Stewarding your faith in hard times

The story of Job begins with blessing and ends with brokenness. In Job chapters 1 and 2, Scripture introduces a man described as blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil. He had seven sons, three daughters, and abundant wealth. Job’s life seemed stable, ordered, and blessed. Then, in a single day, everything collapsed.

The book opens with a heavenly scene where Satan challenges God, questioning whether Job’s devotion is genuine or just a result of prosperity. God allows Job to be tested, permitting the loss of everything he owns. One messenger after another brings devastating news: raiders steal the oxen and donkeys, fire consumes the sheep, enemies seize the camels, and a violent wind destroys the house where his children are feasting. In moments, Job loses his wealth, his workers, and his children.

Job’s reaction is remarkable. He grieves, tears his robe, and falls to the ground in worship, saying, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” When tested further with physical suffering, covered from head to toe with painful sores, Job still refuses to curse God. His wife, overcome by despair, urges him to give up, but Job replies, “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?”

The chapters close with Job sitting in ashes while his friends arrive to comfort him. They are so shocked by his condition that they remain silent for seven days.

These opening scenes set the tone for the rest of the book. Job’s world has ended, yet his faith remains. The story shows that faith is not proven in the moments when everything is going right but in the moments when everything falls apart. Job teaches that pain does not always mean punishment, and silence does not mean God has left.

When life feels unfair or when tragedy strikes suddenly, Job’s story reminds us that faith can survive the storm. Even when the world ends for us personally, God’s sovereignty and mercy endure.

Faith That Holds in Shaky Times

Life has a way of shaking us.

For some, it’s addiction that never seems to let go.

For others, it’s broken promises, betrayal, or the crushing weight of loss.

In moments like these, faith can feel more like a whisper than a roar.

But here’s the good news: God does not ask us to have perfect faith. He asks us to trust Him with what little faith we have — even when it feels shaky.

What the Bible Says About Faith

Hebrews 11 begins with this powerful reminder:

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see… without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to Him must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him.”

And in Mark 9, a desperate father brings his suffering child to Jesus. He cries out words that feel so familiar to anyone who has struggled:

“I believe; help my unbelief.”

That’s the heart of real faith. Not having it all together. Not pretending to be strong. But admitting, “I’m weak, but I need You, Jesus.”

Faith with Scars

The heroes of faith in Hebrews 11 weren’t perfect people.

Abraham lied. Moses killed a man. David committed adultery.

Yet, they are remembered for one thing: they trusted God enough to keep moving forward. Faith doesn’t erase scars. But it gives us courage to walk into tomorrow with hope.

A Simple Step

If your life feels shaky right now, try this:

Take a piece of paper. Write one thing that feels impossible to trust God with. Pray: “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” Tear that paper up as a sign of releasing it into God’s hands.

It doesn’t fix everything in a moment. But it’s a start — a step toward faith.

Faith Grows in Community

No one heals in isolation. Faith gets stronger when we walk together. That’s why church, recovery groups, and safe friendships matter so much. Someone else can remind you of hope when you forget it yourself.

Final Word

Faith that holds in shaky times is not about never doubting. It’s about turning to Jesus with your doubts in hand.

If you are battling addiction, shame, or pain today, remember:

God doesn’t demand perfect faith. He honors honest faith. And He meets us right where we are.

So pray the most honest prayer there is:

“I believe; help my unbelief.”

That’s faith that holds.

Undiscovered

When I think of “the undiscovered country,” I cannot separate it from Joshua’s death 23 years ago. That moment tore open the veil between this life and eternity in a way I could never ignore. For me, it was not an abstract phrase from Shakespeare—it was my son stepping into a place I could not follow, a land I could not yet reach.

At the time, it felt like pure loss, the cruelest unknown. But with years and faith, I’ve come to see it differently. Joshua was not lost—he was found ahead of me. His passing forced me to confront the reality that life here is fleeting, and that eternity is where our hope must rest. He went into the undiscovered country before me, and in a way, he has made it less frightening. His absence has carved out a homesickness in me, not just for him, but for the Kingdom of God itself.

His death also changed how I see the future here on earth. It taught me that every day matters, that the work I do in family, community, and faith is not just about the present, but about building something that reaches beyond me—just as his short life still ripples forward in mine.

So the undiscovered country is two things for me: the eternity where Joshua waits, and the unfolding future I am still walking toward with faith. I don’t fully know what it holds, but I know it is not empty. It is full of promise, memory, and God’s presence.

Romans 3:23

Study 1 – The Inadequacy of the Law

Texts: Philippians 3:4–7; Romans 3:21

Key Point: Paul reminds the Philippians that if anyone could claim righteousness by the law, it was him. Yet, he counts all of it as loss compared to Christ.
Discussion:
- Why is the law unable to make us righteous?
- How do human achievements or morality compare to God’s standard?
- What does Paul mean when he calls his former confidence “rubbish” (Phil. 3:8)?
Application: Identify areas where we may be tempted to trust our own performance rather than Christ’s finished work.

Study 2 – Righteousness Revealed in Christ

Texts: Philippians 3:9; Romans 3:22–23

Key Point: The righteousness of God is not achieved, but received—through faith in Jesus Christ.
Discussion:
- What is the difference between “a righteousness of my own” and “that which is through faith in Christ”?
- How does the universality of sin (“all have sinned”) highlight the necessity of faith?
- Why is faith the great equalizer between Jew and Gentile, rich and poor, moral and immoral?
Application: Reflect on whether you find yourself more comfortable with grace when you “deserve it” than when you don’t. How does that reveal lingering self-righteousness?

Study 3 – Grace and Redemption

Texts: Romans 3:24–25; Philippians 3:8

Key Point: We are justified freely by God’s grace through the redemption accomplished in Christ Jesus.
Discussion:
- What does it mean that justification is “freely” given?
- Explore the image of redemption: buying back a slave, paying a ransom, or setting someone free.
- How does Paul’s passion for “knowing Christ” connect with experiencing redemption personally?
Application: Where in your life do you still live as if you were enslaved to sin, shame, or performance? How can you walk in the freedom Christ provides?

Study 4 – The Righteousness of God Demonstrated

Texts: Romans 3:25–26; Philippians 3:10–11

Key Point: In the cross, God demonstrates His justice and His mercy—He is just and the justifier.
Discussion:
- How does the atoning sacrifice of Jesus uphold both God’s holiness and His love?
- What does Paul mean by wanting to “know Christ… and the power of His resurrection”?
- How does God’s righteousness revealed in Christ’s death and resurrection give us hope beyond death?
Application: How can we live in daily assurance that our right standing with God is secure, not in us, but in Christ’s righteousness?

Naming the Moment

We are living in days when what Scripture warned has come to pass: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). Truth is called hate speech. Lies are paraded as compassion. Even murder is cheered when it fits the culture’s script. The question that presses on us is the same question the disciples asked Jesus: “Lord, increase our faith!”

The Pain We Carry

– Lament with Jeremiah & the Psalmist

There’s a weight we don’t often talk about in church life—the grief that lingers in the soul when things don’t work out the way we prayed they would. Jeremiah knew that weight. He wrote, “Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears! I would weep day and night for the slain of my people” (Jeremiah 9:1). The psalmist prayed something similar: “Help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of your name; deliver us, and forgive our sins, for your name’s sake” (Psalm 79:9).

Both voices remind us that lament is not just personal sadness—it’s a holy act of naming the pain before God.

Lament in Scripture, Lament in Life

When I read Jeremiah’s words, I hear echoes of seasons in my own journey. There have been moments where I’ve had to sit across from friends, colleagues, or family members, knowing that words couldn’t fix the brokenness we were facing. Times when projects I poured years into were stalled by forces beyond my control. Times when communities I love were fractured, and I felt powerless to heal the divides.

I’ve often carried those burdens quietly, as an engineer, a leader, a brother, a son. Like many men, I was taught to just keep going, solve the next problem, make the next call. But Scripture teaches that silence isn’t the only response—lament is.

What Lament Looks Like

Lament is not despair. It’s not quitting. It’s a turning of the heart toward God when life feels too heavy to carry. It’s saying out loud what we’d rather keep inside:

This hurts. I don’t understand. God, why does it seem like you’re far away?

Lament opens a door to hope because it refuses to let pain have the last word.

Carrying Pain in a World of Injustice

The prophet Amos points out that part of our pain comes from living in a world where injustice is real. He names those who trample the needy and cheat the poor. I’ve seen versions of that play out in Southeast Texas—families weighed down by the unfair cost of living, workers underpaid while corporations thrive, small towns overlooked when resources are allocated.

My own work in rural broadband has been shaped by that reality. It grieves me that whole communities are still left behind in an age where connection determines opportunity. That’s not just a technical problem—it’s a justice issue. And lament, at its heart, is agreeing with God that this isn’t how things should be.

Learning to Pray the Pain

Paul urges us in 1 Timothy to pray “for all people—for kings and all who are in high positions.” That’s not easy when leaders disappoint us, but it’s part of carrying pain rightly. Prayer puts lament into motion, turning grief into intercession.

I’ve had to learn this the hard way. In seasons where leadership at church or in business felt uncertain, I wanted to either fix everything or walk away. Instead, God has gently reminded me to pray—not just for outcomes, but for people. Prayer doesn’t erase pain, but it transforms how we carry it.

Choosing the Treasure That Lasts

Jesus’ parable of the dishonest manager ends with this line: “You cannot serve God and wealth.” For me, that lands like a compass point. All the work, all the projects, all the energy—none of it can become the ultimate treasure. Pain has a way of reminding us what really matters.

When I’ve lost deals, faced setbacks, or been misunderstood, the Spirit has pressed me back to what lasts: relationships, faith, hope, and love. Those are eternal treasures.

Walking Forward with Honest Hearts

So what do we do with the pain we carry? We learn to lament. We give voice to Jeremiah’s tears and the psalmist’s cries. We name injustice, we pray for people in power, and we re-orient our hearts to the treasure of God’s kingdom.

If you’re carrying something heavy today, don’t bury it. Pray it. Cry it. Write it. Let lament be your way of standing before God honestly. Because in the end, lament is not just about pain—it’s about trust. Trust that God hears. Trust that God heals. Trust that His kingdom will come, even in Southeast Texas, even in my life and yours.

The Prayer Compass – Orienting True North

True North – Christ Himself

“Lord Jesus, keep me aligned to You—not outcomes, not fears, not even my own dreams.”

North – Renewing Faith and Hope

Renew my trust in You each day. Restore hope where it has grown dim and strengthen my heart to endure.

(Romans 15:13)

East – Vision

Open doors for growth in my daily work, calling, and ministry. Guide my steps so they honor You.

(Proverbs 16:3)

South – Healing

Restore broken places in my life, my family, and my relationships. Bring renewal where there is weakness.

(Jeremiah 30:17)

West – Community

Anchor me in the people, neighbors, and culture around me. Let my life be a light that points others to You.

(Matthew 5:14,16)

Living the New Life by Compass in a Fractured WorldSermon – September 14, 2025

Sermon – September 14, 2025

Title: Living the New Life by Compass in a Fractured World
Texts: Ephesians 4:22–24; 2 Corinthians 5:17–20; John 15:5; Colossians 3:17

Opening Prayer

Lord Jesus,
Thank You for offering us a new name amid this week’s heartaches—Kirk’s loss, Evergreen’s terror, Memphis’ violence, and Vidor’s wounds. As we gather, be our compass in this fractured world. Strip away our old selves—our fears, our furies—and clothe us with the new. Align us with Your Vine so that we may bear fruit in places that feel barren. Amen.

Introduction – A Fractured World Needs a Compass

My heart is heavy. This week has fractured us again:

Charlie Kirk assassinated in Utah.
Evergreen High School torn by gunfire.
Memphis, Minneapolis, and Fort Wayne wracked by shootings.
And closer to home, Vidor shaken by a woman shot in her apartment, a police chase, and a car hijacking with a family inside.

These are more than headlines. They are mirrors. They expose the anger, fear, and indifference inside us. And they leave us in a liminal space — in between grief and hope.

In those spaces, we need more than maps of opinion, ideology, or rage. We need a compass. Not a device in our pocket — but Christ Himself, our true North.

1. The Quiet Question: Where Am I Going?

Ephesians 4:22–24 calls us to shed the old self and put on the new.

The old self is what fuels violence — vengeance in Utah, despair in Colorado, cycles of revenge in Memphis, desperation in Vidor. But the old self lives in me too. I’ve worn names like “failure” and “not enough,” especially after Joshua’s death.

A compass question cuts through the noise: Who am I becoming?

Youth Call-out (12–18): You hear names and labels every day — “popular,” “awkward,” “try-hard.” But your real compass isn’t popularity or reputation. It’s who Christ is shaping you to become.

2. A New Name, A New Compass

Revelation 2:17 promises: “To the one who overcomes I will give… a white stone with a new name written on it.”

God doesn’t just hand us directions — He renames us. Abram became Abraham. Jacob became Israel. Simon became Peter. I once thought “unworthy” was my name. But Christ renamed me.

A compass doesn’t just point you somewhere. It tells you who you are becoming.

Reflection: What old names still cling to you? How does Christ rename you?

3. The Call to Shed the Old Self

Paul says the old self must go. But that’s not one big decision — it’s a daily compass check.

Ask yourself:

Who am I becoming?
What pain am I avoiding that God wants to redeem?
What can I serve without applause?

This week I felt anger over Kirk’s death, fear for classrooms turned battlegrounds, judgment toward Vidor’s suspects. But renewal starts by taking those thoughts captive, by surrendering them daily.

Romans 5:3–5 reminds us: suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. That’s compass work.

4. Ambassadors with Authority

2 Corinthians 5:20 says: “We are Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making His appeal through us.”

Ambassadors don’t speak their own agenda. They represent their King. After Kirk’s assassination, we don’t answer with vengeance but reconciliation. After Evergreen, we don’t harden, we heal. In Memphis and Vidor, we stand with victims, break cycles of despair, and show mercy.

Authority without compass becomes arrogance. Authority with compass becomes mission.

Youth Call-out (12–18): Think about being the “rep” for your school at a competition. You don’t just speak for yourself — you represent everyone. That’s what being Christ’s ambassador means. People see Jesus in how you live.

5. Abiding: The Anchor in the In-Between

John 15:5 says: “I am the vine; you are the branches… apart from Me you can do nothing.”

Authority without abiding turns to arrogance. Abiding aligns our compass to true North. It’s what turns wounds into wisdom, chaos into fruit. For me, abiding has meant praying over Joshua’s memory, letting grief refine me instead of define me.

Practice: Take five minutes daily. Breathe in God’s grace, exhale fear or vengeance, and listen. Abiding is the only way to stay aligned.

Youth Call-out (12–18): You can’t run your phone on one charge all week. Same with your soul. Stay plugged into Jesus daily — prayer, Scripture, worship — and you’ll bear fruit that lasts.

Application – Living the Compass Life

So, what does this mean for us tomorrow?

Shed the Old Self – Identify one “old name” (anger, fear, indifference) and surrender it.
Live as an Ambassador – Ask: Am I reflecting Christ in my community? Take one step this week: pray, serve, reconcile.
Abide Daily – Pause five minutes a day. Let Christ be your compass.

Living by clocks and calendars keeps us busy. Living by compass keeps us aligned.

Conclusion

This fractured world leaves us asking: Where am I going? Who am I becoming?

The Gospel answers:

You are renamed.
You are renewed.
You are sent as an ambassador.
You are rooted by abiding.

“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

In the liminal space of 2025, let Christ be your compass.

Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,
Thank You for renaming us, renewing us, and sending us. Help us to shed the old, live as Your ambassadors, and stay rooted in the Vine. In this fractured world, keep us walking by Your compass, not our culture’s maps. May we bear fruit that heals and hope that lasts.
Amen.

A Life Cut Short: Reflections on Charlie Kirk

Charlie Kirk was just 31 years old. A speaker about faith in God, a passionate advocate for what he believed, and—beyond all titles—a human being. Like every one of us, he was a unique creation, fashioned in the image of God. That truth alone makes his death tragic.

I am deeply saddened that someone felt motivated to murder him instead of speaking to him, listening, or even debating with him. Words may cut, but they can also build bridges. To bypass dialogue and take a life is to step into the place of God—as judge and executioner for the universe. That is a role none of us are worthy to assume.

This act is more than political. It is a wound in the fabric of our humanity. Violence against any person—friend, foe, or stranger—reveals how far we fall when we stop seeing each other as God’s handiwork. Every life is sacred, and when one is taken unjustly, we are all diminished.

As Christians, we are called to something higher. We are reminded:

“Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’” (Romans 12:19)

Judgment belongs to God. Our call is to love, to bear witness to truth with grace, and to pray for those we disagree with—even when it feels impossible.

So let us grieve. Let us pray for Charlie’s family, friends, and the countless young people who looked to him for guidance. Let us also pray for our nation, that words might replace weapons, and conversations might replace condemnation.

And let us remember: in God’s eyes, no person is disposable. Each of us carries eternal worth. May that truth shape how we speak, how we act, and how we disagree.

Still Becoming

Some days feel like clarity. Others feel like fog. And some—like today—feel like walking barefoot across both.

I used to think I’d arrive somewhere by now. That if I worked hard enough, loved well enough, served long enough, I’d earn a sense of “done.” But life keeps reminding me: I’m not done. I’m still becoming.

Becoming isn’t failure. It’s faithfulness.

It’s showing up at 4:45 AM when your body’s tired but your mission calls. It’s holding hard conversations when silence would be easier. It’s sorting through supply chain emails and budgets and broken systems—and sorting through your own doubts and questions at the same time.

Still becoming means I can grieve deeply and still lead.

Still becoming means I can admit I don’t have it all figured out, and still move forward.

Still becoming means the fog doesn’t mean failure—it means formation.

I am learning that becoming is less about building a name and more about building a life worth living. A life rooted in hope. A life that listens before it speaks. A life that chooses quiet, steady presence when the world screams for speed and performance.

And maybe, just maybe, becoming is the point.

So today, I honor the unfinished. The tension. The in-between. The signal that still whispers through the static.

I am still becoming.

And that’s enough.

—John