When You Step Out of the Boat: What Failure Can Teach Us About Faith
There’s a moment many of us know well: we stand at the edge of a new reality. A new responsibility, a difficult conversation, a risk that feels too great, and a quiet voice inside asks, “Who am I to do this?” We rehearse and remind ourselves not of our unique capabilities but of our shortcomings. Every night I try to sleep, my brain pulls out a catalog of my past mistakes and plays them again and again. More often than not, I think that instinct to limit ourselves, the fear of repeating past mistakes, causes many of us to stay where we are, safe and still, as the moment of God’s calling passes by.

But what if that fear of failure is not a signal to retreat? What if it is actually the sign of something God is trying to do in and through us?

The Burning Bush and the Man Who Ran Away
When God appears to Moses in Exodus 3, Moses is not exactly at the height of his career or life by any measure. He is a fugitive. He has blood on his hands and a difficult past following him like a shadow. Moses ran as far from his past as he could, trying to leave it in the dust. Moses tends someone else's sheep in the wilderness, which is not exactly the biography of a world-changer, and he probably thinks he has succeeded in his escape as the years pass by.

And yet God meets him there, in the ordinary, in the unremarkable routine of a regular day, following him across nations, and speaks a calling over his life that seems, by any reasonable measure, absurd. Go to Pharaoh. Bring my people out of Egypt. Lead a nation to freedom.

Moses responds the way most of us would. “No.” More personally, Moses essentially says: wrong person, wrong time. He points to his limitations, his lack of eloquence, his history, his inadequacy. And God's answer is not a list of reasons why Moses is actually quite impressive. God does not say, "No, Moses, you're being too hard on yourself. You have a lot to offer." God simply says: I will be with you.

That is the whole answer. That is the entire argument. Not Moses's qualifications, but God's presence with him. This is a profound reframing for anyone who has ever talked themselves out of a calling. The question was never whether you are impressive enough. The question is whether God is faithful enough to be with you? And the answer has never changed. Well duh, yes.

The One Who Got Out of the Boat
In Matthew 14, Jesus walks toward his disciples across a storm-tossed sea. They are terrified, convinced they are seeing a ghost. We get the trope you know I hate of “fear not,” “too late.” But Peter, being his impulsive, imperfect, reckless self, calls out and asks Jesus to command him to come.

And Jesus says: you guessed it, come. So, Peter steps out. And for a moment, for quite a distance, enough to get within reach of Jesus, Peter actually walks on water. He does something no human being has ever done before or since. And then Peter notices the wind, the water beneath him. He feels the enormity of what he is doing, and he begins to sink.

Here is where the story gets misread. Peter is so often held up as a cautionary tale about doubt, a man who failed because his faith was not strong enough or faithful enough. But before we rush to that judgment, we should pause and count the number of people still sitting in the boat… Eleven...

Eleven disciples who never even tried to walk on water, who were not convinced this was Jesus. Eleven people who watched, waited, and kept themselves dry and safe. Which I would have done because I do not like to get wet. Peter is the only one who recognized Jesus, who called out to him, and answered the call. Peter is the only one who stepped out. And yes, he sank, but he also walked! He did something extraordinary before the fear took hold. Because Peter’s eyes were fixed on Jesus and not his own fears and instincts.

When he cried out, Jesus did not lecture him. Well, he did a little bit. But Jesus did not say, "I told you so." He reached out his hand and caught him, because Jesus does not save us because we earned it. Jesus saves because that is who Jesus is. That is the picture of grace. Not a God who stands at a distance and grades our performance, but a God who is close enough to catch us when we go under. To encourage us, to give us direction and something to hope for.

Failure Is Not the Final Word
Shame tells us one thing, and grace tells us another. Shame says: you are a failure. It makes the stumble into an identity, a permanent verdict on your worth and your future. Grace says: you failed. Now learn, repair, and try again.

This distinction matters enormously, both for individuals and for communities of faith. The church is meant to be a place where people can tell the truth about what went wrong, learn from mistakes without humiliation, and begin again with hope. When it functions this way, it becomes a place of genuine transformation. When it does not, when mistakes are met with judgment, and risk is discouraged, it becomes a place where people bury their gifts rather than offer them. Rather than answering the call.

What Would You Risk?
There is a question worth sitting with this week: What would you attempt for God if you knew that failure did not have the final word? What conversation would you start? What commitment would you make? What step would you take out of the boat?

Moses did not feel qualified. Peter did not stay above the water. And yet both of their stories are woven into the great narrative of what God has done in the world through ordinary, imperfect, sometimes failing human beings who were willing to say yes. We believe because of their examples of when they struggled to believe.

Faithfulness is not the same as flawless success. Faithfulness is what happens when we navigate failure and still keep moving toward God. It is fixing our eyes on Christ when the wind picks up and the waves feel too large. It is trusting that the same God who called us will be present with us. in every step, in every stumble, and in every new beginning.

The invitation is open. Will you get out of the boat?

When Fear Says " There is Not Enough"
A glass of water sits on a table. Is it half full or half empty?
Most of us have heard this question so often that it feels like a tired cliché. However, its persistence- and why I ask it now- is because this question reveals a fundamental truth about the human condition. It forces us to ask about our perspective on what we have, seeing it as abundance or scarcity, which fundamentally influences how we live, give, take risks, and trust in this life.

And for many of us, fear has been writing the narrative for a long time.

The Winepress and the Warrior
In Judges 6, there is a man named Gideon. He is not doing anything particularly heroic when we first encounter him. Gideon is hiding. He is beating out wheat in a winepress, a cramped, concealed space, because he is terrified that the Midianites will come and take everything his people have left. To defend Gideon, he is not lazy; neither is he completely faithless. He is doing the work that needs to be done, but he is doing it in secret, in fear, stockpiling what little he can because the world around him feels dangerous and unpredictable. Gideon feels powerless and insignificant in the face of everything around him but does what he can to protect himself.

Many of us know this fear and response all too well. Many of us know what it feels like to do good, necessary work while being convinced it will never be enough. We know what it feels like to hoard our energy, our money, our hope, not out of greed, but out of genuine fear that if we open our hands, there will be nothing left. In a world where there is so much wrong, how can we do any good anyway?

Then the angel of the Lord appears and says something almost absurd given the circumstances: "The Lord is with you, you mighty warrior." Gideon does not look like a mighty warrior in any way. He looks like a frightened farmer trying to protect his dinner. And his response to the angel's message is honestly a series of questions we all ask. Gideon essentially asks: If God is with us, why is everything falling apart? Where are the miracles we heard about? Where is the God of our ancestors now? Why me of all people? These questions don't make us bad people or bad Christians; they come from exhaustion and fear.

And God does not answer the question the way Gideon expects. God does not offer an explanation or a defense. God simply says: "I will be with you." God does not define Gideon by what fear has reduced him to. God does not look at Gideon's limitations and agree that they are permanent. And the same is true for us. Scarcity reveals where our trust has gone. It shows us, honestly and painfully, whether we actually believe that God can work in and through us even when circumstances are hard.

Cheerful Giving Is Not Naive Giving
None of this means pretending that real needs are not real. Bills are real. Repairs are real. The rising cost of everything is real. Uncertainty about the economy is real. There is no spiritual wisdom in dismissing the genuine pressures that people face. But there is a difference between responding wisely to hard circumstances and letting fear become the final word.

In 2 Corinthians, the apostle Paul writes that the one who sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will reap bountifully. But he is careful to add something important immediately after: giving should not be done regretfully or under compulsion. God loves a cheerful giver. Fear can raise money. It cannot form disciples. Guilt can produce a transaction. It cannot produce transformation.

The invitation is not to give until it hurts. It is to give until it feels right, until generosity becomes part of who we are rather than something we do reluctantly when pressured.

Scarcity Is More Than Money
Scarcity is not just about money, though it often shows up most visibly there. Scarcity is a posture that affects our whole lives. Scarcity is a way of moving through the world that assumes there will never be enough: enough time, enough energy, enough people, enough hope. And once that assumption takes hold, it begins to shape every decision we make. Scarcity teaches us to protect rather than to offer. To withhold rather than to share. To delay faithfulness until conditions improve, which, of course, they never quite do.
This is what makes scarcity a self-fulfilling prophecy. When we decide in advance that there is not enough, we stop giving. We stop showing up. We stop volunteering, investing, and risking. And then, because we have pulled back, there is what? Not enough, big surprise there. Fear creates the very reality it feared.

What We Put First Reveals What We Trust
One of the most practical and honest questions stewardship asks us is this: when you sit down to figure out your finances, or schedules, or any aspect of our life, what comes first? Most of us work through our obligations, our expenses, our savings, and then, if anything or any time is left, we think about what we might give. But that order quietly communicates something. It says that everything else is more certain than God's faithfulness.
What would it look like to reverse that order? To decide first what we want to offer, even if it is small, even if it is just a starting place, and then work outward from there?
The story of the widow who gave two small coins, recorded in the Gospels, is not a story about a gift with several 0s. It is a story about a way of being: Faith. She gave what she had, and it inspired something far beyond what the coins themselves could accomplish. That is the miracle of faithful stewardship. Not that everyday need disappears, or that money falls from the sky, but that gratitude becomes contagious. That one person's open hands inspire another's. That generosity, practiced faithfully, becomes something joyful and holy and worth passing on.

Our Question
Where has scarcity taught you to hide? Where have you been quietly convinced that there is not enough? Not enough resources, not enough faith, not enough of ourselves, to make any difference? Fear says there is not enough, so protect what you have. Faith tells a different story entirely. Faith says God is with you, so offer what you have.

The glass is not half empty. It is not half full. It is a glass with water in it. The question is: what will we do with what we have?

Time Is Not Yours to Conquer: It Is a Gift to Steward
There is a moment in the Gospel of John when two grieving sisters say almost the exact same thing to Jesus. Mary says it. Martha says it. Word for word, the same sentence: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." It is a sentence soaked in grief, in faith, and in something that every human being who has ever watched a clock or a calendar knows deeply: the ache of feeling like time, or even God, has betrayed you. We have all been there. We have all stood at the edge of something painful and thought, if only it had happened differently. If only there had been more time. If only the timing had worked out. If only.
Then we have Jesus, who is being accused and blamed for something, does not abandon Mary and Martha in their grief. He does not dismiss their pain or lecture them about their disappointment or their lack of faith and trust in him. He weeps with them. He is moved. And then, standing before a sealed tomb, before something that everyone around him had already accepted as finished and literally sealed, Jesus calls Lazarus out. That is not a story about time, or grief, or our disappointments and pain being irrelevant. It is a story about what God can do with time that we have already written off.

The Fear Underneath the Busyness
I don't think most of us would think of ourselves as being afraid of time. Or that many of us struggle with an extreme or irrational fear of time; the fear of time is known as chronophobia to be specific. Rather we think of ourselves as busy; too busy. We have full calendars, long commutes, competing priorities, and a phone that is more than happy to remind us of everything we have not yet done, and a distraction from what is right in front of ourselves. But if we are honest, underneath all of that busyness is something that looks a lot like fear; even if it is not chronophobia.

Fear that we will not have enough time. Fear that we have already wasted too much of it. Fear that we cannot fix everything, attend everything, control everything, or postpone the hard things forever. And so we rush when we should be present, delay when we should act, and fill every quiet moment with noise so we don’t have to sit with the reality that we are finite. Time reminds us that we are not in charge. And for people who like control, that is more than a little uncomfortable. These fears are not irrational; they are based in truth. Because we don’t have time to do everything, we waste it, and we don’t control the steady ticking of life's clock.

What Your Calendar Actually Reveals
Here is another uncomfortable truth: how we spend our time is one of the most honest reflections of what we actually value. Not what we say we value. Not what we intend to value. What we actually value. If you look at a typical week and trace where your hours go, you will find a map of your priorities. The things that get your best energy, your most consistent attention, your most protected hours, those are the things that hold the highest place in your life. And that is worth sitting with for a moment, because it may tell you something you were not expecting to hear. Let me be clear: many of the activities that fill our calendars are indeed good things, and worthy of our time.

Paul writes in Ephesians 5 that believers should live not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time we. He connects this directly to gratitude, to being filled with the Spirit, and to giving thanks to God at all times and for everything. The point is not that we should schedule every minute more efficiently. The point is that when we recognize time as a gift from God, we begin to treat it differently. Gratitude changes how we see time. And how we see time changes how we use it. It also helps us navigate the painful parts of our lives, when we experience loss or when things do not go our way, we can give thanks for what was, and know that God is with us.

Wisdom Is Not About Knowing More
Wisdom, in the biblical sense, is not about accumulating information or staying productive; wisdom is about how our experiences and faith shape how we live. Wisdom is partially about discernment and the ability to recognize what matters, what is worth our attention, and what is simply noise. It is the capacity to see past the appealing option to the better one. To know when to work and when to rest. When to hold on and when to let go. When to mourn what is past and when to open our hands to what is still yet to come. Scripture is clear that we don't manufacture this kind of wisdom on our own. It is something we receive from God. We receive it through prayer, through the pages of Scripture, through honest community, and through the willingness to actually listen when God speaks.

Four Invitations for This Week
So what do we do with all of this? Here are four honest invitations worth sitting with.
First, stop treating every delay like abandonment. When things do not move at the speed we want, when answers are slow in coming, when healing takes longer than we hoped, that is not evidence that God has left. Jesus was late by Mary and Martha's calendar. He still showed up. He still called life out of death.
Second, stop treating every limitation like failure. Being finite is not a flaw. It is what makes the present moment precious. If we truly understood that our time here is limited, we would be far more careful about how we use it and far more grateful for what we have been given.
Third, stop treating a full calendar like proof of faithfulness. Busyness is not the same as devotion. Sometimes the wisest thing we can do is say no to one thing so we can say a deeper yes to something else, something that matters more, something that lasts longer, something that actually reflects what we claim to believe, and best used our gifts.
Fourth, give thanks. Give thanks for the time that is in front of you. Give thanks for the time you have already lived, even the hard parts, because God was present in all of it. Gratitude is not denial. It is the decision to see time as a gift rather than a burden, and to receive it as such.

The Story Is Not Over
The resurrection of Lazarus is not just a miracle story. It is a declaration that God is not bound by the timelines we draw or the power of death. Even when we stand before something sealed shut, something that smells like four days of death and defeat, God can still speak life into it. Time is not ours to conquer. It never was. It is a gift to receive, a responsibility to steward, and ultimately something we entrust back to the One who gave it to us in the first place. And in Christ, even the end of our time here is not the end of the story.
Today is a gift. Use it wisely.

Moving Past the Fear of Rejection
Most of us know the fear of rejection, even if we do not always call it that. It is the fear of putting ourselves out there and wondering what will happen next. Maybe they ignore us. Maybe they say no. Maybe they laugh. Maybe they judge. Maybe someone we thought was on our side looks at us differently, and suddenly that old question shows up again: am I enough?
I will be honest: this one is personal for me. I have carried that fear for a long time. Some of it goes back to being the awkward kid with glasses who did not quite fit in. Some of it comes from being misunderstood. Some of it is just how my brain works. I have learned, in some ways, to care less about what people think. But if the rejection comes from someone I trusted, or someone I thought understood me, then yes, it still hurts. Probably more than I want to admit. So, the question is not whether rejection hurts. It does. The better question is whether rejection gets to decide who we are.

Jesus Was Rejected Too
In Luke 4, Jesus returns to Nazareth, where he grew up. He goes to worship, stands up in the synagogue he worshiped in as a child, and reads from Isaiah: good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor. Then he sits down and says, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” At first, the people are amazed. They speak well of him. But then something shifts. They begin to see not a messenger of God but the carpenter's son. The boy they watched grow up now carries the weight of the divine and, more offensively, Jesus speaks the hard truth. This community experiences understandable shock, but undeserved rejection.
Jesus responds by pointing to two moments from Israel's own history. In each case, God's grace moved outside the expected boundaries, reaching a widow in Sidon and a Syrian commander rather than those who considered themselves the rightful recipients. The implication is clear, and the crowd hears it plainly. They are furious. Again, how dare this carpenter’s son, just 30 years old, tell them how to live as God called them to. They drive him out of town and to the edge of a cliff with the intention of throwing him off. And what does Jesus do? He walks right through the middle of the crowd and goes on his way. He does not collapse under the weight of their rejection. He does not abandon his calling. He does not rewrite his identity based on what the people of Nazareth decided about him. He simply continues his journey, refusing to let rejection weigh him down.

The Weight We Were Never Meant to Carry
Rejection has a way of sticking to us. One comment, one look, one closed door, one person deciding we are too much or not enough, one person walking out, and we can carry it for years. We start acting like their opinion is the final word on who we are. Simply put: It is not.
Still, we try to protect ourselves. We perform. We overthink. We keep quiet when we probably should speak. We hide the parts of ourselves that might get criticized. We hold back our gifts, our compassion, our generosity, and even our faith because we are not sure how people will respond. That is exhausting. It is also a terrible foundation for a life, because people are inconsistent. Crowds change their minds fast. Nazareth proves that. One minute they are amazed by Jesus, and the next they are ready to throw him off a cliff. If Jesus had built his identity on crowd approval, his ministry would have ended before it really began.
Our faith gives us a better foundation. The church has a fancy phrase for it: imago Dei, the image of God. That means before you did anything impressive, before anyone praised you, before anyone rejected you, before you proved a single thing, you were already made in the image of God. Ephesians 1 says it even stronger. Before the world was made, God loved us, chose us, and adopted us into God’s family. Not because we earned it. Not because we were useful. Not because we finally got our act together. Because of grace. That is where our worth begins.
Sometimes, oftentimes, we are not like Jesus in this story; rather, we are the ones who reject. When someone is putting themselves out there and wondering what will happen next. Maybe we ignore them. Maybe we say no. Maybe we laugh. Maybe we will judge. Maybe we were someone who thought was on their side that looks at them differently, and suddenly we make that old question show up again: am I enough? We are more often the perpetrator than the victim. Either way, God calls us to a better way of living.

The Fear That Keeps Us Silent
This is where rejection becomes more than a personal insecurity. It starts shaping our discipleship. It starts shaping our stewardship. Fear of rejection, or the act of rejecting others, makes us withhold what God has entrusted to us, and to our neighbor.
We do not invite someone to church because they might say no, or because we do not want people like that in our church. We do not talk about faith because people have seen some ugly versions of Christianity, and honestly, we may be the ones professing it. We do not serve because we fear we will mess it up, or because others are not worthy or do not deserve it. We do not give because we are not sure it will matter, or because it goes in a direction we do not like. We do not speak because silence feels safer, and because it protects the status quo we benefit from. But safety, or even judgement of others is not faithful. Our fear or the fear we cast on others is just fear wearing church clothes.
Jesus knew rejection firsthand, and he did not let it stop him. He did not chase approval. He did not soften the truth just to keep the hometown crowd happy. He walked through them and kept going. That may be one of the most understated power moves in all of Scripture. Oftentimes we are the ones in the crowd.

Living From a Different Center
The goal is not to pretend rejection does not hurt. That would be dishonest. Rejection hurts. Being misunderstood hurts. Having someone pull away when you thought they were with you hurts. Faith does not make us numb. Faith gives us somewhere else to stand. We do not have to live at the mercy of every opinion, every rumor, every awkward silence, or every no. We can tell the truth with humility. We can love people without needing them to clap for us. We can offer our gifts because God gave them to us for a reason.
That is stewardship. Not just money, though money is part of it. Stewardship is what we do with our whole selves: our time, our voice, our compassion, our witness, our courage, and our willingness to show up even when acceptance is not guaranteed. So maybe the question is not, “What if they reject me?” Maybe the better question is, “What am I allowing fear to keep me from offering?” or “Who am I rejecting?” Because grace has already claimed us. We are already loved. We are already made in the image of God. We are already chosen. So is our neighbor, even the one we don’t like very much. Live from that. Invite the person. Speak the truth. Offer the gift. Show up. If they say no, they say no. That does not get to decide who you are.

The Courage to Commit: Offering Ourselves Fully to God and One Another
Modern commitment life reveals a quiet irony. We readily subscribe to services, lease vehicles, buy insurance, agree to terms, and make financial pledges to strangers. We swipe and tap credit cards, promising repayment without much thought. Our commitments are frequent yet often made with little deliberation. However, when asked to commit to what truly matters, such as a community, a purpose, or a life of service, we hesitate, stall, and prefer to keep our options open. Why is that?
The simple answer is that it's inconvenient and we are overcommitted. The real reason, however, is deeper than mere inconvenience. Fear of commitment is really fear in disguise, manifesting as doubt because we don't know what will happen. It also appears as reluctance to be responsible or to sacrifice, to let our identity be shaped by something beyond our whims. At the core, it's vulnerability, fearing failure, disappointment, or hurt. So, we hold back, claiming we're just being cautious or wise.
The world encourages us to safeguard ourselves, keep our options open, and avoid deep involvement. It presents numerous distractions, like doomscrolling or waiting anxiously for the NFL season to begin while tracking Mahomes’ health. Paul suggests that transformation starts when we allow God to reshape our understanding of what truly makes life meaningful. Is a meaningful life built on ease and self-preservation? Or is it rooted in relationships, with God and others?
The apostle Paul, writing to the church in Rome while imprisoned and awaiting execution, offers a different perspective. In Romans 12, he encourages believers to offer their bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, calling this their true act of worship. He emphasizes that this involves more than just giving money; it requires the entire person. He also warns against conforming to the world's pattern of constant busyness. Instead, he advocates being present with God and others, warning that perpetual activity leads to burnout and missing God.
Stewardship, when understood correctly, is simply about responsibly managing what God has already given us. It’s not solely about finances, though those are included. It encompasses time, attention, leadership, mercy, hospitality, and service. It involves showing up and doing what we can. Fear, if allowed to guide us, will always find reasons to hold us back, to refrain from giving, or to move away. Faith, however, prompts a different question: what has God entrusted to me, and how can I serve even with an uncertain future? (The future is always uncertain; we just prefer control and get upset when it slips away).
Romans 12 does not stop with the call to present ourselves as living sacrifices. It goes on to describe in vivid, practical terms what that kind of life actually looks like. Let love be genuine. Hate what is evil. Hold fast to what is good. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal. Rejoice in hope. Be patient in affliction. Persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of those around you. Pursue hospitality. Bless those who persecute you. Weep with those who weep. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Overcome evil with good.
Let me be crystal clear on behalf of Paul; these are not suggestions. It is what you do when you commit to God and the community of God. No exceptions
What does that kind of community look like in practice? Deann spoke about her small home church. Fifteen people on a Sunday, a building barely larger than a modest fellowship hall. By the metrics the world uses to measure success, this church should not still exist. Finances have always been tight; everyone has to rotate through committees. And yet, for 150 years, this congregation has never missed an apportionment. They host free community meals. They wrap Christmas presents for foster children. They run a music festival. They show up for their community. Can you guess what that leads to? When repairs are needed in the community they have served for generations, they show up in return: materials donated, tradesmen offering their time, limited dollars somehow becoming enough. Commitment encourages commitment. Showing up encourages others to show up.
Commitment does not require certainty about outcomes, because that is simply impossible in this world. It requires trust in the One who holds the outcomes. It requires the willingness to say, I will bring what I have, and I will trust God and neighbor with the rest. The call is not complicated, and I know that it is not easy. Find what you can do. Do it. Teach what you know. Learn what you do not. Welcome the gifts others bring, even when they look different from what you expected. Be the invitation, not through words alone, but through the visible, tangible evidence of a life given in service. Show up. That is where commitment begins. And it turns out, that is also where transformation begins.

When Fear Meets Faith: Learning to Step Into the Unknown
Humans have a deep-rooted fear of the unknown; whether we call it instinct, nature, or nurture, it's a common feeling. We tend to create routines, seek comfort, and surround ourselves with what is familiar because it feels safe. I often joke that missing breakfast after church can throw off my whole week. However, genuinely significant moments in life often arise not from sticking to the familiar, but from taking steps into uncharted territory that we can't fully understand. That can seem risky at best.
The ancient tale of Abram and Sarai illustrates this same tension. In Genesis 12:1-9, God instructs Abram to leave behind his homeland, family, and father's household and journey toward a land he would later reveal. God did not provide a detailed map beforehand. The destination was unknown, and there was no specific itinerary. All God gave was a command to go accompanied by a promise: “Go, and I will be with you.”
Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out. He gathered his wife, his nephew, his belongings, and his entire life, heading toward an unseen destination. This was no simple task; it was an act of remarkable faith. Abram’s age is significant yet also not, because it highlights that he was already well beyond the average lifespan. Embarking on such a long journey at that age might seem unwise, but it reminds us that it's never too late to heed God’s call or pursue a new, unexplored path. At the same time, the specific age of 75 is likely more symbolic than literal, emphasizing the timeless nature of faith and new beginnings. Abram proves that age is just a number.
That one act of obedience started a story that would last for generations, culminating in the people of Israel, the lineage of Jesus, and the church's existence. Abram never witnessed the complete results of his faithfulness; he did not see God's promises fully come true in his lifetime. Nevertheless, he pressed on because faith isn't about seeing the entire journey; it's about taking the next step for those who will follow.

The Danger of Looking Back
Scripture cautions us against dwelling on the past when God directs us forward. A few chapters later in Genesis, after he and Abram parted ways, Lot is urged to leave his prosperous life in Sodom. As she escapes Sodom's destruction, Lot's wife takes one last look back, a moment that turns her into a symbol of that very desire. She becomes frozen, unable to move into what lies ahead because of her strong attachment to what she left behind. Genesis tells us that she turned into a pillar of salt, that you can go and see today; it's probably just a natural formation, but it looks cool.
This isn't just an ancient issue; we do it too. We mourn the way things once were, comparing the present to an idealized past and often feeling dissatisfied. Phrases like, "It was better before," are common, but they can prevent us from seeing what might be possible now. When someone makes such a statement, I usually ask, “Was it really as good as you remember?” because nostalgia can distort our view, making the past seem better than it actually was.
This doesn't imply that the past isn't worth honoring. Memory and tradition are important. However, there's a distinction between respecting our origins and being enslaved by them. When we concentrate too much on what was, we prevent ourselves from envisioning what might be. God is continually creating something new, but if we are looking backward, we might miss it.

The Stranger We Do Not Know
Fear of the unknown extends beyond circumstances and change. It also encompasses people. We tend to fear what we do not understand, often keeping our distance from individuals whose lives differ from ours. Different background, experiences, or perspectives. This lack of understanding can lead us from confusion to judgment, and from staying apart to hostility.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: when we fear a stranger, it often Reflects more about our own insecurities than their differences. Their differences alone don't hurt us; what hurts is our reluctance to engage, ask questions, listen, and learn. What harm does a stranger who lives differently than you really do to you? Nothing. 99% of the time, they are just living their lives, while we are stuck judging them.
The author of 1 John states this plainly. In 1 John 4:7-21, it’s clear: God is love, and anyone claiming to love God but hating their brothers and sisters is fundamentally contradicting themselves, our faith, and God. You can't profess devotion and love to a God you've never seen while looking down on and refusing to love a person right in front of you. These two ideas cannot coexist.
Scripture consistently points us toward curiosity over judgment, toward welcome over exclusion, toward love over fear. This is not a peripheral suggestion. It is central to what it means to follow Christ. It defines what it means to be a Christian.

What Philippians Teaches Us About Fear
Philippians 4:4-9 offers a practical framework for navigating anxiety and the unknown. Paul urges rejoicing, not because life is always easy, but because God is near. He instructs readers not to be anxious about anything, but instead to bring every concern to God in prayer, with thanksgiving. Keep in mind that Paul writes this letter while sitting in a prison in Rome, waiting for his execution. Paul, facing his own death, tells us not to be anxious.
That final word is crucial: Thanksgiving. It's more than merely petitioning or listing our needs before God; it's about approaching Him with thankfulness for what we already possess. This shift from focusing on scarcity to embracing gratitude is one of the most potent remedies against fear.
The passage goes on to instruct us to fix our minds on whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, and commendable. In a culture saturated with anxiety-inducing noise, this is a radical act. To deliberately choose to dwell on what is good, what is worthy of praise, what reflects the character of God in a Roman society that praises wealth, power, and excess. This is not naive optimism. It is a spiritual discipline. And the promise attached to this practice is: the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds. We do not face our fears alone.

The Next Faithful Step
Faith has always been rooted in trust rather than certainty. Abram did not have a clear destination, but he trusted the one guiding him. That difference is what truly matters.
Life rarely unfolds according to our plans. Circumstances shift. Seasons change. The path we mapped out in our minds turns out to look very different on the ground. And in those moments, we face the same choice Abram faced: stay where it is comfortable, or take the next faithful step. The invitation is not to have all the answers. The invitation is to move forward without them anyway, trusting that the God who calls us into the unknown is the same God who walks with us through it.
There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear. And so the antidote to our anxiety about the future, and our discomfort with the stranger, is not more information or more certainty. It is more love. Love that is rooted in the God who first loved us, and who has never once stopped. Take the next step. You do not have to see the whole road.

New Format
Blog Posts will now look at the past week, along with some reflection questions based on the sermon.

The Only Thing We Have to Fear
Franklin Delano Roosevelt faced a nation engulfed in fear. The Great Depression had devastated the economy, leaving families in poverty. Cities were overcrowded, driven by greed, and suffering from disease. Within a week of his inauguration, Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany, intensifying worries about another disastrous war. Americans feared being drawn into foreign conflicts and confronting Nazi supporters at home. In this era of crisis, Roosevelt delivered one of the most famous American speeches: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." He adapted this phrase from Henry David Thoreau, a 19th-century transcendentalist often seen as a kind of hippie, but its message remains universally relevant and somewhat surprisingly theological.

Fear Is Not the Enemy
Before proceeding any further, it's important to understand that fear is not a flaw or a sign of weak faith. Fear is a healthy human emotion, not a reflection of bad character or a lack of faith. Fear is an instinctual response, given by nature or perhaps by a higher power, that has helped humans survive through the ages. From threats like the saber-toothed tiger to illnesses like polio, and even everyday dangers like traffic, fear helps keep us safe. All animals experience the same thing we do. Bunnies flee when approached too closely; bison may toss you 20 feet in the air like a rag doll if you get too close. Why? Because they are responding with fight-or-flight instincts, just like us. Fear of a hot stove prevents burns, while caution behind the wheel guards against accidents. In context, healthy fear is a valuable gift. However, when fear takes over our entire lives and stops us from functioning normally, it becomes detrimental. It then stops protecting us and instead paralyzes, isolates, and dictates our choices. Such fear deserves attention and confrontation. The goal isn't to avoid fear altogether, for that is inevitable. The question is not if, but when. The real question is whether fear will rule our lives or serve as a guide. I believe this is part of what separates humanity from the rest of creation: we can learn to face our fear, learn from it, and move past it.

Peace in the Upper Room
In John 14:25-31, Jesus addresses his disciples during a profoundly confusing time for them. He announces that he is leaving and returning to the Father. Considering all they have seen. From miracles and teachings to moments of transformation, his departure raises serious questions: is he really going away? After his resurrection, does Jesus choose this moment to leave? Meanwhile, external forces are intensifying. Romans are closing in on both Jesus’ disciples and the Jewish community. It’s natural for the disciples to be frightened, as their leader, mentor, and guide are departing when they need him most. Yet Jesus offers something the world cannot produce: peace. Not fragile peace dependent on circumstances, but a steadfast peace that persists even when everything around remains the same. He encourages them not to let their hearts be troubled or afraid. He assures them of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, who will stay with them, teach, and remind them of everything necessary. This isn’t a dismissal of their fears but an invitation to trust in something greater than those fears.

Courage Is Not the Absence of Fear
Think about every time you are driving or even riding in a car. Every time you turn the ignition, you're sitting just a few feet from a combustion engine fueled by a highly flammable liquid, surrounded by other drivers making quick, often dumb, decisions at high speeds. Honestly, it's a remarkable act of trust and courage that we ever get into these moving death machines. Yet, we don't refuse to drive; instead, we put on our seatbelts, follow traffic laws, carry insurance, take sensible precautions, and then we go. Because living in constant fear of what could happen isn't really living. That’s what true courage looks like. Courage isn't the absence of fear but choosing to move forward despite it. It’s about recognizing the risks and taking that faithful step anyway. The challenge arises when our precautions become barriers instead of protection. Fear can cause us to limit not only ourselves but others as well, closing off our communities, resources, relationships, and ultimately our trust in God.

Fear and the First Commandment
Here's where things get uncomfortably honest. When fear takes the throne of our lives, when it dictates what we risk, sacrifice, trust, and hope. To be clear, we are not just cautious; we're essentially violating the first commandment. Exodus 20 urges us to worship no other gods but God. When fear takes the lead, it acts like a god, demanding obedience, directing our choices, and defining our limits and others'. Living under such fear implies that fear holds more power than the God who assures us of God’s constant presence. God calls us to face our fear, and God will be with us in that journey. When we allow our fear to control what we do, are we surrendering God's authority and replacing it with our anxiety?

Stewardship Is Not Just About Money
This discussion about fear reminds us how important good stewardship is in our lives. Often, we think of stewardship as just giving money, which is indeed important, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about how we invest our time, nurture our relationships, stay open to change, serve others, and keep hope alive. Fear can make us want to protect ourselves, hold back, or shut down, whispering that there’s not enough, or that being generous, changing, or taking risks is too dangerous or costs too much; that voice lies. But the truth about stewardship is that nothing we really hold onto belongs to us, for it all belongs to God. When we forget this, fear tries to fill the space. Remember, God took a huge risk in Jesus, and the cross shows love in its most vulnerable and courageous form. That love, which is stronger than death and fear, serves as our beautiful example of how we’re called to live and give.
 
A World That Needs Hope
Psalm 91 depicts a God who shelters, protects, and satisfies God’s people. God is present in trouble, not absent. This promise doesn't guarantee a painless life, but it assures us we’re not alone when pain comes. That realization transforms everything. When God's people live as if God’s promises are true, hope becomes contagious. In a world filled with anxiety, a community that refuses to succumb to fear stands out as a sign of something different, better, and worth believing in. So, don't be afraid, not because the world is safe, but because God is faithful. Take a risk, give generously, open the door, and step forward.

Reflection Questions
Pastor Wesley described courage not as the absence of fear, but as accepting fear and choosing to face it anyway.
In what area of your life might God be calling you to act courageously even though you are still afraid?
In what ways might fear be limiting your stewardship of what God has entrusted to you?
What would it look like for your community of faith to be visibly and contagiously hopeful in a fearful world?
What is one specific fear you are carrying right now, and what would it mean for you to hand that fear over to the God who promises to be with you in it?

So y'all will get two posts this week because somebody forgot to post this last week...
Also, sorry this is a long one.

The Holy Spirit
When Jesus left, floating up into the sky and waving his hands goodbye to his friends and family, he made a promise: He would not leave them, or us, alone. Most translations quote Jesus calling this abiding presence that Jesus will leave with humanity “the advocate” or “the Comforter,” depending on your translation. There are several other names often used for the Holy Spirit, such as Sustainer and Sophia (the personification of wisdom).  We had a sermon series on the Holy Spirit last Pentecost, where we looked at a few of the different names and roles the Spirit plays throughout scripture. The simplest way to describe the Holy Spirit is God’s abiding presence with humanity since the beginning of all things, which puts air in our lungs, dreams, compassion, and love in our hearts, wisdom and clarity in our minds, and comfort in times of need.
Naturally, what Jesus says does not make much sense to disciples, as they are more concerned with where Jesus went and when He would come back than with facing their present reality and the calling Jesus left them with: to be Jesus’ hands and feet in a world of need. When the Spirit ‘makes its presence known’ at Pentecost, that is when it finally begins to click with the disciples what their next steps ought to be. Pentecost is when the disciples finally understand their purpose and Jesus’ purpose on earth. It is a moment of transformation and understanding
If I am being honest, I tend to view Pentecost less as a miraculous birth of the church, which, do not get me wrong, certainly is. This is the moment when Christians began to fully share the Good News. But for me, Pentecost is less of a celebration and more of a divine slap on the back of the head. My mother calls this the “Gibbs Slap.” I have been the recipient of said slap more times than I can count. I am 30 years old, turn 31 next week, and still, every time I see her, she slaps me up the backside of my head. Do I deserve it? Most of the time, yes, but still, I am a full-grown adult, and sometimes it's for no reason at all. When I see her on Wednesday, what will she do? She will give me a “Gibbs Slap” just because I brought it up.
The Holy Spirit had been there the whole time; the disciples were too dense to notice the abiding presence. Now I am not trying to pick on the disciples alone here; this is not a problem for just them. How many times in the Bible has God been required to perform a major sign so people would understand or see what was right in front of them? Still, it doesn’t always work because humans are dense and not great at seeing God at work around us. How good are we at seeing it now? Do we look for God at work, for how we can be God at work, or do we focus on what is right in front of us, or wait for some grand divine sign?
There is the classic old preacher's story of the main and the flood. I have shared this with you before, and I am sure you may have heard another pastor use it. I mean, it was on the show West Wing. The story goes: A man is watching TV and his phone goes crazy, mine did last night, the show was interrupted by the weather team, forecasting a dangerous flood. Man says, “God will save me.” A short while later, an announcement comes across the TV and his phone to evacuate the area. Man says, “God will save me. " A couple of hours later, water is starting to rise, and a military truck drives by with a loudspeaker saying, 'Evacuate your homes, we are transporting people to a safe place.” Man says, “God will save me.” The water rises, and the man is stuck on the second floor. Looking out the window, he sees a boat. They offer to rescue him. What does the man say? “My God will save me.” Not too much later, the man is stuck on the roof, and a helicopter overhead says, "Grab on, we will save you." The man proudly proclaims, “NO! My God will save me!” Well, the man drowns and dies. Who saw that coming? The man came face to face with God, and he is angry and says, “God, why did you not save me?” God answers, “I sent alerts, warnings, a truck, a boat, and a helicopter, what more did you want?
When we confess belief in the Holy Spirit, we promise to keep ourselves open to it. We promise to keep our eyes open, to have faith that we are not alone, that God has not abandoned us, and that there is always room for hope. That God still acts, just maybe not with a flame on our head or parting waters. That’s easy to say… It's much harder to live out, especially when we face challenges. But this exactly what faith in the Holy Spirit and faith in general means, to have hope when everything seems hopeless.
The greatest debate about the Holy Spirit is about whom the Spirit proceeds. This was one of the major reasons why the Eastern and Western churches split. (There were several reasons they split.) This question is also an issue regarding the Trinity as well. Does the Spirit proceed from the Father and the Son or just the Father? The Eastern Orthodox Church asserts just the Father. Western Trinitarian Christians, including us, say the Spirit proceeds from both. They do not necessarily view the Spirit as less important, but that it comes from God alone. It is a very different picture of the Trinity than we are used to. We see how the Spirit is sent by the Father, by the Son and just shows up on its own, that is why we are, or at least I am, Trinitarian. I could go on for pages here so let usjust say: Happy to talk about that in further depth another time…

The Trinity
The Trinity is a inherently a mystery. A mystery that cannot be fully explained or understood. Virtually every single metaphor for the Trinity is heretical. Apple, Ice, Clover, they are all heresy. Don’t worry, I'll put a good word in for you if you use these when I report you to the Spanish Inquisition. Didn’t expect me to bring them up, did you? No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition. But this is one of those things that we cannot explain in simple terms. I am not saying you are a bad Christian for using those either, we are all doing the best we can to explain something that is by it’s very nature unexplainable, so of course our words will fail.
The Athanasian Creed has a complicated history but is likely dated in the early 5th Century. Tradition asserts it was written by Athanasius of Alexandria, but modern scholars find that unlikely given the Creed was written in Latin, no a language Athanasius was familiar with. This is my 3rd favorite Creed. (Yes I have a ranking, 1. Philippians 2:1-11. 2. Nicene.  3. Chalcedonian Definition, not really a creed but whatever. 4. Athanasian Creed. 5. Canadian Creed. 6. Apostles’ Creed. I could go on and the order changes from time to time. The Athanasian Creed is named for the first great defender of Jesus’ divinity, Athanasius of Alexandria. I prefer the great boxer of heretics St. Nicholas, but it’s fine. (Look it up.) The Athanasian creed serves two purposes. 1. Protect the dual nature of Jesus, Athanasius soap box if you will, which I personally do not find necessary, given Paul’s creed in Philippians 2. 2. Protect the nature of the Trinity, which is obviously our focus for today. It inspired the Shield of Trinity which is one of the best examples of what the Trinity is. The Athanasian Creed  remains, at least in my view, the only proper way to describe the nature of the Trinity. This is a lengthy creed, so I will just quote the relevant section, which is also really long:

   “That we worship one God in trinity and the trinity in unity, neither blending their persons
    nor dividing their essence.
        For the person of the Father is a distinct person,
        the person of the Son is another,
        and that of the Holy Spirit still another.
        But the divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is one, their glory equal, their majesty coeternal.

    What quality the Father has, the Son has, and the Holy Spirit has.
        The Father is uncreated, the Son is uncreated, the Holy Spirit is uncreated.
        The Father is immeasurable, the Son is immeasurable, the Holy Spirit is immeasurable.
        The Father is eternal, the Son is eternal, the Holy Spirit is eternal.
            And yet there are not three eternal beings; there is but one eternal being.
            So too there are not three uncreated or immeasurable beings;
            there is but one uncreated and immeasurable being.

    Similarly, the Father is almighty, the Son is almighty, the Holy Spirit is almighty.
            Yet there are not three almighty beings; there is but one almighty being.
        Thus the Father is God, the Son is God, the Holy Spirit is God.
            Yet there are not three gods, there is but one God.
        Thus the Father is Lord, the Son is Lord, the Holy Spirit is Lord.
            Yet there are not three lords; there is but one Lord.

    Just as Christian truth compels us to confess each person individually as both God and Lord,
    so catholic religion forbids us to say that there are three gods or lords.

    The Father was neither made nor created nor begotten from anyone.
    The Son was neither made nor created;
    he was begotten from the Father alone.
    The Holy Spirit was neither made nor created nor begotten; he proceeds from the Father and the Son.

    Accordingly there is one Father, not three fathers;
    there is one Son, not three sons;
    there is one Holy Spirit, not three holy spirits.

    Nothing in this trinity is before or after, nothing is greater or smaller;
    in their entirety the three persons are coeternal and coequal with each other.

    So in everything, as was said earlier, we must worship their trinity in their unity and their unity in their trinity.

Anyone then who desires to be saved should think thus about the trinity."

This makes perfect sense, right? I talked last week about how resistant we are to accept mystery, but how our faith requires us to embrace it. The Trinity is perhaps the greatest example of embracing that mystery.
The Trinity is a term and a concept that is drawn from scripture but never explicitly described in scripture. In fact, Luke 3:21-22 is one of the few moments in scripture in which we see all three persons present at the same time. What is special for me about Luke 3, the Baptism of Jesus, is that the purposes of the person of the Trinity are made clear as well. The Father is the Creator, the Son is the Redeemer, the Spirit is the Sustainer and Equipper. The Transfiguration is another time when we see all three. Creation is another. Paul will talk about each person, but never really explain their relationship, at least not to the depths of the Athanasian Creed. I just want to be clear that while the Scriptures do not explicitly name the Trinity, or specifically describe the inner workings of the Trinity. However, we clearly see and read about the Father the Son and Spirit. So while the Trinity is not named in Scripture, it is based on what we find in Scripture. This doctrine is how most Christians have come to understand the mystery of how God works in the world.
There is a Greek word, Perichoresis, that means the “Divine Dance.”  It describes the Trinity not as an insolvable puzzle, but as God seeking a relationship. The three persons of the Trinity dwell perfectly inside, though, and with one another. It is an endless flow of mutual affection and honor where there is no hierarchy, only perfect unity and equality. The Celtic Trinity Knot is a good illustration of that. God calls us to participate in that Divine relationship of love and grace.
The Trinity means that if God exists as a relationship of mutual love and respect, then that is how God interacts with us, and calls us to interact with others.

Jesus’ ascension into heaven prompts more questions than answers, as any good Bible story should. These include: Why isn't this in other Gospels? Where exactly did Jesus go, and where is He now? When will Jesus return? How will He return? What about us slow people? Are we to be judged, too, or do we get a pass? Do other people get to ascend to heaven? I could and will go on.
The account of Jesus's ascension appears only in Luke and Acts, likely written by the same author as a two-volume work, first of Jesus, the other about the early church. Matthew, which shares sources with Luke, ends with the Great Commission, suggesting Jesus is going somewhere but not specifying where or how. Mark, the earliest Gospel, concludes with fears at the empty tomb, with no appearances or ascension mentioned; later authors added an ending because the original was vague, which was kind of Mark’s point. John depicts Jesus going fishing and having brunch, implying departure without details on when, where, or how. Luke-Acts presents a dramatic exit for Jesus, offering closure and a transitional point. Do these differences matter? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Each Gospel reflects its author's perspective and purpose. Jesus appears differently across them, but this doesn't mean the story is inconsistent; rather, these variations provide a richer, multi-faceted understanding of who Jesus was and is.
So, we have this story of Jesus ascending into heaven to be with the Father, and the Creed says He sits at his right hand. Why the right hand? Being seated on the right in most cultures, past and present, is a sign of respect, status, power, and significance. We are not necessarily meant to take this line of the Creed literally, but it is symbolic of who Jesus is, what Jesus has done, the praise and honor He is due, and the authority Jesus still possesses. Specifically, judgement.
Where is heaven? We have been to space, explored the whole atmosphere, and they haven’t found it yet. There are so many theories out there. Christian flat-Earthers, which I can say is stupid, which is a very complex theological term, say God is above the firmament. You have your ancient alien people who say Jesus was taken back up to the mother ship. (I am not joking about this stuff.) The simplest answer, for me, is that heaven is a present reality that we cannot fully perceive. At the end of the day, I am okay with this being a mystery, but some people are not okay with saying “I don’t know.” Where is heaven? I don’t know, and I am okay with that.
When Christ ascends, he promises his return and the restoration of creation, though the timeline is far from clear. Those gathered around Jesus that day, really Christians everywhere, believed Jesus would come back within their lifetime. We see how many Christians struggled with Jesus not returning promptly in Paul’s letters. Honestly, I think that most Christians have thought over the past nearly 2000 years that Jesus would show up in theirs too. Last I checked, no Jesus, and doubt we would like Him very much when He does show up. When will Jesus come back; I do not know, and I am okay with that.
How will Jesus come back? That is a matter of great theological debate and in Seminary at lunch I would debate with fellow classmates on this issue, changing sides every day. I won every time. Some say Jesus will show up as a baby because of Revelation; others say he will descend as he ascended. But you know what I am about to say; I do not know.
One of the many problems that we Christians face today is that we convince ourselves that we have the answer. I have done the math, and Jesus should show up on Oct. 27th, 2026. (Please do not quote me that it was a joke.) We convince ourselves that our beliefs are the only right ones, try to explain and justify everything, and leave no room for mystery. Honestly, this is the antithesis of faith. Faith is belief in what we cannot prove. The moment we try to prove our beliefs, we end up proving that we have no faith. So, I might have some guess about where heaven is, some thoughts or beliefs that it is a reality we cannot see, but at the same time I also have to have the humility to know that I might be wrong.
Ultimately, as the angels told the gathered crowd, our job is not to simply stare at heaven and wait for His return. Or to try to guess when it will be, or how it will happen, or exactly where He went. We are called to prepare. For Jesus is going to come back to judge us… But we are not left alone, Christ leaves with us the Spirit, which gave Jesus the power to do all He did, and which we will talk about more next week.
Judgment, we talked a bit about this last week, with forgiveness as the two go hand in hand, for judgment is the tendency, while forgiveness is the calling. As we talked about last week, judgment does not belong to us; it belongs to God and God alone. The Apostles’ Creed says: “He (Jesus) Shall Come to Judge the Quick and the Dead.” The Father gave Jesus the authority and responsibility to judge. When we say quick, we mean the living, and the dead means well the dead. The implication is that Jesus will come to judge in human history while people are still living on Earth. All the dead are bodily resurrected (we will have fun with that in two weeks) to stand and face judgment before Jesus. Two things I want us to consider: our roles in casting judgment and how Jesus will judge.
As I said last week, our society is based on judgment. I don’t just mean the justice system, which operates more like a system of revenge and offers little to actual room for reform, and I won't beat a dead horse. Our need for judgment transcends into every aspect of our society and lives. If you still watch TV, what are the most popular shows? A courtroom, or an investigation, shows both real and dramatic elements. Like Court TV, Cops, Tiger King, or Chimp Crazy, and then all the NCIS spinoffs, Law and Order, and so on. Then there are all the competitions and TV shows out there, many of which the public has some say in who wins. I love these shows, from lighter competitions like Lego Masters, Is It Cake, and Blown Away, where there is little backstabbing and plotting. Then shows like Survivor, Ink Master, Big Brother, The Traitors, and so on, where alliances and plots form. I did not forget all the singing and talent shows either. How much of what media we consume is about judgment? That’s just a few TV shows out of society based on judging the worth of others. I know for a fact that you are judging whether this is a good blog post or sermon. I am going to have to judge applications, resumes, and interview candidates to find the right people for our staff. The problem with judgment is that a certain level of it is needed to navigate this world, but it cannot be our guiding light, because we become nasty people or “Karens.”
Judgment, final judgment, belongs to Jesus according to the Apostles’ Creed. How will he judge? At the end of the day, I don’t know because I am not Jesus. However, I believe that Jesus will judge on the final day, as he did throughout his entire life, with grace. I choose to believe this, to hold on to this hope, because I know I will need it. Hopefully, I have a long life ahead of me to grow, to make better choices, to live more like Jesus, but even still, I need grace. The Jesus I believe in, read about in scripture, and learn about in study, is the physical embodiment of God’s grace for us all.
So, I am going to keep growing. I am going to keep learning. I am going to keep working. All while relying on God’s grace to keep me going, and to give me courage when I stand before Christ.

Our Lenten Sermon Series focused on brokenness and how everyone is broken, yet God uses our brokenness for good. Jesus transforms our brokenness by giving it purpose and preventing it from defining us entirely. (Feel free to revisit some of these inspiring sermons on our website and YouTube channel.) After 40 days on this theme, it might seem repetitive, and I will do my best to avoid over-echoing. However, it's important to remember our true brokenness and the hope God offers to redeem it.
So, I ask you, have you ever made a mistake? Have you committed a sin against another or against God? There is only one right answer to this question. If you are a human being, then yes, you have made not just ‘a’ mistake or committed ‘a’ sin, but undoubtedly many in your life. I think many of our mistakes and sins are not necessarily intentional. I rarely cut people off in traffic on purpose. Most of the time I did not realize what I was doing until it was done. I have said things to people, not meaning any harm, only to realize later that I had hurt someone I cared about, though I never realized what I said was hurtful. Other times we unfortunately make intentional mistakes and sins. We seek out ways to harm others, to cause them suffering, to push their buttons. We are self-serving and simply do not care about the ripple effects on others. So it is a fair question to ask: Do we treat all mistakes the same? No, that would defy human logic.
There are minor mistakes, like forgetting to bring something home from work for my spouse. I do pay, but that’s a small act. On the other hand, intentionally and premeditatively taking another human life is the gravest error in society. Crimes are ranked from petty to capital, creating a hierarchy of sins and mistakes. Why do we do this? Partly for practicality, because we want a fair world, even though it’s impossible; we desire justice, but often equate punishment with justice. Thus, we develop systems that aim to be as fair and just as possible. Moreover, this ranking also helps us feel better about ourselves and justify our flaws: “I may have made mistakes, but I’ve never killed anyone!” We find comfort when we see others worse than us being punished while we avoid repercussions.
How do we react when others err? Typically, through punishment. But does this approach truly work? No. If punishment were effective, the fear of it would deter wrongdoing from the start; however, people still commit offenses. The system we've established fails in this regard. Often, individuals emerge from the criminal justice process worse off than when they entered. Our concept of justice is actually rooted in revenge systems, which rarely help people learn to make better decisions in the future. Nor do they ever really bring those who suffer ‘closer’.
Paul’s message to the Romans should make you uncomfortable, as it always should. Romans 3:22b-23 states: “For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God!” This means everyone has messed up, regardless of the severity or who was involved. Paul doesn’t hold back, and even after 2000 years, I still feel the impact. It’s not just Paul’s words; they reflect Jesus’ actions too. On the cross, Jesus forgave those who wronged him: “Forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He also told the criminal next to him: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” We start to see that sin itself is insignificant compared to God’s grace, which is offered freely and covers everything. Understanding this is a difficult challenge for us humans to wrap our heads around, as we desire human conceptions of ‘justice.’
What does this mean for us? First, stop being so judgmental. (I have to say this in the mirror every morning, and almost every day I fail). We are going to talk a bit about judgment next week, but what we have started to see is that judgment is not up to us. Thanks be to God for that, because I do not want that job.
Second, God is not fair. We also see that grace is far from fair, and God is far from fair, and again I say thanks be to God for that as well. Because if God were fair, we would all be in pits of hell spinning like a Costco rotisserie chicken, which is so good. Have you really lived a life that is always worthy of God’s grace? I am not saying you are bad people, cause that will make giving nosedive. “Pastor says I deserve to be spinning in hell like a chicken, church doesn’t need my money, I'll go buy one myself.” I am not saying that we are terrible people, but I am saying that none of us are perfect, not like Costco Rotisserie Chicken.
At the end of the day, if we are not the final judge, and if we have been recipients of God’s steadfast and never-failing grace, then we are called to offer the same grace to others. Believe me, I know it isn’t easy. It is one of the most difficult things God asks of us, to forgive as we have been forgiven by God through Jesus. We have all fallen short of the glory of God. However, God offers forgiveness to all through our faith in God, this is what we call grace. We are forgiven by God’s gift in Jesus. That is not a gift meant to be hoarded but shared. We will not always succeed but guess what is there to catch us when we fall, God’s grace.
How do we first receive that grace? The key word is 'received.' Just as Pat Mahomes has already thrown the long pass to Xavier Worthy, it’s up to him to catch it and stay on his feet. Similarly, God has already extended grace through Jesus Christ; it’s then our responsibility to accept it and cling to it during difficult times. Methodists and Wesleyans refer to this as "prevenient grace," which means “the grace that comes before our awareness.” God offers us grace before we even realize who God is, and this offer is universal. It’s our choice whether to accept that grace, begin our Christian journey, and pursue growth and faith. When we accept God’s grace and forgiveness and commit to growing in grace, we are forgiven.
This is why the United Methodist Church baptizes infants: because it represents God’s prevenient grace. Don't misunderstand, we also baptize adults. (We do not re-baptize. God’s promise stands firm even when ours falter. Also, it could jeopardize my ordination.) I find it hard to think of a better symbol of God’s grace than a child who cannot do anything for themselves yet is still worthy of it, despite having no full understanding of who God is. The water is not magical; it is a tangible and outward sign of and inward grace, of what God has already done. Though not in the Apostle’s Creed, baptism has been associated with the forgiveness of sins since early church days. It reflects our response to God's prior actions. God has already claimed this child, this person, this adult. Our commitment is to respond to God's work by raising the child in faith until they can claim it themselves. Adults, too, accept God's grace and seek a renewed way of living. The water symbolizes God's claim on our lives, a sacred sign of divine ownership and cleansing.
Often, we have seen others abuse the gift of forgiveness and even of Baptism. Perhaps we ourselves have as well. We are not forgiven for simply going on and sinning some more. Baptism is not meant as a last-ditch effort to save us before we die after a life full of sin. We take this forgiveness for granted when we do not change our behaviors and our ways of living. We make our faith in Jesus’ life, ministry, suffering, and death vain if it does not change us and shape us into those who look after the least, the last, and the lost. It is vain faith if we refuse to offer forgiveness to others since we have been forgiven, especially when it is costly.
Bonhoeffer famously distinguishes between "cheap grace” and “costly grace.” Cheap grace refers to grace without discipleship, the cross, or the living Jesus Christ; it’s called cheap because it requires nothing from us but helps us feel better about ourselves. We might attend an event for a few hours, but that doesn't truly cost us anything substantial. It’s merely checking a box without giving our true selves. Conversely, "Costly Grace" requires following Christ, obeying His example, and practicing self-denial. It’s "costly” because it demands our lives and “grace” because it offers genuine life. For Bonhoeffer, costly grace isn’t about earning salvation through works, it's about a grace that transforms us in response to Christ’s call. If it doesn’t, it’s just cheap grace. For a deeper understanding, read The Cost of Discipleship (1937), it’s worth a read. So, my final question for us this week is, do we practice cheap or costly grace?

What is the church? Is it a physical building with four walls and a steeple? Or is it a hierarchy of authority that leads to Christ? Could it be the Roman Catholic Church, the United Methodist Church, the Lutheran Church, or any other denomination? Or perhaps the church is simply all those who have professed belief in God. When we mention saints, are we referring to the legendary saints known for faith and miracles? Or are we referring to all those who have gone before us? Could it be the NFL team, or something else entirely? This single line, like all others in the creeds, raises more questions than it answers.
This week, we will skip ahead a line in the Apostles' Creed to focus on the Holy Spirit and the Trinity, coinciding with Pentecost. This is also one of the debates and divisions between the Eastern and Western Churches that led to the first great schism. The key question will be “from whom does the Holy Spirit proceed?” Additionally, this is the origin of the common phrase “one iota.” We will explore this great debate of our faith next week on Pentecost, so stay tuned.
Many Christians, especially non-Catholics, find this week's line quite confusing. Its meaning varies depending on whether one is Catholic, Orthodox, or Protestant. Last week, we saw how theological tradition shapes how we view, read, and interpret creeds. Although we may all recite the same words, our understanding of their meaning often differs. This highlights the broad diversity of creeds and what they consider protected. These boundaries, set by the creeds, help us find our place within broader faith. Whenever I talk about the creeds, the number one question I get asked is about the word “catholic.” Are we professing faith in the Catholic Church when we say these creeds? Short answer, no. But of course, I have a much longer one for you as well.
Note the lowercase 'c' in 'catholic.' Capital 'C' Catholic refers to the denomination, while lowercase 'c' Catholic signifies the ‘church universal.’ When Christianity became not only legal but the official religion of the Roman Empire in 325, believers held diverse beliefs and numerous canons of sacred texts. The Council of Nicaea aimed to unify Christians across the empire into one institution in the name of unity, but it was also about control (99% about control). This was challenging; there were intense debates, and even Saint Nick was known to have punched someone, right in the face (look it up; I'm serious). When Christians were working on a common creed and set of beliefs, there were no denominations. The Catholic Church didn’t even exist yet; this was a gathering of Christians, not a denomination. When they wrote 'Holy catholic Church,' the line didn’t refer to an institution but to Christians worldwide, aiming to connect followers of Jesus into one body. It was a point of connection, saying “I believe in the church set up by Jesus” and in their shared faith in Him.
Later, the Catholic Church adopted the name to signify its status as the church universal. For centuries, it was. Until 1054, there were no other Christian sects besides the Catholic Church. For 700 years, the 'Catholic Church' was the universal church. The focus has shifted somewhat over time: when we say, “I believe in the Holy catholic Church,” we are not endorsing the church as an institution but affirming belief in the community of all believers and in Jesus as the ultimate head of that Church. No, we are not professing faith in the “Catholic Church,” but what we Protestants do not understand is that we all come from the Catholic Church. Who wrote the creeds? I have my theological differences with the Catholics, which is why my mom stopped being one, but we all have a lot more in common than you might think. We need to get out of this shame cycle we participate in, saying, “My denomination has all the answers.” We Methodists do, but that’s not the point. The church is far bigger than any denomination or sect, and it doesn’t belong to us either. We are all doing the best we can to comprehend the divine majesty of a God we cannot see face to face. Of course, we are going to see God differently.
This week, the focus continues with the “Communion of Saints.” There are various ways to interpret this phrase, unsurprisingly. As a non-Catholic, it's important to distinguish between the uppercase 'Saints' and lowercase 'saints.' Upper-case Saints are venerated Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Lutherans, and NFL fans like my brother-in-law. Saints are individuals who have met numerous requirements, including deeds in this life and miracles after death associated with their remains, something they owned, and the like. The title 'Saint' signifies not just honor in this life but also a close relationship with God in the afterlife. There are patron Saints for different professions, nations, schools, and religious orders, among many other categories. Some Protestants acknowledge Saints, but most typically do not believe in elevating certain individuals above others, though that’s not the main reason for honoring them. Saints are a point of connection to God. That can look like a certain way of living with God and neighbor, someone we can relate to and look to for guidance. Saints are tangible examples and connection points with God.
Do I believe in Saints? That depends on the day. I have three Icons of Saints in my office, all from the same workshop in Greece that has made Icons the same way for generations. There are also individuals like Martin Luther King Jr. and Dietrich Bonhoeffer whom I look up to and turn to for guidance on how to be a follower of God in a broken world. Do I think they have special importance? Yes. Do I pray to Saints to intercede on my behalf to God? No. So yes and no.
Lowercase 'saints' refers broadly to all who have gone before us, including those who have expressed faith in God, particularly in Jesus. Some even include Abraham, which is an interesting debate (the answer is yes). This includes friends, family, and those we may never meet. When reading the creeds, we connect with both the believers who came before us and those who will come after. This is where we find personal significance in this line. We are connected to all who have come before us, who shaped us, who made us who we are today. Whether they are with us in this life or have moved on to the next, we remain connected to them. All the adoptive grandparents I have had in my life, thanks to the church. All the mentors who have shaped my faith. My family, though we came from different traditions, helped make me who I am. We are bound by strings that can never be broken or forgotten. Even those great leaders of the faith, gone from this life long before I came into existence, whom I look up to. All those who are still alive and spread across creation. The greatest gift the church universal and local provides is relationships and the knowledge that we do not walk this journey alone. We have already talked about how God walks that road, but there are people here we can look to for support in our times of need, because that is what the church is for.
The church is not a building, however many walls it has. The church is not an hour-long commitment on Sunday mornings. The church is the relationships we create with each other. When the church is at its best, it fosters new relationships and creates a community that all humans need to function. One of my favorite atheists/agnostics is Neil deGrasse Tyson. I saw a reel on Facebook yesterday asking whether the church is healthy for humanity. What good has Christianity, or any faith, for that matter, done for humanity? Tyson is somewhat critical of the institution, and I agree with many of his points, or at least understand them. One thing that stood out to me in this conversation was his point that the greatest gift faith traditions have given humanity is community, because we humans need it. Unfortunately, many of the church's institutions have driven people away, leaving a great void of need.
The creed also says you cannot be a Christian without going to church; it doesn’t work that way. I am not saying this to guilt people into coming more often, although I wouldn’t mind if it did. To be a Christian is to believe in the Church. At a very basic level, we need community, not just as Christians but as human beings. No one can walk this life alone; it is not possible. I mean the walk of navigating faith and life itself, with its ups and downs. I have tried to do it myself, and it did not work for me at all. Believing in the Church means believing in the importance of community. A community woven across all cultures, all human differences, and even across time itself. It is a statement that says, I need help in my life, I need help in my faith, I need help in my relationship with God, and I will look to my church community for that help. There are countless other ways to find that community, but the Church offers a kind of community not often found elsewhere: to be loved for who you are, no exceptions, because God has loved us in that same way. I know how hard it is to ask for help, to acknowledge that we cannot do it on our own. I am terrible at asking for help because I don’t want to be a burden on others. To be a Christian, and thus to believe in the Church, is also a promise to be there for others when they need it. To be a Christian is to believe in the importance of community. I'll let you ask how well we are doing that today.

Last week, we noted that one modern function of creeds is to outline beliefs of faith. Creeds primarily serve to protect the church and correct understanding from heresy. Most ancient creeds emerged in response to theological debates of their time. Today, creeds still function similarly by defining boundaries for what a group considers distinct from other traditions. The United Church of Canada Creed exemplifies this. The first established creed by the ‘church' in 325, known as the Nicene Creed, was authored to affirm Jesus' divinity. Over time, the Nicene Creed has defended against various Christological heresies, such as Docetism, Arianism, Adoptionism, Apollinarianism, and Nestorianism. These creeds have been revised to guard the faith against errors concerning Jesus, God the Father, the Holy Spirit, the Trinity, eternal life, and core Christian doctrines. The Nicene Creed was notably revised in 381. Since doctrine exists, heresy has always been a challenge. Creeds serve to safeguard faith and distinguish between correct and incorrect beliefs. I taught a whole class about ancient and modern heresy, so I will try to be brief and not info-dump everything I know. In this section of the Apostles’ Creed, we affirm Jesus as the Son of God and Mary as the Mother of God.
In brief, I want to discuss the significance of the ‘virgin’ label for some people and its lack of importance for others. Additionally, we need to confront the well-known issue of how the church has historically defined women who are pillars of faith primarily by their sexuality. We have previously touched on this with a different Mary, but many other women face the same treatment. I could give a laundry list of all the core women of our faith who have faced similar challenges.
There are generally three different views on Mary’s virginity. (By the way, I’m keeping track of how often I mention that word or related terms.) The first, and the one implied in our discussion today, is the Virgin Birth. This doctrine states that Jesus was conceived not through human means but by the Holy Spirit. His mother was human, but his 'father' was a divine miracle of God. Many Christians affirm this belief as outlined in the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds. The doctrine of the Virgin Birth helps affirm the tradition of Jesus' dual nature: both fully human and fully divine, and ensuring that his two natures are preserved.
Christians have never been as unified on how Jesus was born as they are on who Jesus is. Some, however, do not see the virgin birth as essential. There are theological perspectives that continue to believe in Jesus without it. As discussed last week and as Paul suggests, Jesus relinquished His divinity to become human. In this context, the virgin birth might seem unnecessary. Jesus becoming human involved Him setting aside His full divinity to identify with humanity. All miracles were performed through the Spirit and God's presence within Him because He is God incarnate.
Additionally, some see this as problematic. Their main argument is that the theology of the virgin birth suggests sex is an unclean, sinful act, with some significantly influential theologians, most notably Augustine of Hippo, allegedly considering it the original sin. (Augustine had some serious issues with shame for his previous lifestyle). They further claim that this doctrine has caused shame and pressure, especially for women. No one truly believes Joseph was a virgin; all Christians acknowledge he fathered children like James. Why isn't Joseph held to the same standard? (Whether Mary was the mother of those children is another point we'll discuss shortly.) The rules about virginity and purity are not applied equally to men and women, neither in the Bible, in Jesus’ birth, nor today. Some argue that the virgin birth theology is linked to systemic sexism both in the church and society, leading some to reject the idea that faith in Jesus depends on a biological explanation of his origins.
The Immaculate Conception often causes confusion, but it specifically refers to Mary, not Jesus. This doctrine claims that Mary was born free of sin so she could carry Jesus, who is also without sin. Catholic traditions uphold this belief; however, most Protestants do not consider it necessary. Generally, Methodist theologians believe that Mary was not exempt from sin like all humans. While she was greatly favored and, in general, better than the average person, they acknowledge that God works through imperfect people. In short, Mary does not need to be perfect to be Jesus' mother.
The third and final concept is the Perpetual Virginity of Mary. Traditional Catholic theology affirms that Mary had no other children and never ‘lost her virginity.' All of Jesus’ siblings are considered to be Joseph’s children from a previous relationship and do not share a biological connection to Jesus. This belief explains why traditional nativity scenes often depict a much older Joseph compared to Mary. Supporters of this doctrine argue it emphasizes Mary's purity as the mother of Jesus, while opponents, who share similar concerns as mentioned earlier, criticize it. This has fostered a culture of shame and double standards. Most Protestants view this doctrine as unnecessary and not based on scripture.
What matters most, regardless of personal beliefs about these claims, is that Mary is revered as the mother of God, known as the ‘theotokos,’ meaning ‘God-Bearer' or 'Mother of God' in Greek. However, I don’t want us to define Mary solely by her role as Jesus' mother, as that overlooks the full scope of her identity. Mary did more than give birth; she nurtured him, helped him mature, journeyed with him, mourned and celebrated him, and shared the Good News about Jesus long after his ascension into heaven. She is far more than her virginity or her role as a birth giver, and she deserves our respect beyond these aspects. This applies equally to many women in scripture who are often diminished or misunderstood, her sexuality being the sole focus of their portrayal.
One aspect often missing from the creeds is Jesus’ ministry. While all creeds mention Jesus being born, dying, and rising again, they overlook the many events in between. We tend to forget how significant Jesus’ birth is; it signifies his humanity, especially since we recount the story yearly and anticipate the ending. It's crucial to remember that Jesus, the only Son of God, entered the world just like we did. He was a teenager at times, possibly rebellious, and he cared deeply for his family. When I visited Nazareth years ago, I imagined Mary telling Jesus to fetch water. Jesus spent time with the broken and the fearful, offering healing and peace. He experienced anger, grief, betrayal, denial, and suffering. Yet, these many human experiences are largely absent from the creeds, which focus mainly on His birth and resurrection. I’m not minimizing those events, but I want us to recognize that the rest of Jesus’ story is equally important.
As I have said before. No matter what you are going through, you can rest assured that someone knows what you face, for Jesus has walked the same path, encountered people with the same pain, and experienced the harsh realities of our world. I have said it before, and I will say it again and again, for it is the base of my faith: God knows what you are going through, and God does not abandon whom God has created.
While Jesus shared many aspects of the human experience, he was also divine and performed deeds beyond human capability. In Jesus, and in the miracle of his incarnation, all of deity resides in him, as the author of Colossians states (although scholars debate if Paul authored this). What Jesus did with that divine authority is what truly matters, as discussed last week. The miracles, teachings, and signs of that deity within him are often omitted from the creeds. I worry that Christians sometimes do the same with their faith. We tend to skip over death because it makes us uncomfortable; understandably so, since that’s the point. We celebrate Jesus’ birth and resurrection but often overlook his life and teachings that challenge how we live. We prefer comfort and resist anything that threatens it.
Jesus didn't endure all that to have us live unchanged lives. The whole point is that, through Jesus, the divine dwells within us, too. We are capable of great acts, things like feeding the hungry, healing the sick, comforting the afraid, and loving our neighbors, even when they seem difficult to love. It is through Jesus, in whom the fullness of God resides, that we are made complete in God's love. We now have the example of how to use what God has given us. We have been set free from the fear of death, knowing that God is stronger. We are left with the Spirit of God that worked through Jesus to do amazing things and can work through us today. Because Jesus was human, we get a glimpse of what we were created to be, and God gets a glimpse of what it means to be one of us. Mary was there for it all, and got to see her son do amazing things, and also had to watch his suffer, and ascend. Mary continued to share the Good News until she herself ascended when her work was done. Please, do not define people by a single aspect. Whether it is virginity in Mary’s case or modern issues such as the color of their skin, or nation of origin, their gender, identity or sexuality, their age or ability, for we are all far more than a single title that Mary got. Give others the space to be their full selves rather than putting them in a box for just one part of who they are.

Last week, I mentioned that the earliest Christian Creed was “Jesus is Lord.” In Greek, it's transliterated as “Kyrios Khristós” or “Kyrios Iēsoûs,” depending on the source. These mean “Christ is Lord” and “Jesus is Lord,” respectively. This week's passage, Philippians 2:3-11, is likely the second-oldest Christian Creed we have, and it forms the foundation of my personal theology and faith. I might write a lengthy, detailed book about it someday, but I'll keep this brief. While we don't know the exact age of this Creed or its author, we know Paul is quoting it, and the church in Philippi would have recognized it as well, which gives it its importance. The Creed explains why Jesus deserves the title “Lord” and why He merits our praise and trust. Therefore, the key term this week is “Kyrios,” or Lord, and we are going to do a brief word study today. Therefore, before exploring why Jesus is worthy of this title, we should understand what this word meant to early Christians.
Now that I know we have at least one landlord in our church community, I will try to be considerate here, but I must admit, I have never had a ‘nice’ landlord. Landlords are generally not known for their kindness. If you've ever rented an apartment or house, was your landlord-tenant relationship smooth? Even among homeowners with HOA, God rest your soul, do you have a good relationship with your HOA chair? When I lived with my parents in college, I didn’t pay rent, but tensions occasionally arose because it was their house. We all have people who hold some form of power over us, in one way or another. They may not have, or go by the title, but the power and influence remain. There are still those who go by the title of ‘lord’ in our world. Over in another country, many titles have been handed down through generations, but they hold only a small part of the power they once had. In our own nation, as I said, we have people who may not have the term, but certainly possess the quality. Families with wealth and power passed on through generations. The Kardashian family and the Kennedys are the two that come to mind immediately. As much as we think we have moved on from that tradition, we just rebranded it from monarchy to capitalism.
In Paul’s era, “Kyrios” was a multifaceted term, just as it remains today. The word "Lord" held various meanings depending on community and context. Usually, it signified "master" or "owner" in daily life, applied to household heads, landowners, governors, and slave owners as a sign of respect for their elevated status. Here, the term is non-religious; it merely mirrors the typical social hierarchy of the time. Something that we think we have escaped, but we most certainly have not.
By the first century, the term “Kyrios” also acquired political and divine meanings. Following the decline of the Roman Republic and the ascent of emperors, it was used for emperors to denote supreme authority. As the Imperial Cult grew, “Kyrios” also began to symbolize the emperor’s divinity, meaning that "Lord" for the emperor signified not only authority but also divinity. The emperors were gods.
Within the Jewish community, the term “Kyrios” also held divine importance, but in a very different way. The “Septuagint,” the Greek translation of the Hebrew scriptures, was produced around the 3rd or 2nd century BCE. The origins of this translation are quite fascinating. The Septuagint used the Greek word “Kyrios" to refer to YHWH, God's name. This usage was not meant to attribute divinity to any human but to the divine itself, marking a departure from the typical Greek use of the term. This Greek version of the Hebrew Scriptures was the standard for both Jews and Christians for many years before and after the time of Jesus. Some Eastern Orthodox churches still rely on the Septuagint today. Western Christianity, however, does not use it, partly because it is not considered a very accurate translation.
In summary: “Kyrios” represented personal, political, and divine authority simultaneously, depending on the audience. Interestingly for us, getting a bit ahead of myself here, is that Jesus fulfills all three meanings. Jesus is Lord personally, politically, and divinely. But what are the reasons and mechanisms behind this?
Why is Jesus considered worthy of the title “Lord”? Paul, in an early creed, provides a list. Jesus, who is divine, has the power of God but chose to set it aside to become one with us. Not as a ‘lord’ or ‘master’ or ‘craftsman,’ but as Paul describes, “the form of a slave.” Jesus was among the least, last, and lost, and chose that path over personal glory. This humility led him to die on the cross, bearing the sins of the world. Because of this humility and his willingness to sacrifice, God raised him up as worthy of praise and thanksgiving. This is what makes him worthy of being called “Lord,” because of what he has done for us. The true meaning of “Lord” isn’t self-centered; perhaps there’s a slight hint of that. A Lord also has the duty to care for those under their authority. A landlord, for example, has the power to oversee and also to help when needed. Privilege entails responsibility for others.
What do we mean when we say Jesus is Lord? Essentially, it signifies that Jesus should have personal authority over us and our way of life, that He surpasses any earthly power now or ever to come, and that He is divine, providing us with redeeming grace. Take a moment to absorb this. If we confess Jesus as Lord, He is before and above almost everything around us and within our lives. Declaring Jesus as Lord means He is first; everything else follows. Can we honestly claim that Jesus is first? Aside from Sunday mornings from 9:30 to 10:30, how often do we truly put Him first? Even then, how many times have we wished the service wouldn't go past 10:30? That we sang too many verses or that the sermon was too long; we have other plans. I admit I do this myself in the pews. Jesus is Lord, but the teachings on loving our neighbor are fine in principle, though we sometimes believe those people don't deserve it. We proclaim Jesus as Lord on Sunday, but on Monday, money becomes our Lord. For Jesus to be Lord truly means He comes first; no exceptions, period.
If that wasn’t challenging enough, Paul goes further, saying we are to live in the same mind as Jesus. That makes this whole thing even harder to live out. To use the power and privilege we have, which come from God and God alone, not for selfish benefit but for the sake of others. We are called to be those who serve, not those who are served. That way of life flips the world we know upside down. These are the opposite of the values we have been taught by society. But to say Jesus is Lord is to live like Jesus. To feed the hungry. Heal the sick. Comfort the grieving. To seek out the least, last, and lost. To fight injustice in any way that it presents itself. To sacrifice. To forgive when it seems impossible.
Why do this? Two reasons. First, Paul and Jesus told you to. That should already be enough. Jesus says, we do. Kind of simple. Second, because God has already done these things for you, it is only right that we pass them on to others. Especially when we don’t feel they deserve it or have earned it, because we don’t either.
Saying Jesus is Lord, meaning it and believing it, changes you. It shapes you and makes you more like Jesus. The Good News is that we do not face it alone. We go on this journey together and hold one another accountable.
Are you willing to say it, to mean it, to believe it? Then come and grow.

My favorite active Chiefs player might surprise some: Creed Humphrey. I've always had mixed feelings about offensive linemen. It’s a strange position for a Creed fan, because I don’t want to hear his name called as often as we did with Jawaan Taylor. There’s no hate or harsh judgment. It’s not like I’d play that position myself. Usually, hearing a lineman’s name called means he had a penalty or missed a block. But their job is to protect Mahomes, the quarterback, and create space for the running backs to matriculate down the field. I also really love pancake blocks. Creed’s role and the creeds are quite similar: both set the boundaries of our faith, shielding it from false beliefs while allowing room for interpretation and growth.
Today, we have a lot to cover, including the purpose of creeds, the history of the Apostle’s Creed, the Canadian Creed we're studying this week, and topics like "God the Father” and “God the Maker." The earliest creed was likely just “Jesus is Lord." A more detailed version appears in Philippians 3, which Paul quotes, and we'll explore this in a few weeks as it defines my faith in Jesus. Originally, creeds served to educate new believers, teach them what it means to believe in God, protect the faith, and establish its boundaries.
There's a story I heard from Justo González, a favorite theologian and historian of Christianity, that goes like this: A young monk went to the abbot, the head of his monastery, and said, “I am struggling with the creed; I don’t understand or believe it.” The abbot replied, “Repeat the creed until you believe.” The young monk kept returning, struggling to believe, and the abbot kept giving the same advice until, at last, it clicked, and the monk believed. This story illustrates that a primary purpose of the creed is to teach faith. Creeds also serve another important purpose: they protect the faith from heresy. They define what true belief in God entails and what it does not. We will see how creeds defend against heresy regarding topics like the nature of Jesus and the Trinity. Additionally, Justo González explains that creeds help set boundaries, much like foul lines on a baseball field. These lines mark limits, but there is plenty of space within them. We will observe this dynamic starting with the very first line of the Apostles’ Creed. Creeds set clear boundaries while allowing room for differing interpretations.
The origins of the Apostles’ Creed are highly debated. Despite being perhaps the most popular of all creeds, it exists in multiple versions even within our hymnal. There is no single, definitive story behind its origin. Over the centuries, between 20 and 30 people have been credited with its creation. Legend claims the Apostles each wrote a line of the creed, but almost no one believes this is true. Some date the creed to the medieval period, between the 5th and 15th centuries. Others argue it descends from the old Roman creed, possibly dating back to the 2nd century, though written records only appear from 341. The Nicene Creed was written in 325, while the Apostles’ Creed appears in records no earlier than the 8th century. The key point is that the origin of this creed is complex, passing through many hands. If you research this online (though I advise against it), you'll find varying accounts across different sources. Does this confusion matter? The answer is both yes and no.
Yes, we must acknowledge that, despite its name, this creed was not authored by the Apostles. It has also evolved over time, with changes even in recent history. However, regardless of these facts, Christians have relied on this creed for over a thousand years to understand, declare, and affirm their faith. It remains in use today across diverse Christian traditions worldwide. This enduring tradition underscores its significance and authority.
Now let’s talk about the first line: “I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” We are going to look at two things here, “God the Father Almighty” and “Maker of Heaven and Earth.” The first should be pretty quick.
You may have noticed I don’t usually refer to God as 'Father.' In sermons, prayers, liturgy, and blog posts, I simply say 'God.' Why? Two main reasons. First, not everyone has a positive relationship with the word 'Father,' for various reasons. Second, I don’t believe God is a man. I want to be clear that calling God 'Father' is both good and faithful; it’s the most common name for God, aside from 'God' or 'YHWH.' However, God also compares divine self to a mother hen who shelters her children—my favorite image of God. Jewish texts often refer to God in non-gendered terms like Elohim, El, and Adonai. Christian texts use names like Theos and Kyrios. God isn’t limited to human gender. Calling God 'Father' describes an aspect of who God is, not what God is. God is the Creator, Guide, Provider, Companion, and Comforter; qualities of a loving father, but not an old man with a beard. I already have a dad for that. If 'Father' fits your relationship with God, use it. If not, that’s okay. No single name fully captures who God is, which is why God has many names.
“Creator of Heaven and Earth” represents the other part of the statement. Heaven can be interpreted in various ways, and I want to avoid getting too caught up in the details. It could mean the place where God dwells or where Jesus ascended, which is the traditional view. However, I believe that God doesn’t live in a distant place but is present with us here and now. I also think that heaven was not created by God as an escape from earth. For me, stay with me, heaven is a current reality that we may not perceive. Our limited vision, as discussed last week, driven by our expectations, prevents us from seeing the God who is present with us today. Remember, God is also the creator of the earth.
The Genesis creation story is not meant as history because chapters 1 and 2 present two conflicting accounts. Instead, it is a parable. Honestly, I don’t care how long it took God to create the world—whether 6 days or 6 billion years doesn’t matter. What’s important is that God created everything. Humans are not the only beings God created; all living things on earth were called into existence by God, and everything God made was good! So why would God abandon what was called good and only take humans to heaven? Why spend all that time creating something just for us to leave it behind? That’s why I struggle with the idea of heaven as another place where God resides and takes us. Salvation isn’t just about humans but about all living creatures. In Noah’s ark story, did God abandon all animals? No! Except for the dinosaurs, they were left behind because T-Rex was too big to fit on the boat. We forget that God created the entire earth and called it good, yet we exploit it for our pleasure. We misinterpret ‘dominion’ as license to do whatever we want like: hunting animals to extinction, cutting down forests for bigger houses, spilling oil in the ocean, and filling landfills. Dominion actually means we are entrusted with the earth’s care, not given permission to do as we please. We were entrusted with the earth, but we’ve failed to care for what God gave us. Life isn’t meant for us to take for ourselves, to wage war, or pursue personal vendettas.
If God, as the Father, gave a wonderful gift to His children and they destroyed it, how do you think He would react? Fortunately, He responds with grace. Why are we entrusted with such a gift? Humanity alone is created in God’s own image. Don’t think of it as printing a picture; though that’s not a bad metaphor, since a picture fades each time it’s reproduced. We are simply shadows of God’s power and love. It’s not about us resembling God or vice versa; that’s the mistake of making God in our image, which is problematic today. To me, the image of God is the capacity to create and the free will to craft whatever we wish. We possess great power but often misuse it.
Why the United Church of Canada’s Creed? Because of two lines I want to highlight, one of which isn't in our hymnal for unknown reasons. The first line states: “We believe in God: who has created and is creating.” This emphasizes that creation isn't a one-time event, whether over six days or six billion years, but an ongoing process happening daily. Emily and I have seen plants she carefully planted begin to bloom again, bringing new life to formerly barren branches. God continuously makes things new, exemplified in the cross. Through Jesus, God renewed life by helping us conquer the fear of death and reminding us of God's omnipotence. That even death cannot overpower God. The second line, absent from our hymnal, calls the Church “to live with respect in Creation.” I appreciate this for two reasons: first, respect. Our duty is to protect God's creations. Second is the living in creation line. Since we live in a world created by God, it’s not ours, but something we must respect. We do not own this world; we are simply blessed to be in it as a gift from God.
*What is the United Church of Canada? According to the United Church of Canada’s website: “The United Church of Canada is the largest Protestant denomination in Canada. We minister to over a million people in about 2,500 congregations. The history of the United Church is closely entwined with the history of Canada itself. The United Church was inaugurated on June 10, 1925, in Toronto, Ontario, when the Methodist Church, Canada, the Congregational Union of Canada, and 70 percent of The Presbyterian Church in Canada entered into a union… The United Church continues to be a "uniting" church, and has been enriched by several additional unions since 1925.”
Know that you are created by God, and that every person, being, plant, rock, star, and more was created by God too. Our unique quality as Image of God is not just a gift but a responsibility to use it wisely and care for what God created. We are only here for a little while, so why don’t we try to leave it better than we found it?

We begin our sermon series on the Apostles’ Creed a bit out of order, with “Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was Crucified, Dead and Buried, the Third Day He Rose Again.” It is Easter, after all. Over the next few weeks, we will go through the Apostles’ Creed line by line, unpacking what it means and how the Creed shapes and defines our faith. We will discuss more about the history behind this Creed, the overall purpose of Creeds, and how we should engage with them next week, when we return to the first line of the Apostles’ Creed. I am going to do my best not to ramble, but I love a good creed, but like I said more on that next week. This week, we will focus on the line “Rose Again.”
But as I write this, it is still Maundy Thursday. It’s funny to me because I have an open bag of Reese’s Bunnies next to me, and I’m about to talk about how we celebrate Easter too quickly and get ahead of ourselves to avoid the discomfort of Jesus’ death. A little ironic, but they’re giving me the sugar boost to write, so we make compromises.
We often celebrate Easter quickly but forget what comes before it. The full line of the creed is “Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was Crucified, Dead, and Buried, the Third Day He Rose Again.” While we eagerly celebrate the resurrection, we tend to ignore the previous 2 ½ days. We avoid the suffering he endured, not only at the hands of Rome but also the betrayal and abandonment by those close to him, including his own people. We shy away from the true anguish and torture of dying on the Roman cross. We overlook Jesus’ mother watching her son die and mourning his loss. I understand that it’s uncomfortable to think about, but Jesus’ death should challenge us; that’s the core of the event. He was executed by a corrupt empire for sharing a different truth, and his own people turned against him for not meeting their expectations and challenging the status quo. Honestly, I believe we avoid contemplating this because it’s uncomfortable, and deep down, we realize we might have been in one of those camps. The simple truth is that there is no resurrection hope without death. But we prefer the Easter candy and all the commercialization that makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside. We make more plans for how to celebrate Easter than how to truly prepare for it.
For me, one of the greatest signs of hope in Jesus is that he understands what it means to suffer—to live on the margins, to be excluded, to be among the least, the last, and the lost. God not only knows that suffering exists but also what it truly means to suffer. That’s a huge gap. As someone who has lived with privilege, I’ve experienced ups and downs, successes and failures, but can I really say that I understand what it means to suffer? I know that suffering is real; I see it everywhere around me but seeing and truly knowing are different things. God doesn’t just see our suffering; God knows it because God has lived it. That solidarity has carried me through the darkest moments of my life, the truth that I am not alone. Hope isn’t just in the empty tomb but also in the Last Supper and the crucifixion.
On Sunday, we shall proclaim that the Lord is risen indeed! It is the death and resurrection of Christ that give our faith meaning, but do we recognize Him when He comes? Do we greet Him, or run and hide? When we know and believe in the risen Lord, we are called to share the Good News with everyone who will listen.
Each of the Gospels tells the Easter story somewhat differently. For example, there are variations in who visits the tomb first. Mary Magdalene always goes, but the others who accompany her differ. Are angels present, and if so, how many? Who, if anyone, sees the Risen Jesus? In Mark, there are no appearances. There is no single account of what happened that morning, and each story provides a slightly different lesson. This, after all, is why we have four Gospels. Each one offers us a different perspective on who Jesus was and is. Today, we focus on John’s account.
So, Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb early in the morning. Scholars have debated extensively why Mary chose to go there that day, partly because the Gospels do not agree on this issue. Some Gospels and scholars say that Mary goes to anoint Jesus’ body because they couldn't do so before the start of the Sabbath. According to John, that was all taken care of before sunset on Friday. (The Jewish day begins at sundown.) Honestly, the reason she was there doesn’t really matter. What matters is that she goes, and in every story, it’s only the women who are willing to go to the tomb while the men are scared and hiding in dark corners. Only the women have the courage to be seen, tending to Jesus or paying respects to Him. The disciples are certainly afraid for their lives. Peter was made before the night was over. They do not want to share the same fate as Jesus, even though Peter himself said he would. The men have any number of good reasons not to go out, but that does not make it the right thing to do. Mary is putting herself at risk. She was at the foot of the cross and now at His grave; it wouldn’t be surprising if she were arrested as well, but she is willing to take the risk for the one who gave everything to her.
Simply put, and I will say this again, we would not be here without Mary. Getting a bit ahead of myself, but Mary Magdalene was the first to share the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection. Not Peter or John, who argued over who was greatest a few days earlier, but Mary. For churches to not allow women to be pastors or leaders in the church is to deny the Gospel, for the first bearers of it were women.
When Mary arrives at the tomb and sees the stone rolled away and the tomb empty, how does she respond? Fear. Which is a very natural reaction. We shouldn’t judge Mary for her fear of the empty tomb because she was the only one bold enough to go. But how often do we see Good News and respond with fear at first? When I received the first call about coming to Heritage, well, when you get a call from the DS between January and March, it’s a scary moment. The DS doesn’t call you in late January just to chat… no, you're moving. Then the DS didn’t tell me what the church was. I was terrified because I had grown used to where I was, and there was the added weight of uncertainty about the future. Mary is partly afraid because she doesn’t know what comes next. Fear is a natural first reaction to something new, but it should not and cannot be our final reaction, as we limit what God can do next in our lives if we run away. I think Mary’s real fear is that someone stole the body, which wouldn’t have been out of the question. His body could have been stolen by the Romans to prevent the tomb from becoming a holy site and Jesus a martyr. It could have been stolen by looters because Jesus was in a fancy tomb, Joseph of Arimathea’s, and grave robbery wasn’t uncommon. What Mary and all who followed Jesus had forgotten was the promise of the third day.
Mary looks around and sees what she thinks is the gardener, begging him to tell her where Jesus’ body was because she cannot see who is actually standing in front of her. Again, don’t judge Mary too harshly. She is the only one who showed up, and in her mind, Jesus is supposed to be dead. Why would she think that this man was Jesus? The truth is right in front of her, but her mind won’t let her see it; her sight is blurred. How often have we done the same thing? I open the fridge to find something, but cannot see it. Emily comes and finds it immediately. It’s right in front of my eyes, yet I cannot see it, because I have limited my perception of what is possible.
We may look at the world around us and think that hope is nowhere to be found. Maybe our vision has also become blurred. Perhaps we struggle to see hope because we have convinced ourselves that it doesn’t exist. Jesus merely speaks her name, and she knows, recognizes, and has hope again. That is the meaning of this day: hope when everything seems lost. When we confess belief in Jesus, who suffered and died because of our sins, and that He rose from the dead, we declare hope in the midst of hardship. I believe that Mary never fully lost hope. The men, yes, they lost hope in just a few minutes. Mary's visit to the tomb is, in itself, a sign that she had hope. Maybe she hoped the tomb would be empty, or that she could find comfort, but certainly Mary believed that this story, His story, and her story weren’t over yet.
Sometimes, when we need hope, we have to seek it out, often right where our pain is. We see the results when hope is missing and fear takes over: you can't go anywhere where fear grows, and hope fades away. I’m not saying it's easy, because it isn’t, but if we truly want to find hope in Jesus, the cross, humanity, or ourselves, we must be willing to search for it. We need to open our eyes to see what God can do and not place human limits on God. If we do that, we might be surprised by what we find.
Join us for worship Easter Morning at 9 am or 11 am!
Also this is my first one of these so, thank you for your grace.