Tag: discipleship (Page 1 of 28)

The Right Side of the Boat

April 20, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s a moment most people hit eventually.

You’ve been grinding. Showing up. Doing what you know how to do.

And it’s not working.

Not a little slow. Nothing. No traction. No payoff. Just effort disappearing into the dark.

That’s where this story starts.

A group of guys go out to fish, something they’ve done their whole lives. This isn’t new territory. This is their lane. And still… all night, nothing.

Empty.

If you’ve ever worked hard at something and watched it go nowhere, you already understand the scene.

Then morning comes. And from the shoreline, someone calls out:

“Catch anything?”

Nope.

“Try the right side of the boat.”

That’s it. No explanation. No credentials. Just a voice suggesting a small adjustment.

And somehow they listen.

That’s the part that should catch you. These aren’t amateurs. They know what they’re doing. But after a long night of getting nowhere, they still have enough humility left to try something different.

So they move the nets. And everything changes.

Suddenly more fish than they can handle. The kind of result that makes you stop and realize this is not luck.

Here’s the tension we need to feel. Most people don’t get stuck because they’re lazy.

They get stuck because they’re locked in.

Same habits. Same patterns. Same approach. Over and over again.

We call it consistency. Sometimes it’s just resistance to change.

Because these kind of adjustments feel small. It feels almost too simple to matter.

But that’s usually where the shift happens.

Not in some massive overhaul, but in a decision to listen when something, or someone, cuts through the noise and says, “Try it this way.”

The story turns when one of them realizes who’s on the shore. It’s Jesus.

And one of the guys, Peter, doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even think. He jumps straight into the water and heads to shore.

Because when something real shows up, you stop analyzing and start moving.

And when they get to shore, it’s not chaos. It’s calm. A fire’s already going. Food’s already cooking.

Here’s the twist: Jesus already has fish. He didn’t need theirs.

But he still tells them, “Bring some of what you caught.” That changes the whole angle.

This wasn’t about filling a gap. It wasn’t about proving themselves. It was an invitation.

Join me.

Be part of something.

That’s a different way to think about life. The pressure to perform, to produce, to make something happen. That’s heavy. But what if the point isn’t proving your worth?

What if it’s paying attention… and then responding?

So if you’ve been pushing hard and getting nowhere, maybe the answer isn’t more effort.

Maybe it’s a shift.

Listen again.

Try the other side.

It might not be about doing more.

It might be about doing something different and finally getting unstuck.

She Came for a Dead Man

April 6, 2026 / / 0 Comments

It was still dark when Mary got there.

She wasn’t coming to celebrate. She wasn’t coming to see an empty tomb or meet a risen Savior. She was coming with spices and oils to do the final, heartbreaking work of honoring a dead body. She loved Jesus enough to show up in the dark to care for a corpse.

That’s where Easter actually begins.

Not with trumpets. Not with certainty. Not with bold faith.

With grief. With confusion. With someone just trying to do the next right thing in the dark.

When she found the stone rolled away, she didn’t think resurrection. She thought theft. That’s how shattered her expectations were. No category for hope. No framework for “He’s alive.” Just panic and pain.

And when she finally turned around and saw Jesus standing in the garden, she thought he was the gardener.

Let that sit for a second.

The same Jesus she followed. The same Jesus she listened to. The same Jesus she watched die.

Standing right in front of her… and she couldn’t see Him.

Because grief has a way of blinding you to what’s right in front of you.
Because sometimes what God is doing doesn’t fit what you expected Him to do.
Because resurrection rarely looks like what we thought it would.

And then he said her name.

“Mary.”

Just her name. The same voice. The same tone. The same way he’d always said it.

And everything broke open.

Not because she figured it out.
Not because she pieced the clues together.
Not because her faith was finally strong enough.

But because Jesus made it personal.

That’s the Easter story that doesn’t get preached enough.

We love the big moment. The victory. The empty tomb. The global impact. And all of that matters. But before any of that unfolds… there’s a quiet garden, a grieving woman, and a Savior who refuses to stay distant.

Before He appears to the eleven.
Before He sends the church.
Before the world changes…

He calls one person by name.

Because salvation isn’t just global.

It’s personal.

It always starts personal.

That’s why, in baptism, we don’t just say, “This one.” We ask for a name.

“How is this child to be named?”

Because this isn’t generic grace. This isn’t abstract forgiveness. This isn’t a vague promise floating out there for whoever might grab it.

This is Jesus, crucified and risen, looking at a specific person and saying: You.

“You are mine.”
“You are forgiven.”
“You are raised with me.”

That’s what He was doing in the garden.

And that’s what He’s still doing.

A lot of us are still standing in that same place Mary was.

Still carrying grief.
Still assuming the worst.
Still trying to make sense of a God who didn’t do what we thought He would do.
Still looking right at Him… and missing Him.

We come expecting silence.
We come expecting absence.
We come expecting a dead end.

But Easter says otherwise.

The stone is already rolled away.
The grave is already empty.
And the Savior you think is missing is closer than you realize.

You might not recognize Him right away.

You might still be stuck in the fog.

But don’t miss this:

He knows your name.

Not the version of you that you project.
Not the cleaned-up version you bring to church.
Not the highlight reel.

He knows you.

And He calls your name.

Through His Word.
Through the water.
Through the promise that hasn’t changed.

And when it finally clicks, when you hear Him, when it lands, when the fog lifts it’s not just a theological realization.

It’s a moment.

Everything breaks open.

Hope returns.
Grief loosens its grip.
And what felt like the end starts to look like the beginning.

Mary came looking for a dead man.

She got a living Savior who knew her name.

He knows yours too.

And He’s still calling it.

You Came for This… But What If There’s More?

March 30, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You ever go somewhere expecting one thing… and walk out with way more than you planned?

You run into a store for “just one thing”… and somehow leave with a full cart.
You order something simple… and they upgrade you for free.
You show up for a quick conversation… and it turns into something that actually changes you.

It’s unexpected.
Unplanned.
Better than what you came for.

But here’s the twist—most of us don’t actually like that feeling when it comes to life.

Because we want control.

We Like Clear Expectations

Most of us approach life—and even God—like a transaction.

“I’ll show up… if You do this.”
“I’ll believe… if this works out.”
“I’ll trust You… as long as it goes my way.”

We come in with a plan:

  • Fix this problem
  • Smooth out this relationship
  • Make life a little easier

And if we’re honest, we don’t want more…

We want specific.

That’s Exactly What Happened on Palm Sunday

When Jesus rode into Jerusalem, the crowd thought they knew what was happening.

This was their moment.

They waved palm branches like victory flags.
They shouted for rescue.
They believed Jesus was about to flip the system and make their lives better—fast.

They weren’t looking for a Savior.

They were looking for a solution.

Jesus Doesn’t Do “Just Enough”

Here’s where everything flips.

Jesus didn’t come to meet their expectations.

He came to exceed them—on a completely different level.

They wanted a leader to fix their situation.
He came to fix the root of everything broken.

They wanted freedom from Rome.
He came to bring freedom from sin, shame, and death itself.

They wanted a win they could see.

He brought a victory that would last forever.

The Problem? It Didn’t Look Like “More”

Because “more” didn’t feel better in the moment.

It looked like tension.
It looked like confusion.
It looked like a cross.

And that’s where this gets uncomfortably real.

Because we do the same thing.

When Life Doesn’t Go As Planned

You pray for clarity… and get silence.
You ask for relief… and things get harder.
You want a quick fix… and instead you’re in a process.

It’s easy to assume: This isn’t working.

But what if…

What if you didn’t get less?

What if you actually got more—just not in the way you expected?

The Kind of Faith That Changes You

Real faith isn’t about getting what you asked for.

It’s about trusting that what God is doing is bigger than what you asked for.

Even when:

  • It takes longer
  • It feels harder
  • It doesn’t make sense yet

Because sometimes the thing you wanted fixed…
is actually connected to something deeper that needs healed.

And Jesus doesn’t do surface-level.

So Here’s the Question

Are you open to more…

Or are you stuck on what you expected?

Because you can hold tightly to your version of how life should go…

Or you can trust that Jesus might be doing something better than you can currently see.

You might have come looking for a quick answer.

But what if He’s offering something deeper?
Something lasting?
Something that actually changes you?

Not less.

More.

Just not what you planned.

No Moderate Importance

March 23, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s a line from C. S. Lewis that doesn’t leave you much room to hide:

“Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, is of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is of moderate importance.”

Here’s the problem: Most people don’t reject Jesus. They just reduce Him.

We Don’t Deny Jesus. We Shelf Him

Nobody wakes up and says, “I’m going to walk away from Jesus today.”

Instead, we slowly rearrange things.

We give Him a place… just not the place.

He gets:

  • an hour on Sunday
  • a quick prayer when things feel shaky
  • a passing thought when life gets heavy

But when it comes to real life? We’re still in charge.

We make the calls.
We set the direction.
We control the outcomes.

Jesus is included…
but He’s not leading.

That’s what “moderate importance” actually looks like.

And unfortunately, it’s way more common than we want to admit.

The Tension We Try to Avoid

Here’s what we don’t like. If Jesus is who He says He is, then He doesn’t fit into your life. He takes it over.

That’s the part we resist.

Because we want Jesus to help our life work better not redefine it completely.

We want peace… without surrender.
Purpose… without disruption.
Grace… without change.

But that version of Jesus doesn’t exist.

You don’t need more information about Jesus.

You’ve got enough.

You’ve heard it.
You’ve read it.
You’ve sat in rooms where it’s been explained.

That’s not the issue. The issue is what you’ve done with it. Because at some point, more input isn’t growth. It’s avoidance.

You Already Know Where This Hits

You don’t need a list from me. You already know the places in your life Jesus has been kept at a distance.

It’s that area where you say:

  • “I’ll figure this out”
  • “I know what’s best here”
  • “This isn’t a big deal”

It’s your:

  • money
  • habits
  • relationships
  • private thoughts
  • hidden struggles

It’s the places where you want Jesus to be present but not in control. That’s the place we call the shelf.

The Real Issue Isn’t Doubt

We like to make this about questions.

“I’m just not sure…”
“I’m still figuring things out…”
“I need more clarity…”

Sometimes that’s real. But a lot of the time? It’s cover. Because the deeper issue isn’t “Is Jesus real?” It’s:

“Do I actually want Him to lead?”

That’s a much harder question. Because if the answer is yes then things have to change.

Control Is the Real Competition

Let’s just call it what it is. The biggest competitor for Jesus in your life isn’t atheism.

It’s control.

We want to run things the way we want them run. We don’t feel like we’re in control at work or at home or on the ball field so we’ll control the things we think we can control.

We want to decide what matters.
We want to define what’s right.
We want to protect what’s ours.

And Jesus steps into that and says:

“That’s not how this works friend.”

Not harshly.
But clearly.

You don’t get partial authority with Jesus.

At some point, everyone runs into the same moment: You either keep Jesus in a manageable space, or you let Him take over the parts you’ve been protecting.

There isn’t a middle ground that actually works. You can pretend there is for a while. A long while, even.

But eventually it shows up:

  • in your anxiety
  • in your relationships
  • in your restlessness
  • in that constant feeling that something’s off

Because you weren’t designed to be your own authority.

So What Do You Do With This?

This isn’t about “trying harder.”

Not about “being better.”

That’s not the move that works here. The move is honesty. Brutal, uncomfortable honesty. Where has Jesus been moderately important? Where have you kept control? Where have you said, “You can have this but not that”?

This is a great place to start. Because following Jesus doesn’t begin with perfection. It begins with surrender.

Off the Shelf

If Christianity is false, then none of this matters. Walk away. Do something else.

But if it’s true. If Jesus really is who He says He is, then He doesn’t belong on a shelf.

He belongs at the center.

Not part of your life.
All of it.

Not occasionally.
Constantly.

Not when it’s easy.
Even when it costs you.

No moderate importance.

He’s either everything. Or He’s nothing. He won’t ever be just something.

Do You Want to Be Well?

March 18, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Jesus asked a simple question once: “Do you want to be well?” (John 5:6). Sounds easy, right? But here’s the thing, this isn’t just small talk. This question pierces straight to the heart. It’s not about a temporary fix or a quick feel-good moment. It’s about a total change from the inside, outside, and upside down.

In John 5, Jesus meets a man who had been stuck for 38 years. He’s been waiting for help, waiting for someone to make a move, waiting for life to happen to him. And then Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be well?” It’s almost sarcastic: the man has wanted it, desperately, for decades. But wanting it isn’t enough. Jesus’ question calls for real action, real commitment, and a willingness to step out of comfort.

If we’re being honest, most of us are comfortable being “a little broken.” We settle. We tolerate. We scroll, we binge, we distract ourselves because actually getting well? That’s scary. It asks us to confront ourselves, our habits, our excuses. It asks us to move. To do something. To actually let God do the hard work of making us whole.

Complacency is seductive. Comfort is loud. But Jesus? He’s asking: Do you want more than this? Do you want real life, not just a dull version of it?

So, how do we answer? Not with a shrug. Not with a “maybe someday.” Real healing, real transformation requires action. It requires us to leave the sidelines. To stand up. To risk change. To say yes to something bigger than our comfort zones.

Ask yourself today: Am I really ready to be well? Or am I just pretending while I stay stuck? Jesus isn’t asking for your excuses. He’s asking for your life.

Step out. Be brave. Be whole.

Your Day Off Is Not a Reward. It’s a Requirement.

March 4, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You didn’t see it coming.

That’s the thing nobody warns you about. Burnout doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t send a calendar invite. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and say “hey, you’re about to lose it.”

It just quietly rewires you.

And one day you realize, almost always way too late, that the person looking back at you in the mirror is someone you don’t fully recognize anymore.

Maybe it showed up at the dinner table.

You snapped. Hard. Over something small. The kind of thing that wouldn’t have registered six months ago. Your kid spilled a drink. Your spouse asked a simple question with bad timing. And something in you detonated that had no business being that close to the surface.

You apologized. You moved on. But somewhere in the back of your mind a small voice whispered, Yikes that wasn’t okay.

Or maybe it went the other direction entirely.

You came home feeling the weight of everything you carry at work. All of the needs, the crises, the impossible expectations. And you couldn’t fix any of it. So you bought things. Gifts you couldn’t really afford. Experiences designed to compensate for your absence, physically or emotionally. You showed up with dinner and flowers and a smile and nobody knew you were drowning behind it.

Because you didn’t know you were drowning behind it.

Here’s what nobody in a high-demand profession wants to admit.

When you spend your days carrying other people’s weight – their grief, their chaos, their emergencies, their spiritual crises, their trauma – something has to give somewhere. And it almost never gives at work. At work you are professional. Composed. Capable. You are the one with the answers.

So it gives at home.

It gives in the car on the way home when you someone cuts you off and you go nuclear.

It gives at 11pm when you can’t sleep but you also can’t explain what’s wrong.

It gives when you start reaching for things – food, alcohol, screens, control, conflict, isolation…things that scratch an itch you can’t quite name.

You’re not a bad person. You’re a depleted one.

And depleted people do things that are out of character. They control what they can because they can’t control what matters most. They withdraw from the people who are safest because safety feels like a place where the mask can come off. And they’re terrified of what’s underneath it.

Nurses know this. Teachers know this. Therapists know this. First responders know this. Pastors know this.

Anyone who has ever held space for broken people while quietly falling apart themselves knows this.

The problem isn’t that you’re weak.

The problem is that you were handed a calling, a profession, a sense of purpose so compelling that you quietly agreed to trade your wellbeing for it. Nobody forced you to sign that agreement. Most of the time, nobody even told you it existed.

You just started living it out one skipped day off at a time.

One “I’ll rest after this season” at a time.

One “they need me” at a time.

Until the person who was supposed to be doing the helping quietly became someone who desperately needed the help they had been providing.

This series isn’t about working less. It’s not a manifesto for laziness disguised in spiritual language.

It’s about something far more urgent than that.

It’s about the reality that you cannot sustain what you’re sustaining. That the people who depend on you need a version of you that is actually whole. That rest is not a reward you earn after you’ve given everything. It is the very thing that makes giving everything possible in the first place.

So hear this clearly. And yes I’m saying these words to myself as well.

Your day off is not a reward. It is a requirement.

And if you don’t start treating it like one, something in your life – maybe your health, your marriage, your relationship with your kids, your sense of self – something is going to make the decision for you.

Friend, this is not a threat. This is just what happens.

The question is whether you’re going to wait until the wreckage to believe it.

Next week: You’re not God. Stop acting like it. Don’t miss it.

Meeting Grace at the Well

March 2, 2026 / / 0 Comments

He’s is tired, walking through Samaria, and stops at a well. A woman comes to draw water, alone in the heat of the day. She probably thought she was invisible. But Jesus sees her.

Not just her. Her whole story. Her mistakes. Her shame. Her loneliness. And He doesn’t lecture her. He doesn’t condemn. He invites her: “Come, drink. Live.”

Think about how radical this was. He’s a Jewish Rabbi talking to a Samaritan woman. A woman of questionable reputation. Culture said they shouldn’t even speak. Yet Jesus breaks the rules. Grace doesn’t wait for permission. Grace doesn’t care about status, race, gender, or reputation. Grace just shows up.

And the well? It’s not random. In the Old Testament, wells are where life meets love. Rebekah met Isaac at a well. Jacob met Rachel at a well. Wells were places of connection, of covenant, of new beginnings. Here, Jesus is offering the same but bigger. He’s offering living water. He’s offering a life that quenches thirst forever, not just for this woman, but for anyone who’s lonely, isolated, or carrying shame.

She doesn’t need a theology degree. She doesn’t need a perfect life story. She just needs to see Him, and in that moment, her life changes. Jesus’ invitation is clear: it’s about a new way of living, rooted in grace, not rules.

This story isn’t just a story. It’s today. There are wells everywhere in our lives. Moments where we feel stuck, unseen, or unworthy. And Jesus is there, ready to offer life, ready to show grace, ready to invite anyone into something new. All it takes is to come and see, drink and live.

Maintenance Matters: Why the Inside is What Counts

February 24, 2026 / / 0 Comments

I’ve been spending a lot of time with my old 1980s truck lately. It’s the kind of vehicle that looks solid at a glance. Rust isn’t creeping in. The paint mostly holds. And it always starts when you turn the key. Ok well most of the time it starts. From the outside, it seems fine.

But getting behind the wheel told a different story. The steering felt sloppy. I was turning that wheel nearly 6 inches in each direction and the tires didn’t turn at all. Driving down the road was a challenge to say the least.

It didn’t handle right. It wasn’t unsafe, exactly, but it wasn’t operating the way it was meant to. And the more I drove it, the more I realized: years of small, overlooked maintenance issues had added up.

Tie rod ends, ball joints, leaf springs, shocks, wheel bearings… the list goes on. Little things that weren’t obvious on the outside were wearing down the whole system. It took time, effort, and patience, and a little help from the neighbor, but now it drives like a dream. Solid inside and out.

Here’s the thing: life works the same way.

It’s easy to focus on the outside. Our jobs, our image, our success. The parts other people can see. We polish them. We maintain them. We make them look good. And from the outside, things often seem fine.

But if we never check under the hood – our habits, our mindset, our inner life – the system can start to wear out without us noticing. Sloppy steering shows up as impatience. Worn bearings show up as stress and exhaustion. Tiny misalignments in the heart show up as frustration, resentment, or emptiness.

Left unchecked these lead to broken relationships, addictive behaviors, compulsive lifestyles, and destructive actions.

Real purpose, real satisfaction, real meaning come from the inside out. You can have everything looking perfect on the surface, but if the internal parts aren’t aligned, life never drives as smoothly as it was meant to.

This week, Lent gives us a chance to do a little under-the-hood work. To pause, check the invisible parts, and tighten up what’s loose.

Because when the inside works, the outside starts working too. When your heart is in the right place, the rest of life starts following its design.

And here’s the best part: when we let Jesus take control of our life direction, the maintenance we can’t do on our own starts to happen. More of Jesus. Less of me. Suddenly, the life you’re driving every day begins to run the way it was meant to.

24% of Pastors Want to Quit.

February 17, 2026 / / 1 Comment

That’s Not a Trend. That’s a Warning.

According to a recent study from Barna Group 24% of pastors are seriously considering quitting ministry altogether.

One out of four.

Admittedly that number is significantly down from where it was during the Covid era but 24% is still shockingly high!

If one out of four airline pilots were reconsidering their career mid-flight, we wouldn’t clap because it used to be 60%. If your heart surgeon was 25% likely to walk out of the operating room, you probably wouldn’t be super excited to get on that bed.

We’d call it what it is: A warning light on the dashboard at a minimum. And something any garage mechanic knows, ignoring warning lights doesn’t fix engines.

This Isn’t Just About Burnout

In case you were curious. Most pastors don’t quit because they one day just stopped loving Jesus.

They quit because:

  • The expectations never stop.
  • The criticism never sleeps.
  • The boundaries never existed.
  • The church became a machine that runs on one exhausted leader.

We have built a church model that quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) says:

“Be everywhere. Fix everything. Preach perfectly but not too long. Lead boldly. Be emotionally available. Never show weakness.”

Friends that’s not shepherding. That’s setting someone up for failure!

Consumer Christianity Isn’t Helping

If we’re being totally honest, we’ve created a monster that we’re having a hard time taming. Churches today are often treated like content platforms.

People compare sermons like podcasts.
They critique decisions like Google reviews.
They leave quietly instead of reconciling biblically.

And pastors are trying to lead people who are being discipled more by algorithms than Scripture. So many people evaluate their church experience by what the church they visited on vacation is doing. Even though they don’t evaluate the million dollar budget that campus uses to pull off that level of production.

Simply put the weight adds up.

But here’s the part that matters most: We are not powerless in this. There are solutions.

Five Pieces of Hard-Won Advice

1. Never Make a Permanent Decision Because of a Temporary Season

If you’re a pastor in that 24%, hear this clearly: Quitting because it’s hard won’t remove hard.

It will just relocate it.

Every calling has difficulty. Every workplace has dysfunction. Every community has broken people. Don’t make a permanent decision in a season of emotional depletion.

Find a way to rest.
Get counsel.
Take a sabbatical if needed.
Restructure yoru schedule.
Heck repent if necessary.

But don’t confuse fatigue with a change in calling.

Hard seasons end. Permanent exits don’t.

2. Love Your Pastor. Not Just the Version You Wish He Was

If you’re in a church, this is for you.

Love your pastor.

Not the polished online preacher you compare him to.
Not the friend-version you wish he would be.
Not the always-available-on-demand spiritual concierge.

Love the real human being called to shepherd you.

And understand this: A faithful pastor cannot overlook sin just because you’re friends.

If he offers correction or even a gentle rebuke, that’s not betrayal. That’s biblical love. If you’ve been in this situation from a pastor who’s also your friend, then you’ve experienced one of the hardest forms of love and care you can imagine. Don’t throw that one away.

We can’t say we want courageous preaching and then resent it when it hits close to home.

3. Set Safe Boundaries (Before It Gets Ugly)

Pastors are notorious for living in the margins. We laugh about the “one hour work week” myth. But here’s the truth: ministry expands endlessly if you let it.

There is always one more meeting.
One more crisis.
One more call.
One more email.

If pastors are not careful, they trade family for ministry in the name of faithfulness. And it gets ugly.

A truth I live by is simple yet changed everything for me. Every “yes” is a “no” to something else.

Say yes to every evening meeting? You’re saying no to dinner with your kids.

Say yes to every emotional demand? You’re saying no to your own soul care.

Boundaries are not selfish. They’re stewardship.

4. Build Teams, Not Pedestals

The future of the church does not belong to exhausted heroes. It belongs to healthy teams.

Shared leadership is not weakness.
Delegation is not laziness.
Plurality is not compromise.

If your church rises and falls on one personality, that’s not revival. That’s fragility. And fragile systems eventually crack.

5. Measure Faithfulness, Not Applause

Social media metrics lie.
Attendance spikes fluctuate.
Online engagement is not the same as spiritual maturity.

Pastors burn out when they measure themselves against applause instead of obedience.

Faithfulness rarely trends.
It rarely goes viral.
It often goes unnoticed.

But it lasts.

And lasting ministry matters more than loud ministry.

Let’s Be Clear

This isn’t about protecting fragile pastors. It’s about protecting the future of the church. Twenty-four percent is not just a stat!

It represents shepherds who are tired.
Families who feel the strain.
Congregations who don’t always realize the weight their leaders carry.

The trend may be improving. But it’s still a warning. And warnings are gifts if we pay attention.

The church does not need more burned-out heroes. It needs healthy shepherds.

And that starts with courage, humility, boundaries, and a community willing to love its leaders well.

Twenty-four percent is too many.

Let’s not wait until it climbs again to take it seriously.

Why Meeting Jesus Changes Everything

February 16, 2026 / / 0 Comments

A man named Nicodemus came to visit Jesus in the dark of night. Not necessarily because he was being sneaky. Well, maybe a little. There could have even been a little bit of fear that caused him to come at night. A respected teacher, a Pharisee, a man who knew the Scriptures inside and out, he thought he knew God. And yet, here he was, creeping through the shadows, hoping to “see” Jesus without anyone noticing.

Sound familiar? We like to think we know Jesus. We can quote verses. We can talk theology. We can even sit in our church pew week after week and feel okay with life. But knowing about Jesus isn’t the same thing as knowing Jesus. Nicodemus knew Jesus as a teacher. He knew the miracles, the parables, the wisdom. He didn’t yet know the revolution that Jesus was bringing. It was a revolution that starts inside, in the hidden places of your heart, and changes the trajectory of your life.

Jesus didn’t sugarcoat it: “Unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Not almost born. Not sort of born. Not born once and “good enough.” Born again. From above. Spirit-born. A transformation that flips the old life upside down and starts something entirely new.

Here’s the thing about baptism. It’s a two-part story. First, there’s the water. That’s the repentance baptism John preached. It was a public declaration that says, “I see my sin. I turn away from it. I’m ready for change.” That’s important. Don’t skip it. But if it stops there, you’ve missed half the message.

The second part? The Spirit. That’s the new birth. That’s the awakening. That’s God taking residence in you, establishing a new relationship that you didn’t earn, can’t manipulate, and can’t outgrow. Water points backward in and to repentance. But the Spirit points forward to transformation.

One cleans the slate, the other writes a new story. And the story starts in the darkest place. The exact place where Nicodemus found himself because the night is when the Spirit whispers. The night is when the truth breaks through. The night is when real life begins.

This isn’t a casual invitation either. It’s an all-in call. When Jesus asks, “Do you want to be born again?” He’s not offering a weekend seminar. He’s offering new life, new perspective, and a new heartbeat.

And yes, that comes with risk. Comfort zones die. Old habits crumble. But the alternative of staying in the half-light of knowing Him only as a teacher is a life lived small, afraid, and totally missing the Kingdom of God.

So where are you today? Are you creeping through the shadows like Nicodemus, afraid of what people might think? Or are you stepping into the light, into the Spirit, into the new life Jesus offers?

Water. Spirit.
Repentance. Awakening.
Teacher. Savior.
You can know Him one way or you can know Him in a way that changes everything.

The choice isn’t subtle. And neither is the life He’s offering.

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