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.

What I’ve Learned so Far About Life

Life ain’t a straight line. It’s not fair, it’s not simple, and it sure doesn’t wait on you to get your act together.

I’ve learned life will knock you flat more times than you think is reasonable, and just when you think you’re done, it hands you something beautiful.

People come and go. Some stay. Some wreck you. Some save you without ever knowing it. And sometimes, it’s the same person doing all three.

What matters is showing up—being real, and not pretending you’ve got it figured out.

About God

God’s not the preacher in the pulpit telling you to try harder.

God’s been in the silence. In the tears. In the porch swing moments. In the second chances.

I used to think God just wanted me to serve and obey. Now I know He wants me whole, free, and home.

I’ve learned God doesn’t waste anything—not even the pain, not even the years I thought were lost.

About Me

I’m not bulletproof, but I’ve taken a lot of hits and I’m still standing.

I’ve carried too much for too long. I’ve hid behind work and projects because it was easier than feeling what was real.

But I’ve also learned I’ve got more heart than I gave myself credit for. I’ve learned I can sit in the hard stuff. I can love people who are hard to love. I can still believe in better days.

About Grief

Grief is a ghost with a key to the front door.

You can’t outrun it, and you can’t outwork it. It waits. It teaches.

I buried my grief so deep I didn’t even realize it was shaping me.

But now I see—grief isn’t weakness. It’s proof that I loved someone more than life itself.

And now, I carry that love forward. Not as a wound—but as a fire.

About Living

Living isn’t just getting through the day.

It’s paying attention. It’s listening to the quiet voice that says, “Don’t miss this.”

It’s letting someone in, even when you’re scared they’ll leave.

Living is remembering that I still have breath—and that means I still have purpose.

About Hope

Hope isn’t loud. It doesn’t kick the door down.

It whispers. It sits with you. It says, “Try again.”

I’ve had every reason to quit—and yet, I don’t.

That’s hope. That’s grace.

I’ve learned hope comes in strange forms—a text, a glance, a moment when the world slows down and something just feels right.

Hope is still choosing to build. Still choosing to believe.

And if I’m honest, sometimes the person who changed me didn’t preach, didn’t fix, didn’t even try.

Just listened. Just stayed. Just saw me.

And something in me started to shift.

Maybe that’s what God does, too. Just shows up—and stays.

And for the first time in a long time…

That’s enough.

I’ve been asking myself lately why I’ve done all of this.

I’ve been asking myself lately why I’ve done all of this.
Why, in 1989, I sat in the yard with a notebook computer, working while my son played nearby — but not really paying attention to him. Why I’ve poured 65 to 80 hours a week into work, every week, from college right up to now at age 67 — through Evergreen, ministry, and community service.

I can see the pattern stretching back decades.
In college, I juggled studying and part-time jobs because I thought that’s what it took to make something of myself. In 1993, I turned down a safe regional manager’s job because I wanted the freedom to build my own thing. I consulted for 26 years, worked in co-ops for 5, then left under a cloud. I started consulting again, built a WISP to $55K a month and 730 customers in two years, only to be dismissed by the majority owner for lack of fealty. Ninety days later, I started Evergreen — and I’ve been slogging ever since.

Somewhere along the way, I built my life around the belief that it was my job to build, to fix, to carry. That I should never settle for “good enough.” That if something needed to be done, I should be the one to do it — even if it meant giving up comfort, time, or relationships.

I’ve lost everything more than once, in cycles of 8 to 10 years. I’ve rebuilt more than once. And in between, I’ve driven myself with an intensity most people don’t understand — and maybe I don’t fully understand either.

If I’m honest, I think I’ve been chasing significance more than success. Trying to prove that what I build matters. That I matter. That I’m the kind of man who doesn’t walk away when things get hard, no matter how long it takes.

But lately I find myself wondering…
Can grace win over the cynicism I’ve picked up along the way?
Can purpose rise again from all the pain and loss?
Can light reframe what I’ve lost — and maybe even redeem it?

I don’t have those answers yet. But I know I’m still here, still building, still hoping. And maybe that’s where the next chapter starts.

Eighteen with 49 Years of Experience: Its been a Wild Ride

John Hargrove January 2025

Eighteen with 49 Years of Experience: Its been a Wild Ride

I have never felt completely sure of myself. But that never stopped me from trying things anyway. Life has been a mix of near-disasters, small victories, and the occasional moment of brilliance—sometimes all in the same day..

Looking back, I’ve built things, broken things (intentionally and otherwise), raised a family, started companies, rejoined companies, and somehow managed to survive a quarter horse with a mean streak. I’ve designed nuclear security systems, climbed radio towers, and watched Star Trek recover from its worst movie (looking at you, 1979). Through it all, I’ve realized that work was never just work—it was always fun. And somehow, I’m still here, still learning, still trying.

Along the way, I’ve designed electrical control systems for substations and regional grids, implemented one of the first utility fiber control systems (1982), and developed leading-edge cybersecurity systems for power plants and grid transmission.

All that said, I still feel like an 18-year-old with 49 years of experience.

The Best Times of My Life

(In Chronological Order, Because That’s How Time Works)

The Early Years: Learning, Surviving, Horses That Bite, and Learning Things the Hard Way

Age 11

Age 12 – Survived the mile swim. Earned a merit badge for not drowning.

• Age 13 – Earned Eagle Scout rank, proving I could navigate the woods, tie knots, and not set the camp on fire.

• Age 14 – Discovered Newton’s Laws the hard way by losing control of my quarter horse while riding bareback. As I rotated around to her neck, she decided to bite me while at full gallop—which seems like an unfair move in hindsight.

• Learned drafting from my grandfather, setting the stage for a lifelong appreciation of good engineering (and good erasers).

• Spent summers on the Neches River at my dad’s camp, developing a deep love for nature and mosquito repellant.

Graduated Buna ISD

The Family Years: Running From Kids, Finding Purpose, and Speaking in Public

• Pretended to run from my 3-year-old son, because making toddlers think they are faster than you is part of the Dad Code.

• Thirty-nine years later, repeated this with my grand-nephews and niece (ages 4 and up). Kids never get tired. I do.

• Got my BSEE from Lamar University (1981)—a degree that would later justify many of my wildest projects.

• Became a telecommunications engineer because my boss discovered I knew Morse code.

• Married Leisa, a moment of sheer brilliance on my part.

We had a Son – Joshua Blake Hargrove – a gift from God. 1984-2002

• Age 42 – Had the life-changing realization that Jesus loves me, this I know. That moment when you TRULY know it, and realize you were ignorant before. This alone saved me from what was to come in less than two years.

• 1994 – My wife twisted my arm into attending Toastmasters to learn public speaking. I physically got sick before my first talk. Turns out, you don’t actually die from it.

The Career Years: Work Was Never Just Work

• Started an internet company—because apparently, I like a challenge. During a pandemic…

• 1993-1995 Redesigned and oversaw a replacement and rebuild of a transcontinental microwave system from Houston to NYC, proving that yes, sometimes the right people DO get put in charge.

• 2010-2019 Designed cybersecurity systems for power plants and the grid—because keeping the lights on is kind of important.

• Put in one of the first utility fiber control systems in 1982, back when fiber optics were considered risky and cutting-edge.

• 2002 onward – Led Bible studies, where I saw the Word come alive in me and others.

The “Geezer Paradox” Years: Dancing, Trek, and Perspective

• Age 64 – Learned that I can dance like no one is watching and, more importantly, not care if anyone is. Look up the “Geezer Paradox”—it’s real.

• The Worst Times of My Life (Because Life Isn’t Always Fun and Star Trek)

• 2002 – The death of our son, Joshua. Until then, I did not know pain. Afterward, grief became a constant companion—one that never leaves, but you learn to live with.

• 1983 – The passing of my maternal grandfather at age 26. The first close relative I lost. I didn’t know how to process it.

• 2013 – The passing of my father at 85. He had a full life, but I wasn’t ready to let him go.

Final Thoughts: What I’ve Learned

No one ever feels truly complete. I’ve done a lot—some impressive, some just weird—but in the end, I’m just a guy who tried his best and constantly fell short in his own eyes. I’ve been a legal adult since 1976, but some days I still feel like a kid. Some days I act like one.

Sometimes I’m proud of what I do, sometimes I’m not.

But whether good or not-so-good, I rinse and repeat. Adjust. Keep going.

Looking back, I’ve been privileged to lead in both professional and personal areas. And yet, I still feel like I have so much left to do.

Family is huge, they made me who I am.