What Does God Really Require of Us?

As winter slowly releases its grip and we anticipate the arrival of spring, many of us find ourselves in a season of spiritual reflection. We're in the midst of Lent—those 40 intentional days that lead us toward Easter and the celebration of our resurrected Savior.

But what does this season really mean? And more importantly, what does God actually require of us during this time?

The number 40 appears throughout Scripture with profound meaning. Noah endured 40 days and nights of rain, a time of purification and preparation for new life. Moses spent 40 days on Mount Sinai, fasting and seeking God, receiving the Ten Commandments in divine revelation. The Israelites wandered 40 years in the desert, learning dependence on God through testing and purification.

And then Jesus—after his baptism, he spent 40 days in the wilderness, fasting and facing temptation, showing us what spiritual alignment with God's purpose truly looks like.

These aren't random occurrences. They're intentional markers that help us understand what Lent is all about: purification, repentance, preparation, and complete dependence on our Creator.

Many of us approach Lent asking, "What should I give up this year?" We commit to avoiding chocolate, staying off social media, reading our Bibles more consistently, or attending church every Sunday. These aren't bad practices—not at all. But they might be missing the deeper point.

In the book of Micah, God poses a different question entirely. Picture a courtroom scene: God is the judge, the people of Israel are the defendants, and the mountains themselves serve as witnesses. God cries out to his people with a wounded heart:

"My people, what have I done to you? What have I done to make you tired of me? I brought you out of Egypt and redeemed you from slavery. I sent leaders to guide you. Remember when everything should have gone wrong, but instead you were blessed? That was me."

This isn't an angry God demanding answers. This is a wounded Father, hurt that his children can't see all he's done for them.

The people's response sounds familiar. They panic and start offering solutions: "Should we bring burnt offerings? Thousands of rams? Rivers of olive oil? Should we sacrifice our firstborn children?"

In other words: "How much religion is enough to fix this?"

We do the same thing today. When we mess up or desperately need God to come through, our prayers often sound like bargaining: "God, if you get me through this, I swear I'll never do that again." Or "Please let these results be good, and I promise I'll go to church every Sunday."

We assume God wants more religious activity, more checkboxes ticked, more proof that we're following the rules.

But God's answer cuts through all the religious performance. Through the prophet Micah, he declares:

"He has told you, O people, what is good and what the Lord requires of you: to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God."

That's it. Not thousands of rams. Not rivers of oil. Not perfect church attendance or flawless Bible reading streaks.

To do justice. To love mercy. To walk humbly with God.

This has nothing to do with rituals or performance. God is describing a way of life—a life fully integrated with faith, reflected in everyday actions.

Doing justice means putting justice into practice, not just thinking about it. It's about how we treat the vulnerable, how we pursue equity and fairness for those in weaker social positions. It's about using our power, privilege, and voice for the benefit of others.

Loving mercy doesn't mean showing mercy occasionally when we're in a good mood. It means being in love with mercy, delighting in forgiveness, always choosing compassion over judgment. The Hebrew word used here—chesed—appears 250 times in the Old Testament and means faithful love, loyalty, and grace that binds people to God and to each other.

Walking humbly with God means not walking ahead of him or lagging behind, but walking with God daily, dependent upon him and teachable in his ways.

Centuries after Micah, as Jesus made his way toward the cross, he confronted the religious leaders with the same truth. He called out the Pharisees and teachers of the law who were so obsessed with following every tiny detail that they even tithed their herbs—their basil and thyme—to ensure they met the letter of the law.

"You ignore the most important aspects of the law," Jesus told them, "justice, mercy, and faith. You should tithe, yes, but do not neglect the more important things."

They had worried so much about the mechanics that they'd missed the mission entirely.

It's easy to become a checkbox Christian. Going to church, reading the Bible, praying publicly, tithing the right percentage, going on mission trips, posting scripture on social media—all good things. But if we're doing them without genuine relationship and pursuit of Christ, we're just like those religious leaders tithing their herbs while missing the loving intention behind God's commands.

There's no point in giving up chocolate for Lent if we don't care to ask ourselves what Jesus would actually do when we watch the news. There's no point in committing to read the Bible if we shut its pages and go to work with anger in our hearts toward our coworkers. There's no point in fasting from social media if we have no intention of replacing that time with listening for God's voice.

Here's what makes all the difference: we cannot live out the command of Micah 6:8 without understanding the sacrifice of the cross.

Justice without the cross becomes self-righteous. Mercy without the cross becomes shallow. Humility without the cross becomes impossible.

But when we understand that our lives are meant to be lived in response to God's grace—grace already given, grace made possible by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ—everything changes.

Obedience is always a response to grace, not a way to earn it. Grace is not a response to our behavior, but our behavior should be a response to grace.

Jesus was the only one who lived wholly and perfectly in this broken world. He overcame temptation in the wilderness by leaning into God's Word. He carried our sins to the cross, allowed his body to be beaten and broken for us, and rose from the grave to show us that there is nothing—not even death—that he cannot overcome.

When God tells us to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with him, it's not a burden or challenge. It's an invitation.

It's not God saying, "Try harder so I'll love you more." It's God saying, "I've loved you so much that I sent my own Son to die for you. In honor of that, would you do justice, love mercifully, and walk humbly with me?"

This Lenten season, may we reconsider our resolutions. May we restructure them to focus on what God actually requires: looking out for those who don't receive the same privileges we enjoy, committing to compassion and grace, allowing God to lead, and patterning our lives after his example.

As we step toward Easter, may each step be taken not as a way to earn grace when we get there, but understanding that this is how we live in grace—empowered by the Spirit of God to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our Lord and Savior.