Mark 16:18

These words appear at the end of the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus — after his resurrection — commissions his followers to go into the world and proclaim his message. The signs he describes (handling snakes, surviving poison, healing the sick) are presented as evidence that God will be with those who carry the gospel into dangerous territory. This is one of the more debated passages in the Bible for two reasons: many early manuscripts don't include this section of Mark at all, making scholars uncertain whether it was part of the original text; and some Christian communities have taken this verse literally (snake-handling churches exist today in parts of Appalachia), while most understand it as a promise of divine protection for messengers facing real danger, not a prescribed practice.

Lord, you sent ordinary, frightened people to do impossible things and promised to be with them. I don't need to handle snakes — but I do need a courage I don't naturally have. Be present with me in the risky and honest moments that come with following you. Amen.

Let's be honest — this might be the most uncomfortable verse you'll sit with in a devotional. Snakes. Poison. Bare hands. It sounds less like spiritual encouragement and more like a dare. But zoom out: Jesus is sending ordinary, frightened people into a world that would torture and kill them for what they were about to say. He's not handing them a self-improvement program. He's promising that nothing — not venom, not violence, not the worst the world can organize against them — will stop what he's set in motion. The signs aren't about showmanship. They're about the unstoppability of the message. Most of us won't face literal snakes. But we do face the specific fear of saying something true when it costs something. The conversation you've been avoiding. The part of your faith you keep private because you're not sure how people will react. The stand you haven't taken because the room might go cold. Jesus' promise here isn't immunity from discomfort — it's presence inside it. What is the risky, honest thing you've been carrying quietly, waiting for a safer moment that may not come?