John the Baptist was a prophet who lived in the wilderness and preached an urgent message: turn from your old ways, be baptized as a sign of repentance, and prepare for the one who is coming — Jesus. His preaching drew enormous crowds from across the region. This single verse captures the crowd's response after hearing him: they don't argue, they don't leave — they ask, "What should we do?" It's one of the most disarmingly honest questions in the Gospels. They've been convicted and they want to know what that conviction actually requires of them. John's answer in the verses that follow turns out to be surprisingly ordinary: share your extra coat with someone who has none, don't cheat people, be content with your wages.
Lord, we're good at hearing and feeling and nodding along — but slow to actually change. Make us people who ask the honest question: what should I do? And give us the courage to follow through, even when the answer is uncomfortable or costs us something. Amen.
The most dangerous response to a moment of conviction is to walk away feeling moved without changing a single thing. The crowd in this story didn't do that. They asked a direct, uncomfortable question: *what should we do?* Five words. No hedging, no theological debate, no "but what about the people who are worse than me." Just — we heard you, we believe something needs to change, now tell us what to actually do. That kind of raw spiritual honesty is rarer than it sounds, and John honored it by giving them real, practical answers instead of lofty ones. The question cuts both ways. It takes courage to ask, because you're agreeing in advance to accept an answer you might not like. But it's also the only question that leads anywhere real. You can admire a teaching, be genuinely moved by it, even share it with other people — and still never let it touch the actual shape of your Tuesday. When the question gets that specific — not "what should one do" but "what should *I* do" — something shifts. Is there something you've been circling for a while, something you already know the answer to but haven't asked the direct question about yet? It might be time to stop circling.
Why do you think the crowd asked "what should we do?" rather than arguing with John or simply walking away — what does their question reveal about where they were spiritually?
Is there a message — a sermon, a verse, a conversation — that convicted you recently but that you haven't yet acted on? What has been keeping you from responding?
John's answers in the next verses are surprisingly practical and ordinary — share your coat, don't cheat, be content. Why do you think genuine spiritual transformation so often shows up in small, concrete, everyday actions rather than dramatic ones?
How might asking "what should I do?" about the people in your life — rather than "what should they do?" — change the way you relate to them?
Pick one area of your life where you already know what you should do but haven't done it. What is one specific, concrete step you can take this week?
Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth .
Ephesians 4:28
Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance:
Matthew 3:8
Now when they heard this, they were pricked in their heart, and said unto Peter and to the rest of the apostles, Men and brethren, what shall we do?
Acts 2:37
And brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?
Acts 16:30
The crowds asked him, "Then what are we to do?"
AMP
And the crowds asked him, “What then shall we do?”
ESV
And the crowds were questioning him, saying, 'Then what shall we do?'
NASB
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.
NIV
So the people asked him, saying, “What shall we do then?”
NKJV
The crowds asked, “What should we do?”
NLT
The crowd asked him, "Then what are we supposed to do?"
MSG