Last week, I had the privilege of teaching several young children (and some of their parents) about four interesting animals of the Bible, explaining how God created each one with specific traits and what we can learn from these lovely creations. The lessons were only about 20 minutes long, but I spent hours preparing for them. The animal facts or Bible verses weren't what caused me trouble. No, it was making sure every lesson concluded with a brief introduction and explanation of salvation.
I know what it means to be saved. I know what the Bible says about salvation. I know how one can be saved. But explaining it to young children can be overwhelming. I didn't want to make it too complicated, but I also didn't want to oversimplify it and leave them believing everyone goes to Heaven. So, I agonized over every word, and in the end, I still feel like I tripped over my tongue and did a miserable job representing the gospel.
Maybe you know the feeling. You're a writer fretting over word choice, a Sunday school teacher lying awake over tomorrow's lesson, or a minister rehearsing the altar call in the shower. Or you're a plain old Christian who just had a conversation with a coworker, and now you're replaying it at 2 a.m. Was that clear? Did I use the right words? Why did I say "um" so many times? Why did I bring up the weather in the middle of the plan of salvation?
I carry a quiet, exhausting fear that one wrong phrase will derail eternity. So I was a little startled during my morning devotions to be reminded that the first Easter sermon wasn't much of a sermon at all.
Picture the scene in Matthew 28. Two women, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, are walking to a graveyard before sunrise. They aren't carrying a Bible study outline. They're carrying grief, and probably spices. Then the ground starts shaking, and an angel with a face like lightning drops out of heaven, rolls back a stone the size of a small car, and sits on it. Sits! As if to say, "Yes, I did that, and no, it wasn't hard." The Roman guards faint dead away.
Now, we all know the stone wasn't moved to let Jesus out. He was already risen. A body that can later walk into a locked room won't be stopped by a rock and a wax seal. The stone was rolled away to let the witnesses in. It was God's version of holding the door open so all could see what had already taken place.
Then comes the angel's whole message. It's not a three-point outline or a Greek word study. He says, "Fear not ye," and then: "Come, see the place where the Lord lay" (Matthew 28:5-6). He points to an empty spot and says, in effect, "Go ahead and look." Then he gives them an assignment: "go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead" (Matthew 28:7).
Verse 8 tells us how they obeyed: "And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word." Fear and joy, running, and no rehearsal. Their delivery was breathless and probably messy, and it was the greatest news in human history.
Come, see the place where the Lord lay. - Matthew 28:6b
The Envelope, Not the Banquet
Before His death and resurrection, Jesus told a story about a king's great supper. When everything was prepared, the host "sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready" (Luke 14:17).
Look at what the servant was responsible for. He didn't roast the lamb or set the tables. He didn't design the banquet hall, hire the musicians, or write the guest list. His entire job was to say the invitation and say it on time. Two words carried the whole message: "Come; for all things are now ready."
That is a relief to me. The feast already exists, and the work is finished. The empty tomb is a done deal, and the cross has already paid the bill. When I get anxious about my delivery, I'm quietly acting as if I were the caterer. I'm scrambling to produce something that has already been produced, and I'm taking a weight that was never handed to me.
Think of someone delivering a wedding invitation. If the envelope has a smudge on the corner, or the courier is out of breath from running up the driveway, the wedding still happens, because the invitation's authority belongs to the King who sent it. The courier's job is faithfulness, and the quality of the feast is the King's business.
Why Our Pressure Is Actually Pride in a Nice Dress
Let me say something gently, because I say it to myself first. Part of the performance anxiety is humility on the outside and pride on the inside. When I believe my phrasing can ruin someone's salvation, I'm quietly assuming my words are what saves them. They aren't. The Holy Spirit convicts and draws, and God opens hearts. Paul put it plainly: "I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase" (1 Corinthians 3:6). Planting and watering are real jobs, but notice that the verse doesn't say we gave the increase.
Even the apostle Paul, the most educated man in the New Testament, said he came to Corinth "not with excellency of speech or of wisdom." He added, "And I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling" (1 Corinthians 2:1, 3). Paul was trembling! He was nervous, and God still used him mightily. He wrote that his preaching was "not with enticing words of man's wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: That your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God" (1 Corinthians 2:4-5).
If my persuasiveness were holding up someone's faith, it would collapse the first time they met a better debater. God designed it so faith rests on His power and not my vocabulary. That frees me up considerably.
"Come and See" Has Always Worked
Notice how often "come and see" shows up when people are first introduced to Jesus. When Philip found Nathanael, Nathanael responded with a skeptical question about Nazareth. Philip didn't launch into an apologetics lecture. He said, "Come and see" (John 1:46).
The Samaritan woman at the well didn't have seminary training either. She ran back to town and said, "Come, see a man, which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?" (John 4:29). Her message was part testimony and part question, and it wasn't polished, but a whole town came out to meet Jesus.
That's the pattern. We invite people to look at who God is, what He has done, and what He can do for them, and then Jesus does the convincing Himself. The psalmist said it this way: "O taste and see that the LORD is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him" (Psalm 34:8). Tasting and seeing is firsthand experience, which can't be done by proxy. I can't taste for you, nor can I see for you, but I can point to the table and invite you to taste and see for yourself.
Treasure in Dollar-Store Jars
Paul had a lovely phrase for us ordinary messengers: "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us" (2 Corinthians 4:7). Earthen vessels are clay pots, the cheap and chipped kind. God deliberately puts the treasure in jars that are obviously not the point, so when people are amazed by the contents, no one mistakes the jar for the source.
So I'm giving myself permission, and you, too. If you're a writer, write the clearest, most honest version you can, then pray over it and let it go. If you're a teacher, prepare faithfully, then stop trying to be the Holy Spirit. If you're a minister, preach the Word, point to the empty tomb, and trust God with the results. And if you're a regular believer sitting across from a hurting friend, you don't need a script. You need willing feet and a trembling, joyful heart.
Remember Mary and the other Mary. They left the tomb afraid and happy, and they ran. Nobody told them to wait until they felt eloquent. The message was big enough to carry itself.
So go ahead and hand over the envelope, even with sweaty palms. The King has already prepared the feast, and the stone has already been moved. All you need to say is "Come and see."
🔍 PULLING BACK THE CURTAIN: A Peek at the Study Behind This Post
This one started with an anxiety roller coaster over sharing the gospel and trying to make sure every word was perfect and every phrase easily understood.
Start with the oddity. With this anxiety on my heart and mind, I read Matthew 28:1-8 slowly in my morning devotions and made a note of every verb. The stone was rolled back before anyone entered, and the angel's first words after "Fear not" were "Come, see." I wrote, "Who is this door for?" in the margin.
Check the Greek. On Blue Letter Bible, I clicked the Strong's numbers for "come" and "see" in verse 6. The Greek word for "come" is an invitation word, something like "come over here." I also noticed that "rolled back" in verse 2 is an active verb, which means a deliberate act and not an accident.
Cross-reference the invitation. I searched the KJV for "come and see." That's how I tripped over John 1:46 (Philip and Nathanael) and John 4:29 (the Samaritan woman). Then a rabbit trail led me to Luke 14:17, where a servant carries the king's invitation. The pattern jumped out: ordinary messengers, simple invitations, God does the convincing.
Look for the "pressure" passages. I asked, "What does Scripture say about messengers who feel inadequate?" That brought me to 1 Corinthians 2:1-5, 1 Corinthians 3:6, and 2 Corinthians 4:7. I also checked a commentary on Paul's "fear and trembling" to make sure I wasn't stretching the verse.
Let the lesson crystallize. I stopped and asked, "If the feast and the empty tomb are finished, what's left for me to do?" The answer was simple: deliver the envelope. That was the moment the whole messenger-versus-performer idea clicked into place.
⏱️ Time note: Between my tea refills, tangents, and one extended debate with myself about whether "propitiation" belongs in a blog post, this took about two to three hours. The good rabbit trails are never fast.
Your turn! Pick any Bible story and find the one detail that makes you say, "Wait, why is that there?" Look up the key words, chase one cross-reference, and see what treasure turns up. You don't need a seminary degree, just a Bible, a free concordance, and curiosity, so grab your shovel!