Husband, father, and Anglican priest living in the North Georgia Mountains. Sermons, reflections, and articles promoting the "Ancient Faith for Modern Times". Subscribe below to get the latest posts in your inbox.
"I am the gate" — a claim to divine identity. One narrow gate, wide open to anyone who enters. The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. The Shepherd comes for abundant life. The gate was opened at a cost. Only the one who died to open it can say "I am the gate."
Two disciples walked away from Jerusalem on the day of the resurrection — grieving, confused, hopes shattered. Jesus drew near and walked with them before they knew who he was. He opened the Scriptures, broke the bread, and their eyes were opened. The road to Emmaus did not end in that village.
On Easter evening, the disciples hid behind locked doors — not just afraid, but crushed by guilt and grief. Jesus came through anyway, spoke peace, and breathed new life into them. He is still doing exactly that today.
On Easter morning, Mary came weeping in darkness—grieving and hopeless. The risen Jesus met her there, called her by name, and turned her tears into testimony: “I have seen the Lord.” He is calling your name too. Hear. Respond.
A Good Friday sermon on John 18–19. From the garden to Golgotha, one word reorders everything: tetelestai — paid in full.
Good Friday stops everything. No flowers, no music, just a bare altar and silence. In this countercultural observance, the worst day in history is called “good”—the day divine love triumphed on the cross.