Discipleship

Living the Lord’s Prayer

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I’ve prayed the Lord’s Prayer for most of my life.

Like many Christians, I learned it as a child. Over the years I’ve prayed it in worship services, hospital rooms, funeral homes, around dinner tables, and in quiet moments when I didn’t quite know what else to say.

I’ve also preached it more than once. Whenever I preached it, I usually approached it the way many pastors do—taking each petition and showing how it can guide our own prayers. That’s a good approach. In fact, I still believe it’s a biblical one.

But this past week, while preparing to preach from Matthew 6, I noticed something I had never fully appreciated before. Matthew doesn’t place the Lord’s Prayer in a book about prayer. He places it in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount. That matters.

The Sermon on the Mount is Jesus’ description of life in the Kingdom of God. It’s where He teaches what His disciples look like, how they treat others, what they value, where they place their treasure, and how they trust the Father. Right in the middle of that teaching, Jesus says, “This, then, is how you should pray…”

It made me wonder: What if Jesus wasn’t only teaching His disciples what to say when they prayed? What if He was also showing them the kind of life they were to live?

Read through the Lord’s Prayer again with that thought in mind.

It begins in the Father’s presence: “Our Father in heaven…”

Before there are requests, there is relationship.

Then it turns to the Father’s priorities: “Hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done.” Before Jesus teaches us to pray about our needs, He teaches us to care about what matters to the Father.

Only then do our needs enter the conversation: “Give us this day our daily bread… Forgive us… Lead us not into temptation… Deliver us from evil.”

The entire prayer moves from the Father’s presence to the Father’s priorities, then to the Father’s provision and protection. That’s more than a model for prayer. It’s also a pattern for life.

The more I reflected on it, another realization dawned on me. Jesus didn’t simply teach the Lord’s Prayer. He lived it.

He lived continually in His Father’s presence. He sought His Father’s glory above His own. He proclaimed the Father’s Kingdom. He surrendered to the Father’s will—even in Gethsemane. He trusted the Father for daily provision. He resisted every temptation. And through His death and resurrection, He became the forgiveness and deliverance we could never achieve for ourselves.

Suddenly, the Lord’s Prayer looked less like a script to memorize and more like a portrait of Jesus Himself. And that’s good news.

The goal of the Christian life isn’t merely to pray better prayers. It’s to become more like Christ. By His Spirit, Jesus is forming His own life in us. As He does, the Lord’s Prayer becomes more than words we recite. It becomes a life we live.

The next time you pray the Lord’s Prayer, don’t rush through familiar words. Pause. Listen. Receive it as an invitation—not only to speak with your Father, but to live as His child.

Don’t just pray the Lord’s Prayer.

Live it.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Danger Behind a Long Prayer

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I grew up believing that long prayers were better prayers.

The person who could pray the longest usually sounded the most spiritual. Sometimes those prayers were sincere. Sometimes they were beautiful. And sometimes, if I’m honest, they became performances. I’ve prayed some of those prayers myself.

As a pastor, I know how easy it is to slip into that trap. Standing in front of a congregation with every eye closed and every ear listening, it’s tempting to begin talking more to the people than to God. Before long, a prayer can become another sermon. Or worse, an opportunity to sound spiritual.

Jesus never condemned long prayers. In fact, He prayed through the night on more than one occasion. The problem isn’t the length of the prayer. The problem is the motive behind it.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warned His disciples:

“When you pray, don’t be like the hypocrites. They love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by people…” (Matthew 6:5)

Notice what Jesus doesn’t say. He doesn’t say public prayer is wrong. Jesus prayed publicly. The early church prayed publicly. Christians have gathered for prayer together for two thousand years. Neither does He say long prayers are wrong. Instead, He exposes something much deeper.

The problem wasn’t where they prayed. The problem was why they prayed.

The word “hypocrite” originally described an actor wearing a mask on a stage. These weren’t people who didn’t pray. They prayed. The problem was that they had confused their audience.

I’ve often said it this way:

The audience determines the prayer.

If my audience is the congregation, I’ll be concerned with how my words sound. If my audience is God, I’ll be concerned with speaking honestly.

That raises an uncomfortable question. Who am I trying to impress? That question doesn’t just apply to public prayer. It reaches into every part of our spiritual lives. Why do I serve? Why do I give? Why do I post Bible verses online? Why do I volunteer? Why do I pray?

Jesus isn’t trying to make us suspicious of public expressions of faith. He’s inviting us into something better. Prayer was never meant to be a performance. It was always meant to be a conversation with our Father. That’s why, just a few verses later, Jesus reminds His disciples:

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:8)

Think about that for a moment. You don’t have to impress a Father who already knows you. You don’t have to convince a Father who already loves you. You don’t have to perform for a Father who already knows your heart.

The most beautiful prayers are rarely the most polished. They’re simply honest. And that’s the kind of prayer your Father has wanted all along.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Stop Trying to be a Better Evangelist…

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Acts 2:42-47

A Problem

A few weeks ago, a Facebook post caught my eye. A church was offering a one-day discipleship class — 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. A full day dedicated to making disciples.

Before I say another word, let me be clear: I’m grateful for any church trying to make disciples. I’m not throwing stones at that particular congregation. If I’m honest, this word is for all of us. That post simply exposed something we’ve quietly come to accept.

We’ve begun to believe discipleship can be primarily taught in a classroom. That with enough curriculum, enough seminars, enough programs, and enough information, we’ll produce mature followers of Jesus.

But following Jesus has never been mastered in a classroom. It’s learned in kitchens and living rooms, hospital rooms and workplaces, neighborhoods and ordinary daily rhythms. It is learned over a lifetime through daily surrender, daily obedience, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost happened in a day. Spiritual formation happens over a lifetime.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve made the same mistake with evangelism. We’ve turned it into another skill to master, another class to attend, another program to organize, another technique to learn. We’ve made evangelism a “task” to be performed.

But when I read Acts 2, I don’t find an evangelism committee. I don’t find a strategic planning session or a “Director of Outreach.” I don’t find the apostles creating a twelve-week curriculum called “How to Win Your Neighbor in Five Easy Steps.”

What do I find? People worshiping. People praying. People eating together. People devoted to the apostles’ teaching. People giving generously. People living life together. And somehow — while doing all those ordinary things — “the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”Evangelism is not primarily a task to be performed. Evangelism is a life to be lived.

A Pattern

We’ve made evangelism the destination. But what if Acts 2 reveals that evangelism is actually the byproduct? The fruit, not the root?

Luke doesn’t say the early church devoted themselves to evangelism, outreach, church growth, or making converts. Instead, he writes:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42)

The very things we often treat as secondary, Luke places first. Why? Because he understands a simple but profound truth: What fills us eventually flows from us.

The overflow of Acts 2 began on the streets of Jerusalem on Pentecost with 3,000 people believing and being baptized. If Luke were writing a modern church growth manual, he might have ended the chapter there. But he doesn’t. Pentecost wasn’t the finish line — it was the starting line.

The same Spirit who brought them to Christ now began the lifelong work of forming them into the likeness of Christ. Verses 42-47 describe what that looked like in practice: worship, prayer, generous sharing, and devotion to apostolic teaching. Nothing flashy. No celebrity speakers, no marketing campaigns, no social media strategy. Just ordinary people faithfully walking with Jesus in the ordinary rhythms of life.

Whatever is forming you is also filling you. And whatever is filling you will eventually flow from you.

A Promise

Luke gives us a quiet but powerful promise in the final sentence of the passage: “…And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”

Notice who the subject is: The Lord. Not the disciples. Not the apostles. Not the church’s clever strategies. The Lord added.

As I’ve been preaching through the Spirit-Formed Life series with my congregation, I’ve stumbled onto a beautiful surprise: The Spirit never asked the first disciples to carry the weight of building His Church. He asked them to devote themselves to Him — worship, prayer, fellowship, generosity, apostolic teaching. Faithfulness was their assignment. Fruitfulness was God’s responsibility.

The Spirit-formed life is one in which Jesus increasingly becomes the subject of every sentence in our story. Jesus is the subject of our worship, our fellowship, our generosity, our witness, our salvation. 

As Jesus becomes the main character, we become perfectly content to be supporting characters in His story. 

That is discipleship. That is maturity. That is holiness.

A Personal Confession

Before I close, I need to confess something. That one-day discipleship class in the Facebook post? Twenty years…no, really more like ten…okay, so seven years ago, that could easily have been me. I would have been the one developing the curriculum, standing in the front of the room, convinced that if I could just teach enough, organize enough, and equip enough, people would become disciples.

Those were the things that formed me as a pastor for a long time. But the Holy Spirit has been teaching me something I wish I had learned much earlier: Jesus doesn’t primarily form disciples in classrooms. He forms them in daily surrender, in worship, in prayer, around tables, in ordinary acts of obedience, and in the daily rhythms of a life yielded to the Holy Spirit.

And when Jesus forms a life, that life begins to overflow.

That’s why I’ve been asking my congregation a Question of the Month that I believe matters so much: What is forming me more than Jesus right now?

Overflow isn’t the goal.

Overflow is the result.

Christlikeness is the goal.

Overflow is the consequence.

So, I’ve decided that I’m not going to spend the rest of my life trying to become a better evangelist. I’m going to spend my life becoming more like Jesus. I’m going to trust Him with the results. Because what fills us eventually flows from us.

Friends, what is forming you more than Jesus right now?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments. And if this resonates, would you share it with someone who needs encouragement to return to the simple, ordinary, Spirit-formed rhythms of the early church?

Until next time, keep looking up…

Developing Devotion…

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What the Early Church Can Teach Us About Daily Spiritual Formation

Someone once said, “The problem with life is that it happens so daily.” The same is true of spiritual formation. It rarely arrives in one dramatic moment. It happens daily. And it is that daily work of spiritual formation that equips us to obey Jesus when ordinary life happens.

Right after Pentecost, the Holy Spirit falls, Peter preaches, and three thousand people are added to the church in a single day. What happens next? Do they drift back to business as usual? No. Luke tells us:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42, NIV)

What Is Devotion?

The key word is devoted—in the original Greek, proskartereō. It means to persist, to continue steadfastly, to hold fast. This is far more than casual interest or good intentions. It is wholehearted commitment.

We become what we repeatedly devote ourselves to. Everyone is devoted to something. The real question is not “Am I devoted?” but “To what am I devoted?”

Some of us are devoted to work—early mornings, late nights, minds always on the next thing. Others to family (a good thing), hunting, fishing, golf (though if you saw my golf game, you’d know I’m not devoted to that), shopping, or endless scrolling. None of these are inherently evil. But even good things can crowd out Christ if He is not shaping them.

Here is a truth I’ve wrestled with: Crisis doesn’t create our devotion—it reveals what we’ve been devoted to all along.

Luke doesn’t leave us guessing. He shows us exactly what captured the devotion of that first Spirit-filled church.

What Does Devotion Look Like?

They devoted themselves to four practices:

A. Devoted to the Apostles’ Teaching — Truth that Forms Us This was before the New Testament was written. They sat under the eyewitness testimony of Peter, John, Matthew, and others—hearing Jesus’ stories, parables, and commands directly.

The early church didn’t devote themselves to sharing opinions. They devoted themselves to receiving God’s truth.

We live in an age drowning in information but starving for transformation. The goal is not simply knowing more about Jesus. The goal is becoming more like Jesus.

B. Devoted to Fellowship (Koinonia) — People who Form Us This is far deeper than coffee and donuts after church. It’s shared life, shared burdens, and shared mission. Christianity is deeply personal but never private. The Gospel is a “we” proposition, not a “me” proposition.

There is no such thing as a solitary disciple. Jesus formed His followers in community, and He still does. That’s why the New Testament is filled with “one another” commands: confess sins to one another, bear with one another, encourage one another, forgive one another, spur one another on. Real koinonia looks like this.

C. Devoted to the Breaking of Bread — Grace that Forms Us This included ordinary meals together and the Lord’s Supper. The table became a place of remembrance, gratitude, equality, and belonging.

Spiritual formation doesn’t happen only in sanctuaries. It happens around tables. The early church was formed by sermons and suppers.

D. Devoted to Prayer — Dependence that Forms Us Prayer is not preparation for the work. Prayer is the work. The church born in prayer at Pentecost continued in prayer. A praying church knows it cannot form itself—it depends on the Holy Spirit.

How Is Devotion Lived Out?

Look at verse 46: “Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.”

Spiritual formation is not an event or occasional inspiration. It is a daily rhythm. Life happens daily—discipleship must too.

Practically, this looks like:

  • Daily surrender
  • Daily prayer
  • Daily Scripture (sitting under teaching in our own time)
  • Daily connection with God’s people—a text, a call, a conversation, face-to-face when possible
  • Daily choosing obedience over convenience

These are not a magic formula. They are means of grace—ordinary ways we experience God and God reveals Himself to us. Spiritual disciplines.

The early disciples were not earning God’s grace through devotion. Their devotion was a response to the saving grace already given in Jesus Christ.

We need fewer rows of isolated spectators and more circles of people living life together, deepening devotion.

For me personally, this means shifting my morning drive to the shop. Instead of political podcasts that feed my cynicism, I need to choose silence and prayer so Jesus can form my heart first.

The Secret of the Early Church

The secret wasn’t talent, strategy, or programming. It was devotion—steadfast, day after day—to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer. In the temple courts and house to house.

Truth formed their minds. Fellowship formed their relationships. The table formed their remembrance and gratitude. Prayer formed their dependence.

The same Holy Spirit who fell at Pentecost is with us right now. The question is not whether the Spirit is available. The question is whether we will devote ourselves to the things through which the Spirit forms us into the likeness of Jesus.

A Challenge

Choose one daily rhythm and shift it toward Christ: consistent time in Scripture and prayer, gathering with God’s people, meals around the table with glad hearts, or fresh daily surrender.

Take a quiet moment right now and ask: “What is forming me more than Jesus right now?”

What one rhythm needs to change so Christ shapes everything else?

If your calendar and habits were the only evidence, what would they say you are devoted to?

Let’s devote ourselves to what matters most. The Spirit who empowered them is ready to empower us.

What’s one rhythm you sense the Lord asking you to shift? Share in the comments—I read every one.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Lifelong Fire…

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Fire fell.

Wind blew.

Tongues of fire appeared over the disciples’ heads.

If you’ve spent much time around the church, you’ve probably heard the story of Pentecost in Acts 2. It’s one of the most dramatic moments in the entire Bible.

But here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately:

Eventually the fire disappeared.

The wind stopped blowing.

The extraordinary manifestations faded.

Yet the power remained.

Why?

Because the Holy Spirit remained.

When most people think about Pentecost, they focus on the moment. The signs. The wonders. The supernatural experience. But the real miracle wasn’t what happened for a few moments that day.

The real miracle was what happened afterward.

Acts 2 tells us that the believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, prayer, worship, generosity, and shared life together. They became a community unlike anything the world had ever seen.

The visible evidence of the Holy Spirit’s work wasn’t ultimately the wind or the fire.

It was transformed people.

And that raises an important question for all of us.

What is forming us?

Because the truth is, every one of us is being formed by something.

Have you ever noticed how quickly your mood can change after spending a few minutes scrolling social media?

You can begin the day grateful and at peace, then suddenly find yourself irritated, fearful, cynical, or angry.

Nobody announces, “Today we’re going to shape your heart.”

Yet little by little, post by post, headline by headline, our hearts are being shaped.

I’ve noticed it in my own life.

Most mornings I leave home feeling pretty good. Grateful, even. But I’ve developed a habit of listening to political podcasts during my forty-minute drive to work. By the time I pull into the parking lot, I’m often frustrated with the world.

Angry.

Cynical.

Ready to argue with people I haven’t even met yet.

That realization forced me to confront something uncomfortable:

What we repeatedly consume eventually shapes who we become.

Something is always discipling us.

The question isn’t whether we’re being formed.

The question is who—or what—is forming us.

The Apostle Paul describes this struggle in Galatians 5. He speaks of a conflict between the flesh and the Spirit. The flesh isn’t simply sinful behavior. At its core, the flesh is our tendency toward self-rule. It is the instinct to remain in control of our own lives.

The flesh says, “I will decide what’s best for me.”

The Spirit says, “Trust God enough to surrender.”

That tension exists within every one of us.

Paul says the result of living according to the flesh is division, jealousy, selfish ambition, anger, and a host of other destructive attitudes and behaviors.

But when the Holy Spirit is shaping our lives, a different kind of fruit begins to emerge:

Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Gentleness.

Self-control.

Notice something important.

Fruit doesn’t appear overnight.

Fruit grows.

That’s why spiritual formation is rarely instantaneous.

We often wish God would simply “zap” us into maturity. We want one prayer, one sermon, one worship experience, or one spiritual breakthrough to fix everything.

But God usually works differently.

There are moments of awakening.

Moments of conviction.

Moments of surrender.

Moments that change our direction.

Yet transformation itself is usually a journey.

The Holy Spirit may ignite the fire in a moment, but He forms the character of Christ in us over a lifetime.

That’s exactly what happened after Pentecost.

The same Spirit who fell in power stayed with those believers long after the excitement faded. Through worship, prayer, community, obedience, hardship, failure, and restoration, He continued shaping them into the likeness of Jesus.

Pentecost was the ignition.

Spiritual formation was the lifelong fire.

One of the things that stands out to me in Acts 2 is how deeply communal that transformation was.

Did you notice that almost every verb in Acts 2:42-47 is plural?

They devoted themselves.

They prayed.

They shared.

They worshiped.

They ate together.

They served together.

The Spirit who fell at Pentecost didn’t merely create individual Christians.

The Spirit created a community of disciples.

That’s a challenge for many of us because we live in a culture that prizes independence and self-sufficiency. We often think of faith as something private and personal.

The New Testament paints a different picture.

The Holy Spirit forms people together.

We need encouragement.

We need accountability.

We need people who know us well enough to celebrate our victories, challenge our blind spots, and walk with us through difficult seasons.

We need more than rows.

We need circles.

The Christian life was never intended to be lived alone.

As I reflected on all of this, I found myself asking a question that has become our congregation’s Question of the Month:

What is forming me more than Jesus right now?

That’s not a question designed to produce guilt.

It’s a question designed to produce awareness.

Because once we become aware of what’s shaping us, we can begin making intentional choices about what we allow to influence our hearts.

The good news is that God has not stopped forming people.

The same Holy Spirit who moved at Pentecost is still at work today.

Still transforming hearts.

Still calling people out of fear.

Still teaching us surrender.

Still shaping ordinary people into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

The question is not whether God desires to form you.

The question is whether you’re willing to surrender to the process.

So let me leave you with the same question I’ve been wrestling with myself:

What is forming you?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment below, or send me a message. I’d especially love to know your answer to this question:

What is forming you more than Jesus right now?

Until next time, keep looking up…

God Outside the Box

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We live in a world where almost everything feels explainable.

Need directions? Pull out your phone.
Need medical advice? Pull out your phone.
Need to fix a washing machine or learn how to smoke a brisket? Pull out your phone.

We have more information available to us than any generation in history. And because so much of life now feels manageable, we’ve slowly begun assuming God should be manageable too.

We want answers. Certainty. Explanations. Systems we can organize and control.

Then we come to Trinity Sunday.

And Trinity Sunday reminds us that God is bigger than our understanding.

The doctrine of the Trinity has always stretched the human mind. One God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Distinct, yet One. Christians have tried for centuries to explain it through illustrations and analogies, but eventually every illustration breaks down.

Why?

Because God is bigger than every comparison we create.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe the Trinity is not given so we can fully explain God. Maybe it’s given to remind us that God exists outside the boxes we keep trying to build for Him.

Jesus hinted at this in John 16 when He told His disciples:

“There is so much more I want to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.”

Think about that statement for a moment.

Jesus essentially says, “You’re not ready for the full picture yet.”

Honestly, neither are we.

One of humanity’s oldest temptations is the desire to control what we cannot fully understand. That struggle goes all the way back to Genesis. The serpent tempted Adam and Eve with the desire to “be like God.” Ever since then, humanity has been trying to reduce God into something manageable.

We want a God we can explain.
A God we can predict.
A God we can fit neatly into our political tribe, our preferences, and our comfort zones.

But God refuses to stay inside the boxes we create.

We’ve become incredibly tribal in our culture. It becomes easy to claim God for our side while assuming He fully opposes the other side. But anytime God fully agrees with everything my tribe already believes, I may not be worshipping God anymore.

I may be worshipping a mirror.

The Trinity reminds us that God is always bigger:

  • Bigger than our politics.
  • Bigger than our ideologies.
  • Bigger than our theological pride.
  • Bigger than our understanding.

Now don’t misunderstand me. The pursuit of knowledge is not bad. God gave us minds to think, learn, discover, and explore. Science itself grows out of humanity studying the order of God’s creation.

The mistake comes when we assume that because we can study creation, we can fully comprehend the Creator.

God is not a math equation to solve.

God is mystery.

And mystery makes us uncomfortable because mystery requires trust. We would often rather have explanations than dependence.

That’s why Christianity has never primarily been about mastering information. It has always been about learning trust.

Jesus said the Spirit would guide us into truth. Notice He didn’t say the Spirit would instantly explain everything. The Spirit guides. Slowly. Patiently. Over time.

That process is called sanctification.

Discipleship is formation, not just information.

That may be one of the greatest struggles facing the modern church today. We’ve convinced ourselves that if people know more, they will automatically become more spiritually mature. But information alone does not transform people.

You can know Bible verses and still not trust God.
You can understand doctrine and still live in fear.
You can win theological arguments and still refuse to surrender your heart.

The Spirit forms us gradually:

  • One act of obedience at a time.
  • One surrender at a time.
  • One step of trust at a time.

That’s why the question we’ve been asking at our church matters so much:

“What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding?”

Because spiritual maturity is not about having God fully figured out.

It’s about trusting Him enough to obey what He has already revealed.

There are some things we may never fully understand this side of heaven:

  • Why suffering comes.
  • Why some prayers seem unanswered.
  • Why some doors close.
  • Why healing sometimes comes and sometimes doesn’t.

The apostle Paul once wrote:

“Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Right now, we only see partially.

And honestly, that frustrates us. We want certainty. We want clarity. We want all the answers.

But perhaps part of God’s mercy is that He has not revealed everything yet.

Corrie Ten Boom once shared that as a little girl she feared she would not have enough faith to endure future suffering. Her father asked her, “When I buy your train ticket, when do I give it to you?”

She answered, “Right before we board the train.”

“That’s right,” he said. “And so it is with God. He gives you what you need when you need it.”

That’s how grace works.

Not usually early.
Not usually all at once.
But enough for the moment you’re standing in.

The good news of Christianity is not that we have God all figured out.

The good news is that God has us figured out — and loves us anyway.

He knows every contradiction in us. Every fear. Every failure. Every hidden struggle. Every doubt.

And still:

  • The Father creates us.
  • The Son redeems us.
  • The Spirit pursues and transforms us.

The Trinity reminds us that God is beyond us, but never absent from us.

Maybe faith is not about solving every mystery.

Maybe faith is learning to trust the One who already holds every mystery in His hands.

Because honestly, a god small enough to be fully explained would never be big enough to save us.

So perhaps the real question is not whether we fully understand God.

Perhaps the real question is this:

What area of your life are you still trying to control instead of surrendering to Him?

I’d love it if you’d share your answer to that question with me. Leave a comment below, or message me privately.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Let’s Have Church

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The Church Was Never Meant to Run Without the Holy Spirit

Pentecost Sunday is all about the Holy Spirit.

And if we’re honest, the Holy Spirit makes a lot of church people nervous. 

We talk comfortably about God the Father.
We talk confidently about Jesus the Son.
But when we start talking about the Holy Spirit… people get anxious.

Some churches ignore the Spirit altogether.
Others abuse the language of the Spirit emotionally or manipulatively.
And somewhere in the middle, many churches have simply learned how to function without any real dependence on the Spirit at all. 

We know how to organize church.
We know how to livestream church.
We know how to market church.
We know how to schedule church.

But do we still know how to depend on the Spirit of God?

A.W. Tozer once said:

“If the Holy Spirit was withdrawn from the church today, 95 percent of what we do would go on and no one would know the difference.”

That quote stings because it feels uncomfortably possible.

Activity is not the same thing as anointing.
Noise is not the same thing as power.
Crowds are not the same thing as transformation.
And information is not the same thing as spiritual formation. 

The church was never meant to operate merely on talent, personality, strategy, or programming.

The church was born in fire.

The Waiting Before the Fire

When Acts 2 opens, the disciples are waiting in Jerusalem exactly where Jesus told them to be.

But don’t romanticize the waiting.

Waiting sounds spiritual until you actually have to do it.

Waiting is where anxiety grows.
Waiting is where uncertainty lives.
Waiting is where all the “what ifs” begin whispering in your mind. 

Some of you understand that kind of waiting right now.

Waiting on healing.
Waiting on direction.
Waiting on peace.
Waiting on prodigal children.
Waiting on strength.
Waiting on God to move.

And somewhere in that waiting, it becomes easy to wonder:

“God, are You still working?”

But what if the waiting room is actually preparation ground?

Sometimes God does His deepest work in us before He ever does His visible work through us.

Then Acts 2 says:

“Suddenly…”

I love that word.

Because God can change everything suddenly. 

When Heaven Breathes on Ordinary People

The Spirit of God filled that upper room with wind and fire.

Ordinary men and women were suddenly filled with extraordinary power.
The gospel began spreading across language barriers.
Lives began changing.
The church was born. 

Some people stood amazed.
Others mocked.

Peter stood up and declared:

“This is the fulfillment of the promise of God.”

Pentecost was not emotional hype.

Pentecost was divine ignition.

It was heaven breathing on surrendered people.

The Spirit Still Moves

On May 24, 1738, John Wesley attended a prayer meeting on Aldersgate Street in London and later wrote:

“I felt my heart strangely warmed.”

That moment helped ignite a spiritual movement that spread around the world. 

And here’s what matters:

The same Holy Spirit who moved at Pentecost…
the same Spirit who moved at Aldersgate…
is still moving today.

The Holy Spirit is not merely a doctrine to study.
The Spirit is the presence of God transforming people into the likeness of Jesus Christ. 

The Spirit convicts.
The Spirit comforts.
The Spirit empowers.
The Spirit produces holiness.
The Spirit gives courage.
The Spirit breaks chains.

Only the Spirit of God can truly change a human heart.

The Evidence of the Spirit

That’s why I keep asking the same question as a pastor:

What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding? 

Not admire.
Not agree with.
Not study.

Obey.

Because the evidence of the Holy Spirit is not merely emotional excitement.

It is transformed obedience.

Maybe for you that means forgiveness.
Maybe surrender.
Maybe reconciliation.
Maybe honesty.
Maybe letting go of a grudge, an addiction, or an excuse you’ve carried for years.

We often want the fire of Pentecost without the surrender of Pentecost.

But the Spirit was never given simply to make us feel something in worship.

The Spirit was given to make us more like Jesus. 

When the Fire Grows Weak

If I’m honest, there are seasons when even pastors feel spiritually dry.

You keep preaching.
Keep serving.
Keep carrying responsibility.

Meanwhile your soul quietly whispers:

“Lord… I need fresh fire.” 

Maybe I’m not the only one.

Maybe some of you still believe…
still show up…
still try…

But somewhere along the way the wonder faded.

Pentecost reminds us that God still breathes life into weary people.
He still awakens dry souls.
He still fills empty hearts.
He still empowers ordinary believers. 

So… Let’s Have Church

When the Spirit truly moves:

Forgiveness happens.
Fear gives way to courage.
Hope rises again.
Pride begins to crumble.
People begin obeying Jesus instead of merely admiring Him. 

Church isn’t merely a weekly gathering we attend.

Church is what happens when the Spirit of God fills ordinary people with extraordinary grace and power.

The wind of God is still blowing.
The fire of God is still falling.
The Spirit of God is still moving.

So come on…

Let’s have church. 

Until next time, keep looking up…

Trying Harder Never Works

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Acts 1:1–11

Most of us Christians already know what we’re supposed to do.

Forgive people.
Pray more consistently.
Trust God more deeply.
Stop returning to the same sin.
Let go of bitterness.
Obey what Jesus is asking of us.

The problem usually isn’t information.

It’s power.

That’s why Ascension Sunday matters far more than most people realize.

Most people think the Ascension is about Jesus leaving. It’s actually about Jesus reigning.

In Acts 1, the disciples stood watching as Jesus ascended into heaven. If we had been there, we probably would have thought the same thing they were thinking:

“He’s gone.”

But that’s not what the Ascension means at all.

Right before Jesus ascended, He told His disciples:

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you…” (Acts 1:8)

Then He went up.

He went up…so the Spirit could come down.

The Ascension is not Jesus stepping away from His people. It is Jesus taking His throne.

The New Testament repeatedly tells us that Christ is seated at the right hand of the Father. That’s not a place of inactivity. It’s a place of authority.

The cross is finished.
The resurrection is accomplished.
And now Jesus reigns as King.

And Kings don’t make suggestions.

That changes how we understand the Christian life.

Because Christianity was never meant to be lived through sheer willpower.

Most of us have tried that already.

We make promises.
We recommit ourselves.
We vow to do better.
Then somewhere down the road we find ourselves struggling with the same attitudes, the same habits, the same failures, and the same exhaustion.

The problem is not that we lack effort.

The problem is that we are trying to live a spiritual life without spiritual power.

That’s why Jesus sent the Holy Spirit.

And let’s be clear about something: The Holy Spirit is not a force. He is not an energy. He is not a religious feeling.

He is a Person.

He speaks.
He convicts.
He guides.
He comforts.
He corrects.
He can even be grieved.

You can’t grieve a force.
You can only grieve a person.

The Holy Spirit is God within us.

We often say:
The Father is God over us.
The Son is God beside us.
The Spirit is God within us.

And that changes everything.

The Holy Spirit is not simply here to make us more religious. He is here to make us more alive.

Paul says in Romans 15 that the Spirit fills us with joy and peace and causes us to overflow with hope.

That’s not the absence of struggle.
That’s victory in the middle of struggle.

And that kind of life cannot be manufactured through discipline alone.

It comes through surrender.

Years ago, a missionary named Herbert Jackson was assigned a car that would not start without a push. Every day he found people to help push the car off. He parked on hills whenever possible. He kept the engine running whenever he could.

He lived that way for two years.

Finally, another missionary looked under the hood and discovered a loose battery cable. He tightened the connection, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

For two years, the power had been there.

The problem was connection.

That may describe some of us spiritually.

We love Jesus.
We mean well.
We want to change.

But we keep finding ourselves exhausted because we’re trying to produce spiritual transformation through human effort alone.

And eventually we begin to wonder:
“Why do I keep struggling with the same things?”
“Why do I keep falling into the same patterns?”
“Why does the Christian life feel so heavy sometimes?”

Because the Christian life was never meant to be powered by human strength.

Jesus never said:
“Try harder.”

He said:
“Remain in Me.”

That’s a very different thing.

The problem is not that Jesus is absent.
The problem is not that the Spirit is unwilling.
The problem may simply be surrender.

Because the Holy Spirit does not force Himself upon us.

He waits.

For surrender.
For obedience.
For yieldedness.

And maybe that brings us back to the question we’ve been wrestling with together these past few weeks:

What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding?

That may be your loose cable.

That may be the place where pride is keeping you disconnected.
Or fear.
Or bitterness.
Or addiction.
Or control.
Or simply delayed obedience.

And here’s the good news:
The power is not missing.

The Spirit of God is still present.
Jesus is still reigning.
Grace is still available.
Transformation is still possible.

You do not have to stay trapped in the same cycle forever.

Jesus went up…
so He could come down.

Not just to forgive you.
But to fill you.
To strengthen you.
To guide you.
To transform you.

Trying harder never works.

But surrender does.

And when the Spirit of God begins to take control of a surrendered life—
everything changes.

Until next time, keep looking up…

My Graduation Speech: The Real Path to the American Dream

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It’s graduation season. I’ve received the invitations in the mail and seen the posts on social media.

I’ve been invited in the past to give commencement and baccalaureate addresses. I always tried to encourage graduates with three simple pieces of advice:

  1. Adversity is a fact of life—prepare to deal with it.
  2. Look for purpose in the adversity.
  3. Attitude determines altitude.

I thought that was solid advice for young people stepping into the world. But as I watch the world they’re entering today, I’d offer something different.

There’s a growing conversation in America about the death of the American Dream. People are frustrated—and honestly, some of that frustration is understandable. Housing is expensive. Groceries cost more. Young adults feel overwhelmed. Many are working harder yet falling farther behind.

But somewhere in the middle of all the arguments about economics, politics, and systems, I wonder if we’ve overlooked something simpler.

What if the American Dream isn’t dead? What if we’ve simply drifted away from the ordinary habits that once helped build it?

For years, researchers have pointed to what they call the “Success Sequence.” It’s not complicated:

  1. Finish high school.
  2. Get a job and keep it.
  3. Get married before having children.

That’s not a sermon—though it could be. That’s research. Study after study shows that people who follow these basic steps dramatically increase their chances of avoiding poverty and reaching the middle class.

Before anyone gets angry, let me say the obvious: Life is not a formula. Some people do everything “right” and still struggle. Some make terrible decisions and still prosper. Real injustices and disadvantages exist. But acknowledging exceptions doesn’t erase patterns. And the patterns are hard to ignore.

Education matters. Work matters. Stable families matter.

And I believe there’s a fourth piece we don’t talk about nearly enough: Church.

Not because going to church magically makes you wealthy. But because healthy churches help form healthy people. They teach the very things our culture increasingly struggles to instill: faithfulness, self-control, commitment, forgiveness, responsibility, delayed gratification, service, and community.

Church puts you around older couples who stayed married, men who show up for work, women of integrity, grandparents who sacrificed, and people who know how to suffer without quitting. It creates relationships, mentorship, accountability, and hope. In many ways, it reinforces the values the research already says matter most.

We’ve spent years telling people to “follow your heart,” “live your truth,” and “do what makes you happy.” But real flourishing has always required something deeper than self-expression. It requires discipline. Sacrifice. Commitment.

The truth is, most meaningful things in life are built slowly—a marriage, a career, character, faith, and yes, the American Dream. One ordinary decision at a time.

Graduate. Work hard. Commit. Show up. Worship. Serve. Stay faithful.

None of those things are flashy. None go viral. But they still work more often than not.

Maybe the American Dream feels out of reach not because opportunity has disappeared, but because we’ve stopped valuing the habits that once sustained it. The Church has a vital role to play in rebuilding not just successful people, but stable, formed, and faithful people.

So, graduates… build your life slowly. Do ordinary things faithfully. Show up. Keep your word. Work hard. Love people well. Stay connected to a healthy church. And don’t underestimate the power of a steady life built over time.

You’ll be better for it—and so will the world around you.

Until next time, keep looking up…

A Faith Worth Passing On…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

This past week, I had the privilege of preaching my mother’s funeral.

There are some moments in life that are too important to keep to yourself.

For those who couldn’t be there… and for those who simply want to remember… I wanted to share what was said.

This isn’t just a message about my mom. It’s a message about the kind of faith that lasts.

Mom’s Funeral Message

I’ve told my congregations before that I was raised at the foot of a Methodist piano. When I said that, the story was usually about me… or my brothers. But today I realize—it was never about us. It was always about Mom. And more than that… it was really about Jesus. In a world that chases platforms and spotlights, Mom chose a piano bench.

Mom’s faith sat on that piano bench—Sunday after Sunday—for over 73 years. She once told me how it all started. Papaw had her taking piano lessons when she was nine years old. Then, one Sunday at Zoar Methodist Church—she had just turned ten—Papaw, who was leading the singing, looked at her and said, “Play.” She’s been playing ever since.

I started trying to name all the churches she played for. In those early days—Zoar and Mt. Pleasant. Later—Frantom Chapel, Concord… and of course, Chatham. And those were just the regular ones. There’s no telling how many times she filled in at other churches along the way.

Seventy-three years… Sunday after Sunday. That’s a lot of showing up.

Now here’s something you may not know. Mom was never very confident in her piano playing. I suppose that’s part of her humility. But she never let a lack of confidence keep her from obedience.

Because she didn’t see it as just playing for a church. She saw it as answering a call.

To my knowledge, she never received a salary from any church. She would occasionally accept a love offering, but she turned most of that back around to the church. For her, that piano bench became an altar. And every note she played was an act of worship.

If you want to understand what that looked like, let me show you.

There was a man in the community—I’ll leave his name out—who had pretty much become a hermit as he got older. For health reasons, he wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—leave the house for groceries or medicine. His home had become a mess—cluttered with trash, old rotting food, dogs. It had gotten so bad that eventually, even EMS stopped responding to his calls. Most people had pulled back.

You know who didn’t? Mom didn’t. She kept showing up. She would go to his house. She would take him food. She would help however she could.

And if we’re being honest… some of us didn’t understand it. Some of us probably wondered if he was taking advantage of her. But that didn’t seem to matter to her. She didn’t see him the way others saw him. She saw someone who needed help. And she showed up.

That’s the kind of faith she had. It didn’t wait until it was convenient. It didn’t wait until it was appreciated. It just showed up. The truth is… that kind of life doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from walking with Jesus. Because if you’ve read the Gospels… you’ve seen that kind of life before.

Jesus said in Matthew 25, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.” I don’t know that Mom ever stood up and quoted that verse. Truth is, I don’t remember her quoting much Scripture at all. She didn’t have to. She lived it. When she showed up at that house… she wasn’t just helping a man in need. She was serving her Savior. That’s how she served.

Her faith also showed up for her family. After Tommy died, Mom started a Saturday morning breakfast tradition. I’m a little jealous that Ben and Shawn got the early years, but I was thrilled when we moved closer and I could join in. I’d rise early and head to Chatham—not for toast and jelly, but for homemade buttermilk biscuits, pancakes, stove-cooked grits with a stick of butter melting on top, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon. Real, stick-to-your-ribs food.

We’d gather around the table. Sometimes one of us alone. Sometimes two of us. Sometimes all three. Sometimes with our spouses. Other times with our children. But every time with Mom. Many times Uncle Benny would come down for coffee and a visit. Other times friends and extended family were offered the invitation. Rarely was it ever declined.

Over the years, Mom’s Saturday morning breakfast became legendary. It was the envy of all who knew about it. We’d gather around the table… and there was a sacredness to it. It was rhythm. It was formation. Biscuits and sausage and grits wasn’t just food to Mom. It was glue. Glue that held us together.

Yes, it was glue, but more than that, it was the way she loved us.

She was not an extrovert—and that is an understatement. You would think someone who spent over 25 years serving the public every day as Postmaster would be a strong personality. No. Not Mom. She was perhaps one of the most unassuming people I’ve ever known. But what she did was love deeply and serve greatly, quietly, faithfully.

I’ve known that love my whole life. Vanessa was going through Mom’s things the other day when she came across the bottom third of a loose-leaf sheet of paper folded neatly in a small wooden box. When she unfolded it she saw the words “From Bubba to Mother.” On the right-hand side were these words:

The sea lies peaceful and calm; Your fortune lies upon your palm. There are doctors with all kinds of cures, But no love sweeter than yours.

A simple little poem written by her son. Honestly, I have no memory of ever writing it. But it meant something to her, and now it means something to me. It means the love I knew all my life was real, deep, and abiding. Who keeps a child’s poem on loose-leaf paper for fifty years or more? Mom, that’s who.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand. That kind of love—the kind that makes an altar out of a piano bench, the kind that serves the least of these, the kind that makes glue with biscuits and sausage—that doesn’t just happen. That kind of life is formed over time. It’s formed in quiet moments… in unseen choices… in a steady walk. Because the truth is—Mom didn’t just believe in Jesus. She walked with Him.

That’s the Jesus who shaped her life. And that’s the Jesus who has now received her. Mom’s life wasn’t built on being a good person trying hard. It was built on a Savior who loved her first. A Savior who gave His life for her. A Savior who rose again—so that death would not have the last word. Because of Jesus… this is not goodbye. It’s goodbye for now.

The question that sits quietly in front of all of us today is this: What are we going to do with the life we’ve been given? Because the same Jesus Mom walked with is still calling people to follow Him—to live that same kind of life: A life that shows up… A life that serves… A life that loves.That was her life. Not loud. Not flashy. Simply faithful. In the end, that’s a life that matters.

I’m grateful for the faith she lived…and the Savior who made it possible.

Until next time, keep looking up…