In Psalm 32 we read:

Blessed is the one

    whose transgressions are forgiven,

    whose sins are covered.

The Apostle Paul quotes these very verses in the book of Romans. It is also said that Saint Augustine had these words written above his bed so that upon waking, they would be the first thing he’d read.

Sometimes we carry our mistakes, our shortcomings, our failures with us in life. We hold them inside. And they eat us alive.

The Psalm ends with these words:

Rejoice in the Lord and be glad, you righteous;

    sing, all you who are upright in heart!

But it begins like this:

When I kept silent,

    my bones wasted away…

Then I acknowledged my sin to you

    and did not cover up my iniquity.

I said, “I will confess

    my transgressions to the Lord.”

And you forgave

    the guilt of my sin.

What a striking movement in this psalm — from silence that corrodes the soul to confession that restores it.

The psalmist does not pretend that sin is harmless. When it is hidden, it has weight. It drains joy. It distorts our relationship with God, with others, even with ourselves. Silence can feel safer in the moment, but over time it becomes a kind of slow erosion of the heart.

But notice what changes everything: honesty before God.

“I acknowledged my sin… I did not cover up my iniquity.”

The freedom does not come from self-justification. It does not come from minimizing the wrong. It comes from bringing the whole truth into the light of God’s mercy. And there — not condemnation, not rejection — but forgiveness.

That is why Paul seizes on this psalm in Romans. That is why Augustine wanted to wake up to these words each day. Because the Christian life does not begin with our righteousness; it begins with God’s grace.

To be “upright in heart” does not mean we have never failed. It means we have stopped hiding. It means we trust that God’s mercy is deeper than our shame. And when guilt no longer has the final word, joy can return. Rejoicing is not naïve optimism. It is the song of those who know they have been forgiven.

Let us pray: God of new life, we want to be made whole; we need your healing touch. Hear again the confessions of our hearts. Even as we lay them in your hands, wash over us with your grace. Give us an overwhelming sense of your peace. Now Lord, help us start over anew today. Amen.

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Today’s message was written by my friend Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

Years ago, on one of the Monday Night Football telecasts, the sportscasters were discussing the great running backs of professional football history. When they came to the late Walter Payton of the Chicago Bears, they pointed out that he was the all-time leading ground gainer in the National Football League. Then Frank Gifford said, “What a runner! Do you realize that all together, Walter Payton gained more than nine miles rushing in his career? Just imagine that, more than nine miles!” To which the other sportscaster, Dan Dierdorff, responded, “And to think that every 4.6 yards of the way, someone was knocking him down!”

Well, it happens not just in football. It’s true also in life. We do get knocked down a lot. The truth is that every now and then life will break our hearts! And the question is, how do we respond to that? How do we handle the defeats, the problems, the knockdowns, the pain? We should follow the model of those men who carried their friend to the feet of Jesus without accepting any alternatives.

God can do amazing things. We know this, and we trust in it. And until there is no hope left, we should continue to commend those whom we love into God’s care. We should continue to await a miracle. God loves you, and God loves those whom you love.

Prayer: Holy God, today I pray for my friends. I am worried about them, and I ask that you be with them. I ask that you bring healing to the damaging situation in their lives. I pray for you to help them, and I ask that you help me to stay with them and care for them. I pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

In his book Sabbatical Journeys, Henri Nouwen wrote about the special relationship that trapeze artists have with one another when performing. He had some friends known as the Flying Rodleighs, and they described to him what goes on between the flyer and the catcher. They told Nouwen that the flyer is the one who lets go of the trapeze, and the catcher is the one who catches. As the flyer swings high above the crowd on the trapeze, the moment comes when he must let go. As he arcs out into the air, his only job is to remain as still as possible and wait for the strong hands of the catcher to pluck him from the air.

One of the Rodleighs told Nouwen, “The flyer must never try to catch the catcher.” The flyer must wait in absolute trust. The catcher will catch him, but for the catcher to be able to do that, the flyer must let go and completely trust that he will be caught.

On telling this story, my friend Charley Landreth said, “In living and in dying we must trust the Catcher.” He went on to tell about his grandmother Celia. He said he could remember sitting on her lap as a child in her rocking chair, her arms extended around him. She would read to him, sometimes from the Bible, sometimes from another book. “Trust the Lord with all your heart,” she would say.

Charley continued, “It’s been almost a whole lifetime since that early instruction and I am still learning to trust the Lord. You see, I’m a slow learner.”

Aren’t we all, Charley? Aren’t we all?

Let us pray: Loving God, in our everyday lives sometimes it is hard to trust. We want to take control. We want to hedge our bets. But eventually, we all come to a point when we realize that we have very little control. We need you. Help us today to trust that you are with us and that our lives rest in your loving hands. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Near the end of the Gospel of John, Jesus says to his disciples, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

Consider where the Father sent him. Not into isolation. Not into a life removed from ordinary people. Yes, Jesus prayed. Yes, he withdrew at times. But he did not remain on the mountaintop. He stepped fully into the fabric of daily life.

He worked with his hands. He walked dusty roads. He shared meals in crowded homes. He attended weddings and festivals. He touched lepers. He spoke with outsiders. He entered grief-stricken houses and celebratory gatherings alike. The Son of God did not hover above the world — he moved toward it.

And now he says, “As the Father sent me, so I send you.”

That means your neighborhood matters. Your workplace matters. Your family table 

matters. The ordinary rhythms of your week are not interruptions to your faith; they are the very places you are sent.

You may not preach a sermon or perform a miracle. But you can listen with compassion. You can act with integrity. You can forgive. You can show up. And in quiet, faithful ways, the love of Christ takes flesh again in the world.

So where is he sending you this week? Into what conversation? What challenge? What opportunity to serve?

Wherever it is, may your faith be steady, your hope contagious, and your love courageous — instruments through which God turns hatred toward love, conflict toward peace, and brokenness toward new life.

Let us pray: Loving God, you call us and you send us. Fill us with your Spirit — with courage, compassion, and conviction. Help us to care about what you care about. Shape our lives so that they bear witness to your grace in our homes, our work, our community, and this world you so love. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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In The Promise of Listening, Keith Wagner tells a poignant parable:

A young mother, just after her baby boy’s baptism, is approached by a ragged old man who offers to grant one wish for her son. Wanting only the best, she wishes that her son would always be loved by everyone he meets. “So be it,” the old man replies.

And so it happens. The boy grows into a young man adored by all. He never lacks for anything. Doors open. Needs are met before he can voice them. Yet something is wrong. Surrounded by admiration, he is starved for connection. Because everyone gives to him, he never learns to give. Because he is always affirmed, he never grows. He becomes empty — cynical and restless — discovering that being loved by everyone is not the same as truly living.

When his mother dies, the old man reappears and offers the son one wish of his own. This time, the young man asks not to be loved by all, but to love all. And in that turning — from receiving to giving, from being the center to pouring himself out — he finally finds joy.

There is deep gospel truth there. Jesus tells us that those who try to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for his sake will find it. The way of Christ is not grasping but giving. Not securing admiration, but extending love. Not arranging life around ourselves, but offering ourselves for others.

We live in a world that teaches us to ask, “Am I appreciated? Am I admired? Am I getting what I deserve?” The kingdom of God asks a different question: “How can I love?”

And in that shift — quiet, costly, and Christlike — we discover what life was meant to be.

Let us pray: Lord, bless us with

Enough tears to keep us human,

Enough humor to keep us wise,

Enough setbacks to keep us humble,

Enough accomplishments to keep us confident,

Enough patience to teach us endurance,

Enough hope to teach us trust,

Enough friends to give us love,

Enough memories to give us comfort,

And enough faith to keep us giving ourselves away in love;

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.