Scriptures: Matthew 28:19–20; Mark 16:16; Acts 2:38; Acts 8:36; Acts 16:25–34
Introduction: Confession and Identity
When we hear the word confession, many of us imagine a courtroom. One of the most memorable courtroom scenes in film comes from the 1947 classic Miracle on 34th Street. Kris Kringle is on trial for claiming to be the real Santa Claus, and his defence attorney is losing badly—until the U.S. Postal Service delivers thousands of letters addressed simply to “Santa Claus.” Bag after bag is dumped onto the judge’s bench until they form a mountain, and suddenly, the trial is turned upside down. Confession here isn’t about guilt—it’s about belief and identity. By delivering those letters, the U.S. government itself effectively testified that Kris Kringle was Santa Claus. And if the government said so, who was the judge to argue?
In the same way, the earliest Christians made a confession not of guilt, but of allegiance. Their simple declaration was: Jesus is Lord. Spoken in an empire that demanded loyalty to Caesar, those three words were a radical, dangerous claim. To confess Christ meant staking one’s whole life, loyalty, and future on Him.
Why the Schleitheim Confession Was Written
By the early 1500s, the Catholic Church was weighed down by corruption. Indulgences were sold as tickets to forgiveness. Faith was something inherited at birth rather than embraced in personal conviction. Scripture itself was locked away in Latin, far from the reach of ordinary people. Reformers like Martin Luther sought to correct these abuses, yet even he along with other reformers like Zwingli and Calvin, retained infant baptism as a way to preserve the bond between church and state.
But a small group of radicals dared to ask a different question: What if baptism belonged only to those who truly believed?In 1527, a persecuted gathering of Anabaptists met in the Swiss town of Schleitheim. Some had already been executed for practicing believers’ baptism; others faced imprisonment. At great risk, they put their shared convictions into writing. The result was the Schleitheim Confession—the first Reformation confession, drafted by Michael Sattler and his companions.
Unlike the ancient creeds that focused on doctrine about God, the Schleitheim articles were practical. They described how Christians were to live—through discipleship, daily obedience, and visible faith. These were not abstract theological debates. They were convictions for which men and women were willing to die. And fittingly, the confession began where the life of discipleship begins: with baptism.
Article I: Baptism According to the Anabaptists
The Confession begins:
“Baptism shall be given to all those who have been taught repentance and the change of life, and who truly believe that their sins are taken away through Christ—and to all those who desire to walk in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and who wish to be buried with Him in death, so that they may be raised with Him in new life.”
This was radical. Baptism was for believers who repented, trusted Christ, and chose discipleship. It was not for infants who could not yet believe. The article goes further: “This excludes all infant baptism, the highest and chief abomination of the pope.” The sharp words reveal a sharp conviction: baptism is inseparable from personal confession of faith.
- Catholic practice linked baptism to salvation itself, washing away original sin at birth.
- Magisterial Reformers retained infant baptism to maintain social order.
- Anabaptists rejected both, insisting that baptism was voluntary, visible obedience to Christ.
The Anabaptist Method: Christ, the Apostles, and Scripture
What gave the Anabaptists the courage to take such a countercultural stand? They did not rely on church tradition, papal decrees, or civic law. Their theological method was simple but radical: test every practice against the words of Jesus, the witness of the apostles, and the testimony of Scripture.
- Christocentric – Rooted in Jesus’ Commands
Jesus said: “Go and make disciples… baptizing them” (Matt. 28:19–20). The order is unmistakable: discipleship, then baptism, then a lifetime of obedience. Even Jesus’ own baptism set the pattern—not to wash away sin, but to identify with us and mark the start of His mission.
- Apostolic – Practiced by the Early Church
The apostles modelled baptism as the response of faith. At Pentecost, Peter proclaimed: “Repent and be baptized”(Acts 2:38). The Ethiopian eunuch declared: “Look, here is water. What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” (Acts 8:36). In every case, belief preceded baptism.
- Bibliocentric – Grounded in Scripture
With the Bible newly available in common languages, the Anabaptists held Scripture—not majority opinion, not state edicts—as their final authority. This commitment cost them dearly, but they believed obedience to Christ through His Word was worth their lives.
Paul, Silas, and the Philippian Jailer: From Despair to New Life
Acts 16 gives us a vivid picture of baptism’s power. Paul and Silas, beaten and imprisoned, prayed and sang until an earthquake shook the jail open. Instead of fleeing, they stayed. When the jailer prepared to take his life, Paul cried out: “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here!” In that moment, despair gave way to hope. That very night, the jailer and his household believed and were baptized—moving from chains to freedom, from fear to joy in Christ.
The same pattern shapes our lives today. Baptism is not only a beginning; it is the rhythm of discipleship. If you have not yet declared your faith publicly, hear the invitation: step into the waters. For those already baptized, remember: it is not past tense but your daily identity—buried with Christ, raised with Him, and called to walk in new life. And like the Anabaptists, test everything—family, money, culture, decisions—by the Word of Christ.
Perhaps today you feel more like the jailer than Paul or Silas—overwhelmed, cornered, ready to give up. Hear the word of the Lord: “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The same gospel that turned his despair into joy can transform you. Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved.
Prayer of Response
Lord Jesus,
Thank You for entering the waters of baptism and calling us to follow.
Thank You for the courage of the early Anabaptists, who clung to Scripture and obeyed at great cost.
Renew us daily in our baptismal identity—buried with You, raised with You, walking in new life.
Make us a people of living confession, declaring with joy that You are Lord. Amen.
Unity in Conflict: Wrestling with God & Making Peace
Pastor Calvary deJong, April 26th, 2026
Introduction: Unity Sounds Good Until Somebody Crosses the Line
How many of you grew up with a sibling, and how many of you could honestly say that relationship was always peaceful?
I was the firstborn in my family, and my sister Hosanna was born only about eighteen months later. But then there was a ten-year gap between me and my younger brother, which meant that for most of our growing-up years, it was just me and my sister. And as you might expect, that resulted in a certain amount of sibling rivalry.
I can still remember Sunday morning drives to church in our old Chevy Malibu. It was about a half-hour and that back bench seat place became ground zero for some surprisingly intense territorial disputes. Inevitably one of us would whine: “Mom, Dad, they are on my side of the back seat.” And what began as tattletaling would often escalate into poking back and forth, and I distinctly remember one of these exchanges escalating until my sister finally declared, “You cannot hit me, I am a girl,” to which I responded with complete confidence, “You’re not a girl, you’re my sister!”
It is amusing to look back on those moments, but it reveals something: when it comes to relationships, we often reserve some of our worst behaviour for the people we are closest to. This is often true within families, and if we are honest, sometimes it can even be true within the family of God!
This brings us to an important question. If as a learned earlier in our series, conflict is a natural and unavoidable part of our relationships, how do we move toward the kind of unity that Jesus prayed for? Jesus prays that His followers would be one, not because he expected that all conflict will disappear, but because unity is meant to endure even in the presence of conflict. This is where the biblical story of Jacob is relevant for us today, because it models for us how conflict isn’t just a reality, but can actually become the place where we wrestle with God and learn how to make peace.
Wrestling With God & Making Peace
1) Genesis 32:24 tells us that “Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” This moment is significant because Jacob has spent his entire life trying to control outcomes and secure blessing through his own efforts. You might recall, how he manipulated Esau out of his birthright in Genesis 25, deceived his father Isaac in Genesis 27 to get the spiritual blessing, and then spent years toiling for Laban in Genesis 29 to 31 to win his daughters’ hand, becoming the trickster who was himself tricked.
Yet now, on the eve of facing Esau, the brother he wronged decades earlier, Jacob finds himself in a situation where no strategy can save him. He is stripped of his usual tools, left vulnerable and exposed. What will Esau do to him? His desperation reads like the setup for a divine encounter, a moment where God breaks into human experience. From an Anabaptist lens, it marks the beginning of true discipleship, where his self-reliance collapses and dependence on God begins. It is often only when we run out of strategies that we become open to encountering God in a transformative way.
2) The text initially describes Jacob’s opponent simply as a man, yet by the end of the passage Jacob declares, “I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared” (Genesis 32:30). This has long been understood as a theophany, a visible manifestation of God, and many interpreters have even seen here a pre-incarnate appearance of Christ. What is striking, however, is not only who this figure is, but how He engages Jacob. God does not merely deliver a message like other divine messengers in the Old Testament; instead, He wrestles him. This is not a passive encounter, but a deeply relational struggle in which God meets Jacob in the very arena of his striving. The encounter leaves a permanent mark, as the text notes that Jacob’s hip is wrenched so that “he was limping because of his hip” (Genesis 32:31). This wound both ends Jacob’s illusion of control and marks him for the rest of his life. Encounters with God are not simply emotional experiences; they are transformative and often costly, reshaping how a person walks forward.
3) In the midst of the struggle, God asks Jacob a question that on the surface, seems a little odd: “What is your name?” (Genesis 32:27). This is not a request for information. Rather, Jacob must speak the truth about himself, acknowledging his identity as one whose name means deceiver, supplanter, and manipulator. Before transformation can occur, there must be honesty. One cannot receive a new identity while clinging to a false one. It is only after Jacob names himself truthfully that God declares, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome” (Genesis 32:28). The name Israel means one who wrestles with God, or one through whom God prevails. Jacob is renamed as one whose identity is now rooted in relationship with God rather than defined by his past behavior. This transformation prepares Jacob for what comes next, as he walks out towards Esau, not in his own strength, but in weakness.
4) The text makes clear that Jacob approaches his brother with humility, bowing to the ground seven times as he draws near (Genesis 33:3), still carrying the fear of retaliation that had built up over twenty years of separation. Yet the outcome is entirely different from what Jacob expects. Instead of violence, “Esau ran to meet Jacob and embraced him; he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. And they wept” (Genesis 33:4). This unexpected peace suggests that something deeper has shifted, not only in Jacob, but in this brother Esau. The encounter with God has altered the trajectory of the conflict. It demonstrates that wrestling with God is not only an end in itself, but leads outwardly toward reconciliation with others. In other words, one cannot truly encounter God and remain unchanged in how they relate to people, because the transformation that begins in the presence of God finds its expression in the pursuit of peace.
A Gospel Invitation & A Vision for Unity
This is a moment in Jacob’s story that we cannot skip past, because it brings us right to the heart of the gospel. Jacob does not simply survive the encounter with God; he is changed by it, and that change reshapes how he steps back into his relationships. This is where the invitation comes to us, because the same God who wrestled with Jacob is the God who meets us in Christ.
If we are honest, many of us have learned how to manage conflict in ways that avoid real transformation. I remember being somewhere around ten or eleven years old at summer camp, and there was a bit of conflict between myself and another camper. Our counselor knew both of us from boys’ club at our church, and so after talking it through, he told us we needed to apologize and “hug it out.” That felt incredibly awkward for two young boys, so we walked toward each other, bumped shoulders, and considered the job done. Our camp counselor said, “Good enough,” and we went back to chapel.
That kind of surface-level reconciliation may be enough to get through the day, but it is not the kind of heart transformation God is calling us into. It is possible to perform the right words without any real change of heart. It is possible to maintain the appearance of peace while avoiding the deeper work of humility and restoration. What Jacob experiences, and what the gospel calls us toward, is something far more profound.
The good news is that we do not have to manufacture this kind of change on our own. In Jesus Christ, we see the ultimate expression of what it means to make peace. Jesus does not simply tell us to reconcile; He embodies reconciliation. While we were still estranged, while we were still resistant and even hostile, Christ gave Himself for us. He died not only for friends who loved Him, but for enemies who mocked Him. This is the pattern of a Jesus-centered life, and it means that we are called to do relationships differently.
The Big Idea is this: God will sometimes wrestle with you to break what is false, to rename what is true, and to send you back into the world as a person of peace. A true encounter with God results in a new identity, a humbled posture, and reconciled relationships. It changes not only how we see God, but how we see one another.
So, the invitation is simple, but it is not easy. Where is God inviting you to start surrendering? Where is He calling you to be honest about what needs to change in you before you try to fix what is “wrong” in someone else? And where is He sending you back into a relationship, not in pride but in humility, seeking peace in the name of Jesus?
Because the mark of having met God is not that you stand taller, but that you walk with a limb.
Dwelling in Dissonance: Are You the Gardener?
Easter Sunday - John 20:1-18
Introduction: Resuscitation or Resurrection?
Have you ever witnessed a moment when everything suddenly shifts? When a situation moves from calm to crisis in an instant? Perhaps you have seen it in an emergency setting, where a steady rhythm suddenly flatlines and the entire room springs into action. Voices rise, equipment is rushed in, and every effort is focused on one goal: to bring that person back, to restore life as it was before. That is what we call resuscitation. That instinct runs deep within us, not only in medicine, but in life. When something important is lost, we want it back. When something is broken, we want it fixed. When a relationship ends or a dream collapses, we long for things to return to the way they were. But as Ronald Rolheiser writes:
“Resuscitated life is when one is restored to one’s former life and health, as is the case with someone who has been clinically dead and is brought back to life. Resurrected life is not this. It is not a restoration of one’s old life but the reception of a radically new life.”
In other words, resurrection is not returning to what was, but a transformation. That distinction matters when we come to John 20. The question is not simply whether life has returned, but what kind of life we are witnessing. Is this a restoration of the old, or the beginning of something entirely new? And if it is new, then perhaps the deeper question is not just what happened in the tomb, but what God is growing in the garden.
Running, Seeing, and Not Yet Understanding
The resurrection account in John 20 is filled with movement. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb early, while it is still dark, and sees that the stone has been moved. Her immediate conclusion is not resurrection, but loss. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him.” She runs to tell Peter and the other disciple, and they run to the tomb. Everything is urgent, driven by confusion and the need to understand what has happened. But when they arrive, what they find only deepens the mystery. The linen wrappings are still there, and yet the body is gone. John tells us something striking. They saw and believed, but they still did not understand. There is a gap between seeing and perceiving. Their experience has outpaced their understanding. And then the focus shifts. Mary remains. While the others leave, she lingers, standing outside the tomb, weeping. She looks in and sees angels. She turns and sees Jesus standing there, but does not recognize him. Instead, she asks a question that seems mistaken but is closer to the truth than she realizes: “Are you the gardener?”
The Garden: The Story of Scripture
That question invites us to step back and see the larger story unfolding across Scripture. This is not the first garden in the biblical story. The story of the bible begins in a garden.
In Genesis, God plants a garden in Eden and places humanity within it. It is a place of life, abundance, and communion with God. Humanity is given both identity and vocation, to live with God and tend what he has made as his good creation.
And yet, it is in that garden that everything begins to unravel. Humanity reaches for what is not theirs to take, and the consequences ripple outward. The ground is cursed, thorns emerge, and death enters the world. The garden that began as the place of life becomes the place of the fall. But the story does not end there.
In John’s Gospel, Jesus enters another garden, Gethsemane. Here, he faces what lies ahead. Where Adam disobeyed, Jesus obeys. This garden becomes the place where redemption is embraced.
Then there is another garden, the garden tomb. John tells us that at the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in that garden a new tomb. It is here that Jesus is buried, and it is here that he is raised. This is the garden of resurrection, where death is undone not by returning to what was, but by bringing forth something new. What is planted in death emerges in life. This is not resuscitation. It is new creation. But the story continues. In Revelation, we are given a vision of a renewed world where the tree of life appears again and the curse is no more. The garden returns, now as a garden-city, where God dwells fully with his people and everything is made new. From beginning to end, the story of Scripture is the story of the gardener at work.
The Gardener and the Seed
When Mary mistakes Jesus for the gardener, she is wrong in one sense, but profoundly right in another. Jesus is both the gardener and the seed. He is the one who enters into death, and the one who brings forth life from it. Earlier in John’s Gospel, Jesus said that unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it produces many seeds (cf. John 12:24) That is what we see in the resurrection. Jesus is not brought back to the same life. He is raised into a new kind of life, one that multiplies and transforms. And as the gardener, he continues to bring life out of what appears to be barren ground. The new life we long for cannot be recovered from what we have lost. It can only be received from the one who has gone into death and come out the other side. We may not be looking for the gardener, but the gardener is looking for us.
Practicing Resurrection
The question for us is not only what happened then, but how we respond now? If we are honest, many of us are still living as though we are waiting for resuscitation. We are asking God to give us our old life back, to restore what we have lost. And when that does not happen, we struggle to recognize what he is doing instead. We continue to interpret our lives through the lens of loss, searching for what has been taken, rather than asking what God might be growing. But resurrection invites a different posture. It calls us to trust that God is at work in ways we do not yet understand. It invites us to believe that what feels like an ending may be the beginning of something new. It asks us to loosen our grip on what was so that we can receive what is being given. As Wendell Berry writes: “Practice resurrection.”
Individually, this may mean listening for the voice of Jesus in confusion. It may mean releasing control, extending forgiveness, or remaining faithful in a place that feels fruitless. It may mean naming where we have been asking for resuscitation instead of resurrection. Corporately, it means becoming a community shaped by this new life. It means embodying hope in a world marked by loss. It means practicing forgiveness when it is difficult, and courage when it would be easier to withdraw. It means becoming a people who do not simply talk about resurrection, but live in light of it.
Conclusion: What Is God Growing?
The resurrection is not a return to what was. It is the beginning of something new. The question is not simply whether the tomb is empty. The question is what God is doing now, what he is growing in the places that feel empty or beyond hope. Because the gardener is still at work. And to follow him is to trust that what he is growing is more real than what we have lost, and to live each day as though new life is not only possible, but already breaking through.
