جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
Part 5 of 9
There Is More: Endgame
واصِل الاستكشاف
مرتبطة بالمقطع الكتابي أو بموضوعات مشتركة.
لم تُترجم هذه الصفحة بالكامل بعد. يظهر بعض النص أدناه أو كله بلغة English، وهي لغته الأصلية.
I want to hang this entire message on one word: almost. The word almost is used constantly in our world. In sports, a halfcourt shot that goes in and out is "almost" a win. In golf, that 50-foot putt "almost" goes in. We say it in everyday life: "I almost called you," "I almost went to school there," "I almost asked her out." There are so many almosts in life.
I came across a website that predicts how much time you have left based on your date of birth, height, weight, BMI, and lifestyle factors. According to it, I had 484,654,400 seconds left to live. But here's the truth: I'm dying. You're dying. We're all terminal. Only God knows the number of our days.
This realization led me to a prayer I've been praying: God, turn my someday into today. We all have a someday list, don't we? Someday I'll get serious about my health. Someday I'll invest in my marriage. Someday I'll address my addiction. Someday I'll forgive them. Someday I'll get on a budget. Someday I'll join a group or serve somewhere.
But here's the thing: nothing apart from God's unfailing love is guaranteed. I could walk out of here and get in a car wreck. I could have a heart attack or be diagnosed with a serious illness. So I don't want to almost live. I want to turn my someday into today.
If only the Herod in Acts 26 would have prayed that kind of prayer.
To understand who Herod Agrippa II is, you need to understand the Herod family history. The name Hank Williams Jr. had a song about carrying on his father's legacy. His dad, Hank Sr., famously struggled with alcohol and drug demons, and tragically overdosed at age 29. In the song, Hank Jr. sings, "If I get stoned, I'm just carrying on an old family tradition."
The Herods had quite the family tradition.
Herod the Great was the Roman-appointed king of Judea—paranoid, materialistic, and power-hungry. He killed his favorite wife, three of his sons, and other family members out of conspiracy theories that they were coming for his throne. Most famously, he was the one who massacred all infants under two at Jesus's birth because he saw the child as a threat to his throne.
Herod Archelaus, his son, ruled Judea after him and was so abusive and corrupt that Rome had to remove him—you have to be that bad for Rome to intervene.
Herod Antipas, another son, continued the family tradition of ego, depravity, and self-gratification. The historian Josephus tells us that Antipas stayed at his brother Philip's house, slept with Philip's wife, Herodias (who was also the granddaughter of Herod the Great), and agreed to dump his own wife. John the Baptist spoke into this moral corruption and called him out, telling him what they had done was absolutely wrong in the sight of God. To silence him, Antipas threw John in prison and eventually had him beheaded at his wife's request.
Herod Agrippa I was the grandson of Herod the Great. He carried on the family tradition by killing the apostle James, son of Zebedee. When he saw how pleased the religious leaders were, he threw Peter in jail, hoping to execute him after Passover. But an angel of the Lord miraculously rescued Peter. Shortly after, while Herod was giving a grand speech that people loved, they began saying, "You're a god." He accepted their praise and worship, and God struck him down. He was eaten by worms and died.
Herod Agrippa II appears in Acts 26—that guy's son—showing up with his sister Bernice. They were still carrying on the family tradition of ego, depravity, materialism, self-indulgence, and self-importance.
Here's an important note: at any time, you and I can step up with God's help and become a cycle breaker in our family. We don't have to carry on the family tradition. We can change the trajectory of our family tree.
I'm so grateful that many of you here have done that. But man, that takes courage, doesn't it? It takes self-awareness. It takes a ton of humility, which means we have to come down off the throne of our life and surrender to the leadership of God. That's hard for a lot of people. It was certainly hard for King Herod.
Paul, totally innocent and awaiting trial, is in a palace on the beautiful coast of Caesarea—one of the opulent construction projects that Herod the Great had built for himself, now used as headquarters for the Roman governor, Festus.
Herod Agrippa II and his sister Bernice come up from Jerusalem for a visit. Festus tells Herod, "We have this prisoner, Paul, whom the Jewish religious leaders want me to execute. But Roman law doesn't condemn a man without a trial. I've listened to their accusations, and they're about nothing—something about their religion and some dead guy named Jesus who Paul insists is alive. I don't know how to handle this. He appealed to his rights as a Roman citizen to have his case heard before Caesar. In my opinion, he's done nothing wrong. Do you want to meet him?"
Herod says yes. The next day arrives with great pomp and circumstance—military escorts, all kinds of prominent officials. Many very influential people fill the grand room. Agrippa tells Paul, "You may speak in your defense."
Paul knows the family history of the Herods. He knows their family tradition and what they're capable of. It takes tremendous courage to stand there. But Paul is not only courageous; he's also shrewd.
He knows that Herod likes being in charge and being the center of attention. So Paul meets him where he's at. He says:
"I am fortunate, King Agrippa, that you are the one hearing my defense today against all these accusations made by the Jewish leaders. For I know that you are an expert in all Jewish customs and controversies. Now, please listen to me patiently." (Acts 26:2-3)
Paul isn't trying to convince Herod to set him free—he's already appealed to Caesar, so he knows he'll eventually go to Rome. But he realizes something crucial: he has a room full of influencers, leaders, governors, and rulers. He has an incredible opportunity to share his story and how Jesus Christ has completely changed his life.
Paul was a guy who didn't almost live. He lived like he had 30 days left. I once saw a student on a college campus wearing a bright yellow shirt with big black block letters. On the front it said "LIVE" with fine print underneath. On the back it said "DIE" with fine print underneath. When I got in front of him, the full message read: "Live like you'll die tomorrow. Die knowing you'll live forever."
That was Paul. Because of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, he was not afraid to die. And man, if you're not afraid to die, then you're not afraid to live.
Paul begins by establishing his credentials. He tells Agrippa:
"As the Jewish leaders are well aware, I was given a thorough Jewish training from my earliest childhood among my own people and in Jerusalem. They don't claim me now, but if they would admit it, they know that I have been a member of the Pharisees, the strictest sect of our religion." (Acts 26:4-5)
This reminds me of Philippians 3, where Paul lists all his impressive religious credentials—Hebrew of Hebrews, Pharisee of Pharisees, extremely zealous in keeping the law, a protector of the faith. But then he says: "I consider all that rubbish compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord."
Then Paul tells Herod something radical: "Your majesty, I'm actually on trial for having hope." The same hope that all the prophets have talked about for centuries. The hope we've all been waiting for. Why does it seem mind-blowing that the Creator of the solar system, sunsets, and DNA can raise someone back to life? His hope is in Him.
Then Paul moves from his resume to his rap sheet. He says:
"Back in the Saul days, I believed that I ought to do everything I could to oppose the very name of Jesus the Nazarene. Indeed, I did just that in Jerusalem. Authorized by the leading priests, I caused many believers to be sent to prison and I cast my vote against them." (Acts 26:9-10)
Paul recounts how he went back to Acts 7 with the stoning of Stephen. He tortured believers in the synagogues, trying to get them to curse Jesus. He was so violently opposed to them that he even chased them down in foreign cities. He was filled with self-righteous anger and deep hatred based on his own perceived superiority.
"You need a hit on a Jesus follower? Better call Saul."
Paul isn't proud of this. He admits he did very, very bad, misdirected things—all in the name of God.
But Paul is able to stand there and honestly say all this because he knew he wasn't defined by his past. He knew he was completely a new person in Jesus Christ.
Here's the thing, friends: Jesus doesn't just make you better. He makes you new. Your past is not a liability. It can be an incredibly powerful tool in the hands of a God who redeems all things.
Paul then shares the turning point of his life—the moment that transformed him from persecutor to apostle. He tells King Agrippa about the day everything changed.
"One day I was on such a mission to Damascus armed with the authority and commission of the leading priests. At about noon, your majesty, as I was on the road, a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shone down on me and my companions. And we all fell down. And I heard a voice say unto me in Aramaic, 'Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It's useless for you to fight against my will.'" (Acts 26:12-14)
The repetition of his name—"Saul, Saul"—signals something deeply personal and urgent. This wasn't a generic revelation broadcast to everyone on the road. Jesus was speaking directly to Saul as if he were the only one there. Have you ever felt that? That sense of God speaking directly to you, as though you're the only person in the room?
When Jesus asks, "Why are you persecuting me?" Saul hadn't been personally persecuting Jesus. But Jesus is identifying with his followers, his church, his body, his family. He's saying, "If you're mistreating them, you're mistreating me."
The phrase "kick against the goads" carries a powerful image. A goad was a sharp stick with a metal tip used to guide oxen. If an ox kicked against it, it would hurt itself more—but the ox would still be forced to move in the direction it was supposed to go. Jesus was telling Saul, "Why are you being so stubborn? Why are you fighting a fight you can't win? It's futile. Give it up. Surrender to me."
Jesus offers Saul something radical: a new heart, new passion, and a new purpose for living. The resurrected Jesus tells him to share the good news with everyone—to bring light to all kinds of people living in all kinds of dark places.
Paul obeys. He preaches in Damascus, the very city he'd gone to imprison believers. Then in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, and to the Gentiles. His message is always the same: all must repent of their sins and turn to God and prove their change through good works.
Paul was arrested for stirring up hope, for sharing God's love for all people. They wanted to kill him for proclaiming exactly what the prophets said—that the Messiah would come, suffer, and rise from the dead.
In the middle of Paul's testimony, Festus, the Roman governor, blurts out: "Dude, you are crazy. Too much study has made you insane."
And you know what? To those who don't understand God's grace, the gospel does sound crazy. A crucified king. A risen savior. Forgiveness for sinners. Love your enemies. More is less and less is more. First is last and last is first. You want to be great? Go serve somebody.
It's so counterintuitive, so counterculture. But Jesus brought it, taught it, walked it, and backed it up by rising from the dead.
Paul responds with intellectual honesty: I know I might sound crazy, but this is not a fairy tale. This is true, and it happened in plain sight. There are trustworthy eyewitnesses. There are many witnesses just like him willing to die for what they know to be true.
"This is real history about a real man who taught real truth, performed real miracles, died on a real cross, no longer occupies a real empty tomb, and gives real life to people like us. All of this, it actually happened."
So no, I'm not insane, Paul insists. What he's saying is sober truth. And King Agrippa knows about these things—Paul speaks boldly because he's sure these events are familiar to him. They were not done in a corner.
Paul looks straight at King Agrippa and asks: "King Agrippa, you believe the prophets? I know you do."
Herod cuts him off: "Do you think you can persuade me to become a Christian so quickly?"
We don't know the tone of his voice. Was he being sarcastic? Feeling political pressure from Festus? Was he saying, "You're right, I do know all these things, but I'm not ready to go there with you"? We don't know which words he emphasized.
But Paul's response is clear and passionate:
"Whether quickly or not, I pray to God that both you and everyone here in this audience might become the same as I am, except for these chains. Man, I wish you knew Jesus, too. I wish you would embrace God's free gift of forgiveness, too. I pray that you would find abundant life, eternal life, just like I have."
Paul continues: I wish everyone in this room would follow Jesus so that all of you could be free. Then he adds something stunning: "Oh yeah, I've got these chains right here, but make no mistake about it, I've never been more free in all my life."
One man chained on the outside but free on the inside. Another man free on the outside but so chained up on the inside.
Then comes the pivot moment. Verse 28: "Then Agrippa said to Paul, 'You almost persuade me to become a Christian.'"
There's no biblical or historical record that Agrippa ever actually became a follower of Jesus. He likely became just another "almost persuaded."
There's an old hymn from around 1870 based on Agrippa's response:
"Almost persuaded now to believe; almost persuaded Christ to receive. Seems now some soul to say, 'Go spirit, go thy way. Some more convenient day on thee I'll call.'"
Have you been there? Have you ever said, "Man, I was this close. I was almost persuaded. I heard the call of the Spirit. I felt the tug of God. Man, I almost leaned in. You know, maybe someday"?
But "someday" is a dangerous word. The writer of Hebrews says:
"Today is the day you must listen to his voice. Don't harden your hearts against him as Israel did when they rebelled."
When God calls today and we don't respond today, we get a little more set in our ways, a little more comfortable in our dysfunction, a little more stubborn, a little harder on the inside.
Maybe you've been saying for a while: I'll give my life to Jesus someday. I'll let him forgive my sins someday. I'll humble myself and turn toward God someday. You think you have time. You figure you'll secure your eternal destination down the road, when the time is right.
But the word of God says: The right time is now. Today is the day of salvation.
This is hitting really close to me this week. I've been texting with a buddy who has been through six different experimental cancer treatments. This guy was a picture of health—big, strong, healthy, athletic. A great husband, great dad, great friend, great neighbor.
We were texting on Tuesday and he told me he was leaving the hospital to go into hospice care. His fight was up. He was sad for his family, but he really looked forward to meeting Jesus.
For most of his life, he was an "almost" kind of guy. But about ten years ago, he moved from "almost" to "all in." And he began to live like he would die tomorrow. Right now, he's dying knowing he'll live forever.
God lovingly pursues and speaks to all of us. Please don't be like Agrippa and get up and walk out of here saying, "Man, I almost... I almost acknowledged my need for God. I was this close. I almost humbled myself. I almost said yes to the Holy Spirit. I almost raised my hand and surrendered."
A couple of weeks ago, I was watching those 700-and-some-odd people get baptized in the pools. And I thought, I almost... I almost got in the water. Maybe someday.
God, please turn my someday into today.
Some of you feel God's pull right now. Like in this very moment, you sense that quiet voice inside you saying, "This is true and this is for you." Don't ignore that. It's not emotion. It's not manipulation. It's not pressure. It's not hype. It's just the God who created you and longs to do life with you, who loves you, speaking to you, calling you home.
Because here's the truth: You can sit in church for years and still be "almost." Today is the day. Now is the moment to move from almost to all in.
If you're ready to surrender—if you want to say to Jesus, I give up. Thanks for chasing me down. I believe you died for me. I believe you rose from the dead. And right now, in this moment, I'm turning toward you. Forgive my sin. Take my life and lead it. I am done being almost. I surrender my heart and my life to you. I'm all in—then pray that prayer from your heart right now.
The word almost appears throughout our lives constantly. In sports, a basketball shot goes in and out—almost. In golf, a putt reaches the hole—almost. We use it in everyday conversations: "I almost called you," "I almost took that job," "I almost asked her out." But there's a deeper spiritual reality we must confront: one of the most dangerous words in the Christian life is "almost."
Consider this: if you had only 30 days left to live, would that change the way you live today? That's a convicting question. The psalmist writes, "Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered, how fleeting my life is." We're all terminal. We're all dying. And the truth is, we don't want to almost live. We don't want to get to the end and realize we lived on a "someday" list.
We all have one. Someday I'll get serious about my body. Someday I'll invest in my marriage. Someday I'll address my addiction. Someday I'll forgive them. Someday I'll get on a budget. Someday I'll join a group. Someday I'll serve. But here's the sobering truth: nothing apart from God's unfailing love is guaranteed to us. I could walk out of here today and get in a car wreck. My plane could go down. I could have a heart attack.
So here's the prayer that should echo in our hearts: God, turn my someday into today. Don't let us almost live. Teach us to number our days and to live with urgency and purpose right now.
If anyone understood the danger of "almost," it should have been Herod Agrippa II. But first, we need to understand the family he came from—a dynasty marked by a destructive generational pattern.
Herod the Great was the Roman-appointed king of Judea, paranoid and power-hungry. He killed his own wife, three of his sons, and countless others he saw as threats to his throne. Most infamously, he ordered the massacre of all male infants under two years old when Jesus was born—a threat he wanted eliminated.
His son Herod Archelaus inherited the throne but was so abusive and corrupt that Rome itself had to remove him—an extraordinary act of intervention.
Herod Antipas, another son, carried on the family tradition of self-indulgence and moral corruption. He seduced his brother Philip's wife, Herodias, and had her agree to leave Philip for him. When John the Baptist spoke prophetically against this wickedness, Herod had John thrown in prison. Then, at a drunken party, he had John the Baptist beheaded at Herodias's request.
Herod Agrippa I (the grandson of Herod the Great) continued the family pattern. In Acts 12, he killed James the son of Zebedee and imprisoned Peter. When people praised him as a god during a public speech, he accepted their worship—and God struck him down. He was eaten by worms and died.
Then came Herod Agrippa II, the subject of Acts 26. He arrived on the scene with his sister Bernice (historians suggest their relationship was improper), and together they carried on the family tradition of ego, depravity, materialism, and self-indulgence.
But here's what we need to understand: at any time, with God's help, we can be a cycle breaker in our family. We don't have to carry on the family tradition. We don't have to repeat the patterns of our parents, our grandparents, or our siblings. We can change the trajectory of our family tree.
That takes self-awareness, humility, and courage—the willingness to step down from the throne of our own lives and surrender to God's leadership. It was hard for the Herods to do. It may be hard for you to do. But it's possible.
Now we come to Acts 26. Paul, completely innocent, is awaiting trial in Caesarea, staying in one of the opulent palaces Herod the Great had built. The Roman governor Festus tells Agrippa about this prisoner named Paul—a man the Jewish religious leaders want executed, but who has appealed to Caesar for trial.
Festus is confused about what to charge Paul with. "It's something about their religion and some dead guy named Jesus whom Paul says is alive." So he invites Agrippa to meet this interesting prisoner.
The next day, Agrippa and Bernice arrive with great pomp and ceremony—military escorts, prominent officials, all the show of power and authority. It's an intimidating scene. But Paul knows the Herod family history. He knows what they're capable of. Yet he shows up with courage.
Paul is shrewd. He knows Agrippa loves being in charge, loves being the center of attention. So Paul meets him there: "I am fortunate, King Agrippa, that you are the one hearing my defense today against all these accusations made by the Jewish leaders. For I know that you are an expert on all Jewish customs and controversies. Now, please listen to me patiently."
Now, Paul already knows he's going to Rome—he's appealed to Caesar. But he sees something else: a room full of influencers, leaders, governors, rulers, and a king. What an opportunity to share his story and point people to Jesus.
Paul was a man who didn't almost live. He lived as if he had 30 days to live. There's a shirt I once saw on a college student that said: "Live like you'll die tomorrow. Die knowing you'll live forever." That was Paul. Because of the resurrection of Jesus, he wasn't afraid to die. And when you're not afraid to die, you're not afraid to live.
So Paul begins with his resume. He details his impeccable religious credentials: thorough Jewish training from childhood in Jerusalem, a member of the Pharisees—the strictest sect of Judaism. But then he does something shocking. He says, "You know what's incredible? I'm actually on trial for having hope."
Then he shifts from resume to rap sheet. In those early days as Saul, he violently opposed Jesus and his followers. He had believers imprisoned. He voted for their execution. He personally pursued and tortured them in synagogues, trying to get them to curse Jesus. He was so consumed with self-righteous anger and hatred that he even chased followers into foreign cities.
But here's what's powerful: Paul could stand there and admit all of this because he knew he wasn't defined by his past. He knew he was a completely new person in Jesus Christ. Jesus doesn't just make us better—he makes us new.
Your past is not a liability. It can become an incredibly powerful tool in the hands of a God who redeems all things. Some of you are gifted at repurposing—you take trash and turn it into treasure, old houses into beautiful homes, junker cars into working vehicles. But God is the master of restoration and transformation. He takes broken lives and makes them new.
You might think, "God can never use someone like me. If people knew my past..." But listen: God uses all of that. He restores broken things. He makes anybody new. And he wants to use your unique, redeemed story to touch the lives of other people.
Your past just describes you and highlights the transformative power of God's amazing grace at work in your life.
Then Paul shares the turning point—the moment everything changed. He was on the Damascus Road, armed with authority to arrest followers of Jesus. About noon, a light from heaven brighter than the sun shone down on him and his companions. They fell to the ground.
And Paul heard a voice speaking to him in Aramaic: "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It's useless for you to fight against my will."
The repetition of his name—"Saul, Saul"—was intimate and urgent. This wasn't a generic revelation for everyone on that road. This was Jesus speaking directly to Saul as if he were the only one there. Have you ever felt that? Like God was speaking to you as if you're the only one in the room? He is. That's how personal Jesus is.
Jesus asked, "Why are you persecuting me?" Now Saul hadn't been personally persecuting Jesus. But Jesus identified with his followers, his church, his body, his family. He was saying: "If you're mistreating them, you're mistreating me."
Jesus asked Saul, "Why are you persecuting me?" Now Saul hadn't been personally persecuting Jesus. But Jesus here is identifying with his followers, his church, his body, his family, saying, 'Listen, if you're mistreating them, you're mistreating me.'
The English Standard Version puts verse 14 like this: "It's hard for you to kick against the goats." A goad was a sharp stick with a metal tip used to guide oxen. If an ox would kick against it, it would hurt him more and he would still be resigned to move in the direction that he was supposed to go.
Jesus is saying here, "Saul, why are you being so stubborn? Why are you fighting a fight that you can't win? It's futile. Give it up. Stop kicking and surrender to me because I want to give you a new heart. I want to give you a new passion. I want to give you a brand new purpose for living your life."
Paul says, "The resurrected Jesus told me I was supposed to tell everybody about him. He gave me the good news of God's love and forgiveness, and he told me that I was supposed to bring light to all kinds of people living in all kinds of dark places."
Paul continues: "I preached first to those in Damascus, the very city I went there to imprison believers, and then in Jerusalem and throughout Judea and also to the Gentiles, that all must repent of their sins and turn to God and then prove that they've changed by the good things they do. Honestly, that's what I was arrested for. I was arrested for stirring up hope, for sharing the good news of God's love for all people."
The Roman governor Festus blurts out, "Dude, you are crazy. All that study of yours has made you insane." The gospel does sound a little crazy to those who don't understand God's grace. Crucified king? A risen savior? Forgiveness for sinners? Love your enemies? More is less and less is more. First is last and last is first. Want to be great? Then go serve somebody.
It does sound crazy. It is countercultural. It is so counterintuitive. But Jesus brought it. He taught it. He walked it. And then he backed it all up by rising from the dead.
Here is Paul, this brilliant intellectual saint, saying: "I know it might sound crazy, but this is not a fairy tale. This is true. And it was done out in the open in plain sight. There are tons of trustworthy eyewitnesses. In fact, there are many witnesses just like me who are willing to die for what they know to be true."
This is real history about a real man who taught real truth, who performed real miracles, died on a real cross, no longer occupies a real empty tomb, and gives real life to people like us.
Paul looks King Agrippa in the eye and says, "King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know you do." And Agrippa cuts him off and says, "Do you think you can persuade me to become a Christian so quickly?"
We don't know if this was him being sarcastic. We don't know if he was feeling political pressure from Festus. We don't know if he's saying, "You're right, I do know these things, but I am not ready to go there with you." We don't know which words he emphasized when he said it. But however he said it, Paul comes back with: "Whether quickly or not, I pray to God that both you and everyone here in this audience might become the same as I am except for these chains."
Paul says: "Man, I wish you knew Jesus, too. I wish you would embrace God's free gift of forgiveness, too. I pray that you would find abundant life, eternal life, just like I have. I wish that you would accept God's amazing grace. I wish everyone here would follow Jesus so that you all could be free."
He continues: "Yeah, it's for sure. I got these chains right here, but make no mistake about it, I'm more free than I've ever been in my entire life." One guy chained up on the outside but free on the inside. Another man free on the outside but so chained up on the inside.
The court rises and says to each other, "This man's done nothing wrong to deserve death or imprisonment." And then Agrippa says to Festus, "He could have been set free if he hadn't appealed to Caesar." Paul's probably thinking: A grippa could have been set free if he hadn't appealed to his ego.
Then Agrippa said to Paul: "You almost persuade me to become a Christian. You almost persuade me." There's no biblical or historical record that suggests that Herod Agrippa ever became a follower of Jesus. Most likely he became just another almost persuaded.
There's an old hymn written in 1870 based on Herod's response here in Acts 26:
Almost persuaded now to believe. Almost persuaded Christ to receive. Seems now some soul to say, "Go spirit, go thy way." Some more convenient day on thee, y'all call.
Have you been there? "I was this close, man. I was almost persuaded. I heard the call of the spirit back when I was in high school. I felt the tug of God, man. I almost leaned in. You know, maybe I will someday."
The writer of Hebrews says: "Today, you must listen to his voice. Don't harden your hearts against him as Israel did when they rebelled." When God calls today and we don't respond today, we get a little more set in our ways. We get a little more comfortable in our dysfunction, a little more stubborn, a little harder on the inside.
Some of you may have been saying, "Yeah, I'll give my life to Jesus someday. I'll let him forgive me someday. I'll humble myself and turn toward God someday because I got time, man. I'll secure my eternal destination like later on down the road, you know, when the time is right."
Well, the word of God says the right time is now. Today is the day of salvation.
I've been texting with a buddy who a couple of years ago found out he had cancer. He has gone through six different experimental cancer treatments. This guy is a picture of health—big, strong, healthy, athletic guy, great husband, great dad, great friend, great neighbor. He texted me on Tuesday that he was leaving the hospital to go into hospice care. He was sad for his family but looking forward to meeting Jesus face to face.
For most of his life, man, he was an almost kind of guy. But about 10 years ago, he moved from almost to all in. And he began to live like he would die tomorrow. And now he is dying knowing that he's going to live forever.
God lovingly pursues and speaks to all of us. Please don't be like Agrippa and get up and walk out of this room saying, "I almost acknowledge my need for God. I almost humbled myself. I almost said yes to the Holy Spirit. Man, I almost raised my hand and surrender. Maybe, maybe, maybe someday." God turned my someday into today.
The truth is some of you might be feeling God's pull right now. You sense that quiet voice inside of you saying this is true and this is true for you. Don't ignore that. This is not emotion. This is not pressure. It's not manipulation. Not hype. This is the God who created you and wants to do life with you, who loves you, who is speaking to you right now, calling you home.
Because here's the truth, man. You can sit in church for years and still be almost. Today is the day. Now is the moment to move from almost to all in.
