Scripture Reading
“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
—John 12:24 (NIV)
Reflection
Telling the truth—real, vulnerable truth—can feel like a kind of death. In recovery, honesty often means facing what we’ve done, what we’ve feared, and what we’ve lost. It means surrendering our grip on image, control, and the illusions we’ve built to survive. For many, the moment of disclosure or confession is not a moment of triumph—it’s a moment of undoing. And in that undoing, it’s easy to wonder: will anything good come from this?
Jesus speaks these words in John 12 just days before His crucifixion. He’s preparing His disciples for what’s coming—not just His death, but the reality that new life often starts where something else ends. He uses the image of a seed, a small, seemingly insignificant thing, that only multiplies when it falls and dies. In the upside-down kingdom of God, death is not the end. It’s the beginning of resurrection.
Honesty can feel like death because something is dying—our pride, our self-made righteousness, our false safety. But what grows in its place is far greater: healing, freedom, restored connection, and the quiet strength of being known and still loved. As Tim Keller often said, the gospel is this: we are more sinful and flawed than we ever dared believe, yet more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.
In recovery, confession is not just about coming clean. It’s about coming alive. Not immediately. Not painlessly. But truly. God doesn’t waste the seeds that fall. When they fall into His hands, they multiply into something redemptive, even beautiful.
If honesty feels like death to you today, remember that the ground where truth is buried is often the soil of new life. And Jesus, who walked through death Himself, will walk with you through yours—not to shame you, but to raise you.
Prayer
Jesus,
You know how much I want to be safe, to be seen only in parts, to keep control.
But You are calling me into the light—not to punish me, but to free me.
Still, I confess: honesty feels like death.
I fear what I’ll lose, how I’ll be seen, and whether I’ll be loved when the whole truth is told.
But if You are the one who raises the dead, then I can trust You here too.
Give me the courage to lay down what I’ve been holding.
Let what needs to die, die.
And let what You’ve planted in me begin to grow.
Make me new, even through this.
Amen.
Practice
Find a quiet place and take a few minutes to reflect on this question:
What truth have I been afraid to tell—either to myself, to someone I love, or to God?
Write it down. You don’t have to share it yet. Just start by naming it.
Now read John 12:24 again slowly. Sit with the image of the seed. What might grow if you released this truth? What would it mean to trust Jesus with it?
End your time by asking God for the next small step in your journey toward truth and healing. Just one step. He will meet you in it.
