Golden Moments Report

Harris Creek Family Reunion 2026 | 1 Peter 2 | Pastor JP

Golden Moment #1: What You Build On Determines What You Build With

"What I want you to know is that God is building something here at Harris Creek. And he's not using brick and mortar. He's using you. And as we've already discussed, what you build on matters and what you build with matters. This is the most discouraging thing I'll say today. The building that will soon exist where you're sitting one day will not exist. It will fall. It will be ruins. There will be somebody that finds evidence — should the Lord tarry — that a building used to be there by a metal detector. But the things built inside that building will last forever. I don't care about buildings much. They're a tool to be used. But what's built inside that building, I will give my life for. I would die for what God is building inside that building in all of you."

Why this moment works: This is a masterful pivot — using the very building initiative the congregation is invested in to reorient their affections away from the physical and toward the eternal. The rhetorical move of calling the building "the most discouraging thing I'll say today" and then immediately explaining why creates productive tension that earns the listener's full attention. The escalation from "I don't care about buildings much" to "I would die for what God is building in all of you" is emotionally powerful and pastorally honest.

Pastorally wise: This moment threads a genuinely difficult needle: a pastor leading a capital campaign who refuses to let the building become the point. That kind of pastoral integrity — using the building initiative to preach against building idolatry — is rare and trustworthy. It tells the congregation exactly what kind of shepherd is leading them.

Why congregants will share it: The phrase "I would die for what God is building inside that building in all of you" is the kind of line that gets repeated at lunch tables. It reframes the entire building campaign in a single sentence and gives people a way to explain their church's values to friends who ask about the construction.

Golden Moment #2: The Cornerstone Defines Everything After It

"What is a cornerstone? We don't talk about this very much. The cornerstone is the first stone laid in the foundation. And then you start stacking bricks and aligning bricks with that cornerstone. And you go both directions. And everything that you do after that cornerstone is laid is consistent, aligned with the cornerstone. The only way that you can build this building is by looking carefully at the cornerstone. And in fact, the entire building is supported by this cornerstone. What I want you to know is we're not building on cultural coolness here. We're not building on the latest, greatest worship here. We're not building on relevant preaching here. We're building on the cornerstone of Jesus Christ. Everything we do starts with looking at him closely and carefully and making sure that what comes out of this place looks like him, smells like him, talks like him, leads like him, parents like he would, loves their spouse like he would."

Why this moment works: The exegetical explanation of the cornerstone is clear, accessible, and directly connected to application — a rare combination. The repetition of "we're not building on..." creates a rhythmic stripping away of false foundations before landing on Christ. The closing cascade — "looks like him, smells like him, talks like him, leads like him, parents like he would" — moves the abstract into the concrete with impressive speed.

Theologically sound: This is Psalm 118:22 and 1 Peter 2 working together exactly as Peter intended — the rejected stone becoming the irreplaceable foundation. The application doesn't stop at ecclesiology; it reaches into marriages, parenting, and daily behavior, which is precisely the scope Peter had in mind when he called believers "a holy priesthood."

Why congregants will share it: The phrase "looks like him, smells like him, talks like him" is memorable precisely because it's slightly unexpected. "Smells like him" catches people off guard in the best way. People will quote this when explaining what their church is trying to become.

Golden Moment #3: The Children's Object Lesson Lands the Sermon's Central Argument

"This one is comfort — hey, I want to make sure we got the best chair. Don't make me sit out in 103-degree weather. This one is preference — it's just like, hey, I grew up in tradition, this is what I know as church. And then here we have the cornerstone of Jesus Christ. And what these kids are teaching us is what you build on and what you build with matters. If we build this church — if God builds this church — on anything other than the cornerstone of Jesus Christ, it's not going to last. Some of you need to hear that in a fresh way because you've been realizing you want a church built on something other than Jesus, or you want Jesus plus — you prioritize that top line — Jesus plus something else."

Why this moment works: Using children as the teachers rather than the audience is a disarming and effective rhetorical choice. The humor about "103-degree weather" and comfortable chairs is self-aware and contextually sharp — this congregation is literally sitting outside in the Texas heat. The "Jesus plus" framing at the end is theologically precise and pastorally direct without being harsh.

Rhetorically effective: Object lessons work because they create a visual anchor for abstract truth. By letting the children's building attempts embody the sermon's thesis, the pastor creates a memory hook that will outlast the words. Weeks later, people will remember the kids stacking blocks and immediately recall the point.

Why congregants will share it: Parents who were watching their kids participate will retell this story. The "Jesus plus something else" line is convicting enough to prompt reflection and honest enough to prompt conversation — exactly the kind of moment that travels home in the car.

Golden Moment #4: What You Think About in the Car Reveals What You Believe

"Romans 12:1 and 2 says, 'In view of God's mercy, to present your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God. This is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the patterns of this world, but be transformed, be changed, be different by the renewing of your mind.' What are you thinking about when you're driving down the road? That will tell me what you believe about God. Because lots of people are thinking about what they're trying to get away with as you're driving down the road by yourself. You want to know if you really believe? Could be a humble position — do I really... You want to know what you really believe? What do you think about when you're in the car all by yourself? Where are your thoughts? In so many ways, that is going to define the level of your faith."

Why this moment works: This is the sermon's most penetrating diagnostic question, and it works because it's specific, private, and unanswerable in public — which means every person has to answer it alone. The phrase "what you're trying to get away with" names a real and common experience without condemning the person asking it. The repetition of the question creates the feel of a pastor leaning in rather than lecturing.

Pastorally wise: This is a wise application of Romans 12:2 because it moves "renewing of your mind" from a theological concept to a practical self-examination. Transformation isn't measured by church attendance; it's measured by the unguarded mind. That's a more honest and more searching standard than most people apply to themselves.

Why congregants will share it: This question will follow people home. It will surface Monday morning on the commute. It's the kind of moment that creates what preachers call "a long obedience" — a question that keeps asking itself long after the sermon is over.

Golden Moment #5: Pickles and Cucumbers — The Best Illustration of Baptism You've Heard

"That word baptiso in the Greek — it's something used to describe what happens to cucumbers when they become pickles. They're submerged in water and they become something altogether different. I hate cucumbers more than I hate any single food. I will eat raw fish before I eat cucumbers. I love pickles. I buy pickles by the jar. I had to borrow some pickles from the neighbor because I love pickles. Right now, I'm eating them with every single meal. Love pickles. Hate cucumbers. You're like, 'Well, they're the same.' No, no, no, no. A pickle is a transformed cucumber. And that's how the world needs to see your life. You're not like your other employees. Your life group is not like other life groups. You have a fragrant offering going up as a sacrifice to the Lord because you've been changed."

Why this moment works: This is the sermon's most memorable illustration, and it earns that distinction by being personal, funny, and theologically precise all at once. The Greek word study doesn't feel academic because it's immediately grounded in something everyone has eaten. The pastor's genuine enthusiasm for pickles makes the illustration feel discovered rather than manufactured. This is the kind of illustration that makes people say, "I'll never forget that."

Theologically sound: The baptiso illustration is not merely clever — it's exegetically honest. The word does carry the meaning of immersion that produces fundamental change, and connecting it to the call of Romans 12 to "be transformed" ties the two texts together with integrity. Baptism as outward sign of inward transformation is exactly the theology the pastor is building toward.

Why congregants will share it: This illustration will be repeated verbatim. People will tell it to their small groups, their spouses, their coworkers. It has everything a shareable illustration needs: humor, surprise, personal specificity, and a payoff that actually illuminates the truth it's illustrating.

Golden Moment #6: The Latest Recruitment of Bricks

"How you live as his bricks really matters, guys. You — you got to personalize that. You, how you live as his bricks at Midway, at Baylor, at Lena, how you live as his bricks — your marriage, your singleness, your pursuit of purity, how you live, how you argue this morning or last night, how you pursued unity in a life group amongst disagreements. And when everybody in the locker room is talking about something, you're standing apart. You don't need to be cool. You don't need to be accepted. You don't need to be popular because you're loved by God and you're his children — and you're the brick that he's building something out of."

Why this moment works: The specificity of naming actual places — Midway, Baylor, Lena — grounds the application in the congregation's real geography. The list of scenarios (marriage, singleness, arguments, locker rooms) is wide enough that almost every person in the audience finds themselves named. The closing line — "you're the brick that he's building something out of" — ties the entire sermon's central metaphor back to the individual with pastoral warmth.

Rhetorically effective: The repetition of "you" throughout this passage is intentional and powerful. It refuses to let the application remain collective or abstract. The preacher is pointing at individuals in a crowd — which is one of the hardest things to do well in a large gathering, and one of the most important.

Why congregants will share it: "You don't need to be cool. You don't need to be accepted. You don't need to be popular because you're loved by God" is the kind of sentence that teenagers screenshot and adults quietly write in journals. It speaks to a universal hunger for belonging and reorients it toward its truest source.

A Final Word to the Pastor

The greatest overall strength of this sermon is its structural coherence. The building metaphor isn't decoration — it is the sermon. From the soil samples to the cornerstone to the living stones to the pickle jar, every illustration, every application, every call to response grows organically from the same root. That kind of unified architecture is rare, and it's what separates a message people remember from one they merely enjoyed.

The thread tying all six golden moments together is this: permanence. What lasts? Not buildings. Not cultural relevance. Not comfort or preference. What lasts is the transformed life — the cucumber that became a pickle, the brick that gets stacked on the living cornerstone. You preached a theology of lasting things to a congregation sitting in the Texas heat watching a building go up, and you did it without ever losing them. That's a real gift.

The instinct worth leaning into is your willingness to be specific. You named places. You named behaviors. You named what people are thinking about in the car. You named how they argued last night. That specificity is what makes application feel like pastoral care rather than moral lecture. Don't let anyone talk you out of that instinct. It's one of the things that makes your preaching feel like it was written for the person sitting in row twelve — because it was.

You preached this sermon outside, in triple-digit heat, at a family reunion, with kids running around and food trucks firing back up. And the message still landed with clarity and weight. That's not luck — that's a pastor who knows what he believes and knows how to say it. Keep building.