After Further Review

A reflection on replaying our lives, trusting grace, and discovering that God might be more joyful than we imagined.

Let me start off with a secret confession this morning: I’ve been losing my soul to Seahawk football lately. I mean who can blame me! One more game and the Seahawks are in the Super Bowl! Amazing! I love this team!

One of the fascinating aspects of football these days is the challenge flag! What,!?! you mean you can challenge a referee’s call!?!? That was unheard of in my day! Challenging a referee’s call got you one thing back in my prime…kicked out of the game!

But I have to admit, I kind of like it. And it’s made me ponder this question: what would happen if each of us got a chance to throw two or three challenge flags in our lifetime? To look up at the big “life monitor in the sky” and take another look at what just happened?

If I life had 3 challenge flags, I think I would have a hard time deciding when to throw one, and when I did choose to throw one, it would be for a moment no one else would even noticed or care about!

You know the moment. Something you said. Something you didn’t say. A decision that didn’t land the way you hoped.

If only you could stop the game, slow everything down, and watch the replay!

If I’m honest, I’d probably be out of flags by halftime. And still convinced the refs were against me.

We imagine that seeing it again would bring clarity. Relief. Maybe even mercy. But that’s not usually how it works in my own personal space.

When I replay moments in my mind, I don’t become more generous—I become more severe. I don’t heal the wound; I deepen it. I add shame to pain and spin the story darker than it ever was! (Yikes, that was hard to write!)

The replay booth in my head is rarely neutral. Apparently, the color-commentary guy in my head did not get the memo about grace. He has strong opinions. Perfect hindsight. Very little mercy. And a surprising amount of airtime. Especially when it comes to my own mistakes.

Which makes me wonder if the problem isn’t the moment itself, but the story I keep telling about it.

After worship this past Sunday, our Going Deeper group wandered into a conversation about the idea of reward in Scripture. It’s there—clearly so. The Bible often assumes that what we do matters, that choices shape us, that lives oriented toward love bear fruit. And I like taht about the Bible.

Sam Tsang, who was leading the group Sunday, pointed to Zacchaeus. After encountering Jesus, Zacchaeus gives back fourfold what he

has taken—and Jesus receives him fully. It’s a strong example. Zaccheus repents and changes and Jesus rewards him! Reward follows transformation.

As Sam shared this I found myself pushing gently back—not to dismiss that idea, but to ask about sequence. Because in Luke’s telling of this atory, Jesus doesn’t wait for Zacchaeus to change. Jesus sees him first. Calls him by name. Invites himself to Zacchaeus’s house.

It’s only that initial grace that Zacchaeus changes. Grace initiates. Transformation responds. Zacchaeus doesn’t clean up so Jesus will come over. Jesus comes over—and something in Zacchaeus finally loosens.

Boyh Sam and I are right.

Both readings matter. But what comes first matters more than we sometimes admit.

Sam also noted something I had never really paid attention to before in regards to our scripture story that Sunday, the story of the rich young man in Mark.

The story of the rich young man comes right after Jesus welcomes the children.

Children—who had no status, no power, no leverage—are received freely. The rich man—who has everything—is the one who struggles.

And then, as if to soften the whole exchange, Jesus turns to his shaken disciples and calls them “children.” Not as a correction, but as an endearment.

It’s as if Jesus is saying: This is not about the cost of being a disciple, but about the reward of following Christ. It’s about posture!

Then Sam said something none of us were expecting: “I think our God is much more fun than we think.”

The room laughed—not because it was silly, but because it felt true and a little suprising coming from Sam who is so serious about scripture!

We often imagine the Kingdom of God as punishment. As loss. As something we have to give up. Like the rich young man, we assume discipleship will cost us joy.

“But it’s not that way at all,” Sam said. “It’s community. It’s love. It’s second chances. It’s fun.”

I told him—only half joking—that he missed his calling. He should have been a campus minister. Fun really sells in college. It probably should sell in church too.

But the truth is, fun sells everywhere—because joy is persuasive in a way shame never is.

Zacchaeus doesn’t mope after meeting Jesus. He throws a party. Second chances don’t feel like punishment. They feel like relief…a burden lifted!

Community doesn’t feel like a reward system. It feels like belonging. That is the reward!

And suddenly I realized how deeply this connects to our inner replay habit.

When I replay my life, I imagine God reviewing it like a referee—arms crossed, slow motion, waiting to decide whether I deserve another chance.

But what if God isn’t watching the replay at all? What if God already knows the ending?

What if God is already at the table, pulling out a chair, saying, “Come on. Sit down. Let’s eat.”

Maybe the challenge flag we need isn’t for the moment we regret, but for the story we keep telling about it.

Maybe the call on the field isn’t overturned. Maybe it’s forgiven.

And maybe the Kingdom of God isn’t a reward you earn or a life you have to give up— but a table you didn’t expect to be invited to, where the conversation is better than you imagined, the laughter comes sooner than you thought, and you realize—halfway through the meal— that you’re already home.

After further review, that might be the truest call of all!

Your pastor,all out of flags before half-time and kind of realiIng it just doen’t matter, Brook.