The apostle Paul was the persecutor turned preacher. After his encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus, his life underwent a transformation. Whatever you might say about him, you can't ignore his passion. Once he started sharing the gospel, he never turned back. His life was marked by an unrelenting desire for the world to know Jesus. Nothing kept him from that mission. Not hardship or ridicule, not persecution or imprisonment.

In Acts 26, he had a chance to make his defense before King Agrippa. He explained his conversion and what his ministry has entailed since then. Festus, the Roman governor, thought Paul had gone over the deep end. But the apostle didn't let that stop him from addressing the king.

King Agrippa responds to Paul with his famous question: Are you so quickly persuading me to become a Christian? Paul's reply offers a guide for how we might approach evangelism and outreach.

Paul says, "Whether quickly or not, I pray to God that not only you but also all who are listening to me today might become such as I am." Paul could not put pressure on a king to persuade him to convert, and he didn't try to. All he could do was share his story of faith and let God do the rest. He didn't try to pressure the king or anyone else. His testimony was heartfelt and free of manipulation.

John Wesley wrote: "God is continually breathing, as it were, upon the soul; and his soul is breathing unto God. Grace is descending into his heart; and prayer and praise ascending to heaven: And by this intercourse between God and man, this fellowship with the Father and the Son, as by a kind of spiritual respiration, the life of God in the soul is sustained, and the child of God grows up, till he comes to the 'full measure of the stature of Christ.'"

Wesley wrote that to answer the question of how we are born again in Christ. He called it spiritual respiration. Like our breathing keeps us physically alive, communion with God keeps us spiritually alive. Breathing is constant and essential. So, too, should be our awareness of God.

Our faith, then, isn't static, stale or mechanical. It is a living, relational rhythm with God. As God breathes grace into us, we respond with prayer and praise. That, says Wesley, is how God keeps us alive in Christ.

When we stop breathing spiritually, our soul begins to suffocate. We hold our spiritual breath by neglecting prayer, worship and service to God. As such, these practices are not ways to get in good with God. Instead, they are our responses to God's grace that help maintain the divine rhythm. And that is how we maintain fellowship with the Lord.

Today, a group from our church watched an episode of The Chosen. The episode centered around Jesus' sermon on the mount. In previous episodes, the disciples and Jesus had been preparing for this moment. His message seemed to resonate with them in a profound way. I promised the group I'd try to preach a good enough sermon to follow suit.

I've heard of many people praying for the right miracle. I'm sure you have, too. Today's episode has me wondering if we should also pray for the right message.

The prophet Jeremiah preached to the people for twenty-three years (Jeremiah 25:3). In that time, the people did not respond. He said the people "neither listened nor inclined" their ears to hear. That's a long time to ignore what God is telling you. It's easy to focus on how stubborn the people were, but I also can't help thinking about how loving God must be to keep speaking for so long.

God will send prophets to speak the messages we need to hear. Preachers, too. While we may want miracles to rescue us, it is the messages that redirect us. And, most times, that may be what we need more of from God.

When things fall apart, we're quick to blame the devil. Maybe even God. But how much of what happens is a consequence of our unwillingness to truly hear? We're often better at explaining ourselves than examining ourselves. For God's people, their exile would be the way to unlearn what their comfort and selfishness had taught them.

One day, Jesus cursed a fig tree, drove people out of the temple, and flipped some tables. The funny thing is, as Mark tells it, Jesus isn't angry. These aren't outbursts, but faith lessons. Each move is a deliberate teaching action.

The next morning, Peter sees the fig tree Jesus had cursed. He seems surprised. But Jesus had said no one would ever eat fruit from it.

So, what was the problem? The fig tree was like a staged home. Oh, the furniture looks beautiful and makes a wonderful impression on those who enter. It is perfectly presentable. But it is lifeless; no one lives there. The fig tree had leaves that appeared to be ready to bear fruit. But it was all show. An empty promise.

Since Jesus' actions in the temple are sandwiched by the lesson of the fig tree, it seems appropriate to make a connection. Namely, that Jesus wanted us to learn a difference. The difference was between religious activity and spiritual authenticity. Maybe busyness versus fruitfulness.

Many preachers have heard the warning: No one comes to church on Sunday wondering what happened to the Jebusites.

That's a reminder that when we preach, our job isn't just to give a history lesson. Our people don't need lectures, but wisdom and inspiration that help them make sense of their lives right now. God's word doesn't live in the past. It also speaks to our present.

I think about that opening quote sometimes when we talk about exile. Most of the people I have pastored don't know what it's like to be carried off to another land; I don't. Exile sounds like an abstract idea. At least, we think it does.

Psalm 137 shows us we might understand exile more than we realize. Unless you've been torn from your homeland, stripped of everything familiar in life, even separated from your family, you haven't experienced the kind of exile the psalmist writes about. But when he says, "By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down, and there we wept when we remembered Zion," you can hear their sorrow. The people are in a faraway place, and all they can do is remember and weep.

The Israelites didn't just lose a city. They lost their identity and their belonging. They lost their sense of who they were and, perhaps, where God was.

Joy is deeper than happiness. Happiness can rise and fall with each day. But joy is rooted in the eternalness of God. So, you can be unhappy and still have joy, because true joy doesn't come from you. It comes from God.

And faith teaches us that joy is not dependent on our circumstances. Instead, joy comes from learning to trust in who God is and the promises God makes. That's an important consideration because none of us escapes sorrow or pain in this life. We all face our share of unhappiness and heartbreak. But even in our trials, we still have joy.

That doesn't mean God throws calamity on us. God doesn't play games with our suffering. Testing isn't to fail us, but to form us. Testing doesn't expose your weakness to shame you. It reveals your strength to shape you. And as we let it do so, we learn to persevere. So, perseverance isn't sitting on your hands waiting for a trial to pass. Instead, perseverance is active faithfulness. A spiritual muscle that grows by pressing against resistance.