Don't Quit
Summer in 2 Timothy, Part 2 | 2 Timothy 2:1-13

Kevin Brown • Lead Pastor
June 14, 2026

7 Minute Read

Most of us have a moment we can point to.

The moment when quitting stopped being unthinkable and started feeling like the reasonable thing to do.

Maybe it was a marriage that had gotten so hard you started doing the math on whether staying was even worth it. Maybe it was a calling you said yes to when you were younger and more optimistic, and you woke up one day and couldn't remember why. Maybe it was your faith, not a dramatic crisis, just a slow, quiet erosion that nobody around you could see because you were still showing up, still going through the motions, but inside something was giving way.

You know the moment.

Paul wrote 2 Timothy from a Roman prison cell. Chained. Classified -- his own word -- as a criminal, the same word used for the men crucified on either side of Jesus. He was not under house arrest the way he had been before. This was chains on his wrists. And he knew he was not getting out.

And yet he picked up a pen.

He wrote to a young pastor named Timothy in Ephesus; a man he loved like a son, a man who was struggling with fear and shame, watching people who used to stand with Paul walk away. Wondering whether the cost of this calling was worth it.

From his chains, Paul said to Timothy: don't quit.

He didn't say it exactly like that. He said it with soldiers and athletes and farmers. He said it with his own testimony and a hymn the church was already singing. But underneath it all, the message is the same.

In 2 Timothy 2:1-13, Paul gives Timothy and us three anchors that hold when resolve runs out.

A Strength to Receive

The first word Paul gives is not a command to try harder. It's almost the opposite.

"Be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus" (2 Timothy 2:1).

Notice what Paul doesn’t say. He doesn’t say try harder. He doesn’t say dig deeper. He says be strong in grace, which means the strength he’s pointing to isn’t something you produce. It’s something you draw from. It's something he receives, and it is located in one place: in Christ.

Paul follows this immediately with a vision of discipleship: the things Timothy has received, he is to entrust to reliable people who will pass them on to others. Four generations. Four links in a chain. Receiving so you can give. Being strengthened so you can strengthen others.

And then Paul gives three pictures of what faithful entrusting looks like when it costs something.

The soldier doesn't get tangled up in civilian concerns -- he stays loyal to one commanding officer. The athlete doesn't just work hard -- he competes within the rules, because effort without integrity is wasted effort. And the farmer introduces something the other two don't: hope. He plants in one season and waits for a harvest he can't guarantee, knowing that faithful labor will eventually produce something.

Consider one ordinary, faithful Christian. No platform. No crusades. Just someone who prays for the people around them and shares their faith. Over the course of a year, two people come to Christ. That's it. Two.

Those two do the same thing. Each of them leads two people to Christ. Now you have four. Those four lead two each. Now you have eight.

How many years before that faithful multiplication reaches every person on earth? About 33.

Paul isn't looking for the next great evangelist. He's looking for faithful people who will pass it on. Just two. That's the strategy.

Receive strength. Stay connected to the source. Don't quit on the deposit that's been entrusted to you.

A Savior to Remember

After all the metaphors, Paul lands in a surprising place. Not a principle. Not a strategy. A person.

"Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel" (2 Timothy 2:8).

Two things to remember. Raised from the dead -- the resurrection, not as doctrine but as present reality. Jesus is alive. The commanding officer the soldier serves is not dead. The one who sets the rules for the athlete is still in charge. The God who guarantees the harvest has power over death itself.

Descended from David -- the incarnation. He came. He lived. He died. He rose. It is not mystical or theoretical. It happened.

And then Paul says something that crashes his own reality into view: "I am suffering even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But God's word is not chained."

You can lock up the messenger. You cannot lock up the message. Paul's imprisonment doesn't mean the gospel is losing. It means the gospel is so powerful that the authorities feel threatened by it.

And what sustains Paul in those chains? People who haven’t yet heard the gospel. People who haven’t yet had the chance to respond. People whose moment of faith hasn’t come yet, because no one has reached them. Reaching them with the gospel requires messengers who don’t quit.

That's why Paul endures. Not for his own vindication. For them.

For people he will probably never meet, whose response to the gospel depends on faithful people staying in the fight.

A Faithfulness That Starts with God

Paul closes this section by reaching for something the church was already singing -- a hymn, a confession, words that had been tested and passed down by believers who had already faced what Timothy was facing.

"Here is a trustworthy saying: If we died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him. If we disown him, he will also disown us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot disown himself" (2 Timothy 2:11-13).

The hymn opens with grace -- with what Christ has already done. You died with him. That's completed. That's a done deal. And because you died with him, you will live with him. Not a possibility. A promise.

It turns to cost -- endurance matters, the choices we make matter, the temptation to walk away is real and the warning against it is serious.

But the hymn doesn't end there.

Notice the shift in the final line. The first three lines are all about our performance -- we die, we endure, we disown. But the fourth line isn't about us anymore.

If we are faithless, he remains faithful -- because he cannot disown himself.

His faithfulness is not conditional on ours. It doesn't rise and fall with our performance. Faithfulness is not something God does -- it's something God is. He cannot act contrary to his own nature. To disown his people would be to disown himself. And that is impossible.

Your faithfulness matters. Endurance matters. The choice to keep following Jesus matters. But the ultimate ground beneath it all is not your consistency or your strength.

It's his nature.

Don't Quit

So here's where we land.

Paul gave Timothy three anchors from a prison cell. Receive strength -- not something you manufacture, but something you draw from, located in grace, located in Christ. Remember Jesus -- raised from the dead, whose word is unchained even when his messengers are in chains, and worth the cost. Remain faithful -- not because you're strong enough, not because you'll never waver, but because the one you're following cannot disown himself.

If you're at that moment right now -- when quitting has stopped being unthinkable and started feeling reasonable -- this is what Paul would say to you.

Don't quit.

Not because you're tough enough to handle it alone. Not because the cost won't be real. But because the one who called you is faithful. Because his word is still moving. Because your labor is not in vain. Because there is a harvest coming.

Don't quit.

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From this Tag: Faith
Currently Reading
June 14, 2026 • 7 Minute Read
Don't Quit
Most of us have a moment we can point to. The moment when quitting stopped being unthinkable and started feeling like the reasonable thing to do. Maybe it was a marriage that had gotten so hard you started doing the math on whether staying was even worth it. Maybe it was a calling you said yes to when you were younger and more optimistic, and you woke up one day and couldn't remember why. Maybe it was your faith, not a dramatic crisis, just a slow, quiet erosion that nobody around you could see because you were still showing up, still going through the motions, but inside something was giving way. You know the moment. Paul wrote 2 Timothy from a Roman prison cell. Chained. Classified -- his own word -- as a criminal, the same word used for the men crucified on either side of Jesus. He was not under house arrest the way he had been before. This was chains on his wrists. And he knew he was not getting out. And yet he picked up a pen. He wrote to a young pastor named Timothy in Ephesus; a man he loved like a son, a man who was struggling with fear and shame, watching people who used to stand with Paul walk away. Wondering whether the cost of this calling was worth it. From his chains, Paul said to Timothy: don't quit. He didn't say it exactly like that. He said it with soldiers and athletes and farmers. He said it with his own testimony and a hymn the church was already singing. But underneath it all, the message is the same. In 2 Timothy 2:1-13, Paul gives Timothy and us three anchors that hold when resolve runs out. A Strength to Receive The first word Paul gives is not a command to try harder. It's almost the opposite. "Be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus" (2 Timothy 2:1). Notice what Paul doesn’t say. He doesn’t say try harder. He doesn’t say dig deeper. He says be strong in grace, which means the strength he’s pointing to isn’t something you produce. It’s something you draw from. It's something he receives, and it is located in one place: in Christ. Paul follows this immediately with a vision of discipleship: the things Timothy has received, he is to entrust to reliable people who will pass them on to others. Four generations. Four links in a chain. Receiving so you can give. Being strengthened so you can strengthen others. And then Paul gives three pictures of what faithful entrusting looks like when it costs something. The soldier doesn't get tangled up in civilian concerns -- he stays loyal to one commanding officer. The athlete doesn't just work hard -- he competes within the rules, because effort without integrity is wasted effort. And the farmer introduces something the other two don't: hope. He plants in one season and waits for a harvest he can't guarantee, knowing that faithful labor will eventually produce something. Consider one ordinary, faithful Christian. No platform. No crusades. Just someone who prays for the people around them and shares their faith. Over the course of a year, two people come to Christ. That's it. Two. Those two do the same thing. Each of them leads two people to Christ. Now you have four. Those four lead two each. Now you have eight. How many years before that faithful multiplication reaches every person on earth? About 33. Paul isn't looking for the next great evangelist. He's looking for faithful people who will pass it on. Just two. That's the strategy. Receive strength. Stay connected to the source. Don't quit on the deposit that's been entrusted to you. A Savior to Remember After all the metaphors, Paul lands in a surprising place. Not a principle. Not a strategy. A person. "Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel" (2 Timothy 2:8). Two things to remember. Raised from the dead -- the resurrection, not as doctrine but as present reality. Jesus is alive. The commanding officer the soldier serves is not dead. The one who sets the rules for the athlete is still in charge. The God who guarantees the harvest has power over death itself. Descended from David -- the incarnation. He came. He lived. He died. He rose. It is not mystical or theoretical. It happened. And then Paul says something that crashes his own reality into view: "I am suffering even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But God's word is not chained." You can lock up the messenger. You cannot lock up the message. Paul's imprisonment doesn't mean the gospel is losing. It means the gospel is so powerful that the authorities feel threatened by it. And what sustains Paul in those chains? People who haven’t yet heard the gospel. People who haven’t yet had the chance to respond. People whose moment of faith hasn’t come yet, because no one has reached them. Reaching them with the gospel requires messengers who don’t quit. That's why Paul endures. Not for his own vindication. For them. For people he will probably never meet, whose response to the gospel depends on faithful people staying in the fight. A Faithfulness That Starts with God Paul closes this section by reaching for something the church was already singing -- a hymn, a confession, words that had been tested and passed down by believers who had already faced what Timothy was facing. "Here is a trustworthy saying: If we died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him. If we disown him, he will also disown us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot disown himself" (2 Timothy 2:11-13). The hymn opens with grace -- with what Christ has already done. You died with him. That's completed. That's a done deal. And because you died with him, you will live with him. Not a possibility. A promise. It turns to cost -- endurance matters, the choices we make matter, the temptation to walk away is real and the warning against it is serious. But the hymn doesn't end there. Notice the shift in the final line. The first three lines are all about our performance -- we die, we endure, we disown. But the fourth line isn't about us anymore. If we are faithless, he remains faithful -- because he cannot disown himself. His faithfulness is not conditional on ours. It doesn't rise and fall with our performance. Faithfulness is not something God does -- it's something God is. He cannot act contrary to his own nature. To disown his people would be to disown himself. And that is impossible. Your faithfulness matters. Endurance matters. The choice to keep following Jesus matters. But the ultimate ground beneath it all is not your consistency or your strength. It's his nature. Don't Quit So here's where we land. Paul gave Timothy three anchors from a prison cell. Receive strength -- not something you manufacture, but something you draw from, located in grace, located in Christ. Remember Jesus -- raised from the dead, whose word is unchained even when his messengers are in chains, and worth the cost. Remain faithful -- not because you're strong enough, not because you'll never waver, but because the one you're following cannot disown himself. If you're at that moment right now -- when quitting has stopped being unthinkable and started feeling reasonable -- this is what Paul would say to you. Don't quit. Not because you're tough enough to handle it alone. Not because the cost won't be real. But because the one who called you is faithful. Because his word is still moving. Because your labor is not in vain. Because there is a harvest coming. Don't quit.

Kevin Brown

Lead Pastor

June 7, 2026 • 16 Minute Read
You Have What It Takes
I want to tell you about a man you've probably never heard of. His name is Onesiphorus. He doesn't have a book of the Bible named after him. He didn't plant churches. He didn't write letters. He never preached a sermon we have any record of. He shows up in exactly one chapter of the entire New Testament, 2 Timothy 1, in exactly three verses. And then he disappears from history entirely. But Paul prays for him. By name. From prison. Here's what Onesiphorus did. When Paul was arrested and thrown into a Roman prison, awaiting what everyone around him knew was going to be an execution, something happened in the community of believers who knew Paul. The people who had traveled with him, learned from him, been formed by his teaching, called him a friend and a father in the faith — they began to quietly disappear. Paul tells us in verse 15 that everyone in the province of Asia deserted him. Not most. Not many. Everyone. And into that emptiness, into that abandoned, chain-wearing, death-row silence, one man moved toward Paul instead of away from him. Onesiphorus packed his things. Traveled close to a thousand miles to the most powerful and dangerous city in the world. And when he got to Rome, a city of over a million people, he didn't know exactly where Paul was. So he started asking. And when that lead didn't pan out, he asked again. He kept searching, kept pushing through whatever obstacles Rome put in front of him, until he found his friend. In chains. Condemned. Abandoned by nearly everyone he loved. And the text says he was not ashamed of what he saw. He refreshed Paul. He showed up again and again. And Paul, sitting in that prison, writing what he almost certainly knew was his last letter, stops to pray for this man. By name. With the warmth of someone who has been given a drink of water in the middle of a desert. Now here's what I want us to sit with. Onesiphorus was not a superhero. He was not a particularly gifted member of the spiritual elite. He was a regular believer, a man with a household, a family, a life back in Ephesus that he left to go find his friend. And what he did, the courage, the love, the sheer stubborn refusal to be ashamed when shame was the easy and socially acceptable choice, did not come from nowhere. It came from a gift. A provision. Something God has already given, past tense, done, deposited, in every person who belongs to Christ. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) With this one truth, Paul is reminding Timothy of what is already true. What God has already done. What is already inside him. Movement I: What We Entrust to God (2 Timothy 1:7–12) Paul does not say God wants to give you this spirit. He doesn't say God will give you this spirit if you pray hard enough or finally get your life together. He says God gave it. Past tense. Completed action. Done. The Spirit of power, love, and sound mind is not something we are waiting to receive. It is not a reward at the end of a long journey of spiritual progress. It has already been deposited inside every person who belongs to Christ. The question is not whether we have it. The question, and we need to feel the weight of this, is whether we are living like we do. Because Timothy apparently wasn't. We don't know exactly what was happening with him. Paul doesn't spell it out. But read between the lines of this letter and a picture emerges of a young pastor who is pulling back. Shrinking. Going quiet in places where he should be speaking. Distancing himself from Paul, from the chains, from the controversy, from the cost, in ways that Paul finds alarming enough to address. And here's what's striking: Paul doesn't respond to Timothy's fear by questioning his faith. He doesn't say "maybe you were never really saved." He says, "You have been given a spirit of power. So act like it." Power. The same word used for the power of the resurrection. The same word Jesus uses when he says, "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you." This is not the power to feel confident on a good day. This is resurrection-level capacity. The power that rolled the stone away, living inside us. Love. Not a warm feeling toward people we already like. The love Paul is talking about is the kind that moves toward people when everything in us wants to move away. It is the love that looks at a man in chains and draws closer instead of retreating. We're going to see what that looks like at the end of this passage. Sound Mind. The ability to think clearly when the pressure is on. To not be swept away by panic or the intoxicating pull of self-preservation. To stay oriented to what is true when everything around us is pushing toward what is easy. Power. Love. Sound mind. Paul is about to show us what they're for. So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God. — 2 Timothy 1:8 (NIV) The gifts of verse 7 are not for our comfort. They are not so we can feel spiritually confident in the privacy of our own hearts. They are for this: for the moment when the gospel costs us something and we have to decide whether we're going to stay or go. When Paul says "do not be ashamed," he is not talking about mild social discomfort. He is writing from inside a Roman prison. Rome ran on honor and shame. Your reputation, your associations, who you were seen with was everything. It determined your standing, your opportunities, your safety. And Paul was a prisoner. In Roman eyes, that made him a criminal. To stand with Paul was to absorb some of that shame onto yourself. On top of that, the message itself was scandalous. A crucified Messiah was offensive to Jewish ears. Their own Scriptures said a man hung on a tree was cursed by God. To the Roman mind, the cross was a slave's death, the lowest and most degrading execution imaginable. Worshipping a crucified man was foolishness. And this letter was written during Nero's reign, after the great fire of Rome, when Nero blamed Christians. Association with Christianity, especially with a prominent Christian prisoner, carried real danger. So when Paul writes "do not be ashamed," he is not asking for something small. He is asking Timothy, and us, to stay visible when staying invisible would be so much safer. But notice what he adds: "by the power of God." This is not a call to toughen up. It is not a personality change. It is an invitation to draw on a power that is not our own, because what God asks of us, He never asks us to do alone. That's the same power he just told us God already gave us. He's asking us to draw on what we already have. Paul moves from command to gospel foundation. Before we can endure anything, we need to understand what we're standing on. Our salvation was not an afterthought. Before a single galaxy existed, before time itself had a beginning, God purposed our redemption. He chose us in Christ. He secured us in grace. And then Christ appeared. And in his appearing, he destroyed death. That word, destroyed, means to render inoperative, to strip something of its power without necessarily eliminating its existence. Death still occurs biologically. But its dominion has been broken. Its sting has been pulled (1 Corinthians 15:55–56). This is a completed action. The battle is over. We are living in the aftermath of the victory. So when Paul asks us to suffer for the gospel, he is asking us to suffer for a cause whose outcome is already settled. We are not being asked to fight a battle whose winner is in question. We are being asked to stand firm in a victory that has already been won. That is the ground beneath verse 12, one of the most personally charged sentences in all of Paul's letters: Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day. — 2 Timothy 1:12 (NIV) Paul is in chains. He is alone. He is almost certainly going to be executed. The people he gave his life to build have largely turned their backs on him. By any human measure, this looks like failure. And Paul says: I am not ashamed. Not because things worked out. Not because he feels peaceful. Not because the circumstances make sense. He is not ashamed because of something that cannot be taken from him. I know whom I have believed. Not what. Whom. This is not a man clinging to a theological conviction. This is a man who knows a Person. A man who has walked with Jesus through shipwrecks and beatings and stonings and sleepless nights and now chains, and has found him faithful. The knowing Paul is describing is not intellectual. It is relational. It is the knowing that comes from a lifetime of encountering someone and finding them to be exactly who they said they were. And he has entrusted everything, his life, his legacy, his message, his future, into God's hands. Not anxiously. Settled. Certain. That is what trust looks like when it has been tested. So here is the first thing this passage asks of us: Not to feel more confident. Not to work up more courage. Not to white-knuckle our way through something hard. But to entrust to God all that we are and all that we have and live like it. Movement II: What God Entrusts to Us (2 Timothy 1:13–14) Paul now pivots. In verse 12, we saw what we entrust to God. In verse 14, we see what God entrusts to us. And this exchange, this two-sided deposit, is the theological engine of the entire passage. What you heard from me, keep as the pattern of sound teaching, with faith and love in Christ Jesus. — 2 Timothy 1:13 (NIV) The word pattern means a blueprint, a governing shape, an architect's sketch that everything else has to conform to. Paul is saying: what you received from me is not a rigid script to repeat word for word. It is the shape of the gospel. And everything we teach, everything we preach, everything we pass on to the next generation has to hold that shape. With two guardrails: faith and love. Faith keeps the content anchored. You cannot drift from the pattern if you are holding it with genuine trust in the one the pattern is about. Love keeps the posture humble. You cannot weaponize truth, use it as a club or a badge of superiority, if you are holding it with genuine love for the people you are teaching. Faith and love. Truth and warmth. Both. Always. In Christ Jesus. And then verse 14, the hinge of the whole passage: Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you, guard it with the help of the Holy Spirit who lives in us. — 2 Timothy 1:14 (NIV) Guard is a military word. A watchman posted over something precious, fully alert, fully engaged, not passive. This is not "hold onto the gospel loosely and hope for the best." This is active, vigilant, wide-awake protection of something that has enemies. Paul calls it good. The good deposit. The gospel Timothy has been entrusted with is not a burden. It is not a duty to discharge. It is a treasure. Guard it like one. But here is what we need to carry out of this movement: the deposit doesn't survive because of how tightly Timothy holds it. It survives because of who holds Timothy. The Holy Spirit, the same spirit of power, love, and sound mind given at the moment of salvation, is the one doing the real guarding. Our job is to show up. To stay engaged. To not drift. To not go quiet. To not slowly loosen our grip on the shape of the gospel because it has started to cost us something in certain conversations or situations. Show up. Hold the shape. Love the people. Trust the Spirit. So here is the second thing this passage asks of us: Not just to receive what God has given, but to take seriously what he has entrusted. The gospel in our hands is beautiful. It is powerful. But it has enemies. And the Spirit living inside us is more than capable of helping us guard it. But we have to show up. Movement III: A Life Unashamed (2 Timothy 1:15–18) We're back to Onesiphorus. But before we get to him, we have to sit with verse 15. Because it is one of the most honest sentences in the entire New Testament. You know that everyone in the province of Asia has deserted me, including Phygelus and Hermogenes. — 2 Timothy 1:15 (NIV) Everyone. The province of Asia was Paul's most fruitful mission field. He spent three years in Ephesus, longer than anywhere else. He poured his life into those churches. He wept over those elders. He loved those people with everything he had. And when the chains went on, every single one of them turned away. Paul even names two of them. Phygelus. Hermogenes. These are not strangers. These are colleagues. Fellow workers. People Timothy had stood next to, shared meals with, perhaps called friends. I don't want to move past this too quickly. What Paul is describing is not professional disappointment. This is relational devastation. The people he gave his life to build, gone. The community he suffered to create, silent. The friends he counted on, facing the other direction. We probably understand this on some level. We know what it is to stand in a hard place and look around and find that the people we expected to be there aren't. Paul is not above that pain. He feels it. He names it. He doesn't spiritualize it or pivot to a silver lining. He just tells the truth. And then, verse 16, everything changes. May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains. — 2 Timothy 1:16 (NIV) One man. Into the silence left by everyone else, one man moved toward Paul instead of away from him. Paul says he refreshed him. The word means to revive, to breathe new life into someone who is running out of air. In a Roman prison, dark and cold and smelling of chains and death, Onesiphorus was a breath of fresh air. And Paul says he did it often. Not once. Not when it was convenient. Not when the mood struck him. Often, repeatedly, regularly, again and again. This was a sustained, committed, costly practice. Onesiphorus made a habit of showing up for the man everyone else had left behind. On the contrary, when he was in Rome, he searched hard for me until he found me. — 2 Timothy 1:17 (NIV) He traveled nearly a thousand miles. To a city of over a million people. Where Paul was being held somewhere hard to find, somewhere that required asking around, following leads, getting turned away, starting over, asking again. He was not going to stop until he found his friend. Now look back at verse 7. "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." Look at Onesiphorus. He was not ashamed of Paul's chains. That is the spirit of power overcoming fear. He refreshed Paul, often. That is the spirit of love showing up in flesh and blood. He searched hard until he found him. That is the spirit of sound mind refusing to quit. Paul never makes this connection explicit. He doesn't have to. Because what Onesiphorus is, what he does, is simply what a person looks like when they are actually living out of what God placed inside them. He is not a superhero. He is not a spiritual elite. He is a man who said yes to the Spirit he had been given. And then he got on the road and went looking for his friend. Paul closes the passage with a prayer: May the Lord grant that he will find mercy from the Lord on that day! You know very well in how many ways he helped me in Ephesus. — 2 Timothy 1:18 (NIV) On that day. The day of Christ. The final day. The day when every act of faithful, costly, unashamed love will be seen and acknowledged by the one who said, "I was in prison, and you came to me." Onesiphorus visited Paul. He may not have fully understood that in doing so, he was visiting Christ. But on that day, he will find out. The Same Gift. A Different Response. We have three men. Onesiphorus. Phygelus. Hermogenes. We don't know much about them. We know they were in the province of Asia. We know they knew Paul. We know that when the chains went on and the cost became real, two turned away from Paul. One went looking for him. And here is what makes this so striking: they all had the same Spirit. Spirit of power. Spirit of love. Spirit of sound mind. The same deposit. The same gospel. The same grace purposed before time and secured by a Christ who destroyed death. They all had it all. Two turned away. One went looking. Not because they lacked the gift. But because they chose not to live from it. Same gift. Different response. That is the whole sermon in four words. And it is the question the passage leaves us with. Are we going to be Phygelus? Hermogenes? Going quiet when the gospel costs something. Drifting to a safe distance when association becomes inconvenient. Turning away, slowly and incrementally, from the chains and the people wearing them. Or are we going to be Onesiphorus? Packing our things. Getting on the road. Searching hard. Showing up at the door of someone who has almost given up on anyone coming. Living a life unashamed of the gospel. We have the Spirit. We have everything we need. Now let's go live the life.

Kevin Brown

Lead Pastor