Many of us have mastered the art of the uncomfortable church nap. You know the one – where you’re trying to stay respectfully upright while your eyelids wage war against consciousness. Maybe it happens during the pastoral prayer, or when someone is explaining a financial report. Your head starts that telltale bob, and you jerk awake hoping nobody noticed. Sometimes it’s the sanctuary temperature that keeps you awake – either shivering through winter worship or fanning yourself with the bulletin in July, our fifty-seven-year-old heating and cooling system struggling to keep pace with Kansas weather. Now imagine trying to sleep with a rock for a pillow. That’s Jacob’s situation in our scripture today – though his stone pillow leads to something far more profound than a stiff neck.
As September brings another round of rain to McPherson County, we’re all looking for rest wherever we can find it. Farmers are caught between waiting for fields to dry and racing to get work done between storms. Teachers are already several weeks into the exhausting rhythm of a new school year. Parents are juggling fall sports schedules that would make air traffic controllers dizzy – and now with extra rain delays thrown in. Meanwhile, our church building works overtime serving this community – families at the food cupboard each week, STEPMC programs fighting poverty, youth groups filling Wednesday nights with energy and purpose. Our 1968 heating and cooling system wheezes along like Jacob carrying his stone pillow, faithful but weary. Today we discover that God specializes in meeting exhausted people in unexpected places, calling us to transform our moments of depletion into investments in tomorrow.
Last week, we began our Tomorrow First journey with Abraham’s ultimate test – offering Isaac on Mount Moriah, only to discover God’s provision of a ram in the thicket. Abraham named that place “the Lord sees,” learning that God provides precisely when we need it most. Abraham’s faith looked forward, trusting God with tomorrow by acting today. Now we meet his grandson Jacob, about to learn the same lesson differently. Where Abraham climbed a mountain to meet God, Jacob discovers heaven while fleeing across the desert. Both stories reveal how God transforms ordinary ground into sacred space, calling us to prepare today for the ministry of tomorrow.
Our Tomorrow First campaign embodies this same biblical pattern – God meeting us where we are and calling us to invest in what’s coming. Just as Jacob would transform a random wilderness spot into Bethel, “house of God,” we’re called to transform aging infrastructure into renewed ministry space. The name “Tomorrow First” isn’t just clever branding – it’s theological truth. Scripture tells us in Jeremiah 29:11, “I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.” We’re claiming that promise by acting now, before crisis forces our hand.
We’ve all become experts at managing our image on video calls, haven’t we? Whether it’s Zoom for work, FaceTime with family, or committee meetings that could’ve been emails – we’ve mastered the art of the virtual background. Click one button and your cluttered home office becomes a pristine library. Your unmade bed transforms into a tropical beach. That pile of laundry disappears behind a professional cityscape. We present these polished versions while sitting in our actual chaos – the coffee-stained desk, the cat walking across the keyboard, the kids’ artwork taped on the wall, the space heater running because that room never quite gets warm enough.
But here’s what I’ve noticed: sometimes the most meaningful conversations happen when someone’s virtual background glitches. Suddenly we see their real space – the lived-in, authentic, imperfect reality. “Sorry about the mess,” they say, but somehow the conversation goes deeper. The masks drop with the digital facade. Real ministry happens in real spaces, not virtual ones.
Jacob had no virtual background options. Just hard ground, a stone pillow, and the weight of tomorrow on his conscience. Yet in that raw, unfiltered space – that messy reality – heaven broke through with a promise about the future.
Our passage of scripture for today opens in Genesis 27 with an elaborate scheme. In ancient Near Eastern culture, a father’s blessing wasn’t just warm wishes – it carried legal authority, spiritual power, and economic inheritance. The firstborn received a double portion and family leadership, shaping tomorrow’s reality through today’s words.
Picture life thousands of years ago: extended families living in tents, wealth measured in livestock, survival depending on group loyalty. Isaac, now blind and elderly, prepares to pass this crucial blessing to Esau, his favorite son. But Rebekah orchestrates a shocking betrayal, helping Jacob steal not just words but his brother’s future. She believes she’s ensuring God’s promise – remember, God told her the older would serve the younger – but she uses deception instead of faith.
The Hebrew text emphasizes touch and voice – Isaac touches Jacob five times, trying to discern truth through failing senses. The word “bless” appears twenty-three times in this chapter, hammering home what’s at stake. This deception tears the family apart, forcing Jacob to flee toward an uncertain tomorrow.
Genesis 28 shifts dramatically. The deceiver becomes a fugitive, sleeping outdoors with a stone pillow. The Hebrew word for the stone, “eben,” appears throughout – this isn’t a smooth river rock but a rough chunk of limestone, the kind that would leave marks on your face. Yet here, where Jacob expects nothing, heaven opens with promises about tomorrow. The “staircase” (often translated “ladder”) echoes ancient ziggurat temples where gods supposedly descended. But Israel’s God needs no human-built structure – divine presence fills even the wilderness, transforming today’s desperation into tomorrow’s hope.
Notice God’s promise to Jacob: “I am with you now, I will protect you everywhere you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done everything that I have promised you.” God sees not just Jacob’s present crisis but his future transformation. This encounter reveals what John Wesley called “prevenient grace” – God’s love going before us, preparing tomorrow even when we’re barely surviving today.
Wesley taught that God’s grace operates like our Tomorrow First campaign – investing in the future before crisis strikes. Just as we’re not waiting for our heating system to fail in January, leaving our congregation and community partners literally out in the cold, God doesn’t wait for us to get our lives together before offering grace. God meets us in our stone-pillow moments, calling us to transform present challenges into future blessings.
Wesley believed transformation happens through both divine grace and human response. Jacob’s journey from deceiver to Israel doesn’t happen overnight – it takes twenty years of struggle, wrestling, and growth. Similarly, our congregation’s journey toward renewed infrastructure requires both faith in God’s provision and practical action today. We’re not just replacing equipment; we’re preparing holy space where future generations will encounter the God who transforms stone pillows into altars.
God doesn’t wait for our virtual backgrounds to load properly before showing up in our lives. Consider how this ancient story speaks to our Tomorrow First moment today.
First, think about inherited responsibility. Jacob inherited family dysfunction but transformed it into blessing for twelve tribes. We’ve inherited a building with 1968 systems, and now it’s our turn to act. The P1 construction contract is $2.4 million; with contingency, engineering, and campaign costs, the total investment reaches $2.8 million. Interest costs would increase based on pledge timing. Our Tomorrow First goal remains $1.75 million over three years. We’re stepping forward in faith, praying “God, what would You do through me?”
Second, wilderness moments become transformation. Jacob discovered God sleeping rough with a stone pillow. Maybe you’re in your own wilderness – job loss, diagnosis, relationship fracture. These hard-ground moments often become where heaven breaks through. Our congregation faces its own stone-pillow moment with aging infrastructure, yet this challenge invites us to discover what God can do through our collective response.
Third, reflect on acting before crisis. Jacob could have stayed home until family tensions exploded. We all postpone difficult decisions – ignoring the car’s weird noise until it strands us, avoiding health symptoms until they’re serious. Tomorrow First means choosing proactive faith over reactive panic, whether in personal life or church infrastructure. Acting now positions us for transformation rather than desperation.
The good news is that God specializes in meeting us at our worst moments and calling us toward our best tomorrows. Jacob wasn’t praying when heaven opened – he was sleeping on the run from his crimes. He didn’t climb a holy mountain or enter a sacred temple. He simply stopped, exhausted, at a random spot somewhere between Beersheba and Haran. And there, with a rock for a pillow and uncertainty as his blanket, he discovered that tomorrow’s promise was already present in today’s wilderness.
This is the gospel pattern from Genesis to Jesus to today. God doesn’t wait for perfect conditions to work transformation. The same God who gave Jacob tomorrow’s promise in today’s wilderness would one day sleep in a manger, transforming humble spaces into holy encounters. Christ himself becomes our ladder between heaven and earth, connecting present struggle with future hope. Jesus told Nathanael, “You will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man” – Jacob’s vision fulfilled in a person.
Our Tomorrow First campaign embodies this truth. We’re not waiting for perfect economic conditions. We’re acting in faith, trusting that the God who met Jacob at his stone pillow is already preparing tomorrow’s ministry through today’s commitment. This week, I invite you to practice recognizing God in your ordinary places:
Notice your “stone pillow” moments. When you’re exhausted Tuesday evening – in traffic, at your desk, or collapsing on the couch – pause for thirty seconds. Simply say, “God, are you here?” Don’t expect visions, just practice awareness.
Create one “virtual background free” conversation. Choose one interaction where you’ll drop the polished presentation. Maybe it’s admitting struggle to a friend, being honest in your small group, or having a real conversation with your teenager.
Mark a mundane space as sacred. Pick one ordinary location – your car, break room, or kitchen sink. Each time you’re there this week, remember Jacob’s words: “The Lord is definitely in this place.” Let that space become your Bethel.
Practice prevenient grace. When you mess up this week (and you will), instead of running harder from God, stop. Remember that God is already there, ready to meet you with promise instead of punishment.
We began with uncomfortable church naps and stone pillows. Jacob’s story reveals a God who transforms present discomfort into future promise. Whether you’re running from something or toward something this week, may you discover that God is already there, ready to transform your stone pillows into altars, your ordinary ground into the very place where heaven meets earth. Will you pray with me?
God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, help us recognize your presence in our ordinary places and aging systems. Transform our Tomorrow First campaign into encounters with your grace. Give us courage to invest in tomorrow’s ministry. Amen.
In crafting today’s sermon, I employed AI assistants like Claude and Apple Intelligence, yet the ultimate responsibility for its content rests with me. These tools offered valuable perspectives, but the most influential sermon preparation hinges on biblical study, theological insight, personal reflection, and divine guidance. I see AI as a supportive aid to enrich the sermon process while ensuring my own voice in proclaiming the Word of God.
Rev. Andrew Conard 