George Herbert was one of the great poets of the English language. Born in the early 1600s, he received an elite education at Cambridge and could have taken a powerful government position in England. Instead, he chose a minor office in the church, serving as a local country pastor. He cared deeply for those most in need and was much beloved by his parishioners. Out of that small, hidden life came some of the most beautiful poetry ever written.

His poem The Altar draws on scripture — including God's command to Moses to build an altar using uncut stones, and the words of Psalm 51, where the broken human heart itself becomes an offering to God. I share it with you today:

A broken ALTAR, Lord, thy servant rears,

Made of a heart, and cemented with tears.

Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;

No workman's tool hath touched the same.

A heart alone

Is such a stone,

As nothing but

Thy power doth cut.

Wherefore each part

Of my hard heart

Meets in this frame,

To praise thy name:

That, if I chance to hold my peace,

These stones to praise thee may not cease.

Oh let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mind,

And sanctify this ALTAR to be thine.

The image at the heart of this poem is worth sitting with: a broken altar. Not a grand one, hewn and polished. An altar made of a broken heart, cemented with tears. Herbert suggests that this is precisely what God is looking for — not our finest, most impressive offerings, but the honest, unvarnished truth of who we are.

What might it look like today to offer God exactly that?

Prayer: Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee. Loving God, we give you our hearts, we give you our hands, we give you our very lives again this day. Through Jesus Christ. Amen.

‍

She was an unlikely candidate for the role.

The woman Jesus met at the well in Samaria was an outsider in almost every sense. As a Samaritan, she was despised by the Jewish culture of her day. As a woman, she would not have been expected to engage a strange man in theological conversation. And she came to the well alone, in the heat of midday — almost certainly to avoid the other women of her village.

She had a complicated past. She had every reason to keep her head down and her story to herself.

And yet.

When Jesus spoke to her — when he treated her as a full human being, worthy of honest conversation and genuine grace — something in her came alive. She began to see who he was. First a stranger, then perhaps a prophet, then something more. "Could this be the Messiah?" she wondered.

And before she had it all figured out, before her theology was tidy or her life sorted out, she ran back to her village and said the simplest thing imaginable: "Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done." (John 4:29)

Come and see.

Not a polished argument. Not a carefully prepared presentation. Just an honest word about a real encounter. And John tells us that many in that village believed — first because of her testimony, and then because they experienced it themselves.

We are all on a journey. At some point along the way, most of us cross a quiet threshold — where faith stops being something we've heard about from others, and becomes something we have actually experienced ourselves. Something we know. Something we carry.

And when that happens, we have something worth sharing.

You may feel like an unlikely evangelist. Most of us do. But you don't need a theology degree or a perfectly ordered life. You only need a story — and the willingness to say to someone who needs it: come and see.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, you met a woman at a well and changed the course of her life — and through her, the lives of many others. You work through the unlikely, the ordinary, the ones who least expect to have something to offer. Use us that way too. Give us the courage to share what we have experienced of your grace. And may the living water that has been given to us flow outward to those around us who are thirsty. Amen.

‍

A seminary intern was riding one of the older, noisier subway lines in New York City — crowded, hot, and not exactly a place where anyone wanted to be approached. When a young man stood up and called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have a moment of your time?" the entire car did what New Yorkers do: eyes down, no eye contact, brace for the ask.

But then he said something unexpected.

"Would you mind if I passed out copies of my resume? I have a lot to offer, and I'm hoping you might be able to put me in touch with someone who needs what I can give."

Almost everyone in the car reached out and took one.

Pastor Michael Lindvall, who tells that story, makes an observation worth sitting with. When you look at thriving, growing communities of faith across the country, he says, what distinguishes them is not theology — liberal or conservative. Not worship style — traditional or contemporary. Not size or location or budget. What distinguishes them is this: they operate out of a mindset of abundance. We have something to offer. Whatever we have — however much or little — we have something worth sharing.

The communities that struggle, he notes, tend to operate out of scarcity. We don't have enough. We can't do much until we grow, until someone gives us what we need.

The same is true of individuals.

The Samaritan woman in John's gospel had every reason to operate out of scarcity. She was an outsider — ethnically, religiously, socially. She had a complicated history. She came to the well alone, in the middle of the day, likely to avoid the other women. She had nothing obvious to offer.

And yet — when she encountered Jesus, something shifted. She was so moved that she couldn't contain it. She ran back to her village and said simply: "Come and see." And people came. And they believed.

She gave what she had. And it was enough.

What might it look like today to operate from abundance rather than scarcity — to ask not what do I lack but what do I have to offer?

Prayer: Gracious God, forgive us for the times we have focused so intently on what we lack that we have missed the gifts already in our hands. Remind us today that you work with what is offered, however small. Give us the courage and the generosity to share what we have — our time, our story, our presence — trusting that in your hands it will be enough. We ask in Jesus' name. Amen.

‍

When I was in my early twenties, I had very little interest in the church. I was skeptical, a little cynical, and not particularly looking for anything it might offer.

Then a small Methodist congregation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina reached out to me with an unexpected gift of hospitality. No strings attached. No pressure to attend their services. Just: we want to help. It's what we do.

I was skeptical. But I was also curious. And over time I started showing up. And over time I began to see the church for what it actually was — not what I had imagined it to be.

I began to notice people living beautiful lives. Not perfect lives — but lives marked by genuine attempts at compassion, grace, and forgiveness. And as I watched them, I began to make connections I had never made before. I thought of my grandfather — his deep sense of peace, his tremendous love of life despite not having a lot of 

money. I thought of my friend Billy Rutledge, a high school teacher who spent his evenings and weekends mentoring young people — going to their soccer games, their plays, their youth groups — not for extra compensation, but because he felt he had something to offer.

Looking back now, I know what I was seeing. That is Jesus at work in ordinary people. That is what the living water looks like when it flows through a human life.

In John's gospel, Jesus tells a Samaritan woman — an outsider, someone his culture had written off entirely — "If you knew the gift of God... you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." (John 4:10) He meets her exactly where she is. No prerequisites. No cleaned-up life required. Just an invitation to something deeper.

I wonder where Jesus has met you along the way. Often it happens at turning points — moments of loss, of transition, of unexpected openness. And more often than not, he arrives through another person. Someone who simply showed up. Someone who offered what they had.

Who has been that person for you? And who might be waiting for you to be that person for them?

Prayer: Loving God, we thank you that you meet us where we are — not where we think we should be. We thank you for the people you have placed along our path who have carried your grace without even knowing it. Open our eyes to see where you are at work around us. And make us willing to be that presence for someone else. We ask in Jesus' name. Amen.

‍

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

Have you heard the story about the bride who was extremely nervous on her wedding day? She confided to the minister that she was not sure she could make it down the long aisle without shaking or crying. So the minister, a seasoned veteran of weddings, gave her a bit of advice: "When you begin your walk," he said, "just remember this three-point formula: First, look straight down the aisle; second when you get about half-way look straight up at the altar; and third when you get near the front of the church, look straight at your groom. First, the aisle, then the altar, then him. I think this will help relieve your nervousness." 

The trembling bride agreed to try his advice. And it worked beautifully. She walked with a radiant glow on her face and poise and confidence in her step, with no sign of nervousness. However, there was one small problem. Imagine the surprise of the congregation as they heard her rhythmically repeating three words over and over as she performed her bridal walk: "Aisle, altar, him. Aisle, altar, him.” 

"Aisle, altar, him!" Well, the truth is, most brides don't have a lot of luck in altering their husbands. But the good news of the Christian faith is that God can alter us! God can change us. God can redeem us. God can turn our lives around. As a matter of fact, the change God can bring in our hearts is so amazing that when Jesus talked about it and described it, he used dramatic language. He talked about "new birth" about "new life," about "new beginnings," about being born again." He said, "Unless you are born again you cannot see the kingdom of God." (John 3:3) Friend of Dial Hope, this is the good news, the TA-DA! for today. Believe it and claim it!

Let us pray: God of love, How great Thou art! We thank you for the good news that we can grow and change; we can rise to higher plains of personal living; there is hope in the midst of our despair; there is joy in spite of sadness. Now fill us with the radiance of this day so that your love may stream in and through us, bringing light and life to a world that often walks in shadows and death. Through the risen Christ, we pray. Amen.