What Moves You?

Let me ask you a question as we begin today: What moves you?

I don’t mean what makes you cry during a Pixar movie. I mean…

What stirs you so deeply that it won’t leave you alone?

What fires you up when you see it missing in the world?

What lights you up when you see it done well?

Maybe for you, it’s when you see a kid struggling to read — and something in you says, “I can help.”

Or when someone’s hurting and isolated — and your first instinct is to care for them.

Or maybe your blood pressure rises when you see waste, or disorganization, or inefficiency — and something in you aches to bring order.

Some of you were born to fix broken systems.

Others were born to listen to broken hearts.

Some of you come alive when you coach a team, or plan a strategy, or lead a cause, or build something, or serve behind the scenes without a word of credit.

That ache, and that joy, and that fuel — is what this week is all about.

We’re talking about your heart — not the one the cardiologist monitors, but the God-designed passions he wired into you on purpose, for a purpose.

If you have your Bible and want to follow along, turn to Psalm 37:4. Or you can follow along in the notes section of the Blue Oaks app.

The Psalmist writes this:

Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. (Psalm 37:4)

Some people hear that and think, “Awesome — God’s handing out Teslas and European vacations!”

But that’s not what this verse is saying.

David is writing this as a man who has learned to align his delight with God’s will — and the result is that his desires start to look like God’s desires.

The Hebrew word for “give” here implies placing something into — like God placing his desires into your heart as you walk with him.

That means your passions aren’t just random.

They aren’t a distraction from God’s will — they might actually be the markers leading you toward it.

Think about the story of Nehemiah in the Old Testament.

He was a man with a cushy job in a Persian palace — serving drinks to the king.

No budget meetings.
No HOA complaints.
No church maintenance volunteers to recruit.

He had it made.

And then one day, someone brings news from Jerusalem:

The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates have been burned with fire. (Nehemiah 1:3)

And this was Nehemiah’s response:

When I heard these things, I sat down and wept. (Nehemiah 1:4)

He was wrecked — because something in him knew: “I can’t ignore this. I have to do something.”

Nehemiah didn’t get a lightning bolt from heaven. He didn’t hear an audible voice.

He just had this holy ache — this holy discontent — and he trusted that it came from God.

Your calling often starts not with a voice, but with a burden.

Something in the world that breaks your heart — and you realize God is stirring you to act.

So let me ask you this:

What breaks your heart?
What’s the thing you can’t unsee?

This is what the apostle Paul wrote to the church in Rome:

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. (Romans 12:11)

That phrase “spiritual fervor” literally means “boiling over.”

God’s intent is not that we serve him in a lukewarm haze of guilt or obligation.

He wants us on fire with passion — because when your passion aligns with your gifting, it creates spiritual energy.

In fact, the Greek word for “fervor” is used only once in the New Testament — and it paints a picture of someone so spiritually alive that you can’t keep them on the sidelines.

Now I know, when we talk about passion or fervor, some of you think: “Matt, I can barely make it through my inbox without fantasizing about throwing my laptop in the ocean. You want me to be boiling over with passion?”

And I get that.

Part of the problem is we’ve taught people to say “yes” to everything, instead of helping them discover the specific passion God put in them.

Some of you have served in ways that left you drained, because it was never your design.

You’ve been a square peg in a round ministry hole.

But that’s why this message matters so much.

You were made for more than burnout. You were made to thrive in your calling — where your spiritual gifts, and your God-given passions, and your life experiences come together with impact.

So as we begin today, here’s the question I want you to sit with: What moves your heart?

What gives you energy — or breaks your heart — or stirs your compassion?

Because that might not be a distraction.

It might be God whispering, “This is where I’ve made you to serve.”

In Genesis 1–2, we don’t just see God creating — we see him delighting in what he creates.

After each day of creation, what does He say?

“It is good.”

That’s the language of desire, and satisfaction, and joy.

We’re told in Ephesians 1 about God:

He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will. (Ephesians 1:5)

That phrase literally means God did it because he wanted to.

In Philippians 2 Paul writes:

It is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose. (Philippians 2:13)

In other words — God shapes not just your actions but your very will — your desires.

From the first page to the last, Scripture paints a picture of a God who isn’t emotionally sterile or functionally robotic — but full of love, and joy, and grief, and longing.

So when we talk about the desires of your heart — we’re not stepping outside theology. We’re stepping into it.

We often inherit a cultural suspicion of passion — especially in the church.

For centuries, Western Christianity inherited a Stoic mindset from Greco-Roman philosophy — the idea that emotions are untrustworthy, that duty is superior to desire, and that the holiest people are the most unemotional.

We’ve adopted that idea — and now a lot of Christians assume it’s biblical:

“So if I enjoy doing it, it must not be from God.”
“Serving is supposed to hurt — otherwise it doesn’t count.”
“Passion is fine for hobbies. But ministry is about sacrifice.”

But biblically, that’s not the model.

Look at Jesus: his whole ministry was driven by compassion.

He saw the crowds and had compassion on them… (Matt 9:36)

He looked at the man and loved him… (Mark 10:21)

Jesus wept. (John 11:35)

The Gospels are filled with emotional movement — desire, and longing, and grief, and joy.

Jesus was never passionless.

And we’re not called to be either.

In fact, when Paul urges Timothy to…

Fan into flame the gift of God. (2 Timothy 1:6)

He’s talking about rekindling spiritual fervor… not just fulfilling spiritual obligations.

And when the writers of Scripture talk about the “heart”, they don’t mean “emotions” the way we think of them today.

In Hebrew thought, the heart was the center of your inner life — your thoughts, and desires, and affections, and intentions, and will.

It was where decisions were made and desires were shaped.

The writer of Proverbs says:

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it. (Proverbs 4:23)

So when we talk about discovering your passion, we’re not talking about chasing butterflies.

We’re talking about uncovering the core of who you are — where God has placed his fingerprints on your soul.

The prophet Jeremiah wrote:

But if I say, “I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot. (Jeremiah 20:9)

That’s passion.

Jeremiah didn’t choose it — it chose him.

He couldn’t not speak.

And that’s often how passion works.

It burns in you.
It burdens you.
It bothers you not to act.

So let me ask a few questions again — but now with some historical framing:

What moves you the way Moses was moved by injustice?

What breaks your heart the way Nehemiah’s heart broke for Jerusalem?

What vision fuels you like Paul’s passion for the Gentiles?

Or — maybe a more modern comparison:

What’s the article you can’t stop thinking about after reading it?

What’s the conversation that left you feeling, “Something’s gotta be done”?

What’s the moment you felt, “I was made for this…”?

These aren’t distractions. They may be divine nudges.

God doesn’t just work through your gifts and abilities — he works through your burdens.

Let me make a side-note here — something to guard against:

Not every passion is from God.

Some desires are distorted by sin or woundedness.

That’s why we need to test them against God’s Word, and filter them through community, and submit them to the Spirit’s leading.

But that doesn’t mean passion is bad. It means it needs direction.

Just like a river needs a channel to be powerful, your passion needs to be aligned to God’s purpose.

So here’s what I want you to take with you from this point:

Your passion is not a distraction from God’s will. It may be the doorway into it.

Don’t ignore it.

Explore it. Steward it.

Because when your spiritual gifts are aligned with your deepest passions, your life will begin to flow in a way that feels not just purposeful — but powerful.

Alright, so the first point is about what draws you.

The second point I want to talk about is — what disturbs you — the broken things in the world that stir your soul and won’t leave you alone.

Think about Moses.

He didn’t receive a detailed career plan. He didn’t take a spiritual gifts inventory in Egypt.

He saw the oppression of his people — and something in him snapped.

After Moses had grown up, he went out to where his own people were and watched them at their hard labor. (Exodus 2:11)

It wasn’t a voice from heaven that initiated his passion — it was a visceral, emotional reaction to injustice. A sense that “this is not how it’s supposed to be.”

He didn’t respond perfectly. He killed a man. He fled.

But that holy discontent was the seed of his calling.

The same is true for Nehemiah. He wasn’t a builder. He wasn’t a priest.

He was a cupbearer to the king — a comfortable, stable government job.

But when he heard the walls of Jerusalem were still in ruins, he wept.

When I heard these things, I sat down and wept. For some days I mourned and fasted and prayed before the God of heaven. (Nehemiah 1:4)

That grief eventually turned into vision — which turned into strategy — which became his life’s greatest work.

In both cases, the beginning wasn’t a spiritual high.

It was a holy discontent.

Let me ask a couple questions that may help surface this for you:

What keeps you up at night?
What breaks your heart?
What makes you say, “Someone should really do something about that…”?

Because often — that someone is you.

Do you get fired up when you see people being marginalized?
Do you ache when kids go without mentoring or guidance?
Do you grieve when Christians seem to live shallow, disconnected lives?

That’s not a distraction. In fact, it may be your direction.

Passion isn’t always born from what you love. Sometimes it’s born from what you can’t stand.

Every great movement in the history of the church started with someone saying, “This isn’t right.”

William Wilberforce couldn’t stomach the slave trade.
Mother Theresa couldn’t bear the neglect of the sick and dying.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer couldn’t accept the church’s silence under Hitler.
Clara Hale couldn’t walk past the abandoned babies of Harlem and do nothing.
Brian Stevenson couldn’t watch the wrongfully accused face the death penalty.

These weren’t the most educated or most gifted people. They were simply the most burdened.

And their discontent activated their gifts.

This is why discovering your passion isn’t about navel-gazing. It’s about paying attention to the pain in the world that tugs at your soul.

Now, let’s be honest — we live in a world saturated with outrage.

We scroll through crisis after crisis. War. Famine. Climate change. Political division. Scandal. Heartbreak.

The danger is compassion fatigue.

So how do we discern a holy discontent from just another flash of frustration or guilt?

Here’s a simple grid:

Is it persistent? Does it keep coming up in prayer, and in conversations, and in your thoughts?

Is it personal? Does it connect to something you’ve lived, or suffered, or care deeply about?

Is it productive? Does it lead you to action — or just to more venting?

Holy discontent doesn’t just spark anger — it leads to redemptive action.

Mark 3 tells the story of Jesus healing a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath.

The religious leaders were watching, and waiting to pounce on a violation.

But look at what Jesus felt:

He looked around at them in anger and, deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts… (Mark 3:5)

Jesus’ discontent moved him to act — even when it meant defying religious expectations.

Your discontent will often cost you.

It may not make you popular. But it will make you powerful in the Spirit — because you’ll be acting in alignment with God’s redemptive heart.

Let me tell you about a woman who was shopping at Safeway one day when she saw a kid with Down syndrome trying to bag groceries.

The customers in line were impatient. The checker was ignoring him. She watched the boy struggle — and something rose up in her.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. But she couldn’t forget it.

That moment sparked a conversation, which led to a volunteer role, which led to her starting a ministry that helps families with kids who have special needs.

It all started with discontent.

Not a spiritual gift assessment.
Not a divine vision in the clouds.

Just a moment where she said, “This isn’t okay.”

That’s how holy discontent often works. It’s subtle — but it’s sacred.

So we need to come to understand that our holy discontent is not a problem to fix — it’s a calling to follow.

Don’t run from it.
Don’t numb it.
Don’t outsource it.

If you want to discover your passion, pay attention to your pain.

Especially the pain that points you toward healing someone else.

That just might be where your greatest impact begins.

Alright, if your heart is the engine of your passion, I would say your story is the lens that focuses it.

Your lived experiences — the good, the bad, the complicated — are not random.

They’re formative. God uses the narrative of your life to clarify the focus of your passion.

One of the clearest biblical examples of this is the Apostle Paul.

God didn’t erase Paul’s story when he saved him. He redeemed it.

Paul’s Roman citizenship gave him access others didn’t have.
His rabbinic training made him a brilliant theological thinker.
His zealous past gave him unmatched intensity for mission.
Even his suffering became a credential:

I bear on my body the marks of Jesus. (Galatians 6:17)

Paul didn’t just preach grace. He had lived the contrast.

His transformation was his testimony.

And that same pattern applies to us.

Your upbringing, your pain, your triumphs, your failures, your family of origin, your career path, your losses, your joys — all of it sharpens the shape of your unique contribution to the kingdom.

God wastes nothing. Especially not your story.

We often treat our past like a pile of puzzle pieces: some beautiful, and some jagged, and some we’d rather throw away.

But God is a master weaver.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

That doesn’t mean every part of your story was good. It means every part of your story can be used for good.

God’s not just looking at your gifts or your personality. He’s looking at your path.

Where have you been wounded?
Where have you experienced breakthrough?
What moments have deeply shaped your perspective?

Your greatest ministry often grows out of your deepest struggle.

Let me share a story with you.

A man I met years ago spent the better part of his twenties in prison. Drug-related charges. Broken relationships. No hope.

When he came to faith, he thought his story disqualified him.

But over time, God began to sharpen his passion — not in spite of his story, but because of it.

He now leads a mentoring program for at-risk youth — and when those kids look at him, they don’t see a preacher.

They see them.

Just 10 years further down the road. And now full of hope.

His story became a bridge to theirs.

In our culture, people don’t trust expertise as quickly as they used to. But they do resonate with story.

That’s why your story — your real, unpolished, fully lived-out story — might be your most powerful ministry tool.

It’s what gives your passion credibility.

People listen to someone who’s walked where they walk.
People trust someone who admits they’ve blown it.
People are drawn to someone who says, “Me too.”

That’s not weakness — that’s ministry opportunity.

Genesis 50 is the mic-drop ending of Joseph’s story.

His brothers are afraid that Joseph will finally take revenge on them now that their father is dead.

But Joseph responds with this:

You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. (Genesis 50:20)

Joseph’s passion — saving lives during famine — wasn’t just from his administrative gifting. It was shaped by his trauma.

The betrayal.
The injustice.
The isolation.

All of that refined his character. It deepened his compassion. And it made him the kind of man who could carry that kind of calling.

God doesn’t just look at where you are. He looks at what you’ve been through — and how that has prepared you to help others.

So here are some questions to help you discern where your story sharpens your passion:

What are the defining moments of your life?

What have you suffered — and survived?

What kinds of people are you naturally drawn to help?

What issues stir your empathy in a way that feels personal?

The parts of your story you want to forget may be the very parts God wants to use.

You are not just a random collection of skills and gifts. You are a story that God is still writing — for the good of others and the advancement of his kingdom.

One of the great lies of modern culture is that self-discovery is a solo journey.

Just go off into the woods, take a personality test, journal for a month, and eventually
the clouds will part and your calling will be revealed.

But that’s not how biblical passion is cultivated.

In Scripture, calling is confirmed in community.

We looked at 1 Corinthians 12 last week, where Paul paints a vivid metaphor of the church as a body. Every part matters. Every part is needed.

But here’s what’s often overlooked: No body part figures out what it is on its own.

The eye doesn’t say, “I went on a silent retreat and now I know I’m an eye.”

The hand doesn’t do a sabbatical in Sedona and return enlightened about its hand-ness.

Parts know their role in relationship to the body.

Your passion may begin as a personal stirring. But it’s confirmed, and shaped, and deployed within the life of the church.

Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. (1 Corinthians 12:27)

That’s not just a theological statement. It’s deeply practical.

You need people around you who can say:

“I see this in you.”
“You came alive when you did that.”
“When you talk about this, your eyes light up.”

Sometimes you need others to help name the thing that’s already been burning in your heart.

If you look at Acts 13, the church in Antioch was in the middle of worship and prayer when the Holy Spirit said:

Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them. (Acts 13:2)

Now, did Paul already have a strong sense of calling? Absolutely.

But the community was part of the discernment process.

The leaders prayed. The church confirmed it. Then they sent them out.

In the early church, calling was never a private matter. It was discerned together.

That’s part of why small groups are so powerful during this series — they’re not just places to learn more about yourself. They’re environments where others can help name and nurture the passions God has planted in you.

We live in a time where passion is everywhere, but aim is rare.

Social media is full of people broadcasting passion — but much of it is fragmented, or performative, or disconnected from community impact.

People are deeply stirred about causes, and ideas, and ambitions — but often isolated, unsure how to channel it into something that makes a difference.

The church should be the counter-cultural alternative to that.

A place where passion gets activated, not just admired.
A place where gifts are deployed, not just discovered.
A place where calling is confirmed, not just self-declared.

You don’t find your role in the body by scrolling through Instagram.

You find it by serving alongside others — by listening to their affirmation, by noticing when your heart beats faster in a group context, by letting trusted people speak into your journey.

A woman at our church once joined a hospitality team just to help out — she said she didn’t even really like people that much. (Her words, not mine.)

But something happened when she started welcoming people at the door. She had a warmth she didn’t even realize.

One day, a woman who had been coming for just a few weeks said, “The only reason I came back after the first week was you. You made me feel like I belonged here.”

She didn’t discover that in isolation. She discovered it in action, in community.

That’s how it works.

You step in — and God starts to stir something.
Others see it — and they help you name it.
And then you say, “Maybe this is what I was made for.”

So… if you want your passion to grow roots, plant it in the soil of community.

Ask:

“Where have others affirmed my giftedness?”
“What do people ask me to do again and again?”
“When I serve with others, what makes me come alive?”
“Where do I sense joy and impact colliding?”

And then listen.

Don’t rush.

Let people speak. Let the body of Christ do what it’s meant to do: build itself up in love.

From him the whole body… grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work. (Ephesians 4:16)

You were never meant to walk this path alone. You are made for more — with others.

Okay so let’s say…

You’ve uncovered what makes you come alive.
You’ve remembered the moments that stirred your soul.
You’ve embraced your design.
You’ve allowed community to speak into it.

Here’s the final — and most crucial — step:

Surrender it back to God.

Because passion isn’t just about what energizes you. It’s about what brings glory to God.

Let’s look at the life of Jesus.

There was never anyone more fully alive, or more completely attuned to his mission, or more in sync with the Father’s heart.

But in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the very height of his calling, Jesus prayed:

Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done. (Luke 22:42)

It’s not that Jesus lacked passion. It’s that his passion was submitted to God’s greater plan of redemption.

And that’s where our hearts find their fullest expression — not in being followed wherever they lead us, but in being offered for something bigger.

We live in a world that says, “Follow your passion.”
But we follow a Savior who says, “Offer your passion.”

Big difference.

Because passion alone can be misdirected.

Jonah had a passion — for justice, not mercy — and God had to redirect him.
Paul had a passion — to root out what he saw as heresy — until Jesus blinded him and turned that fire toward spreading the gospel.
Peter had passion — so much that he pulled a sword on a Roman guard — but Jesus had to teach him how to wield it with grace.

When our passions aren’t shaped by God’s purposes, they can damage the very people we’re called to love.

That’s why Romans 12 begins with this:

In view of God’s mercy, offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. (Romans 12:1)

What follows immediately after that?

A passage on spiritual gifts.

Because our hearts, and our gifts, and our roles — they’re all a response to mercy.

They’re offered. Not clutched tightly.

We live in an age where people are encouraged to define their own truth, or author their own story, or chase their own dream.

And while there’s value in pursuing purpose, there’s a deeper joy in participating in something God is already doing.

Your passion becomes meaningful not because it’s yours, but because it’s God’s passion in you.

God doesn’t just want to give you a dream — he wants to weave your dream into his redemption story.

Think of your passion like an arrow.

It’s been forged, and sharpened, and balanced. It’s ready to be used.

But by itself, it doesn’t go anywhere.

It needs a bow.
It needs a hand to pull it back.
It needs a direction to aim it.
It needs a target to strike.

When your passion is placed in the hands of God — he’s the one who launches it.

And here’s the beautiful part:

You may have a passion for teaching — but God directs it toward students no one else sees.
You may have a passion for art — but God uses it to reveal beauty in broken places.
You may have a passion for organizing — and God channels it to create structure in chaos.

It’s not just about what you love. It’s about what God loves doing through you.

So what do you do with your passion?

You give it back.

You say:

“God, use this for your Kingdom.”
“Point this passion toward a people who need it.”
“Aim my life at something eternal.”

This week, as you reflect in your group and do the Heart assessment, don’t just ask:

“What makes me come alive?”

Also ask:

“Where is God aiming my heart?”

Because you were made for more — not just more success, more comfort, more admiration — but more significance, more surrender, more joy in being used by God.

Let your passion find its power in his hands.

Alright, let me close with this:

You were made with a unique heart — one that beats for specific people, and causes, and experiences.

God didn’t mass-produce you. He handcrafted you with care.

And your passions — those deep desires, those moments that make you feel most alive — they’re not random.

They’re clues. They’re part of God’s fingerprint on your life.

But here’s the challenge:

Passion without purpose can lead to restlessness.
Purpose without passion can feel like obligation.

It’s when the two come together — when your heart aligns with God’s greater work in the world — that you begin to experience life as it was meant to be.

So what do you love?

What keeps you up at night — or gets you out of bed in the morning?

What makes you pound the table and say, “Someone’s got to do something about that”?

This week in your small group, you’ll reflect on these questions.

You’ll look back on your story, your experiences, your joys and your griefs — and ask where God has been stirring your heart.

Because the truth is, you were made for more than existence. You were made to live fully — with a heart on fire for the things of God.

Alright, let’s pray together as the worship team comes to lead us in a closing song.