Belonging To God In A Broken World

Belonging to God in a Broken World

Matthew 19:16-26; John 3:1-18, 17:1-11

"In an age of constant connection, we’ve never been more relationally malnourished—because our hearts were made for more than clicks; they were made for communion"

There was a time when a person’s identity, values, and sense of belonging were shaped almost entirely by family, friends, and their local community. You could often recognize the parents of a child just by listening to their mannerisms or convictions. And while this is still true in part, the sphere of influence has drastically shifted. We now live in a world where culture, values, and morality are no longer passed down—they're uploaded, downloaded, and often deconstructed in real time. Global connectivity offers more information than ever before—but with it comes a painful irony: we are more exposed and yet more isolated. We can broadcast our voice to millions yet remain unheard by anyone who truly knows us. Our souls were not made for algorithms and likes; they long to be seen, touched, and known.

Digital platforms promise connection but often deliver only the illusion of closeness—without the cost of commitment or the warmth of being truly known. Our youth can now speak to the world with a single post, yet many suffer in silence—longing to be appreciated, understood, and truly valued. In the anonymity of their scrolling and posting, they can express anything—and yet feel understood by no one. Beneath every story, comment, and selfie is often a silent plea: “Will someone see me? Will someone care enough to invite me in?” This is the silent cry of a generation desperate to belong. And today, I want to speak to that longing—not with temporary solutions, but with eternal truth: you belong to God. In a broken world, fractured by distance and disconnection, He is the One who calls you by name, who draws near, and who places the lonely in families.

Belonging to the Father, Given to the Son

Into this world of spiritual dislocation and relational emptiness, Jesus speaks a powerful truth in His prayer: we belong—not to the shifting tides of culture, but to the Father Himself. It was just before the Passover Festival, and Jesus “knew that the hour had come for Him to leave this world and go to the Father” (John 13:1). Yet knowing “that the Father had put all things under His power” did not drive Him to assert dominance or demand reverence. Instead, in the Upper Room, after the meal, Jesus laid aside His outer clothing, wrapped a towel around His waist, poured water into a basin, and washed His disciples’ feet (John 13:3–5). This astonishing act of humility and love reflected the very heart of His mission—to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45).

Though He had authority over demons, disease, and even nature—and could have called down legions of angels to crush His enemies—He chose instead to become “a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13), absorbing the righteous wrath of God to atone for our sins. Jesus knew full well what awaited Him: betrayal by one of His own (Luke 22:48), spit and fists hurled at His face (Matthew 26:67), brutal flogging (Matthew 27:26), a crown of thorns crushed onto His head (Matthew 27:29), and the piercing pain that Isaiah foretold: “He was pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities” (Isaiah 53:5–6). And yet—He chose it. The Lord, Savior, and King freely gave His life because of His eternal love for us (John 10:18).

By now, the time had come, and His words weighed heavily on the hearts of the disciples. Earlier, Jesus had warned them: “My children, I will be with you only a little longer. You will look for Me, and just as I told the Jews, so I tell you now: Where I am going, you cannot come” (John 13:33). Their hearts were likely gripped by fear. Would they be left behind—vulnerable in a hostile world (James 4:4), like sheep among wolves (Matthew 10:16)? Would they not also face rejection, ridicule, isolation, and persecution? In that tension between fear and faith, one disciple voices the ache they all felt.

Peter, caught between faith and fear, speaks with the raw honesty we’ve come to expect: “We have left everything to follow You! What then will there be for us?” (Matthew 19:27). His question is not just about reward—it’s about reassurance. And Jesus answered with a promise that stretches beyond this life: “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for My sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:29). Yet until that day when Christ returns and welcomes them into the place He is preparing (John 14:2–3), He offers them—and us—an even more immediate assurance. He prays: