Keep Your Salt and Shine Your Light - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

In Matthew 5:13-20, we encounter Jesus speaking to ordinary people—farmers, fishermen, shepherds—and declaring something extraordinary: 'You are the salt of the earth' and 'You are the light of the world.' These aren't aspirational statements about who we might become someday; they're declarations of who we already are as disciples. Salt in biblical times represented purity, loyalty, sacrifice, and preservation. It was used in offerings to God and symbolized binding covenants when people shared meals together. We're called to be that kind of presence in the world—enhancing everything we touch, bringing out the best in others, not dominating but complementing. The key is timing and balance: knowing when to speak, when to act, when to preserve, and when to enhance. Our light isn't meant to be hidden under a bowl but placed on a lampstand to illuminate the entire house. Even when life gets hard, when faith flickers and conviction fades, we must keep shining. The world doesn't need our perfection; it needs our presence, our grace, our truth, our endurance. Whether in hospital rooms, classrooms, break rooms, or family gatherings, we're called to let our light shine so others may see our good works and glorify God. This isn't casual Christianity—it's a transformed life that takes discipleship seriously, exceeding even the righteousness of the Pharisees by living out both the law and the fulfillment Jesus brings.

Keep Your Salt and Shine Your Light: Living as Disciples in a Watching World

There's something powerful about opening a cupboard and seeing what's inside. The contents reveal what kind of meal is coming—whether it will be bland and forgettable or rich with flavor and care. A bare cupboard tells one story. But when you see salt, pepper, garlic powder, seasoned salt, and all those special spices lined up, you know something good is about to happen.

Yet even the best seasonings lose their potency when stored improperly or left unused for too long. What was meant to enhance and preserve becomes useless—bland, ineffective, fit only to be discarded.

This simple kitchen truth carries profound spiritual weight.

You Are the Salt of the Earth

In Matthew 5:13-20, Jesus makes an extraordinary declaration to ordinary people: "You are the salt of the earth." Not "you might become salt" or "try to be salt." You already are.

During biblical times, salt carried deep significance far beyond seasoning food. It was used to season grain offerings to the Lord in Leviticus. Priests threw salt on burnt offerings in Ezekiel. Salt represented loyalty and sacrifice throughout Scripture. When people shared a meal together—called "sharing salt"—it established a binding relationship. Salt was also essential for preservation, keeping food from spoiling in a world without refrigeration.

When Jesus calls His followers the salt of the earth, He's declaring that disciples are meant to be pure, loyal, willing to make sacrifices, and committed to preserving the body of Christ. Salt doesn't exist for itself—it's made to complement and enhance other things. Disciples aren't made for themselves either. They're meant to be spread throughout the world, making everything they touch better.

The Importance of Timing and Balance

Here's where it gets interesting: food tastes different depending on when you add the seasoning. Salt added during cooking creates a different result than salt sprinkled on afterward. Timing matters.

Consider a perfectly cooked steak. Sometimes the best preparation is the simplest—just the right amount of salt added at the right time brings out what's already there. The salt doesn't dominate or take over; it reveals and enhances the natural goodness.

This is our calling as disciples: to be the right amount at the right time in the right place to bring out what is already there in other people. We need wisdom to know when to speak, when to act, when to preserve, and when to enhance.

Balance is equally crucial. Salt thrown on growing crops damages the soil. Too much salt ruins a dish. We must be balanced in our inner circles and beyond them, knowing how to season without overwhelming.

In Jesus's day, people had salt blocks they would taste to check if they still had flavor. When salt lost its saltiness, it was thrown out and trampled underfoot. It had failed its purpose. We cannot afford to lose our saltiness—our ability to influence and preserve and enhance the world around us.

You Are the Light of the World

If being called salt wasn't enough, Jesus continues with another extraordinary statement: "You are the light of the world."

Again, not "you might become light" or "work hard enough and you'll shine." You already are the light, right now, by virtue of following Jesus.

In a world that constantly tries to dim us, dismiss us, and tell us we don't matter, Jesus declares: You are the light of the world. You are not an accident. You are not a mistake. You carry light within you.

And that light comes with responsibility. Jesus explains that a city on a hill cannot be hidden. People don't light a lamp only to hide it under a bowl. They put it on a stand so it gives light to everyone in the house.

Our light has a purpose: to shine, to be visible, to make a difference.

When the Light Flickers

But let's be honest—light doesn't always feel bright. Faith can flicker. Conviction can fade. We all get tired, disillusioned, distracted. Bills pile up. Jobs get stressful. Relationships get complicated.

Yet no matter what, we must keep shining.

The world is watching. We cannot stop being light just because we're tired. Jesus's words are both encouragement and warning: Don't fade. Don't hide. Don't forget who you are. Stay lit.

Don't let anyone put your light out.

You are the head and not the tail, above and not beneath. You are blessed coming in and going out. No weapon formed against you shall prosper. The One who began a good work in you will complete it.

Let your light shine—in the hospital room, in the classroom, in the break room, at family reunions, in voting booths. Shine in your grief. Shine in your hope. Shine when overlooked for that promotion. Shine when struggling to make ends meet. Shine when caring for aging parents or raising children in a world that doesn't always value them.

The flame has been lit in you. Let your light shine before others so they may see your good works and glorify God in heaven.

Fulfilling, Not Abolishing

Some might think this message of being salt and light means we can ignore everything that came before. But Jesus makes it clear: "Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have not come to abolish them, but to fulfill them."

Jesus didn't come for either/or. He came for both/and.

The entire Old Testament pointed forward to the Messiah—prophesying where He would come from, what He would do, how we would recognize Him. All of it matters. Not one letter of the law would disappear until everything was accomplished.

Then Jesus raises the bar even higher: "Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven."

The Pharisees took religious life seriously. They memorized Scripture, harmonized it with their lives, and were held up as the ideal. Jesus says we need to exceed even that level of commitment.

This isn't casual Christianity. This isn't take-it-in-on-Sunday-and-forget-it-on-Monday discipleship. This is a life transformed inside and out.

The Tree

There's a story about a young man who excelled at everything—four varsity sports, nearly straight A's—but had to hide his intelligence because his community didn't value academic achievement. When his success became known, some peers decided to jump him. They told him a girl wanted to meet him at a tree, planning to ambush him there.

But his friend discovered the plot and redirected him to a different location. Then the friend went to the tree instead—and took the beating meant for someone else.

It should have been the other young man at that tree. But his friend went in his place and bore the punishment designed for him.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.

We all had a punishment waiting for us—death, hell, and the grave. But Jesus went to the tree in our stead. He bore our sins in His own body on the tree so that we might die to sin and live for righteousness. By His stripes we are healed.

It should have been us on that cross. But early on the third day, He got up with all power in His hands. And that's not where the story ends—He's coming back again.

Will you be ready? Will you keep your salt? Will you shine your light?

The world is watching. Keep shining.

So Blessed - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

The Beatitudes in Matthew 5:1-12 turn everything we think we know about blessing completely upside down. In a world that measures worth by bank accounts, job titles, and social media followers, Jesus sits on a mountainside and declares that the truly blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, and those who hunger for justice. This isn't some distant promise for a future reward—Jesus uses present tense: 'Blessed ARE.' Right now, in our struggles, in our grief, in our powerlessness, we are blessed. The passage reveals that God's value system operates in direct opposition to worldly success. Those who've been told their poverty or struggle is evidence of divine disfavor need to hear this: Jesus is speaking directly to us. The blessing isn't something we earn through perfection or prosperity—it's who we already are as God's beloved children. What makes this even more powerful is understanding that 'blessed' doesn't mean we're recipients of random divine door prizes, but rather that God is throwing life preservers to desperate souls struggling to keep their heads above water. We're not blessed because we have it all together; we're blessed because God sees our struggle and meets us there. This transforms how we view our circumstances and challenges us to become blessings to others through mercy, peacemaking, and hunger for righteousness.

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So Blessed: Understanding God's Upside-Down Kingdom

In a world that constantly measures worth by bank accounts, job titles, and social media followers, there's a revolutionary message that turns everything upside down. It's found in one of the most recognized passages in all of Western literature—the Beatitudes from Matthew 5:1-12.

Picture this scene: a hillside in Galilee, a working-class region filled with fishermen, farmers, shepherds, and laborers. These weren't the religious elite gathering at the temple in Jerusalem. These were ordinary people carrying extraordinary burdens—people struggling to make ends meet, mourning losses that never seemed to heal, working jobs where they had no voice and no power.

These were people who had been told their entire lives that their condition was their fault. That if they were just more faithful, God would bless them with prosperity. That their poverty, grief, and powerlessness were evidence that something was fundamentally wrong with them.

Sound familiar? Two thousand years later, not much has changed.

The Weight of the World's Expectations

We still live in a world that blames the poor for being poor, that tells people if they just worked harder or believed stronger, everything would be fine. We live in a world where people mourn not just personal losses—though those are real and heavy—but also mourn the state of things. They mourn when they see injustice in the streets, families evicted, schools underfunded, communities left behind.

We still have people who are powerless, watching while others make decisions that affect their lives, their neighborhoods, their children's futures. We still have people hungry and thirsty for righteousness, for justice, for a world where everyone gets a fair shot.

The world still looks at the poor in spirit and says they lack faith. It looks at those who mourn and tells them they're too negative, that they should have gotten over it by now. It looks at the meek and calls them weak. It looks at those hungry for justice and calls them troublemakers, telling them to wait their turn.

But here's a profound truth: people never get used to being oppressed. They don't get used to injustice. They don't get used to being treated as less than. They don't get used to seeing their children without opportunity or their communities without resources.

When Everything Changes

Into this familiar scene of struggle and dismissal comes a message that changes everything. Not "you will be blessed if you change" or "you'll be blessed when you get it together" or "you'll be blessed after you've suffered enough."

No. The message is present tense: Blessed are.

Right now. As you are. Where you are.

Blessed are the poor in spirit—those who recognize that in a world rigged against them, God is their only hope. This isn't weakness; this is wisdom. The kingdom of heaven belongs to them.

Blessed are those who mourn—not just those grieving personal loss, but those whose hearts break over the brokenness of the world, those who see the gap between what is and what should be and can't just shrug their shoulders. They will be comforted, not with empty words, but with the real comfort of God's presence and the promise that this isn't how the story ends.

Blessed are the meek—and here's where language gets interesting. The word "meek" originally described a wild horse that had been tamed. But here's the thing: that meek horse is still as strong as it was when it was wild. To be meek means you don't get any weaker; you just learn how to use your strength wisely. The meek will inherit the earth, not through force or manipulation, but through God's promise.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness—this isn't a polite desire for things to be better. This is desperate hunger, consuming thirst for justice, for things to be made right. And this hunger will be satisfied.

The Blessing Requires Action

Blessed are the merciful—and mercy requires concrete action. You can't just roll down your window at the corner, see someone in need, and say "be warm and fed and clothed in the name of Jesus" before driving away. The merciful do something about suffering, and they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart—not perfect, but focused. It's about undivided devotion to God, a refined, single-minded commitment to following God's will. Those people will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers—and notice the word is peacemaker, not peacekeeper. A peacemaker has the authority, ability, and skill to make something happen. True peacemakers work through mercy, devotion to God, and acts of justice. They are the real children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness—because when you choose compassion over competition, justice over comfort, mercy over might, the world pushes back. But even in persecution, the kingdom of heaven is yours.

Life Preservers for Desperate Souls

These blessings aren't door prizes randomly handed out by God. They're life preservers that God throws to desperate souls struggling to keep their heads above water. God sees your struggle. God knows you're barely hanging on. And God says you're blessed—not because of what you have, but because of who God is and what God is doing in the world.

This is communal, too. It's not "I'm so blessed." It's "we're so blessed." Blessed because we are part of a community. Blessed because we belong to each other. Blessed because together we are part of God's kingdom breaking into this broken world.

The hunger for justice isn't a problem to be fixed; it's a blessing to be celebrated. Tears over the brokenness of this world aren't signs of weak faith; they're signs that your heart is aligned with God's heart. The choice to be merciful and make peace, even when it costs you something, isn't foolishness—it's the kingdom of God showing up in real time.

The Present Tense Matters

Blessed are. Not will be someday if you're good enough. Not might be if circumstances change. Are. Right now, in this moment, in your struggle, in your grief, in your hunger, in your mercy—you are blessed.

And here's the beautiful part: when we live as blessed people, we become a blessing to others. When we show mercy, others experience God's mercy. When we make peace, others glimpse God's kingdom. When we hunger for justice, we create space for others to hope that justice is possible.

You are blessed. Not someday. Not when you get it right. Not when you're perfect. Right now, as you are, where you are. So blessed that the kingdom of heaven is yours. So blessed that you will be comforted. So blessed that you will inherit the earth. So blessed that you will be filled. So blessed that you will receive mercy. So blessed that you will see God. So blessed that you will be called children of God.

This isn't just nice religious talk. It's the truth of who you are and whose you are—not because of what you have, but because of who God is and what God continues to do in our lives and in the world.

We are so blessed.

Called For Discipleship - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This powerful message explores what it truly means to be called into discipleship through the lens of Matthew 4:12-23, where Jesus begins His public ministry and calls His first disciples. We're challenged with the story of Lewis and Clark's expedition—explorers who carried canoes over mountains only to discover no waterways on the other side, only more mountains. This vivid illustration reminds us that the tools and methods that brought us success in one season may not serve us in the next. Sometimes God calls us to put down what we've been carrying and pick up something entirely new. The heart of discipleship isn't about perfecting our techniques or clinging to tradition; it's about three essential elements: building genuine relationships, embracing repentance as a change of mind and direction, and offering a real response through action, not just words. When Jesus called the fishermen, they didn't negotiate, debate, or ask for time to think it over—they simply moved. They left their nets, their security, their inheritance, and followed. We're invited to do the same, recognizing that Jesus doesn't wait for us to become perfect before calling us. He meets us in our Capernaums—our crossroads, our transitions, our uncertainties—and says 'follow Me.' The kingdom of heaven is at hand, within arm's reach, and our response determines everything.

Called for Discipleship: Leaving the Canoes Behind

There's a powerful story about explorers Lewis and Clark that perfectly captures what it means to follow Jesus. These adventurers carried their canoes over mountains, confident that water awaited them on the other side. But when they finally crested those peaks, they discovered something unexpected: more mountains. No rivers. No lakes. Just endless terrain that their canoes couldn't navigate.

Imagine the moment of realization. The tools that had brought them success were now useless. Some might have insisted on dragging those canoes forward anyway—after all, they'd worked so far. Others might have tried pushing them through the dirt, refusing to accept that a new approach was needed.

This is the challenge of discipleship. Sometimes God calls us to put down what we've been carrying and pick up something new. Sometimes following Jesus means adapting to new challenges with new techniques, even when we're desperately clinging to old tools that once served us well.

When Crisis Becomes Catalyst

Matthew 4:12-23 begins with a crisis: "When Jesus heard that John had been put in prison, he withdrew to Galilee." This wasn't just a transition of time—it was a fulfillment of purpose. John the Baptist's ministry ended so Jesus' ministry could begin in full force.

Sometimes it takes a moment of crisis to give us the nudge we need. We might not know we can hustle until the money is low and bills are due. We might not discover our ability to fight until we're backed into a corner with no way out. We might not realize we have gifts we've never used until circumstances demand them.

Jesus began his public ministry during a crisis, and he chose his location deliberately. Capernaum wasn't an accident. This crossroads town was heavily influenced by Romans, had deep roots in Jewish history, and was a place where cultural shifts were happening. It was the center of revolutionary activity against Roman occupation, yet it still maintained a synagogue. Jesus didn't retreat to safety—he moved into complexity.

He didn't just visit Capernaum; he relocated there. He transferred his residency. If you want to be among the people, you have to be where they are. Jesus didn't stand in the synagogue and quote scripture about coming out from among the world. He went out to the world instead.

The Radical Call to Follow

What makes Jesus' call to discipleship so remarkable is that he went looking for his disciples. This was revolutionary. In Jewish culture, students approached rabbis, not the other way around. If you wanted to learn from a rabbi, you had to ask repeatedly, enduring multiple rejections to prove your commitment.

But Jesus flipped the script entirely. He walked along the Sea of Galilee and found Simon Peter and Andrew casting their nets. He saw James and John mending nets with their father Zebedee. And he issued a simple command: "Follow me."

No debates. No negotiations. No "let me think about it." Jesus said follow, and they followed.

This wasn't a casual decision. These men left their families, their inheritance, their security, their connection to community, and their heritage. This was disruption. This was uncomfortable. But that's what discipleship requires.

Discipleship is hard. Discipleship is costly. If it were easy, everyone would do it.

The Three Requirements of Discipleship

Discipleship Requires Relationships

Jesus spent time with his disciples. He broke bread with them. He did life with them. He went out to get them. Discipleship happened through relationship.

One church discovered this truth the hard way. After experiencing significant attendance drops, they tried everything: changing the music ministry, having the pastor travel less, updating programs. Nothing worked. When they finally interviewed people who had left, they discovered the real problem: the church had failed to maintain relationships during life transitions.

People retired and felt disconnected because there was no senior ministry. Parents left when their children graduated from youth programs. Others faced job loss, family tragedy, or major life changes—and the church wasn't there.

People don't quit churches; they quit people. It doesn't matter how charismatic the pastor is or how good the programs are. If relationships aren't built and maintained, people will go elsewhere. Relationships are what help students stay in college, what inspire priests and pastors to leave behind comfortable lives, what motivate people to devote themselves to something larger than themselves.

Jesus modeled this. He built relationships in the area where he lived. That was his discipleship strategy.

Discipleship Requires Repentance

"Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." This wasn't just Jesus' message—it was his call to transformation.

Repentance means changing the way you think. Remember those explorers with the canoes? They're considered famous now because when they got over that mountain and realized their canoes were useless, they changed their thinking and adapted.

If you keep looking at the same problem and doing the same thing over and over to solve it, you haven't repented. If you feel the same way about it, you haven't repented. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results.

Recognizing that the kingdom of God is at hand—literally within reach—means adjusting our lives accordingly. Discipleship requires repentance.

Discipleship Requires a Real Response

The disciples didn't just believe in Jesus; they followed him. Their faith was both belief and practice. There was no hesitation, no "let me pray about it and get back to you." They had action, movement, commitment.

This was at the beginning of Jesus' ministry. He hadn't turned water into wine yet, hadn't healed the sick, hadn't walked on water, hadn't raised the dead. He just said, "Follow me," and promised to make them fishers of men. And they went.

A neurologist once explained that the way to beat procrastination is simple: move. Make one move toward what needs to happen. If a room needs cleaning, stop thinking about it and pick up one thing. Keep moving, and you'll defeat procrastination.

We spend too much time thinking about what needs to happen instead of actually doing one thing toward it. Jesus said follow, and everyone made a move.

Meeting Us Where We Are

The beautiful truth is that Jesus doesn't wait for us to clean up our lives before calling us. He meets us where we are—in our Capernaums, our crossroads, our places of transition and uncertainty.

He came to fishermen while they were fishing. He came to tax collectors while they were collecting taxes. He comes to the broken while they are still broken. And he says, "Follow me."

We don't have to wait for the perfect moment to respond to God's call. We don't have to wait until someone else who seems more qualified or more worthy responds first. Jesus doesn't wait for you to come to him. He comes to you. He's searching for you right now.

The question is: Will you follow?

Will you build the relationships that make discipleship possible? Will you repent and turn toward what God is doing in your life? Will you give a real response—not just words, but actions?

The disciples left everything to follow Jesus. They didn't know where they were going. They didn't know what would happen. But they knew who they were following, and that was enough.

God is calling us to discipleship. He's telling us to pick up some things and put down others. He's calling us to adapt, to change, to move forward even when the path isn't clear.

And the best part? He's right here with us. He doesn't just send us—he leads us. He doesn't just command us—he accompanies us.

It's time to leave the canoes behind and follow Jesus with our relationships, our repentance, and our real response. The kingdom of heaven has come near, and Jesus is calling us all by name.

Called For Gifts - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This powerful exploration of 1 Corinthians 1:1-9 challenges us to reconsider how we view our spiritual gifts and callings within the body of Christ. We discover that the Corinthian church, despite being richly blessed with diverse spiritual gifts, fell into the trap of comparison and competition—turning what God intended for community building into tools for division and status-seeking. The message reminds us that every gift we possess comes from God's grace, not our own achievement, which means there's no room for boasting or feeling superior to others. At the same time, we're encouraged not to dismiss our own contributions as insignificant. Whether our calling seems visible and prominent or quiet and behind-the-scenes, it matters deeply to God's kingdom. The emphasis on being faithful in small things—like wrapping cables or taking out the trash—reveals a profound truth: God shapes us through humble service before entrusting us with greater responsibilities. Most beautifully, we're assured that the same God who called us will complete what He started in us. We don't have to fear that our weaknesses will disqualify us or that God will abandon us when we stumble. This is stewardship at its core: recognizing that we're caretakers of gifts meant to build up the community, not monuments to our own glory.

Called for Gifts: Understanding Your Purpose in the Body of Christ

In the bustling port city of Corinth, a diverse group of believers gathered to form one of the early church's most fascinating communities. Wealthy merchants worshiped alongside day laborers. Educated Greeks sat next to former slaves. Jewish people and Gentiles, men and women, people speaking different languages and coming from vastly different backgrounds—all trying to figure out what it meant to be the body of Christ together.

This wasn't a quiet, peaceful village church. This was a cosmopolitan, diverse, sometimes chaotic community that reflected the complexity of the world around it. And within this complexity, a beautiful yet challenging truth emerged: everyone has been called and gifted by God for a purpose.

The Problem of Comparison

The Corinthian church had been blessed abundantly with spiritual gifts. They had eloquent preachers, prophets, teachers with wisdom and insight, people speaking in tongues, interpreters, healers, and miracle workers. They weren't lacking in any spiritual gift. They were, in fact, overflowing with them.

But here's where things went wrong. Instead of using these gifts to build up the community in love, they turned them into a competition. "I sing better than you." "I've been serving here longer than you." "My contribution is more valuable than yours." Some followed one leader, others championed a different teacher, and still others claimed they didn't need anyone but Jesus himself.

Sound familiar? How often do we look at someone else's ministry, someone else's talents, someone else's calling and think, "Why don't I have that?" Or worse, "What I have isn't significant enough to matter."

The Corinthians had imported the world's values into the church. In a city obsessed with status and competition, they spent money they didn't have to buy things they couldn't afford to impress people who didn't like them anyway. And tragically, they brought these same values into their spiritual lives, even calling it "spiritual."

The Reminder of Grace

First Corinthians opens not with condemnation but with grace. Paul doesn't launch straight into their problems with a list of failures. Instead, he reminds them of who they are in Christ: "I always thank my God for you because of his grace given to you in Christ Jesus."

This is crucial. Their spiritual gifts weren't their own achievement—they were grace. They didn't earn them. They didn't deserve them. They couldn't take credit for them. Everything they had was a gift from God.

And that changes everything. If your gifts are from God, there's no reason to boast in them, no reason to hoard them, no reason to use them to lord over somebody else. And there's certainly no reason to treat people differently because they don't have the same gift you have.

Faithful in Small Things

There's a powerful principle woven throughout Scripture: God shapes us for bigger things through our faithfulness in small things. Before you're mixing concerts at major venues, you learn to wrap cables properly. Before you lead committees and get your name in programs, you need to be willing to take out the trash after meetings are over.

The small things matter more than we know. Putting away chairs, sweeping floors, handling details that no one notices—these aren't beneath anyone. They're the training ground for greater responsibility.

Your lack doesn't disqualify you. What you perceive as small or insignificant may be exactly what God wants to use. There is no such thing as an insignificant gift in the body of Christ. What God has given you, He's given you for a reason. And your faithfulness in using it—even in the small things—matters more than you know.

The Danger of Visibility

On the flip side, some people have been given gifts that are visible. They get the microphone, they're on stage, people notice and affirm them. And it's easy to start believing your own press, to think that your gift makes you more important, more spiritual, more valuable than others.

But here's the truth: every gift you have comes from God. And because it comes from God, there's no room for boasting, no room for pride, no room for division. The gift is for the community, not for your ego.

God's Faithfulness

Perhaps the most comforting truth in this entire discussion is this: God is faithful. What God has started in you, God will finish. What God has begun, God will complete. What God has called, God will confirm.

You don't have to worry about whether you're going to make it. You don't have to wonder if God's going to give up on you when you mess up. You don't have to fear that your weakness will disqualify you from God's purpose.

If God brought you to it, God will see you through it.

You might be going through a season right now where you're wondering if God has forgotten about you, if you've missed your calling, if your gifts even matter anymore. But God is not through with you. The same God who called you is the same God who will keep you. The same God who gifted you is the same God who will sustain you.

Stewardship of Purpose

We are stewards of the purpose God has given us. That means we hold these gifts with open hands. We use them for the community's benefit. We celebrate when others' gifts shine without being threatened. We step into our calling without comparing it to anyone else's.

You are not called to be them. You are called to be you. God didn't make a mistake when He made you. He didn't mess up when He gifted you. God knew exactly what He was doing, and your calling is just as valid, just as important, and just as necessary as everyone else's.

Connected in Community

Here's something beautiful: we're not in this alone. We are connected to everyone else who calls on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. You are part of a global family of saints—people who are called and gifted and being confirmed by the same faithful God.

When you feel weak, remember you are strengthened by testimony and knowledge. When you feel lacking, remember that you don't lack any spiritual gift. When you feel uncertain, remember that God will keep you firm until the end. And when you feel like giving up, remember: God is faithful.

So we can't separate over gifts. We can't divide over callings. We can't compete over spiritual status. Instead, we must use what God has given us to build up the community in love, be faithful in the small things, stop comparing ourselves to others, and trust that the God who called us by His will is the God who will see us through to the end.

That's not just a catchphrase. It's the gospel—God's grace from beginning to end, the faithfulness of God that never lets us go.

Called For Justice - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

Isaiah 42 presents us with a profound vision of what it means to be called for justice in a broken world. We're introduced to God's servant—a steward of justice who doesn't operate like worldly leaders. This isn't someone who shouts the loudest or crushes the vulnerable to demonstrate power. Instead, this servant brings hope to the afflicted, stands for the oppressed, and works persistently toward God's kingdom of righteousness. The imagery of the bruised reed and smoldering wick is particularly powerful—God handles our brokenness with tenderness, never finishing off what's already fragile but carefully nurturing us back to strength. This passage challenges us to examine our own stewardship: What are we doing with the time, talent, and treasure God has blessed us with? Are we actively involved in bringing justice, or are we sitting on the sidelines? The message reminds us that faith isn't just about being heavenly-minded; it's about being engaged in the real, political, and social struggles of our communities. Justice work requires consistency and persistence—it's not about one-time gestures or performative outrage, but about showing up repeatedly, even when progress seems slow. Whether Isaiah was speaking of Cyrus, Israel itself, or prophetically pointing to Jesus, the call remains the same for us today: to be stewards of justice who bring light into darkness and hope to those who are barely holding on.

Called for Justice: What It Means to Be a Steward of God's Mission

In the midst of brokenness, when communities are fractured and hope seems distant, God speaks a word that cuts through the darkness. The prophet Isaiah delivered such a word to a people living in the aftermath of devastation—some scattered in exile, others struggling to survive in the ruins of their homeland, all desperately searching for someone to fulfill the role of Savior.

The message from Isaiah 42:1-9 introduces us to a powerful concept: the steward of justice. This isn't someone who sits comfortably on the sidelines, offering thoughts and prayers while injustice rages. This is an activist steward—someone who knows they've been entrusted with God's mission and carries it out with power and purpose.

The Messianic Mission Statement

"Here is my servant whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight. I will put my spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations."

These words form what we might call a messianic mission statement. Just as many of us craft New Year's resolutions or personal mission statements to guide our lives, God provides a blueprint for what true justice work looks like. This isn't about being so heavenly minded that we're no earthly good. It's about being actively involved in bringing justice to God's people.

The reality is that faith and politics cannot be neatly separated. The Bible is profoundly political—not in the partisan sense of endorsing candidates, but in addressing the distribution of resources, the treatment of the vulnerable, and the systems that either uplift or oppress people. Politics, at its core, is the contention for resources in the public square. And whether we choose to engage or not, political decisions shape every aspect of our lives—from the roads we drive on to the quality of our jobs to the security of our retirement.

What a Steward of Justice Does

They Bring Hope to the Afflicted

"A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out."

This beautiful imagery speaks to God's tender care for those who are barely hanging on. When you're bent but not broken, when you're almost out but have just a little bit of light left, a steward of justice doesn't finish you off. They don't walk past you. They stop, see you, attend to you, and bring you hope.

Think about handling a palm branch that's slightly broken—you have to wave it carefully or it will break completely. Consider a candle with a problematic wick—you must tend it gently or lose the candle altogether. This is how God handles us when we're fragile, and this is how stewards of justice must handle the vulnerable in their care.

They Stand for the Oppressed

The servant will "open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness."

This promise resonates deeply with those who know something about captivity, about sitting in darkness, about crying out for liberation and freedom. The God who heard the cries of the enslaved in Egypt is the same God who hears cries against mass incarceration, economic injustice, and systems designed to keep people down. If God has done it before, God will do it again.

They Work Toward God's Kingdom of Righteousness

"He will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth."

This is persistent work. Consistent work. This isn't about changing your profile picture or tweeting a hashtag. Real justice work happens over and over again, in meetings attended, in communities served, in consistent presence and commitment.

Perhaps it looks like one less trip to Starbucks and one more trip to church. Maybe it's a little more time in Scripture, one less meal for the purpose of fasting, or praying just a little longer. Research shows that a "committed Christian" only attends church twice a month on average. What if we pushed that number up? What if instead of giving two percent, we moved toward three percent? Justice work doesn't happen overnight—it's about consistency.

We don't eat one salad and expect our cholesterol to drop completely. We don't walk around the block once and expect to lose five pounds. Growth requires persistence, and justice work is no different.

What a Steward of Justice Doesn't Do

They Don't Engage in Performative Outrage

"He will not shout or cry out or raise his voice in the streets."

This doesn't mean staying silent. It means not engaging in pointless arguments and theatrical displays. We all know people who are loud just to be loud—all talk but no action. The work of justice is too important for theatrics. The mission is too serious for show.

They Don't Crush the Weak

Real power, real authority, and real leadership don't need to dominate the vulnerable. They lift them up. A steward of justice handles the broken carefully, tends to the flickering flame gently, and values relationships over power.

They Don't Stop Until Truth Prevails

This is commitment to the long game. You don't give one offering and demand to be finance chair. You don't preach one sermon and expect a megachurch pulpit. You don't learn three chords and claim to be a minister of music. Justice work requires persistent commitment to long-term results.

A Different Kind of Leadership

This vision of a steward of justice provides a stark contrast to contemporary models of leadership. We live in a world that gravitates toward the loudest voice, the strongest show of force, the most dominant personality. We celebrate preemptive strikes and value strength over compassion.

But God calls for leaders who tenderly care for the bruised reed and carefully tend the dimly burning wick. Imagine a candidate running for office on a platform of genuinely caring for the vulnerable. Imagine leaders—whether in politics, business, church, or community—who decide to take care of people rather than profit off them, who value relationships over dominance.

Living as Stewards of Justice

God has blessed each of us with time, talent, and treasure. The question isn't whether we've been blessed—it's what we're doing with what God has given us. We don't own these blessings; we simply manage them as stewards.

Being a steward of justice means showing up consistently, caring for the vulnerable tenderly, and working persistently toward God's vision of righteousness. It means recognizing that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. It means trusting that those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength and mount up with wings as eagles.

The work of justice is both deeply spiritual and intensely practical. It requires both prayer and presence, both faith and action. And it calls us to a standard of leadership that doesn't crush the weak but lifts them up, that doesn't shout for show but works steadily toward lasting change.

In a world fractured by division and devastation, we need stewards of justice who will bring hope to the afflicted, stand for the oppressed, and work tirelessly toward God's kingdom. The question is: will you answer that call?

Called For Blessings - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

What if everything we think we know about being blessed is incomplete? This powerful exploration of Ephesians 1:3-14 invites us to take a spiritual inventory and discover that we've already been given every spiritual blessing in Christ. We're not waiting for blessings to arrive—they're already here. The message challenges us to shift from a scarcity mindset to an abundance mentality, recognizing that we've been chosen before the foundation of the world, adopted into God's family, redeemed through Christ's blood, forgiven of our sins, and lavished with grace. These aren't material blessings that fade away, but eternal, relational, and transformative gifts that sustain us when everything else is shaking. The profound truth revealed here is that our ancestors understood something powerful: you can have joy in your heart even when your pockets are empty, because spiritual blessings are the kind that matter when the money runs out, when the job ends, and when life doesn't go according to plan. This isn't about ignoring our problems—it's about recognizing that being blessed has nothing to do with our circumstances and everything to do with our position in Christ.

Taking Inventory: Understanding Your Spiritual Blessings

When we hear the word "blessed," it can mean so many different things depending on the context. Sometimes it's a genuine expression of gratitude, other times it's aspirational—speaking not from where we are, but where we hope to be. Yet the apostle Paul, writing from a Roman prison cell, offers us a radically different perspective on what it means to be blessed.

Imagine being chained to a guard, uncertain about your future, separated from the people you love, with no guarantee of your next meal. Most of us would struggle to find anything positive to say about our circumstances. But Paul's letter to the Ephesians overflows with joy about spiritual riches. Why? Because he understood a fundamental truth: being blessed has nothing to do with your circumstances and everything to do with your position in Christ.

The Spiritual Inventory

In Ephesians 1:3-14, Paul takes an inventory—not of material possessions, but of spiritual blessings. He declares that God "has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ." Notice the tense: not "will bless" but "has blessed." Past tense. Already done. The blessings aren't coming; they're already here.

This is revolutionary. We often think blessings are something we need to earn through hard work, long prayers, or proving ourselves worthy. But Paul says the blessings are already ours. They're not about a new car, a bigger house, or a fatter bank account—though God can certainly provide those things. Paul is talking about spiritual blessings that are eternal, relational, and transformative.

These are the blessings that matter when the money runs out, when the job ends, when the doctor gives bad news, when life doesn't go according to plan. Our ancestors understood this deeply. They didn't have much in their pockets, but they had joy in their hearts. They couldn't own land, but they knew they had a home in glory. They couldn't vote, but they understood they were citizens of heaven.

Five Spiritual Blessings

Paul outlines exactly what these spiritual blessings are:

1. You Were Chosen

Before God spoke the first word of creation, before light existed, before stars were formed or oceans carved out, God was thinking about you. You are not an accident or a mistake. You were specifically, intentionally, purposefully chosen by God. Whatever label the world has placed on you doesn't matter—God has chosen you, and that settles it.

2. You Were Adopted

In the Roman world, adoption was a big deal. An adopted child received all the rights and benefits of a natural-born child, but there's more: their old debts were canceled and their old identity was erased. They got a new name, a new inheritance, and a new family.

That's what God did for us. You may have come from a broken home, but you've been adopted into God's family. You might have a painful past, but now you have a promising future as a child of God. This adoption isn't based on merit but on God's pleasure and purpose. God wanted you in His family not because you earned it, but because He loved you.

3. You Have Redemption

Redemption means you've been bought back. When something valuable was in bondage, someone had to pay a price to set it free. We were set for death and separation from God, but Jesus paid the price—not with silver or gold, but with His own blood on the cross.

If you've ever been in bondage to addiction, anger, anxiety, the opinions of others, or past mistakes, Jesus paid the price to set you free. The chains are broken. The door is open. You have been redeemed.

4. You Have Forgiveness

We all have things in our past we're not proud of. Words we wish we could take back, decisions we wish we could undo, relationships we wish we could repair. But God says, "I forgive you"—not because you deserve it, but because His grace is greater than your sin.

5. You've Been Lavished with Grace

God doesn't give grace in a little cup, letting it drip out drop by drop. He lavishes it on you. He pours it over you like a waterfall. He gives you wisdom to navigate life's challenges, to make difficult decisions, to understand His will.

The Responsibility of Blessing

Once you realize how blessed you are, you must deal with the responsibility that comes with those blessings. Every gift from God comes with an assignment. You're not just blessed so you can feel good about yourself—you're blessed to be a blessing to someone else.

If someone gives you a tool, they expect you to use it. If they give you a seed, they expect you to plant it. Spiritual blessings are no different. We don't own these blessings; we manage them. There's a difference between an owner and a steward. An owner can do whatever they want with something. A steward is responsible for taking care of something that belongs to somebody else.

Everything you have—your time, talent, money, influence, relationships, opportunities—belongs to God. You are the manager. One day, the Owner will ask: "What did you do with what I gave you?"

The Guarantee

Paul tells us we've been sealed with the Holy Spirit. In the ancient world, a king would seal a letter with his signet ring to prove authenticity and mark ownership. God has sealed you with His Spirit. That means you belong to Him. You're authentic. You're the real deal.

The Holy Spirit is also a guarantee of what's to come. Everything you have in Christ right now—the joy, peace, forgiveness, love—is just the beginning, just the down payment, just a preview. The fullness is coming. When you understand that, you can face today's troubles because tomorrow's blessings are guaranteed.

From Gratitude to Generosity

Gratitude produces generosity. When you're truly grateful for what God has done, you can't help but share it with others. God blessed you to be a blessing. He doesn't fill your cup so you can admire how full it is—He fills it so it can overflow into the lives of others.

The challenge is this: Have you been holding on too tight, living with a scarcity mindset when God has given you an abundance mentality? Have you been so focused on what you don't have that you've missed what you do have?

Take inventory. Count your blessings and see what God has done. Generosity isn't just about money—it's about time, love, forgiveness, encouragement, presence, and prayers. It's not just about what you have; it's about who you are. It's about recognizing that blessings flow through you, not just to you.

You are chosen, adopted, redeemed, forgiven, and sealed. You have every spiritual blessing in Christ. The question is: What are you going to do with it?

A Moving Man - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This powerful exploration of Matthew 2:13-23 reveals Jesus as a moving man—literally. From birth in Bethlehem to refuge in Egypt to settlement in Nazareth, the infant Messiah's journey mirrors the displacement many of us experience in our own lives. What stands out is Joseph's immediate obedience: when God said move, Joseph moved—no negotiations, no delays, no excuses. The message challenges us to examine our own response to divine direction. How often do we negotiate with God, asking for more time or better circumstances before we obey? The sermon draws a profound connection between Jesus' experience as a political refugee and our call to compassion for the vulnerable, the displaced, and the marginalized. Jesus didn't just sympathize with the outsider—He was the outsider. He understood what it meant to flee for safety, to hide in a foreign land, to be a stranger. This isn't just ancient history; it's a mirror for our times. The text reminds us that delayed obedience is disobedience, and that God's protection often requires our movement. When we align ourselves with God's will and listen to His voice, He weaves our obedience into His master plan, fulfilling purposes we may never fully see in the moment.

The Moving Man: Lessons in Obedience and Divine Protection

Have you ever found yourself in a season of constant movement? Not just physically relocating, but spiritually transitioning from one phase of life to another? There's something profoundly instructive about the early years of Jesus' life that speaks directly to our own journeys of faith and obedience.

When God Says Move

The story picks up just after the wise men—the Magi—have visited the young child Jesus in Bethlehem. Notice the text doesn't specify three wise men; it simply says "the Magi." They brought gifts fit for a king: gold for royalty, and frankincense and myrrh—ointments used in burial preparations. Even at His birth, the shadow of the cross was present.

Joseph had likely begun to settle down. Perhaps he was thinking about establishing his carpenter shop, building a life for his family in Bethlehem. But God had other plans. An angel appeared to Joseph in a dream with urgent instructions: "Get up, take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him" (Matthew 2:13).

Here's what's remarkable: Joseph didn't negotiate. He didn't ask for clarification. He didn't say, "Lord, I don't know anyone in Egypt" or "I don't speak the language" or "Let me pray about this for a few weeks." The text tells us Joseph got up that very night and left. When God spoke, Joseph moved.

Delayed obedience is disobedience. Partial obedience is disobedience.

How many times has God whispered to us that it's time to change a situation, and we've responded with "But I'm comfortable here"? How often has the Spirit prompted us to make a move, and we've negotiated, rationalized, or simply waited to see if the feeling would pass?

Joseph understood something crucial: when God speaks, He speaks for a reason, and that reason is always connected to our protection and God's purpose.

The Refugee Savior

Consider this striking detail: Jesus became a political refugee. He was an immigrant, a minority living in Egypt. And here's a thought worth pondering—how could a family hide in Egypt, an African nation, and blend in with the natives? What level of melanin would be required to disappear into the local population? This isn't an incidental detail; it's a profound statement about who Jesus was and who He identified with.

From the very beginning, Jesus understood vulnerability. He wasn't born in a palace but in a feeding trough. He didn't flee to luxury but to refugee status. This means our care for strangers, our advocacy for refugees, our standing with the displaced—these aren't merely acts of political correctness. They're acts of biblical faithfulness. We're following the example of Jesus Himself, who knew what it meant to be a stranger in a strange land.

The Retaliation of Power

While Joseph's family escaped, something horrific unfolded in Bethlehem. When Herod realized the Magi had outwitted him, he ordered the execution of all boys two years old and under in Bethlehem and the surrounding area.

Herod was a dictator consumed by paranoia. He killed his own wife when he suspected her of plotting against him. He murdered three of his own sons. The Roman Emperor Augustus once quipped that it was better to be Herod's pig than Herod's son—since Herod converted to Judaism and wouldn't touch pork, but he'd readily kill his own children.

Interestingly, there's limited historical record of this massacre outside of Scripture. But that shouldn't surprise us. Powerful people commit atrocities and then try to erase them from the record. We've seen this pattern throughout history—the rewriting of textbooks, the banning of books, the changing of narratives, the removal of uncomfortable truths from curricula.

Herod's massacre represents something we still see today: the powerful attempting to protect their position at any cost, even if it means destroying the innocent. Matthew quotes Jeremiah 31:15: "A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more."

This is the sound of trauma. This is the sound of mothers who have lost their children to violence they didn't create and cannot control. And Jesus hears that sound. Jesus knows that pain. He came into a world where this violence existed, and He didn't ignore it—He came to confront it and ultimately defeat it.

The Return and the System

After Herod died, an angel again appeared to Joseph: "Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child's life are dead" (Matthew 2:20). Joseph obeyed and returned, but when he heard that Herod's son Archelaus was ruling in Judea, he withdrew to Galilee and settled in Nazareth.

Here's a critical lesson: we can't just focus on the man; we must understand we're dealing with systems. Just because someone we don't like is no longer in charge doesn't mean the system will suddenly work in our favor. The man can go away, but someone else will fill that vacuum, potentially doing just as much harm—maybe even with a smile.

Scripture reminds us: "We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities" (Ephesians 6:12). Systems outlast individuals.

Fulfilling Prophecy Through Obedience

What's beautiful about Joseph's journey is that he fulfilled multiple prophecies without even trying. Micah prophesied the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. Hosea declared He would be called out of Egypt. Multiple prophets said He would be called a Nazarene.

Joseph wasn't checking prophetic boxes. He was simply listening to God and obeying. And in that obedience, God's purpose was fulfilled.

That's how God works. When we align ourselves with God's will, when we listen to His voice, when we move when He says move and stay when He says stay, God weaves our obedience into His master plan.

Joseph didn't have a five-year plan or a GPS. What he had was a relationship with God, an ear tuned to God's voice, and a willingness to trust even when he couldn't see the full picture.

God's Compassion for Us

The word "compassion" comes from Latin roots meaning "to suffer with." It means taking someone's pain seriously and doing what you can to alleviate it. We cannot cover our eyes and ears and ignore the violence around us. Jesus grew up seeing vulnerable people, and Scripture tells us He had compassion on them.

The same God who provided for and protected Joseph, Mary, and Jesus is the same God providing for and protecting us today. He's active in our lives. He's securing our future. And He calls us to have that same compassion for vulnerable people in our communities.

Like Joseph, we've had to move when we didn't want to. Like Jesus' family, we've known displacement and unfamiliar territory. Like the mothers of Bethlehem, we've experienced grief and loss. But through it all—through every struggle, every political turmoil, every financial crisis, every relationship challenge—God is with us.

Even when we cannot track Him, we can trust Him. Through it all, we learn to depend on His word. God doesn't wait until we're in crisis mode to show up. He's already there, already working, already making a way.

We just need to learn to listen to His voice and trust His guidance. Because if He protected the Messiah through all of that, how much more will He protect us?