We don’t usually think of ourselves as greedy.
In fact, most of us probably wouldn’t put ourselves anywhere near that category. We live in the most prosperous nation in the world, yet many of us don’t see ourselves as rich. Why? Because we measure ourselves against those who have more than we do—not less.
So instead of seeing abundance, we see lack.
Instead of feeling gratitude, we feel behind.
But here’s the truth: the poorest among us still live with conveniences that most of the world could never dream of. Hot meals at our fingertips. Clothes in abundance. Access to medicine, clean water, shelter, and more. We live in a world where we can have luxuries in minutes that others may never have in a lifetime.
And that makes inner greed hard to detect.
Because it hides behind the phrase, “I’m just getting by.”
But greed isn’t about the size of our wallet.
It’s about the condition of our heart.
Greed distorts how we see the world. It isolates us, making us compete instead of connect. It creates envy—where we quietly celebrate when others fail, because it makes us feel ahead. It drives us to burn ourselves out trying to keep up with people we weren’t meant to compare ourselves to. It ignites pride when we succeed and shame when we fall behind.
Worse still, it trains us to use people instead of love them—treating them like tools for our own comfort instead of image-bearers of God. And all the while, it whispers the lie: “If you just had a little more, you’d finally be safe.”
But that kind of safety is a mirage.
Greed offers comfort, but it can’t offer peace.
It offers control, but not security.
It gives us more to hold—until the weight crushes us.
The writer of Proverbs said it best:
“When your eyes light on it, it is gone, for suddenly it sprouts wings, flying like an eagle toward heaven” (Proverbs 23:5 ESV).
And maybe that’s the deepest danger of all—greed doesn’t just warp our desires. It fools us into thinking we’re in control. It gives us a false sense of security that makes us depend more on our wealth and less on the God who gives us every breath.
But let’s be clear: having money isn’t the problem.
The issue isn’t the dollar—it’s our devotion to it.
Paul warned Timothy of this exact danger:
“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs” (1 Timothy 6:10 ESV).
Notice—he didn’t say money is evil. He said the love of it leads to all kinds of destruction. A rich man can be generous and grounded. A poor man can be eaten up with greed he can’t even afford to satisfy. It’s not about what we have—it’s about what has us.
And sometimes, the clearest picture of greed isn’t in a parable. It’s in the lives of real people whose stories God preserved to warn us.
Let’s talk about Achan.
He walked with the Israelites through the wilderness. He watched God tear down the walls of Jericho. But when the city fell, and the silver and gold lay scattered among the rubble, something stirred in him. God had commanded that everything be devoted to destruction—no plunder, no spoils, no exceptions. But Achan saw it, wanted it, and took it.
He didn’t need it. He just couldn’t resist it.
“So I saw among the spoil a beautiful cloak from Shinar, and 200 shekels of silver, and a bar of gold weighing 50 shekels. Then I coveted them and took them” (Joshua 7:21 ESV).
He hid the stolen goods beneath his tent, thinking no one would know. But greed doesn’t stay hidden forever.
The next time Israel went to battle, 36 men died. Thirty-six families lost their husbands, fathers, sons—because of one man’s private greed.
When Joshua cried out to God in confusion, God answered bluntly: “Israel has sinned.” And when they tracked it down to Achan, it wasn’t just his reputation that was ruined. He and his entire family were put to death. Everything he owned was destroyed. His greed, buried in the dirt, was dug up—and it cost him everything.
He thought he was securing a future.
But his treasure grew wings and flew away.
And the wreckage didn’t stop with him.
Now think of Gehazi, the servant of Elisha.
He had a front-row seat to miracles. He watched Naaman the leper be healed by the power of God—washed clean in the Jordan River by Elisha’s word. Naaman, overwhelmed with gratitude, offered Elisha gifts: silver, clothes, treasures. But Elisha refused.
It wasn’t about the money. It was about the glory of God.
But Gehazi couldn’t let it go. After Naaman left, Gehazi secretly chased him down and said Elisha changed his mind and wanted the silver after all. He made it sound reasonable—“just a little for some visiting prophets.” But it was a lie.
He took the silver, hid it in his house, and acted like nothing happened.
Until Elisha looked him in the eye and said, “Did not my heart go when the man turned from his chariot to meet you?” (2 Kings 5:26 ESV). And then he added: “Therefore the leprosy of Naaman shall cling to you and to your descendants forever.”
What was gained with greed was cursed in judgment.
Gehazi wanted a little more—but it cost him everything. His body was scarred. His legacy stained. He exchanged the treasure of God’s favor for a few silver coins that would one day rust.
Greed always promises more than it can deliver.
And it always takes more than we think it will.
So today, let’s ask the hard questions:
Is there anything we’re chasing that’s quietly pulling us away from God?
Are we trusting in bank accounts and backup plans instead of the God who clothes lilies and feeds sparrows?
Are we measuring success by what we keep—or by what we give?
Jesus said it plainly:
“Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Luke 12:15 ESV).
He didn’t just warn us about greed—He showed us the better way.
“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9 ESV).
That’s the life we’re called to. Not a life of grasping, but of giving.
Not a life of building bigger barns, but of being rich toward God.
Let’s not let inner greed go unnoticed. Let’s choose the way of Christ—open-handed, open-hearted, and full of the kind of treasure that can never fly away.
His love came first—before we repented, before we believed, before we even knew we needed saving.
In our daily Bible reading, we might be tempted to skim through the first chapters of Numbers. It’s a long list of names, numbers, and tribal organization. But if we slow down, we find something deeper—something profoundly personal.
God tells Moses to take a census:
“From twenty years old and upward, all in Israel who are able to go to war, you and Aaron shall list them, company by company” (Numbers 1:3 ESV).
This wasn’t just a headcount. God was identifying those who were ready to step into responsibility. This was about preparation. God wasn’t counting spectators. He was counting soldiers. Every name was a person with a role to play in the journey ahead.
And then there’s this:
“Only the tribe of Levi you shall not list in the census of the people of Israel” (Numbers 1:49 ESV).
Levi wasn’t left out because they didn’t matter. They were left out because they had a different calling. Their job wasn’t battle—it was worship. They were called to serve in the presence of the Lord, guarding the tabernacle, carrying the holy things, and ministering on behalf of the people.
Different role. Same God. Same mission.
And look where God placed them:
“Then the tent of meeting shall set out, with the camp of the Levites in the midst of the camps. As they camp, so shall they set out, each in position, standard by standard” (Numbers 2:17 ESV).
Right in the center. Surrounded on all sides by the people of God, the tabernacle—the dwelling place of God—was at the heart of everything. God’s presence wasn’t peripheral. It was central.
Isn’t that still the call for us today?
God is still organizing His people with purpose. Some are called to fight battles. Some are called to guard sacred things. Some are placed at the center. Others are placed on the edge. But every name counts. Every tribe matters. And every role has meaning.
Paul reminds us of this truth in the New Testament:
“But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose” (1 Corinthians 12:18 ESV).
The same God who assigned tribes in the wilderness is the One who places us in the body of Christ today. We aren’t randomly scattered. We are intentionally placed.
Maybe we’re in a season where we feel like our contribution is small. Or maybe we feel like we’ve been left out entirely. But let’s not miss what these early chapters of Numbers are really saying:
God knows exactly where we are.
God knows exactly what we’re called to do.
And God knows exactly why we matter.
So let’s stop skimming.
Let’s start seeing.
Because if we were part of that camp, our name would’ve been written, too. Not just for record-keeping—but for relationship.
We don’t serve a God who counts numbers.
We serve a God who counts hearts.
“Thus did the people of Israel; they did according to all that the Lord commanded Moses” (Numbers 1:54 ESV).
That’s our cue. Let’s live like our name counts—because in His book, it does.
God doesn’t need your strength—He’s offering your His.
As we read through the book of Numbers, we come across offerings with names and meanings that might not be immediately clear. One of those is the wave offering. It shows up more than once, and when it does, it always carries the same message: this belongs to God first.
The wave offering, known in Hebrew as tenufah, was a special kind of ritual offering that the Israelites would present before the Lord. The name comes from the motion involved: the priest would wave the offering before the Lord—usually side to side or forward and back—as a symbolic gesture of presentation and dedication. But the waving itself wasn’t the point. The act was a public declaration: this belongs to the Lord. We acknowledge Him as the giver of all good things.
What they waved depended on the moment. Sometimes it was a sheaf of grain from the first harvest, like we see in Leviticus. Sometimes it was the breast of an animal from a peace offering. And sometimes, remarkably, it was people themselves. In Numbers 8:11, the Levites were presented to God as a wave offering.
In each case, the pattern was the same. First, it was presented to God, acknowledging His ownership. Then it was received back, often for use in His service. The people weren’t simply offering gifts; they were confessing a spiritual truth—everything we have is from God, and everything we offer already belongs to Him.
The waving itself symbolized movement, a sacred transfer from human hands to divine claim. It wasn’t just ritual; it was relationship. And it wasn’t just private giving either. It was communal. The priest waved it on behalf of the people, a moment of shared worship and acknowledgment.
It’s easy to treat the wave offering like an ancient ritual, something bound to a different time. But its message is timeless. We don’t just give things to God. We offer them up. We lift our lives before Him in dedication. Our time. Our talents. Our families. Our daily work. Even our pain. All of it, waved before the Lord.
Paul echoed this when he wrote, “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Romans 12:1 ESV). He was reaching back to this very idea. Let your life be waved before the Lord. Let Him see that we know where it all comes from. Let Him use it however He wills.
Because the motion may have been simple—just a wave—but the meaning was everything.
This is Yours, Lord. Not mine.
The cross didn’t just change history—it changed your identity.
I am in the book of Numbers in my daily Bible reading. We are all familiar with the story of the twelve spies who went into the land of Canaan. Ten came back with fear in their hearts, painting a picture of giants too big to overcome. But two men—Joshua and Caleb—stood firm in their trust, urging the people to believe that God could deliver the land into their hands.
“Why is the LORD bringing us into this land, to fall by the sword? Our wives and our little ones will become a prey. Would it not be better for us to go back to Egypt?”
And they said to one another, “Let us choose a leader and go back to Egypt.” (Numbers 14:3-4 ESV).
It was a heartbreaking moment. After everything they had seen—plagues in Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, manna from heaven—they still wanted to return to bondage. God’s response was swift and righteous.
“And the LORD said to Moses, “How long will this people despise me? And how long will they not believe in me, in spite of all the signs that I have done among them?
I will strike them with the pestilence and disinherit them, and I will make of you a nation greater and mightier than they.” (Numbers 14:11-12 ESV).
But Moses interceded. He pleaded with God, not for the sake of the people’s merit, but for the sake of God’s name and promise. God relented, showing mercy—but mercy doesn’t cancel out consequence.
“Then the LORD said, “I have pardoned, according to your word.
But truly, as I live, and as all the earth shall be filled with the glory of the LORD,
none of the men who have seen my glory and my signs that I did in Egypt and in the wilderness, and yet have put me to the test these ten times and have not obeyed my voice,” (Numbers 14:20-22 ESV).
That should have been the end of it—a sober moment to reflect and obey. But instead, some of the Israelites suddenly found a burst of what looked like faith. They decided they were ready to go to battle after all. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was pride. But whatever it was, it wasn’t obedience. Moses warned them not to go. God was not with them. The ark wasn’t going. He wasn’t going.
“But they presumed to go up to the heights of the hill country, although neither the ark of the covenant of the LORD nor Moses departed out of the camp.
Then the Amalekites and the Canaanites who lived in that hill country came down and defeated them and pursued them, even to Hormah.” (Numbers 14:44-45 ESV).
They presumed. That’s the phrase that stopped me. They presumed that their change of heart would change God’s direction. They presumed that their late obedience would be received as if it were timely faith. They presumed that God would follow them.
And don’t we do the same thing sometimes? We delay obedience, then try to force spiritual outcomes on our own terms. We say no to God at first, and when we start to feel the consequences, we rush forward—hoping He’ll still bless our plans, even though He never approved them. We push ahead with our own ideas and ask Him to catch up.
Sometimes we call it faith, but it’s just spiritualized stubbornness. Sometimes we mistake emotion for His presence, and then wonder why we fall flat on our faces. We make decisions in pride, slap a verse on it, and expect victory.
But just like Israel, when we presume upon God, we step into battle without His presence. And when that happens, it doesn’t matter how passionate or sincere we are. What matters is whether He is with us.
Following God means going where He leads, when He leads—not running ahead, not lagging behind, and certainly not trying to drag Him into our plans. It means surrendering our timing, our pride, and our control.
Let’s not be the ones who presume. Let’s be the ones who listen, who wait, and who move only when the Lord moves.
Have you ever felt the weight of your past sins press so hard on you that you began to think, “Why would my kids ever listen to me now? Why would my spouse believe me this time? How could I influence my friends when they know the truth about me?”
Remember that it’s Satan who wants you to create these self-fulfilling prophecies. It’s God who gives you the strength and grace to become a new creature.
God is not glorified because of our strength to live the way we should. He is glorified when, in our weakness, we submit to Him and let His Word make us something we are not.
“I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20 ESV).
When we want to show that Jesus is God, and that Jesus claimed to be God, we spend time in the Gospel of John, or more poignantly, in Mark 14. But there is a verse tucked away in Matthew that is an amazing place to see where Jesus claims to be God. And it came right after He cleanses the temple.
“And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple, and he healed them.But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonderful things that he did, and the children crying out in the temple, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!’ they were indignant,and they said to him, ‘Do you hear what these are saying?’ And Jesus said to them, ‘Yes; have you never read, “Out of the mouth of infants and nursing babies you have prepared praise”?’” (Matthew 21:14-16 ESV).
Did you catch that? When the chief priests and scribes saw His miracles and heard the children praising Him, they were indignant. “Do you hear what these are saying?”
Can you hear the indignation dripping from their lips? Well, I’m sure if this troubled them, Jesus’s answer was even harder to take. It’s a quote straight out of Psalm 8:
“O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens.Out of the mouth of babies and infants, you have established strength because of your foes, to still the enemy and the avenger.” (Psalm 8:1-2 ESV).
This Psalm addresses Yahweh. “O LORD” is the name of God. And when Jesus quotes this Psalm to the chief priests and scribes, He overtly ascribes this title to Himself.
There are many who argue that Jesus never claims to be God or accepts worship, but Matthew tells a different story. Not only do the early Christians worship Jesus as God, but Jesus Himself often takes Old Testament passages that clearly speak about God and ascribe them to Himself.
Just like He did in Matthew 21.
You don’t have to feel strong to walk by faith—you just have to move.
I just finished up the book of Numbers in my daily Bible reading. It ends with the division of the land of Canaan to the tribes of Israel. The borders were fixed, and this gift was the fulfillment of a promise made to Abraham over 400 years earlier.
What does this mean to us? It shows how God is faithful in His promises. We are promised a new heavens and a new earth. How do we know God will fulfill His promises to us? Because He cannot lie. Because we always see Him fulfilling His promises down to the smallest detail.
Because Numbers shows us He is always faithful.
I know I am a stranger, traveling as a foreigner in this world. My citizenship is in Heaven. I know my Lord has gone to His Father’s house to prepare a place for me.
And I know that because He has prepared a place for me, He will return to bring me where He is, and there I will dwell with Him forever.
Numbers shows me that the Lord knows how to give me an inheritance in a land He has promised to you, to me, to all who bend the knee to King Jesus.
I am in the book of Malachi in my daily Bible reading.
Before the coming of the Messiah, in this last book of the Old Testament before God goes silent for 400 years, Malachi exposes the bad heart of the people.
“A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If then I am a father, where is my honor? And if I am a master, where is my fear? says the LORD of hosts to you, O priests, who despise my name. But you say, ‘How have we despised your name?’
By offering polluted food upon my altar. But you say, ‘How have we polluted you?’ By saying that the LORD’s table may be despised.
When you offer blind animals in sacrifice, is that not evil? And when you offer those that are lame or sick, is that not evil? Present that to your governor; will he accept you or show you favor? says the LORD of hosts.” (Malachi 1:6-8 ESV).
Can we see the bad heart of these people? They went through the religious motions of offering to God, but they gave Him their leftovers. They coveted the best and gave God the worst. Can we imagine how that must have made God feel?
God provided for them. He protected them. He loved them. But the people had come to a place where not only did they offer worthless sacrifices to God, they were indignant when He called it out:
“How have we despised your name?”
“How have we polluted you?”
And later, they ask:
“How have we robbed you?”
“How have we spoken against you?”
And us? What do we offer God?
Do we give Him the best of our lives because He is the mighty God who deserves the best? Or do we keep the best for ourselves and give Him whatever’s left?
Do we give Him the best of our time, or do we just throw a few leftover moments His way? A chapter here. A service there. A whispered prayer when it’s convenient.
How much time do we plan our vacations, research our gifts, watch our sports, or pour into our jobs?
When do we rob God of the time, honor, and reverence He deserves?
Are we, too, indignant when asked to consider these things?
This is a heart issue. It was in Malachi’s day, and it still is today.
May we listen humbly to Malachi’s words and examine what we place before God. Is it the best of our hearts, our time, our strength, our love?
Or are we offering the lame, the blind, and the sick?
May we be the people who bring our very best to the One who gave us His.