Every year, we ask the Lord for a word—a single truth that can shape us, anchor us, and carry us into deeper obedience. This year, the word the Lord has given us is simple but weighty: Carry. It’s a word that reminds us not only of what we do, but who we bear within us. We carry Christ. We carry His heart, His posture, His mission, and His hope into every place we go.
When I think about what it truly means to carry Christ, my mind goes to moments in the Gospels where Jesus Himself showed us how to do it. These aren’t abstract ideas—they are living pictures of who He is. And as His people, we are invited to embody Him in the same way.
When Matthew writes that Jesus looked at the crowds and “had compassion on them” (Matthew 9:36), he wasn’t describing a passing emotion. He was revealing the inner life of the Savior—the heartbeat of the One we carry. Jesus sees people who are hurting, helpless, confused, wandering—and He is moved to action. Charles Spurgeon captures it so well: “The compassion of Jesus is the wellspring of all our hopes.”
If we’re going to carry Christ into our world, we must begin by carrying His compassion in our hearts. Not strategy. Not an obligation. Compassion. In all we do as a ministry, this remains the motive behind everything—because it was the motive behind everything Jesus did.
But compassion doesn’t remain internal. It moves. It sees.
One of my favorite pictures of Jesus comes from the moment He approaches the town gate of Nain. A widow walks in a funeral procession for her only son. She’s surrounded by a crowd, but she’s utterly alone in her grief. And then Scripture says this: “When the Lord saw her, His heart went out to her.”
This is where carrying Christ truly begins—when we see others. Not glancing. Not passing by. Seeing. Buechner once wrote, “Before doing anything else, we must see our neighbors—with our imagination as well as our eyes.”
Carrying Christ means slowing down. It means allowing interruptions. It means allowing our hearts to be pierced by the people in front of us—not just by their actions but by their burdens. Jesus saw a grieving mother, and that vision moved Him to raise her son from the dead. This is the pattern of Christ: He sees, He feels, He acts.
And that brings me to the next truth: we carry Christ not only when we see others but when we show love in tangible, costly, inconvenient ways.
Think about Jesus and the man with leprosy. This man didn’t just need healing; he needed dignity. He had lived years without touch, without acceptance, without belonging. But Jesus—full of compassion—reached out His hand and touched him. Before He healed him, He loved him. Before He restored his body, He restored his worth.
Jesus let Himself be interrupted.
Jesus touched the untouchable.
Jesus dignified the outcast.
This is what it means to carry Christ. We don’t just feel compassion—we demonstrate it. John Wesley said it beautifully: “Do all the good you can… as long as ever you can.” That is carrying Christ. It is love that moves from sentiment to action, from theory to presence, from words to touch.
But carrying Christ doesn’t end with compassion, sight, or even love. There’s another dimension—perhaps the most needed in our world right now: we carry Christ when we speak hope.
In one of the most powerful moments in the Gospels, a woman caught in sin is dragged before Jesus. The religious leaders demand judgment. They ask Jesus, “Now what do you say?” And the world is still asking us the same question today.
Jesus’ response is astonishing. He does not condemn. He does not shame. He does not crush. Instead, He speaks hope: “Neither do I condemn you.”
In a world overflowing with anger, accusation, and condemnation, carrying Christ means becoming people whose words reflect His mercy. Words that lift instead of destroy. Words that heal instead of wound. Words that open a future instead of closing it.
Hope is not naïve. It’s powerful. It’s the language of Christ’s Kingdom. And in many cases, it may be the only Gospel some will ever hear.
So, when I think about the word Carry, I’m not thinking about what we carry in our hands—but what we carry in our hearts and our lives.
To carry Christ is to be a people whose compassion mirrors His.
To carry Christ is to see people as He sees them—fully, deeply, honestly.
To carry Christ is to show love that costs something.
To carry Christ is to speak hope in a world drowning in fear and condemnation.
This is our calling for the year ahead—and for every year after.
My prayer is that this word doesn’t simply become an idea or a theme, but a way of life for all of us. May we become a people who carry Christ so clearly, so consistently, that those around us cannot help but experience Him through us.
May compassion be our motive.
May seeing be our posture.
May love be our action.
May hope be our message.
This year let’s carry Christ well—into every home, every conversation, every nation, every heart.
Carry, Him. Carry, His heart. Carry, His mission. Carry, His hope.
And may the world see Jesus because we chose to carry Him into it.
Tanner Peake
