Date: April 16, 2025 (Judas Day)
Location: Church of Normal -Sanctuary 6 | Waseca, Minnesota
Author: Pastor Matthew, a.k.a. Normal Like Peter
Scripture Reference:
“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost?” — Jesus, via Luke 14:28
“He is not here; he is risen, just as he said.” — Matthew 28:6
“Also Brenda has moved in with Sam, just as she planned.” — Emotional Gospel According to Loopwalker, 1:1
INTRO: Resurrection Season and the Ghosts That Follow
Easter was always a holy reset button for me.
A cosmic Ctrl+Alt+Del.
Jesus conquered death, which surely meant some part of my life would finally come alive too, right?
Each year, I dared to believe:
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My IT business would flourish.
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My marriage would stabilize.
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My wife would stop resenting the smell of Pine-Sol in her hair.
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My kids would feel safe.
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And I, the faithful janitor of everyone’s emotional messes, would be promoted.
Instead?
I got a tax bill, a child support battle pass, and a front-row seat to my own replacement arc.
This is a dual-timeline gospel.
A resurrection story told from two lenses:
Matt the Burned-Out Builder vs. Sam the Sanctified Placeholder™.
Because not every resurrection looks like a miracle.
Sometimes it looks like your ex-wife posting Bible verses next to a man who just got to skip your crucifixion entirely.
Timeline A: Matt the Builder of Broken Things
I tried to build a tower.
Didn’t sit down to count the cost.
Turns out love requires blueprints, permits, and emotional zoning laws I never understood.
She said “better or worse.”
I thought that meant folding laundry together during hell seasons.
She meant better than this.
Worse was a dealbreaker she didn’t announce until the foundation cracked.
I cleaned houses.
Scrubbed moldy toilets while dreaming of cloud architecture diagrams.
Believed obedience would lead to blessing.
Believed resurrection would come.
But instead of angels?
I got emails from Sam.
Asking if he could have the better van this time.
Timeline B: Sam the Righteous Bachelor
Sam, God bless him, has never married.
No kids. No exes. No shredded wedding binders.
He was waiting.
For the right one.
For God’s timing.
He stood in the wings for years, praying quietly like a devotional NPC.
While I was out there bleeding in the trenches of real commitment,
Sam was charging his spiritual battery on “The Bible App: Verse of the Day.”
And then—Easter 2024—his moment came.
Brenda posted a selfie with a faint halo effect and the caption:
“He makes all things new.”
Sam liked that post.
Probably heart-reacted.
Probably thought it meant him.
The Bolivia Struggle: Karissa’s Testimony Echoes On (Satire alert)
Brenda and I used to sit in church and chuckle at Karissa’s Bolivia story:
The one where she “accidentally” took a relic from a poor village family and claimed it was a sign God didn’t want her to be poor anymore.
“God told me His children shouldn’t stay in one-star hotels.”
We laughed.
But part of her believed it.
Believed she deserved five stars too.
Not a janitor husband. Not Walmart. Not that old rental house with the window AC unit that rattled like a demon.
And Now?
Now she’s risen.
She’s got the lake house struggle now—matching mugs, clean carpets, Glam Tour Part II.
And I’m still here.
Single dad.
Schedule C for “Cleansed by Fire.”
Still estimating the cost of a tower I already built, then watched get foreclosed on by cosmic silence.
The Resurrection Math
Jesus rose in three days.
I’ve been trying to rise for three years.
He left the tomb empty.
Brenda left the closet empty and the kids in split custody.
He ascended.
She relocated.
ALTAR CALL: FOR THOSE WHO WERE REPLACED DURING EASTER WEEK
If you’ve ever been the one who got crucified while someone else got the redemption arc—
If you watched the new guy walk into your old pew holding the hand you once prayed for—
If you gave up sex in youth group thinking that would guarantee you a love story—only to realize your abstinence pledge was just a ticket to the waiting room…
Then come.
Sit here with me.
We don’t have lilies or matching polos.
But we have truth.
And dark humor.
And broken glass we’re learning to mosaic into stained-glass windows.
POSTSCRIPT: A Special Thanks to Sam
Sam, if you’re reading this…
You seem kind.
You seem steady.
You may never know the depth of the grave I was buried in.
But just know—if Brenda seems like a miracle now, it’s because I dragged her through hell and didn’t drop her.
You inherited a survivor.
Happy Easter.
He is risen.
And so is your emotional mortgage.
Church of NORMAL
For those who didn’t get the lake house.
For those who didn’t get the Karissa calling.
For those who didn’t rise—but are still here.
