The chain that holds

Stand at the beginning.

Eleven frightened men in an upper room in Jerusalem. The one they had given everything to has been dead for three days. The door is locked. Whatever they had hoped for is apparently over.

And then he is there.

In that room, on that day, something is ignited that has not gone out in two thousand years. Not because the eleven were extraordinary — they were not. Not because the institution they began was incorruptible — it was not. Not because the transmission was always clean — it was not.

But because the one who appeared in that room was actually there. And the faith that began in the seeing was passed — hand to hand, generation to generation, from Peter to Polycarp to Irenaeus to Athanasius to Augustine to Benedict to Columba to Anselm to Francis to Aquinas to Julian to Hus to Luther to Tyndale to Bunyan to Wesley to Wilberforce to Carey to Brainerd to Bonhoeffer to Teresa to Tutu to the unnamed woman in North Korea memorizing scripture in the dark.

Every person in this devotional received something and gave it to someone else. The giving was imperfect. The something was not.

You are reading this because the chain held. Because people you will never meet held it through things you will never face, in places you will never go, in languages you do not speak.

You received it. Now it is yours to hold and yours to give.

What you have heard, entrust to faithful people, who will teach others also.

Four generations in one sentence: Paul to Timothy, Timothy to faithful people, faithful people to others.

The chain is not an institution. It is not a denomination or a tradition or a theological system. It is this — the passing of what was received, from person to person, across every obstacle the world can place between the giver and the receiver.

You are somewhere in the middle of it. You received from someone. You will give to someone.

Hold it carefully. Pass it faithfully. The chain does not maintain itself.