Acts 9:31

The book of Acts, written by a physician named Luke, traces the growth of the early Christian church in the decades after Jesus's resurrection. This verse is a summary statement following the dramatic conversion of Saul — a man who had been violently hunting and imprisoning Christians, who became the apostle Paul after an encounter with the risen Jesus on a road to Damascus. His conversion created an unexpected period of calm for the churches. Judea, Galilee, and Samaria were distinct regions that together represented the heart of the Jewish homeland and the early church's first geographic footprint. Luke notes that during this season, the church didn't just survive — it grew in numbers, in spiritual depth, and in what he calls 'the fear of the Lord,' an ancient phrase for reverent, humble awe before God.

Holy Spirit, I want to be someone who is genuinely strengthened and encouraged by You — not just going through the motions of faith. Cultivate in me a real reverence, a quiet awe that reshapes how I see ordinary days and ordinary people. Let what grows in me be something worth keeping. Amen.

We tend to assume growth requires relentless effort — better systems, sharper strategy, more compelling programs. Luke's summary of this extraordinary moment in early church history doesn't mention any of that. What he highlights is a posture: a community strengthened and encouraged by the Holy Spirit, living in the fear of the Lord. That phrase — 'fear of the Lord' — doesn't mean cowering dread. In the Hebrew and early Christian tradition it described something closer to deep reverence: the lived awareness that you are in the presence of Someone infinitely greater, and that awareness quietly reshaping everything about how you move through ordinary days. The peace that made this growth possible came from outside — from a persecutor's sudden conversion, from circumstances nobody planned or engineered. What the church brought to that moment was receptivity. They were open to being encouraged, open to being strengthened by something beyond themselves, open to awe. That's harder than it sounds. Awe gets squeezed out by familiarity, by overscheduled weeks, by faith that gradually becomes a routine rather than a relationship. What would it look like — on an unremarkable Thursday, not at a retreat — to approach God with that quality of reverent attentiveness? That might be where actual growth starts.