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.

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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.

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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. 

In The Message, Philippians 4 reads like this:

"Don't fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God's wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It's wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life."

I love that word — displaces. Worry doesn't just quietly step aside. It has to be replaced by something. And Paul's answer is prayer. Not prayer as a technique for getting what we want, but prayer as the practice of releasing what we're carrying.

I heard about a family that made an agreement among themselves. Whenever one of them had a worry or concern, they would write it down on an index card and drop it in a bag that hung on the back of a closet door. As they wrote it down, they would lift it up in prayer — turning the worry over to God as they let it go.

Their agreement went a step further: if they found themselves anxious again about something already in the bag, they had to go fish it out, pray over it again, and drop it back in. There was something wonderfully honest about that. Because we all know what it is to hand something over to God — and then quietly take it back.

I've heard of others who do something similar through journaling — letting their worries find their way onto the page, where they gradually become prayers. The practice matters less than the intention behind it. What Paul is pointing to is a posture of the heart: open hands instead of clenched fists. Trust instead of control.

Worry tells us that everything depends on us. Prayer reminds us that it doesn't.

Prayer: Almighty God, Giver of Life, we want to be healthy and whole — free from anxiety, worry, and stress. We want you to be at the very heart and center of our lives. Lift the burdens from our shoulders. Help us relinquish control and surrender again to you. We ask in Jesus' name. Amen.

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In the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10, when two of the disciples — James and John — asked Jesus for positions of power and prestige, he replied:

"You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them. But it is not so among you. Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life."

That is one of the most countercultural statements ever uttered. In every age — including our own — the instinct is to climb. To position. To be seen. Jesus turns the whole thing upside down.

Pastor and author F.B. Meyer captured it beautifully: "I used to think that God's gifts were on shelves one above the other, and that the taller we grew in Christian character, the easier we could reach them. I now find that God's gifts are on shelves one beneath the other. It is not a question of growing taller but of stooping lower — that we have to go down, before we can go up."

I've found that to be true. The moments in my own life when I have felt closest to God — most alive, most useful, most at peace — have rarely been moments of achievement or recognition. They have been moments of service. Showing up for someone who needed help. Giving something away. Choosing the lower place.

It goes against every instinct we have. But Jesus lived it all the way to the cross. And he invites us to follow him there — not because suffering is good, but because it is in the giving of ourselves that we feel most fully alive.

Prayer: Jesus our Redeemer, you gave your very life to show us the depths of your love. Forgive us for the times we have climbed when we should have stooped, and sought recognition when we should have served. Grant us the courage and the will to walk in your ways — to give deeply of ourselves. And as we do, may we discover the grace and blessing that wait for us there. Amen.

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