​23 All this I tested by wisdom and I said,
“I am determined to be wise”--  but this was beyond me.
24 Whatever exists is far off and most profound--who can discover it?
25 So I turned my mind to understand, to investigate and to search out wisdom and the scheme of things and to understand the stupidity of wickedness and the madness of folly.
26 I find more bitter than death the woman who is a snare, whose heart is a trap and whose hands are chains. The man who pleases God will escape her, but the sinner she will ensnare. 27 “Look,” says the Teacher, “this is what I have discovered: “Adding one thing to another to discover the scheme of things— 28 while I was still searching but not finding— I found one upright man among a thousand, but not one upright woman among them all.
29 This only have I found: God created mankind upright, but they have gone in search of many schemes.”

​I want to begin today with a simple observation: life is not neat. It’s full of contradictions. We laugh at weddings, and we cry at funerals. We see people who live with integrity yet suffer, and others who live selfishly yet prosper. Sometimes our questions echo in silence, and heaven feels far away. The book of Ecclesiastes doesn’t try to resolve these contradictions. Instead, it invites us to live within them with honesty, humility, and wisdom.

Qoheleth says, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.” Strange words, aren’t they? How can sorrow be better than laughter? I remember visiting a family who lost everything in a house fire. In the days that followed, they discovered what it meant to be carried by community. Neighbors brought food, friends offered shelter, and faith became less about rules and more about presence. The fire took much, but it gave them something they hadn’t known before: a purified sense of what really matters.

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, had a similar experience as a boy. His family home burned down, and he was pulled out of the flames just in time. His father said, “God has given me all eight of my children. Let the house go—I am rich enough.” That moment marked Wesley’s life. It was as if God whispered, “You were saved for a purpose.” Sorrow became a teacher.

Later, Ecclesiastes warns us: “Do not say, ‘Why were the old days better than these?’ For it is not wise to ask such questions.”

How often do we do that? We scroll through old pictures, longing for “when the kids were small,” or “when my health was better,” or “when the church was full.” But the Preacher says: every season has its own gift. The present is the moment where God meets us.  

John Wesley understood this well. After his Aldersgate experience, when his heart was “strangely warmed”, he could have said, “That was the pinnacle, I’ll just live on that memory.” But he didn’t. He stepped into new journeys: preaching in fields, forming societies, and facing opposition. He chose to believe that God’s grace was always present, not just in the past.

Ecclesiastes continues: “Consider what God has done: Who can straighten what he has made crooked?” We all face crooked things in life: illness, disappointment, unfairness. A friend loses her job through no fault of her own. A family prays for healing, but the illness remains. These are crooked paths we cannot straighten.

Wesley also knew crooked paths. His mission trip to Georgia was a disaster. He was rejected, discouraged, and even humiliated. But later he would look back and say that even those failures prepared him for God’s deeper work in his life. He didn’t always understand, but he trusted that God’s hidden hand was at work.

Ecclesiastes reminds us: “God created mankind upright, but they have gone in search of many schemes.” Even though life has mysteries, we still have responsibility. We may not control circumstances, but we can choose our response.

I think of a woman caring for her elderly father. She told me, “I can’t change his illness. But every day, I choose to love him. I choose to be patient. I choose to make this a holy moment.” That is wisdom, freedom exercised in grace.

Wesley, too, chose faithfulness. He chose to preach in the fields when pulpits closed their doors. He chose to give away nearly all his income to the poor. He chose holiness as a daily way of life. That’s what freedom under God looks like.

Finally, Ecclesiastes reminds us of the silence of God. The Preacher sees a God who is often hidden, who doesn’t explain Himself. We know this silence. We pray, and the answer doesn’t come. We serve and still feel empty. We sing, but heaven seems quiet. John Wesley knew this, too. His journals tell of dry seasons, of fatigue, of doubt. But he kept preaching, kept visiting the sick, kept riding from town to town. In his last days, frail and nearly blind, his voice was still steady: “The best of all is, God is with us.”

So, what do we learn?

• Let sorrow teach us.
• Embrace the present as God’s gift.
• Accept the crooked things we cannot straighten.
• Use our freedom for love and holiness.
• Trust God even in the silence.

Life is not neat, but wisdom teaches us how to walk faithfully in its contradictions. And like Wesley, we can end each day with this truth: the best of all is that God is with us.

The “butterfly effect” teaches us that small actions can ripple across the globe. Likewise, Jesus declares that the Spirit’s power would turn the witness of a handful of disciples into a global movement. But here’s the key: the ripples of mission only matter if they flow from lives of integrity. That is why the biblical model of Job is so important. Job was known not for his influence, but for his character; he feared God and turned away from evil.
 
Mission is not only about what we do “out there,” but who we are in here. If we want Muskoka to ripple into the world, we must be like Job, anchored in holiness, fearing God, rejecting evil.
 
Jesus promised the disciples Spirit-given power. Job reminds us what it means to live under that power: fearing God, shunning evil, walking blamelessly.
 
•   Without reverence for God, mission becomes activism without transformation.
•   Without turning from evil, our witness loses credibility.
 
Imagine throwing a stone into the Muskoka River. If the stone is full of holes, the ripples won’t last long. Likewise, if our lives are compromised, our mission impact leaks away. Job shows us that character is the vessel that carries the mission’s ripple.
 
Acts 1:8 speaks of circles of influence. But those circles must flow out of a center of holiness.
 
•  Jerusalem (Muskoka): Begin with integrity at home. Like Job, be known as someone who fears God in your family, workplace, and community.
• Judea and Samaria: As you step beyond your comfort zone, credibility matters. People will ask, “Are these just words, or is this life?” Job’s integrity models the answer.
• Ends of the Earth: Global partnerships are built on trust. A church that fears God and turns from evil will be trusted across cultures and continents.

A small act in Muskoka, done in holiness, can ripple across the globe with authenticity. A compromised witness, however, creates storms of distrust.
 
Let’s be honest. We live in a world where people are quick to talk about big visions, global impact, climate action, international partnerships, but slow to ask: What is the character behind it all? We’ve all seen what happens when influence runs ahead of integrity. Leaders fall. Churches lose credibility. Witnesses become hollow. The ripples die out before reaching the shore.
 
Jesus’ words in Acts 1:8 are not just about geography; they are about depth. Witnessing begins not with strategy, but with holiness. Job’s model shows us the type of heart God uses: one that fears Him and turns from evil. Think about that: a small act of reverence in Muskoka, choosing honesty in a business deal, turning away from bitterness, loving your neighbor, can ripple into eternity with more power than the loudest platform without holiness.
 
Let’s bring it home. Picture Muskoka not just as lakes and cottages, but as a launchpad of mission.

• A teenager in Bracebridge learns to pray for both her classmate and for a child in Malawi. That’s Jerusalem and the ends of the earth.
• A family in Huntsville decides to live simply so they can give generously to global partners. That’s Judea and Samaria.
• An elder in Gravenhurst chooses forgiveness over resentment, and that story ripples through his community. That’s Job-like integrity fueling the Acts 1:8 mission.

 
Our mission is clear: to mobilize and equip individuals in Muskoka to serve and engage with both local needs and global mission partners, fostering a culture where every believer is a missionary in their own community and beyond. But this mission only has credibility when we embody Job’s model: those who fear God and turn away from evil. Without that, our butterfly wings stay still. With it, the Spirit’s wind carries our witness across the globe.

So where do we begin? Not in faraway places, not even in ambitious strategies. We begin where Job began, fearing God, turning from evil, walking upright.
 
And then we let the Spirit take those holy lives and ripple them outward:
​

• To our families (Jerusalem).
• To our neighbors and strangers (Judea & Samaria).
• To the ends of the earth (global mission partners).

When holiness meets the Spirit’s power, even Muskoka can become the wings of a butterfly that changes the world. So imagine it again: a butterfly’s wing, fragile but faithful. A ripple on the lake, small but unstoppable. That is you. That is us. Ordinary people, made holy by God, empowered by the Spirit, witnesses of Jesus. Like Job, we are called to fear God and turn away from evil. Like the disciples, we are called to bear witness here, there, and everywhere. And like the butterfly’s wing, our smallest obedience, when moved by the Spirit, can ripple across nations and generations.
 
Let’s rise, Muskoka, as a glocal people of God: holy, Spirit-filled, and rippling Christ’s love to the ends of the earth.