“The Journey” (Acts 9:1–6, 26:12-18)

 

Who Am I?

The title of today’s message comes from a poem called Who Am I? written by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor during World War II. Bonhoeffer joined the resistance movement and even took part in a plot to overthrow Hitler. He was arrested, imprisoned, and executed just weeks before the war ended.

While in prison, Bonhoeffer wrestled with identity. In his poem he describes two pictures of himself. On the outside, others saw him as calm, strong, and unshaken. But on the inside, he felt anxious, restless, lonely, and afraid. He wondered, “Which one is the real me?” In the end, he didn’t find peace by solving the question, but by confessing in faith: “Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine.”

Bonhoeffer didn’t define himself by outward appearance or inward feeling, but by belonging to God. He humbly embraced the tension of those two conflicting self-images and gave himself wholly to God. In the same way, if we are honest, all of us wrestle with identity. Who am I? Am I who others say I am? Or am I who I know myself to be inside? In truth, life is a journey of “becoming.”

 

Conversion

This morning we heard two scripture readings: Paul’s conversion story and Paul’s call story. My prayer is that Paul’s story may echo in our own lives—that by God’s grace our hearts may be stirred, transformed, and drawn closer to Christ.

Let’s start with conversion. In the Book of Acts, Paul’s conversion story is told three times. Paul was a devout Pharisee, zealous for the law. He believed he was serving God by persecuting Christians. But on the road to Damascus, everything changed. He met the risen Christ, and his world turned upside down. His direction in life was completely changed.

That’s what conversion means: to turn around, to change direction. Conversion is a defining moment when we encounter not just “a God,” but “my God”—my personal Jesus. John Wesley called it the new birth, when we are given a new heart by the Holy Spirit.

I still vividly remember my own conversion. It was the year 2000, and I was serving in East Timor as part of the UN Peacekeeping Forces. Spiritually, it was a wilderness. There was no church, no mentors, just temptation and sin all around. God gave me a mission: to start a Christian club and hold Sunday services. But like Jonah, I ran. I resisted.

Then I got sick. I was struck with Dengue Fever—a dangerous disease. My body burned with high fever; rashes covered me. I could not eat or sleep. I was delirious. I knew I was walking through the valley of death. That night, kneeling on my camp bed, I cried out to God: “Lord, if You save my life, I will humbly serve You with all my heart, for the rest of my life.” Peace came. I slept. And the next morning, the fever was gone, the rashes disappeared. I leapt out of bed like a calf released from its stall. I was alive—healed both physically and spiritually.

From that day, everything changed. For the first time, I read the Bible cover to cover—not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And in those pages, I met the living Christ. Since then, I’ve never been the same. My heart, my affections, and my life’s purpose were changed.

 

Journey of Calling

But conversion is just the beginning. When we are converted, we begin to realize that we are created in Christ for good works, to join Him in His mission (Eph. 2:10). That’s our calling.

For Paul, his calling was revealed at the very moment of his conversion. Jesus said: “Get up and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose… to serve and testify… to open their eyes so that they may turn from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God” (Acts 26:16–18, NRSV). Paul was called to bring people back to Christ.

Some of us receive our calling early, while others take years to discover it. Either way, calling is a journey. Even Paul, though called early, spent his whole life discerning, wrestling, and reshaping his call. We see it in the thirteen letters he wrote. Over thirty years, we watch his heart soften, deepen, and widen.

In his early letters (Galatians, 1 Corinthians), Paul comes across sharp, defensive—fighting for truth and being “right.” In the middle letters (Romans, Philippians), Paul is still deeply theological but more pastoral, joyful. In the later letters (Philemon, 2 Timothy), old Paul is tender, fatherly, centered in love. He still stands firm in truth, but his focus is love.

Take his relationship with Mark as an example. In Acts 15, Paul refused to take Mark on a mission trip because he had deserted them before. The disagreement with Barnabas was sharp. But later in 2 Timothy 4:11, Paul says: “Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is helpful to me in my ministry.” That shows growth—humility, reconciliation, love. Paul’s journey was moving from being “right” to being “loving.”

 

From Being Right to Being Loving

This has also been my journey. Joyce and I are now in our twelfth year here in Aroostook County. But when I first arrived in 2014, I carried the mindset I had grown up with in Seoul. In my culture, worth was measured by effectiveness—by how much impact you could make. Effectiveness became my idol. So my first goal was to shake things up: fix the church, change the community, do something big for Jesus. In short, I was focused on being “right.”

But it didn’t go well. After three years, I felt stuck. The church struggled. My sense of self-worth sank, because I thought my ministry wasn’t effective. By God’s grace, I attended a conference in Georgia. There the Spirit gave me one word: abide. I realized I hadn’t truly abided among the people. Jesus did not come just to fix us. He came to make His home among us (John 1:14). He lived among us, loved us, and gave Himself for us even while we were still sinners. That love melts the heart. And I heard God’s gentle whisper: “You are not called to change, but to abide. To be present. To love people as they are.” That changed me. My calling shifted from being right to being loving, from being effective to simply helping people fall in love with Christ.

 

The Pineapple Story

There’s a story about a missionary in Dutch New Guinea who planted 100 pineapple plants. After three years, when they finally ripened, the natives stole every single one. Angry, the missionary tried everything—cutting off the clinic, closing the store, even bringing in a guard dog. But nothing worked. And meanwhile, the people stopped listening to him preach.

Finally, broken, he went out to the garden and prayed, “Lord, I’ve claimed these pineapples as mine. I’ve stood up for my rights. But it’s all wrong. From now on, they are Yours. If I eat them, fine. If not, that’s fine too.” The people kept stealing—but this time, he didn’t get angry. After a while, they came to him and said, “Too-wan, you’ve become a Christian, haven’t you? You don’t get angry anymore when we steal your pineapples.” He replied, “The pineapples don’t belong to me anymore. I’ve given them to God.” Suddenly they grew afraid, realizing they were stealing from God. And they stopped. Soon, the missionary and the people shared pineapples together, and many gave their lives to Christ. For years, he had tried to evangelize without success. But when God changed his heart, their hearts began to change too.

It’s a powerful reminder: the more we fall in love with Jesus, the more loving we become. It’s a journey—from being right to being loving.

 

I Am Thine, O Lord

As a church, we too have been through much. Over the issue of human sexuality, each church here lost either members or a pastor. But by the grace of God, we are still here—together—as one body of Christ.

So who am I? Who are we? What is our calling? Sometimes we struggle with identity and purpose. But Paul’s story gives us the answer. Our hope, our identity, our purpose, our calling—are found in Christ Jesus alone.

Every morning I begin the day with Wesley’s Covenant Prayer:

 

I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee,

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

Thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

 

May we keep falling in love with Jesus—again and again, and all the more. Amen.

“The Church, Scattered” (Acts 8:1-4)

Auguste Rodin's The Cathedral

The Seven Habits
Imagine yourself 10 years from now. Will you be happier or less happy than you are today? If you ask this question to people in their 20s, most believe they will be happier. But if you ask people in their 50s, fewer give a positive answer. Then something surprising happens. As people grow older, they tend to split into two groups: those who are much happier, and those who are much unhappier.

According to the Harvard Study of Adult Development, there are seven habits that lead to happiness in old age. These habits are like a retirement account: the sooner you invest, the greater the return. 

1.     Don’t smoke.

2.     Watch your drinking.

3.     Maintain a healthy body weight.

4.     Make movement a priority (for example, daily walking).

5.     Practice healthy coping skills now.

6.     Keep learning.

7.     Build strong, long-term relationships. 

If you had to choose only one, researchers say the last is the most important: healthy relationships. Robert Waldinger, the director of the study, puts it this way: “Well-being can be built—and the best building blocks are good, warm relationships.”[1]

 

The Church: Its Birth and Growth
As I was reading this, I thought of Ephesians 2:14: “Christ is our peace. He made both Jews and Gentiles into one group. With his body, he broke down the barrier of hatred that divided us” (CEB). That’s how the church was born.

God created us as relational beings. But when sin entered the world, our relationships with God and with others were broken. Through Christ, our relationships were redeemed and restored. And Christ created a new community—the church.

Today’s passage in Acts 8 shows how the church grew in unexpected ways. At first, it sounds discouraging. On the day Stephen was martyred, a great persecution broke out. Saul began to destroy the church. All the believers except the apostles were scattered throughout Judea and Samaria. Then comes verse 4: “Those who had been scattered proclaimed the good news wherever they went.” What looked like tragedy became the spark for revival.

 

Philip and Simon
Acts 8 gives us two snapshots of this growing church. First, Philip—one of those scattered—went down to Samaria and preached Christ. He healed the sick, drove out unclean spirits, and there was great joy in the city. Many believed and were baptized. Among them was Simon the sorcerer.

Simon claimed faith, but when he saw the apostles lay hands on believers and the Spirit was given, he tried to buy that power with money. Peter confronted him sharply, telling him his heart was not right with God. Simon asked for prayer, but we never hear what happened next. The story is left open-ended.

 

Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch
The second story takes place on a wilderness road. The Spirit led Philip to meet an Ethiopian official, a man already seeking God. He was reading Isaiah 53, but he did not understand it. When Philip explained the good news of Jesus, the man believed with joy. He saw water and said, “Look, here is water! What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” They went down to the water, and Philip baptized him. Then the Spirit carried Philip away, while the eunuch went home rejoicing. A mysterious, beautiful ending.

The Church, United
From the start, the church was made of Jews and Gentiles, Simons and Ethiopian eunuchs. By design, the church has always been diverse. In every congregation, there are people like Simon—selfish, proud, broken, difficult—and people like the Ethiopian eunuch—humble, teachable, joyful. From a human perspective, they are like oil and water. But from God’s perspective, both are loved and both are called to learn to live together. 

Theologian D. A. Carson once wrote[2]: 

Ideally . . . the church itself is not made up of natural “friends.” It is made up of natural enemies. What binds us together is not common education, common race, common income levels, common politics, common nationality, common accents, common jobs, or anything else of that sort. Christians come together . . . because . . . they have all been loved by Jesus himself. . . . They are a band of natural enemies who love one another for Jesus’ sake. 

The church is not a club. It is a family.

 

The Cathedral
On the screen—and in the bulletin—you see Auguste Rodin’s The Cathedral. When we hear the word cathedral, we think of a large church building. But Rodin helps us see what the church truly is. At first, his sculpture looks like praying hands. But look closer: they are not one person’s hands, but two right hands. Two individuals, coming together, becoming one body—the body of Christ.

In Raymond Carver’s story Cathedral, there’s a man who’s pretty closed off. He doesn’t like people very much, and he especially feels uncomfortable when a blind man comes to visit. He can’t imagine how someone without sight could really live or understand life. But then something unexpected happens. The blind man asks him to draw a cathedral. So the two of them sit down together. The blind man places his hand over the man’s hand, and together they begin to draw. And in that moment, something changes. The man closes his eyes, and for the first time, he really sees—not with his eyes, but with his heart. Two very different people, one blind and one seeing, one open and one closed, suddenly come together. That is the mystery of the church: when different people are brought together in Christ, they become one body, a living cathedral where God dwells.

 

The Church Scattered, The Church United
Then and now, the church is scattered. For me, this is personal. I grew up in a traditional Korean Methodist church. One pastor served one congregation, and when pastor and leaders worked hard, the church often grew. That was the norm. My grandparents’ church grew. My parents’ church grew.

But now, it’s different. Since July, in practice, four churches are yoked together with our family. Sometimes Joyce and I ask God if we are on the right path. I don’t always know the answer. But I do know this: God is at work among us. I saw God at work during our combined women’s retreat. I saw God at work in our combined VBS. And today, I see God at work in our worship services – like Penny from Patten leading the service at Hodgdon, and the way we help each other. God is here. God is moving.

Then and now, circumstances are not always favorable. The early Christians were persecuted and scattered. Yet wherever they went, they preached Christ. They preached to people like Simon. They preached to people like the Ethiopian. And revival came.

How many new members did we add this year? How many baptisms? Those are good questions. But an even deeper question is this: Are we one people in Christ? As Paul says, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28). May this be our church. Amen.

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[1] Arthur C. Brooks, “The Seven Habits That Lead to Happiness in Old Age,” The Atlantic (Feb 17, 2022)

[2] Scott Sauls, Jesus Outside the Lines: A Way Forward for Those Who Are Tired of Taking Sides (p. 54). Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.. Kindle Edition.

“The Martyr Mindset: from Stephen to Mr. Rogers” (Acts 6:8–7:60)

 

Martyr

Martyr means witness. In the early church, to witness for Christ often meant to die for Christ. Stephen was the first. His story in Acts 6 and 7 shows us what this witness looks like.

Stephen was one of the seven chosen to serve in mercy ministry and lead the congregation (Acts 6:5). He was a man of faith and grace, doing wonderful things among the people. But some men rose up against him, trying to argue him down. They were no match for his wisdom and spirit when he spoke. So they stirred up the crowd, seized Stephen, and brought him before the Council. There he boldly witnessed for Christ—and was stoned to death.

Most of us in America today will probably never be killed for our faith. So how do we read Stephen’s story and apply it to our lives? What does it look like to live with a martyr mindset? Recently, I was reading about Fred Rogers. Though Mr. Rogers was not a martyr in death, I saw a surprising parallel between Stephen and him. Both shared qualities of the martyr mindset.

 

Empathy

First, they shared deep empathy born of suffering. Through their empathy, they bore witness to Christ. Stephen was full of grace and compassion. He was chosen to care for widows and the poor. When confronted by the religious leaders, his face shone like an angel’s (6:15). As he began his defense, he addressed his persecutors tenderly as “brothers and fathers” (7:2). As stones rained down on him, he prayed, “Lord, forgive them!” (7:60). If we summed up his ministry, his character, and his final prayer into one word, it would be “compassion”—empathy.

Fred Rogers also grew empathy through suffering. He grew up near Pittsburgh in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. Though his family was wealthy, his childhood was hard. His mother was overprotective. He was shy, painfully introverted, and often stuck at home with severe asthma. At school he was bullied, teased with the cruel nickname “Fat Freddy.”[1] Yet he was deeply loved by his parents and grandparents, helped by good neighbors, and strengthened by faith and music. Out of this suffering grew an extraordinary empathy. Later, Fred Rogers became that good neighbor for others. He taught children to look for helpers, to trust in kindness, to see the good in others.

 

Non-Anxious Presence

The second martyr mindset quality is a non-anxious presence. In front of his enemies, Stephen was calm and peaceful. They were threatening his life, but he was steady. How? By the power of the Spirit. Scripture describes him as “a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit” (6:5), “full of grace and power” (6:8), and “filled with the Holy Spirit” as he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God (7:55). By the Spirit, Stephen spoke truth in love, rebuking the leaders not with bitterness, but with courage and grace.

Mr. Rogers lived this same kind of presence. People may think his calm was just personality or performance, but those who knew him best saw its source in his spiritual life. He rose daily at 4:30 to pray and read the Bible. He disciplined his body, swimming a mile each morning. He maintained 143 pounds for the most of his adult life.  When conflicts arose, he met them without panic. Once, Burger King misused his image in an ad mocking McDonald’s. Instead of suing, Fred called the vice president himself, speaking with firmness and love. The ad was pulled immediately.[2] His calm presence was a Christ-like witness.

 

Self-Denial

The third quality is self-denial. Stephen’s goal was not to live long, but to live for Christ. His speech before the Council was not self-defense—it was testimony. “Jesus is the Messiah. Repent, turn to him, and listen to him.” Stephen was ready to die for Jesus. He fixed his eyes on Christ and the heavenly kingdom. As death came, he looked up and declared, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” (7:56). Jesus promised, “Those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 10:39).

Fred Rogers also lived this spirit of self-denial. When he founded Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood in 1971, he made it a nonprofit. Even when tax attorneys insisted his salary was too low, Fred and Joanne lived simply. They sold their home and moved into a modest apartment. He drove an old Honda, wore plain clothes, and never renovated their drafty Nantucket cottage. He turned down commercial offers and refused to market toys directly to children. While Sesame Street became a global empire, Fred Rogers chose self-denial. He gave up wealth, comfort, and recognition so children would not be treated as consumers[3]. He was not stoned in the street, but he died daily to self in order to serve others. That’s the martyr mindset—quiet, costly, faithful witness.

 

True and Better

Martyr means witness. Stephen’s death seemed like failure, yet it left a profound impact —especially on one man, Saul of Tarsus, who approved of his killing (8:1). Soon, Saul met the risen Christ and became Paul, one of the greatest witnesses for Jesus.

The calling of a martyr is to bring others closer to Christ through their empathy, their non-anxious presence, and their self-denial.

Jesus is the true and better Stephen, who, full of the Spirit, spoke truth in love, forgave his enemies, and laid down his life – not just for his people, but also for the whole world, drawing all people to himself through the cross.

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:5-8, NRSV).

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus—the true and better Stephen—and live with the martyr mindset. This week, let us look for one way to practice the martyr mindset – whether forgiving an enemy, speaking truth gently, or choosing simplicity – for the sake of Christ. May our lives help others come to Christ’s heart through ours. Amen.

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[1] Maxwell King, The Good Neighbor: The Life and Work of Fred Rogers (p. 4). ABRAMS Press. Kindle Edition.

[2] Ibid., 291.

[3] Ibid., 10-11.

“Tree in the Rock” (Acts 6:1–7)

 

The Problem

“What do you do with a problem?”

Kobi Yamada, in his beautiful children’s book What Do You Do with a Problem?, tells the story of a boy who tries to hide from his problem. At first, he ignores it, wishing it would simply go away. But it doesn’t. In fact, it seems to grow bigger and bigger.

One day, the boy decides to stop running and turns to face the problem. That’s when he discovers something surprising: inside the problem was an opportunity—an opportunity to learn, to grow, to discover something new.

I love that insight. And I love children’s books. They may be written for young readers, but they often hold profound wisdom—like poetry, using few simple words to carry deep truth.

 

The Problem in the Early Church

In today’s scripture, the early church had a serious problem. At that time, the church was made up mainly of two groups: the Aramaic-speaking majority and the Greek-speaking minority. As the church grew, tensions emerged. One of these was about food distribution: the Greek-speaking widows were being neglected in the daily food service. And the Greek-speaking group began to “complain.”

The word translated “complained” (gongysmos) is a strong and unpleasant word. It is the same word used when some of the Israelites murmured and rebelled against Moses in the desert (Ex. 16:7; Num. 14:27). The problem was serious enough to threaten division in the church. But by God’s grace, when they faced and addressed the issue, they became more resilient and more Christlike.

 

Unbusy Christians

How did they grow? First, they learned to be “unbusy” Christians. In the Book of Acts, the devil attacks the church in many ways—first through persecution (by the Jewish religious authorities), then through corruption (Ananias and Sapphira), and now through the most subtle and clever attack—distraction. The enemy tried to make the apostles feel overwhelmed and pulled in every direction.

At the verge of burnout, the apostles discerned their top priority—their calling—and stayed focused on it. Negatively, they knew they were not called primarily to social administration. In verse 2 they said, “It is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait on tables.” This was not to say that the ministry of the Word was more important than serving food; rather, it meant the apostles’ particular calling was different. In verse 4 they declare, “We will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” They knew their limitations, set their priorities, and stuck to them.

Herman Melville, in Moby Dick, describes a moment of furious action: the whaleboat flying over the waves, chasing the great white whale. The crew strains at the oars, muscles tight, sweat pouring, voices shouting over the roar of the sea. And in the middle of all the chaos—one man sits still. The harpooner. He’s not rowing or shouting; he waits calmly, every muscle loose, until the precise moment to stand and throw. Melville writes, “To insure the greatest efficiency in the dart, the harpooners of this world must start to their feet out of idleness, and not out of toil.”

Like harpooners, the apostles knew their role. They stayed ready for the task God had given them. Friends, when problems come, not all of us will have the same role to play—but we all must be focused and poised for the moment God calls us to act. This is why we pray,

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.

 

Unnecessary Christians

The early Christians were not only unbusy; they were, in a sense, “unnecessary” Christians. The apostles didn’t try to do everything themselves. They empowered others to serve and lead according to their gifts. In verse 3, they said, “Therefore, friends, select from among yourselves seven men of good standing, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this task.”

This reminds me of a friend who had an unusual call to ministry—not in church, not at a revival meeting, but while reading… a comic book.

The story was about a 911 rescue hero—an ordinary person living an ordinary life until disaster struck. In that moment, his unique gifts surfaced. He could help. He could serve. He could rescue. But here’s the irony: he was only “useful” when problems arose. If he fixed every problem permanently, he would no longer be needed. And yet, he chose to keep stepping into broken places—again and again—because that was his calling. While reading this, my friend realized that pastor’s calling is much the same: to step into brokenness, to face problems, to help people encounter God personally, and ultimately to work toward the point where you are no longer needed because Christ is fully at work in them.

It is not “I” but Christ who lives in us. Not “I” but “we”—the body of Christ working together. As Galatians 2:20 says, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

 

Loving Christians

Finally, the early Christians were loving Christians. When the apostles told the congregation to choose seven leaders for the mercy ministry, they chose Stephen, Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolaus (v. 5)—all Greek names. The majority of the church spoke Aramaic, yet they chose Greek-speaking leaders so that those most affected could be best served. That’s love.

This reminds me of Korean poet Park No-hae’s The Sin of Gratitude. He reflects on how his gratitude had been too small and self-centered – limited to his own health, his family’s safety, his nation’s peace. He came to see that such gratitude was not enough and was something to repent of. True gratitude grows to rejoice in others’ joy, to embrace others’ suffering, and to share in their pain.

Paul writes in Philippians 2:4, “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Love is not love if it stays only within our own circle. The early church widened the circle. And the result? God blessed them: “The word of God continued to spread; the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.” (v. 7)

 

Tree in the Rock

If we read today’s scripture (Acts 6:1–7) alone, it sounds as if the problem was solved quickly and the church prospered overnight. But in reality—both then and now—growth is slow, often coming through struggle and perseverance.

Today as a church we face many problems and hear anxious voices: “Our church doesn’t have enough people!” “Our denomination is a sinking ship!” “It’s too late to change the tide!” But today’s passage gives us hope.

On vacation, my family and I visited Lost River and Boulder Caves in the White Mountains. There, we saw something astonishing—trees growing out of solid rock. They drew people’s attention. How could they survive there? At the tip of a tree’s root is a growth point that holds a bit of moisture. Where there is moisture, microorganisms multiply. Over years, these tiny organisms break microscopic cracks in the rock, allowing the roots to go deeper. It is said that it takes 100 years for just one inch of moss to grow. Imagine how many centuries it might take for a tree to root and rise tall from solid stone.

There is no quick solution for the church’s struggles. But what if we stopped trying to do everything, set clear priorities, and poured ourselves into God’s kingdom? What if we simply loved and mentored one person near us? What if we looked beyond our own group and became advocates for others?

We may not see the fruit right away. But in God’s time, we will reap a harvest with joy. And people will be drawn—not to us—but to Christ. Like a tree in the rock, God can grow us even in the hardest places. Our God is able. So let us hope in God, and love one person at a time. Amen.

 

"Strange Joy" (Acts 5:27-42)

 

Happiness and Joy

Can we be joyful while being unhappy? In other words, are happiness and joy the same—or are they different?

Joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness depends on external circumstances. It comes and goes. It can fade quickly when life gets hard. But joy is different. Joy is rooted in God’s presence and God’s promises. It is deep, lasting, and internal. So yes, we can be unhappy about many things and still have joy. We can rejoice even in the middle of distress, sickness, sorrow, or grief.

 

Strange Joy

Today’s Scripture gives us a strong example. Peter and the apostles were arrested—again. They stood before the Jerusalem Council, and the religious leaders wanted to kill them. But a wise council member, Gamaliel, persuaded them to leave the apostles alone. The leaders listened, but before releasing the apostles, they had them beaten and flogged. Then comes this surprising verse: 

“As they left the council, they rejoiced that they were considered worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake of the name.” (v. 41, NRSV)

The Bible doesn’t say they were happy. But it does say they rejoiced—in suffering. That is what I call strange joy. Where did their joy come from? It came from their calling. The apostles were called to be “witnesses” for Christ. No matter the cost, they stood firm. And through their faithful witness, many came to believe in Christ. Even in persecution, the church grew and God’s kingdom advanced. That was their joy. When we live out our God-given calling, we find deep contentment and joy.

So here’s an important question we should ask ourselves: What is my calling? Am I living it out? Is Jesus honored through my witness and my life?  For the apostles, the answer to all these questions was “Yes.” So they rejoiced.

 

Joy, Joy, Joy

How about John the Baptist? He was a rising star. People from all over Israel came to hear him and be baptized. His ministry was thriving. But then Jesus began his public ministry—and suddenly, the crowds left John to follow Jesus. John’s disciples were upset and confused. I imagine John might have felt discouraged, even embarrassed. He could’ve asked, “Am I on the right path?” But John remembered his identity and his calling. He was not the Christ. He was called to be the voice in the wilderness, preparing the way for the Lord. And he lived out that calling faithfully. Through his witness, people were drawn to Christ. John told his disciples: 

“It is the bridegroom who marries the bride, and the best man is simply glad to stand with him and hear his vows. Therefore, I am filled with joy at his success.” (John 3:29, NLT)

And then he added: “He must increase, and I must decrease.” (v. 30)

The apostle Paul is another powerful example. While in prison, he wrote a letter to the Philippians. Some people preached Christ with good motives, but others did it out of selfish ambition, hoping to add to Paul’s pain. Yet Paul wasn’t shaken. He had a clear sense of identity and calling. He knew he was deeply loved by God and called to preach to the Gentiles. Though chained and surrounded by enemies, Paul saw how his imprisonment actually helped advance the gospel. That’s why he said: 

“What does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Yes, and I will continue to rejoice.” (Philippians 1:18, NIV)

For me, I’m just beginning to learn this strange joy. Since July, I’ve felt a greater emptiness in the pews—not just because of numbers, but because my number one ministry companion and cheerleader is no longer here. Since our marriage in 2008, Joyce and I have shared all of ministry together. Her absence has left a big void. I am grieving. Yet, I hear beautiful things happening at Stetson Memorial UMC. Young families and children start coming. People struggling with addiction are finding new life in Christ. New momentum is building. God’s kingdom is advancing. So—even in my sorrow—I rejoice.

 

Intentional Joy

Joy does not come automatically. We have to choose joy—and keep choosing it every day. The apostles didn’t just rejoice once and move on. They kept choosing joy. “Every day, in the Temple and from house to house, they continued to teach and preach this message: ‘Jesus is the Messiah.’” (v. 42, NLT) They stayed faithful. They stayed the course. Their joy was not passive; it was intentional joy.

Some of you may wonder, “What is my calling?” or “What does God want me to do?” If you are a Christian—a follower of Christ—your calling is already clear. We all share the same primary calling: It is to know Christ and to make Him known – in our home, in our workplace, in everyday life. We need to be faithful where we are.

Let me share a story. There was once a man walking along a beach after a storm. The shore was covered with thousands of starfish. In the distance, he saw a child picking them up one by one and gently tossing them back into the ocean. The man said, “Why are you doing this? You can’t possibly make a difference. There are too many.” The child looked at the starfish in his hand, threw it into the sea, and said, “It made a difference to that one.”

I believe that’s what our calling looks like. One act of kindness. One encouraging word. One prayer. One visit. One faithful step at a time. For me, my spiritual practice is to pray for each church member every day. And I reach out to those God nudges me toward. When I obey that gentle nudge, and live out my calling, I find joy.

 

Everlasting Joy

When things got tough, the apostles, John the Baptist, and Paul asked themselves, “Am I on the right path?” And when they saw signs that Christ was being exalted and His kingdom was advancing, they rejoiced. Joy is not just about how we feel—it’s about direction. “Where are we standing?” “Where are we going?”

Billy Graham once shared a powerful story. When he was 92 and struggling with Parkinson’s disease, he was invited to a luncheon in his honor. He hesitated, but finally agreed. After lunch, he stood and shared a story about Albert Einstein:

Einstein was once traveling by train. When the conductor came to check tickets, Einstein couldn’t find his. The conductor said, “Dr. Einstein, I know who you are. I’m sure you bought a ticket. Don’t worry.” But Einstein kept searching. The conductor repeated, “Sir, it’s okay—we know who you are.” Einstein replied, “Young man, I too know who I am. What I don’t know is where I’m going.”

Then Billy Graham said, “See this suit I’m wearing? It’s brand new. I bought it for two occasions – this luncheon and for my funeral. I will be buried in this suit. But when you hear I’m dead, I don’t want you to remember the suit. I want you to remember this: “I not only know who I am. I also know where I’m going.”

Life without God is like taking a train without a ticket—it has no destination. Life with God is full of joy—step by step, no matter what. “You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11, NRSV) May we always keep the Lord before us—whether in season or out of season, in good health or in sickness. And may we always choose joy, each and every day. Amen.