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The Apostle Paul started the book of Acts as a religious terrorist—think ISIS, think Hamas. He traveled around killing people for being Christians. Then he met Jesus, bent his knee to him, and everything changed. For the rest of Acts, Paul walked, rode, and sailed somewhere between 10,000 and 12,000 miles, planting churches and telling people about Jesus primarily in Greece and Turkey.
By the end of Acts, the man who started by killing Christians ended up being killed and beheaded in Rome for being a Christian and testifying to Jesus Christ. This trajectory matters because what we're seeing in Acts 25 and 26 is the linchpin that sets off the chain of events leading to Paul's beheading.
Heads up: you've been lied to. Becoming a Christian is not the way to punch your ticket to a low-maintenance, hassle-free life where everybody loves you and praises you all the time. Everywhere the Apostle Paul went, he was attacked and opposed. People tried to kill him.
When you became a Christian, yes, you gained God as your heavenly father. But the Bible says that when you were transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light, you gained God as your father, and you gained Satan and hell as your enemy. The birthmark of a believer is a bullseye. You have to expect opposition because you're on Team Jesus now, and before you were on Team Jesus, hell had no reason to wage war on you.
In Acts 23, Paul gets arrested. A group of Jewish assassins make a blood oath that none of them will eat or drink until Paul is dead. Paul is eventually taken to Caesarea Maritima, where he sits in a prison cell for two years.
Paul spent 12,000 miles telling people about Jesus and planting churches. I'm sure what Paul was thinking while in that cell was, God, couldn't I be doing something better? Why have you got me in this waiting season?
Here's what's remarkable: while Paul thought his imprisonment was a diversion from his calling—a wasted waiting season—it was actually during his time in prison that he wrote some of the most transformative books of the Bible: Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon. The season in Paul's life that he probably thought was most wasted ended up producing ministry that God has used in every single Christian's life for two millennia to bring us closer to Jesus.
With God, a waiting season is never a wasted season. He will redeem your season. He can restore the years the locusts have eaten. This is what God does in the Apostle Paul's life.
In Acts 24, 25, and 26, Paul stands courageously in front of three Roman political leaders: Felix, Festus, and Herod. What Paul does in these passages is extremely practical—and here's the conviction: when somebody's drowning, they don't need the Greek word for life jacket. They just need you to throw them one.
Before we go further, think of your one more. Who's the one person closest to you but farthest from God? Get a name in your head right now. Throughout this sermon, think about how you would share Christ with that person.
What Paul demonstrates in this passage is practical. It's what I'm going to call the A, B, C of sharing your faith. Most Christians want to share their faith. They just don't know how. This is the pattern.
The first thing Paul does is this: he assumes people are interested.
Here's what keeps most people from ever sharing their faith: you look at people's exterior and make judgments. Maybe it's what they look like. Maybe it's their vibe—they seem standoffish or angry. Maybe they're real successful and happy, and you think, They wouldn't be interested in what I have. Maybe it's their political beliefs. Maybe they're from a certain place. And you think, They wouldn't be into this.
But here's the thing: the Bible says man looks at the outward appearance, but God works on the heart. You don't know what's going on in someone's heart. You don't know what their hurts are. You don't know what their unanswered or answered prayers are. You don't know where God might have visited them in dreams and visions to prepare them for this exact encounter with you. And you might be the only chance they ever have to hear the gospel before they go to hell.
You don't know that.
Paul does the opposite. Paul assumes everywhere he goes that people are interested.
When you look at someone's exterior, you make judgments that can prevent you from ever sharing your faith. Maybe it's their appearance, their attitude, or their success. Maybe you assume their political beliefs or background mean they wouldn't be interested in what you have to say.
But here's the truth: the Bible says man looks at the outward appearance, but God works on the heart. You don't know what's going on in someone's heart. You don't know their hurts, their unanswered or answered prayers, or where God might have visited them in dreams and visions to prepare them for this exact encounter with you. You might be the only chance they ever have to hear the gospel before they go to hell. You don't know that.
Paul does the opposite. Paul assumes everywhere he goes that people are interested. When Paul stands before King Agrippa—a man whose great-grandfather tried to kill Jesus, whose great-uncle beheaded John the Baptist, and whose father killed James the apostle and imprisoned Peter—Paul assumes Agrippa is interested. Paul says:
King Agrippa, I consider myself fortunate to stand before you today.
Paul knows this man has every reason to hate what he has to say, but Paul assumes that the Holy Spirit has gone ahead of him to open Agrippa's heart. And Paul is right. Agrippa responds: "I would like to hear this man myself."
This is called the doctrine of prevenient grace. We need to assume that everywhere a Spirit-filled Christian goes, the Holy Spirit went ahead of us and prepared the people we're going to come in contact with for that divine encounter, and opened their heart to us.
Consider the example of Muhammad Zibleem, pastor of Shalom Baptist Church in rural northern Ghana. His father was an Islamic imam. When he was 15 or 16 years old, he had a dream of a man in white who explained that he was Jesus Christ and the way to salvation. When that missionary eventually came, they could have assumed the imam's son wasn't interested. But Jesus had gone ahead. God can make a way where there is no way.
Or consider the example of a woman at Lake Point who commented on Instagram: she had family who weren't Christian but wanted to go to church with a Christian couple who had befriended them. The couple never invited them—not because they didn't care, but because the non-Christian family felt they would be inviting themselves. They were waiting and hoping for an invitation. You've forgotten what lost people think like. Some people are waiting for you to extend the invitation.
Once you assume people are interested, the next principle is this: build a bridge, not a wall.
Many Christians make a critical mistake: they find everything they disagree on with someone and make the entire relationship about those disagreements. Instead of building a bridge, they build a wall. They end up making conversations about politics, media, or the sin in someone's life.
But here's a newsflash: lost people act like lost people. Don't try to clean them up first. Jesus is the one who washes us white as snow. He does the cleansing. You don't get people to wash their hands before they hop in the shower. We just get them to Jesus, and Jesus will clean them up in his way, in his time.
What Paul does is the opposite. Instead of finding what he disagrees on, he finds the one thing they have in common and makes the relationship about that. Watch how Paul builds a bridge with Agrippa:
I too was convinced I ought to do all that was possible to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth. That's just what I did in Jerusalem on the authority of the chief priest. I put many of the Lord's people in prison. When they were put to death, I cast my vote against them. Many a time I went from one synagogue to another to have them punished, and I tried to force them to blaspheme.
He's essentially saying: "You like killing Christians? I used to be into that too. We've got a thing together."
When you're trying to win your "one more," whatever they're into, you get into. If they're into sports, you're a sports guy now. If they're into bass fishing, you just bought a Zebco. You find that bridge of commonality and you build a relationship on it.
You might think, "That's easy for you—you're a professional Christian." But here's the truth: the fact that you're not like me is your advantage, not your disadvantage.
Your friends wouldn't listen to me, but they'll look at you and think, "I could be a Christian like him. I could be a Christian like her." You are the person God has appointed as an ambassador of Christ into all the friend groups you have. You're the bridge.
Consider three people who were baptized recently. Miss Carolyn, at a senior care facility in a wheelchair, started watching online through a ministry visit and bent her knee to Jesus. Sue, a Korean woman living in Japan, watched Lake Point online and studied her Bible alone in her apartment in Japan before flying here to be baptized. And a man with face tattoos—all covered in tattoos.
Their friends wouldn't listen to a young pastor. But they listen to Carolyn. They listen to Sue. They listen to him. That's what it looks like to build a bridge and be the ambassador God positioned you to be.
Let me confess a failure from my own life. I was on a Southwest flight and practiced my usual move: asking three questions deep and then asking if I could pray for someone. A woman sat next to me who fit every stereotype of someone I assumed wouldn't want to talk to me. She had a certain style, a "Shout your abortion" sticker on her laptop, and she was reading an article titled "Megachurch Pastor Resigns Because of Sexual Misconduct."
When she turned and asked, "So what do you do for a living?" I froze. What came out of my mouth was, "Well, I work for a non-profit." Thirty seconds later, the Holy Spirit wrecked me. I realized I had just been a non-profit—I had failed to be present.
I've wondered every day since: What if I had stood firm with courage? What if God had intentionally positioned me in that seat so I could flip everything she thought and misconceived about Christians? I missed it because I assumed, based on external appearance, that she wasn't interested.
You've got to assume that everybody around you is interested.
Let me share a story about the power of creating a welcoming church culture. A man came to church in his Papa John's uniform—the same grease-stained clothes he wore every shift, with holes in the jeans. But here's what happened: as he walked into the parking lot, a man in a suit stopped him and said, "Son, don't you have anything else to wear? We wear God's best into God's house."
That moment broke something in me. I went to my car and wept. In that moment, I made a decision that would shape how I lead: if I ever get to set the culture of a church, the dress code for someone seeking Jesus will be simple. Here's the dress code: please wear something. That's it.
If you're trying to get to Jesus, come exactly as you are. Come with your doubts. Come with your fears. Bring your failures, your sins, your addictions. We want all of it here. That's what tears down walls and builds bridges for the glory of Jesus Christ.
Here's something crucial: people don't get saved the way you think they do. Imagine everyone you meet exists somewhere on a spectrum. Zero is the point where someone crosses the line of faith and bends their knee to Jesus. But before that moment, everyone is somewhere along the journey—negative one, negative two, all the way down to negative ten. Everybody you meet is somewhere along this spectrum of steps away from making a decision to trust Christ.
Most people think their job is to get someone over the line in one conversation. But if you think that's your responsibility, you'll end up doing nothing. Instead, you need to be comfortable converting first downs. You don't have to make every conversation a touchdown.
At Lakepointe, we say that everybody has a One More—the person closest to you but farthest from God. Here's how to start:
Write the name of that person on a card and put it somewhere visible where you'll see it every day. A good place is your bathroom mirror—somewhere you brush your teeth morning and evening. When you see it, pray for God to give you an opportunity to share the love of Christ with that person.
A practical tip: don't put it on your computer screen where your coworker Hank walks in and sees his name. That's not going to go well.
When you start praying, God begins to supernaturally soften that person's heart. They might not know it's happening, but they move from a negative ten to a negative eight. That's how it starts.
Around negative eight, seven, or six, something crucial happens: a loving interaction with a Christian changes how they think about Christians.
Here's what my wife Jana and I do when we eat out: we give really generous tips. When the server leaves, they think, "That Christian family was amazing. They were thoughtful and caring." If they previously thought Christians were stingy or jerks, this changes their perception. They move closer to zero.
About right here, you need to be public that you're on Team Jesus. Jesus said, "If you deny me before men, I will deny you before my Father." No secret agent Christians.
This doesn't have to be complicated. It's natural things like:
You'd be surprised how many people end up at Lakepointe because they kept seeing our stickers on trucks and wondered what they meant. Someone would say, "Oh, that's my church. I love my church." It moves people closer.
When someone is getting close to zero, they'll often talk to you about tough times—divorce, cancer, loss. This is your moment. Drop in a little sentence like this: "Man, I went through a divorce too about a decade ago. I never would have gotten through it without Christ." Then leave it right there. No big sudden movements. If they ask, you go further. Otherwise, just leave it.
This is exactly what Paul did in Acts 26—he simply shared his story. That's all he did.
When they're right here, invite them to church where they'll hear a clear gospel presentation. This is crucial because not everyone is called to close the deal. About ten percent of Christians have the spiritual gift of evangelism. For some reason, God gave me that gift. But your gift might be different.
Your job is to move them one click closer. You invite them to a place where someone with the gift of evangelism can present the gospel clearly.
Here's what keeps most people from doing this: you're scared they'll ask a question you can't answer. You think, "What if they ask about dinosaurs?"
First, it's okay to say, "I don't know. Let me find that out for you." But here's the real issue: you're confused about your role in the courtroom.
Jesus gave us marching orders in Acts 1: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you, and you will be my witnesses." Notice that word—witnesses, not prosecutors.
A prosecuting attorney makes an airtight case. They answer every question and judo-flip objections back at you. But a witness just shares their side of the story. Your job is simply to say, "Here's what I know God did in my life. Here's my story." That's it.
Here's something beautiful: the greatest church service you'll ever attend won't be one where God works powerfully in your own life. It will be the service where your One More is with you—the prodigal son or daughter you've been praying for for three years or three decades.
I have a favorite moment in every service. When I get to the part about Jesus, I say, "Everybody bow your heads and close your eyes." Then I say, "Something solidifies you spiritually when you respond physically." I invite people to raise their hand on the count of three.
Every other service of the year, you're supposed to keep your head bowed and eyes closed. But there's one time you have my permission to cheat—when your One More is with you. You're going to see that shoulder move. You're going to see that hand shoot up in the air. In that moment, you're going to know that somebody is going to spend eternity with Christ in heaven because God used you. That right there is what God is calling you to do as an ambassador of heaven.
God wants to make us a church of tens of thousands, but not a crowd—disciples of Jesus Christ. We're all in on Team Jesus. We're people who seek and save the lost with the love of Jesus Christ. We're spirit-filled men and women of courage and conviction, moving people one click closer to the kingdom of heaven.
That's our prayer: that God would make us bold witnesses and that He would save one more.
The Apostle Paul started the book of Acts as a religious terrorist—think ISIS, think Hamas. He traveled around killing people for being Christians. Then he met Jesus, bent his knee to him, and everything changed. For the rest of Acts, Paul walked, rode, and sailed somewhere between 10,000 and 12,000 miles, planting churches and telling people about Jesus primarily in Greece and Turkey.
By the end of Acts, the man who started by killing Christians ended up being killed and beheaded in Rome for being a Christian and testifying to Jesus Christ. This trajectory matters because what we're seeing in Acts 25 and 26 is the linchpin that sets off the chain of events leading to Paul's beheading.
Heads up: you've been lied to. Becoming a Christian is not the way to punch your ticket to a low-maintenance, hassle-free life where everybody loves you and praises you all the time. Everywhere the Apostle Paul went, he was attacked and opposed. People tried to kill him.
When you became a Christian, yes, you gained God as your heavenly father. But the Bible says that when you were transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light, you gained God as your father, and you gained Satan and hell as your enemy. The birthmark of a believer is a bullseye. You have to expect opposition because you're on Team Jesus now, and before you were on Team Jesus, hell had no reason to wage war on you.
In Acts 23, Paul gets arrested. A group of Jewish assassins make a blood oath that none of them will eat or drink until Paul is dead. Paul is eventually taken to Caesarea Maritima, where he sits in a prison cell for two years.
Paul spent 12,000 miles telling people about Jesus and planting churches. I'm sure what Paul was thinking while in that cell was, God, couldn't I be doing something better? Why have you got me in this waiting season?
Here's what's remarkable: while Paul thought his imprisonment was a diversion from his calling—a wasted waiting season—it was actually during his time in prison that he wrote some of the most transformative books of the Bible: Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon. The season in Paul's life that he probably thought was most wasted ended up producing ministry that God has used in every single Christian's life for two millennia to bring us closer to Jesus.
With God, a waiting season is never a wasted season. He will redeem your season. He can restore the years the locusts have eaten. This is what God does in the Apostle Paul's life.
In Acts 24, 25, and 26, Paul stands courageously in front of three Roman political leaders: Felix, Festus, and Herod. What Paul does in these passages is extremely practical—and here's the conviction: when somebody's drowning, they don't need the Greek word for life jacket. They just need you to throw them one.
Before we go further, think of your one more. Who's the one person closest to you but farthest from God? Get a name in your head right now. Throughout this sermon, think about how you would share Christ with that person.
What Paul demonstrates in this passage is practical. It's what I'm going to call the A, B, C of sharing your faith. Most Christians want to share their faith. They just don't know how. This is the pattern.
The first thing Paul does is this: he assumes people are interested.
Here's what keeps most people from ever sharing their faith: you look at people's exterior and make judgments. Maybe it's what they look like. Maybe it's their vibe—they seem standoffish or angry. Maybe they're real successful and happy, and you think, They wouldn't be interested in what I have. Maybe it's their political beliefs. Maybe they're from a certain place. And you think, They wouldn't be into this.
But here's the thing: the Bible says man looks at the outward appearance, but God works on the heart. You don't know what's going on in someone's heart. You don't know what their hurts are. You don't know what their unanswered or answered prayers are. You don't know where God might have visited them in dreams and visions to prepare them for this exact encounter with you. And you might be the only chance they ever have to hear the gospel before they go to hell.
You don't know that.
Paul does the opposite. Paul assumes everywhere he goes that people are interested.
When you look at someone's exterior, you make judgments that can prevent you from ever sharing your faith. Maybe it's their appearance, their attitude, or their success. Maybe you assume their political beliefs or background mean they wouldn't be interested in what you have to say.
But here's the truth: the Bible says man looks at the outward appearance, but God works on the heart. You don't know what's going on in someone's heart. You don't know their hurts, their unanswered or answered prayers, or where God might have visited them in dreams and visions to prepare them for this exact encounter with you. You might be the only chance they ever have to hear the gospel before they go to hell. You don't know that.
Paul does the opposite. Paul assumes everywhere he goes that people are interested. When Paul stands before King Agrippa—a man whose great-grandfather tried to kill Jesus, whose great-uncle beheaded John the Baptist, and whose father killed James the apostle and imprisoned Peter—Paul assumes Agrippa is interested. Paul says:
King Agrippa, I consider myself fortunate to stand before you today.
Paul knows this man has every reason to hate what he has to say, but Paul assumes that the Holy Spirit has gone ahead of him to open Agrippa's heart. And Paul is right. Agrippa responds: "I would like to hear this man myself."
This is called the doctrine of prevenient grace. We need to assume that everywhere a Spirit-filled Christian goes, the Holy Spirit went ahead of us and prepared the people we're going to come in contact with for that divine encounter, and opened their heart to us.
Consider the example of Muhammad Zibleem, pastor of Shalom Baptist Church in rural northern Ghana. His father was an Islamic imam. When he was 15 or 16 years old, he had a dream of a man in white who explained that he was Jesus Christ and the way to salvation. When that missionary eventually came, they could have assumed the imam's son wasn't interested. But Jesus had gone ahead. God can make a way where there is no way.
Or consider the example of a woman at Lake Point who commented on Instagram: she had family who weren't Christian but wanted to go to church with a Christian couple who had befriended them. The couple never invited them—not because they didn't care, but because the non-Christian family felt they would be inviting themselves. They were waiting and hoping for an invitation. You've forgotten what lost people think like. Some people are waiting for you to extend the invitation.
Once you assume people are interested, the next principle is this: build a bridge, not a wall.
Many Christians make a critical mistake: they find everything they disagree on with someone and make the entire relationship about those disagreements. Instead of building a bridge, they build a wall. They end up making conversations about politics, media, or the sin in someone's life.
But here's a newsflash: lost people act like lost people. Don't try to clean them up first. Jesus is the one who washes us white as snow. He does the cleansing. You don't get people to wash their hands before they hop in the shower. We just get them to Jesus, and Jesus will clean them up in his way, in his time.
What Paul does is the opposite. Instead of finding what he disagrees on, he finds the one thing they have in common and makes the relationship about that. Watch how Paul builds a bridge with Agrippa:
I too was convinced I ought to do all that was possible to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth. That's just what I did in Jerusalem on the authority of the chief priest. I put many of the Lord's people in prison. When they were put to death, I cast my vote against them. Many a time I went from one synagogue to another to have them punished, and I tried to force them to blaspheme.
He's essentially saying: "You like killing Christians? I used to be into that too. We've got a thing together."
When you're trying to win your "one more," whatever they're into, you get into. If they're into sports, you're a sports guy now. If they're into bass fishing, you just bought a Zebco. You find that bridge of commonality and you build a relationship on it.
You might think, "That's easy for you—you're a professional Christian." But here's the truth: the fact that you're not like me is your advantage, not your disadvantage.
Your friends wouldn't listen to me, but they'll look at you and think, "I could be a Christian like him. I could be a Christian like her." You are the person God has appointed as an ambassador of Christ into all the friend groups you have. You're the bridge.
Consider three people who were baptized recently. Miss Carolyn, at a senior care facility in a wheelchair, started watching online through a ministry visit and bent her knee to Jesus. Sue, a Korean woman living in Japan, watched Lake Point online and studied her Bible alone in her apartment in Japan before flying here to be baptized. And a man with face tattoos—all covered in tattoos.
Their friends wouldn't listen to a young pastor. But they listen to Carolyn. They listen to Sue. They listen to him. That's what it looks like to build a bridge and be the ambassador God positioned you to be.
Let me confess a failure from my own life. I was on a Southwest flight and practiced my usual move: asking three questions deep and then asking if I could pray for someone. A woman sat next to me who fit every stereotype of someone I assumed wouldn't want to talk to me. She had a certain style, a "Shout your abortion" sticker on her laptop, and she was reading an article titled "Megachurch Pastor Resigns Because of Sexual Misconduct."
When she turned and asked, "So what do you do for a living?" I froze. What came out of my mouth was, "Well, I work for a non-profit." Thirty seconds later, the Holy Spirit wrecked me. I realized I had just been a non-profit—I had failed to be present.
I've wondered every day since: What if I had stood firm with courage? What if God had intentionally positioned me in that seat so I could flip everything she thought and misconceived about Christians? I missed it because I assumed, based on external appearance, that she wasn't interested.
You've got to assume that everybody around you is interested.
Let me share a story about the power of creating a welcoming church culture. A man came to church in his Papa John's uniform—the same grease-stained clothes he wore every shift, with holes in the jeans. But here's what happened: as he walked into the parking lot, a man in a suit stopped him and said, "Son, don't you have anything else to wear? We wear God's best into God's house."
That moment broke something in me. I went to my car and wept. In that moment, I made a decision that would shape how I lead: if I ever get to set the culture of a church, the dress code for someone seeking Jesus will be simple. Here's the dress code: please wear something. That's it.
If you're trying to get to Jesus, come exactly as you are. Come with your doubts. Come with your fears. Bring your failures, your sins, your addictions. We want all of it here. That's what tears down walls and builds bridges for the glory of Jesus Christ.
Here's something crucial: people don't get saved the way you think they do. Imagine everyone you meet exists somewhere on a spectrum. Zero is the point where someone crosses the line of faith and bends their knee to Jesus. But before that moment, everyone is somewhere along the journey—negative one, negative two, all the way down to negative ten. Everybody you meet is somewhere along this spectrum of steps away from making a decision to trust Christ.
Most people think their job is to get someone over the line in one conversation. But if you think that's your responsibility, you'll end up doing nothing. Instead, you need to be comfortable converting first downs. You don't have to make every conversation a touchdown.
At Lakepointe, we say that everybody has a One More—the person closest to you but farthest from God. Here's how to start:
Write the name of that person on a card and put it somewhere visible where you'll see it every day. A good place is your bathroom mirror—somewhere you brush your teeth morning and evening. When you see it, pray for God to give you an opportunity to share the love of Christ with that person.
A practical tip: don't put it on your computer screen where your coworker Hank walks in and sees his name. That's not going to go well.
When you start praying, God begins to supernaturally soften that person's heart. They might not know it's happening, but they move from a negative ten to a negative eight. That's how it starts.
Around negative eight, seven, or six, something crucial happens: a loving interaction with a Christian changes how they think about Christians.
Here's what my wife Jana and I do when we eat out: we give really generous tips. When the server leaves, they think, "That Christian family was amazing. They were thoughtful and caring." If they previously thought Christians were stingy or jerks, this changes their perception. They move closer to zero.
About right here, you need to be public that you're on Team Jesus. Jesus said, "If you deny me before men, I will deny you before my Father." No secret agent Christians.
This doesn't have to be complicated. It's natural things like:
You'd be surprised how many people end up at Lakepointe because they kept seeing our stickers on trucks and wondered what they meant. Someone would say, "Oh, that's my church. I love my church." It moves people closer.
When someone is getting close to zero, they'll often talk to you about tough times—divorce, cancer, loss. This is your moment. Drop in a little sentence like this: "Man, I went through a divorce too about a decade ago. I never would have gotten through it without Christ." Then leave it right there. No big sudden movements. If they ask, you go further. Otherwise, just leave it.
This is exactly what Paul did in Acts 26—he simply shared his story. That's all he did.
When they're right here, invite them to church where they'll hear a clear gospel presentation. This is crucial because not everyone is called to close the deal. About ten percent of Christians have the spiritual gift of evangelism. For some reason, God gave me that gift. But your gift might be different.
Your job is to move them one click closer. You invite them to a place where someone with the gift of evangelism can present the gospel clearly.
Here's what keeps most people from doing this: you're scared they'll ask a question you can't answer. You think, "What if they ask about dinosaurs?"
First, it's okay to say, "I don't know. Let me find that out for you." But here's the real issue: you're confused about your role in the courtroom.
Jesus gave us marching orders in Acts 1: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you, and you will be my witnesses." Notice that word—witnesses, not prosecutors.
A prosecuting attorney makes an airtight case. They answer every question and judo-flip objections back at you. But a witness just shares their side of the story. Your job is simply to say, "Here's what I know God did in my life. Here's my story." That's it.
Here's something beautiful: the greatest church service you'll ever attend won't be one where God works powerfully in your own life. It will be the service where your One More is with you—the prodigal son or daughter you've been praying for for three years or three decades.
I have a favorite moment in every service. When I get to the part about Jesus, I say, "Everybody bow your heads and close your eyes." Then I say, "Something solidifies you spiritually when you respond physically." I invite people to raise their hand on the count of three.
Every other service of the year, you're supposed to keep your head bowed and eyes closed. But there's one time you have my permission to cheat—when your One More is with you. You're going to see that shoulder move. You're going to see that hand shoot up in the air. In that moment, you're going to know that somebody is going to spend eternity with Christ in heaven because God used you. That right there is what God is calling you to do as an ambassador of heaven.
God wants to make us a church of tens of thousands, but not a crowd—disciples of Jesus Christ. We're all in on Team Jesus. We're people who seek and save the lost with the love of Jesus Christ. We're spirit-filled men and women of courage and conviction, moving people one click closer to the kingdom of heaven.
That's our prayer: that God would make us bold witnesses and that He would save one more.
