Presence
Summary
Continuing the Movement series, Dominic Jackson explores what it means to be a people of presence—with God, with one another, and in our own lives. Anchored in Matthew 28, he reframes the Great Commission not just as a call to go, but as a call to be with: a God who draws near to us, a community that shows up shoulder to shoulder, and a life that resists distraction in order to be fully attentive. From mountaintop encounters in Scripture to the quiet reality of our daily habits, Dominic asks a simple but searching question: not is God present?—but are we?
In a distracted and disconnected age, this sermon offers both challenge and invitation. We are given the gift of our time—1,440 minutes each day—and the opportunity to share it with others and with God. True presence isn’t accidental; it requires intentionality, attention, and pursuit. Whether in prayer, community, or ordinary moments, this message calls us to be fully where we are—present to the God who is already present with us.
Questions for reflection
When you think about “God’s presence,” do you experience it as something constant—or something distant? Why?
Dominic suggests that the question isn’t whether God is present, but whether we are. Where do you feel most distracted in your life right now?
How do you typically divide your attention (phone, work, media, etc.) when you’re with others? What does that reveal?
What stood out to you about the idea that presence and proximity are not the same thing?
Are you more comfortable pursuing God individually or in community? Why?
How has individualism shaped your view of faith and church?
What would it look like for you to be more fully present in your relationships this week?
How do you currently “seek” God (Matthew 6:33)? Where might there be room for greater intentionality?
If you were to “budget” your 1,440 minutes each day, how much is meaningfully given to God and others?
What is one concrete practice (prayer, silence, community, limiting distractions) you can try this week to grow in presence?
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We are continuing the series that Matt kicked off last week called Movement. Over the next few weeks, we're going to be looking at the concept of God moving toward us — us responding by moving toward his invitation — and then joining him as we move out into our community together.
You'll notice this series is based on the Great Commission. It's also a reflection of our three core values as a church: presence, formation, and renewal. You'll hear those three words pretty much every week around here. Each week we're going to look at one of those characteristics while also staying in Matthew 28, where you'll find all three woven throughout the passage.
This morning, we look at presence. I'd like to approach it in three ways — not quite a three-point sermon, but three angles:
How God is present with us
How we are present with one another
How we are present with God
Let's pray before we get into the text.
Prayer
Lord, we need your presence. Holy Spirit, though you need no invitation, we invite you into this space, into our hearts, into this service. Speak to me, speak through me. And that invitation is a posture — not of your arrival, but of ours. God, help us to be present to your presence. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Why a Mountain?
If you have a copy of the scriptures, turn with me to Matthew 28. Kendra just read it to us, and we're going to be camping out there for most of the morning.
This passage picks up right after the Easter account. Jesus has been killed — murdered, martyred, crucified. But the story of Jesus, and really the story of all of us, does not end there. The Son of God supernaturally defeats death — not only his own death by returning, but death in general, all of our deaths. Life is offered, and our sins are nailed to that cross. Here he is, back from the dead, calling his followers to meet him on the side of a mountain.
Because when you come back from the dead, I mean — where else are you going to meet?
Before we get into the theme of presence, I want to spend a moment on location. Since we're going to be in this passage for the next month or so — and since the whole thing happens on a mountain — it's worth asking: why a mountain? Why is it always a mountain?
If you're at all familiar with the scriptures, you know that so many of the defining moments take place on the side or the top of one. Psalms are written there. Battles happen there. Anointings, sermons, the very first time the word worship appears in the Bible — Genesis 22 — it happens on a mountain. There are over 500 stories in scripture set on a mountain. Someone apparently counted.
And it's not interchangeable. You can't just swap out a mountain for another setting — the Olive Garden, say — without the story losing something essential. The mountain is almost a character in itself. It's significant, intentional. When you read those stories, you often feel that this could not have happened anywhere else.
In the Old Testament, Moses receives the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. Zion, the location of the Jerusalem temple. Moses is called to a mountain. Elijah is called to a mountain. David. And so many more. This only continues in the New Testament. Jesus appoints the Twelve on a mountain. He delivers the Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount. His temptation, a number of healings, the Transfiguration, his final discourse, the commissioning of the apostles — all on mountains.
So why?
A personal note first: my former pastor preached to me for months, and I didn't hear a word of it. It wasn't until I found myself on a mountain — Thousand Pines Camp, over twenty years ago — that I came to faith. That's when my ears finally opened.
A few reasons, I think. In the Hebrew tradition — and you'll see this throughout the Psalms — God was said to dwell in the heavens, among the clouds and stars. A mountain was as close to the Creator as you could physically get. It was about proximity as much as it was spirituality.
But I also think one of the reasons God does some of his best work on mountains, in the wilderness, is that sometimes we need to move away from the distractions of our lives in order to hear him better. God isn't more present on a mountain than in a chapel, or in prayer on your sofa, or walking down the street. The question is: are we present? And if you're like me, the answer is not always. God doesn't speak louder in the wilderness. Our ears are just often more open.
So back to our text. The disciples are called to the side of a mountain — and Jesus is already there.
How God Is Present with Us
Verse 18 tells us he draws near to them.
Think about the context. Jesus is back from the dead. He could have written a letter. He could have spoken through a burning bush or from the clouds. He could have communicated his next instructions in any number of ways — but instead, he chose to be fully present with them in that moment. And we see this pattern all over the scriptures: God drawing near.
Sometimes it hits me how absolutely wild this is. God isn't just open to us drawing near to him — he's not merely available — but the Bible says he is actively pursuing us. Moving toward us. Desiring a relationship with us. He wants to spend time with us.
Maybe we say these things so often that we forget how extraordinary they are. The Creator of the universe. The artist who imagined Cassiopeia and all the stars. Who decided what a violin would sound like. The Creator of cell membranes and the Grand Canyon and cappuccinos and galaxies upon galaxies — that same Creator looked at the world and said, "Do you know what this world needs? A Dominic. A Kendra. A Josh. A you."
Think about that for a moment.
And that same God didn't stop at designing us. He wants us to know him. We see this in the character of Jesus, who drew near to people — who ate with people, who celebrated with people, who loved people.
Here's the problem, though. Over time, people have overcorrected from religious formalism and swung so far the other way that we've arrived at a cliché I heard a lot in the '90s: "It's not a religion, it's a relationship." And if you have that tattooed somewhere — I'm not coming for you. There's truth in it.
But what can happen when personal relationship becomes the entire frame is that we reduce faith to just me and Jesus, full stop. Church becomes a podcast. The only voices I'm hearing are distant strangers on the other side of the internet. My faith practices look like praying alone and reading my own devotional and listening to music in my car — and that's it.
The presence of God being available individually — which is true — does not negate the presence of God being experienced collectively. You don't have to choose between the two.
How We Are Present with One Another
Notice that Jesus calls all of his disciples together. Judas is gone by this point, but the rest he calls collectively. They are shoulder to shoulder in that moment. And notice that they are all in very different places. Matt talked about this last week: they all worshiped, but some doubted. They're all trying to wrap their minds around the fact that Jesus — whom they were just mourning — is back, standing on a mountain, calling to them. They're all wrestling with the same question: what does this actually mean now? And they're figuring it out together.
I've been reading a couple of books that have shaped my thinking on this. Joseph Hellerman's When the Church Was Family — I cannot recommend it enough. And Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes by Brandon O'Brien. Both touch on how essential it was that the ministry and mission of Jesus happened in community. Not because of him, but because of us. Try reading the Gospel of Matthew through a purely individualistic lens — it just doesn't work. The followers of Jesus were extraordinarily present in each other's lives. They did everything together.
But here's what I want to propose: presence and proximity are not the same thing.
Let me share some numbers that might make us feel a little uncomfortable. Consider how many months remain in an 18-year-old's life, assuming they live to age 90: a little over 864 months. More than it might feel like, but maybe not as many as you'd hope — and significantly fewer for most of us in this room. Then start filling that time in: sleep, work and school, cooking, eating, hygiene, driving, chores. The free time left over shrinks considerably. And then account for how much of that remaining time the average 18-year-old spends behind a screen. It's a significant portion — most of it, honestly.
Now, this is not a "why you shouldn't use technology" sermon. I'm saying this while looking at my iPad. This is a why we should be fully present sermon. There's a big difference between the two.
There's a difference between physical existence and total presence. So much of our lives are spent somewhere in body and somewhere else entirely in mind — emails, binge-watching, whatever it is. And it's not just technology; there are a dozen other distractions we could talk about. But the point is that when it comes to relationships, we have to work really, really hard to actually be present with one another. The odds are against us.
You've probably sat across from someone — coffee, a meal — and they're texting while you're talking. "Yeah, yeah, I'm listening. Keep going. I'm really good at multitasking." And you know what? They are telling the truth on the multitasking. They're also telling a lie, because no one is actually good at multitasking. They are there, right across from you, and also somewhere else entirely.
Here's something from the Hebrew tradition that I think we often lose in the Western church. When God calls Moses up the mountain, the command, in its original language, is striking. God essentially says — and this is my paraphrase — "Moses, come up to the mountain. And when you are on the mountain, be on the mountain." Which sounds redundant. Where else would he be? But it's actually quite profound. Because God knows that while Moses is standing there, he'll probably be thinking about how exhausted he is from the climb, or already dreading the hike back down. And so God says: when you are with me, be fully present with me.
When it comes to community — the disciples showed up on a mountain and, I imagine, hiked it together. They debriefed on the way back: Did you see that? That was wild. They started talking through the commission: Okay, we're going to be baptizing and teaching — what does that actually look like? It was a shared experience. They were fully present — not just with Jesus, but with one another.
Personally, I have to say: in this season of my life, one of the primary ways I connect with God is by connecting with you all. My small group — some of the smartest, most thoughtful people I know are in my small group. I'm biased, but still. There are so many times God speaks to me through your experiences, through the way you read a text we're exploring together.
To be present means to show up fully. Not distracted. Not half in. Not with an agenda. Shoulder to shoulder, seeking God together.
Remember how Jesus ends his commission to the disciples: "Surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." You could hear that as: surely I will be present with you. And when does he say it? Right after commissioning his followers to go and teach and baptize and make disciples. It's a communal affair. When we pursue one another, when we are present with one another, Jesus is there too. Sometimes that is the way I see him most clearly in my life.
How We Are Present with God
Which brings us to the third and final part: our presence with God.
The invitation, the opportunity, the commission of the church. We are offered the presence of God. We are called to be present with one another. And the missing piece is our part. We've looked at God walking with us and us walking with each other — but here is the part about us walking with God. It is a two-way street. Just because God is pursuing us doesn't mean we have no role in the relationship. Just because he is drawing near doesn't mean we're off the hook.
A.W. Tozer has this beautiful line: "To have found God and still to pursue him is the soul's paradox of love." And in Psalm 63, David writes: "You, God, are my God; earnestly I seek you. I thirst for you; my whole being longs for you." The more we experience God — the more we feel his presence — the more we want. But there's action in that. It's not only receiving. It's pursuing.
Matthew 6:33 says: "But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." It doesn't say think about the kingdom. Watch YouTube videos about the kingdom. It says seek it. Go looking for it. Move your feet.
We're called followers of Jesus — not loiterers, not lurkers. We're supposed to move. That's the invitation.
During Lent, we're going to offer some practical rhythms as a community — things to try each day, drawn from ancient practices that people have used for thousands of years to connect with God and remain present to him. We'll share more details on that soon.
But here's what I've found to be the most important thing — whether you're fasting, worshiping, singing, reading your Bible, in a community group, or whatever it looks like for you: the most important aspect of seeking God is your presence. It's intentionality. It's commitment. It's desire. It's carving out the time.
Let me close with a strange little hypothetical — just go with me.
Imagine that tomorrow, someone randomly knocks on your door and hands you a check for $1,440. Nice way to start the morning. Then the next day, same person, same amount. You check your account — it's real money, and you did nothing to deserve it. Day three, same thing. On the fourth day, you stop the guy: "What's the deal? Why are you doing this? What do you want me to do with it?"
He says, "Do whatever you want."
You press him: "But what do you think I should do with it?"
He smiles. "Why don't you buy me lunch?"
And you think: man, I got off easy. Thirty bucks out of $1,440 that keeps showing up every day. Sure. I can do that.
Here's the thing — forgive the cheesy illustration. Every single day, you and I receive that check. Not in money. Every day we wake up on this side of heaven, we're given the gift of 1,440 minutes. And the gift giver says: Do what you want. But if you want to know what I think — share it with others, make it count. And take thirty of those 1,440 minutes and spend them with me.
And not just showing up. Not putting on a worship song while checking your email and calling it quiet time. Not praying to a distant deity somewhere — but to a friend and a Savior.
Be present. Be on the mountain — or on your sofa, in your prayer closet, in church, in your car — but be there. Be present to one another. And be present to the God who is present with us.
Liturgy
Written by Zach Anderson
In a moment, the band will come up and we'll take communion. But first, I'd like us to read a liturgy together — something our own Zach Anderson wrote. It's a beautiful declaration about presence. Read it not just as words, but as a prayer — a reminder of the presence of God and our invitation to be present to it.
God with us.
Before we speak, you are present. Before we move, you are near.
We confess that sometimes our bodies are here while our minds wander elsewhere, that we hurry past holy moments, that we divide our attention and forget how to dwell.
Draw us back.
May we be present to you today, O God — not as spectators or performers, but as people who are awake to your nearness. For we know: without presence, there can be no connection.
May we be present to one another this week. Teach us to listen without rushing, to see without judging, to speak with grace, and to receive with humility. Form us into a body that celebrates and mourns with one another. For we know: without presence, there can be no connection.
May we be present to this moment — to breath, to a heartbeat, to grief and joy — to ordinary seconds filled with your glory. For you are not waiting for us in some distant future, but meeting us here, now, always.
God who is present forever — hold us when we forget, call us when we drift, and keep us grounded in your love.
We offer you our attention, our time, and ourselves. Amen.
Closing Prayer
Lord, that is our prayer. Help us to be fully present to the gift you give us each day we are here — to be expectant of the glorious gift waiting for us when we leave this world, and to live out our days in between fully present: to you, to ourselves, and to one another. Amen.
