A Love Letter for Easter Sunday
You dropped the stone last week.
Maybe you read about it here. Maybe someone shared it with you. Maybe the Holy Spirit just placed it in your hands, and you knew it was time to set it down.
But here’s what I didn’t tell you.
Dropping the stone is only half the story.
Grace and Truth
In June 2025 at a Turning Point Pick Up the Mic event, a young woman named Telise walked up to the mic and asked Charlie Kirk something most people are afraid to ask out loud. She wanted to know what Jesus stood for. She wanted to know how to love people who don’t agree with you.
It’s the right question, and Charlie gave her the right answer.
He went straight to John 8.
You know the first part. The religious leaders drag a woman to Jesus, a woman caught in the act of adultery. They want to stone her. It was the law. They wanted to use the law as a weapon, and they wanted to use her as bait.
Jesus knelt down and wrote something in the dirt. Nobody knows what. Then He stood up and said something that has echoed for over two thousand years.
“Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”
One by one, the stones hit the ground.
That’s the part we celebrate. That’s the part that makes us feel good about grace.
However, the story doesn’t end there.
When everyone had walked away, Jesus looked at the woman and asked, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
She said, “No one, sir.”
And He said, “Then neither do I condemn you.”
Take that in.
The Son of God, the one human being who actually had the right to throw a stone, and He didn’t. But then He said something else, something we skip over because it makes us uncomfortable.
“Go now and leave your life of sin.”
Cowardice Dressed Up in Kindness
Here’s where we have to be honest with each other.
The modern church, and honestly, our entire culture, has gotten very good at the first half of what Jesus said. We are fluent in grace. We know how to say you are loved, you are accepted, you are enough.
All of that is true.
However, we have gotten dangerously quiet about the second half. We have decided that truth is unkind. That correction is judgment. That telling someone the full story of Jesus is somehow less compassionate than telling them only the parts that feel good.
It’s not compassion. It’s cowardice dressed up in kindness.
Jesus didn’t come to condemn the world. John 3:17 says so plainly. He came to save it. But salvation requires an honest reckoning with what we need to be saved from.
Jesus loved that woman too much to leave her where He found her, and He loves you too much to leave you where He found you.
Light and Darkness
Now, I want to say something carefully, because I’m talking to some of you who are curious about Jesus, but not convinced. Not committed, just curious. Maybe you’re here because someone shared this with you. Maybe Easter morning stirred something. Maybe you’ve been circling the faith from a distance, wondering if it’s for you.
This is especially for you.
Jesus is not the version of Himself that your worst religious experience showed you.
He is not a hammer. He is not a scoreboard. He is not the self-righteous man on the corner with a megaphone and a sign.
But He is also not a divine hall pass. He is not a cosmic therapist who validates every choice and calls it growth.
He is grace and truth, simultaneously, perfectly, without contradiction.
Luke 12:51 is one of the most jarring verses in the Gospels. Jesus says, “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.”
That’s not the Jesus we put on greeting cards.
It’s the Jesus who told the truth. Because truth, by nature, divides. Not cruelly. Not contemptuously. But inevitably.
Light and darkness don’t coexist. They separate, and the light of Jesus, full of grace, full of truth, will do something in you if you let it. It will illuminate the parts of your life you’ve kept in the dark. Not to shame you. But to free you.
Bring Him the Loaves and Fishes
So, what is our job? What do we do with all of this?
I keep going back to a quiet, powerful moment in John 2. It’s the wedding at Cana. The wine has run out. Mary, the mother of Jesus, turns to Him and simply says, “They have no more wine.”
Jesus gently pushes back, “My hour has not yet come.”
Mary doesn’t argue. She doesn’t demand. She doesn’t manage the timeline or engineer the miracle. She turns to the servants and says five of the most instructive words in all of Scripture:
“Do whatever He tells you.”
That’s it. Bring the problem to Jesus. Trust “the when” and “the how” to Him.
That’s what I’m doing today. That’s what this post is.
I’m not here to condemn you. I’m not here to argue you into the Kingdom. I’m not here to throw stones. I dropped mine, remember?
I’m here to say, “They have no more wine.”
Some of you are running dry. The party is still going on around you, but something essential is gone. You’re going through the motions and wondering why it feels hollow.
Bring that to Him.
Some of you are carrying the weight of something you’ve never told anyone, a secret, a habit, a pattern you can’t break on your own. You’ve tried grace without truth, which is just permission. You’ve tried truth without grace, which is just punishment.
Bring that to Him.
Like a child offering five loaves and two fish to a crowd of five thousand, I’m bringing this small thing to Jesus today. These words. This moment. This Easter morning.
I’m trusting Him to do what only He can do with it.
Drop the stone, but don’t stop there.
Go now and leave your life of sin.
Not because the law demands it, but because He loves you too much to leave you where He found you.
Happy Easter.
Feed Your Good Wolf,
– Coach C
Scripture References: John 8:1–11 | John 3:17–21 | Luke 12:51 | John 2:3–5 | Matthew 14:17–20
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