Willing Beats Ready

Sent

When Your Name Gets Tagged

Picture this: the youth baseball season is about to start, and a text hits the team group chat—“We still need a coach.” The thread goes silent. Everyone’s busy. Everyone hopes someone else will do it. Then your name gets tagged: “@You—could you lead?” Your first reaction isn’t excitement; it’s panic. Me? I’m not qualified. I don’t know the drills. I don’t even have the hat.

That’s exactly how most of Jesus’ first followers likely felt when He called them. He didn’t scoop the religious elite or the socially polished. He chose fishermen with calloused hands, a tax collector with a messy reputation, and a zealot with a past. Ordinary people—like you and me. And then He did the unthinkable: He sent them. “He called His twelve disciples…and sent them” (Matthew 10:1, 5). Later, the risen Jesus breathed peace and said, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you” (John 20:21).

SENT. That’s the heartbeat of this series. Jesus doesn’t invite you to a comfy row of seats; He hands you a jersey and points to the field. He moves us from comfort to calling, from spectators to sent ones. You may feel underqualified—great. That’s His favorite starting point.

Over the next four weeks, we’re tracing what it really means to live on mission—called by Christ, commissioned with authority, empowered by the Spirit, compelled by love. Today, we begin where it starts: you are called and commissioned. God’s plan to change the world runs straight through people who didn’t think they were ready.

Here’s what we often miss: when Jesus sends you, He’s not tossing you into the deep end to see if you sink. He goes with you. His authority, not your résumé. His Spirit, not your swagger. His mission, not your brand.

So let me ask plainly—where have you been waiting for “someone else” to step up? What if your name is already tagged?

Jesus Calls the Unqualified (Matthew 10:1–4)

The week after that baseball text thread, you finally agree to help—not because you suddenly know all the drills. You show up because those kids need someone willing, not perfect. On day one, you’re handed a clipboard and—surprise—authority: the practice plan, the lineup, the whistle. You didn’t earn it with a trophy case; it was given for a purpose.

That’s the shape of Matthew 10. “Jesus called his twelve disciples to him and gave them authority…” He doesn’t pass out gold stars. He places real authority into ordinary hands—authority to confront darkness and to heal what’s broken. And then Matthew does something tender: he writes down their names. Because every name is a story, and every story is a miracle of grace.

Peter—brave and brash, first to speak, first to sink, first to run, first to return.

Matthew—tax collector; the guy everyone side-eyed in the marketplace.

Simon the Zealot—wired tight, politically loaded, ready to flip a table if Rome breathed wrong.

Thomas—slow to believe, thorough to the point of hesitation.

And Judas—proof that proximity isn’t the same as surrender.

This is not a dream team. It’s a real team. Calluses, baggage, blind spots—and still, Jesus calls them. Why? Because He isn’t recruiting résumés; He’s calling hearts. He isn’t impressed by polish; He’s moved by surrender.

Paul would later look at a church full of these kinds of stories and say, “Look around. Not many of you were the world’s idea of impressive. But God chose what the world calls foolish to shame the wise… so no one can boast” (1 Corinthians 1:26–29, paraphrased). Translation: God stacks the deck with unlikely people so the world can’t miss who’s actually responsible.

1 Corinthians 1:26–29 RSV

For consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong, God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.

And when Peter and John, two blue-collar men from a lakeside town, stood before Jerusalem’s polished leaders, Acts says the council was astonished and “recognized that they had been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13). Not their degrees. Not their connections. Their proximity to Christ.

Here’s the hinge: what if the qualification Jesus is looking for isn’t your strength but your surrender? What if the thing you’ve labeled as disqualifying—your past, your doubts, your lack of pedigree—is precisely the ground where His authority loves to land?

Some of us have quietly benched ourselves:

“My story is too messy.”

“My skills are too small.”

“My faith is too shaky.”

Listen: the mission of God has never depended on your ability; it has always moved on your availability. Jesus didn’t scan Galilee for the most impressive; He walked toward the willing.

So let’s get uncomfortably practical:

Where are you waiting until you “feel ready” before you say yes?

What label—“too broken,” “too late,” “too ordinary”—is Jesus trying to peel off?

Who needs your imperfect obedience more than your perfect plan?

Step closer to Jesus—not because closeness makes you lovable, but because closeness makes you usable. Be with Him, and you’ll carry Him. Sit at His feet, and you’ll stand in His authority.

Jesus Equips the Willing

Think about your first day at a new job. You walk in unsure, maybe a little impostor syndrome creeping up your spine. Then your supervisor hands you a badge, a login, and the keys you’ll need. Suddenly, you’re not just “touring the office”—you’re authorized to do the work. You didn’t bring the authority with you; it was given to you for a purpose.

That’s Matthew 10:1. “Jesus called his twelve disciples to him and gave them authority…” He didn’t pat them on the back and wish them luck. He placed real spiritual authority into ordinary hands—power to confront darkness and heal what’s broken. And He still does this.

Ephesians 2:10 says we are “God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Translation: when Jesus calls, the path is already scouted. The work isn’t random; it’s prepared. You’re not stumbling into chaos; you’re stepping into something God planned before you had a name.

Does that feel intimidating? Good. Calling usually lives past the edge of your comfort. That’s where dependence is born. Peter says, “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of Him who called us” (2 Peter 1:3). Notice the tense—has given. Not “will give if you prove yourself.” He equips as He sends and while you go.

This is the church’s story from the start. God uses ordinary, willing people to do extraordinary things. Augustine put it plainly: “God does not choose people because they are worthy; by choosing them He makes them worthy.” The pattern never changes—God equips the willing, not the qualified.

Bring it into your lane:

Has He been nudging you to start something small but faithful—like a weekly prayer with your co-workers?

To forgive the person you’ve kept at arm’s length?

To offer leadership where you’ve only offered opinions?

To share your faith with the neighbor you always wave to but never truly meet?

If it feels “too big,” that’s the point. He isn’t asking you to muscle up. He’s inviting you to lean down—onto His strength, His Spirit, His power. Your limits aren’t a liability; they’re the landing pad for His sufficiency.

Loving but direct word: willing beats “ready.” Ready waits for perfect conditions; willing says yes to Jesus and takes the next faithful step.

Jesus Sends with Purpose (Conclusion)

If you’ve tracked with us, you know this isn’t about being nicer or busier; it’s about being sent on purpose.

Jesus is exact about that purpose. “As you go, proclaim: ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Heal the sick… Freely you have received; freely give” (Matthew 10:7–8). He doesn’t say, “Blend in.” He says, “Bring the kingdom near.” And after the cross and the empty tomb, He breathes on trembling disciples in a locked room and says, “As the Father has sent Me, I am sending you” (John 20:21). Same love that sent Him now sends us. The mission isn’t a side quest; it’s our identity.

Paul presses the urgency: “How can they believe… if they haven’t heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?… How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” (Romans 10:14–15). Beautiful feet aren’t polished; they’re purposeful. They go where pain lives and where hope feels thin.

Let’s land this where you live. Your life is not a waiting room for heaven. You’ve been placed—strategically—on a street with particular neighbors, inside a workplace with real names and real pressures, in a circle of friends carrying hidden griefs and loud distractions. This week, they will bump into you. Not by accident. By assignment.

And you don’t need a pulpit to preach. Proclaiming the kingdom can sound like, “Can I pray for you right now?” It can look like forgiving the debt you’ve kept itemized in your heart. It can feel like staying in the room with a friend who has no words, and still naming hope because you know the One who walked out of a tomb. That’s what it means to be sent.

Augustine said, “Without God, we cannot; without us, God will not.” God chooses partnership. He supplies the power; we supply the yes.

Three questions to carry into your week:

Where has God already placed you to be a witness? (Name the address, the desk, the sideline.)

Who in your path needs to see the kingdom—not just hear about it? (Put a face to that verse.)

What interruption might actually be an invitation? (Treat it like an assignment, not a nuisance.)

The Twist We’ve Been Building Toward

Remember that opening scene—the team with no coach, the silent thread, the tag on your name? Here’s the twist: in Christ, you’re not just a player who finally agreed to help. The moment Jesus called you, He made you an assistant coach on His team. He put a whistle around your neck and authority in your hands—not to boss people around, but to serve, to heal, to announce that the kingdom has come near.

And there’s more. On the back of your jersey is your name—but on the front, over your heart, there’s a captain’s patch you didn’t sew on. Why? Because the next person who’s waiting on the bench—unsure, underqualified, half-ready—is looking for someone to call their name the way Jesus called yours.

You are not only sent to people; you are sent to raise the sent. The mission doesn’t end when you step onto the field; it multiplies when you tap the next willing person on the shoulder and say, “Come with me.”

Church, the risen Christ didn’t appear in a locked room to soothe anxieties and send everyone back to normal. He came to commission. He came to breathe His Spirit and put His authority into ordinary hands. His words still echo: “As the Father has sent Me, I am sending you.”

So—say yes. Put on the jersey. Keep the whistle close. And before this week ends, call someone else off the bench.

You’re sent. Now, send.