Back to the Shore, Pastor Ryan Matthews. January 3 ,2026

Hello and welcome to church. We're so

glad that you were able to join us here

at the McDonald Road 7th Day Adventist

Church for our worship time. I hope that

your time is blessed. I hope the music

blesses your soul. I hope the message

touches your heart. And if if it does,

we would be honored if you would share

this content with somebody else so they

can be blessed as well. We're so glad

that you can be a part of our online

church here at McDonald Road and hope

that you are blessed in your worship

together with us today. God bless and

enjoy our worship service.

[Music]

Good morning, church family. Happy

Sabbath.

See, I love the new year.

Not because everything magically resets

at midnight or because goals suddenly

become easier,

but because the new year reminds me that

God is the author of new beginnings.

And it's like the world collectively

pauses and says, "Maybe we can try

again."

See, I resonate with that because my

story is full of resets

and restorations and second chances.

So today, I don't stand here as someone

that figured it all out. I stand here as

someone who God refused to give up on.

And I want to share that story with you.

Not so that you think something about

me, but so you can see what God can do.

God can do.

See, I grew up in a little town outside

of Little Rock, Arkansas called Guyire

Springs.

It was a simple place. It was slow. It

was calm. the kind of place that people

would wave at you as you drove past

them. My mom was a school teacher. She

would take all day and spend time

pouring into all those kids and still

have enough that when she came home, she

would pour into us. Dad would work two

jobs, one as a warehouse worker, the

other one as a waiter. And he would do

whatever he needed to to help keep the

lights on.

See, they were hardworking people

and they tried to give us uh stability

and I honor that.

I'm grateful for the sacrifices that

they made even though I was never aware

of those.

See, but God was not a central part of

our home. Faith was present, but it

hovered like a picture in the hallway.

It wasn't the center of our

conversations or our decisions

or our identity. And sometimes when

faith is that quiet,

it leaves out it leaves an ache. A sense

that something important is near but

just out of reach.

A longing for something deeper than

routine, deeper than good intentions,

and deeper than just getting through the

day.

I would be nine years old when my dad

would be promoted and we moved to

Memphis, Tennessee.

It was a new life, a new city, a new

beginning. The streets were different,

the people were different, and the pace

felt faster than anything I've ever

known before.

See, it would be at this point that I

would become a latch key kid. I would

walk home from school, I would unlock

the door, and I would walk into silence.

You would hear the refrigerator humming,

the TV murmuring in the background, and

the clock slowly ticking away to the

evening. See, silence had become my

companion.

And silence, when it hangs around long

enough, it grows loud.

It would be at this time that my grades

would start to slip, but not because I

didn't care,

but because life just felt heavy and

confusing.

in ways I didn't know how to express.

Report card time meant long hard

conversations around the fireplace. My

parents would have me sit on the rock

hearth and they would sit across from me

in a blue on the blue couch. And what

would be a loving living room would turn

into a meeting place to discuss my

disappointment.

And the talks weren't short. They would

go on for 30 minutes, sometimes two

hours.

And after a while, it stopped feeling

like a conversation and it started to

feel like being under a spotlight.

Sometimes

we would talk about every mistake

that why didn't you do better?

I remember sitting there wishing that it

would end.

I remember praying silently to myself,

asking to be punished and sent to my

room because at least then it would be

over

because that would hurt less than the

words.

See, because kids don't filter words,

they hold on to them.

And then slowly and quietly, I began to

believe

a story about myself that I am a

disappointment.

See, by the age of 12, I had turned to

drugs and alcohol. And it wasn't about

rebellion. It wasn't about trying to

look tough or to impress anyone. It was

simply because I didn't know what to do

with the pain.

I didn't have language for what was

happening inside of me. I had no words

for the loneliness, no words for the

fear, no words for the confusion or the

shame. I just knew something hurt.

I didn't know how to ask for help.

So when I discovered something that made

that easier, even for a moment, I

grabbed on to it.

See, because when you're young and you

already believe you're a disappointment,

the numbing starts to feel easier than

feeling it. So I numbed myself again and

again and again.

Seeing all the quiet pain, all the

unspoken shame, all the lies I had

started to believe about myself, they

had grown into something heavy,

something dark.

And somewhere along the way around the

age of 15,

I started to believe the lie that the

world would be better off without me.

That I was only a burden. That my life

really didn't matter. And then one night

that lie nearly took me. See, I made a

choice that placed my life in very real

danger. It wasn't a dramatic cry for

help, but it was the kind of danger that

would truly end my story.

the kind that if things had gone just a

little differently,

I wouldn't be here telling it.

See, but God wasn't done writing it yet.

Because right then, in the middle of

that darkness, my phone rang. And it was

a friend who called me to say something

had told me I needed to call you right

now and tell you I want to come talk to

you in the morning.

See, she didn't know how close I was to

that edge, but God did.

And what she wanted to share was an

invitation.

She asked if I could come to church with

her the next morning. It was just a

simple invitation, but it felt like a

lifeline.

See, I truly believe God used that call

to break through the silence and save my

life.

See, the crisis has passed. The

immediate danger had faded, but my heart

my heart was still deeply wounded.

I was still searching for worth, for

healing, for purpose,

for him.

And I didn't heal overnight. Just

because God had stepped in once didn't

mean the storm inside me had

disappeared.

I kept stumbling forward, still hurting,

still confused, still lacking the tools

to process the pain.

So I continued down destructive paths.

Choices that numbed. Choices that

blurred the edges. Choices that slowed

me pul that slowly pulled me further

away from what I was meant to be.

Until 17, everything collided and I was

arrested for aggravated assault. And in

that moment, it felt like the broken

pieces of my story had finally caught up

with me.

The shame was crushing. It didn't just

describe what I had done. It had tried

to define me. See, shame had labeled me

and whispered over my life. This is who

you are now. This is your identity. This

is your future. And I believed it, at

least for a while.

Not long after, my parents would move to

Chattanooga, Tennessee because my dad

would be promoted again. New places, new

seasons. But the ache

didn't automatically shift with that.

And it would be around the age of 19

that a lifelong friend of mine would be

killed in a road rage accident shooting.

We hadn't been on the best of terms.

We had unresolved conflicts, unspoken

apologies,

things that I wish I had said.

And I remember running to the ER

tonight. My heart was racing. I was

grasping on to hope. But a friend of

mine came through the door before I

could even get in and said the words I

wish I had never heard. He didn't make

it.

And at that point, grief carved a deeper

place in me. But layered on top of that

grief was shame.

See, because I kept replaying the

distance between us, the words that

didn't work through, the friendship that

wasn't fully healed. And for years, I

couldn't bring myself to speak to his

parents or his sister. and not because I

didn't love them,

but because I felt unworthy,

ashamed of where our friendship had been

when his life had ended. And it wasn't

until many years later when I saw them

at a wedding for another friend of ours

that his mom walked straight over to me

and she hugged me.

It was one of those long intentional

motherly kind of hugs. And she said, "We

never thought any less of you. We still

love you."

And it would be in that moment that

Grace touched one of the most tender

places in my story.

See, I would eventually work and save up

so that I could start school and become

a flight medic. And for the first time

in a long time, I had direction. I had

purpose. I could see a picture that

looked meaningful. a way to help people

the way I once needed help myself.

And then one day, my dad called. He

said, "Son, mom's sick. The bills are

piling up. The stress is overwhelming."

And he said, "The one thing that I never

thought I would hear or want to hear. We

need help."

So, I did what I thought was right. I

sold everything and I packed up the

pieces of my new beginning

and I moved to Chattanooga and I told

myself

this is what family does. And I don't

regret that. But the pain I carried

didn't magically leave me.

It followed me. It lived in my chest.

And then at the lowest point of my life,

I was drinking a fifth of alcohol a

night. I wasn't celebrating. I was just

numbing. I was trying to si silence the

unresolved grief, the shame, the

exhaustion, the sense that life kept

rerouting me before I ever got a chance

to heal.

So yet at this moment, God didn't step

into my story with condemnation. He

didn't show up with more shame or

reminder of everything I've done wrong.

Instead, he's sent an amazing woman that

I get to call my wife.

See, and here's the one thing about

Heidi.

She was patient with me. She was full of

grace. She was unbelievably faithful.

The kind of steady presence that you

could lean on,

even when your life feels anything but

steady.

She didn't pretend not to notice the

mess that is my life. She saw it

clearly. But instead of running, she

chose to stay.

See, and the truth is I didn't really

know what I was doing in my life. And I

really did not understand what a healthy

relationship was.

And I honestly couldn't wrap my head

around how someone like her could

someone like me.

And we dated for several years, not

because of anything that she did,

but because I didn't feel worthy of a

woman

like that. And then every now and then

she would gently ask me if I would go to

church with her and I would say no,

not today. But she never pushed. She

never pressured. She never tried to fix

me or to feel like I made me feel like I

was a project. She just loved me

consistently,

kindly, quietly, and somehow reflected

Jesus without ever having to preach a

sermon.

And over time, her kindness started to

soften the lies I believed about myself

and about God. I began to think, if she

can love me like this,

maybe God hasn't given up on me yet.

And eventually, we got married and God

blessed us with three amazing children.

And when I look at my family now, I

don't just see a life I've never thought

I had. I see grace.

I see redemption. I see a God who

doesn't throw away broken people. He

restores them.

>> It would be after our second child was

born that I took a job in Houston,

Texas.

In my mind, I thought I was doing

everything right. I was being a

provider. I was taking care of my

family. I was stepping into

responsibility. But what I didn't see at

the time was the cost.

See, because without meaning to, I had

isolated my wife and our kids from

everybody and everything that was

familiar. Away from support, away from

family, away from community. And

suddenly, the people who had always been

there to help and support us were

hundreds of miles away.

The safety net was gone, and the weight

fell mostly on Heidi because I was too

busy pouring myself into my job.

It'd be seven months later that I

realized we weren't thriving. We were

just surviving.

So I moved us back to Chattanooga,

Tennessee.

Back to the people who knew us, back to

support, back to home.

And we returned to church. But this

time, something was different. See, I

didn't resist. I didn't push back. I

didn't hide behind the excuses. And for

the first time, I walked through those

doors with an open heart.

I was still wounded and still uncertain,

but ready. Was ready for God to meet me.

But church, I'll be honest with you.

Walking back into that felt

nerve-wracking. See, I didn't stroll in

confident and fearless. I walked in

feeling exposed, feeling like everyone

could see somehow my past written across

my forehead.

I felt like I didn't belong. Like church

was for people who hadn't messed up as

badly as I had.

But God had the right people there.

There would be a pastor who didn't look

at me with judgment, but kindness. There

would be a men's group

where guys were actually honest about

their struggles, not pretending, not

hiding, not polishing their image before

they spoke. It was a place where honesty

didn't equal shame.

where you didn't have to wear a mask to

be accepted.

So slowly I started to breathe again.

Then one day a man from that group

called me and said he needed help. So I

went to him. I had no big plan, no

spiritual agenda. I was just going to be

there.

And it would be after that on my way

home that I would stop and pray and

recognize the thought that this is

family. I belong here.

Not because I earned it, not because I

had it all together, but because grace

creates belonging.

And over time, mentors would step into

my life. Men and women of faith who

probably still don't fully

still don't fully realize how deeply God

used them

to guide me, to encourage me, to

challenge me, to shape the man that I'm

becoming today.

and how their continued involvement in

my life reminds me what having good

people in your corner will do for you.

See, when God began calling me, I began

to work for a nonprofit group helping

adults. And it would be shortly after

that that I would be asked to start

working within the youth. And when I was

asked, something just clicked.

Being with them felt natural. It felt

lifegiving, like God was whispering,

"This is where I want you."

But I resisted ministry. I felt that I

didn't qualify, that my past was too

loud. So, I kept serving, but I held God

at arms length.

It'd be during COVID that we would be

expecting our third child.

See, we had dreams for him. We had

hopes,

a future already pictured in our hearts,

but he didn't make it to full term.

And it would be because of hospital

restrictions that when my wife was asked

to go in for a procedure that I would

not be able to walk with her through the

hardest part. I couldn't hold her hand.

I couldn't sit beside her. I couldn't do

the one thing that husbands long to do,

be present.

And it would be afterwards that I

wrestled with grief and a quiet sense of

guilt that I couldn't shake.

But even in that deep sorrow, God did

not abandon us.

And in time, he blessed us with our son,

Asher.

So now, grace and sorrow live side by

side in my heart.

See, I'm reminded of a quote from

Selected Messages book two, and the

author writes, "As the little infants

come forth immortal from their dusty

beds,

they immediately wing their way to their

mother's arms.

They meet again, never more depart."

What a beautiful message to remind me

that I'll see my son when we all go

home.

It would be not long after that that God

made his calling harder

for me to re for me to ignore. See, I

was serving the word the the youth, but

I was still hesitant to answer the call

to ministry and then one day I missed an

event and the youth that I would serve

and mentor and their parents would reach

out to me and let me know how much I

mattered.

See, these words would catch me off

guard. And that night, I finally prayed,

"God, I see what you're doing. Use me."

But I was still nervous. So I laid out

fleeces,

clear prayers, clear request, and one by

one, he answered. So I surrendered.

And part of that surrender would be my

baptism. But I'll be honest, I didn't

want it to be public. It wasn't that I

was ashamed of Jesus. I was just still

wrestling with the shame about myself.

So I asked if it could be small, if it

could be quiet and simple. But something

unexpected happened. Word would start to

spread and more and more people began

asking if they could come.

See, and that's when it hit me. I had

far more people supporting me than I

ever realized.

People who believed in me. People who

saw God work in my life even when I

struggled to see it myself.

So on the day of my small baptism,

I stood surrounded by grace, not just

from God, but from a community he had

placed around me the whole time.

And in that moment, baptism became more

than just a decor declaration. It was

also a reminder that God really rarely

calls us to walk alone.

I would also enroll in school during

this time and I would follow his call.

And today I serve the youth and young

adults because they are not the future

church.

They are the church of today and God is

not done with them just like he wasn't

done with me.

And what humbles me the most is that

somehow I am standing up here today as a

pastor.

>> Because by every earthly measure I

shouldn't be here.

See, but God redeemed my story not

because I am worthy, but because he is

faithful.

And that brings me into scripture.

See, because my story isn't really about

me. It's about the God who restores

broken people. And there's someone in

the Bible whose story echoes mine. Not

because our lives match perfectly, but

because our God remains the same. His

name is Peter.

See, by the time we get into John 21,

Jesus has already conquered the grave.

Death has lost. Hope is alive in the

world again. And he's appeared to the

disciples. They've seen his scars. They

know he's real. They know he is risen.

But Peter,

Peter is still carrying the weight of

his failure.

Because even when forgiveness is

available,

shame doesn't always leave right away.

Somewhere inside he can still hear his

own voice echoing in his me his memory.

I do not know him.

Three times seeing shame has a way of

convincing us that yes, God may forgive

us, but he probably doesn't want to use

us anymore.

So Peter says, "I'm going fishing."

And it's not because he suddenly needs a

relaxing weekend on the lake. See,

fishing was his old life, his default

identity, the world. He understood.

See, Peter didn't stop believing in

Jesus. He simply stopped believing

Jesus would still want someone like him.

So, he retreats back to what's familiar.

And the others say, "We'll go with him."

And all night long they fish.

They cast and they haul and they sweat

and they labor. And the scripture says

they caught nothing.

See, sometimes God allows emptiness

so that when he does start to fill you,

you know without a shadow of a doubt

that it's him.

See, the morning comes and the sky is

softening. The water lies still and a

voice calls from the shoreline.

children, have you caught anything?

And they answer honestly, no.

And the voice replies, cast the net on

the right side of the boat, and you will

find something.

See, this is the same lake, the same

net, the same fisherman.

But this time, Jesus is directing their

work. And they toss the net out. And

before they can even have time to think,

it fills up. It's tight. It's heavy.

It's straining. It's so packed with fish

that they can hardly pull it in.

I want to pause and just bring up

something I found in the desire of ages.

Here the author says, "Vividly, they

recalled the scene beside the sea when

Jesus had bidden them follow him.

They remember how at his command

they had launched out into the deep and

had let down their net. And the catch

had been so abundant as to fill the net

even to breaking. And then Jesus called

them to leave their fishing boats and

had promised to make them fishers of

men.

See, it was to bring this scene to their

minds and to deepen its impression that

he had again performed the miracle. His

act was a renewal of the commission to

the disciples. It showed them that the

death of their master had not lessened

their obligation to do the work he had

assigned them.

Though they were to be deprived of his

personal companionship and of the means

of support by their former employment,

the risen savior would still have a care

for them.

While they were doing his work, he would

provide for their needs.

And Jesus has a purpose in bidding them

cast their net to the right side of the

ship because on that side he stood upon

the shore. See, that was the side of

faith. And if they labored in connection

with him, his divine power combined with

their human effort, they could not fail

of success.

And it's right after this miracle, right

after the net surge with life that John

is the first one to see it. See, he

looks from the overflowing net to the

man standing on the shore and suddenly

it clicks. This isn't coincidence. This

isn't luck. This isn't just a good

fishing day.

This is him.

The same Jesus who once filled their

nets

and called them to follow. The same

Jesus who calmed the storms and open

blinded eyes. The same Jesus who was cru

crucified now stands alive on the

shoreline of Galilee calling to his

friends.

And John simply says it is the Lord.

See, four words, no explanation needed,

no debate, no hesitation, just certainly

it is the Lord. And Peter, true to

Peter's heart,

doesn't wait for the boat or the net or

the plan. He just throws himself into

the water and he swims straight to

Jesus.

See, because even in all his failure and

all his regret and all his shame, his

heart still runs towards Christ.

And the others arrive, dragging the net

behind them. And when they finally step

into the shore, they see it. And I, this

is how I picture it. A small fl uh fire

glowing in the early morning light. The

coals are crackling softly, changing

colors from red to orange.

And as the smoke curls gently upward

into the cool lake air and fish

already cooked, the skin is still

hissing across the fire. And that

familiar lake aroma is now mixing with

wood smoke and the morning breeze.

The shoreline is quiet. The waves are

sliding in and out.

And the shore is damp beneath their

feet.

The only sound is the crackle of the

fire and the calm voice of Jesus

welcoming them to the meal he has

already prepared.

See, it's not a courtroom. It's not a

lecture hall. It's a breakfast table by

the lake shore.

And then I love this. See, when

breakfast is over, Jesus turns to Peter.

The waves are still rolling in. The fire

is crackling. The air is still. And

Jesus says,"Simon, son of Jonah, do you

love me more than these?"

And it would be in the Greek language

that he's using the word agape,

which is a deep, total committed

covenant love. See, Jesus is asking

Peter, "Do you love me fully with your

heart

completely,

unconditionally?"

And Peter says, "Yes, Lord. You know

that I love you." But Peter uses a

different word that be the word filio.

See, and this means love of affection,

friendship, warm devotion. It is real.

It is sincere, but it does not boast.

Peter is saying, Lord, you know I care

for you deeply.

I won't pretend to be stronger than I

am. You know my heart.

See, the pride is gone at this point.

And Jesus replies, "Feed my lambs."

meaning Peter, your calling still

stands.

And then Jesus asked a second time,

Simon, do you love me? Again, using the

word agape.

And Peter replies, Lord, you know that I

filio you. You can almost hear the

humility at this point. And Jesus says,

"Shepherd my sheep."

It would then be the third time, but

Jesus changes the word. He asks Simon,

"Do you filio me?" Now Jesus meets Peter

at his level and Peter breaks.

And scripture says Peter was grieved.

Not only because Jesus had asked three

times, marrying the three denials, but

because Jesus questioned even the love

Peter dared to claim.

And Peter finally lets go of all his

pretense. He says,"Lord, you know

everything. You know that I love you.

There's no speeches. There's no ego.

There's no promises. Just truth." And

Jesus replies a third time, "Feed my

sheep."

See, three denials, three confessions,

and three restorations.

And then Jesus says the same words Peter

had heard all those years ago. Follow

me. It was if Jesus says, "Peter,

nothing has changed. I still choose you.

Walk with me."

See, Peter is not restored because he

finally became strong.

Peter is restored because Jesus is

faithful and Jesus does not demand

perfect love.

He receives honest love and then he

grows it.

Peter walked onto that beach believing

he was disqualified and he walked away

restored.

And the same Jesus is here today not to

condemn but to restore.

So wherever you are,

if you are trying to go back to old

nets, if shame still speaks, if you

wonder whether God still wants you, hear

his voice. Follow me.

>> See, it's not fix yourself. It's just

follow me.

And maybe today old nets look like

things we know all far too well.

Maybe it's going back to h uh old habits

we once surrendered. Maybe it's numbing

ourselves with screens or substances or

distractions.

Maybe it's chasing work success while

our soul grows tired.

Maybe we're smiling in public while

still crumbling in private.

Maybe we're feeling spiritually empty

even while we're sitting in church.

Maybe we're quietly believing we're not

good enough

for God to use.

And maybe you think, "I'll never change.

God's done with me. I have failed too

many times."

But Jesus still stands at the shoreline

of your life. And he whispers, "Follow

me."

See, but God because God had a purpose

for Peter. God has a purpose for me. And

God absolutely has a purpose for you.

>> Amen.

>> So today, if you're longing for a fresh

start, not perfection, not performance,

just a fresh beginning with Jesus,

maybe that means returning to prayer.

Maybe that means opening up your Bible.

Maybe that means reconnecting with your

community.

Or maybe it's forgetting forgiving

someone or letting go of an old wound

and allowing it to heal or simply

saying, "Lord, I want to trust you

again."

And for some of you, maybe that fresh

start looks like baptism or a

reaffirmation of your faith. And if

that's stirring in your heart, let's

talk.

I'll be in the lobby after this service,

and I would love to simply listen, pray

with you, or walk alongside you.

You'll find my email and my phone number

in the bulletin. Don't hesitate. Reach

out.

See, because you don't have to walk this

journey alone

because the same Jesus who restored

Peter on that shore is still restoring

stories today.

>> And yours is not over.

Follow him.

And as our worship team comes up to lead

us in our closing hymn,

I want to remind you surrender isn't

about being perfect.

It's simply opening our hands and

saying, "Jesus, my life belongs to you.

I surrender all."

Jesus, as we leave today, help us

remember that our story isn't finished

yet. Remind us that you're still writing

it. You're still working in our lives.

And as we step into the new year, help

us not to drag all the old stuff with

us, the worry,

the regret, the shame,

and the heaviness. Teach us

how to lay that down to you and to walk

into the new year of 2026.

wrap your mercy around us, guide our

steps,

and remind us that when doubt creeps in

again, that we belong to you and you're

not done with this yet. Thank you for

restoring us. Thank you for loving us so

well. And we can't wait to go home soon.

In your name we pray. Amen.

Thanks so much for joining us here at

the McDonald Road 7th Adventist Church

for worship. Each month we reach between

25 and 30,000 people with gospel content

online. We're looking to expand our

audiovisisual department this year and

looking to raise $30,000 in this

project. We would love for you to

partner with us on this and consider

making a donation to our audiovisisual

department as we look at expansion and

reaching more people with the gospel

across the internet this next year. You

can go to mrcsda.org

og to make a donation directly to our

audiovisisual department. Thank you so

much for considering making this

donation and the privilege is ours to

partner with you in making this a bigger

and more effective ministry here at the

McDonald Road 7th Adventist Church. God

bless each one of you and thanks again

for joining us here at the McDonald Road

7th Adventist Church.