The Grace of Humility 

Matthew 23:11-12 

He who is greatest among you shall be your servant. 12 And whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. 

Rebecca Luker, a name that once lingered in the wings, now echoes through the halls of Broadway’s memory. She graced the stage with a voice like velvet, a presence that shimmered not in sudden brilliance, but in a light that grew ever brighter with time. A three-time Tony Award nominee, she became one of the greats, but her path was not one of instant recognition. 

In the early years, she stood in the shadows of others, often a substitute, a name on the edge of a playbill. Yet, in 1988, when Sarah Brightman stepped away, Rebecca stepped forward—into the role of Christine in The Phantom of the Opera. And then, in 1991, she claimed her own light as Lily Craven in The Secret Garden. From there, for three decades, she became a towering figure in musical theater, not by force, but by grace. 

She once spoke of her late-blooming success, not as a stroke of fortune, but as a season of growth. The years spent in supporting roles had shaped her, carved depth into her artistry, and refined her soul for the leading parts to come. 

Is this not the way of life itself? The way of faith? The way of Christ? 

We honor those who endure, who persevere through the quiet, unseen work. It is easy to admire the ones who stand at the pinnacle, but how much more should we cherish the journey—the long and winding road of patience and humility? There is beauty in the waiting, wisdom in the background, and strength in the unseen toil. 

Christ Himself spoke of this mystery: “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” He washed the feet of His disciples, not as a sign of weakness, but as a lesson in divine strength. He called His followers to become like little children—pure, unassuming, and free of pride. 

To rise, one must first bow low. To be truly great, one must first embrace the unseen, the overlooked, the humble work of serving others. 

And when God lifts the lowly, He shows us a truth beyond measure—His presence fills all spaces, from the highest throne to the most hidden corner. His Spirit moves through the grandest stages and the quietest hearts. 

Rebecca Luker’s story is more than that of an artist; it is a testament to patience, to humility, to the sacred beauty of the journey. She reminds us that behind every moment of glory is a season of preparation, and behind every triumph is a soul that has learned to kneel. 

May we all learn to embrace the quiet work, the supporting roles, the unseen acts of love and grace. For in them, we are not forgotten—we are simply being prepared to rise.

The Hidden Fragrance of Grace 

Luke 7:37 "As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears…continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment."  

On an episode of Antiques Roadshow, an elderly woman brought in a small, timeworn beauty box she had inherited from her mother—and her mother before her. She came simply seeking its monetary value, perhaps considering selling it. 

The expert examined the box with careful eyes. As he opened it, he noticed something peculiar—a hidden compartment beneath the base. Curious, he gently opened the secret chamber. To their surprise, inside was a fragile note the woman had written to her mother when she was just a little girl. Her mother had kept it tucked away in that box for decades. 

While the beauty box held value as an antique, in that moment its worth to the woman became far greater than any price. Holding the note with trembling hands, she said through tears, “I can smell my mom’s perfume on the paper.” 

What was hidden had been revealed. And in that revealing, something sacred came to life. 

There’s a story in Scripture of a woman who entered a room filled with people who knew her only by her reputation—a sinner. She came with a fragile alabaster jar of perfume and knelt at Jesus’ feet. She wept, letting her tears wash His feet, and then anointed them with oil. 

What a strange scene that must have been to the onlookers. Who was she to interrupt such a gathering? Why the tears? Why the perfume? 

Scripture doesn’t give us her name, but it tells us what we need to know: she was broken, desperate, and willing to bring her whole self—shame and all—before Jesus. Her alabaster jar wasn’t just a vessel of perfume. It was a symbol of her heart, cracked open in raw surrender. She exposed her pain, her past, and her longing for forgiveness. 

And Jesus didn’t turn away. 

Like the hidden note in the beauty box, our most vulnerable pieces are often tucked away in secret compartments of the soul—places we think are better left unopened. But God knows what’s hidden there. And when we dare to bring those parts to Him—our failures, our griefs, our untold stories—He receives them not with judgment, but with grace. 

Maybe you, too, have a secret box in your life. Something long hidden. Maybe opening it feels impossible. But when you do—when you offer your most broken places to Jesus—they become the very places where His fragrance fills the air. ㅠecause the most shameful things, when surrendered to Him, become the sweetest aroma in His presence 

Easter: Reaffirming God’s Sovereignty 

Genesis 1:27 “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” 

Barentsburg, the second largest settlement in the Svalbard archipelago of Norway, is home to approximately 455 inhabitants. Originally established as a coal mining town, its population is composed almost entirely of Russian and Ukrainian nationals. 

What sets Barentsburg apart is its extreme geographical location—it is one of the northernmost inhabited places on Earth. As a result, nearly everything in the town bears the superlative “northernmost,” from its school to its post office. 

Interestingly, due to logistical and environmental challenges, residents are legally prohibited from dying or giving birth in Barentsburg without prior governmental permission; violations can result in significant penalties. 

This peculiar reality invites reflection on the nature of human existence. Much like the residents of Barentsburg, individuals do not choose the moment of their birth, nor can they fully determine the timing of their death. These existential bookends—birth and death—lie beyond human control and rest in the hands of the Creator. This fundamental truth underscores a central aspect of human nature: we do not own our lives in absolute terms, nor do we exercise full authority over their course. 

As Christians enter Holy Week, marking the final days of Jesus Christ’s earthly ministry, this theme gains particular significance. The suffering endured by Christ is well understood as a redemptive act for the forgiveness of humanity’s sins. Yet, one might still ask: 

why did God choose to manifest His Son’s sacrifice so publicly? What deeper message is conveyed through the Cross? 

To answer this, one must return to the origins of creation, as stated in Genesis 1:27: “God created mankind in his own image.” This verse affirms a foundational truth—that God is the Creator, and as such, He holds ultimate authority over human life. The Cross serves as a profound reminder of this divine sovereignty. It challenges the human tendency to deny, reject, or forget this truth. The crucifixion is not merely a historical event; it is a theological statement declaring that our lives do not belong to us, but to God. 

This is the central message of Easter: that through Christ’s visible and sacrificial act, God reasserts His rightful place as the sovereign Lord over life and death. In recognizing this, we are invited to return to a posture of humility, trust, and reverence before the One who created us in His image.