“Tell Me about Your Father”

Greetings, church family and friends: 

I pray you all are having an excellent start to this new year.

As we move through the first weeks of 2026 and commit our hearts afresh to the vision and mission of Christ, many of us find ourselves looking inward. We are praying that we would be found worthy of the challenges and opportunities that 2026 will bring. And I sense that for many, this prayer goes even deeper. That this year would become a fulcrum, a turning point, moving us into the realization and momentum of our life’s purpose, our calling, our reason for being here at this time.

Many would roll their eyes at the idea that a human being has a calling or a destiny, a purpose or mission to fulfill. But Christians have always understood something the modern world has forgotten. There is no joy outside of purpose, no purpose outside of an eternal plan, and no eternal plan apart from the unfolding drama of our Creator, our Father in heaven.

It reminds me of the story of the London resident searching for meaning, suddenly picked up by a wealthy benefactor who draws him into a series of unusual experiences and tests. The man believes his life has taken an inexplicable turn toward good fortune, unaware that he is being evaluated for a specific role. Because he never recognizes the test, he fails every one, moving through the experiences intoxicated by his luck rather than shaped by responsibility. Eventually, the same car that once picked him up drops him off again, pulls away, and disappears. He never finds the role, the service, the meaning, the unity with a team, or the mission he was being invited into. It becomes just another strange episode in a chaotic world without meaning.

And that, I fear, is how many Christians interact with the promises and possibilities of God. Moments of divine invitation appear in forms we do not recognize, expressions of grace we overlook.

The apostle Paul warns us to show kindness and hospitality to all, reminding us that some have entertained angels without knowing it. He is perhaps pointing us back to Abraham, who showed honor, provision, and welcome to his guests before realizing they were messengers of divine purpose and calling. Abraham was not dropped off at the same place on the street where he encountered God. He progressed into his calling.

And there is a lesson here. We must maintain and even cultivate a mindset of expectancy and honor toward the mundane. We must learn to look for grace in its various forms, to discern the exceptional in common places and the beauty in the rough.

Because calling does not always arrive like a sleek limousine pulling up without explanation. More often, it comes disguised as disturbance, dismantling, and disappointment. Sometimes it sounds less like an invitation and more like a threat.

I think often of King David, long before he filled the role of king. His life teaches us how calling is discovered, not by searching for it and not by excessive introspection, but by faithfulness in service. By tending a father’s sheep, protecting them, feeding them, guiding them. And then by extending that same quiet faithfulness into the next task set before him.

Scripture tells us that Jesse sent his youngest son to the battlefield, not to fight, but to carry grain and cheese, to speak with his brothers, and to bring back a report. We are struck by the sheer ordinariness of the assignment. Nothing about it whispers destiny or breakthrough. And when David arrived, his brothers mocked him. They questioned his motives and belittled his youth. The temptation to take offense must have surged within him, to turn back wounded and resentful, trotting home under the weight of disdain.

But he did not engage the distraction. He did what his father asked. He served those who insulted him. He fulfilled his task.

And then something happened.

David came within earshot of an existential threat. The same taunting, mocking voice that paralyzed the army now rang in his ears. Crisis did something different to the heart of a servant than it did to those who came seeking glory. David would never have discovered who he was if he had not come near a terrible, abusive threat against his people.

He arrived carrying cheese and grain. He was seeking information. But when he encountered danger, something hidden and holy erupted from within him. Love for God, loyalty to his people, indignation, courage, and action all surged at once. Calling was born in crisis.

And here is the lesson.

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world” (C. S. Lewis).

In the quiet safety of green pastures and still waters, David did not know who he was. But in proximity to evil, in the face of threat, the courage of a warrior stirred in his limbs. The voice of a prophet rose from his lips. The calling of a king awakened within him. And he asked, “What will be done for the man who removes this reproach?” But the deeper question, the one that reveals everything, is the one he asked in astonishment: “Is there not a cause in Israel?”

As we move into this new year, we must look back on the last season of our lives. For our own congregation, these have been times of pain. There have been threats, abuse, slander, and misrepresentation often from outside. And yet I am filled with gratitude and faith, because what those voices of fear and falsehood have produced is not panic or division, but the spirit of David among us.

The church is more galvanized. God’s people are more alert and more engaged. We are seeing breakthroughs in the spread of the message, grace in relationships, answers to prayer, and a clearer sense of calling, both individually and corporately, than we’ve witnessed in over five decades.

“For we can do nothing against the truth, but only for the truth” (2 Cor. 13:8). 

So before we resent or dread the sound of Goliath’s voice, let us remember this: God often evokes calling and purpose through the echo of evil on the hills surrounding the community of Christ.

I love the moment after David’s victory, when King Saul asked to see him again. He did not ask about his slingshot. He did not ask where he learned to speak with such authority. He asked one question: “Young man, whose son are you?” Or as another translation puts it, “Tell me about your father.”

Saul understood that such courage, duty, sacrifice, and resolve do not arise from technique, but from relationship. They are born from fathers and sons.

I believe that as the David generation draws near to the giants of our time and we answer them, not as the enemy expected, but with courage and grace, with power and a victory beyond what we believed was in us, the world will ask us to tell them about our Father. And that will be the realization of our purpose. 

As Jesus said, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:16).

This is my prayer.

My Prayer

Lord, give us the courage to find our calling, not by searching for it for our own glory, but by loving and serving with self-abandonment. And when we hear what makes hirelings tremble and panic, give us the faith to believe that this is the moment we have been praying for. Help us step forward, not in the bravado of our own strength, but in the grace of Your Spirit within us. Help us stand on the sure footing of Your truth that vanquishes every lie and in the deep confidence that we are Your sons, seeking our Father’s purpose and His glory in this day, this month, this year—this life.

In Jesus’ Name. Amen.