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FEAR-LESS (Part 4)
We're all just a bunch of regular people who've met a completely irregular God who has changed our lives. It means everything to us, and when we get the chance to sing about it and talk about it, it's a big deal.
Before we read, understand what this book actually is. The Bible is the greatest-selling book of all time — and my fun fact, the most stolen book of all time. But this isn't just a book. It outpaces and outweighs every other ancient manuscript ever written. I'm not talking about religious books; I'm talking about any history book ever made.
Consider the copies of Caesar's history that you read about in your history books — we have around ten copies left today. We have roughly 6,000 manuscripts of this book, dating back further. If you believe Caesar was a real person, or Alexander the Great, or Homer's Iliad, it takes far more faith factually to trust those manuscripts than it does to trust our book. We have more factual evidence that Jesus was a real person than we do that Abraham Lincoln was.
So when we gather here, yes, there is a supernatural element to what we're doing — but we're not naïve about the facts either.
Here's the other thing that stands out: every other ancient book was written by one person, and even those contain contradictions. This book was written by thousands of different people, across thousands of years, all telling the same story. Which would you trust — one person telling you how it went, or thousands of years of different people prophesying about a man, and it all came to pass exactly as they said it would?
And courts of law require multiple witnesses. Jesus appeared to 500 people at the same time. That's not, "Doesn't he kind of look like him?" That's holes in his hands and a wound in his side.
Let me tell you something: Jesus isn't afraid of facts or science. He made all of it.
"The Spirit of God was hovering over the waters... And God said, 'Let us make man in our image.'"
This is why you have to know the Bible — because you'll be scrolling on your phone and someone will try to talk you out of your faith in thirty seconds. If you're looking for the truth — not a truth, but the way, the truth, and the life, the King of Kings — we have him right here. His name is Jesus. And there's no other way. He's the one who made you, the one you need, and he's coming back one day. Every knee will bow.
Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them. As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd. "Teacher," they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the act of adultery. The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him. But Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, "Where are your accusers? Didn't even one of them condemn you?"
"No, Lord," she said. And Jesus said, "Neither do I. Go and sin no more."
Notice her words. We don't know this woman's theological background. We don't know if she'd prayed a sinner's prayer. But in this interaction, you can see a transformation in her heart. She doesn't say, "No, Jesus." She doesn't say, "No, sir." She says, "No, Lord."
Last week we said that fear makes you afraid of being wrong. But fear has another side: it makes you desperate to prove how right you are. It's not enough just to be right — you have to make sure everybody else knows it. That's exactly what the Pharisees are doing.
But here's the thing about being right:
In our first year of marriage, Abby and I were up late one night and saw a post from friends whose house had burned down in an electrical fire. We jumped in the car at midnight and drove over. We walked through the ashes with them, pulling out photos and memories, carrying what we could save to the front yard.
Then we all stood in the front yard, staring at the wreckage of their dreams and their future. And Abby — who always finds the positive — said, "Well... at least you get insurance money. You can rebuild the whole thing, right?"
She was technically right. But just because you're right doesn't mean you have to be right, right now.
This is what our society has become. The only way to prove I'm right is to tell you right now how right I am — regardless of what it costs, who it hurts, or how it makes anyone feel.
There's a study about concerts. The exciting part of a concert used to be going to the concert. Then it became recording it to relive it later. But now, researchers say the greatest part of a concert in everyone's subconscious is the moment they post it to show everyone where they were. Because there's something in us that feels like being there isn't enough — you have to prove it.
That's what fear does. It has us walking around trying to prove things to people:
And the easiest way to gain an audience is to make it about who's right and who's wrong.
It's the lamest thing a preacher can do to build a church off of making other people wrong. People pick a side, demonize the other side, and build a following. "I like that pastor — he stands on the truth." No, you mean he doesn't like who you don't like. There's only one truth you get to stand on in here, and it's not opinions, policies, or people. It's the man Jesus Christ.
Imagine John 8 as real life. You're in the middle of church, Jesus is on the stage, and some Bible study leaders start dragging a naked woman from the back, against her will, and throw her down at the front. That's the scene.
They don't actually care about the question they're asking. They don't care what Moses says in Deuteronomy 17 or Leviticus 22. They don't care about this woman. They care about trapping Jesus.
This is what happens when you think you're right — you'll step over people, and worst of all, you'll dehumanize people. It's what the comment section does to us: you forget you're talking to a real person, so you rip into them.
And here's the catch — they were right. One hundred percent. Except for a few small details. And Jesus is about to execute grace and truth to perfection.
We treat grace and truth like they're sides. Some churches are "grace churches," some are "truth churches." But it's both, at the same time. The most potent truth in human history is grace:
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."
Sometimes the most gracious thing I can do is tell you the truth. It's not either/or. It's both.
Through the way Jesus navigates this moment, he shows us three ways to actually be right.
Fear of proving you're right will have you speeding up the moment. You've been in an argument where you know you're right, and you're just waiting — ready to fire off, wishing they'd give you an opening.
There's something about being right that we humans can't handle well. We start carrying arrogance and intensity. We stop seeing people as people and start thinking, "I'm about to prove my point." I'm just as guilty. I talk for a living, so when my wife makes one wrong step, I'm ready to blow up the whole argument. I can be so wrong when I'm right.
Your greatest test as a follower of Jesus is not only how you handle being wrong, but how you handle being right.
So when they ask, "Jesus, what do you say?" — Jesus says nothing. He stoops down and writes in the dust. We don't know what he wrote, but much of the crowd would have had Jeremiah 17 memorized:
"Those who turn away from you will be written in the dust because they have forsaken the Lord."
Notice the order: he stoops before he speaks.
This is my challenge to us. We don't want to stoop down to anyone's level — we want to talk about people from up high. But I don't want to hear anything you have to say about a group of people if you've never stooped, never been on their level, never sat in their pain, never asked what their life is actually like.
When Jesus is right, he stoops down. Because this is the story of God:
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."
"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are."
That's the gospel. I get on your level. Being right doesn't look like lording over people — it looks like getting down in the dirt with people.
The Pharisees are on unsure footing. And when you don't know you're right, you'll do anything to prove it. But Jesus, secure in his rightness, can afford to slow down.
So ask yourself: First, are you actually right? And if you are — is right now the time to be right? Jesus wept before he raised Lazarus. We have a King who knows not just that he's right, but when it's time to be right.
Slowing down doesn't mean softening the truth. Jesus doesn't fluctuate the truth at all — he knows it so well that he outmatches the people trying to trap one of his children.
Jesus knows the law. They're right that Leviticus and Deuteronomy call for stoning in the case of adultery — but the Scriptures say both guilty parties, and both accusers, must be present. So where's the man? Where's your friend?
Many theologians believe they knew the man, because how else would they know where she was sleeping, when, and with whom? How did they know exactly where she'd be, at what time, and close enough to the temple to drag her there? Because they weren't seeking justice. They were using a person to prove a point.
Jesus knows the law, but he also knows why the law says what it says. We know John 3:16. But do you know John 3:17?
"For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him."
God does not use his truth to make people smaller. When you make people small, that doesn't prove you're right. You may be technically right and still so wrong.
Jesus stands firm: "Sure, let's stone her. I know the law — I was there when it was written. I am the law. I didn't come to abolish it but to fulfill it." And because he stands on the law, he knows there has to be a lamb to pay for this. In a few days, he'll be on a cross for this very girl. Her punishment isn't skipped; it's postponed and paid for.
You don't use the truth to trap people. Every parent knows the trap question: a kid walks in with chocolate all over their face — "Do you have any chocolate?" You already know the truth; you're just setting a trap.
Jesus doesn't do that. He uses the truth:
"You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free."
He stands up: "Woman, where are your accusers?" There must be multiple accusers for a proper judgment — and they've all left. He wants her to know: it's just me and you now. They were technically right, but I'm here so you can be made righteous.
There's a difference between being right and being righteous. Right is about your judgment and your interpretation. Righteousness is something only he can do.
"God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God."
The goal of following Jesus is not to parade how right you are, but to declare how righteous he made you. That's why Paul calls himself the chief of sinners — "but God made me right, and any right I stand on is only because of him."
The most right a human being has ever been in history is Jesus — while the very people he created beat him beyond recognition. He was right about the law, about humanity, about every question. Perfect, without sin, dragged up a hill and pinned to a cross. He knew the consequence that should have fallen on them. And still, he let them do it.
Why? Because when you know you are eternally right, you're okay with being a little earthly wrong.
Jesus knew, "I technically shouldn't be up here — it should be you." But he thought, "Because I know I'm right about the right things, I can let you think I'm wrong. I can let you think I'm weak."
The Roman soldiers felt so confident: "King of the Jews? He's nobody." But Jesus could have snatched the breath from their bodies with a snap. The earth was about to shake because its Creator was being beaten by his creation. He could have called legions of angels. He knew exactly who he was — and that in three days he'd rise again.
It's not just the fact that you're right — it's how you're right. So he let them think he was weak. He let the devil think he'd won for a couple of days, because he knew he was right on the one that mattered.
I believe the disciples wrote the book of Acts the way they did because they saw all of this with their own eyes. They saw how many times Jesus didn't speak back, how his own creation mocked him, and how their Savior chose meekness. There is something powerful about being that meek. The scariest people you meet aren't the loud ones — they're the quiet, steady ones. And our King, with all power, chose to be silent.
When that part of you that so desperately wants to be right shows up this week — slow down. Take a deep breath.
In an argument with your spouse? If your marriage is the house you live in, why tear up your own house just to be right? Some things you say, you can't take back. So yes — you were right. But now you're alone. You showed them, and now you're by yourself.
You can stand firm and at peace, knowing that you have Jesus. Let it go. Let people think what they want to think. That moment when you finally prove you were right won't be as special as you imagine.
When we find ourselves fighting to be right, may we slow down, stand on your truth, and use the truth to bring freedom.
There's one thing I'd never want you to get wrong — and that's thinking you can do life by yourself. Some of you are carrying pressure, weight, and responsibility that's overwhelming. On the outside, no one knows; on the inside, you're full of turmoil, anxiety, and fear.
Friend, you can be right today. You can make the one decision that changes your life forever: accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior. If you get this right, you can get everything else wrong.
The good news of Jesus is that he was right all the time about everything, and he lived the perfect life you and I could never live. He died on the cross for you and me, so that when God looks at us, he doesn't just see us — he sees the right that Jesus did.
If you want to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior, pray this with me:
Dear God, I admit I'm wrong. I need you. Jesus, thank you for dying for me. Change me. Save me. Make me new. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.
Your life is different forever. That's the best decision you could ever make.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
FEAR-LESS (Part 4)
We're all just a bunch of regular people who've met a completely irregular God who has changed our lives. It means everything to us, and when we get the chance to sing about it and talk about it, it's a big deal.
Before we read, understand what this book actually is. The Bible is the greatest-selling book of all time — and my fun fact, the most stolen book of all time. But this isn't just a book. It outpaces and outweighs every other ancient manuscript ever written. I'm not talking about religious books; I'm talking about any history book ever made.
Consider the copies of Caesar's history that you read about in your history books — we have around ten copies left today. We have roughly 6,000 manuscripts of this book, dating back further. If you believe Caesar was a real person, or Alexander the Great, or Homer's Iliad, it takes far more faith factually to trust those manuscripts than it does to trust our book. We have more factual evidence that Jesus was a real person than we do that Abraham Lincoln was.
So when we gather here, yes, there is a supernatural element to what we're doing — but we're not naïve about the facts either.
Here's the other thing that stands out: every other ancient book was written by one person, and even those contain contradictions. This book was written by thousands of different people, across thousands of years, all telling the same story. Which would you trust — one person telling you how it went, or thousands of years of different people prophesying about a man, and it all came to pass exactly as they said it would?
And courts of law require multiple witnesses. Jesus appeared to 500 people at the same time. That's not, "Doesn't he kind of look like him?" That's holes in his hands and a wound in his side.
Let me tell you something: Jesus isn't afraid of facts or science. He made all of it.
"The Spirit of God was hovering over the waters... And God said, 'Let us make man in our image.'"
This is why you have to know the Bible — because you'll be scrolling on your phone and someone will try to talk you out of your faith in thirty seconds. If you're looking for the truth — not a truth, but the way, the truth, and the life, the King of Kings — we have him right here. His name is Jesus. And there's no other way. He's the one who made you, the one you need, and he's coming back one day. Every knee will bow.
Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them. As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd. "Teacher," they said to Jesus, "this woman was caught in the act of adultery. The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him. But Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust.
When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, "Where are your accusers? Didn't even one of them condemn you?"
"No, Lord," she said. And Jesus said, "Neither do I. Go and sin no more."
Notice her words. We don't know this woman's theological background. We don't know if she'd prayed a sinner's prayer. But in this interaction, you can see a transformation in her heart. She doesn't say, "No, Jesus." She doesn't say, "No, sir." She says, "No, Lord."
Last week we said that fear makes you afraid of being wrong. But fear has another side: it makes you desperate to prove how right you are. It's not enough just to be right — you have to make sure everybody else knows it. That's exactly what the Pharisees are doing.
But here's the thing about being right:
In our first year of marriage, Abby and I were up late one night and saw a post from friends whose house had burned down in an electrical fire. We jumped in the car at midnight and drove over. We walked through the ashes with them, pulling out photos and memories, carrying what we could save to the front yard.
Then we all stood in the front yard, staring at the wreckage of their dreams and their future. And Abby — who always finds the positive — said, "Well... at least you get insurance money. You can rebuild the whole thing, right?"
She was technically right. But just because you're right doesn't mean you have to be right, right now.
This is what our society has become. The only way to prove I'm right is to tell you right now how right I am — regardless of what it costs, who it hurts, or how it makes anyone feel.
There's a study about concerts. The exciting part of a concert used to be going to the concert. Then it became recording it to relive it later. But now, researchers say the greatest part of a concert in everyone's subconscious is the moment they post it to show everyone where they were. Because there's something in us that feels like being there isn't enough — you have to prove it.
That's what fear does. It has us walking around trying to prove things to people:
And the easiest way to gain an audience is to make it about who's right and who's wrong.
It's the lamest thing a preacher can do to build a church off of making other people wrong. People pick a side, demonize the other side, and build a following. "I like that pastor — he stands on the truth." No, you mean he doesn't like who you don't like. There's only one truth you get to stand on in here, and it's not opinions, policies, or people. It's the man Jesus Christ.
Imagine John 8 as real life. You're in the middle of church, Jesus is on the stage, and some Bible study leaders start dragging a naked woman from the back, against her will, and throw her down at the front. That's the scene.
They don't actually care about the question they're asking. They don't care what Moses says in Deuteronomy 17 or Leviticus 22. They don't care about this woman. They care about trapping Jesus.
This is what happens when you think you're right — you'll step over people, and worst of all, you'll dehumanize people. It's what the comment section does to us: you forget you're talking to a real person, so you rip into them.
And here's the catch — they were right. One hundred percent. Except for a few small details. And Jesus is about to execute grace and truth to perfection.
We treat grace and truth like they're sides. Some churches are "grace churches," some are "truth churches." But it's both, at the same time. The most potent truth in human history is grace:
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."
Sometimes the most gracious thing I can do is tell you the truth. It's not either/or. It's both.
Through the way Jesus navigates this moment, he shows us three ways to actually be right.
Fear of proving you're right will have you speeding up the moment. You've been in an argument where you know you're right, and you're just waiting — ready to fire off, wishing they'd give you an opening.
There's something about being right that we humans can't handle well. We start carrying arrogance and intensity. We stop seeing people as people and start thinking, "I'm about to prove my point." I'm just as guilty. I talk for a living, so when my wife makes one wrong step, I'm ready to blow up the whole argument. I can be so wrong when I'm right.
Your greatest test as a follower of Jesus is not only how you handle being wrong, but how you handle being right.
So when they ask, "Jesus, what do you say?" — Jesus says nothing. He stoops down and writes in the dust. We don't know what he wrote, but much of the crowd would have had Jeremiah 17 memorized:
"Those who turn away from you will be written in the dust because they have forsaken the Lord."
Notice the order: he stoops before he speaks.
This is my challenge to us. We don't want to stoop down to anyone's level — we want to talk about people from up high. But I don't want to hear anything you have to say about a group of people if you've never stooped, never been on their level, never sat in their pain, never asked what their life is actually like.
When Jesus is right, he stoops down. Because this is the story of God:
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us."
"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are."
That's the gospel. I get on your level. Being right doesn't look like lording over people — it looks like getting down in the dirt with people.
The Pharisees are on unsure footing. And when you don't know you're right, you'll do anything to prove it. But Jesus, secure in his rightness, can afford to slow down.
So ask yourself: First, are you actually right? And if you are — is right now the time to be right? Jesus wept before he raised Lazarus. We have a King who knows not just that he's right, but when it's time to be right.
Slowing down doesn't mean softening the truth. Jesus doesn't fluctuate the truth at all — he knows it so well that he outmatches the people trying to trap one of his children.
Jesus knows the law. They're right that Leviticus and Deuteronomy call for stoning in the case of adultery — but the Scriptures say both guilty parties, and both accusers, must be present. So where's the man? Where's your friend?
Many theologians believe they knew the man, because how else would they know where she was sleeping, when, and with whom? How did they know exactly where she'd be, at what time, and close enough to the temple to drag her there? Because they weren't seeking justice. They were using a person to prove a point.
Jesus knows the law, but he also knows why the law says what it says. We know John 3:16. But do you know John 3:17?
"For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him."
God does not use his truth to make people smaller. When you make people small, that doesn't prove you're right. You may be technically right and still so wrong.
Jesus stands firm: "Sure, let's stone her. I know the law — I was there when it was written. I am the law. I didn't come to abolish it but to fulfill it." And because he stands on the law, he knows there has to be a lamb to pay for this. In a few days, he'll be on a cross for this very girl. Her punishment isn't skipped; it's postponed and paid for.
You don't use the truth to trap people. Every parent knows the trap question: a kid walks in with chocolate all over their face — "Do you have any chocolate?" You already know the truth; you're just setting a trap.
Jesus doesn't do that. He uses the truth:
"You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free."
He stands up: "Woman, where are your accusers?" There must be multiple accusers for a proper judgment — and they've all left. He wants her to know: it's just me and you now. They were technically right, but I'm here so you can be made righteous.
There's a difference between being right and being righteous. Right is about your judgment and your interpretation. Righteousness is something only he can do.
"God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God."
The goal of following Jesus is not to parade how right you are, but to declare how righteous he made you. That's why Paul calls himself the chief of sinners — "but God made me right, and any right I stand on is only because of him."
The most right a human being has ever been in history is Jesus — while the very people he created beat him beyond recognition. He was right about the law, about humanity, about every question. Perfect, without sin, dragged up a hill and pinned to a cross. He knew the consequence that should have fallen on them. And still, he let them do it.
Why? Because when you know you are eternally right, you're okay with being a little earthly wrong.
Jesus knew, "I technically shouldn't be up here — it should be you." But he thought, "Because I know I'm right about the right things, I can let you think I'm wrong. I can let you think I'm weak."
The Roman soldiers felt so confident: "King of the Jews? He's nobody." But Jesus could have snatched the breath from their bodies with a snap. The earth was about to shake because its Creator was being beaten by his creation. He could have called legions of angels. He knew exactly who he was — and that in three days he'd rise again.
It's not just the fact that you're right — it's how you're right. So he let them think he was weak. He let the devil think he'd won for a couple of days, because he knew he was right on the one that mattered.
I believe the disciples wrote the book of Acts the way they did because they saw all of this with their own eyes. They saw how many times Jesus didn't speak back, how his own creation mocked him, and how their Savior chose meekness. There is something powerful about being that meek. The scariest people you meet aren't the loud ones — they're the quiet, steady ones. And our King, with all power, chose to be silent.
When that part of you that so desperately wants to be right shows up this week — slow down. Take a deep breath.
In an argument with your spouse? If your marriage is the house you live in, why tear up your own house just to be right? Some things you say, you can't take back. So yes — you were right. But now you're alone. You showed them, and now you're by yourself.
You can stand firm and at peace, knowing that you have Jesus. Let it go. Let people think what they want to think. That moment when you finally prove you were right won't be as special as you imagine.
When we find ourselves fighting to be right, may we slow down, stand on your truth, and use the truth to bring freedom.
There's one thing I'd never want you to get wrong — and that's thinking you can do life by yourself. Some of you are carrying pressure, weight, and responsibility that's overwhelming. On the outside, no one knows; on the inside, you're full of turmoil, anxiety, and fear.
Friend, you can be right today. You can make the one decision that changes your life forever: accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior. If you get this right, you can get everything else wrong.
The good news of Jesus is that he was right all the time about everything, and he lived the perfect life you and I could never live. He died on the cross for you and me, so that when God looks at us, he doesn't just see us — he sees the right that Jesus did.
If you want to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior, pray this with me:
Dear God, I admit I'm wrong. I need you. Jesus, thank you for dying for me. Change me. Save me. Make me new. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.
Your life is different forever. That's the best decision you could ever make.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
