Grace Is Bigger Than You Think

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, May 31, 2026, First Sunday after Pentecost, Confirmation Sunday. "We Know Who We Are"series.

Texts: Genesis 1:26-2:3; Ephesians 2:4–10

There are some words in scripture that change everything. Not because they're long or unusual. But because they turn the whole story in a different direction. Today’s passage contains two of those words: “But God.”

Before we can appreciate those words, we need to know what precedes them. In the first 3 verses of Ephesians 2, Paul reminds the church in Ephesus of their old ways of being. The direct translation from the Greek is convoluted and confusing, but Eugene Peterson’s interpretation from The Message helps us get the point: “It wasn’t so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn’t know the first thing about living, tell you how to live…We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat. It’s a wonder God didn’t lose his temper and do away with the whole lot of us.”

And then…. “But God…” The old story gets interrupted. It moves in a new direction.

Which is good news because most of us know something about stories that seem stuck in a rut. Maybe you’ve carried shame for something you did years ago. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that some part of your life is beyond repair. Maybe you’ve spent so long trying to prove your worth that you’ve forgotten who you are underneath all the striving. Maybe you’ve watched the news lately and wondered whether cruelty and greed and fear are simply winning.

The story goes one way.

But God…

That little phrase shows up all over scripture.

Human beings build a tower to heaven. But God.

Sarah is too old. But God.

The sea is in front of them. Pharaohs army is behind them. But God.

The disciples lock themselves in a room because they are terrified. But God.

The cross stands on a hill outside Jerusalem. But God.

Mary Magdalene despaired at the tomb. But God.

Again and again, scripture insists that God is never limited by the stories we tell ourselves about what is possible. What a gift. Because one of the stories many of us carry is the story that we have to earn our way. This is so ingrained in our culture and mindset.

We learn that story early. We learn it from grades and report cards. From performance reviews. From comparisons. From all the subtle ways the world teaches us to keep score. We absorb these lessons so deeply that eventually we begin to assume that God works this way too. God helps those who help themselves. God rewards the faithful. God blesses the deserving. God keeps score.

But this is precisely the story Paul is trying to undo.

Our temptation to slide into the world’s quid pro quo economy isn’t new. And in these few verses, Paul takes pains to refute it—not with an abstract argument, but by showing us, phrase by phrase, who God is and how grace works.

So let’s move through the text together and listen deeply to the word.

Notice where Paul begins. “But God, who is rich in mercy...” Rich in mercy.

Before Paul says anything about us, he says something about God.

After describing the sorry, lost state of humanity, Paul doesn’t say, “But we finally figured it out.” He doesn’t say, “But we repented.” He doesn’t say, “But we became more faithful.” He doesn’t say, “But we got serious about our spiritual lives.” He says, “But God.”

The turning point of the story is not a change in us. It is a revelation of who God is.

“But God, who is rich in mercy...” Paul could have said simply, “God is merciful.” He doesn’t. He says God is plousios (πλούσιος)—in the Greek: rich, abundant, lavish—in mercy. Possessing more mercy than we can imagine.

This is so important! Because most of us have been trained to think in terms of scarcity. There’s never enough time or money or security or opportunity. There is not enough to go around. There are only so many slices of any pie.

And if we’re not careful, we start to imagine that God’s resources are limited too.

Limited patience. Limited forgiveness. Limited love. Limited welcome. Only so many second chances. As though mercy were something God has to budget carefully. As though grace might run out. As though God were standing over us with a ledger, keeping score, calculating whether we’ve finally earned another chance.

But Paul says, “Nope. That's not who God is.”

Mercy is not scarce in God. Mercy is abundant in God. God’s mercy is not pie—and there’s not limited supply! Mercy flows from God as naturally as light from the sun.

And lest we miss the point, Paul piles on another phrase: “Out of the great love with which God loved us.” It’s almost as though he can’t find enough words—mercy, love, grace, kindness. The language keeps overflowing because Paul is trying to describe a reality that exceeds ordinary human calculation.

The world understands transaction. But God operates through grace. And perhaps that is why grace is so difficult for us to receive. We know how to earn. We know what it takes to achieve. We know the way to keep score. Many of us have spent our entire lives trying to prove that we are worthy of love, worthy of belonging, worthy of respect, worthy of a place at the table. And some versions of Christianity have reinforced exactly that impulse. Behave yourself and God will bless you. Believe the right things and God will reward you. Get your life together and God will finally accept you. Or the flip side: Mess up and God will punish you. Doubt and God will reject you. Fail and God will turn away.

But Paul will have none of it. “By grace you have been saved.”

Grace! We are not saved by following the rules or checking the boxes or through achievement or merit. The story isn’t about keeping score or about earned interest and love averages. “By grace you have been saved.” Grace.

One of the most beautiful insights of the United Methodist movement is that grace starts earlier than we think it does. We tend to imagine that grace begins the moment we become aware of God. But John Wesley said no. Grace was already there.

We think grace begins when we decide to follow Jesus. Wesley said no. Grace was already there.

We think grace begins when we repent. Wesley said no. Grace was already there.

Before faith, grace. Before understanding, grace. Before discipleship, grace. Before baptism, grace. Before confirmation, grace.

Long before we know how to pray, grace is already making a way toward us. Long before we know God’s name, God knows ours.

United Methodists call this prevenient grace—the grace that goes before. The grace that is always preceding us, drawing us, inviting us, wooing us toward life. And I don't know about you, but I find that to be astonishingly good news. Because it means that the story of faith begins not with our searching for God, but with God’s refusal to stop searching for us.

But Paul isn’t finished. He goes further, saying God “made us alive together with Christ.”

Alive—not merely forgiven or a little nicer. Alive. This is resurrection language. It is creation language. It’s the language of new possibility. This strikes me as especially powerful in a world where so many people are exhausted and carrying grief. Where so many people are overwhelmed by the state of the world and struggling simply to keep their hearts open.

Paul speaks a pastoral word into our lives, assuring us that grace is not merely about doing more today to get into heaven someday. Grace is the power that makes us alive right now. Alive to God. Alive to beauty. Alive to joy. Alive to compassion. Alive to possibility and hope.

And there is something else here that often gets lost in translation. Paul doesn’t say that God made me alive. He says God made us alive. The language throughout this passage is communal. Every “you” in the text is plural. It’s not about me; it’s about we. Which means the story is not simply about God saving isolated individuals. It is about God creating a people. A community. A new humanity. People shaped not by fear, scarcity, or competition, but rather shaped by grace, abundance, and love.

Today, a group of young people will stand before us to profess their faith. And what moves me every year is that confirmation is not fundamentally about private belief. It is about belonging. These young people are not simply saying, “I believe.”

They are saying, “This is my people. This is the community in which I will learn what it means to follow Jesus.”

And we are saying, “We need you. Your voice, your gifts, your questions, your presence will continue to shape who we become.”

Because grace doesn’t merely gather individuals. Grace creates a people.

Paul addresses this in what he says next. “We are what God has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works...” The Greek word translated here as “what God has made” is poiēma (ποίημα). It’s where we get the word poem. You could translate it: We are God’s handiwork. God’s artistry. God’s creative work.

And suddenly the echo of Genesis comes into view. The God who formed creation, breathed life into dust, and called it good is still creating, still forming, still calling beauty forth from chaos and light from darkness.

We spend so much of our lives trying to make ourselves. Trying to prove ourselves. Trying to justify ourselves. Trying to become enough. Paul says we are not self-made. We are God-made. We are God’s handiwork, God’s poem. God’s art. God’s ongoing project. And we are already enough—even as we keep learning and growing.

Now, at this point, some people get nervous. If grace is this abundant, if salvation is truly a gift, if God’s love comes before we earn it and before we deserve it, then what keeps us from simply doing whatever we want?

Paul is clear that we don’t earn our salvation. And he is equally clear that God created us for good works. Good works are not the cause of salvation, they are the fruit of salvation, evidence that grace is alive and active within us. Or to put it another way: God doesn’t love us because we do good things. We begin to do good things because we have encountered the love of God.

Grace is not an excuse to do nothing. Grace is an invitation to participate in what God is doing in the world.

Grace is bigger than we think. It is not merely a drop of help when we’re struggling or a nudge of encouragement when we’re discouraged. It is not a small boost for the spiritual journey. It is the power of God's mercy and love constantly interrupting the stories that diminish life and opening up new possibilities we could never create on our own.

And because grace is bigger than we think, it keeps interrupting the stories that tell us life can only go one way. The world says there isn’t enough. But God is rich in mercy.

The world says you have to earn your place. But God saves by grace.

The world says shame gets the last word. But God is great in love.

The world says what is dead is dead. But God makes us alive.

The world says you’re on your own. But God makes us alive together.

The world says this is all there is. But God is still creating.

Still shaping. Still calling life from dust. Still making all things new.

The story was going one way. But God.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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Keep a daily grace log.

At the end of each day, ask: Where did I experience a “But God” moment today?

Where did grace go before me? Where did mercy, love, beauty, hope, community, or possibility interrupt the story I expected?