As we waive goodbye to 2025 and welcome in a new year, we all will experience a wide range of emotions—hope for fresh possibilities and excitement for what’s ahead, but often mixed with a quiet ache for the dreams that remain just out of reach. Another year has gone by: the same job wearing us down, finances that never quite stretch far enough, a season of singleness that lingers, or a relationship that remains fractured. For some, it’s the weight of a prodigal child whose return still feels distant.
Wherever you stand right now, the new year carries weight. We feel the heavy pressure to make it count. Suddenly, the resolutions pile up: read the Bible more, exercise, go to church faithfully or pick up a new hobby. We tell ourselves this is the year we’ll finally do everything we meant to do last year—as if fulfillment will soon follow.
But I got to thinking: What if we’re approaching this backwards? Instead of adding more to our already stretched lives, what if we began by taking things away? What if some of our “accomplishments” aren’t actually aligned with what God desires for us?
We keep stacking new commitments on top of old ones, never pausing to clear space. That never lasts.
Scripture gives us a vivid picture of what happens when our lives get overcrowded. When Jesus enters the temple in Jerusalem, He finds it transformed into a marketplace with animals being bought and sold for sacrifices, money changers exchanging currencies. In righteous anger, He overturns the tables and drives them out: “It is written, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you have made it ‘a den of robbers’” (Matthew 21:12-13).
We shake our heads at those temple leaders—just like we (ok maybe just me) roll our eyes at people who abandon grocery carts in the middle of the parking lot. 😠 How could these temple leaders let it get so far? It probably didn’t start with greed or bad intentions. It likely began as a convenience for travelers. A practical way to make worship more accessible. A small accommodation and a helpful nudge. But that’s the danger of the slippery slope. One minor compromise leads to another until the sacred is crowded out entirely. Eventually, there was no room left for worship only distraction from their true purpose.
I’ve seen over and over again in my own life that what I permit, I practice. What I practice, I become good at. And what I become good at, eventually becomes my identity. The leaders permitted a little marketplace activity and gradually mastered it to the point where commerce overshadowed worship altogether. One compromise at a time, the holy became unrecognizable. This story isn’t just ancient history; it’s a mirror.
“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)
We are the temple.
So before we add another long list of resolutions, let’s first cleanse the temple within us. Let’s refuse to let our lives become “dens of robbers” and instead become houses of prayer. Where might those small compromises be creeping in?
Time: We all have the same 24 hours each day. Saying “I’m too busy” is often a polite way of describing the choices we’ve made. We complain about the frenzy, yet we wear busyness like a badge of honor. Does our schedule determine our worth, or does God?
Media: How have we allowed our “temple” to be infiltrated? Are we content with the “less bad” versus pursuing what is truly good, righteous, and holy?
Money: What if we cared less about the labels we wear and more about carrying the heart of Jesus into the world?
Health: Our bodies are the dwelling place of the Spirit. Are we stewarding our emotional, spiritual, and physical health, or are we just running the engine until it smokes?
Relationships: Are we quick to forgive and eager to treat others the way Jesus would? Are we willing to trade our pride for humility and our comfort for sacrifice?
Sin doesn’t always scream, beware of the whisper. Sin grows familiar when we let it stay close. Small nudges become slippery slopes, which turn into backslides and eventually free falls.
It’s time to take back the temple.
Let’s make 2026 a year of restoration. A year of fiercely guarding our hearts and overturning tables where needed. Let’s aim for holy subtraction that makes room for more of His presence and far less distraction. Cleansing the temple isn’t about adding, it’s about making room for what matters. It’s about alignment without compromise. Achievement apart from alignment is empty—it’s just noise. But achievement that flows from alignment is the life God calls us to.
I don’t want more achievement this year; I want more alignment.
It all begins with cleansing the temple.
Are we willing to turn over some tables in 2026?