Discipling Life

Second Corinthians 13:5-13 stands at the conclusion of one of Paul’s most personal and emotionally charged letters. Throughout 2 Corinthians, Paul has defended his apostolic ministry against critics in Corinth who questioned both his authority and his weakness. Some opponents apparently viewed suffering, humility, and vulnerability as signs that Paul lacked true spiritual power. Paul responds by reframing weakness through the lens of Christ crucified and risen. The power of God is revealed not through domination or self-promotion, but through sacrificial love and faithful endurance. Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered if you are becoming the person you hoped to be. Sometimes the questions come quietly at the end of a long day. Am I growing kinder? Am I listening to God? Am I living with love and integrity? In today’s text, Paul invites the church into that kind of honest reflection. He writes, “Examine yourselves to see whether you are living in the faith” (v. 5). These w...

There are moments when you pause and realize how far someone has come. Maybe it is a child learning to read, a friend finding their footing again, or even your own slow healing after a hard season. Growth often feels quiet and unfinished, yet something steady is at work beneath the surface. Paul writes to the Philippians (1:1-11) with deep affection, saying, “I thank my God every time I remember you… because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now” (vv. 3, 5). His gratitude is rooted not in perfection, but in participation. These believers are still growing, still learning, still becoming. Yet Paul sees evidence of grace already alive in them. Then comes this beautiful promise: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ” (v. 6). This is the rhythm of grace in the Wesleyan way. God’s prevenient grace awakens us before we even know it. Justifying grace meets us in Christ and sets us on...

Most of us know what it feels like to want proof that we matter. Sometimes people point to achievements, appearances, titles, or accomplishments as signs of worth. If you are wealthy enough or powerful enough, you can have your name emblazoned on a building. Other times, we may quietly compare ourselves to others and wonder if we measure up. The pressure to impress can creep into every corner of life, including our faith. We may feel tempted to present ourselves as stronger, holier, or more successful than we truly are. In Galatians 6:11-18 , Paul writes with deep urgency and honesty. He warns against those who are more concerned with outward appearances than inward transformation. Then he says, “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (v. 14). Paul reminds the church that faith is not about earning status or proving spiritual superiority. It is about the grace of God revealed in Christ. The cross changes how we see ourselves and how we see others. Pa...

It’s not easy to look at someone through a new lens. Our first impressions, disappointments, and disagreements often cling to our view of another person. But God invites us to see differently. God calls us to look not through the lens of the past but through the mercy of Christ. Paul writes, “From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view” (v. 16). In Christ, the way we see others, ourselves, and the world begins to change. ( 2 Corinthians 5:16-21 ) Paul’s words reach to the heart of the gospel: “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (v. 17). New creation is not a distant hope, it is a present reality breaking into our lives through grace. God’s reconciling love does more than forgive; it renews and transforms. This is prevenient and justifying grace in motion. God comes toward us before we are even aware, inviting us to be made whole, and setting us right in relationship with hi...

In this sermon titled “A New Life,” I explore how the risen Christ meets us in our most fearful and isolated spaces , just as he did with the disciples on that first Easter evening. We often find ourselves huddled behind locked doors due to psychological paralysis or the weight of a world that has fallen apart, but the miracle of the resurrection is that Christ does not wait for the air to clear before he enters the room. This message highlights the “new birth” as a radical, internal reconstruction of the soul rather than a mere behavioral “patch job,” anchoring us in a “living hope” that persists even through suffering. Grounded in the Wesleyan truth of prevenient grace , we see that God always moves first, taking the initiative to breathe his Spirit into our wreckage and transform us into a forgiven community. Ultimately, I want to emphasize that this new life is not about the exhaustion of trying harder, but about trusting in the divine promise of the one who has already conquer...

Jo Anne and I like to visit some of our favorite places in the mountains. We are especially fond of Blowing Rock and Boone. Some mornings feel like resurrection mornings. The air is cool, the light is soft, and everything seems to shimmer with possibility. You step outside and notice how the world feels new again, everything touched by grace. That’s what I see in our text today. 1 Peter 1:3-9 begins, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.”  Easter presents us a way of living in the world with hope that breathes. Peter’s words were written to people who were struggling, perhaps newly baptized Christians, trying to hold onto faith in hard times. He reminds them that their hope isn’t fragile or fleeting. It’s  living because it’s rooted in the risen Christ. This hope doesn’t deny pain; it transforms it. It’s the kind of hope that can walk ...

It is the Tuesday of Holy Week, and Jesus has returned to the temple in Jerusalem.  Just the day before, he turned over the tables of the money changers. Now, the chief priests and elders are waiting for him. “By what authority are you doing these things,” they demand, “and who gave you this authority?” (Matthew 21:23). They are not asking because they want to learn. They are asking because they want to trap him, to discredit him, to silence him. And Jesus — with the kind of calm that only comes from knowing exactly who you are — turns the question back on them. [Today’s text – Matthew 21:23–27; 23:1–12 ] What we see here is a reckoning. Jesus sparred with the Pharisees, the elders, and the scribes — and in each exchange he revealed something about the nature of true spiritual authority. Authority, he showed them, doesn’t come from titles or positions or public performances of piety. It comes from alignment with God, from a life lived in genuine love and truth. Then Jesus say...

The prophet Isaiah provides us with several passages that describe the one we often call the “Suffering Servant”. Beginning with the New Testament itself, the church has traditionally identified Christ as the Suffering Servant (e.g., Matthew 12:18-21; Acts 8:26-35 ).  In today’s text Isaiah speaks of a servant who wakes each morning ready to listen, to speak, and to endure. The servant’s strength does not come from stubborn self-reliance but from a daily yielding to God’s call. The image of setting one’s face “like flint” shows a determination rooted in trust: God helps, so there is no need to be ashamed. In our Wesleyan tradition, we talk a lot about “prevenient grace”—the way God is already working in our lives before we even realize it. Here, the servant recognizes that his ability to speak comfort to the weary isn’t something he came up with on his own. It is a gift. But notice that before the servant has a “tongue of a teacher,” he must have the “ear of a learner.” Mornin...

Think about the last time someone showed up for you at just the right moment. Maybe it was a neighbor who knocked on your door with a meal when life had fallen apart. Maybe it was a stranger who offered a kind word when you were on the verge of tears in the grocery store. Maybe it was a friend who simply sat with you in silence and didn’t try to fix anything. In those moments, something holy moved through an ordinary person. Grace wore a human face. And whether that person knew it or not, they were doing something ancient and sacred — they were answering a call. That’s exactly what we see in Abraham. In Genesis 12, God speaks to a man who has no roadmap, no guarantee, and no idea where he’s going. “Go,” God says, “from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Genesis 12:1, NRSVue). For us, it is one of the most extraordinary moments in all of Scripture — not because Abraham was extraordinary, but because God chose to work through someon...