Submitting Like Christ

Good morning, Church.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit—Mother’s Day is one of those Sundays where I feel a little underqualified to speak from experience. I mean, I’ve never had morning sickness. I’ve never carried a child for nine months. I’ve never cried over spit-up and socks that never match. But I have had the front-row seat. I’ve seen the beauty, the brokenness, and the glory of motherhood up close.

Twenty-eight years ago, I stood in a hospital room and held our first child. And I’m not ashamed to say I was undone. Wrecked in the best possible way. In that moment, I felt a weight and wonder that’s hard to describe—like heaven whispered, “This one’s mine… and I’m giving them to you for a while.”

And I saw God differently that day.

Not just as the God who saved me, who forgave my sins, who gave me eternal life through the death and resurrection of Jesus. But as the God who gives good gifts. As the God who entrusts flawed people like us with something as sacred as shaping a soul.

And for the mothers in the room—can I just say this? God didn’t make a mistake when He made you a mom.

Psalm 113 says He “gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children.” And I know for many of you, that joy came with pain, with prayer, maybe even with loss. But when God placed that child in your arms—whether through birth or adoption or spiritual parenting—He wasn’t just handing you a baby… He was entrusting you with a mission.

To be, for a season, the hands and feet of Jesus to that little one.

Now that’s no small thing. And let’s be honest—it’s no easy thing either. I’ve watched my wife, and many of you, live this out. I’ve seen you love through exhaustion. I’ve seen you serve in obscurity. I’ve seen you fight battles in prayer that nobody else even knows you’re fighting.

And I’ve also seen you hide in the bathroom for just five minutes of peace. Let the church say amen.

The truth is—motherhood will stretch you. And some days, you’ll feel like you’re not enough. You’ll feel like you’ve failed. You’ll carry the weight of wondering if you’re doing this right. And if that’s you today, hear this: God’s grace is not just for salvation—it’s for motherhood too.

You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to be present.

You don’t have to know all the answers—you just have to stay on your knees.

You don’t have to pretend to have it together—you just have to keep pointing them to the One who does.

Because being the hands and feet of Jesus isn’t about being flawless—it’s about being faithful. It’s about bringing truth with tenderness. It’s about showing grace when they’ve blown it again. It’s about sacrificing for the good of another and calling it joy. That’s gospel love. That’s Jesus love.

Romans 10:17 says, “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.” And mom, can I encourage you? You may not see the fruit today. But every time you speak truth, every time you pray over your child, every time you walk them through the hard things with grace and mercy, you are sowing seeds that will grow.

One mom told me she often prays this verse over and over—but with a twist:

“Lord, help me instruct them in the way they should go.” But then she emphasizes a different word each time: Help ME… help me INSTRUCT… help me instruct THEM… …in the WAY… they SHOULD… GO.

And make no mistake—they will go. That’s the hard part, isn’t it? They grow up. They go out. They start walking paths you can’t walk for them. But the question is: in what way will they go?

Will they go with a foundation of truth and love? Will they carry with them the aroma of Jesus that you filled the home with? Will they remember not just what you said—but how you lived?

Because motherhood is not a performance. It’s a calling. And it’s not a solo act—it’s a Spirit-led walk. And it’s often done not standing tall, but walking low—on your knees.

So moms, here’s what I want to say to you today:

If you’ve ever wondered if it’s worth it—if they notice, if it matters, if they’ll remember—let me remind you: they do. And God does. And your heavenly Father sees it all.

So keep going. Keep praying. Keep showing up. Keep being the hands and feet of Jesus.

And church, as we wrap up our time together this morning, we want to take a moment to honor the mothers in this room—those who are raising littles, those whose children are grown, and even those who mother spiritually by pouring into others with love and grace.

So right now, I would ask that our children and youth come forward, we have a small gift for every mom, spiritual mom out there—just a simple reminder to say: Thank you. Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus in the way you nurture, teach, pray, and love.

If you are a mom—biological, adoptive, step, foster, or spiritual—would you stand right where you are?

Our children and youth are now going to pass out the gifts to you, I’d ask that you continue to stand after you receive your gift.

But before we move on, I want to do something important.

We’d like to pray over you.

Church, would you bow your head and pray with me as I pray over these wonderful mothers ?

Let’s pray together:

Heavenly Father, We thank You this morning for the gift of mothers—those who reflect Your compassion, Your strength, Your sacrificial love. We thank You for the way they wake up each day and choose to love, to lead, to serve, to give—often without applause or recognition.

God, we know that being a mom isn’t easy. It’s holy work. It’s hard work. And it’s work that can’t be done apart from You. So we ask, Lord, would You strengthen them today?

For the weary mom—be her rest. For the worried mom—be her peace. For the overwhelmed mom—be her anchor. For the joyful mom—be her praise.

Fill them with Your Spirit. Remind them that they are not alone. Surround them with Your presence and let them know they are seen, known, and loved by You.

May they walk in the truth that You have called them, equipped them, and are using them—even in the ordinary, even in the mess.

And Lord, may their children rise and call them blessed—not just for what they do, but for who they are in You.

We thank You for every woman standing in this room. We bless them in Jesus’ name.

Amen.

1 Peter 2: 13-25

Good morning, Church, grab your Bibles and make your way to 1 Peter 2. We are now in our 4th week walking through Peter’s first letter.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Today, we are talking about submitting.

Let’s just go ahead and say the thing nobody wants to admit in church—even if you’ve been saved since VBS in the '90s:

Nobody likes to submit.

Not to rules. Not to the speed limit. I can’t drive 55. Not to that HR training. Not even to the HOA president whose spiritual gift is sending strongly worded emails about your trash cans.

Let’s be real: submission doesn’t sit well with us. It sounds weak. It smells like losing.

But here’s the truth: this allergic reaction we have to submission—it didn’t start in our generation, it didn’t start in the previous generation.’

It started in Genesis 3.

When the serpent whispered, “Did God actually say…?” (Gen. 3:1), it wasn’t just about fruit.

It was about rebellion. Autonomy. The age-old lie that freedom means getting out from under authority.

Have you ever seen a toddler joyfully submit to nap time?

You hand them a blanket, a quiet room, you might even be rocking them and singing to them—basically a five-star experience—and they act like you’re sentencing them to solitary confinement. Because we are instinctlively wired to go: “You’re not the boss of me.”

That toddler grows up into a teenager who rolls their eyes there eyes any time you tell them what to do and you just want to loving make them stay that way. Into a church member who forwards emails instead of asking questions. Into a pastor who wants accountability for everyone except themselves.

And then along comes Peter—writing to a scattered, persecuted church—and says this:

“Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors…” (1 Peter 2:13–14, ESV)

Now that phrase—“Be subject”—just feels like it got lost on the way to the 21st century, doesn’t it?

It sounds like something you’d read in a Roman military handbook, or maybe a monastic vow. But Peter isn’t writing to soldiers or monks—he’s writing to ordinary Christians in exile. People trying to follow Jesus in a culture that’s moving further and further away from Him. Sound familiar?

Now let’s be honest—Peter’s words hit different when you realize who he’s writing to. These aren’t people living in comfort and safety.

These are believers scattered across hostile territory, wondering if following Jesus is still worth it. And into that mess, Peter drops this bomb: “Be subject… for the Lord’s sake.”

And that’s when we start to squirm a little. Its a little uncomfortable. Because submission sounds like surrender. It feels like laying down and letting the world trample over you.

But that’s only if you think submission is weakness. Peter’s about to flip that upside down.

Because submission in the Kingdom? It’s not weakness—it’s war. It's how we fight… differently.

And to help us see that, let me take you from 1st-century Rome to the Colosseum—figuratively and literally.

There’s this scene in Gladiator—maybe you’ve seen it. Maximus, a once-respected general, now just another nameless slave in the dirt. He’s not in command anymore. He’s not calling shots. He’s just another man with a sword and a target on his back. And the gates of the arena are about to open.

But instead of panicking or posturing, Maximus gathers the men around him and says, “Whatever comes out of these gates, we’ve got a better chance of survival if we work together. Do you understand? If we stay together, we survive.”

What’s he doing? He’s submitting—not to the enemy, but to something greater than himself. A mission. A purpose. A calling that goes beyond the moment.

And that’s the heartbeat of what Peter’s saying.

You and I? We’re in an arena too. Not with swords and tigers—but with cultural pressure, spiritual warfare, and a world that says, “Do whatever feels right.”

And Peter says: don’t fight like the world fights. Don’t rage like Rome. Submit. Not because they’re worthy. But because He is.

“Live as people who are free,” Peter says, “but not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil—live as servants of God.”

Because in the upside-down Kingdom of Jesus, submission is strength.

It’s how we say to the world: “My life isn’t mine. My hope isn’t in winning the argument. My trust is in the One who judges justly.”

And we follow the One who didn’t just preach submission—He embodied it.

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return… he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.”

That’s our model. That’s our mission. And that’s what it looks like to fight like Jesus. So, church—let’s read 1 Peter 2:13-25 and see exactly what Peter in encouraging us to do.

1 Peter 2:13–25 ESV

13 Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, 14 or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good. 15 For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people. 16 Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. 17 Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor. 18 Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust. 19 For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. 20 For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. 21 For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. 22 He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. 23 When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. 24 He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. 25 For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.

That is the Word of the Lord- let us pray.

1 Peter 2:13-17

Why does Peter bring up submission to authority right here?

I mean, think about what he just told us—we’re not who we used to be. We’ve been born again. We’re not just improved versions of our old selves—we’re a brand-new people.

A chosen race. A royal priesthood. A holy nation. God’s own possession. Or, as the old King James puts it, we’re a peculiar people.

Why? So that we can declare to the world how incredible our God is—the One who called us out of darkness and into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9).

Then in verse 10, Peter reminds us that we are now “the people of God.” And in verse 11, he calls us “sojourners and exiles.” In other words, this world isn’t home. We’re just passing through.

So it’s only natural to ask: If we belong to a heavenly kingdom, do we still owe anything to earthly ones? If we’re citizens of heaven, why bother submitting to flawed, earthly systems—especially when the Bible says “the whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19)?

But that’s exactly why Peter’s next words matter. Because what we do here, as foreigners in a broken world, says something powerful about the One we truly serve.

and the first thing we should do is:

You could emphasize that submission to authority is a reflection of our submission to God. Peter encourages Christians to submit for the Lord's sake, showing honor to all, love to the brotherhood, and fear of God. This serves as a testament to a life transformed by Christ. As Christians live out these attitudes, others can see a reflection of Christ’s sacrificial love and obedience in them.

1. Submitting for the Sake of the Savior.

Let’s make one thing abundantly clear—Peter wasn’t some wide-eyed optimist when it came to those in power.

He wasn’t blind to the corruption in Rome or the brutality of the rulers in Jerusalem.

This brother had seen firsthand how authority can go sideways.

He knew names like Herod and Nero weren’t exactly known for their Sunday School attendance.

When Rome is catches fire, Nero blames the Christians and lights them up like tiki torches along the roman road.

And yet—Peter doesn’t bat an eye.

Right here in verse 13, Peter writes, “Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution.” Whether it’s emperors in palaces or governors on local thrones, Peter says we’re to submit. And in verse 17? He even says we’re to honor them.

Now, that’s not because they’ve earned it. It’s not because they’re righteous. It’s not even because they’re right. The key phrase is this: “for the Lord’s sake.”

That little prepositional phrase packs a punch—it means our submission is ultimately an act of worship. It’s not about who they are. It’s about who He is.

That’s the why behind the what. It’s our reason. Our motivation. Not blind loyalty to man, but faithful obedience to God.

Now listen, Church—there is nothing in the New Testament that even hints at anarchy being the move for a follower of Jesus. Jesus Himself said it plain and simple: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matt. 22:21). Paul doubles down on this. He believed that governing authorities were put in place by God, and that those in leadership weren’t meant to be a threat to those trying to live with integrity (Rom. 13:1–7). In fact, Paul tells Timothy that Christians ought to pray for those in charge—kings, rulers, presidents, governors, city commissioners, even HOA board members (1 Tim. 2:2).

The consistent teaching of the New Testament is this: a Christian ought to be a good, faithful, and engaged citizen of whatever country—or state—they live in. Yes, even Florida. And let’s be real—only in Florida can you read a headline like: “Florida man fights with alligator to save struggling bald eagle.” Merica. We love our freedom and We are built different down here.

But even here, the biblical principle still holds: life is meant to be ordered, and God has put structures in place for the good of everyone. We don’t just huddle behind walls because we’re scared of bad guys—we agree to live under laws so that good folks can thrive and troublemakers are held back.

Now, here’s where it gets practical: the Bible says you can’t just soak up all the benefits of citizenship—freedom, infrastructure, safety, Dunkin Donutes—without also embracing the responsibilities that come with it. You can’t keep cashing the check and ghosting the job.

Back in the New Testament world, the government was authoritarian. Caesar said “jump,” and you didn’t ask “why?”—you just tried to land safely.

Christians back then were taught to submit, pay taxes, and keep the peace.

But we’re not in first-century Rome. We’re in a democracy. And here in the U.S.—and yes, even here in the great (and sometimes wild) state of Florida—democracy means that government is by the people, for the people, and you’re one of the people.

That means your responsibility to the state goes beyond obedience. It includes participation. Cooperation. Engagement. Being a citizen doesn’t just mean following the rules—it means helping shape them.

C.E.B. Cranfield once said that this kind of posture means voluntarily putting others ahead of ourselves—serving instead of being served, giving instead of always taking. That’s what gospel-driven citizenship looks like.

So Christian, if you're going to live out your faith in this state, it’s not just about staying out of trouble.

It’s about rolling up your sleeves and stepping into the spaces where decisions are made—whether that’s city council, your HOA (bless you), your profession, or your school board. Because being salt and light in this world isn’t a spectator sport.

Now let’s be real—there are exceptions. God’s Word doesn’t call us to blind obedience. There are moments—rare, but real—when the right thing to do is to disobey the authorities over us. When a human government commands something that directly contradicts the revealed will of God, the choice is clear. Like Peter said in Acts 5:29: “We must obey God rather than men.”

But don’t miss this: even then, rebellion isn’t the move. We’re not called to stage a coup or storm the gates. We’re called to courageously endure whatever consequences come, just like the early church did. Obedience to God might get you punished by man—but faithfulness means trusting God with the fallout.

Take Bible smuggling, for instance. Technically, it’s illegal in some nations. But when someone risks their life to carry the gospel into dark corners of the world, they’re not lawbreakers in heaven’s court—they’re obedient to the higher law: “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel” (Mark 16:15). And Scripture never condemns obedience to that.

Bottom line: our ultimate allegiance is to the Lord. And when earthly authority conflicts with heavenly commands, the choice is clear. But we walk that line with humility, conviction, and grace for others trying to do the same.

So yes—there are moments when obedience to God puts us at odds with the powers that be. But here’s the deal: when the world starts feeling like its falling apart, what keeps us steady isn’t politics or popularity—it’s the unchanging Word of God. That’s our compass. That’s how we stay oriented when everything else feels upside down.

Because without it, we end up navigating by emotion or crowd opinion—or just whatever feels right in the moment. But as bondservants of Christ, we take our cues from a different source. Not headlines and hashtags. But from the Lord.

That’s why Peter, the same one who told the authorities “We must obey God rather than men,” also reminds us what obedience really looks like—it’s not just saying “no” to the world, but saying “yes” to the will of God. Every day single day.

God’s Word is our compass, plain and simple. In a world that’s spinning like a weather vane in hurricane season, Scripture helps us get our bearings. And as bondservants of Christ—people who’ve been bought with a price—we don’t look to the culture to find our direction. We don’t take polls to figure out our morality. We look to the will of God.

Peter lays it out later in his letter when he talks about folks who’ve made a clean break with their old life. He says they’ve chosen “to live the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for human passions, but for the will of God” (1 Peter 4:2). In other words, they’ve stopped living for what they want and started living for what God wants.

And here’s the secret: the best way to know God’s will?

Is to say, “God, I will.” You don’t need a neon sign or a burning bush—just a surrendered heart. You say “yes” before you even know what the assignment is. Because when the compass of your life is set to true north—His Word—you’ll always be heading in the right direction.

and Adrian Rogers said it this way - "The will of God is not a road map. It is a relationship!"

1 Peter 2:15 ESV

15 For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people.

Let’s talk about ignorance—not just the “I forgot where I parked” kind, but the spiritual kind the Bible warns us about. The Greek word is agnosia—it literally means “without knowledge.” Not just uninformed. Unwilling. It’s not that people haven’t heard of God; it’s that they’ve chosen not to know Him. It’s less “I didn’t know,” and more “I didn’t want to know.”

This isn’t innocent ignorance—it’s what one commentator called “disgraceful ignorance.” Paul hits it hard in 1 Corinthians 15:34 when he says, “Wake up from your drunken stupor, as is right, and do not go on sinning. For some have no knowledge of God. I say this to your shame.” That’s not a soft word. That’s a spiritual slap across the face.

In classical Greek, agnosia came from not making contact with the truth. But in the New Testament, it goes deeper. It’s not just unfamiliarity—it’s refusal. It’s a willful blindness to the things of God. It’s like living in a house with all the lights off and pretending the sun doesn’t exist.

That word agnosia is where we get our English word agnostic—someone who says, “Well, we just can’t know.” But here’s the thing: God has made Himself knowable. Through creation. Through His Word. Through Christ. So the issue isn’t lack of evidence. It’s lack of surrender.

And when God’s people walk in the light, when we live out truth with grace and conviction—then the agnostic arguments fall flat. They get muzzled by a life that makes the invisible God visible.

Bottom line? Ignorance of God isn’t just a head problem—it’s a heart problem. And the cure isn’t more trivia. It’s transformation. It’s waking up, stepping into the light, and saying, “God, I want to know You—and I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore.”

The word foolish in the New Testament isn’t just about being silly or making a dumb mistake—it’s deeper than that. The Greek word is aphron, and it literally means “without understanding.” It’s not someone who can’t think—it’s someone who won’t. It’s when a person refuses to apply wisdom, especially in practical, everyday life. They ignore sound judgment, rush into things without considering the consequences, and end up reaping the whirlwind.

Now let me tell you a story.

A few years ago, this guy in Florida—and let’s be honest, all the best “don’t try this at home” stories start with “a guy in Florida”—decided he was going to rob a gas station. But here’s the kicker: he wrote his demands on the back of his own paycheck stub. With his full name. And address. Florida Man strikes again.

Now listen, that’s not just criminal—that’s foolish. It’s the definition of aphron—no prudence, no foresight, just full send into stupidity. And while we laugh at that, how often do we do something similar? Maybe not with crime, but with sin. We run headlong into decisions that wreck relationships, damage our witness, and put our spiritual lives on life support—because we didn’t stop to ask God first.

Proverbs 14:16 says, “One who is wise is cautious and turns away from evil, but a fool is reckless and careless.” The fool thinks, “I’ve got this.” The wise person says, “God, I aint got this, I need you to guide me”

And that’s what we are supposed to do- we submit to the will of God for the sake of Christ and through that it will silence the ignorant fools of this world.

2. Suffering Servants Show Grace

1 Peter 2:18-21

Let’s just go ahead and say the hard thing: there’s no eternal reward for suffering you earned. If you break the rules, get called out, or face the fallout of your own bad decisions, that’s not persecution—that’s accountability. But what Peter talks about in 1 Peter 2:20 is something different. He’s talking about the kind of suffering that isn’t fair. The kind you don’t deserve. And when you walk through that kind of fire with patience, humility, and trust in Jesus—that is where grace shows up in full color.

Peter says, “But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God.” That word gracious means it pleases God. It reflects His heart. It shows the watching world what Jesus is like.

Because here’s the deal: we’re not just called to believe in Christ. We’re called to follow Him—even in suffering. Especially in suffering. Verse 21 makes it clear: “For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps.”

So when we endure unjust suffering—when we don’t clap back, don’t retaliate, don’t try to defend our name at all costs—we are walking in the footsteps of Jesus. That kind of grace is given, not manufactured. It’s not weakness—it’s strength under the Spirit’s control.

And history gives us a stunning example of this in Dietrich Bonhoeffer. A German pastor and theologian during the rise of the Third Reich, Bonhoeffer stood publicly against Hitler when many in the church went silent or compromised. He spoke out on behalf of the Jews. He joined the Confessing Church. And eventually—after watching evil go unchecked for too long—he became involved in resistance efforts, including conspiracies to take Hitler’s life.

This wasn’t a simple decision. Bonhoeffer didn’t act out of rage or revenge. He did it out of a deep, anguished conviction that faith sometimes calls us to stand in the gap—even when it costs us dearly. He once wrote, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.”

In 1943, Bonhoeffer was arrested for his role in the resistance. He was imprisoned for two years. And in the spring of 1945—just weeks before the war ended—he was executed at Flossenbürg concentration camp. Witnesses said he died with a remarkable peace, praying quietly in his final moments.

His life wasn’t perfect. His choices were complicated. But even in the chaos, he clung to Christ. And he walked the path of suffering not with bitterness, but with grace—believing that God’s redemptive purpose could still work through broken vessels and dark seasons.

When we suffer wrongfully and endure it—not with a clenched fist, but with a surrendered heart—we’re walking in the steps of Jesus. That kind of faith doesn't always look clean or tidy. But it looks real. And it tells the truth about a Savior who suffered unjustly to redeem the world.

And the original audience of this letter- most of them were servants, even slaves—living under the daily weight of injustice, mockery, and abuse.

Peter says: “Live in such a way that your life makes the gospel look good.”

In other words, there’s no badge of honor in getting punched for doing wrong. But if you’re doing right—and you still get hit? And you keep on bearing it patiently? That’s when heaven leans in. That’s when grace shows up. That’s when your life starts to look like Jesus’.

The Greek word kolaphizo literally means to be struck with a closed fist. It’s the same word used in Matthew 26:67 and Mark 14:65 to describe what happened to Jesus: “Then they spit in his face and struck him. And some slapped him…” That’s the kind of suffering Peter’s audience knew. And that’s the kind of Savior they followed.

Peter isn’t saying this kind of endurance is easy. He’s saying it’s sacred.

It may feel like you're the anvil, and the world is the hammer. But keep standing. Because if you’re walking in Christ’s footsteps, even your suffering becomes worship.

It may be hard—bruising, even. But in that very crushing, there’s fragrance. Just like spices have to be crushed to release their aroma, sometimes we are pressed so that the sweetness of Christ can pour out of our lives.

You want a life where there’s no injustice? No heartache? No mistreatment? That world’s coming—but not yet. For now, we suffer with purpose. And when we do, it’s not pointless pain—it’s a testimony and a living breathing, example of grace.

The old saints used to say, “Grace grows best in winter.” And sometimes, the cold wind of injustice is what drives our roots down deep. Because the more the world strikes, the more we cling to the One who was “despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief…” (Isaiah 53:3, ESV).

Our job is just keep standing firm in the faith. To keep loving our neighbor as ourselves.

Because grace isn’t just something we receive—it’s something we reflect when we suffer well.

And every time you endure without retaliation, every time you respond to cruelty with kindness, every time you stay faithful when it would be easier to quit—you are putting the gospel on display. You are walking the same path your Savior walked.

And one day, you’ll hear Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” I don’t know about you, but my hope and prayer is to hear that after I breathe my last or Christ returns which ever happens first.

3. Sinless Savior, Healing Shepherd

1 Peter 2:22-25

Let’s not miss the weight of what Peter is saying here—Jesus didn’t suffer because He did something wrong. He wasn’t punished for a single sin of His own. He didn’t deserve the stripes. He didn’t earn the spit. He wasn’t guilty of even a whiff of unrighteousness. And yet—He endured it. All of it. Silently.

1 Peter 2:22–23 says, “He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”

In other words, He handed it all over to the only courtroom that never gets it wrong—the throne room of heaven. Jesus didn’t strike back. He didn’t post a rebuttal. He didn’t start a smear campaign. He trusted His Father to sort it all out.

When He was punched, He didn’t punch back. When He was lied about, He didn’t retaliate. He just kept walking—right through the suffering, right up to the cross—because He knew who held the final gavel.

And here's the deal: you and I? We’re called to follow that example.

Someone might say, “Well, even a cornered animal will lash out.” Yeah, maybe. But Christian—you’re not a wild animal. You’re a son. You’re a daughter. You’re not following the instincts of the flesh—you’re following the footsteps of the Lamb. And the Lamb was silent before His shearers.

Isaiah said it like this: “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter… he did not open his mouth” (Isaiah 53:7).

Why? Because He wasn’t just suffering with us—He was suffering for us.

And here’s where it gets personal: when you suffer for doing what’s right—when you get mocked, overlooked, misunderstood, or mistreated—and you endure it for Jesus’ sake?

You’re stepping into His story. You're sharing in His sufferings. And Peter’s saying, hold on—because if you share in His sufferings, you’ll also share in His glory.

So we don’t just worship Jesus on Sunday—we follow Him on Monday. Whether we’re pushing a plow, teaching a class, running a business, or raising babies—we do it all for Him. That’s what Peter is saying. A real Christian isn’t just someone who sings hymns and takes sermon notes. A real Christian is someone who wakes up and says, “Today, I belong to Jesus. Everything I do, everything I endure—it's all for Him.”

And when you live like that—when you walk the hard road behind the Sinless Savior—you begin to experience the gentle strength of the Healing Shepherd. Because by His wounds, we are healed. And by His example, we are led.

Meaning we can walk through the valley of the shadow of of death and free no evil for , God is with me, His rod and His staff they comfort me.

We can face any and all situations because Christ went first. He went first by 1 Peter 2:24

1 Peter 2:24 ESV

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.

Isaiah, the prophet, dropped one of the most powerful previews of Jesus we find in the entire Old Testament—a prophecy of the Suffering Servant. And when you read it, it’s hard to miss who the spotlight is on. Just look at how often it points directly to Him:

“Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:4–6, ESV)

You hear it? He carried it. He was pierced. He was crushed. He was wounded. It was all on Him. And Isaiah doesn’t just stop there.

Later in that same chapter, he says: “Out of the anguish of His soul He shall see and be satisfied; by His knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and He shall bear their iniquities.” (Isaiah 53:11, ESV) And then: “Because He poured out His soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet He bore the sin of many and makes intercession for the transgressors.” (v. 12)

So when John the Baptist sees Jesus walking toward him in John 1:29, he doesn’t say, “Hey, here’s a great teacher!” or “Look, the miracle worker!” He says, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” In that one sentence, he’s saying: This is the One Isaiah was talking about.

And here’s something interesting: the Jewish people didn’t crucify people—that wasn’t their way. If someone committed a capital crime, they were stoned. But if someone was especially evil, they’d hang their body on a tree afterward, as a public sign of shame (Deuteronomy 21:23). So when Jesus died—not just on a Roman cross, but on a tree—He bore not just physical pain, but the curse of the law itself.

“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’” (Galatians 3:13, ESV)

Jesus didn’t just die—He took our curse. He stepped in as the Lamb. He bore our shame. And He fulfilled every line of Isaiah’s prophecy—every single one.

And here's the beauty of it all: “By His wounds, we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5, ESV). Not just physically. Not just emotionally. We’re healed from the greatest sickness of all—spiritual death. The cross isn’t just about pain; it’s about restoration. It’s about resurrection. It’s about how a sinless Savior became our healing Shepherd.

When you come to Christ—when you surrender your life to Him—you don’t just get a second chance. You’ve heard the saying we serve the God of second chances. No we don’t. If we got a second chance, we would mess that up.

It not more chances. Its a new life. That’s the healing we’re talking about. He took the punishment so you could walk in peace.

He bore the wrath so you could be wrapped in grace.

And so now, Church, we come to a time of invitation and consecration.

This is where we ask: Have I submitted to the Lordship of Jesus? Because the first step of obedience—the first act of healing—is giving Him your life. Surrendering. Submitting. Saying, “Jesus, I’m not in charge anymore. You are.”

The second step is baptism—that public declaration that you’ve been buried with Christ and raised to walk in newness of life. If you’ve never taken that step, today is the day.

And then, the third step? That’s whatever He’s calling you to do. Maybe it’s joining this church. Maybe it’s stepping into ministry. Maybe it’s forgiving someone, letting go of bitterness, or finally trusting God with something you’ve held back for far too long.

During this next song—Christ Is Enough—the altar is open. You can come kneel and pray. You can come talk to me or one of the leaders. You can come submit. You can come surrender. You can come home. Whatever God is calling you to do, I pray that you do it.

Because hear me: Christ is enough. More than enough for your past. More than enough for your pain. More than enough for your future. So don’t wait. Say “yes” to Him today.

Lets stand, lets pray, lets respond, lets sing.

Father, We come before You humbled by the weight of what we've just heard— That our sinless Savior bore our shame, That our healing was bought with His wounds, And that His silence in suffering spoke louder than any words we could ever say.

Jesus, You didn’t deserve the cross, But You carried it. You didn’t owe us anything, But You gave us everything.

Lord, help us to follow in Your footsteps— To suffer well, to submit in faith, to trust You when it’s hard. You are the Lamb who was slain, and You are our Shepherd still.

Holy Spirit, stir in hearts right now. For those who’ve never taken that first step of obedience—bring them to surrender. For those who’ve trusted You but haven’t followed in baptism—give them courage. For those who are wrestling with a calling, a decision, a weight—let today be the day they lay it down.

As we sing, “Christ Is Enough,” may it not just be words on a screen, But a declaration from our souls. You are more than enough for us, Jesus.

Be glorified now in our response. We pray this in the matchless name of Jesus, Amen.