But the Bible Says - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

 

This powerful message takes us to the birth of the church in Acts 2, where we witness Peter's first sermon after Pentecost. What makes this sermon remarkable is not just its content, but who delivered it. Peter, the disciple who denied Jesus three times, who fell asleep in Gethsemane, who sank while walking on water, now stands boldly before thousands. His transformation reveals a profound truth: our past failures do not disqualify us from God's purposes. Peter's authority came not from his credentials or clean record, but from two sources: the Holy Spirit and the Word of God. He reached back to Joel, to the Psalms, to David's prophecies, showing that what seemed new was actually an ancient promise fulfilled. The resurrection becomes the centerpiece, the ground beneath our feet. David's tomb remains occupied, but Jesus's tomb stands empty. This distinction changes everything. When life sends unexpected challenges, when culture dismisses our faith, when we face our own inadequacies, we have something unshakeable to stand on. The phrase 'but the Bible says' is not a retreat into cliche, but a declaration of confidence. Peter's pattern throughout Acts remains consistent: filled with the Holy Spirit, grounded in Scripture, always pointing to 'Jesus Christ, whom you crucified, but God raised from the dead.' This message invites us to let the Word take root so deeply that when pressure comes, the Word comes out.

When Past Failures Don't Disqualify Your Future

There's something deeply unsettling about watching someone with a questionable track record step up to speak on behalf of God. We live in an age of background checks, credential verification, and public vetting. We've been burned too many times by leaders who promised much and delivered disappointment. So when someone stands up and says, "Let me tell you about God," our first instinct isn't to lean in—it's to evaluate.

Who are you? And why should we believe you?

This was the atmosphere in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost. A crowd had gathered, drawn by the sound of something extraordinary—120 people speaking in languages they'd never learned, tongues of fire resting on their heads, a violent rushing wind filling the house where they sat. Some were amazed. Some were confused. And some did what skeptics always do when confronted with the unexplainable: they mocked. "They've had too much wine," they said.

Into that noise, that division, that skepticism, Peter stood up.

The Unlikely Spokesman

If you were assembling a list of candidates to deliver the first sermon in Christian history, Peter's name would give you pause. His track record wasn't exactly confidence-building.

He correctly identified Jesus as the Messiah, then immediately rebuked the Son of God for planning to go to the cross. When he witnessed the glory of the transfiguration, his first response wasn't worship—it was to form a building committee. He had the chance to walk on water but sank the moment he took his eyes off Jesus. He fell asleep while Jesus prayed in Gethsemane. And when soldiers came to arrest Jesus, Peter pulled out a sword and cut off someone's ear.

But none of that compared to his greatest failure.

Peter had boldly declared—it's documented in all four Gospels—that even if everyone else abandoned Jesus, he would remain loyal. "I'm a day one," he essentially said. "I've got your back, Jesus."

Hours later, a servant girl pointed at him by a fire. "Didn't I see you with Jesus?"

Peter denied it. Three times. He even cursed to convince them he didn't know the man.

Then the rooster crowed, and Peter remembered Jesus's prediction. He wept.

Later, after the resurrection, Peter went back to fishing—back to what was familiar, back to what felt safe.

This was the man raising his voice to address pilgrims, scholars, and skeptics from across the world.

The Power of "But the Bible Says"

So how does a man like Peter stand up and deliver a message that brings 3,000 people to faith?

He doesn't rely on his own authority. He doesn't try to out-argue the mockers or charm the skeptics with personality. He doesn't explain away his past or build credibility from scratch.

Peter opens his mouth and preaches the Word.

When they accuse the disciples of being drunk, Peter reaches back to the prophet Joel: "In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people." He's telling the crowd that if they want to understand what they're seeing, the Bible already told them it was coming. This isn't a surprise. This is fulfillment.

Then Peter turns to Jesus and makes three clear claims:

First, that Jesus was authenticated by God through miracles and signs witnessed publicly.

Second, that the cross wasn't a defeat—it happened by God's deliberate plan and foreknowledge. What the enemy thought was the end of the story was actually setting the stage for the greatest reversal in history.

Third, Peter reaches back to Psalm 16 to declare that the resurrection was always the promise. David wrote, "You will not abandon me to the realm of the dead. You will not let your holy one see decay."

Then Peter does the work of interpretation: "David died and was buried, and his tomb is here to this day. So David couldn't have only been speaking about himself. He was writing prophecy."

The Occupied Tomb Versus the Empty One

Here's where the good news breaks wide open.

David was extraordinary. He was a shepherd who became king, a poet who gave us the Psalms, a warrior and statesman whom the Bible calls a man after God's own heart. He was given a covenant unlike almost any other and promised that the Savior would come through his bloodline.

David had every title you could give a human being.

But David's tomb is still occupied. You can visit it in Jerusalem right now.

Jesus, on the other hand—called the Son of David, the Son of God, the Word made flesh, Emmanuel, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, bread when you're hungry, water when you're thirsty, a friend to the friendless and hope for the hopeless—was crucified under Pontius Pilate and laid in a borrowed tomb.

But Jesus didn't stay there.

"God raised this Jesus to life," Peter declares, "and we are all witnesses of it."

David wrote the promise. Jesus fulfilled it.

The resurrection isn't just a doctrine we affirm on Sunday morning. It's the ground under our feet. It's what we hold onto when the diagnosis comes back wrong, when a relationship falls apart, when injustice seems to be winning, when the system says we don't matter.

We don't have to accept that death has the final word—because the tomb is empty.

When the Word Gets Inside You

Peter, who ran from the cross, who denied Jesus three times, who went back to fishing when he didn't know what else to do, is now standing before thousands, filled with the Holy Spirit, preaching with a clarity no credential could have given him.

The Spirit didn't just forgive him. The Spirit redeemed him. It turned his failure into testimony, his weakness into a platform, his running away into standing up.

That's what happens when the Word gets inside of you.

We live in a time of unparalleled access to Scripture. We have Bibles on every device, dozens of translations, study tools that previous generations could only dream about. Yet for many of us, the Bible remains something we own but don't use—a fixture on a shelf rather than a foundation for our lives.

We carry it to church. We may even post a verse when something moves us. But when the culture challenges what we believe, when someone dismisses our faith, when life sends something we didn't see coming, we reach for the shelf, and the book is dusty.

Peter didn't have that problem anymore. The same man who had nothing to say when a servant girl pointed at him by a fire now had something to say—not because his personality had changed or his past was erased, but because the Word of God had taken root in him deeply enough that when the pressure came, the Word came out.

You May Not Be Much, But What You're Standing On Is Everything

You may not feel qualified. You may look at your past and wonder how God could use someone who has made the mistakes you've made.

But God isn't limited by your resume. God isn't intimidated by your history.

Because David's tomb is occupied. Jesus's tomb is not.

And if God could raise Jesus from the dead, God can raise you from whatever is trying to bury you.

Peter stood up. And 3,000 people were added to the church that day.

The question is: Are you willing to stand up?

Let "But the Bible says" be your foundation, your defense, your declaration. Because when everything else shifts, the Bible still says what it says.

And what it says is true.

Easter Emojis - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This Easter message invites us into the resurrection story through an unexpected lens: emojis as symbols that carry profound meaning. Drawing from Matthew 28, we journey with Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to the empty tomb, where they encounter an angel who delivers the most transformative announcement in history: 'He is not here. He is risen, just as he said.' The sermon powerfully corrects centuries of misrepresentation about Mary Magdalene, restoring her rightful place as a devoted disciple and the first commissioned preacher of the resurrection. We're reminded that symbols only have the power we give them, and context changes everything—what looks like death in one moment becomes the doorway to eternal life in another. The message challenges us with the phrase 'just as he said,' affirming that God's promises don't expire or arrive late; they manifest exactly as declared. The empty tomb wasn't rolled away to let Jesus out, but to let us look in—God invites our examination, our questions, our need for evidence. Most beautifully, we discover that the first Easter sermon was preached by women, commissioned directly by both angel and risen Christ to 'go and tell.' This Easter, we're asked not whether Jesus is risen—the empty tomb settled that—but what we'll do now that we know.

Easter Emojis: The Symbols That Tell the Greatest Story

In our modern world of rapid-fire communication, we've learned to pack enormous meaning into tiny pictures. A simple thumbs up can convey approval, agreement, or enthusiasm—unless you're in the Middle East where it's considered offensive, or ancient Rome where it signaled a gladiator's death sentence. The same symbol, completely opposite meanings. Context changes everything.

This reality offers a powerful lens through which to view the resurrection story in Matthew 28. What if we looked at this ancient account through the framework of modern emojis? What symbols would capture the震震-shattering, world-changing events of that first Easter morning?

The Note-Taking Emoji: Getting the Story Straight

Before diving into the resurrection account, we need to address some serious misconceptions that have circulated for centuries. Mary Magdalene, one of the central figures in this narrative, has been wrongly characterized for over a millennium. A pope, some 700 years after the resurrection, assigned her a profession that appears nowhere in Scripture. This devoted disciple, who had seven demons cast out of her, was a woman of means who financially supported Jesus's ministry. She stood at the crucifixion when many male disciples had fled. She deserves to have her reputation restored.

When we compare the four Gospel accounts of resurrection morning, we notice variations in details. This shouldn't trouble us—it should reassure us. When different people witness the same event, they focus on what matters most to them. Mark emphasizes the spices the women brought to anoint Jesus's body. Matthew focuses on their experience of coming to see the tomb. These aren't contradictions; they're different perspectives on the same miraculous truth.

In Matthew's account, Mary Magdalene and "the other Mary" arrive at the tomb at dawn. They encounter a violent earthquake, an angel whose appearance was like lightning with clothes white as snow, and guards who shake with fear and become like dead men. The details matter because they establish that something supernatural, something beyond human explanation, occurred that morning.

The Announcement Emoji: Just As He Said

The angel's message contains four of the most powerful words in Scripture: "Just as he said."

These words aren't simply confirmation that Jesus kept his promise. They're a testimony to the reliability of God's word across all time. When God speaks, it comes to pass—not early, not late, but exactly as promised.

"He is not here; he has risen, just as he said."

Think about the implications. Every promise in Scripture carries this same certainty. When the Word says you are the head and not the tail, above and not beneath, a lender and not a borrower—these aren't aspirational statements. They're declarations backed by the same authority that raised Christ from the dead.

When Scripture promises that no weapon formed against you shall prosper, that weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning—these carry the weight of resurrection power. God is not a man that he should lie. What he says will come to pass.

Then comes the invitation: "Come and see."

The stone wasn't rolled away to let Jesus out. A resurrected, glorified body isn't constrained by rock. The stone was moved to let people look in. The empty tomb wasn't for Jesus—it was for the disciples, for the doubters, for everyone who would need evidence to anchor their faith.

God invites examination. Faith is not anti-intellectual. Come and see for yourself.

The Commission Emoji: Go and Tell

Here's where the story takes a revolutionary turn that challenges centuries of religious tradition.

The angel speaks to women. Let that sink in. The first Easter sermon was preached by women. The angel didn't summon Peter. He didn't wait for the men hiding behind locked doors. He told the women—the ones who stayed through the crucifixion, who showed up before sunrise—to go and tell the disciples.

Mary Magdalene wasn't some marginal figure. She was a commissioned messenger at the center of the resurrection story.

As the women ran to obey, Jesus himself met them on the road. His first word? "Greetings." Their response? They fell at his feet and worshiped him.

That's the authentic response to encountering the risen Christ—not confusion, not theological debate, but worship. When you actually encounter him, not just know about him intellectually, the only response is to fall at his feet.

And Jesus confirmed their commission. He told them the same thing the angel had: "Go and tell my brothers."

The Repeat Emoji: Back to Galilee

Jesus instructed the women to tell the disciples to meet him in Galilee. This wasn't just a geographic location—it was loaded with meaning.

Galilee was where everything started. It was where Jesus first approached Simon Peter and Andrew casting their nets and said, "Follow me." It was where he preached the Sermon on the Mount, fed thousands with a few loaves and fish, walked on water, and reached out to a sinking Peter.

Galilee was the classroom. Galilee was the beginning.

And the disciples absolutely did not deserve to go back there.

Let's be honest about what happened. When Jesus was arrested, they all fled. Peter denied him three times. When Jesus was crucified, the male disciples weren't there—the women were. The men who had walked with Jesus for three years were hiding behind locked doors, paralyzed by fear and guilt.

By any reasonable accounting of loyalty and friendship, those relationships were over. They had failed spectacularly.

But Jesus didn't say, "Tell them I'm disappointed." He didn't say, "Tell them we need to talk." He said, "Tell my brothers to meet me in Galilee."

He called them brothers. He was sending them back to the beginning—not to shame them for their failure, but to restore them for their future.

This is grace. This separates Christian faith from every self-improvement program and pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps philosophy. You don't earn your way back. You don't negotiate or perform your way back. Jesus simply says, "Come. Meet me where we started. I'm giving you another chance."

The Message for Today

Someone reading this needs to hear that message. Not the person who has it all together, but the person carrying something they haven't told anyone about. The person who's been distant from God—not because they stopped believing, but because they feel like they forfeited the right to come back.

You've been sitting in your own version of a locked room, hoping somehow today would feel different. Jesus is sending you the same word he sent those disciples: Come back to Galilee. Come back to where we started.

The grace that saved you the first time hasn't expired. The invitation hasn't been rescinded.

Notice that Jesus didn't wait for the women to complete their errand. He met them on the way. He showed up on the road before they had even finished their task.

That's the kind of God we serve. He doesn't make you get all the way back before he shows up. He meets you on the way. He meets you in the process. He meets you in the middle of your obedience.

The question this Easter isn't whether Jesus is risen. The empty tomb settled that. The question is: What will you do now that you know?

Will you let fear stop you, or will you run toward what you know to be true—afraid yet filled with joy, like those women?

Will you keep waiting for a promise God has already set in motion, or will you trust the One who said "just as I said" and has never been wrong?

Will you live like you're disqualified, or will you accept the invitation to come back to Galilee—back to the place where you first said yes, back to the relationship Christ is offering?

He's not in the tomb. He is risen, just as he said.

Marching Orders - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This powerful Palm Sunday reflection invites us to examine which procession we're marching in—the loud, intimidating parade of worldly power or the humble, transformative march of Christ's kingdom. Drawing from Matthew 21:1-11, we discover that on the day Jesus entered Jerusalem, there were actually two processions: Pontius Pilate arriving from the west with war horses and soldiers, and Jesus coming from the east on a donkey, surrounded by ordinary people. The message reveals three essential truths for our faith journey: preparation, prophecy, and parade. We learn that obedience often requires moving before we see the complete picture, trusting God's instructions even when they don't make complete sense. The disciples had to take a donkey and simply say 'the Lord needs it'—an act of faith that mirrors our own need to step forward without overthinking every detail. Most profoundly, we're reminded that our victory was declared before we were even born, written in prophecy hundreds of years before fulfillment. This means that delays in our lives don't indicate God's failure; rather, God is never behind schedule. When we feel overwhelmed by life's complications, we're called to remember that the path for our success was spoken into existence long before we arrived on the scene. 

Two Processions: Which One Are You Marching In?

The journey to Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday wasn't just another religious celebration. It was a collision of kingdoms, a clash of visions, and a moment when ordinary people had to choose which parade they would join.

Picture this: Two processions entering Jerusalem on the same day. From the west came Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, riding a war horse flanked by imperial cavalry and soldiers. His procession was loud, armored, and intimidating—a show of force designed to remind the Jewish people gathering for Passover not to get any revolutionary ideas. This was the power of empire on full display.

From the east, coming from the Mount of Olives, came a rabbi from Galilee. No armor. No cavalry. No imperial banners. Just Jesus of Nazareth riding a donkey, surrounded by ordinary people waving palm branches and laying their coats on the ground.

Two processions. Two visions. Two kinds of power.

The question that echoes across the centuries to us today is simple but profound: Which procession are you marching in?

The Power of Preparation

Before the crowds gathered, before the celebration began, before anyone knew what was happening, there was quiet, courageous obedience. Jesus sent two disciples with specific instructions: "Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you'll find a donkey tied there with her colt. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone asks what you're doing, tell them the Lord needs it."

Think about what Jesus was asking. He told two disciples to go into a village they'd likely never visited, find a donkey they'd never seen, untie it—essentially take it—and bring it back. And if anyone questioned them? Their entire explanation was to be: "The Lord needs it."

Not everyone had donkeys back then. Mostly kings and royalty rode them. This would be like walking into a parking lot, getting into someone else's car, and when security stops you, simply saying, "The Lord needs it."

The disciples had to trust that the word of Jesus was sufficient. They had to believe in His instructions even when they didn't make complete sense. They had to exercise faith before they saw the outcome.

This kind of faith isn't naive or reckless. It's the disciplined, intentional choice to trust the One who sees the whole road, even when we can't see the next step.

Our history is full of stories of ordinary people who trusted extraordinary words and moved in obedience before the full picture was revealed. The conductors of the Underground Railroad didn't have guarantees that every journey would end in freedom, but they moved anyway. The organizers of the civil rights movement couldn't see the entire picture, but they organized, marched, and believed.

Maybe you're waiting and overthinking your next step right now. Waiting for more information, more certainty, more confirmation when the Lord has already given you the instruction. The assignment has been issued. The marching orders have been given. The question is simply whether you'll trust enough to move.

The Promise of Prophecy

Matthew makes sure we don't miss something crucial: "This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet." He's quoting Zechariah, who wrote hundreds of years before this moment ever occurred. This wasn't coincidence. This was fulfillment.

Before Jesus came to the Mount of Olives, before the disciples ever went to that village, before a single coat was laid on the ground or a single palm branch was waved, the path had already been written. The victory had already been announced.

In the ancient Near East, kings rode horses during wartime and donkeys during peacetime. Jesus wasn't coming to conquer through military force. He was coming to rule through a different kind of authority—the authority of righteousness, sacrifice, and love. And the prophet had already said so, hundreds of years before it happened.

If you feel like your life has been one complication after another, if you're trying to walk in integrity and serve God while taking care of your needs and your family's needs, and it seems like nothing is going according to plan—hear this: The fact that you haven't arrived yet doesn't mean the word has failed.

Zechariah wrote what he wrote hundreds of years before anyone saw it come to pass. Every single detail—the donkey, the coats, the Mount of Olives, Jerusalem. God is not behind schedule.

Your story is still being written, and the Author knows how it ends. The path for your success was called out before you were ever even thought of.

The Parade of the Redeemed

When the disciples brought the donkey, something beautiful happened. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road. Others cut branches from trees and spread them out. The crowds that went ahead and those that followed shouted, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken. The Greek word used here is the root word for "seismic"—as in earthquakes. The ground literally moved.

Who was in this crowd? These weren't random spectators. These were people who had encountered Jesus personally. They had sat at His feet during the Sermon on the Mount. They had watched Him heal the sick and cast out demons. They had their bellies filled when He fed the multitude with two fish and five loaves of bread.

They weren't celebrating an idea. They were honoring a relationship. You can't make someone doubt what they've personally experienced. They knew Him as a doctor in the sick room, a lawyer in the courtroom, bread when hungry, water when thirsty, friend to the friendless, and hope for the hopeless.

So they did what people touched by grace do: They gave what they had. Some gave coats, some gave branches, some gave their voices. Together, this collection of ordinary offerings made an extraordinary welcome.

This is the genius of the kingdom of God. It doesn't require the most powerful or the most resourced. It requires the willing.

The word they were shouting—"Hosanna"—literally means "save us now." This wasn't simply a cheer; it was a cry from people who understood their need. It's praise, yes, but it's also a petition.

This is what praise does. It announces the presence of a King. It declares before the battle is over that God is in the room, and it shakes the atmosphere.

Which Procession Will You Join?

We're in a moment where everything feels overwhelming. Systems people counted on are shifting. Communities are facing pressures that aren't small. In the middle of all that, the enemy wants us to believe we're alone, that the march is pointless, that the procession is too small.

But the path was prepared before you arrived. The prophecy was written before you were born. And the King is still riding.

You're not marching without orders. You've been equipped. You've been told what you're doing and what you're doing it for.

So spread your coats, cut your branches, lift your voice, and march. The city needs to shake.

Hosanna—save us now—still works. Crying out to God works. Lifting up the name of Jesus in your situation works.

Two processions entered Jerusalem that day. One represented the power of empire—loud, intimidating, temporary. The other represented the power of love—humble, sacrificial, eternal.

The question remains: Which procession are you marching in?