Greetings in the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit.
“Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” — Psalm 127:1
Imagine you are standing at the edge of a great, rushing river. It isn’t a gentle stream where you can see the smooth stones at the bottom; it is a river at flood stage, a churning wall of brown water carrying debris and a raw, sheer power that could sweep away an army. You have been walking toward this moment for what feels like a lifetime. Behind you lies a vast, weary desert of “almosts” and “not quites”—years of effort that brought you close to satisfaction but never quite over the threshold. You’ve endured the dry seasons of searching, the heat of disappointment, and the exhaustion of trying to find your own way. Before you now is a promise, a vision of a life lived with purpose and peace, but between you and that promise lies a depth you cannot measure and a current you simply cannot swim.
Most of us live our entire lives on that muddy bank. We spend our days trying to calculate the depth, trying to engineer our own bridges out of intellect and willpower, or waiting for the water to go down on its own through some stroke of luck. We look for a sign, a statistic, or an expert to tell us that it is finally safe to cross. We think, “If I just had more certainty, I would move.” But the river keeps rising, and our calculations never seem to account for the turbulence of reality. Today, I want to talk to you about a different way of moving forward—not by gathering more data, but by shifting your gaze. It’s a move from the “what” to the “who.” It’s about navigating the impossible not by knowing everything, but by knowing Someone. This “Someone” is the Author of the story you are living in—the Living God who meets us exactly where our strategies fail.
1. The Information Gap: Faith Beyond the Expert Opinion
In our modern world, we are obsessed with data. We live in an era where information is treated as the ultimate currency of safety. We have apps to track our sleep cycles, algorithms to predict our shopping tastes, and an endless parade of experts for every possible crisis, from global economics to personal wellness. We have been conditioned to believe that if we just gather enough information, we can eliminate risk. We tell ourselves that if we can just map out the future with enough precision, we can walk into it without fear. But there is a curious, almost haunting thing about knowledge: the more of it we acquire, the more we realize how much we actually lack. The larger the island of our knowledge grows, the longer the shoreline of our ignorance becomes.
Even in our highest fields of human achievement, the experts eventually reach a wall. Consider the world of cancer research, where the brightest minds use supercomputers to sequence genomes, yet they often find that the deeper they go, the more complex the “why” becomes. Or look at the world of artificial intelligence. When the Google-built AlphaGo defeated the world champion Lee Sedol, it wasn’t because the machine “knew” everything; it was because it could navigate the vast, unknowable spaces of the game better than a human. Yet even those masters realize that as you zoom in, the “one cause” or the “meticulous plan” vanishes into a cloud of complexity. Life is never a simple, linear equation. You can have the best doctors, the most seasoned financial advisors, and the most stable career trajectory, and yet, a single unforeseen phone call or a sudden shift in the world can render all your “precise analysis” utterly irrelevant.
Centuries ago, a group of people stood on the edge of a new beginning, much like we do. They were preparing to enter a land they had been promised, but a massive, fortified city called Jericho stood in their way. They sent two men ahead to look at the city. These weren’t elite commandos with satellite imagery or thermal sensors; they were just two men who ended up hiding under stalks of flax on a dusty rooftop because they were being hunted by the local authorities. When they finally returned to their leader, Joshua, their report wasn’t a fifty-page intelligence briefing filled with troop numbers, wall thicknesses, or logistical blueprints.
Compare this to a moment forty years earlier, recorded in the Bible in the book of Numbers. A different group had sent out twelve “experts”—leaders of their tribes—to scout the same land. Those experts brought back what we would call a “data-driven” report. They saw the giants, they measured the fortifications, and they calculated the mathematical probability of failure. Rationally, they were right. On paper, it was a suicide mission. They concluded in Numbers 13:31, “We are not able to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we are.” But those experts lacked the one factor that isn’t a statistic: the presence of the Living God.
The two spies who went to Jericho in Joshua 2 didn’t come back with better data; they came back with a different perspective. They didn’t say the walls were shorter; they said the hearts of the enemies were melting because God was with them. They realized that “intellectual precision” will never be enough to cover the “100% risk” of a single life event. Our minds are finite, but our problems often feel infinite. This is why the Bible reminds us in 1 Corinthians 1:25 that “the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.” Sometimes, we stay stuck on the riverbank of our lives because we are waiting for a certainty that doesn’t exist in this world. We want to see the whole map before we take the first step. We want the experts to sign off on our happiness. But the invitation today isn’t to become an expert in your own life; it’s to admit that your wisdom has limits, and to look toward a Wisdom that has none. As the Bible says in Proverbs 3:5, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” When the information gap leaves you feeling exposed, remember that faith isn’t about closing that gap with more facts; it’s about filling it with the presence of the One who knows the end from the beginning.
2. The Divine Appointment: Probability vs. Providence
We often talk about our lives in terms of “the odds.” We navigate our days by calculating risks and rewards, trying to stay on the right side of the bell curve. We say there’s a 90% chance of rain, a 5% chance of a promotion, or a 1% chance of a market crash. We find a strange, clinical comfort in these numbers—as if by quantifying our uncertainty, we have somehow tamed it. But think about airline travel: it is statistically the safest way to move across the planet. We are told the odds of a crash are millions to one. Yet, if it is your flight that begins to fail, that statistic instantly becomes 100% fatal for you. In that moment, the “average” no longer matters.
Probability is a tool for the mind, but it is a cold companion for the heart. It doesn’t comfort the soul when you are the one sitting in the hospital waiting room or the one facing a broken relationship. In the moments that matter most—the moments that define the trajectory of our lives—we don’t need a percentage; we need a Provider. We need to know that we aren’t just a rolling die in a chaotic universe, but a person known by the Creator God.
This shift from probability to Providence is perfectly captured in the story of a woman named Rahab. By all accounts, she was the ultimate outsider. In the city of Jericho, she lived on the literal edge—her house was built into the city wall. She was a woman whose lifestyle made her someone the “respectable” world would have overlooked, judged, or dismissed. She hadn’t spent forty years wandering in the desert; she hadn’t attended religious schools or studied the ancient laws. She had only heard rumors of what God had done for the Israelites at the Red Sea decades earlier.
Think about the sheer scale of that for a moment. Thousands of people in Jericho heard those same rumors. The entire city was aware of the news reports coming from the desert. But while the rest of the population was paralyzed by a defensive, hollow fear—or perhaps doubling down on their own walls and weapons—Rahab’s heart was being prepared. She didn’t see “fake news” or mere political theater; she recognized the Truth. In Joshua 2:11, she makes a staggering confession: “For the Lord your God, He is God in heaven above and on earth beneath.”
Who told her? How did she, of all people, come to this conclusion? The Bible teaches us that this wasn’t a lucky guess; it was a “Divine Appointment.” While the world sees coincidences, the eye of faith sees the hand of God curating a heart to receive a message that everyone else missed. God bypassed the “experts” of Jericho and went straight to a woman on the wall.
The spies ended up trusting their very lives to a woman they had just met; she, in turn, trusted her future to men who were technically her enemies. By any standard of “rational” decision-making, this was a disaster. It was a lapse in security for the spies and treason for Rahab. And yet, it was the only thing that worked. It was God bringing people together who should never have trusted each other, binding them with a common realization: that there is a Power greater than the walls of a city or the laws of probability.
The Bible tells us in Acts 17:26-27 that God has marked out the “appointed times” for people and the “boundaries of their dwelling places” so that they would seek Him and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him. You might feel like your presence here today, or your hearing of this story at this exact moment, is just a coincidence of timing or a random click on a screen. But perhaps it is a curated moment. Indeed, the “Someone” we spoke of earlier has been orchestrating the events of your life to bring you to this very edge. God often works outside of our “meticulous execution plans” to bring us into contact with the Gospel. He is the “Information Provider” who doesn’t just give us data, but gives us Himself. He shows us that our lives aren’t governed by the blind luck of the draw, but by a Love that is actively seeking us out, even when we are hiding on the walls of our own Jericho.
3. The Edge of the Jordan: Trusting the Flooding River
Finally, we come back to the water’s edge. In Joshua 3, the people of Israel finally reach the banks of the Jordan River. But as they stand there, the view is anything but peaceful. The Bible notes a crucial detail in verse 15: “Now the Jordan is at flood stage all during harvest.” This wasn’t a stream you could wade through; it was a swollen, raging torrent. If you were a military strategist or a civil engineer, your “meticulous execution plan” would be clear: you build boats, you construct a temporary bridge, or you set up camp and wait months for the dry season. To move forward now, by human standards, was not just risky—it was impossible.
But God’s strategy didn’t involve engineering; it involved an encounter. He didn’t tell them to wait for the waters to recede. He didn’t provide a blueprint for a bridge. Instead, He gave a command that defied every instinct of self-preservation. He told the priests to take the Ark of the Covenant—the sacred chest that represented the very presence of the Living God—and walk straight into the surging water.
There was no statistical evidence to suggest the water would stop. There was no geological precedent for a flooding river to suddenly halt its flow and stand in a heap miles away. As the priests took that first step, their sandals didn’t touch dry ground; they touched the cold, rushing current of a flood. The miracle didn’t happen when they stood safely on the bank; it happened when they were willing to wet their feet. The only common factor between the spies who took the risk, Rahab who hid them, and the priests carrying the Ark was a total, radical dependence on the presence of God.
We all eventually find ourselves standing at the edge of a “flooding” river. Perhaps for you, it is the flooding consequence of past mistakes that feel like they are finally catching up to you. Maybe it is the rushing anxiety of an unknown future or the deep, silent current of our own mortality—the realization that no matter how much data we collect, we cannot stop the flow of time or the certainty of death. Most of us try to build our own bridges to get across. We try to outrun our past with “better habits,” or we try to build a platform of “good works” high enough to keep our heads above water. But as the Bible shows us, no human structure can hold back the weight of our deepest needs.
This is where the story of the Jordan points us directly to the heart of the Truth. We don’t need more data; we need a Person. In the Bible, the Ark went into the water first. It stood in the middle of the riverbed, holding back the flood so that every single person could walk across on dry land. This is a beautiful picture of what Jesus Christ did for us. Two thousand years ago, Jesus entered the “flooding” reality of our broken world. He didn’t stand safely on the shore giving us advice; He stepped into the current of our pain, our failure, and the ultimate judgment we deserved.
Jesus took the full force of the flood upon Himself. On the cross, He stood in the midst of the deep so that the way to the “Promised Land”—a life of peace and reconciliation with God—would be opened wide for us. As the Bible says in Isaiah 43:2, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.” Trust isn’t about having all the facts or a perfect plan for your life. It’s about knowing the One who holds the facts. It’s about realizing that while you cannot control the river, you can trust the One who made the river and has already crossed it for you. You don’t have to swim; you just have to follow the One who made a way where there was no way, and who is our Ever-Loving God.
Summary
We have looked at the limits of our own expertise and the beauty of how God moves behind the scenes to meet us. We have seen that life isn’t a game of probability, but a journey of providence. And we have seen that when we face the impossible, we don’t need a better plan; we need a better Savior.
The Gospel is not a set of instructions on how to build a better bridge. It is the good news that the Bridge-Builder has come to us. He has stood in the flood so that we don’t have to drown. Whether you feel like a “spy” looking for hope, or like Rahab waiting for a sign, the invitation is the same: step into the water. Trust the One who is already there.
Let’s pray together.
Heavenly Father, we thank You that You do not leave us to navigate the flooding rivers of life on our own. We confess that we often rely too much on our own “expert opinions” and our own meticulous plans, forgetting that Your wisdom far exceeds our own. We thank You for the Divine Appointments You place in our lives—for the moments You open our hearts to see the Truth even when we are surrounded by the noise of the world. We ask for the courage to trust You, even when the water is high and the path isn’t clear. We thank You for Jesus, who went before us into the deep to bring us safely home and settle our souls. We pray in the Name of Jesus, Amen.
“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” — Matthew 7:24