1 Corinthians 15:55 – Today’s Verse for April 20, 2025 Sunday

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?“
— 1 Corinthians 15:55 KJV

Reflection on Today's Verse

Death used to be the big bad wolf, hiding at the end of every story. It was the ultimate threat—unbeatable, final, silent. But this verse flips the script. It taunts death like it’s been declawed. Why? Because Jesus didn’t just die—He walked out of the tomb. And when He did, He took death’s sting with Him.

Now, death doesn’t get the last word. It’s not the period at the end of our sentence. It’s a comma, a breath before forever. That’s what grace does—it turns fear into hope. The cross didn’t just cancel sin; it crushed the fear that comes with it.

We still feel the pain of loss, sure. But even in that pain, there’s a promise: death is not the end. For those in Christ, it’s a doorway. Broken hearts will be mended. Graves won’t stay shut.

So yeah, death may show up. But it no longer wins.

Personal Prayer

Lord Jesus, thank You for defeating the one thing that once terrified me most—death. You didn’t just overcome it… You mocked it. You stripped it of its power and replaced fear with hope. Because of You, I don’t have to live scared of endings. I can live fully, love boldly, and even grieve with peace.

Remind me, especially in moments of loss or doubt, that death has no sting left. You’ve crushed it under the weight of grace. Help me hold on to that truth when the world feels heavy. Let Your resurrection be louder than my fear.

I trust You with my life, my future, and even my final breath—because You’ve already walked through death and came back with the keys.

In Your name I pray, Amen.

Author

Alona
Alona Smith writes like she sketches—quick strokes, bold colors, no eraser. She ran a small-town art studio before VerseForTheDay invited her to swap charcoal for chapters, yet paint still flecks her keyboard. Dawn finds her barefoot on the porch, swirling watercolors across a travel Bible, letting sunrise seep into the margins. Neighbors wave as she bikes to the farmers’ market, basket rattling with sunflowers and Psalms scribbled on kraft-paper price tags.Alona trusts that Scripture behaves like clay: press your palms in, and a vessel appears where empty air once lived. Afternoon workshops with foster teens prove the point; they mold hope into coffee mugs, then watch steam carry it forward.Diplomas? Only framed sketches of hands lifted in worship. Awards? A dog-eared gratitude list taped to her fridge. Open her reflections when cynicism scratches—she’ll slide a brush into your grip and show you light hiding in the smear of everyday color.