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?

Quietly Protecting a Name - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

This powerful exploration of Matthew 1:18-25 invites us into the hidden drama behind the first Christmas—a story not of perfect circumstances, but of messy realities transformed by divine purpose. We discover Joseph, a righteous man caught in an impossible situation: his betrothed Mary is pregnant, and he knows the child isn't his. Yet instead of choosing public disgrace or legal retribution, Joseph opts for quiet mercy, willing to absorb shame himself rather than destroy Mary's life. This is where God breaks in—through an angel's message that transforms confusion into calling. The passage reveals that God's most significant work often happens through imperfect people in socially unacceptable situations. Joseph's silent obedience, his willingness to name the child Jesus and claim him into David's lineage, becomes the hinge upon which salvation enters the world. We're challenged to consider our own impossible situations: Where is God asking us to trust when the path isn't clear? Where are we called to choose mercy over self-protection? The two names—Jesus meaning 'God saves' and Emmanuel meaning 'God with us'—remind us that we're never trapped by our past and never truly alone. Joseph teaches us that real faith isn't passive certainty but active obedience, even when nobody sees or applauds the work we're doing behind the 

scenes.

The Power of Quiet Obedience: Protecting What Matters Most

Names carry weight. They communicate identity, purpose, and destiny. From the moment we hear our name called, something stirs within us—a recognition that we matter, that we belong, that we have a place in this world. Throughout Scripture, names hold profound significance, revealing not just who someone is, but what God intends to do through them.

The opening chapter of Matthew's Gospel presents us with a genealogy that might seem tedious at first glance—forty-two generations from Abraham to Joseph. Yet within this lineage lies a powerful truth: God's plan doesn't always look the way we expect it to. The bloodline includes people with questionable professions, those who made ungodly mistakes, and individuals whose lives were far from perfect. God works through messy situations, imperfect people, and circumstances that don't fit our neat categories.

When Everything Falls Apart

Joseph found himself in an impossible situation. Engaged to Mary—not a casual modern engagement, but a legally binding betrothal that could only be broken through divorce—he discovered she was pregnant. The child wasn't his. Under the law, Mary could be stoned to death for adultery. Joseph had every legal and social right to make a public spectacle of her, to protect his own reputation by exposing her shame.

But here's where Joseph's character shines through the centuries. The text describes him as "faithful to the law, yet he did not want to expose her to public disgrace." Joseph was both righteous and merciful—a rare combination. Even in his pain, confusion, and sense of betrayal, he chose mercy. He decided to divorce Mary quietly, willing to absorb the shame himself rather than destroy her life.

How many of us have faced situations where we did everything right, but everything still went wrong? Where we followed God's leading as best we could, but circumstances didn't cooperate? Joseph stands as a testament to those moments when human wisdom says to cut your losses and move on, when everything looks impossible and the path forward seems completely blocked.

The Divine Interruption

After Joseph had considered his plan, an angel appeared to him in a dream with a message that would change everything: "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit."

Those four words—"do not be afraid"—appear in Scripture 365 times, one for every day of the year. The angel wasn't minimizing Joseph's concerns or dismissing his pain. Instead, the message was clear: God is at work in this socially unacceptable situation. Something wonderful is happening, even though it doesn't look like what anyone expected.

The angel gave Joseph a specific command: "You are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins."

In biblical times, names were never arbitrary. They carried meaning and proclaimed purpose. The name Jesus means "God saves," and by naming the child, Joseph would declare the mission of the Messiah and place him within the Davidic lineage. Matthew also reminds us of the prophecy: the virgin would conceive and give birth to a son called Emmanuel—"God with us."

Faith That Speaks in Silence

Here's what makes Joseph's response remarkable: "When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him." No debate. No hesitation. No consulting with friends and family. No committee meetings or strategic planning sessions. God commanded, and Joseph obeyed.

Joseph trusted God even when it would cost him his reputation. He chose mercy over self-protection, faith over fear, and obedience over convenience. And throughout Scripture, we never hear Joseph speak a single recorded word. His faith speaks through silence; his life becomes the sermon.

This challenges our modern assumptions about impact and influence. We live in a world that values being out front, on the program, doing all the talking. But Joseph reminds us that the most important work often happens behind the scenes, where nobody sees or applauds. The juggler on stage receives the applause, but behind the curtain lie all the broken plates from practice. The skilled musician plays effortlessly, but we don't see the thousands of hours spent on scales and drills.

Joseph worked like that—behind the scenes, without lines in the Christmas story, yet his decision to take Mary as his wife and name that baby Jesus made everything else possible.

Two Names, One Mission

Matthew gives us two names for this child, and both are commanding. Jesus—the Lord saves. This child came to rescue us from the sins and shortcomings that fracture our relationship with God and others. We make such a mess of our lives as individuals and communities, and we need a Savior.

Emmanuel—God with us. This is the surest sign that the Lord is present in every time, place, and situation. With Jesus, we are never trapped by our sins. With Emmanuel, we are never completely alone.

The Call to Trust

Perhaps you're facing a situation right now where God is calling you to step out in faith. The circumstances don't make sense. The path isn't clear. People don't understand. But the same message the angel spoke to Joseph echoes across the centuries: "Do not be afraid."

You might feel like your situation is impossible, like you've messed up too badly, like your past disqualifies you, or like you're all alone. But Jesus saves, and Emmanuel is with you. The same God who spoke to Joseph in a dream is still speaking today. The same God who worked through one man's quiet obedience is still working through ordinary people who trust Him.

Real faith isn't rooted in certainty but in a trust-filled relationship with God. Discipleship means obeying even when the pieces don't fit together, when the world says it's foolish, when the heart struggles to understand. When God calls, we move. When God speaks, we listen. When God commands, we obey.

Trust God even when the path is unclear. Choose mercy even when you're hurting. Be faithful even when nobody sees or applauds. Because when you do, God will do something beautiful, something redemptive, something that only God can do.

Wait, Brace, Let it Go - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

In a world that demands everything instantly, we're confronted with one of faith's most challenging requirements: patience. Drawing from James chapter 5, this message takes us into the heart of what it means to wait faithfully in uncertain times. The early believers James addressed were living through political chaos, economic instability, and literal persecution for their faith—circumstances that mirror our own feelings of uncertainty today. Yet James doesn't offer them a quick fix or promise immediate relief. Instead, he provides a framework for holy patience that transforms waiting from passive frustration into active faith. Through the metaphor of the farmer who plants seeds and tends the soil while trusting the seasons, we discover that biblical patience isn't about sitting idly by. It's about watching how others navigate their trials, working purposefully to cultivate our spiritual lives, and worshiping God even when answers seem delayed. The prophets who suffered and waited—Jeremiah, Daniel, Elijah—become our guides, showing us that faithfulness isn't measured by immediate results but by persistent trust. This isn't just about waiting for God to move; it's about who we're becoming while we wait. Are we developing spiritual disciplines? Are we treating others with grace despite our own pain? Are we preparing for the harvest we believe is coming? The judge stands at the door, and our waiting has purpose.

The Sacred Art of Waiting: Finding Purpose in the In-Between

We live in a world that despises waiting. Fast food lines feel unbearable if they stretch beyond five minutes. Internet videos that buffer are immediately abandoned. Same-day delivery has become the expectation rather than the luxury. We've been trained by technology and culture to expect everything instantly—or faster.

Yet the book of James calls us to something radically countercultural: patience.

Waiting in Chaos

The original audience of James's letter lived in tumultuous times. The first-century Roman Empire was marked by violence, economic instability, and political upheaval. Leaders rose and fell with alarming frequency. Christians never knew whether they would be tolerated or persecuted, welcomed or expelled from their cities. Food shortages plagued families. Insurrections erupted in the streets.

Sound familiar?

These believers were trying to raise children, build their faith, and hold onto hope while the news cycle brought nothing but chaos. They were waiting—waiting for justice, waiting for relief, waiting for Jesus to return as He promised. And as the years passed and circumstances worsened, they kept asking: "How much longer?"

Waiting is hard. It tests us. It reveals what's truly in our hearts. When we're forced to wait, we can become discouraged, bitter, and impatient—not just with God, but with each other. The early Christians began grumbling against one another, taking their frustrations out on their brothers and sisters in Christ.

We do the same. When we're waiting on God for breakthrough, healing, or answers, we become irritable and snap at those around us—our spouse, children, coworkers, church family. Misery loves company, after all.

But James says no. That's not how we wait.

Three Pillars of Holy Waiting

If we're going to wait—and we will—how do we wait faithfully? How do we wait in a way that honors God and honors each other? The text reveals three essential practices: watch, work, and worship.

Watch: Learn from Others

Being patient doesn't mean passively sitting idle, twiddling our thumbs in life's waiting room. Holy patience is active and observant. We're called to pay attention—to watch how others navigate their waiting seasons.

Watch the people who wait with grace, dignity, and hope. Notice how they maintain joy even when answers are delayed. Observe how they treat others with kindness while they themselves are hurting. Learn from those who keep showing up, keep believing, keep trusting God.

Also watch those who wait poorly. Notice what happens when bitterness takes root, when people lose patience with God and each other, when grumbling and complaining tear communities apart. Learn from that too.

We don't wait in isolation. We wait in community, which means we have the opportunity to encourage one another, learn from one another, and strengthen one another. As one theologian noted, we cannot be Christians outside of community. Love God. Love people. Be patient with one another.

Work: Purposeful Preparation

James offers a powerful illustration: "See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains."

Farmers understand waiting. They plant seeds but cannot make them grow faster. They cannot control the seasons or command the rain. But here's the key: while farmers wait, they work.

After planting, farmers don't sit on the porch until harvest. They repair equipment, check crops for pests, maintain their accounting, and plan for the next season. The work is purposeful. It's preparation. It's an expression of faith in the coming harvest.

God has given us work to do while we wait. We cannot make ourselves grow spiritually any more than a farmer can make seeds grow. But we can cultivate the soil. We can water the ground. We can remove the weeds. We can create conditions for growth.

What does that look like practically? Reading Scripture. Spending time in prayer. Serving one another. Building our faith. Developing our character. Using our gifts. If we're praying for financial breakthrough, perhaps we take financial literacy classes. If we're praying for healing, maybe we also make healthier choices. If we're praying for a life partner, perhaps we work through our own issues in therapy.

Real faith works while it waits. A farmer who truly believes in the harvest doesn't neglect the farm during the waiting season. They tend to it. They prepare for what's coming. The work itself is an expression of faith.

Worship: Trust Beyond Circumstances

James points to the prophets as examples of patience in suffering. Jeremiah was thrown into a cistern. Daniel faced the lions' den. Elijah ran for his life. Isaiah prophesied to deaf ears. John the Baptist was imprisoned and executed.

The prophets suffered. They waited. Many never saw the fulfillment of God's promises in their lifetimes. But they remained faithful. They kept speaking. They kept believing. They kept worshiping.

Worship isn't just Sunday morning songs and raised hands. Worship is a lifestyle. It's trusting God when we can't see the outcome. It's declaring His goodness when circumstances say otherwise. It's holding onto faith when the wait feels impossibly long.

The prophets worshiped through their waiting. They looked to God rather than their circumstances. They anchored their hope in His promises rather than their present reality.

We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us—the matriarchs and patriarchs who prayed, served, and sacrificed on far less than we have now. They built universities, hospitals, and institutions when they barely had two pennies to rub together. If God was faithful to them in their suffering and waiting, He can surely help us too.

Already and Not Yet

We live in an in-between time. Jesus has already won the victory over sin and death. The kingdom has already broken into the world. But it's not yet fully realized. We are "already and not yet."

James never promises the wait will be short or easy. He doesn't promise we won't suffer. But he does promise we won't wait alone. We wait together. We encourage each other. We strengthen each other's hearts. We look to the example of those who have gone before us.

And most importantly, we trust in a God who has never failed us.

The Lord is waiting too—waiting with patience and mercy for people to come to repentance, waiting with compassion for us to grow and mature, waiting with a love that never fails.

So be patient. Stand firm. Strengthen your heart. Watch. Work. Worship.

Because the Lord is coming near. The judge is standing at the door. And when we learn to wait with holy patience, we discover that the waiting itself transforms us into the people God is calling us to be.

The Foundations of Our Faith - Pastor Johnnie Simpson Jr.

What does it truly mean to build a church where everyone belongs? This powerful exploration of Romans 15:4-13 takes us back to the foundational principles that should unite us as believers. We're reminded that the early church faced the same struggles we do today—divisions over who's 'in' and who's 'out,' arguments about traditions versus grace, and questions about acceptance. Paul wrote to a Roman church he'd never visited, a community living under oppression yet still finding things to argue about internally. Sound familiar? The message calls us back to three essential foundations: the Word that gives us endurance, encouragement, and hope; the radical welcome that mirrors how Christ accepted us while we were still sinners; and unified worship that transcends our differences. We're challenged to examine whether we're building barriers or tearing them down, whether we're extending grace or making lists of requirements. The world is watching to see if we really practice what we preach. This isn't about compromising truth—it's about extending the same grace we received. As we await Christ's return, the root of Jesse who came for all nations, we're called to live out these foundations faithfully, creating communities where the least, the last, and the lost can find home.

The Foundations That Hold Us Together

In 325 AD, the Christian church faced a crisis that threatened to tear it apart. Bishops and believers argued so intensely about the nature of Jesus Christ that cities rioted in the streets. The question at hand: Was Jesus equal with God, or was He a created being beneath the Father? The debate grew so heated that legend tells us two bishops even came to blows over the matter.

This wasn't a disagreement about worship styles or church furniture. This was about the very foundation of what Christians believe. Eventually, 318 bishops gathered at the Council of Nicaea to settle the matter, producing what we now know as the Nicene Creed—a statement affirming that Jesus is "begotten, not made, of one being with the Father," and that the Holy Spirit is equally God. This gave the church language for the Trinity: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.

But here's the sobering truth: division within the church is nothing new.

A Letter to a Divided Church

When the Apostle Paul wrote his letter to the Romans—his longest epistle, often called his "PhD thesis"—he addressed a church he had never visited. Unlike his other letters written to congregations he had planted and nurtured, this was different. The Roman church already existed, and it faced unique challenges.

These believers lived in the capital of the empire that had crucified their Lord. They worshiped in secret, knowing their faith could cost them everything. Yet even under this external persecution, they found something to argue about internally.

The division was clear: Jewish believers who had grown up in the covenant faith versus Gentile believers who were new to the ways of God. The Jews thought they had an inside track—after all, they were the original covenant people. The Gentiles were being treated like second-class citizens in God's kingdom. Questions swirled: Did Gentiles need to convert to Judaism first? What about circumcision? Dietary laws? Holy days?

Even Paul, who had given up everything for the gospel and had been beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked, and left for dead, wondered if he would be accepted by this church. Would the Jews think he was too lenient with the Gentiles? Would the Gentiles think his Jewish background made him untrustworthy?

Sound familiar? The same questions echo through church history and into our present day: Who's in and who's out? Who really belongs? How do we build a church where everyone who loves Jesus can find a home?

Three Foundational Practices

In Romans 15:4-13, Paul offers three foundational practices that can hold a diverse, divided church together.

The Word

"Everything that was written in the past was written to teach us," Paul writes, "so that through the endurance taught in the scriptures and the encouragement they provide, we might have hope."

The scriptures give us endurance because they show us we're not the first to struggle and we won't be the last. They give us encouragement because they demonstrate that God has never abandoned His people. They give us hope because they point to promises God will fulfill.

How do we know that "those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength" without the Word? How do we learn that "no weapon formed against us shall prosper" or that "weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning" without diving into scripture?

The stories of Abraham's faith, Moses' leadership, David's failures and redemption, and the prophets' calls for justice—all were written for our instruction. There's nothing new under the sun. Whatever we're facing—grief, divorce, wayward children, difficult bosses—it's all in there. Someone has walked this path before us. And if they made it through, we can too.

But we can't be strengthened by a Bible that collects dust on the shelf. We can't be transformed by a Word we never study. Getting back to basics means opening the Bible daily, studying it deeply, and letting it shape our minds, challenge our assumptions, comfort our hearts, and guide our steps.

Welcome

"Accept one another," Paul instructs, "just as Christ accepted you in order to bring praise to God."

Notice what he doesn't say. He doesn't say accept only those who agree with you, look like you, think like you, or vote like you. He says accept one another—all of one another—just as Christ accepted you.

And how did Christ accept us? Did He wait for us to get our theology straight? Did He require us to clean ourselves up first? Did He make us prove ourselves? No. Christ accepted us while we were still sinners. He welcomed us while we were still broken and embraced us while we were still works in progress.

Romans 5:8 reminds us: "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

Our unity doesn't come from uniformity. The Jewish and Gentile Christians in Rome didn't agree on everything, but they could still worship and break bread together because they knew they were all accepted by Christ.

This isn't an invitation to abandon truth or compromise the gospel. It's an invitation to extend grace to those who are still growing, just as grace was extended to us. When someone walks through the doors looking for Jesus, our response should be "welcome," not a list of requirements.

Many people today have no problem with Jesus—their problem is with Christians who live like they don't really believe. The world is watching to see if Christ is real in us.

Worship

Paul prays "that with one mind and one voice, you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."

Notice: unity in worship, not uniformity in opinion.

Something supernatural happens when God's people come together in worship. When young and old, rich and poor, people from every background lift their voices together, we experience a taste of heaven on earth. Despite our differences, disagreements, and diversity, we become one voice praising the God who saved us, sustains us, and is coming back for us.

The Root of Jesse

Paul references Isaiah's prophecy about "the root of Jesse"—a messianic title pointing to Jesus' lineage through King David's father. Isaiah prophesied that this root of Jesse would arise to rule over all nations, not just Israel. Gentiles included.

During Advent, we're not just anticipating Jesus' birth—we're anticipating His return. The One who came as a suffering servant will return as a conquering King. The One who died on a cross will come back wearing a crown. The One rejected by the world will be acknowledged as Lord by all creation.

That's our hope. Not because everything is perfect now, but because we know this isn't how the story ends. In the end, Jesus wins. Evil will be defeated. Every tear will be wiped away.

Until He comes, we have work to do: diving into the Word, welcoming one another, and worshiping the one true God in spirit and in truth. These are the foundations that will hold us together when storms of division threaten to tear us apart.

May He find us faithful to these foundations, living out the way He first showed us.