Posted on by Paul N. Merideth

The Urgent and the Necessary

A phone vibrates. An email arrives. A deadline shifts. A new “to-do” item shows up in the afternoon. Before long, the day is consumed by what is pressing. We move from notification to obligation to interruption, telling ourselves that if we can just clear the urgent, we will finally get to what is necessary. Yet the necessary rarely shouts. It waits quietly neglected while the urgent demands every ounce of attention.

This tension is not new. When Jesus visited the home of Martha and Mary, the house was full of activity. Martha was “distracted with much serving,” while Mary sat at the Lord’s feet (Luke 10:40–42). Jesus did not rebuke service. He gently named the deeper issue: “You are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary.” The problem was not effort. It was misalignment. The urgent had eclipsed the necessary.

We live in a world that measures worth by output. Productivity becomes proof of value. Even rest is justified only if it makes us more efficient tomorrow. Without noticing, we begin to treat our own lives as projects to optimize. But Scripture tells a different story. God rested on the seventh day, setting a rhythm that declares we are more than what we produce (Genesis 2:2–3). The psalmist prays, “Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). Wisdom is not cramming more into our days, but discerning what belongs in them.

Jesus often withdrew to desolate places to pray (Luke 5:16). He was never ruled by urgency because he was anchored in communion with the Father. The necessary shaped his response to the urgent. The real work of discipleship is learning that same discernment. If Jesus structured his life around prayer, presence, and obedience instead of pressure and productivity, then we should follow his lead and do the same. Not clearing every notification, but choosing the better portion. Not becoming more productive, but more faithful.

Three nails forming a cross shape on a white background.
Posted on by Paul N. Merideth

Low Key Leaders

Some preachers are the kind of leaders who stride into a room, rally a team, draw a diagram on a whiteboard, and suddenly everyone is ready to charge the hill. Conversely, many ministers quietly wonder, “What hill are we charging, and can we talk about it over coffee instead?” The truth is not every leader is a visionary strategist. Some are teachers. Some are listeners. Some do their best work one conversation at a time. And that’s not a liability; it is a gift.

Paul Merideth

While strong vision-casting teambuilding leaders are a blessing to the church, not everyone can pull it off effectively. Thankfully, Scripture leaves plenty of room for men who lead in a low-key way. Paul tells Timothy to watch his life and teaching closely (1 Timothy 4:16). He tells the Thessalonians to encourage the fainthearted and help the weak (1 Thessalonians 5:14). Peter urges shepherds to lead “by example” rather than force (1 Peter 5:3). These passages sound far less like instructions for a corporate strategist and far more like the quiet, steady work of relational shepherding. Jesus himself shaped most of his leaders around tables, along roads, and in unhurried conversations. His most decisive leadership moments were rarely in committee meetings.

It took me a long time to realize that my gift in ministry was not being a dynamic, consensus-building, trend-setting leader. I could never stride into a room of elders and deacons and unveil a master plan for church goals over the next five years, with everyone walking out hyped up, shouting, “Let’s go!” And though I tried to be that tip-of-the-spear, dynamic, peak-performance, spiritual coach for many years, relief came only when I accepted that I was not that kind of leader. I am a teacher. I am a deliberate, reflective decision maker. I pray with people. I listen to their hurt. I talk to them about Jesus. I even believe slow is an acceptable speed.

And I am thankful God’s Word reminds us that this is enough. We each bring something different to the table. We each, “having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them” (Romans 12:6). Paul is not asking us to become gifted in everything, only to steward well what God has actually placed in our hands. That truth frees ministers and elders alike from the pressure of imitation and invites us to simply live out the gifts God has entrusted to us.

When you stop trying to force a round peg into a square hole and accept that your gifts are not about being the grand motivator, you free yourself from pretending. You can stop trying to manufacture energy you do not naturally possess. Instead, you lean into your strengths. Relational leaders influence not through programs but through presence. Their leadership is felt in the way they listen, in the thoughtful questions they ask, and in the gentle guidance they offer when someone is hurting or confused.

This does not mean you abdicate leadership, far from it. It simply means your leadership moves in smaller circles that eventually ripple outward. When you invest in one elder, one ministry leader, or one team member, you help shape a person who will shape others. That is precisely how Jesus worked. The kingdom grows yeast-like, quietly spreading through ordinary interactions that never make an organizational chart but always leave a mark.

You do not have to build an ecclesiastical administrative machine to bless the church. You can bless it by being exactly who God made you to be. A teacher who steadies people. A shepherd who knows the flock by name. A presence that brings peace. A preacher who speaks the truth in love. Leadership is not always loud. Sometimes it sounds like a calm voice saying, “Let’s walk together.” And in the kingdom of God, that is more than enough.

Posted on by Paul N. Merideth

Experiencing Jesus

During the holidays my movie watching skyrockets. I enjoy quality cinema, the kind with rich storytelling and thoughtful technique; think Jurassic Park, not Jurassic World Rebirth. And yes, the theater experience far exceeds the at-home one. My partiality for quality-only films and the theater experience prompts me to reflect on our worship as believers. Christian worship is not meant to be watched from a distance. It is an encounter, an embodied moment that draws us beyond observation into something richer and more transformative. True, genuine-quality worship is rooted in the incarnate Christ who entered our world in flesh and blood so that our whole selves could encounter him in meaningful ways.

Cinematic theory offers surprising parallels. Directors speak of qualia, the felt qualities of an experience that cannot be reduced to simple description. A sunset on screen is more than its colors, and a close-up of a trembling hand is more than pixels. Similarly, worship invites us to experience Christ’s presence. Singing, prayer, communion, and Scripture reading each carry their own spiritual qualia; stirring awe, conviction, gratitude, and hope in ways that surpass explanation. This echoes the psalmist’s invitation: “Taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8), a reminder that our faith engages the whole person.

Filmmakers also note how the eyes can become “an organ of touch,” especially in scenes marked by haptic perceptuality: moments when you don’t simply watch the story but feel it. The textures, nearness, and details create a sense of contact. Worship can work the same way. When we gather in Jesus’ name, we do not only look toward him as spectators. His presence touches us. Lifting our voices or receiving communion becomes a kind of spiritual tactile moment, a place where Christ meets us in real and embodied ways.

Another cinematic idea concerns the use of indexed and non-indexed camera angles. Sometimes the lens points directly at what the viewer must see. Other times it invites discovery through subtle or indirect cues. God uses both approaches. At times, the gospel feels unmistakably indexed: Jesus speaks clearly, Scripture convicts plainly, and we know exactly what he is asking of us. Other moments are quieter and non-indexed: gentle conviction, providential encounters, or unity with the Spirit. These understated moments reveal that Christ continues to guide those who recognize his voice. As Jesus profoundly says, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27).

Taken together, these images remind us that worship is an experience rather than a passive event. We think, feel, respond, and participate. We encounter Jesus not as viewers in the seats but as disciples fully engaged in the presence of the living Lord.

Paul N. Merideth

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How the Mighty Have Fallen

“The pride of your heart has deceived you… Though you soar aloft like the eagle… from there I will bring you down” (Obadiah 1:3-4). If you ever want a crash course in humility, meet the Edomites. These folks were so sure of themselves they basically built their homes in the sky and said, “Who’s gonna bring us down?” God’s answer was blunt: “I am.” Obadiah, the shortest book in the Old Testament, packs a mighty punch about pride and self-deception. They thought security was measured in stone walls and mountain heights, not in obedience and mercy. The Edomites felt invincible in their mountain stronghold of Petra, that rose-colored city carved into stone, but even walls of rock cannot protect a heart lifted up in pride from inevitable divine judgment. When their neighbors in Judah were attacked, Edom didn’t lend a hand. Instead, they pulled up a chair to watch the show. Thus God declares destructive judgment upon them because not only did they fail to render aid to brethren in distress, but they also kicked them while they were down. Pride had turned them cruel.

Pride still does that. It blinds us, convinces us we’re doing great, and then quietly hardens our hearts until compassion withers. God’s verdict on pride hasn’t changed: “God opposes the proud.” But here’s the good news: He still “gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

Obadiah’s lesson is simple… don’t build your house on the high cliffs of ego. Build it on the solid ground of Christ, the humble King. Pride crashes hard, but God always lifts the humble back up.

I am preaching through the Minor Prophets, those short books most folks skip over because they talk a lot about judgment. But here’s the surprise… behind every warning is a divine message about mercy and hope. God still invites His people back even when they have lost their way. Come join us Sundays at 10:30 a.m. at the Northside Church of Christ in Temple, Texas, as we dust off the words of these ancient prophets and discover how much they still have to say to us today.

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The Things That Anchor Us

Paul N. Merideth

Amor Towles has become my favorite modern historical fiction author. His style has a special charm, especially in his complex A Gentleman in Moscow. I am intrigued by the novel’s subtle theme on the role of possessions in our lives. The story tells of Count Rostov, once a man of mansions, reduced to a single attic room in the Metropol Hotel. As an ousted aristocrat, the Bolsheviks sentenced him to hotel incarceration. Stripped of most of his worldly possessions, he refuses to descend into despair and instead discovers that even the smallest possessions carry immense weight. A chair, a desk, or a well worn book becomes a doorway to memory. They anchor him to relationships, laughter, and beauty. Objects, for Rostov, evolve from trophies to be hoarded into vessels of story, grace, and continuity in a world turned upside down. As one myself who often sits at a desk, I love his observation: “A king fortifies himself with a castle,” noted the Count, “a gentleman with a desk.”

It makes me wonder, what do our possessions say about us? We often cling to them as if they grant us security, but Jesus warned otherwise: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… but store up treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19-20). Things break. Moths chew. Rust corrodes. Yet when received rightly, even the ordinary becomes extraordinary. A family Bible marked with fingerprints, a chipped mug from morning prayers, a beloved pencil used to journal, these are “Metropol moments,” everyday objects carrying spiritual meaning.

The same is true in the church. The wood of a pulpit, the worn pew where generations have prayed, or the baptismal waters, these are not sacred in themselves, but they bear witness to God’s grace at work in ordinary settings. Much like Rostov’s desk or books, they anchor us not to a fading past but to the eternal promise of God.

As the apostle Paul reminds us, “Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Timothy 6:6). In other words, hold things lightly, let them prompt blessed memories, but cling passionately only to the one treasure that cannot be lost. Towles shows us through fiction that even when stripped of much, life can still be full. The gospel goes further: “as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything” (2 Corinthians 6:10). Our anchor is not a desk, a mug, or even a cherished family heirloom, but the Lord Himself. And unlike every object we can touch, He will never fade, rust, or be robbed away.

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Summertime Faith

It’s summer in Texas, which we know not just because the calendar says so, but because the roads melt and traffic doubles. Vacation season is in full swing, and families are hitting the highways in search of rest, adventure, or maybe just a decent breeze.

We wish one another safe travels and good memories. We hope for rest from busy schedules, and we pray for peaceful, uneventful journeys (the best kind, really). But as we head out of town, let’s pack more than sunscreen and snacks; let’s also remember to bring our faith along.

There’s no “out of office” setting for Christian living. Colossians 3:4 reminds us that Christ “is” our life, not a compartment of it. So even if no one knows you at the beach or the outlet mall, you’re still known by God. That means our kindness, patience, and integrity should follow us to the check-in counter and through every TSA line.

Also, if Sunday rolls around while you’re away, find a local church. Your presence will encourage them, and your worship will honor God, the one who made your trip possible in the first place. Don’t take a vacation from what matters most.

We hope you enjoy your break, travel safely, and return refreshed. When you’re gone, you’re missed. When you’re back, we’re glad. God bless your summer.

Paul Merideth

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Warrior Women

PAUL MERIDETH

When you picture a biblical warrior, you might think of David with his sling or Samson with his flowing hair and jawbone ordnance. But truthfully, some of the fiercest fighters in the Bible didn’t carry swords or wear armor. They carried babies. Or burdens. Or casseroles. Let’s think about the warrior women of Scripture.

Deborah was a judge and prophet in Israel. When military leaders hesitated to face the enemy, she didn’t. She wasn’t leading a women’s retreat; she led Israel. She called them to action, declared the word of the Lord, and led from wisdom rather than ego. Her leadership reminds us that courage isn’t a matter of volume but of clarity; it is about knowing what God has said and being willing to act.

Then there’s Hannah. No sword, no shield. Just tears and prayers. She battled infertility, public shame, and deep sorrow. And yet she went to the temple and poured out her soul like a warrior pouring out a battle plan. God gave her a son, Samuel, and she gave him right back to God. In doing so, she teaches us that surrender is sometimes strength.

And, of course, Mary, the mother of Jesus. When the angel said she would bear the Son of God, she didn’t refuse. She said, “Let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). This wasn’t a statement of resignation; it was resolve. Her obedience was not passive, and it was the beginning of the divine incarnational invasion force against sin, leading to the greatest victory in the history of creation.

These women were fierce in faith. Each moved the story of redemption forward. This Mother’s Day, remember that the battlefield of faith often looks like a quiet living room, a tearful private prayer, or a faithful word spoken in season. Sometimes, warrior women rock the cradle, fold the laundry, or walk through heartbreak with grit and grace. It’s not glamorous, but it is glorious.

And if you’re among those women who lead, love, and labor in faith then “thank you.” You are part of a long and noble line.

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How’s Your Pulse?

Let’s start with the obvious: if you don’t have a pulse, you’re in trouble. No heartbeat? That’s not just bad news—it’s fatal. So what about the church’s pulse? If we pressed two fingers to her spiritual wrist, would we feel a strong, vibrant beat or a troubling stillness?

Paul Merideth

The church in Corinth, the one Paul wrote to, was showing some signs of spiritual arrhythmia. It was a congregation under siege, pressured by a surrounding pagan culture and infected by internal conflicts and divisions. Satan has always tried to convert the living body of Christ into a lifeless shell. And in Corinth, unfortunately, he was making headway.

But Paul didn’t write them off as spiritually dead. He didn’t rush in with condemnation or a clipboard to pronounce time of death. He opened his letter with something surprisingly hopeful: thanksgiving. That alone tells us the situation wasn’t terminal. There was life still beating in their chest.

He reminded them, “God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord” (1 Corinthians 1:9).

There it is—the pulse. The steady rhythm that sustains the body of Christ. Faithfulness. Fellowship. These are not abstract theological ideas. They are the vital signs of Christian existence. They are not generated by our effort or enthusiasm but gifted to us by the One who gives life itself. We live because He is faithful. We thrive because we’ve been invited into a living, breathing, grace-filled connection with the Son.

So take a moment. Check your spiritual pulse. Is there a beat of gratitude in you? Can you sense the divine rhythm of grace pulsing through your spirit—God’s mercy, His provision, His redemption, His direction? These are not spiritual luxuries. They are signs of life. If they’re present, you’re alive. If they’re faint or missing, it might be time to consult the Great Physician.

And here’s the beautiful irony: even when our spiritual health falters, God remains steady. His faithfulness is not reactive. It doesn’t rise and fall with our performance. His grace does not ebb when ours does. It flows freely, relentlessly, keeping the body alive even when it stumbles.

Paul continues his note of thanksgiving with a cascade of affirmation:
“I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus…” (1 Corinthians 1:4-8). He goes on to describe how the Corinthians were enriched in every way—speech, knowledge, spiritual gifts—and not just enriched, but confirmed in their faith. They had what they needed to endure. And not only to endure, but to mature.

It’s important to remember that spiritual vitality is not measured by perfection but by direction. Are we moving toward Christ? Are we leaning into grace and growing in love? Is the pulse of our faith stronger today than it was yesterday?

In other words, the church wasn’t dead. She was bruised perhaps, confused at times, even spiritually reckless—but her heart was still beating. And Paul wanted them to hear that heartbeat loud and clear.

And yours is too, if you are in Christ. So take courage. Give thanks. God’s not done with you, and He’s not done with us. You and I are not sustained by sheer willpower. We are sustained by a faithful God who will hold us fast and bring us safely to the finish line.

As Paul says, He will sustain you to the end, guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 1:8). That is not just a heartbeat. That is a promise. And that promise is pumping life into the church even now.

So again—how’s your pulse?

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The God Who Sees

There are seasons in ministry and in life when we feel unseen. Not just unnoticed in passing, but overlooked in ways that cut deep. You show up, you serve, you carry burdens quietly, and yet decisions are made without you, tensions go unspoken, and your voice seems to vanish into the background.

Being unseen can feel like being unvalued. Over time, it wears on the soul.

But Scripture offers a steadying truth: We are seen by the God who sees.

Hagar, mistreated and alone in the wilderness, gave God a name no one else had: El Roi the God who sees me (Genesis 16:13). She wasn’t in a palace or a pulpit. She was a servant, a runaway, pregnant and hurting. Yet God saw her. He spoke to her. He called her by name.

When others overlook us, God does not. When leadership feels distant or cold, God is close. When our contributions go unnoticed, He keeps the record. Not for reward, but because that is who He is, the Shepherd who never loses track of a single sheep.

This does not always change our circumstances. But it can change our hearts. When we stop striving to be seen by people, we can rest in being known by God. And from that place, we can keep showing up, keep loving, keep serving, not for applause, but out of faithfulness.

If you’re in a season where your voice feels silenced or your presence seems to go unnoticed, take heart: You are seen. Not vaguely or generally, but specifically and tenderly by the One who matters most.

And in the quiet strength of that truth, you can keep going.

Posted on by Paul N. Merideth

He Heals the Brokenhearted

Paul Merideth

Psalm 147:3 declares, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” This verse was written in the context of Israel’s restoration after exile, portraying God’s compassionate care for His people as He rebuilds their lives, heals their wounds, and restores their hope. This simple yet profound truth speaks to anyone who has ever felt the weight of sorrow. Heartache is not an abstract concept—it is real, personal, and often overwhelming. But the psalmist reminds us that God is not distant from our pain. He is a healer.

Notice the tenderness in this verse. God does not merely acknowledge our wounds; He binds them. This imagery evokes the care of a devoted nurse tending to a wounded patient—not rushing the process but gently and skillfully applying healing. In the same way, God is patient with our hurts, mending what feels irreparable.

Healing, however, is not always instant. The wounds of loss, disappointment, and regret take time. Yet the promise remains: God is at work, even when we cannot see it. Our brokenness is not the end of the story. In His hands, wounds become part of our renewal, and sorrow gives way to joy. Trust in His healing, one step at a time.