I get frustrated when my GPS keeps recalculating. There's something deeply unsettling about that automated voice constantly announcing "recalculating" just when I thought I knew where I was going. It can be applied to life. I used to think that by this stage of life, I'd have a clear route mapped out, but instead, I find myself on more detours than ever before.

This reminds me of an ancient story about a merchant who prided himself on always knowing the way.

This merchant had traveled the same trade route for twenty years. He knew every rock, every tree, every bend in the path.

One morning, he set out with a caravan of younger merchants who wanted to learn from his navigation expertise. But overnight, a tremendous storm passed through the region. When they reached what should have been a familiar valley, the merchant stopped in confusion. The storm had altered the landscape. The landmarks had shifted or disappeared entirely.

The merchant tried to maintain his composure, choosing path after path, each time declaring, "This is the way." But each chosen route led to dead ends or circled back to where they started. By afternoon, the younger merchants realized what the veteran refused to admit: they were completely lost.

As the sun began to set, panic crept into the merchant's voice. His reputation, his identity, his very sense of self was tied to knowing the way.

Finally, a young girl from a nearby village appeared on a ridge above them. "Are you lost?" she called down.

The merchant's pride flared. "We're not lost. We're just recalculating our route."

The girl laughed gently. "The storm changed everything. Your old paths are gone. But if you stop trying and follow me, I can lead you to where you need to be."

The younger merchants immediately began following the girl, but the veteran merchant hesitated. To follow meant admitting he was lost. To follow meant his decades of experience couldn't save him. To follow meant trusting someone else's knowledge over his own.

With trembling steps, he finally followed. The girl led them through passages he'd never seen, using stars he'd never noticed, to a village he didn't know existed—where warm food and shelter awaited all storm-displaced travelers.

"How did you know we were lost?" the merchant asked the girl.

She smiled. "After every storm, my grandma sends me to search. She says the ones who need finding most are those who don't know they're lost. You weren't lost because you didn't know the old way—you were lost because the old way no longer existed. Being found isn't failure. It's wisdom."

This story captures a deep truth about our current moment. We're not just dealing with occasional recalculations—we're living in a permanent storm season where the landscape constantly shifts beneath our feet.

For example, AI has changed everything. Career paths that existed five years ago have vanished and more will vanish soon. The very assumptions we built our lives upon keep requiring updates. We're exhausted not from the journey, but from the constant recalculating.

But here's the profound comfort hidden in today's scripture: while we're frantically recalculating, trying to find our way, God has already sent out a search party. We're actively being sought by One who knows exactly where we are and exactly how to bring us home. Let’s see how Jesus reveals to us this truth.

The scripture lesson for today is from the Gospel of Luke 15:1-10.

The Courage to Disappoint: When Your Calling Won't Share the Throne

Luke 14:25-33

I used to believe that spiritual maturity meant keeping everyone happy—that if I just worked hard enough, prayed sincerely enough, and organized efficiently enough, I could fulfill every expectation without disappointing anyone. I admired those rare individuals who seemed to glide through life meeting every obligation with grace, never having to utter those uncomfortable words: "I'm sorry, but I can't."

This reminds me of an ancient story about a potter who created the most beautiful vessels in all the land.

The potter's work was so extraordinary that people traveled from distant villages just to own one of his creations. His secret wasn't just skill—it was complete devotion. While other potters worked only during market hours, he would often be found at his wheel by moonlight, lost in the dance between clay and creation.

One day, a wealthy merchant arrived with an irresistible offer: "Become my personal potter. I'll pay you ten times what you make now. You'll create exclusively for my household—the finest bowls for my table, decorative pieces for my halls. You'll have security for life."

The potter thought of his aging parents who needed care, his children who deserved education. The offer was generous, honorable, even wise by any measure.

That same afternoon, a temple priest approached: "We need someone to craft sacred vessels for our ceremonies. The pay is modest, but think of the honor—your hands serving the divine! Surely this is your true calling."

Before sunset, the village elder also came: "Our community needs you. Create simple bowls for the poor, water vessels for the sick. We cannot pay much, but you'll have the gratitude of everyone you serve."

The potter spent sleepless nights trying to devise a way to please them all. Perhaps he could work for the merchant by day, the temple by evening, the village by weekend. He drew up schedules, made calculations, imagined himself meeting every worthy demand.

But one morning, exhausted from planning, he sat at his wheel and let his hands touch the clay. In that moment, he remembered why he became a potter—not for security, not for honor, not even for service, but for this: the sacred moment when formless earth becomes a vessel of possibility. This was his calling, and it demanded everything.

He disappointed the merchant, who called him foolish.

He disappointed the priest, who called him selfish.

He disappointed the elder, who called him heartless.

But his vessels—oh, his vessels began to carry something beyond function or beauty. They carried the integrity of undivided devotion. And paradoxically, though he served no one master, his work ended up blessing merchant, temple, and village alike, because he had the courage to let his calling claim the throne of his life.

This story captures a felt need that haunts so many of us—the exhausting impossibility of trying to be everything to everyone. We live in a world that treats our time, energy, and attention as public property, where saying no feels like moral failure, where boundaries are seen as selfishness. We're drowning in competing claims on our lives, each one legitimate, each one urgent, each one accompanied by someone who will be disappointed if we don't deliver.

But here's the revolutionary truth: your calling—that deep, Providence-ordained purpose that makes you come alive—won't negotiate for partial allegiance. It demands the throne, and everything else, no matter how good or noble, must bow before it. In today's scripture lesson, Jesus doesn't soften this reality. Instead, he confronts us with the shocking arithmetic of authentic discipleship, showing us that the path to true life requires the courage to disappoint even those we love most. Let’s find out how Jesus teaches us on this important topic.

I have to confess—I struggle with waiting, especially when my prayers for clarity or breakthrough seem to hang in the air like morning mist that never lifts. I used to think effective prayer worked like a business transaction: clear request, prompt response, measurable results.

This reminds me of an ancient story about a young scholar who desperately sought wisdom from a renowned master.

The scholar had traveled for months to reach the master's mountain dwelling, his mind heavy with questions that kept him awake at night. When he finally arrived at the master's simple cottage, he found a beautiful garden surrounded by a tall wooden gate. The gate had no handle on the outside, only a small opening at eye level.

"Master!" the scholar called through the opening. "I have come seeking your wisdom! Please, open the gate and teach me!"

From somewhere within the garden came a gentle voice: "Ask, and you shall receive."

The scholar immediately began rattling off his questions—dozens of them, about purpose, about success, about the meaning of suffering. His words tumbled over each other in his urgency.

Silence.

Hours passed. The scholar called out again, this time more desperately: "Master, I'm seeking answers! You said to ask!"

Again, the voice replied: "Seek, and you shall find."

Frustrated, the scholar began searching around the gate, examining every board, every hinge, looking for some hidden mechanism to open it. He pushed and pulled, convinced there must be some trick, some secret technique he was missing.

Days passed. The scholar's food ran low, his clothes grew dirty, but still he remained. On the third morning, exhausted and humbled, he simply sat by the gate and whispered: "Master, I don't know what else to do."

"Knock," came the gentle reply, "and it shall be opened unto you."

The scholar looked at the gate with new eyes. He had been asking with demand, seeking with desperation, but he had never simply... knocked. With trembling hands, he raised his knuckles to the wooden gate and gave three soft knocks.

The gate swung open immediately—it had never been locked.

The master stood there, smiling, holding two cups of tea. "Welcome," he said. "I have been waiting for you to arrive."

"But Master," the scholar stammered, "I've been here for three days!"

"No," the master replied gently, "your questions arrived three days ago. Your searching arrived two days ago. But you... you just arrived now. The gate was always open, but you could only enter when you came not as a demander or desperately seeking customer, but as a humble guest, knocking gently at the door of relationship."

This story captures a felt need that runs deep in our souls—the exhausting experience of feeling spiritually stuck, of wondering if our prayers are bouncing off the ceiling, of questioning whether we're doing something fundamentally wrong when our deepest requests seem to meet only silence.

It's the frustration of people who work hard, pray earnestly, and live responsibly, yet still feel like they're standing outside a locked gate while everyone else seems to have found the secret password for spiritual breakthrough.

But here's the beautiful truth: the gate was never locked, and the Master has been waiting all along.

In today's scripture lesson, Jesus doesn't just acknowledge our struggle with prayer—he transforms it entirely, revealing that what we thought was divine silence was actually an invitation to discover a completely different way of approaching the heart of Providence.

He shows us that our seemingly unanswered prayers aren't signs of spiritual failure, but doorways to deeper relationship than we ever imagined possible. Let’s begin!

Summer is here, and like many of you, I love spending time at the beach occasionally. I'm one of those people who can't resist collecting beautiful stones during beach walks - each one catches my eye and somehow finds its way into my pockets.

But I've noticed something interesting about my stone-collecting habit. What started as picking up one or two beautiful stones has turned into lugging around a collection that's weighing me down.

Sound familiar? Not just with beach stones, but with life itself? Sometimes, we take on unnecessary burdens, making our lives heavy. Let me tell you a story.

A traveler journeyed along a winding mountain path, his back bent nearly double under an enormous burlap sack filled with stones. Each step was labored; sweat poured down his face, and his breathing came in short, gasping breaths.

He did not have time to stop and smell the roses. The beautiful mountain scenery - blooming wildflowers, singing birds, crystal streams - passed by unnoticed as he focused only on not dropping his heavy burden.

An old sage sitting peacefully by the roadside watched him approach. "Friend, why do you carry such a heavy load?"

The traveler paused, wiping his brow. "These are my stones," he panted. "This smooth one is my reputation - I must protect it. This jagged one represents what people expect of me. Here's the stone of my past failures, and this heavy one holds all my worries about tomorrow. This one is my anger at my brother, and this one is my fear of being alone."

"I see," the sage nodded. "And who told you that you must carry them all at once?"

The traveler looked puzzled. "Well... no one, I suppose. But they're mine. I've collected them over the course of many years. If I don't carry them, who will?"

The sage smiled gently. "What if I told you that the mountain path continues just fine whether you carry these stones or not?" (End of the story).

We all have our own collection of stones, don't we? Some of us have been carrying them so long, we've forgotten what it feels like to walk without that weight. We've convinced ourselves that these burdens define us - that we are our worries, our failures, our fears, our endless responsibilities. Do you feel sick and tired of the emotional or mental burdens you carry?

But what if there's another way? What if we don't have to carry it all?

Two thousand years ago, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus encountered a man who was carrying more than stones. He was carrying what the Bible calls 'Legion' - not just one burden, but thousands. His load was so heavy, so overwhelming, that he couldn't even live among other people anymore.

Yet in this encounter, we discover something remarkable about the power of Jesus over every burden we carry—no matter how heavy, how numerous, or how long we've been carrying them.

Today, let’s explore how Jesus can free us from our burdens, based on today’s scripture lesson. Let’s begin!

Let me start with a familiar story; I'm sure you've heard it before. It is both lighthearted and profound.

A man lived in a flood-prone area, and when the rains came, the waters began rising rapidly around his house. As the water reached his porch, he climbed onto his roof and prayed earnestly, "God, please save me! I have faith that you will rescue me!"

Soon, a neighbor came by in a rowboat and shouted, "Jump in! I'll take you to safety!" But the man waved him off, calling back, "No thanks! I'm waiting for God to save me. I have faith!"

The water kept rising. A little later, an emergency rescue boat arrived, and the crew called out, "Sir, we're here to help! Climb aboard!" Again, the man refused: "I appreciate it, but God is going to save me! I'm trusting in him!"

As the water reached the roof line, a helicopter appeared overhead and dropped a rescue ladder. The pilot's voice boomed through a megaphone: "This is your last chance! Grab the ladder!" But the man waved them away, shouting back, "God will provide! I have complete faith!"

Tragically, the man drowned. When he reached heaven, he approached God with confusion and disappointment. "Lord," he said, "I had such faith in you! Why didn't you save me?"

God looked at him with compassion and replied, "My dear son, I sent you a rowboat, a rescue boat, and a helicopter. What more did you expect?" (End of the story.)

How often do we find ourselves like this man? We pray for God to speak to us, to guide us, and to show us His will – yet we miss His voice because we're expecting something different from how He communicates.

Perhaps it’s because we often discuss how to pray rather than how to listen. Our communication with God has become a one-way ticket—we speak to God without knowing how to hear God’s voice. To have a healthy relationship, we must learn to listen.

Last week, we discussed Philip's request to Jesus to show the heavenly Father to him and his fellow disciples, and that they would be satisfied. Jesus said, after all these years of being with him, why they still had not recognized that Jesus and the Father are one. Jesus is the answer to human desire to see and know God, but they still expect God to show up differently, just like the man on the rooftop.

Now, we live in the time of the Holy Spirit. Instead of appreciating the presence of the Holy Spirit, some might ask to see God or Jesus. God would say, I have given you the Holy Spirit, and you still ask me to show myself to you? The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are one!

Not only is God with us today through the Holy Spirit, but Jesus also says He speaks to us through the Holy Spirit today. Let’s develop the ability to hear Jesus’ voice so that we don’t stand on the rooftop wondering why Jesus doesn’t talk to us. Let’s begin!

John 13:31-35

Here’s one of my favorite childhood folk tales:

A farmer went to town to sell his produce and returned with a large chest of treasures. His family and relatives gathered around him to hear the story of his windfall of fortune. He said, “As I walked through the forest on my way home, I heard someone groaning in a cave. I entered the cave and saw a dying tiger with a massive infected wound on its arm.

“I was about to run away in fear and disgust, but the tiger looked paralyzed. So, out of pity, I reached for my first aid kit to bind its wound and gave it water. Since it was getting dark, I stayed in the cave overnight. The next day, when I woke up, I found it completely recovered, and it thanked me with this chest of treasures.”

Feeling envious, the sister-in-law inquired about the cave’s location and asked her husband to find the place and try his luck. The next day, he went and found the cave. Surprisingly, he heard a tiger groaning inside, so he went in and saw the wounded tiger just like his brother had told them.

Smelling the infected wound, he thought, “Yuck! My brother didn’t tell me that the tiger was so stinky.” He covered his nose and reluctantly bound the tiger’s wound because he wanted the reward. He slept in the cave, dreaming about returning home with a treasure chest bigger than his brother’s.

The next day, the tiger got better and ate him for breakfast. (End of the story).

It’s a wisdom story open to multiple layers of interpretation. On the surface, it teaches people that you cannot copy someone’s success by merely duplicating what they do. At a deeper level, it teaches that nature rewards transformational actions rather than transactional ones.

It’s natural for humans to fear tigers and for tigers to attack humans. It’s our fallen nature. If the elder brother were authentic, he would have stayed away from the tiger out of fear, as he mentioned. However, his sympathy for the suffering animal made him rise above his authenticity. John said,

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” (1 Jn 4:18a).

We cannot naturally love our enemies because we authentically hate or fear them. When Jesus asked us to love our enemies, he asked us to rise above our authenticity. When we do, we become transformative. However, we cannot intentionally use love to transform others because that’s fake. Intention matters! Perfect love has no motive.

Today's culture glorifies authenticity. In the name of expressing themselves, people gratify their authentic feelings. They can be rude and say, “I am just being authentic.” Paul said that we are supposed to tell the truth in love. Telling the truth is authentic, but without love, the truth hurts rather than heals.

Since we are fallen beings, our authenticity is also fallen. John Calvin called it “Total Depravity.” If I am authentic, I would rather eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (Sophie is not home anyway!) If we are authentic, we cannot love the unlovable.

The way Jesus wants us to love is transformational and not transactional. It requires us to sacrifice our authenticity and rise above it, taking the high road.

If Jesus were being authentic, he wouldn’t have gone to the cross. He expressed his authenticity to God the night of his arrest, saying:

“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” (Mat 26:39).

His prayer is very authentic; no human would go to the cross to endure that kind of suffering. It was a bitter cup that he would rather pass. You and I would do the same. Yet, he went to the cross to fulfill God’s will, not his own authenticity. Jesus went to the cross to please God by fulfilling God’s will to save us.

Jesus also taught us to pray, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Who would do God’s will on earth? Who are on earth? Us! Since we are on earth, we are to do God’s will on earth. That prayer is to ask God to give us the courage to take the higher road against our fallen nature.

Today, we will explore how to love beyond authenticity and become transformative. We will learn how to let perfect love cast out fear so that we can take the high road and make a difference. Let’s begin!

I used to misinterpret the story that I’m about to tell you. It’s a well-known story about Zhuangzi, the great philosopher. I discovered that I was not the only one who misunderstood its profound meaning. In fact, many scholars interpret it the way I did. Here’s the story, and see what you get out of it.

Zhuangzi once encountered financial hardship. His family didn’t have enough food, so he called on a rich man and asked to borrow some rice.

The rich man smiled and said, “I’ll be getting some money soon from my rental properties, and when it arrives, I’ll lend you three hundred gold coins. Will that be okay?”

That’s a significant amount of money, equivalent to three million dollars. But Zhuangzi didn’t like that answer at all. He frowned and said, “Let me tell you a story.”

“Yesterday, as I was walking here, I heard a little voice calling me. I looked around and saw a fish flopping in a tiny puddle on the side of the road. I asked the fish, ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

The fish gasped and said, ‘I’m from the huge eastern ocean, but now I’m stuck here! Can you please give me just a small cup of water so I can stay alive?’

I told the fish, ‘Sure! I’m planning to travel south soon to visit some kings. I’ll change the course of a huge river and send all the water you could ever need right to you. How does that sound?’

The fish glared at me and said, ‘Are you joking?! I don’t need a big river someday—I need water now! When you return, come find me at the dried fish market.’” (End of the story.)

Without context, I am sure you would interpret the way most people do. Zhuangzi urgently needed some food, but the rich man said he would give him three million dollars after he collected his rent. In response, Zhuangzi tells a fable to mock the rich man.

He said a fish was stuck in a puddle and asked Zhuangzi for a cup of water to fill the puddle. Zhuangzi said he would redirect an entire river to him later. The fish didn’t believe it would be alive until then.

Naturally, you would think the story teaches us to provide for urgent needs rather than promise something big in the future. However, if you know the context, it is about the tyranny of urgency. Our urgent needs can ensave us, making us shortsighted, focusing only on the immediate needs. We want God to help us now, and we don’t care about what God has in store for us in the future.

You might argue, “Duh! If I am dying of hunger, who cares about eternal life?” However, the story does not discount our urgent needs. It’s about how we become enslaved by urgency and lose the bigger picture. Many people are so preoccupied with their immediate needs that they don’t care about the offer of a holiday at the sea, as C.S. Lewis put it.

Urgency can rob us of happiness, joy, and blessedness. The truth is, after this bowl of rice, Zhuangzi would have to worry about the next meal. After this cup of water, the fish would cry for the next cup. They would forever be caught up in a cycle of urgency and never consider future possibilities.

Then, what’s more important than meeting dire needs? Understanding the tyranny of urgency will help us understand the joy of Paulm Sunday and learn a profound lesson of rejoicing in hardship.

I used to feel Palm Sunday was an oxymoron. It’s a day to celebrate victory, followed by a dark and dreary week of passion, suffering, and crucifixion. Why should anyone celebrate victory knowing what follows it? Palm Sunday is also known as Passion Sunday, but the scripture tells us about Jesus’s triumphant entry to Jerusalem. Where was the triumph if he were about to be crucified?

He was facing the most shameful death of a criminal. Whether we call it Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday, the truth is that Jesus entered Jerusalem like a victorious king, cheered by a crowd of disciples and followers. Why did Jesus do that?

Later, I discovered the profound meaning of Palm Sunday. Jesus wants us to rejoice even in dark times and never surrender to the tyranny of urgency. He doesn’t want us to obsess over a bowl of rice or a cup of water like Zhuangzi and the fish. The disciples knew Jesus was about to be killed. But Jesus didn’t want them to march into Jerusalem like a funeral procession.

So, Jesus prepared a donkey to make his entrance to  Jerusalem celebratory, fulfilling the prophecy of Prophet Zachariah (Zac 9:9). Palm Sunday challenges our resilience against urgency. Can you rejoice in the hardship of life?

For example, this week, the entire world experienced hardship, shaken by the tariffs and trade wars. Anxiety was high worldwide. Many people glued their faces to the TV or cellphone, wondering what would come next. Others worried about their stocks, 401K, or IRA, seeing them take a nosedive.

However, through Palm Sunday, Jesus teaches us to turn every moment into joy, not foolishly or pretentiously, of course. Jesus taught us in his eighth Beatitude that we must rejoice despite hardship. Otherwise, hardship can make us shortsighted and fail to count our blessings. Jesus says,

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Mt 5:11–12).

Notice that he commands us to rejoice and be glad. Can you rejoice when you are being persecuted?

Jesus demonstrated this on Palm Sunday and taught his disciples to rejoice and be glad. Jesus wants us to be Prodigal Disciples, expressing extravagant love, joy, and peace. Bible teaches us to rejoice at every moment and every situation. Paul said,

“Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice.” (Php 4:4).

Paul wrote this in prison, wearing chains on his feet and waiting for execution. Paul used to be an angry man, but Jesus turned him into a Prodigal Disciple. He was able to rejoice even in prison and taught others to rejoice always.

Two weeks ago, we talked about God as the Prodigal Father who showed his extravagant grace to humanity, not even sparing his only Son to die for us. Last week, I discussed the Prodigal Daughter, exemplified by Mary’s extravagant devotion to Jesus Christ.

In today’s scripture lesson, we discover Jesus expects us to become Prodigal Disciples, extravagantly expressing our love for Christ and people even in difficult times. Jesus teaches us to live by the non-anxious presence in this anxious world.

So, let’s learn how to become Prodigal Disciples exuding extravagant love, grace, and jubilance in this anxious and broken world. Let’s begin!

You know I have been playing with AI apps for a while and love them. They have been evolving recently and becoming more useful every day. I encourage everyone, young or old, to experiment with AI. It’s not that hard because you don’t need to know the science behind it. Treat them as tools or toys, and you will discover they are useful tools and fun toys that can help you get things done.

Some experts say the advent of AI is as significant as the invention of electricity. I agree because it permanently changes how we live, move, and have our being. Like it or not, it won’t go away. So, why not make good use of it?

I am sure you have heard in the news about the DeepSeek AI model that rocked the tech stock market. In short, competition benefits consumers like you and me because the application of AI is becoming significantly cheaper.

You might also have heard the concern about job losses due to AI. It depends on how you look at it. AI will surely replace many jobs but also create many new opportunities.

To help you navigate the AI revolution from the spiritual perspective, let me start with an ancient parable on innovation:

Huizi told his friend Zhuangzi that the king bestowed upon him a seed of the legendary giant gourd, which he planted in his garden. Months passed, and the gourd grew to an astonishing size, weighing over a hundred pounds.

Huizi had a hard time making use of the giant gourd. “I tried to use it as a water bottle, but it was too heavy and big to carry. I cut it in half to make a dipper, but it was too wide to scoop into anything. Since it was too big to be useful, I smashed it into pieces and threw it away.”

Zhuangzi smiled and said, “You certainly are too stupid to use big things. The giant gourd held within it a wealth of possibilities, limited only by your imagination.” Then Zhuangzi told him a parable (that the parable wrapped within a parable):

In the enchanting era of the Song Dynasty, there lived a humble man whose livelihood revolved around washing silk by the river's edge. During winter, the icy water bit the hands, threatening to halt the family’s laundry business.

Fortunately, the family had concocted a magical balm, a potion that defied the bitter cold, protecting the hands and faces from the biting frost and the painful chap so their family income would not be cut off during winters.

One day, a visitor approached the family with a tantalizing offer. In exchange for the secret formula of the winter lotion, he offered them a hundred pieces of gold, a sum they could not afford to pass up.

The family decided to take the generous offer and entrusted the secret formula to the visitor. The visitor took it to the capital city and offered it to the emperor for military use. The emperor commissioned him to lead a marine force against the southern invaders through the waterways.

With the advantage of the secret formula, they emerged victorious in the cold winter marine warfare, driving back the invaders and securing the dynasty's future. Upon his triumphant return, the emperor bestowed upon him the prestigious title of a feudal lord.

Zhuangzi then said to his friend Huizi, “See, in the hands of the launderer, the secret balm is nothing more than a tool to make a living. But in the hands of a visionary man, this formula shaped the destiny of a nation.

“Your giant gourd is useless to you because your imagination is too small. You could have put that giant gourd in the lake and ridden on it as a magnificent boat. There are also many other creative ways you could use it for.” (End of the story.)

This parable warns us of the danger of thinking small. Let’s say the giant gourd is the AI of our time. For the short-sighted, AI represents a threat. For the visionary, AI represents immense opportunity. This story is not about belittling the small thinkers but spurring all of us to set our creative imagination free.

Today, we will look at how Jesus transformed a group of fishermen from merely making a living with their skills to transforming the world by teaching them to think deep, aim high, and serve bold, building God’s eternal kingdom instead of just feeding a small family.

What Jesus taught in today’s scripture lesson is applicable to our AI revolution as it was during the dawn of the new era of the first century. If you learn this, nothing in this world can burden you with anxiety, worries, and fear. Instead, you will maintain faith, hope, and love at all times. Let’s begin!

One of my favorite fables is about a scientific experiment on monkeys.

Once upon a time, a group of scientists decided to observe the behavior of monkeys in a unique setting. They placed five monkeys in a large room. At the center of this room stood a tall ladder, and at the very top of the ladder hung something irresistible: a bunch of golden, ripe bananas.

The monkeys, as you can imagine, were thrilled. They chattered excitedly, their eyes fixed on the delicious prize. It didn’t take long for one monkey to make a bold move. It scampered up the ladder, eager to grab the bananas.

But just as the monkey reached for the fruit, an automatic sprinkler sprayed the monkey with icy cold water. The monkey screeched in shock and ran down the ladder immediately, shivering as the water drenched it.

Soon, another monkey tried its luck. It climbed the ladder, determined to succeed where the first had failed. But again, the sprinkler sprayed it with freezing water.

One by one, each monkey attempted to climb, and each time, the hero was drenched. Before long, something remarkable happened: the monkeys stopped trying altogether. Even when tempted by the delicious bananas, they avoided the ladder entirely.

The scientists then removed one of the original monkeys and brought in a new one. This fresh monkey had no idea about the water spray. Spotting the bananas, it immediately started climbing the ladder.

But before it could reach the top, something unexpected happened. The other monkeys sprang into action, pulling the newcomer down, screeching and flailing their arms, as if they didn’t want the new monkey to suffer the water drench!

Shocked and confused, the new monkey quickly learned climbing the ladder was forbidden.

Over time, the scientists replaced another monkey, then another, until none of the original monkeys remained.

Now, the room was filled with monkeys who had never experienced the spray of water. Yet they continued to enforce the unspoken rule. Anytime a new monkey tried to climb the ladder, the group would pull it down and teach it not to try.

The bananas still hung untouched at the top of the ladder, and no monkey questioned why climbing was forbidden. They had simply inherited the behavior. (End of the story.)

This tale isn’t just about monkeys and bananas. It’s a mirror held up to human behavior. I’d call it the “Wet Monkey Syndrome.”

When you aspire to fulfill your dream, you will encounter those wet monkeys trying to tear you down and inject their trauma into you. It’s like misery loves company.

Understanding this human behavior can set you free to live life to the fullest, accomplishing your life mission without obstacles.

So, today, we will look at how Jesus deals with these wet monkeys based on this week’s scripture lesson so that we know when to let go of the losers and how to invest our precious time on earth on the low-hanging fruits and ripe harvests. Let’s begin!

Once upon a time, in a quaint little town, a wealthy traveler happened upon a sight that took his breath away. It was a magnificent two-story building, and the second floor, oh, it was a thing of beauty! The veranda seemed to whisper promises of relaxation, and the roof design was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

The rich man just had to find out who had created this architectural wonder. He searched high and low until he finally found the carpenter responsible. "You!" he exclaimed, "You must come to my city and build me a second floor just like the one I saw. I'll pay any price you ask!"

The carpenter, a man of few words, simply nodded and set to work. For a whole month, he poured his heart and soul into building the rich man's dream. When the wealthy traveler returned to see the finished product, he couldn't believe his eyes. There was the second floor he'd asked for, but wait... what was that underneath it? A first floor?!

The rich man was furious! He confronted the carpenter, shouting, "I asked for the second floor, not the first! Tear it down, now!"

But the carpenter, calm as can be, replied, "Sir, you can't have the second floor without the first. It's the foundation that holds up all that beauty you admire."

The wealthy man wasn't having it. "I'm not paying for something I didn't ask for!" he huffed. "You'll get your money for the second floor, and that's it!"

The carpenter, a wise man, tried to explain, "The first floor is like the backbone of the whole building. Without it, the second floor would come crashing down. You can't have one without the other." (End of the story).

This story may sound silly, but it’s an ancient fable to enlighten those who want to ignore the foundation to achieve a higher goal. It resembles Jesus’ parable of building a house on the sand.

What is your higher goal? What’s your dream second floor you want to build? What’s your life mission? We all want our life count. What would he say if we asked God what we should do to make our three scores and ten most meaningful? I think Prophet Micah summarized it nicely, short and sweet:

He has told you, O mortal, what is good;

The Lord has told us what makes life good and meaningful. As believers, we are called to follow in Christ's footsteps, proclaiming good news, working for justice, and demonstrating compassion to a world in need.

Those are worthwhile missional goals, but they are our second floor. Many social justice warriors today fail to build the first floor. So, their social justice movement is like a castle in the air.

Without the first floor, social justice can be not only a failure but also destructive to society. For example, communism is a social justice movement without the first floor. As a result, it has brought more destruction than construction.

Today, we will explore Jesus' mission, which is now our mission, and make sure we have the solid first floor as our strong foundation for fulfilling our mission and making our lives good and meaningful. Let’s begin!