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Before you drew your first breath, before the world could label you, define you, or limit you, you were known.
The prophet Isaiah tells us, “The Lord called me from the womb, from the body of my mother he named my name” (Isaiah 49:1). This is not just a poetic sentiment; it is a fundamental theological truth. You are not an accident. You are not a biological afterthought or a random occurrence in a chaotic universe. You were fashioned by the hand of the Almighty with a specific intent. God’s knowledge of you is intimate, exhaustive, and filled with a terrifyingly beautiful love.
This personal call is a profound honor. To be known by the Creator is the highest dignity a human being can possess. But, as Isaiah learned, this honor is inseparable from responsibility. To be “named” by God is to be drafted into His service. We are called to be His servants, not in some distant, abstract future, but in the gritty, complicated reality of our unique lives and contexts.
Today, that context is increasingly shadowed. We look around and see the rising tide of white supremacy, the rigid walls of fundamentalism, and a narrow-mindedness that seeks to shrink the Kingdom of God into a gated community. Let us be clear: these ideologies are not merely political differences. They are antithetically opposed to the heart of Christ. They are the antithesis of the Gospel.
When we see the “other” as a threat rather than a brother or sister known by God, we deny the very image of God in which we were all created. When we remain silent while innocent people are murdered in our streets—whether by the hands of hatred or the machinery of neglect—we are not being “neutral.” We are being complicit.
The great martyr and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who stood against the tide of the Nazi regime when many in the church remained silent, famously warned us:
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”
To be a follower of Christ today requires the same fire that burned in the hearts of the early Christians, the reformers of the Middle Ages, and the resistors of the Second World War. We cannot afford the luxury of complacency. We cannot sit comfortably in our pews while the world burns with injustice. The prophet Amos cries out across the centuries, piercing our comfort: “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).
How do we respond to such a daunting call? We look to John the Baptist. John knew exactly who he was because he knew exactly who he wasn’t. He didn’t seek the spotlight for himself; he used his voice to boldly proclaim who Christ was in his life. He pointed the way.
We see this same transformative invitation in the encounter between Jesus, Andrew, and Peter. When Jesus said, “Follow me,” it wasn’t a request for a Sunday morning commitment. It was a call to a new way of being. Andrew didn’t keep this encounter to himself; his first instinct was to find his brother and say, “We have found the Messiah.”
Discipleship is not a solo journey. It is an intentional, community work. It is a journey of walking, listening, and bringing others into the light of Christ. But to bring others to the light, we must first be willing to stand in the light ourselves—even when that light exposes our own fears and our own silence.
Modern prophets like Archbishop Desmond Tutu reminded us that “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” Being a disciple in 2026 means moving beyond “thoughts and prayers” into the prophetic action of “presence and protest.” It means shining God’s light in the specific corners of the world where you have been placed—in your workplace, your schools, and your neighborhoods—wherever fundamentalism and hate seek to take root.
You were called from the womb for a time such as this. You were given your unique voice, your unique experience, and your unique context so that you might reflect a specific ray of God’s glory that no one else can.
Do not let the world’s “insanity” of repeating the same mistakes of hatred convince you that change is impossible. We are a people of the Resurrection. We believe that life comes from death and light overcomes darkness.
So, I challenge you today: consider your discipleship journey. Who are you being called to reach? Where are you being called to speak? Like the first disciples, let us drop our nets of complacency. Let us reject the false gospels of supremacy and exclusion. Let us follow the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, and in following Him, let us bring the world along with us into the healing, justice, and peace of His Kingdom.
By Jos TharakanBefore you drew your first breath, before the world could label you, define you, or limit you, you were known.
The prophet Isaiah tells us, “The Lord called me from the womb, from the body of my mother he named my name” (Isaiah 49:1). This is not just a poetic sentiment; it is a fundamental theological truth. You are not an accident. You are not a biological afterthought or a random occurrence in a chaotic universe. You were fashioned by the hand of the Almighty with a specific intent. God’s knowledge of you is intimate, exhaustive, and filled with a terrifyingly beautiful love.
This personal call is a profound honor. To be known by the Creator is the highest dignity a human being can possess. But, as Isaiah learned, this honor is inseparable from responsibility. To be “named” by God is to be drafted into His service. We are called to be His servants, not in some distant, abstract future, but in the gritty, complicated reality of our unique lives and contexts.
Today, that context is increasingly shadowed. We look around and see the rising tide of white supremacy, the rigid walls of fundamentalism, and a narrow-mindedness that seeks to shrink the Kingdom of God into a gated community. Let us be clear: these ideologies are not merely political differences. They are antithetically opposed to the heart of Christ. They are the antithesis of the Gospel.
When we see the “other” as a threat rather than a brother or sister known by God, we deny the very image of God in which we were all created. When we remain silent while innocent people are murdered in our streets—whether by the hands of hatred or the machinery of neglect—we are not being “neutral.” We are being complicit.
The great martyr and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who stood against the tide of the Nazi regime when many in the church remained silent, famously warned us:
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”
To be a follower of Christ today requires the same fire that burned in the hearts of the early Christians, the reformers of the Middle Ages, and the resistors of the Second World War. We cannot afford the luxury of complacency. We cannot sit comfortably in our pews while the world burns with injustice. The prophet Amos cries out across the centuries, piercing our comfort: “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).
How do we respond to such a daunting call? We look to John the Baptist. John knew exactly who he was because he knew exactly who he wasn’t. He didn’t seek the spotlight for himself; he used his voice to boldly proclaim who Christ was in his life. He pointed the way.
We see this same transformative invitation in the encounter between Jesus, Andrew, and Peter. When Jesus said, “Follow me,” it wasn’t a request for a Sunday morning commitment. It was a call to a new way of being. Andrew didn’t keep this encounter to himself; his first instinct was to find his brother and say, “We have found the Messiah.”
Discipleship is not a solo journey. It is an intentional, community work. It is a journey of walking, listening, and bringing others into the light of Christ. But to bring others to the light, we must first be willing to stand in the light ourselves—even when that light exposes our own fears and our own silence.
Modern prophets like Archbishop Desmond Tutu reminded us that “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” Being a disciple in 2026 means moving beyond “thoughts and prayers” into the prophetic action of “presence and protest.” It means shining God’s light in the specific corners of the world where you have been placed—in your workplace, your schools, and your neighborhoods—wherever fundamentalism and hate seek to take root.
You were called from the womb for a time such as this. You were given your unique voice, your unique experience, and your unique context so that you might reflect a specific ray of God’s glory that no one else can.
Do not let the world’s “insanity” of repeating the same mistakes of hatred convince you that change is impossible. We are a people of the Resurrection. We believe that life comes from death and light overcomes darkness.
So, I challenge you today: consider your discipleship journey. Who are you being called to reach? Where are you being called to speak? Like the first disciples, let us drop our nets of complacency. Let us reject the false gospels of supremacy and exclusion. Let us follow the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, and in following Him, let us bring the world along with us into the healing, justice, and peace of His Kingdom.