The Creek Church
Scripture:
“Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’ She turned and said to him in Aramaic, ‘Rabboni!’ (which means Teacher).” — John 20:15–16 (ESV)
Think:
Mary stands outside the tomb, and everything she believed has collapsed. The cross has shattered her expectations of who Jesus was and what He came to do. And now, even His body is gone. She is not looking for resurrection—she is trying to make sense of loss.
And Jesus is standing right in front of her.
But she does not recognize Him.
This is not just grief—it is the limitation of human understanding. No one was expecting a risen Savior in this moment. Even those closest to Jesus could not yet see what God was doing. Her eyes are fixed on what she believes is true: He is gone.
So Jesus asks, “Why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?”
Not because He doesn’t know—but because He is gently exposing the gap between what she believes and what is actually real. She is searching for a dead Jesus, while the living Jesus is speaking to her.
And then everything changes with a single word:
“Mary.”
He does not begin with explanation.
He begins with relationship.
In that moment, recognition breaks through—not because she sees clearly, but because she hears His voice. The One she thought she lost is calling her back to Himself.
This is the heart of the resurrection.
Jesus did not rise simply to prove He had power over death. He rose to restore what sin had broken—personal, living relationship with God. The first word of the resurrection is not a declaration to a crowd—it is a name spoken to a person.
Mary.
She does not recognize Him by sight.
She recognizes Him by voice.
And that is still how He meets us.
Because there are moments when grief, confusion, or disappointment shape what we think is true. Moments when we assume God is absent because He has not moved the way we expected. Moments when we are looking for Him in one way, while He is already present in another.
But Jesus does not stay distant.
He comes near.
He speaks.
He calls.
Not generally.
Not impersonally.
By name.
And everything changes when you realize the One you thought was gone…
has been standing near you all along.
Application:
Where might you be looking for Jesus in the wrong place—and missing how He is already present?
Prayer:
Jesus, open my eyes to recognize You. When I feel confused or disappointed, help me hear Your voice above it all. Thank You that You are not distant, but near—and that You still call me by name. Amen.
Scripture:
“But Peter said, ‘Man, I do not know what you are talking about.’ And immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed. And the Lord turned and looked at Peter… And he went out and wept bitterly.” — Luke 22:60–62 (ESV)
“The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” — Luke 24:34 (ESV)
Think:
Peter didn’t just mess up.
He denied Jesus.
Not privately.
Not accidentally.
Not once.
Three times.
“I do not know Him.”
This is what makes denial different.
Failure says, I couldn’t live up to what I believed.
Denial says, I don’t even belong to Him.
Peter didn’t just fall short—he distanced himself from Jesus completely. In the moment when association with Jesus was costly, he chose separation. He chose safety over allegiance.
And that’s why it cuts so deep.
Because this isn’t just Peter’s story.
There are moments—quiet, subtle, internal—where we do the same. We may not say the words out loud, but in fear, in pressure, in compromise, we live as if we don’t know Him.
And Peter knew exactly what he had done.
“The Lord turned and looked at Peter.”
That look wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t shock.
It was truth.
In that moment, Peter saw the gap between who he thought he was and who he actually was. And it broke him.
He wept—not because he got caught, but because he understood.
This is the weight of sin. Not just that we fail—but that we turn away from the One we claim to love.
So why does Jesus go to him?
“The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon.”
Because denial doesn’t cancel calling.
Because the cross didn’t just cover weakness—it covered rejection.
Because the very place Peter thought disqualified him…
became the place Jesus chose to meet him.
Jesus goes to Peter first because Peter is the one who thinks he no longer belongs.
And the resurrection answers that lie directly.
Peter said, “I don’t know Him.”
Jesus responds, “I still know you.”
That is the Gospel.
Not that we hold on to Him perfectly—
but that He holds on to us completely.
Jesus doesn’t wait for Peter to make his way back.
He goes to him.
Not to replay the failure.
Not to shame him into change.
But to restore what was broken.
Because the resurrection is not just proof that Jesus is alive—
it is proof that grace is stronger than our worst moment.
And if He goes to Peter after that…
He will come to you too.
Application:
Where have you distanced yourself from Jesus—and what would it look like to believe He is coming toward you in that place?
Prayer:
Jesus, thank You that even when I pull away, You come near. Thank You that my failure, even my denial, is not the end of my story. Help me trust that You still call me, still know me, and still want me. Amen.
Scripture:
“That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus… While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” — Luke 24:13–16 (ESV)
“And he said to them, ‘O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” — Luke 24:25–27 (ESV)
“When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him… They said to each other, ‘Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road…?’” — Luke 24:30–32 (ESV)
Think:
They are not just walking—they are walking away.
Away from Jerusalem.
Away from what they thought God was doing.
Away from hope.
“We had hoped…”
That phrase exposes more than emotion—it reveals misplaced expectation. They believed the Messiah would redeem Israel through visible power. What they could not reconcile was a suffering, crucified Savior.
And because they misunderstood the Scriptures…
they misunderstood their circumstances.
So Jesus comes near.
Not recognized.
Not announced.
“Jesus himself drew near and went with them.”
And yet—they do not know Him.
Their eyes were “kept” from recognizing Him. This is not simply distraction; it is divine restraint. As careful study notes, recognition is withheld because true understanding must come through the Word, not merely through sight. If they recognized Him too soon, they would rejoice—but they would still misunderstand.
So Jesus addresses the real issue:
“Slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken…”
Not some.
All.
This is where the weight lands.
They believed parts of Scripture—but ignored the parts that didn’t fit their expectations. They embraced glory, but not suffering. Victory, but not the cross.
So Jesus takes them back.
“Beginning with Moses and all the Prophets…”
This is comprehensive. The Law and the Prophets—the entirety of the Hebrew Scriptures—point to Him. And He doesn’t add something new. He reveals what was always there.
“Was it not necessary…”
That word—necessary—is everything.
The suffering of Christ was not a tragic interruption. It was not a failure of God’s plan. It was the fulfillment of it. As Precept Austin consistently emphasizes, the Messiah’s suffering and subsequent glory were foretold throughout Scripture. The cross was not optional—it was divinely ordained.
God did not lose control at Calvary.
He was accomplishing redemption through it.
And this is the turning point:
Their disappointment came from expecting a kingdom without a cross.
But there is no crown without the cross.
Only when that truth is understood…
can Jesus be recognized rightly.
At the table, their eyes are opened.
And suddenly—they see Him.
But notice the order again:
The Scriptures are opened first.
Then their eyes are opened.
“Did not our hearts burn within us…?”
Before sight, there was conviction. Before recognition, there was truth taking root. The Word was doing its work before they even realized what was happening.
This is how Jesus still reveals Himself.
Not first through experience.
Not through emotion alone.
But through Scripture rightly understood.
Because we can misread our lives the same way they misread the cross. We interpret what God is doing based on our expectations—and when it doesn’t match, we assume He is absent.
But He is not absent.
He is near.
He is speaking.
He is unfolding something deeper than we can see.
And often, it is only when we return to His Word…
that we finally recognize Him.
Application:
Where might you be believing part of what God has said—but resisting the parts that don’t fit your expectations?
Prayer:
Jesus, open my understanding through Your Word. Where I have misunderstood You, correct me. Where my expectations have shaped my disappointment, realign my heart with what is true. Help me recognize You rightly. Amen.
Scripture:
“On the evening of that day… the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’” — John 20:19 (ESV)
“When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.” — John 20:20 (ESV)
“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.’” — John 20:21 (ESV)
Think:
The doors are locked, but it’s not the doors that matter.
It’s what’s behind them.
Fear.
Failure.
Confusion.
These are not men waiting in faith. These are men trying to hold together what’s left of a story that no longer makes sense. The cross has undone everything they thought they knew about Jesus. And now, even the reports of resurrection feel too fragile to trust.
And then—
Jesus is standing in the room.
No warning. No buildup. Just presence.
Alive.
Not remembered.
Not imagined.
Not hoped for.
Seen.
This is the moment everything changes.
Because the resurrection is not just an idea to believe—it is a reality that confronts them. As Tim Keller often pointed out, if Jesus really rose from the dead, then it’s not just one more truth to add to your life—it redefines everything about your life.
And the first thing Jesus says into that moment is:
“Peace be with you.”
Not, “Where were you?”
Not, “Why did you run?”
Peace.
Because before they can understand the resurrection, they have to understand what it accomplished.
The cross was not a tragic ending.
It was a decisive victory.
The peace He speaks is not emotional—it is objective. The barrier between God and man has been removed. Their failure did not undo them because His work has already secured them.
And then He shows them His hands and His side.
This is not incidental.
He does not appear without the wounds. He does not leave the cross behind. The resurrection does not erase what happened—it confirms what it achieved.
This is how they know it is truly Him.
The One who was crucified…
is the One who now stands alive.
And suddenly, it all holds together.
“Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.”
Fear gives way—not because their circumstances have changed, but because reality has been redefined. Death is not final. Sin is not ultimate. Jesus is not defeated.
He is Lord.
And then He says it again:
“Peace be with you.”
Because this peace is not just something they receive—it is something they now live from.
“As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you.”
This is where Author Tim Keller presses the weight: the resurrection doesn’t just comfort you—it commissions you. If Jesus is alive, then your life is no longer your own. You are caught up in something larger than yourself—something eternal, something unshakable.
The same disciples who hid…
are now sent.
Not because they’ve become strong overnight.
But because they have seen Him.
And then—He breathes.
“Receive the Holy Spirit.”
New life. New power. New purpose.
The resurrection is not just something they witnessed—it is something they now carry.
And this is where it presses into us.
Because we don’t stand in that room—but we stand in the truth of that moment.
If Jesus is alive, then everything He said is true.
If He is alive, then your sin has been dealt with.
If He is alive, then your fear does not get the final word.
You don’t get to simply admire the resurrection.
You have to respond to it.
Because the risen Jesus still steps into closed rooms…
and stands among His people.
Application:
If Jesus is truly alive, what in your life can no longer stay the same?
Prayer:
Jesus, help me move beyond belief into surrender. If You are alive—and You are—then reshape everything in me. My fear, my purpose, my direction. I don’t want to just know this is true—I want to live like it is. Amen.
Scripture:
“When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?’… He said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’” — John 21:15 (ESV)
“He said to him a second time… ‘Do you love me?’… He said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’” — John 21:16 (ESV)
“He said to him the third time… ‘Do you love me?’… Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep.’” — John 21:17 (ESV)
Think:
Peter goes back to fishing—but this isn’t just about fishing.
It’s about returning to something familiar when you don’t know what to do with what just happened. The resurrection is real, but so is his failure. He has seen Jesus… but he has not yet faced what he did.
Three denials.
“I do not know Him.”
And now he stands on the shore with the One he denied—holding the tension between what Jesus has done and what he has done.
But Jesus moves first.
There’s already a fire burning.
Food already prepared.
A place already made.
Before Peter says a word—Jesus serves him.
This is not incidental. It reveals something essential: grace precedes response. Jesus does not wait for Peter to initiate restoration. He creates the space for it.
And then He asks:
“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”
The question goes beneath behavior.
Not, “Will you be stronger next time?”
Not, “Can I trust you now?”
Love.
Because the root issue was never just Peter’s denial—it was what Peter loved most in that moment. Under pressure, his allegiance shifted. Fear overrode love.
And this is where the Gospel presses deeper than behavior.
Sin is not only what we do—it is what we prefer over God. It is disordered love. And restoration, therefore, is not merely behavioral correction—it is the reordering of the heart.
“Do you love me?”
Three times.
The repetition is not harsh—it is precise.
Each question corresponds to a denial. Not to reopen the wound, but to heal it at the level it was formed. Jesus does not bypass Peter’s failure—He meets him in it and restores him through it.
And then comes the command:
“Feed my sheep.”
This is where the theology deepens.
Jesus does not separate love for Him from participation in His mission. Love is not merely internal affection—it is expressed through obedience and care for what belongs to Him.
But notice the order:
Jesus does not say, “Prove your love—then I’ll use you.”
He says, “Because you love me—I’m entrusting you.”
Calling flows from restored relationship.
Peter is not reinstated because he has proven himself. He is reinstated because the cross has already dealt with his sin. There is no probation here—only grace applied.
And this is what makes the moment so weighty:
The one who denied Jesus publicly…
is now entrusted with the care of His people.
Because the resurrection does not just forgive—it reconstitutes identity and reassigns purpose.
Peter is not defined by his denial.
He is defined by Jesus’ call.
And this is where it presses into us.
Because we tend to live as if our worst moment has the final say. As if failure creates distance that we now have to overcome. As if we must rebuild what we broke.
But Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to rebuild anything.
He asks one question:
Do you love me?
Because if that is settled—
everything else flows from it.
Not perfectly.
Not flawlessly.
But genuinely.
And if your answer is yes…
Then your failure is not final.
Your calling is not canceled.
Your story is not over.
The same Jesus who stood on that shore…
still meets people in the tension between what they’ve done and what He has done.
And He still asks:
Do you love me?
Application:
What is competing for your deepest love—and how is that shaping your obedience to Jesus?
Prayer:
Jesus, You know my heart completely. You know where my love has been divided. Restore me at that level—not just in what I do, but in what I love. Let my life flow from a heart that is fully Yours. Amen.
Scripture:
“And when he had said these things, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.” — Acts 1:9 (ESV)
“While they were gazing into heaven… ‘This Jesus… will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’” — Acts 1:10–11 (ESV)
“After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high.” — Hebrews 1:3 (ESV)
Think:
They watch Him go.
Not symbolically.
Not spiritually.
Physically.
Lifted—taken—hidden from sight.
And for a moment, it feels like the story is slipping away again. The same Jesus they walked with, talked with, ate with—the One they just saw risen—is now gone from their sight.
And they just stand there… looking up.
Because it feels like absence.
But the ascension is not absence.
It is enthronement.
“He sat down…”
That phrase carries more weight than we often let it.
In the Old Testament system, priests never sat down. The work was never finished. Sacrifices had to be repeated, again and again, because sin was never finally dealt with.
But Jesus—
after making purification for sins—
sat down.
Not because He was tired.
Because it was finished.
Nothing left to add.
Nothing left to accomplish.
Nothing left undone.
The cross did not make salvation possible.
It secured it.
And now He takes His seat.
“At the right hand of the Majesty on high.”
This is not a place of proximity—it is a position of absolute authority.
All rule.
All power.
All dominion.
As Pastor and Author Matt Chandler often puts it, Jesus is not pacing heaven, hoping things work out—He is seated in sovereign control over all things. History is not spiraling—it is being governed.
Which means this:
The same Jesus who was crucified…
now holds ultimate authority over everything that exists.
Not someday.
Now.
And yet—it doesn’t always feel that way.
Because we still live in a world where things break, where prayers feel unanswered, where outcomes don’t align with what we hoped. And if we’re not careful, we interpret His ascension as distance.
But Scripture refuses that idea.
Jesus is not less involved—
He is more fully enthroned.
The ascension doesn’t remove His presence.
It redefines it.
Through His Spirit, He is now present with His people everywhere, while at the same time reigning over all things from the throne. Not divided. Not diminished.
Exalted.
The disciples are still staring upward when the angels interrupt:
“Why do you stand looking into heaven?”
In other words—
Don’t mistake this moment.
He didn’t leave to disengage.
He ascended to reign.
And then the promise:
“This Jesus… will come again.”
The same One who ascended will return.
Not in humility this time—
but in glory.
Not to accomplish redemption—
but to fully reveal His kingdom.
So we live in between.
Between throne and return.
Between what is finished and what is coming.
And this is where the ascension becomes personal.
Because if Jesus is truly seated—
then your life is not uncertain.
Your story is not fragile.
Your future is not up for grabs.
The One who died for you…
now rules over everything that touches you.
There is no authority above Him.
No circumstance outside Him.
No moment beyond His reach.
He is not absent.
He is reigning.
Application:
Where have you been interpreting your life as uncertain or out of control—and how does the truth that Jesus is enthroned reshape that?
Prayer:
Jesus, lift my eyes to where You are—not distant, but reigning. Help me trust that Your work is finished and Your rule is secure. Teach me to live with confidence under Your authority. Amen.
Scripture:
“And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations… teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’” — Matthew 28:18–20 (ESV)
Think:
Everything has been building to this
The cross was not the end—it was the payment. The resurrection was not just a miracle—it was the declaration. The ascension was not a departure—it was a coronation. Jesus now reigns with all authority in heaven and on earth.
And before He ascended—He gave His final command.
He stood before them—alive.
And His last words were not to stay… but to go.
This changes everything.
Because if Jesus truly has all authority, then there is no space where His rule does not reach, no life outside His claim, no story untouched by His power. The resurrection is not just something to believe—it is a reality that demands a response.
“Go.”
Not when you feel ready.
Not when you understand everything.
Not when your past feels resolved.
Go.
This command does not come after the disciples have proven themselves. It comes after failure, after doubt, after fear—because the mission is not built on their strength, but on His authority. The same ones who ran, questioned, and hid are now sent—not because they are sufficient, but because He is.
“Make disciples…”
This is not about activity—it is about transformation. It is about lives being brought under the rule and grace of Jesus, just as theirs were. The Gospel that restored them is now the message they carry.
And then He anchors it:
“I am with you always.”
The same presence that met Mary in her grief, that pursued Peter in his failure, that walked with the confused, that stood in the room of fear—that same Jesus now goes with them.
He does not send them away from Him.
He sends them with Him.
And this is where it all comes together.
You have seen who He is.
You have seen what He has done.
You have seen how He restores, how He speaks, how He reigns.
Now you are sent.
Because the last words of the risen Jesus were not about comfort—they were a commission.
Go.
Application:
Where is Jesus asking you to move, speak, or step out—and what would it look like to say yes today?
Prayer:
Jesus, You have all authority, and You are with me. Help me live like that is true. Give me courage to go where You send me and trust that You go with me. Amen.
