The sanctuary at First Assembly was still settling into its Sunday morning rhythm when the pastor Rhonda Haslett walked to the front with something unusual in hand — small sachets of candy, one for every woman in the room.

“Even if you’re not a mom,” she said, “these are for you.”

It was Mother’s Day weekend, and the gesture was deliberate. But the candy wasn’t the point. Inside each sachet was a small slip of paper with a scripture on it — personally chosen, she told the congregation, through prayer.

“I’m praying right now that whatever scripture is in there is the one the Lord needed you to have.”

It was the kind of moment that set the tone for everything that followed.

A Challenge Before the Message Even Began

Before opening her Bible, the pastor issued a challenge to everyone in the room.

She had been running a Bible study on the miracles of God, and toward the end of the semester she asked the women to do something simple but surprisingly difficult: write down one miracle they wanted to see God work in their life. Not a vague hope. A specific, named thing — something that, if it happened, could only be explained as God.

“If something changed today and it was clearly a miracle, do you know what that would be?” she asked, scanning the room.

She said she wrote down two of her own that night. One, she’s still waiting on. The other was answered the very next day.

She invited everyone — men and women alike — to pull out a piece of paper before the end of the service and do the same.

Into the Story: Luke 7:36–50

The message was drawn from Luke chapter 7, and the pastor asked the congregation to do something preachers don’t always ask: imagine yourself inside the story.

The scene is a dinner party. A Pharisee named Simon has invited Jesus to his home — a notable enough occasion that, by the customs of the day, anyone from town could come and listen in. And someone does.

A woman described only as “a sinner” — likely a prostitute, the pastor noted plainly — hears that Jesus is there and shows up. She brings an alabaster jar of expensive perfume. She stands behind Jesus, weeping, and begins washing his feet with her tears, wiping them with her hair, kissing them, and anointing them with the perfume.

“Can you see it?” the pastor asked the room. “Can you feel it? Maybe you’re in the room watching this happen, and you yourself are feeling uncomfortable.”

Simon the Pharisee certainly was. He said nothing out loud, but his thoughts were recorded in the text: If this man were really a prophet, he’d know what kind of woman is touching him.

Jesus, of course, knew exactly what Simon was thinking. He turned to him and told a story.

Two Debtors and a Question

Two people owed money to the same lender. One owed the equivalent of about 500 days’ wages. The other owed 50. Neither could pay. The lender forgave both debts entirely.

“Which one,” Jesus asked Simon, “will love him more?”

Simon answered carefully: the one who was forgiven more.

You have decided correctly, Jesus told him.

Then he turned toward the woman — still at his feet — and spoke directly to Simon about the contrast between them. Simon had offered Jesus no water for his feet, no welcoming kiss, no oil for his head. Every gesture of basic hospitality that the culture expected of a host had been withheld.

The woman had offered all of it, and more.

The pastor paused here to walk the congregation through the cultural weight of each detail. Water for the feet wasn’t just politeness — it was a practical kindness on dusty, dirty roads. The oil was a sign of honor and refreshment. The kiss, a sign of welcome and respect.

“Their absence shows us that the Pharisees had a coldness toward Jesus,” she said. “They did not recognize his worth.”

The woman recognized it completely. And she demonstrated it before Jesus said a single word to her.

“She poured everything out as an act of worship,” the pastor said, “before he did anything for her.”

Holy Fear: The Heart of the Message

This contrast — between the casual Pharisees and the desperate, reverent woman — became the theological center of the morning.

The pastor introduced a concept she called holy fear, drawing from Psalm 89:7 and Hebrews 12:28–29, and referencing John Bevere’s book The Awe of God as a resource for anyone who wanted to go deeper.

Holy fear, she was careful to explain, is not the cowering kind. It’s not about being scared of God.

“Holy fear means I’m curious. I see what’s possible. I lean in out of respect for what can be.”

It’s the posture that asks: What are you capable of, Lord? It’s the kind of reverence that shows up hungry, not just out of habit. It’s what the woman in Luke 7 embodied — and what the Pharisees, for all their religious credentials, completely missed.

“With no reverence or holy fear for God,” the pastor told the congregation, “we will miss moments of awe with him.”

She pressed the point personally. “How is your wonder? When you show up where Jesus is, how is your reverence? Are you more like the Pharisees — casual? Or are you more like the woman — reverent, humble, hungry, desperate for something to happen?”

The Moment Everything Changed

Back in the text, Jesus finished his comparison and turned to the woman.

“Her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much.”

Then, directly to her: “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

The people reclining at the table murmured among themselves. Who is this, who even forgives sins?

The pastor let the weight of the moment land.

“In that moment, I don’t know which I’d be more in awe of,” she said. “The statement that Jesus is making — that he is equal to God and can take away sins — or the fact that this woman, this sinful woman, was bold enough to throw herself at his feet because of the weight of what she’d done.”

For the woman, those words changed everything. Her dignity in the community, restored. Her eternity, secured. The weight she had carried into that room — gone.

“He is still the same Jesus today,” the pastor said, “who lifts the weight of our sins, who lifts the burdens of things we don’t have control over.”

Two Statements to Take Home

The pastor closed with two lines she said the Lord had placed on her heart specifically for this message.

The first: “If you are willing to step into wonder, I will leave you standing in awe.”

The second: “When we lose the wonder of God, we are more prone to wander from God.”

She let that second one sit in the air for a moment.

Casual faith, she suggested, is more dangerous than it looks. It doesn’t feel like rebellion. It just feels like drift. And drift, over time, is how people end up in the same seats every Sunday without really expecting God to do anything at all.

The invitation she extended was simple. Come like the woman, not like the Pharisees. Come with wonder. Come hungry. Come desperate if you have to.

“He is able to do immeasurably more than you could ever think or imagine,” she said. “He is the miracle-working Lord of all.”

The Altar Call

The service ended with two responses offered to the room.

The first was for anyone who had never asked Jesus to forgive their sins — or who had wandered away and lost their sense of awe. Hands went up across the sanctuary. The congregation prayed together, out loud, a simple prayer of surrender.

The second response was for the miracles.

The pastor invited anyone who wanted prayer for the specific miracle they had written down to come forward. People moved toward the front. Prayer teams met them there.

For some in that room, she said, the miracle would come the next day. For others it might come in an unexpected form. And for some, she acknowledged honestly, the miracle God wants to do first might be in them — not in the situation they’re praying about.

“But we’re not going to give up wonder,” she said. “Because we’re waiting and believing that we will stand in awe.”

First Assembly meets weekly in the Fort Wayne area. If you were there Sunday and want to connect, or if this story resonated with you, feel free to reach out.

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