Storms, in my experience, reveal a whole lot about what’s holding us together. In 1 Chronicles, it talks about Zebulun, and while they are honored for being mighty, they are also honored for being disciplined—for keeping rank and not having a divided heart. We, on the other hand, tend to become rather double-minded when trouble comes. When the pressure gets turned up, it’s easy to start scrambling, focusing on all the wrong things, and even abandoning the things that really keep us steady.

That’s kind of how Peter fared. He actually got out and walked on water! But when he got distracted from the One he was focusing on and began to notice how bad the wind and waves were, fear took over, and he began to sink.

The story is a classic and, more importantly, a real-life parallel: it’s not the storm that’s the real trouble—it never is—but the direction of our attention when the storm gets heavy.

This is what we’re often resistant to believe: we can’t choose whether we’re going to face storms, but we can choose whether we’re going to panic through them. Scripture never promised us a storm-free life, but it did promise that we’d be delivered through every storm.

Often, the difference between sinking and standing is as simple as staying grounded—staying in rank, staying in fellowship, and not becoming divided in heart and mind. The most tumultuous storms can become the most pivotal places of growth and strengthening if we maintain our faith. And that’s not just theory—it’s reality. God’s proven track record shows He’s capable of bringing good from utter chaos, but we miss it all when we step out of the boat every time life gets uncomfortable.

Lately, I’ve been trying to add extra thinking and prayer time to my problem-solving. It works! I challenge you this week to strive to see the possibilities instead of the problems. God won’t let you down, and He won’t ever let you capsize. Stay steady.

James

Jesus never promised loving others would be easy. In fact, He specifically told us that love would often be challenged most in times of friction, misunderstanding, and hurt. But His instruction is clear and unequivocal all the same: love anyway.

Love the person who disagrees with you. Love the person who misunderstands you. Love the person who may never say they are sorry.

This love isn’t passive or weak. It’s brave. It’s anchored in grace and in something greater than your feelings. It’s the fruit of a heart that has been molded by mercy.

Love anyway, because whenever we love others in spite of being mistreated, we enter into the holy space of breaking the cycle of bitterness. When we love anyway, we allow room for redemption in others and within ourselves.

Loving others doesn’t mean allowing people to walk all over you. It means choosing not to carry that pain around like a badge of honor. Jesus loved with a love that overcame bad behavior and met people right where they were.

So, when we love others that way, we become evidence that love still wins.

If you’re reading this, no doubt you can see the face of someone who has been hard for you to love. Begin praying for that person daily. Ask God to bless them. If you commit to this, I can assure you—you’ll be the one who receives the greatest blessing.

In Christ,
James

I’ve spent the last four years on a roller coaster—both emotionally and spiritually. It was not a fun ride, but it gave me the opportunity to see the subtle ways the church is being chipped away at in an effort to weaken Christian faith.

The “club mentality” of church has secured its place in the hearts of many Christ-followers. In my own prayer life, as I’ve sought to know myself more deeply and attempted to be real—functioning outside the accepted roles of pastoring—I realize I’ve gambled on the future of the Church when I knew better.

The Church will be triumphant—that decision was made long before I became a vocational minister.

Through my writing, God has solidified His ways in my heart, and I’ve been confronted with the ways I’ve compromised in pursuit of something “new.” But God’s “new thing” is actually a very old, ancient thing—one that works when followed with integrity.

This article is one of the best I’ve read on what we’ve become and what we’re facing.

I’ve made a commitment to stop betting on the Church and to accept that we’ve already won. It’s time to let the love, grace, and mercy of Jesus be enough. That—and that alone—will change us and turn our hearts toward “home.”

“Very few people (I hope) are betting on what praise songs they will sing at church this Sunday, or how many weeks the sermon series on Philippians will last, or how many infants will cry during the baby dedication. But that doesn’t mean we are safe from the casinofication around us. In fact, we are—all of us—in danger of having already accommodated to it.”

In Christ,
James

When most people think of Revelation, they probably don’t think of Hope. War, Chaos, Death. These are the words that typically come to mind—images of people running while fiery judgment rains down from the sky. Screams. Angels. Devils. Beasts. Armageddon. Apocalypse. It’s loud. It’s confusing. It can be scary.

But that’s not how Revelation began. That’s not how it was given.

It wasn’t written to churches that were comfortable and doing well. Revelation was written to hurting people—to people who understood suffering. John the Apostle wasn’t kicking back when he received this vision. He was on the island of Patmos because of his faith. He was exiled.

The church wasn’t thriving when Revelation was written. They were persecuted. Perplexed. Afraid of what was coming. They weren’t asking, “How does the world end?” They were asking, “How do we stay?”

And that, dear friends, is exactly what Revelation shows them.

At its heart, Revelation is not a list of apocalyptic events. It is hope wrapped in judgment. It’s Jesus saying to His people, “I know it looks like nothing is going my way on earth. But listen—heaven is not losing its hold. We have not forgotten about you. This isn’t the end for you. Not yet.”

It begins with Jesus standing among the churches. At Ephesus, He is present—His robe in place, His authority clear—walking among them. He sees them. He knows what they’re going through. He speaks directly to each one. He gives them grace. He exhorts them. He calls them to faithfulness.

But before He does that, He gives them the greatest picture of hope of all.  Revelation starts with Jesus saying, “I am here.”

The visions John receives are intense—beasts, destruction, violence against God’s people, fire falling from heaven. But they aren’t given to intrigue us or to frighten us. They are given so that John—and you and I—would know how to wait.

Beneath all of the apocalyptic imagery is Jesus’ declaration that He has already endured and overcome. Evil will not prevail. Darkness will not overcome.

Does it feel like this will never end? It will.

Do not fear what you do not understand. Fear not, because He is in control.

In the first century, these words were not about predicting dates or debating theology. They were about holding on until Jesus came. They reminded believers that the God who saw their suffering also knew them. They mattered. They had a future.  Revelation gives us perspective on how to wait.

Waiting does not mean sitting around doing nothing. We see this throughout Scripture. Waiting means choosing faithfulness when it’s easier to give in. Waiting means worshiping Him even when it doesn’t make sense. Waiting means standing firm on the truth in a world that is shifting beneath our feet.

Again and again, Jesus says, “Don’t give up. Keep believing. Stay faithful.”  Now that is something to hope for.

And it’s not sensational at all. In fact, it may seem ordinary. But it’s powerful. It’s the kind of life that says, “I may not understand the ‘why’ of this suffering, but I know who Jesus is—and He is enough.”

So Jesus completes the vision. He brings it to its fulfillment and shows John what is to come.  God does not leave His world in ruins. He does not leave us to suffer forever.

Listen to what Revelation 21 tells us: God makes everything new. There are no more tears. Death is no more. Everything that weighs us down with pain and sorrow is undone by our sovereign God. He didn’t just stop the chaos of this world—He healed it.  Death, disease, and despair all have a finish line—and they lose.

The final page of Revelation is not war. It is what comes after the victory.  Revelation ends with a marriage—with the holy city of God shining in brilliance, and with God dwelling with His people forever.  Revelation is hope.

It reminds us that history is moving according to a divine timeline. We know how it begins. We know how it ends. And while we wait… we wait in hope.  We don’t wait fearing that life is spinning out of control. We don’t wait discouraged because we have suffered so long.

Over the next few weeks, our sermon series will explore the Book of Revelation. On Wednesday nights at 6:00, we will go deeper with a Revelation Bible study.

Here’s the bottom line: We don’t wait as though we’ve been forgotten. We wait knowing that while history is still unfolding, our God is still on the throne.  Revelation isn’t here to scare you. It is here to show you how to live now—how to wait on the Lord.

Keep your eyes on Jesus, friends.  Because in the end, Jesus wins… and everyone who belongs to Him wins with Him.  That’s not a Revelation to fear.  That’s a Revelation of hope.

In Christ,
James

The glory and the pang of Palm Sunday are mingled together. Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey amidst people waving palm branches and shouting “Hosanna!” There was jubilation in the streets that day, but there was also silent desperation. Hope. Anticipation. Yearning. They thought their King had come. But many of them did not know the Christ who came riding before them that day.

Palm Sunday challenges us. Do we receive Christ only when He comes into our lives the way we want? Or do we receive Christ even when He doesn’t come the way we expect? Palm Sunday calls us to remember that true power often rides into our lives quietly on the back of a donkey.

As we enter into this Holy Week let’s do more than wave palm branches. Let’s follow Him. Follow Him all the way to the cross and into the empty tomb. Let’s allow these next days to quiet us. To cause us to listen. To bend our knees. To draw us nearer to Jesus. He comes to us still… quietly, faithfully, and with intention. So if we will receive Him, fully who He is and not who we want Him to be…we will experience that His Kingdom is not a roller coaster of joy and sorrow, but everlasting life.

In Christ,
James

Rev. James A. Williams
Senior Pastor
Grace Resurrection Methodist Church