​It was early morning on the Sea of Galilee. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the water was still. Seven disciples, led by Peter, had gone out to fish. It wasn’t a spiritual mission — it was a return to what was familiar. After all the trauma of the crucifixion, after the confusion of the resurrection, they went back to what they knew. Peter said, “I’m going fishing,” and the others followed. But that night — the best time for fishing — they caught nothing. The nets came up empty, over and over again. And then, as the first light of dawn broke over the hills, they saw someone standing on the shore. A man, barely visible in the haze, called out, “Friends, have you caught anything?” “No,” they shouted back. Just one syllable, but heavy with fatigue and failure. “Throw the net on the right side of the boat,” he said, “and you will find some.”
 
It must have sounded strange. They were fishermen — professionals. Who was this voice from the shore to tell them what to do? But something in his tone stirred something in their hearts, and they obeyed. And suddenly — the net was full. Overflowing. So many fish that they couldn’t even haul it in. At that moment, John — the disciple Jesus loved — whispered, “It’s the Lord.” Peter didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wait for the boat. He didn’t wait for explanations. He threw on his outer garment, dove into the water, and swam the hundred meters to shore. That’s Peter. Impulsive. Bold. Ready to act. And on the shore? There was Jesus. Waiting. Not with a lecture, but with breakfast. A fire, some bread, and fish already on the coals. He didn’t need more fish. He already had enough. But He told them to bring theirs anyway. A sign, perhaps, that even though He is sufficient, He wants to include our efforts — our work, our faith, our obedience — in what He’s doing. And then they sat and ate together. In silence. No questions. No defenses. Just presence.
 
It’s such a human moment. Quiet. Simple. Holy. And after breakfast, Jesus turned to Peter. “Simon, son of John,” He said, “do you love me more than these?” Peter, already wounded by his past, replied, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Feed my lambs.” A second time: “Do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Tend my sheep.” And a third time — cutting deep now — Jesus asked, “Simon, do you love me?”  Peter, hurt by the repetition, answered, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” And again, Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.” Three questions for the three denials. Not to shame Peter, but to restore him. Not to remind him of his guilt, but to renew his calling. This isn’t just forgiveness — it’s reinstatement. And at the end, the same words Jesus said when He first called Peter by the lake three years before: “Follow me.”
 
I imagine Peter in that moment. Dripping wet. Still catching his breath. Still carrying the weight of shame. But Jesus doesn’t push him away. He calls him in. This is grace. This is Jesus. We may walk away, we may fail, we may go back to the boats and the nets. But the Risen Lord waits for us on the shore — not with a finger pointing, but with a fire burning and bread breaking. And He asks us again: “Do you love me?” In many ways, this scene is a picture of the Church. Peter represents leadership — bold, flawed, willing.
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John represents the loving witness — discerning, present. The fish represent the world. The net is the mission. The breakfast is the table of fellowship. And Christ is the center of it all.
 
Charles Wesley once wrote in a hymn: “Depth of mercy! Can there be, Mercy still reserved for me?” Yes, there is. Because Jesus does not come to leave us in our shame. He comes to meet us in it, to cook breakfast for us, and to call us again. When John Wesley had his “Aldersgate” moment — when his heart was “strangely warmed” — he too had returned from failure, from striving and spiritual emptiness. And it was in a quiet gathering, hearing someone read from Luther’s preface to Romans, that he encountered the risen Christ again. Like Peter, Wesley was called — again — into mission. And like Peter, we too are called — again — not because we’re perfect, but because we’re loved.
 
So, I ask you: Have you returned to your old nets lately? Are you feeling like you’ve failed, like your efforts come up empty? Do you hear the voice of Jesus from the shore, asking: “Do you love me?” Then come to the fire, receive His grace, and follow Him once more because every morning with Jesus is a new beginning.
 

Imagine someone praying for you—not because you asked, not because you are in trouble, but because they believe in the good that could come into your life. That’s what we find in John 17. On the night before His death, Jesus lifts a deeply personal and powerful prayer—not just for His disciples—but for everyone who would ever believe through them.
 
In Jesus' own words: “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message...” (v. 20) That includes you. Even if you’re just starting to explore faith, Jesus had you in mind.
 
“...that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.” Jesus doesn’t start with rules or religion—He starts with relationship. His dream is a community so connected, so full of love and trust, that it reflects the very relationship between Him and God the Father.
 
When John Wesley began preaching in the open fields of England in the 18th century, people were drawn not by polished sermons but by the fire of love and community. Coal miners, poor farmers, and laborers came to hear a message that said: You matter to God. God hasn’t forgotten you. And they didn’t just hear it—they felt it in the way Methodists lived together: sharing food, teaching children, praying in small groups.
 
That kind of unity Jesus prayed for—it’s not organizational, it’s relational. It's not about sameness; it's about belonging.
 
“Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” Jesus says that the way we love one another can help the world know God’s love. That means church isn't just about beliefs—it’s about how those beliefs shape our lives together.
 
Remember the woman at the well? She was isolated, ashamed, and avoided by others. But Jesus sat with her, listened, and offered her living water—a new beginning. He didn’t demand that she clean up her life first. He gave her dignity and hope. And that transformed her—so much so that she ran to tell others.
 
That’s what Jesus does—He meets us where we are and shows us that we are already loved. And when we realize we’re loved, we begin to love others differently too.
 
 
“Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory…” “Glory” in the Bible isn’t just brightness or majesty—it’s the beauty of God's love and truth fully expressed. Jesus wants to share that glory with us. He wants us not only to believe but to belong and be transformed.
 
Charles Wesley, John’s brother, wrote over 6,000 hymns—many of them trying to express this beauty of God's love. In one of his most famous lines, he wrote: “Amazing love! How can it be, That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?”
 
This wasn’t just poetry—it was a testimony. People were singing their way into faith, into joy, into a sense that life had meaning again. That’s what Jesus is offering here: not a religion of fear, but a relationship rooted in love, unity, and joy.
 
Maybe today you're just curious. Or maybe you're tired of division, loneliness, or a life without clarity. This prayer from Jesus is your invitation.
 
He says:
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•           You are loved as He is loved.
•           You are welcome in His community.
•           You are part of His vision for a better world.
 
The Free Methodist Church was born as a movement for freedom—freedom in Christ, freedom from slavery (yes, they were among the first abolitionists), and freedom for the poor to be included in the life of the Church. That same spirit is alive today—because Jesus is still praying this prayer over us:
 
“That they may be one... and that the love you have for me may be in them.” (v. 26)
 
If you’ve ever wondered whether God notices you—this passage says yes. If you’ve doubted whether there’s a place where you belong—Jesus is building it, even now. Would you consider being part of that kind of community? We’re not perfect. But we’re trying to live this prayer of Jesus, one day at a time. And you’re welcome to join us on the journey.

​We are all pilgrims and citizens of a greater Kingdom—God’s Kingdom—and Canada can become a signpost of that Kingdom when we live interculturally, in faith and justice. In Canada, we often begin public gatherings with a Land Acknowledgment, remembering that this land we now call Canada is not ours alone—it is shared, inherited, and historically stewarded by Indigenous peoples. As Christians, we add yet another layer to this truth: this is God’s land.
 
Psalm 24:1 reminds us: “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” Hebrews 11 brings us into the story of pilgrims, exiles, and seekers—people who understood that no matter where they set foot, they were walking in God’s land and seeking a better country—a heavenly one. The writer of Hebrews is reflecting on the great ancestors of faith—Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob—who all lived as strangers in lands they did not own. Yet they trusted in God’s promise. Canada today is home to millions who have arrived from every nation—many of us, or our parents, came here seeking a better life. Others have been here since time immemorial, and some still feel like strangers even in their homeland. But Scripture tells us that we are all strangers here. As believers, we do not fully belong to any one nation or system—we belong to God’s Kingdom.
 
Come to Luke 7:36-50 and imagine two people standing side by side, both wearing special glasses. The first person's glasses are tinted with labels: "Sinner," "Unclean," "Unworthy," "Not Like Us." When he sees the woman enter the room, all he can visualize is her past—her mistakes, her shame, her brokenness. He cannot see her tears as love; he only sees them as weakness. His perception becomes a prison for her and himself. The second person—Jesus—wears glasses tinted with grace. He sees more than what others see. He sees her faith, her repentance, her worth. Where the Pharisee sees scandal, Jesus sees salvation. Where the world sees a mess, Jesus visualizes a miracle in the making. The way we perceive others shapes the way we treat them. If we look at people only through the lens of their failures, we might miss what God is doing in their lives. But if we ask the Holy Spirit to renew our vision, we will begin to see potential where others see problems, and grace where others see guilt. Just like Simon the Pharisee, we are often blinded by our assumptions. But Jesus teaches us to visualize people not as they were, but as they can become through forgiveness and love. Ask yourself: "What kind of glasses am I wearing when I look at others? Are they lenses of law or lenses of love?" When we learn to see others as Jesus sees them, perception becomes a tool for redemption—not condemnation. Let us ask for that kind of vision.
 
To be Canadian, considering faith, is to embrace the humility of being a guest. Whether we are Indigenous, settler, immigrant, or refugee, we walk this land as stewards of God’s grace, not owners of the earth. The faithful in Hebrews were not nostalgic. They were not looking back at where they came from. They weren’t trying to recreate the past—they were visualizing a better future. They carried within them an image, a dream, a divine visualization of a homeland where God’s justice reigned. Instead, they were looking forward to a new kind of homeland, one marked not by flags or borders, but by justice, peace, and the presence of God. This challenges our nationalism. Too often, people seek a version of Canada that reflects only their values, their culture, or their comfort. But the God of Hebrews 11 calls us to an intercultural vision—where all peoples and languages gather at the throne of grace.
 
Imagine two people standing side by side, both wearing special glasses. The first person's glasses are tinted with labels: "Sinner," "Unclean," "Unworthy," "Not Like Us." When he sees the woman enter the room, all he can visualize is her past—her mistakes, her shame, her brokenness. He cannot see her tears as love; he only sees them as weakness. His perception becomes a prison for her and himself. The second person—Jesus—wears glasses tinted with grace. He sees more than what others see. He sees her faith, her repentance, her worth. Where the Pharisee sees scandal, Jesus sees salvation. Where the world sees a mess, Jesus visualizes a miracle in the making.
 
The way we perceive others shapes the way we treat them. If we look at people only through the lens of their failures, we might miss what God is doing in their lives. But if we ask the Holy Spirit to renew our vision, we will begin to see potential where others see problems, and grace where others see guilt. Just like Simon the Pharisee, we are often blinded by our assumptions. But Jesus teaches us to visualize people not as they were, but as they can become through forgiveness and love. Ask yourself: "What kind of glasses am I wearing when I look at others? Are they lenses of law or lenses of love?" When we learn to see others as Jesus sees them, perception becomes a tool for redemption—not condemnation. Let us ask for that kind of vision. To be Canadian, considering faith, is to embrace the humility of being a guest. Whether we are Indigenous, settler, immigrant, or refugee, we walk this land as stewards of God’s grace, not owners of the earth.
 
A few years ago, an Olympic runner was asked what kept him going through grueling training and injury. He answered: “Every day, I close my eyes and see myself crossing that finish line, not just running—but winning. I see the flag, I hear the anthem, I feel the medal.” That vision shaped his discipline, his sacrifices, and his hope. In the same way, the people of faith in Hebrews 11 saw a city with foundations, a better country. They didn’t have maps or blueprints, but they had faith-fed vision. They visualized a land where God's justice flowed like a river and all nations found shelter under His wings. Faith is not only believing; it is seeing with your heart what your eyes have not yet seen. As Canadian Christians, can we visualize a church that sings in many tongues, welcomes many nations, and reflects the beauty of heaven here on earth?
 
This is a stunning statement. God is proud to be the God of people who live as pilgrims, not conquerors; as seekers, not possessors; as builders of bridges, not walls. To be intercultural is not simply to tolerate one another—it is to recognize the image of God in one another, and to believe that diversity is a gift, not a threat. John Wesley said, “The world is my parish.” For Christians today, we can say, “The world is God’s land.” Every culture is called to reflect a part of the image of the Creator. Therefore, every cultural story matters. Brothers and sisters, Canada is not just a country—it is a canvas. A place where God is painting a picture of hospitality, justice, and hope. On Canada Day, we often look back at history—1867, Confederation, key leaders, and milestones. We remember what has been achieved. But history is not just about looking backward—it’s also about visualizing forward. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, we can walk with Jesus into the future of our nation, with our eyes opened and our hearts burning with vision.
 
In Luke 24, the disciples were discouraged because their expectations of what Jesus should have done were shattered. They could not see what God was doing—until Jesus broke bread and opened their eyes. Then everything changed. They ran back with joy, not to preserve a memory, but to become witnesses of a new beginning. This is the kind of moment we need in Canada—a national "Emmaus moment." We must not only commemorate the past, but ask: What does the risen Christ want to do in and through us now, in this land we call Canada? We must visualize a new map—not of geography, but of justice, reconciliation, and hope:
 

• A map where Indigenous peoples are not forgotten but honored.
• A map where immigrants and refugees are welcomed with dignity.
• A map where the church does not merely defend old landmarks but points the way to the risen Christ.

 
Just as Jesus opened the Scriptures and their minds, we too need to ask the Spirit to open our hearts to God’s redemptive purpose in the land. As we celebrate being Canadian—whatever that looks like for each of us—we remember:

• We are citizens of heaven.
• We are guests on this land.
• We are stewards of God’s earth.

 
Let us build a church—and a community—that points not just to one nation under God, but to God’s reign over every nation. Practice Intercultural Hospitality – Learn from someone whose culture is different from yours. Join in Reconciliation – Support Indigenous communities, learn their stories, and walk humbly. Celebrate Diversity in Worship – Include songs, prayers, and testimonies from various backgrounds. Live with Pilgrim Faith – Let go of privilege and entitlement and embrace the humility of faith.

Imagine a quiet hillside at dawn, where a gentle shepherd tends his flock. In the soft light of early morning, every sheep is accounted for—but one is missing. This is the heart of Jesus’ parable in Luke 15, a story that speaks directly to our souls. Jesus tells us about a shepherd who, upon realizing that one of his one hundred sheep is lost--ἀπολωλός (apololós) in Greek, meaning not merely misplaced but completely separated from its flock—leaves the ninety-nine in safety to search for that one. This shepherd’s heart mirrors that of our Savior, whose relentless love seeks out each person who has strayed.
 
In the original Greek, the act of finding is described by the word εὑρίσκω (heurískō). This isn’t a matter of mere chance; it is a deliberate, determined pursuit. Picture the shepherd leaving behind the comfort and security of his flock to wander through rugged terrain, calling softly for the missing sheep. It is an act of love so profound that it defies the natural order. When the lost sheep is finally found, the shepherd’s response is not one of relief alone but of exuberant celebration--χαίρω (chaírō), to rejoice wholeheartedly. In heaven, this very joy is multiplied, for Jesus tells us there is more joy over one sinner who repents--μετανοέω (metanoéō)—than over ninety-nine who do not need saving.
 
This parable is not just a story about a shepherd and his sheep. It is a mirror reflecting the heart of God toward each of us. Every person, regardless of how lost or disconnected they may feel, holds an immeasurable value in the eyes of our Creator. I remember a story about an elderly neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, who lived alone on the edge of our community. For years, Mr. Jenkins had felt abandoned, as if he were a lost sheep wandering without purpose. Then one day, a young volunteer from a local outreach program knocked on his door. This volunteer wasn’t a prominent community leader or someone with an impressive resume; she was simply a person who cared enough to reach out. That single act of compassion transformed Mr. Jenkins' life. Over time, he began to share his renewed hope with others in the neighborhood. Like the shepherd in the parable, the volunteer showed that one person’s genuine concern could illuminate the darkness, restoring a sense of belonging and worth.
 
I, too, have experienced this kind of personal connection. There was a time when a dear friend, who had drifted away from the church after many hardships, reconnected with me over a shared cup of coffee. It wasn’t a grand, orchestrated event—just a simple conversation where we both opened our hearts. In that moment, I saw the truth of Jesus’ words: it is through individual, heartfelt interactions that we truly experience the love of Christ. That friend’s journey back to faith was not the result of mass evangelism, but rather the gentle, persistent care of one person who believed that every individual matters.
 
This is the essence of relational evangelism. Many of us have the wisdom of years and the experience of life’s ups and downs. Our stories, much like the lost sheep, carry the potential to change lives. It is not about reaching thousands at once but about nurturing one meaningful connection at a time. Every act of kindness, every word of encouragement, has the power to reveal God’s relentless love. When you share your story—your struggles, your triumphs, and the undeniable presence of God in your life—you become that joyful herald of the Good Shepherd’s work.
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John Wesley’s legacy offers a profound example of what it means to pursue the lost with relentless love. In his circuit riding ministry, Wesley tirelessly journeyed from town to town, reaching out to those marginalized by society. His approach was not marked by grand gestures but by simple, genuine acts of compassion—walking alongside people, listening to their stories, and sharing the transformative message of God’s grace. Wesley believed that every soul is precious and that personal evangelism starts with individual, heartfelt connections, much like the shepherd in our parable who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one lost sheep.
 
Wesleyan theology reinforces this approach through foundational concepts like prevenient grace, which assures us that God's grace is already at work in every person, drawing them toward a relationship with Him. This theology calls for personal holiness that naturally extends into social outreach. It reminds us that living a holy life involves more than personal devotion—it is about reaching out to others in their time of need. Inspired by John Wesley’s example, we are encouraged to invest in relationships, reaching out with compassion and determination. Each act of kindness, no matter how small, echoes the love of the Good Shepherd and contributes to the joy in heaven over one restored soul.
 
Now, consider this: this week, take a moment to reflect on someone you know—a neighbor, a family member, or even an acquaintance who seems to be wandering without direction. Pray that God would open your eyes to opportunities for connection. Commit to reaching out, however small the gesture may seem. Invite them for a conversation, share a meal, or simply be a listening ear. In doing so, you are not just extending kindness; you are actively participating in the heavenly celebration of one life returned to the fold.
 
Jesus’ parable teaches us that every person matters. The shepherd’s determination, his willingness to leave the safety of his flock for one lost sheep, exemplifies the nature of God’s love for each one of us. It challenges us to move beyond large-scale efforts and instead focus on the power of one-on-one relationships. Every individual you encounter is a potential spark that can ignite the transformative love of Christ in a life that has been wandering.
 
So let us leave today with a renewed sense of purpose. Embrace the simple yet profound truth that every person is precious to God. Let your life be a living testimony of His relentless compassion. Remember that the joy in heaven over one restored soul is a celebration that echoes into eternity. May you find the courage and inspiration to be that guiding light for someone who is still searching, and may your every act of kindness reflect the boundless love of our Savior.

Grace and peace to you all in the name of Jesus Christ. Today, we step into a powerful passage—Luke 10:1–11—a text that offers us more than a mission strategy. It is a window into the spiritual authority, urgency, and joy that characterize the life of those who are sent by Christ.
 
In 1729 at Oxford, John and, shortly after, Charles Wesley formed a prayer-and-study group known as the “Holy Club”. It began simply—a few students committed to reading Scripture, praying diligently, fasting, and caring for the poor and imprisoned. Though initially mocked— “the Methodists” became a label of derision—their disciplined, Christ‑centered life didn’t stay hidden. Instead, it drew attention and later inspired a movement that transformed the church and society. This collaboration between the Wesley brothers embodies key spiritual truths. They began "two by two," mirroring Jesus’ sending of the seventy‑two. In mission, we’re not lone heroes—we are companions. Their habits of reading, prayer, fasting, and service were not just piety—they were kingdom rhythms that shaped everything. Though mocked, they persevered, and their disciplined witness birthed a revival that reformed individuals and nations.
 
The passage begins with an important detail: “The Lord appointed seventy-two others and sent them on ahead of him, two by two…” This is not a mission of superstars. Jesus does not send the elite; He sends ordinary disciples. This is the same Jesus who walked the dusty roads, who heals and forgives, who knows us by name—and He sends us. You and I are part of that same line. God has always worked with and through people—never out of necessity, but out of grace. And He never sends us alone. The “two by two” reminds us: We are companions on this journey, We are accountable to each other, We are supported by community.
 
Jesus looks at the world and sees it with the eyes of harvest. Where others see chaos, He sees opportunity. Where others see sin, He sees people in need of the Gospel. He doesn't tell them, “Go solve everything,” but “Pray to the Lord of the harvest.” This is spiritual work—harvest that is gathered through prayer before action. In Wesleyan theology, we speak of prevenient grace—God at work before we arrive. Prayer aligns us not just with the task, but with the timing of God.
 
Jesus doesn't sugarcoat the mission: "I am sending you out like lambs among wolves." There’s no false promise of ease. Yet, paradoxically, the disciples carry peace, not swords. “Peace to this house.” We go not in fear, but in peace. We go not to argue, but to bless. We go not to dominate, but to witness. Our spiritual authority is not in coercion but in communion—offering the peace of Christ and trusting that where it is welcomed, the Kingdom draws near. If they accept you, stay. If they reject you, shake the dust off your feet. But either way, say this:
 
“The Kingdom of God has come near.” This is crucial: The Kingdom comes whether people respond the way we hope. We are not defined by results. We are called to faithfulness, not success.
 
This is a deeply spiritual perspective. The Kingdom is not a project; it is the in-breaking presence of God. While our passage today ends at verse 11, in verse 20, Jesus tells the disciples: “Do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” That is the heart of it: The deepest joy is not what we do for God, but what He has done in us. Not the miracles, but the relationship. Not the power, but the belonging.
 
During my time serving as a pastor in Mexicanos City, San Salvador, I met a humble family that made a lasting impact on our church. They were very poor—a single household with at least five children, ranging in age from 2 to 11 years old. Every Sunday morning, without fail, those little ones would arrive for Bible School. Their clothes were worn, and their shoes were often mismatched or broken—but their faces glowed with joy and eagerness to hear the Word of God. One Sunday, after seeing them sit so attentively and leave quietly, one of the parents in our congregation said something that would change everything: “What if we don’t just teach them the Bible… what if we share a meal too?”. That simple question became a holy invitation. Soon, every Sunday morning, before Bible School began, we started offering breakfast—not just to those children, but to any who came hungry from the surrounding community. And here’s the beautiful part: the idea didn’t come from abundance, but from compassion. Many of our own families had little to spare—but one by one, people began bringing a little rice, some beans, tortillas, eggs. Somehow, there was always enough. This breakfast ministry lasted over two years, and it became a sacred time. What started as food became fellowship. People who had never spoken before—rich and poor, churched and unchurched—began to see each other as brothers and sisters. Brothers and sisters, this text invites us to reframe how we think about mission, ministry, and discipleship. You are sent ahead—wherever you live, work, or serve. You carry peace, not anxiety. You proclaim a Kingdom, not an opinion. You go with joy, because your name is known in heaven. Let us be that church—one that walks boldly into a world of wolves as lambs, because the Lamb of God walks with us. Amen.