LIVE Join our service streaming live right now! Click here to watch.
A voyage to the moon can feel finished once splashdown comes and the pictures stop, yet those who flew it insist it is only the start. Romans 6 challenges us to see the same of Easter: we’re not at the end of our old debt, but the beginning of our new life in Jesus.
The following study questions are AI generated and may contain errors.
This transcript has been automatically generated and may contain errors.
Thank you.
What do we make of endings? What do we make of beginnings? And how do we decide which one we’re looking at? Sometimes it’s obvious, right? We come to the end of this evening, turn off the lights, and leave that as an ending. This week, we had a worldwide witnessed ending of sorts. It seemed appropriate to reflect on the majesty of what God created this week. I was so captivated by it. I read about what it was like to go to the moon, but to actually know that there were people actively doing it, and then with the wonders of modern technology to see it happening, to see the pictures coming back in real time and hear from them and what they’re witnessing—just what incredible, incredible things to see.
You take in what God has made, the beauty of it, and you think we’re in this small part of it. We use the best of our technology, go just a little further, and see places we normally can’t get to—no one had been there for 50 years—and beyond that is endless space that no human has seen. When you think about that, it’s amazing, it’s beautiful. We all watched it, heard about it, looked at the pictures—and then it’s over. I felt very conflicted as they were coming into land because, remembering back to what, 22 years ago when Columbia disintegrated on reentry, I found myself thinking, okay, they’d had some concerns about the heat shielding a little bit. Let’s get these folks back home. I could do anything about it other than pray for them, which is actually an awful lot. But since I wasn’t in mission control, I couldn’t say bank this way or do anything specific—just pray for their safe landing and splashdown, to know they made it safely, and to get out of the capsule before something else could go wrong. Then onto the ship and knowing they were safe.
Because we’ve shared this beautiful thing as humanity, the last thing we want is for it to end with a horrible catastrophe. So there was relief, yes, but it also felt like an ending. It’s like, but tomorrow they’re not going to be sending new pictures back from the wonders of this universe, from God’s creation. They’re not going to be talking about this universe. So it felt like an ending. But what I’ve heard the astronauts consistently say since then—Jared Isaacman, the NASA administrator, has said—is that this isn’t an ending; it’s a beginning. Because the point of Artemis II wasn’t just to take pictures and come home. It was to explore the technologies to go back to the moon, go back regularly, and then to go beyond the moon—to see more.
I think about that, and it’s striking how sometimes we look at something and think, “It’s over.” Take Easter last week—put away the decorations, finish the eggs and candy, the leftovers. If you had some ham, you’d finish that off as well—it’s all over. But if we want to see that Artemis II was not an ending but a beginning, we need to understand the far more incredible journey that took place and culminated on Easter morning. That wasn’t an ending either; it was a beginning. That’s what we’ll be thinking about in the coming weeks. We’ll turn to Romans chapter six to do so, if you want to turn there with me.
As we do, here’s what I want us to do: If I saw that launch two weeks ago and watched them land this week, and that was all I knew—that was all I could know—I would assume it was an ending. They did it. They made it. It’s over. Too often, we as Christians set a point in the story—whether it’s 2,000 years ago with Jesus, or in our own lives—think, “He came, He died, He was resurrected, it’s over.” But if the people at NASA made that mistake, they wouldn’t be preparing for the next mission. Next year, when Artemis 3 is supposed to go up, it wouldn’t happen. If we, as Christians, make that mistake, we fail to understand the mission God has ahead of us.
We haven’t just had Easter and then it’s over. There’s an Easter three, four, five—and it’s not just next year; it’s every single day that God sends us on a mission. The question is, where are we right now on that mission? How do we take what happened on Easter and realize it isn’t over? It wasn’t just a thing to put in a box for another year or a phase of life. It’s out there, and we have to get to work doing the next part of the mission. We have to live it and experience it.
So let’s pray that God would help us understand that tonight, as we come to His Word. Father, thank you for this evening. We thank You for Your Word. We thank You for the incredible gift that You gave us—that, indeed, as we sang just a moment ago, we see the very God of the universe who authored the hundreds of billions of stars and the lives on this earth, and the billions more today, and all that came before—all that You created—and that You would die for us. On a hill, on that cross, You sent Your Son to die for us and to triumph over death for us. We aren’t just some number; You know us. So as we recognize that, Lord, help us see where You are sending us and what You want us to do.
We pray, starting in Romans chapter six, verse 1, where Paul asks one of His most vibrant questions: “What then shall we say? Shall we continue in sin so that grace may increase?” Certainly not. How can we who died to sin live in it any longer? Or aren’t you aware that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? Certainly not. Paul puts this phrase in such a way that he wants the reader to see he is utterly exasperated with the question. Jesus has saved us; we can’t earn salvation by our actions. So, shall we just sin so that God’s grace may look even greater? The answer is no.
Paul continues, “Shall we sin all the more that grace may abound? May it never be.” We need to understand that there was an ending at Easter, but also an ongoing mission. The end of one phase is not the end of everything. When we believe in Jesus, we are dead to sin. I don’t mean to be rude, but all of you are dead to sin—if you believe in Jesus, you are dead to sin. If you don’t believe in Jesus, or are still figuring out what you believe, then you’re dead as well. Everyone is dead until Jesus raises us to life. We might feel alive—like being on a moon mission and realizing the rockets that help you re-enter Earth’s atmosphere are gone—you might feel alive, but you’re careening toward death. That’s how we are with sin: trusting in ourselves, careening toward the end of our life on earth, disintegrating on reentry. We’re dead—we are already spiritually dead. The question is, do we want Jesus to come along and take over, pilot us safely?
If you were in space and faced that problem, you would say, “Of course.” If there were multiple ships, and one malfunctioned, and others could tow it back safely, would you say yes? Of course. But how often do we Christians do something similar—half-heartedly say we want Jesus to pilot us, but keep pretending the old life fell away, still trying to do things ourselves? That’s absurd. Why do that? It’s not useful. Whatever we were doing before, we’re not those people anymore.
Living only in the light of the resurrection, pretending we don’t need help or that we can just keep doing our old ways, is wrong. We’re dead to sin, and if we believe in Jesus, we are new. Paul says in Romans 6 that we are baptized into Christ Jesus, baptized into His death. What does that mean? It means that as we live each day, the cross is always relevant. We are a week and a half past Good Friday, but what Jesus did remains just as relevant every single day. When we look at how we got life—through the cross—it always comes back to the cross. Jesus took our sin at the cross. When facing temptation or despair, remember the cross: it’s not just something in the past, it’s the ongoing reality. The mission is still happening because we are still here, torn between our old way and what God has called us to.
The first part of our mission is to recognize what the Lord has done for us: that we are redeemed, that we have something new. That should change how we live. 1 Corinthians 12:13 says, “For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jew or Greek, slave or free—and we were all given one Spirit to drink.” We’re baptized into something—we’re not baptized into death, but into life, into His kingdom. We are meant to live as those who truly belong.
Many of us have experienced losing a job, and that can shake our identity—if our work was tied into who we are. We often talk about “we”—as in “we do this,” “we produce that”—because our work was part of our identity. Even years later, I catch myself still saying “we” about an old workplace, because it felt tied into who I was. But I thank God that I’m here now, and I realize I can slip into that “we” thinking even with sin—thinking of myself as just a sinner—because I’m so used to sin being part of my identity. Paul says, if you think about it, you’re really glad that’s not who you truly are. If you believe in Jesus, that’s true. So do we want to keep living like we still belong there? When you get a new job or new purpose, and the old one is gone, why do you keep showing up with the old ID? It’s like trying to get into a place with a card that’s no longer valid.
Paul compares this to trying to access life through our own efforts—trying to find fulfillment in worldly things—when God has declared us alive in Christ. We belong to His kingdom, not to the world. We shouldn’t live as if our citizenship were on earth. As citizens of His kingdom, we’re meant to live differently—serving the world without being of the world. Our purpose is higher: to walk in Him and do what He’s called us to.
I recently watched a remarkable interview with former Senator Ben Sasse. His journey over the last few months has been gut-wrenching. A few years ago, he was in Congress, then president of a university, until his wife’s illness forced him to step down. Last fall, he began experiencing back pain; tests revealed terminal-stage pancreatic cancer, with only a few months left. Despite all his positions and power, his health quickly declined, and he realized he was facing death—a difficult truth to accept. What’s been inspiring is that he’s always been open about his faith. With only a few months left, he’s used that time to point others to Jesus—through a podcast, interviews, and sharing his journey. Even as his face is covered with sores, and he feels awful, he smiles and talks about the hope he has in Christ. He’s not ready to die, but he reflects on words from Tim Keller—who battled the same cancer—and admits he no longer wants to go back to his previous way of thinking, relying on himself, his possessions, or his own efforts. Instead, he now recognizes that he can’t control anything but the hope found in Christ.
He says we get to approach the divine as Daddy, as Abba, and that’s quite glorious. That’s what I need too. He’s been challenging himself to truly believe, not just say the right words or come to church, but to live in the truth that he needs Jesus. These last months have radically changed his outlook, because he has no other choice. He gets to come into God’s glory and call God “Daddy,” even in his suffering and frailty.
The question is, are we truly living in the new life of Easter? Are we living in that resurrection reality? Because every one of us is on a trajectory of disintegration—it’s inevitable. Sometimes we know it, sometimes we’re given a window of time to act on that knowledge, and sometimes it comes suddenly. But we’re all heading in the same direction. The real question is: what will we do with that? Will we pretend we can control it, or will we see that our citizenship isn’t here but in Jesus? Everything else will fail—you and I, all human efforts—nothing is ultimately what we want.
What’s new in our lives? That we get to live in God’s presence—not just as an ornament or decoration, but truly live in His presence. May we all do that. Lord, help us to understand and live this truth. We don’t want to function as if we still need to hold on to the old life, clinging to our own strength, like the rich man storing up treasures for himself. You’ve warned us repeatedly that we are new, that our old life is dead, and that in Christ, we have life. Help us to hold onto that, and to recognize that we have a mission, that you’ve placed each of us here—not just as spectators, but as active participants. Not to escape, but to serve this world, living out the kingdom principles.
We see the example of the astronauts; they’re supposed to be in that capsule, and they stay focused on the mission. That is our place too—living as citizens of His kingdom. Not living as if we belong to this world, but living in it, serving it, driven by the purpose of God. You’ve placed us here intentionally. Help us not to forget whom we serve, to stay focused on the mission.
Recently, I listened to an interview about Ben Sasse’s journey, a man who, despite his station and health challenges, chooses hope rooted in Christ. His story challenges us. No matter what we face—terminal illness, suffering, or the disintegration of our plans—we can cling to the hope that comes from Jesus. We all need this hope; we are all called to live in it. So, I pray that in our hearts, we hold tightly to the truth of the resurrection and are eager to share that hope with others. May our lives reflect this new beginning—because in Christ, we are alive—truly alive—and that is the message we carry today and every day. Amen.
Start the Conversation