religious leaders went to Pilate.

The governor was finished with the whole ordeal. “You have a guard,” he said. “Make it as secure as you know how.”

So, they did.

They secured the tomb and posted guards. They believed control would secure their future. But control is a fragile god.

The real and living God had already spoken of a day when He would swallow up death forever, when He would wipe away tears from all faces, and when the reproach of His people would be taken away from all the earth.

No tomb could undo that promise. No empire could outlast it.

Sunday was already on its way.

But you know, we all have Saturdays that still feel like that. Don’t we? Long stretches where hope seems buried and God feels silent. Diagnoses. Broken relationships. Prayers that echo back unanswered.

And in every one of those places, He is not distant—He is the God who sees every tear and promises to wipe them away.

But if Rome’s authority could not hold Him nor the grave silence Him, nor death itself stand its ground, then nothing in your waiting can prevent God from accomplishing what He has promised.

The tomb was secured. The guards were posted. The seal was real. And morning still came.

So hold steady in your Saturday. Your Sunday is coming too. Trust in God who swallows death. Because friend, the stone will not have the final word.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “Saturday” season are you currently walking through?
  • Where does it feel like things are sealed, silent, or final?
  • How have you seen God remain faithful in past seasons of waiting?
  • What does it look like to trust God when you don’t yet see the outcome?
  • How does the promise that God defeats death—and wipes away tears—change the way you face today?
/by

The End Is Just the Beginning

, , ,

Isaiah 25:8 — “He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces.”

There’s things you try to bury and run away from your entire life.

Bart Millard was only three when his parents divorced. His mom remarried and moved away, and it was decided that he and his brother would stay with their dad, Arthur.

Arthur Millard worked hard and stayed sober, but his temper ruled the house. Small things, like being cut off in traffic, could set him off, and Bart became his favorite target. He spent most of his childhood walking on eggshells, bracing for the next explosion.

But everything changed in high school when Arthur was diagnosed with cancer. The disease weakened his body—and, somehow, softened his heart. He gave his life to Jesus.

Almost overnight, he began to change. Bart, now his caregiver, had a front row seat to the transformation.

He started talking about grace and peace and love like they were more than words, and he lived it. The man who was once a monster became kind, gentle, and apologetic. Bart stopped fearing him and started thinking of him as his best friend.

They found something they never had before—until cancer took it away. And it wasn’t the past that hurt most. It was losing what they’d finally found.

At the funeral, Bart’s grandmother leaned in and whispered, “I can only imagine what your dad’s seeing now.”

That one line became a lifeline. Bart clung to it through grief, scribbling it on scraps, receipts, journals—anything. It gave him something to picture besides an empty house.

In time, Bart and a few others began the band MercyMe, and as they sat down to write one last song of their album he found inspiration in those old journals with “I can only imagine” scribbled across every page.

He wrote the song in just ten minutes, and the rest is history.

But that’s not the end of the story.

Today, when Bart closes his eyes and sings those words— “I Can Only Imagine”—he’s not just remembering what God did. He’s looking ahead to what God will do.

Because the gospel doesn’t stop at changed hearts or even gravesides. It carries on—into forever. Into a kingdom where there are no more regrets and no more goodbyes.

And the truth that steadied Bart through every wound and every loss still stands: if God can write that kind of ending for his father, He can write one for yours too. Or your sister. Or your friend. Or that person you’ve been praying for so long it hurts.

So, believe Him for the future.
Believe Him for your loved one.
Believe Him for what’s still ahead.

Because one day, we will finally see with our own eyes.

Can you only imagine it?

LYRICS  |  I CAN ONLY IMAGINE

I can only imagine what it will be like
When I walk by your side
I can only imagine what my eyes will see
When your face is before me
I can only imagine

Yeah

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine

I can only imagine when that day comes
And I find myself standing in the Son
I can only imagine when all I will do
Is forever, forever worship you
I can only imagine, yeah
I can only imagine

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever, forever worship you

I can only imagine

/by

Running Toward Hope

,

“He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.”

Isaiah 25:8

John was faster. That was clear from the start. He had always been faster. But speed did not matter to me now. My legs burned, my lungs ached, but I could not slow down. The world had turned upside down, and I had to see it for myself.

It had been just before dawn when Mary banged on the door, shaking us from restless sleep. When I flung it open, her face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have put him!” The words hit like a fist to my chest.

John and I did not think. We just ran.

Now, as we neared the tomb, I saw John hesitate at the entrance, his breath ragged. I did not stop. I could not. I rushed inside, heart pounding in my ears. And then—stillness.

The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. But everything was in order. The grave clothes, neatly folded. Not stolen, not ransacked—arranged with intention. It was as if He had simply awakened and set His bed in place.

John stepped in beside me. Neither of us spoke.

Jesus told us. He told me, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

I had been too blind to see it until now.

The grief that had crushed me only moments ago shifted, making way for something else. Something like hope. Real hope—the kind that does not crumble under fear.

Because if He was alive, then everything He said was true. And if everything He said was true, then hope was no longer just a word. It was a person.

And He had done exactly what He said He would do.

This is why Easter matters. Maybe for you it carries grief. Maybe it comes with painful questions? But it is not about traditions or about trying to manufacture joy in the middle of loss. I say this because there is peace for the broken. There is hope for the weary, and it is found in Him. Easter is about an empty tomb, and that changes everything.

/by