جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
واصِل الاستكشاف
مرتبطة بالمقطع الكتابي أو بموضوعات مشتركة.
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I want to lay a foundation in God's holy word that I believe prepares us for what God needs to speak in this season. This morning, I'd like to read from 2 Samuel 21, beginning in verse 15, from the Amplified translation.
The Philistines had war again with Israel. And David went down and his servants with him and fought against the Philistines. And David became faint. Ishbenab, who was one of the sons of the giants, the weight of whose spear was 300 shekels of bronze, was girded with a new sword, and he thought to kill David. But Abishai, son of Zeruiah, came to David's aid and smote and killed the Philistine.
After this passage continues with David's men charging him: "You shall no more go out with us to battle, lest you quench the lamp of Israel." The chapter goes on to describe more battles—war again at Gob, and the slaying of giants by various warriors, including Elhanan who slew Goliath the Gittite, and Jonathan who slew another giant with six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot.
Do you see the pattern here? Again. Again and again and again. That single word—again—can infuriate you. It can discourage you. It can make you want to throw up both your hands and walk away.
We should not know the name Nolan Xavier Wells. In a perfect world, he would be an unknown 19-year-old heading into his sophomore year at Southwest Mississippi State Community College, a star receiver on the football team. But sadly and painfully, we know his name because on July 4th, this young Black boy went to a party on Horn Island in the Gulf Coast, never to return. Three days later, his dead body was found.
When I heard of his death, I not only cried, but I prayed for his parents. Selfishly, I was frightened because I thought how easily this could have happened to my own children. But as I kept listening to the reports—hearing he was the sole Black boy with what he thought was safe company of southern white boys, hearing that all of them got home safely with his cell phone, but when questioned by police, they couldn't remember what happened, hearing that one of their stepmothers was a judge in that same county—my sorrow turned into anger and a disbelief in justice.
All I could say was: Here we go again.
We've seen this time and time and time and time again. Mike Brown. George Floyd. Trayvon Martin. Tamir Rice. Kendrick Jackson. Cyrus Belton. Carmelo Anthony. Emmett Till. As much as I want to be hopeful, my historical experience has conditioned me to know that this will not end with a definition of justice that is pleasing or palatable for many of us.
That mixture of agony and anger, of sorrow and disgust, of frustration—wondering how we could still be doing this in 2026—that is exactly where King David is in 2 Samuel 21.
In 2 Samuel 21, we find an older, mature David. This is not the young, vigorous David who praised the Lord until his clothes fell off. This is not the David who put pen to paper and said, "I will make a joyful noise unto the Lord." This is not the David who learned to encourage himself when nobody else was by his side. This is not the David who stood in the Valley of Elah, young and excited, ready to fight Goliath.
No, the Bible says in verse 15 that David has become faint. One translation says he's grown weary. Another says he's exhausted. The original Hebrew word is oof—which literally means to fly away. Here is the warrior king of Israel who defeated Goliath at 17, who wrote more psalms than anyone else, who praised the Lord all the time, and he's ready to oof. He's ready to give up. He's had enough. He's tired.
What would push this warrior king to a place of defeat?
You have to remember: when we first met David in his first battle against Goliath, it was 40 years ago when he was 17. For four decades, he's continued to have battle after battle after battle with the same enemy, over the same issue, trying to protect the same thing.
For 40 years, he's had to fight the same battle with the same folk over the same issue. Can you imagine how many funerals for his own people he had to stand at? Can you imagine how many nights he stayed awake wondering, "God, when is this going to end?" Can you imagine how many times he prayed and asked God, "Can this please stop?"
That's what pushed David to oof. One singular word made David want to quit: again.
Again can wear you out. Again can make you not enjoy a peaceful moment because you know it ain't going to last long. Again will have you skeptical about progress because you know for every one step you take forward, they're going to push you two steps back. Again leaves you feeling like you can never catch a break. Again makes you feel like there's always another battle coming, because again implies another.
Have you ever felt like DJ Khaled was talking about your life? Another one. Another battle. Another heartbreak. Another setback. Another rejection, another failure, another lost election, another untrustworthy friend, another bad relationship.
That's why the enemy is relentless in his attack against the people of God—because the enemy is counting on the fact that sooner or later, after enough agains, you will want to oof. After enough agains, you'll say, "Ain't no point in voting because ain't nothing changing." After enough agains, you'll be tired of taking the high road, tired of trying to be bigger and better when you're dealing with someone who likes to stay in the gutter.
Again will make you stop praying because you think God ain't answering. Again will make you not come to church because ain't nothing ever changing. Again will push you into the dark space of believing nothing ever changes. Because here we go again.
Let me tell you why this again is so discouraging to David. You have to go back to 1 Samuel 17 when he fought his first battle. When David and Goliath went to fight, remember the terms of the battle:
David said, "If Goliath beats me, we will be your servants. But if I beat Goliath, the Philistines will be our servants, and that's the end of it."
The battle with Goliath was supposed to settle the matter. David beat Goliath. And the Philistines kept coming and coming and coming.
David learned one of the most difficult lessons about walking with God: Your past victory will not guarantee that you don't have a future battle.
I come to tell you the truth, and you might not like me, but I got to tell you: your last battle was not your last battle. Your last enemy is not your last enemy. Your last struggle was not your last struggle. Your last problem was not your last problem. Your last storm was not your last storm.
Just because God brought you through that doesn't mean you won't have something else you've got to go through.
That's why someone is real frustrated right now because you thought when you came through that, you'd never have to deal with that again. You thought when it went into remission, it was going to stay there. You thought after you got them right last time, they would act right next time. You thought after you proved they were lying on you last time, they would stop lying on you next time.
Only to find out that battles keep coming.
Now look at who is in this new battle. There are four fighters mentioned: Ishbenab, Saph, Goliath, and a man with six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot—we'll call him 24. But here's the critical part: all of them were descendants of the giant from Gath. The giant from Gath was the first Goliath.
So Ishbenab, Saph, Goliath's brother, and 24 are all descendants of Goliath. David has now realized that just because he beat Goliath does not mean the battle is over. Because Goliath has descendants. Goliath got kinfolk. Goliath has generations that come after him that act just like him. Goliath has folk in his lineage that still got his spirit. Goliath has kinfolk that got the same messed-up mentality that Goliath had.
And just because I beat Goliath doesn't mean I don't have to fight his descendants.
I'm going to upset somebody, but I came to tell you a real hard truth: Goliath has cousins.
Goliath has cousins. And the same way you had to fight Goliath, you've got to learn that you've got to deal with his cousins. The trick of the enemy is to make you think that once you beat Goliath, the Philistines are going to sit down and give up.
It didn't go away with the Emancipation Proclamation. It didn't stop at Brown v. Board of Education. It didn't disappear with the passage of the Civil Rights Act. It didn't just stop at the election of Barack Obama. The cousins keep coming.
But before you get weary like David, let me share with you the good news: Israel wasn't defeated. Because when David got weary, some other folks stepped up.
When the enemy Ishbenab stepped up, a brother called Abishai said, "I got him." Then Saph started acting a fool, and a brother named Sibbecai said, "Don't worry, I'll take him." Then Goliath's brother jumped up, and a man named Elhanan said, "I'll take care of him." Then 24 jumped up, and then Jonathan said, "I'll battle him."
Because when David grew weary, God didn't give him more power—God gave him more people.
I don't know who needs to hear this, but when you grow weary and you're tired of all of this stuff, God says, "I've got to put you around some more people who remind you that when the people of God call on the name of God and stand in the power of God, we don't lose."
You need some more people in your life. And let me unashamedly make an appeal: that's why you've got to belong to somebody's church. You've got too much hell Monday through Saturday just to think you're going to deal with this all by yourself. You need someone who reminds you that God is still good, that God is still on the throne, and he's worthy to be praised.
I need some folk to thank God that he connected you with some people who help you when you grow weary. That's why you ought to take a walk down that aisle and say, "Sign me up. I'm down. I'm all in." Because God wants to put you with some people who help you win this battle.
Now, David didn't do this battle alone. Jonathan—David's nephew, the son of David's brother—stepped into the fight. David had trained the generation after him to know when it is their turn to step out on the battlefield and fight the same fight that David had to fight.
Because at some point, David gets weary. At some point, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. At some point, John Lewis went home to be with the Lord. At some point, Malcolm X was no longer around. And there's got to be a generation that comes up after us who we have trained to know: you are in this battle.
Our assignment is to raise up some Jonathans and some Jennifers, some millennials and some Gen Z's who understand that God has brought us too far for you to sit at home and not vote on election day.
I am begging you, young brothers and sisters, to fight this fight and get in this battle. Don't sell us out for a stimulus check. Don't let an HBCU close while you've got money in your pocket. This is your time to step on this battlefield.
The Bible says that all these descendants of the giant—Ishbenab, Saph, Goliath's brother, and 24—they all fell at the hand of David and his men. The same God who brought David victory 40 years ago was the same God that gave this generation victory over Goliath's cousins.
I came here to encourage someone. I came to remind you that the God we serve is not only the God who did it yesterday, but he's the God that'll do it today. The battle may change. The enemies may change. The tactics may change. But our God is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
He's God from everlasting to everlasting. Great is thy faithfulness, oh God, my Father. There is no shadow of turning with thee.
Your last battle was not your last battle. But since our God is the same, can I give you some good news? If your last battle was not your last battle, then your last victory was not your last victory. And the God who did it back then is the same God who's able to do it again.
Let me close with a story. One day when I came home, Cooper was about 3 or 4 years old. When I walked in the house, he ran up to the door. He saw I had my bags, and when I put my bags down, I picked him up. I tossed him in the air, flipped him, and sat him down. While I was walking away, I heard him holler: "Daddy! Do it again!"
So I went over and I picked him up. I tossed him in the air, flipped him over, and sat him down. While I'm walking away, I heard him holler: "Daddy, do it again!"
So I picked him up, tossed him in the air, flipped him over, and sat him down. And when I walked away, he had the audacity to say: "Daddy, do it again!"
But the next time you get weary, I want you to holler a Cooper prayer.
God, do it again. Lord, do it again. Father, do it again.
Won't he do it again? Won't he make a way again? Won't he see you through again? Won't he fight for you again? God, do it again.
When I titled this sermon "Here We Go Again," you thought I was talking about the enemy. But "Here We Go Again" is not a declaration about our enemy. It's a statement of faith in our God. Because whenever your enemy has another, God has again. God will do it again.
