Introduction – Remembering the Fire
My grandfather tilled the farm soil of Eastern Idaho in much the same manner as Noah and Abraham—by faith, by sweat, and by seasons. His world was defined by rhythm: sunrise, plow, prayer, harvest. He believed that what you sow, you reap, and that everything good begins in dependence on God.
But faith didn’t always come easily to him.
My Uncle Emil, when he was just a teenager, came down with scarlet fever. It racked his body with pain and discolored his skin. The suffering was unbearable.
One day, an itinerant Adventist preacher stopped by the farmhouse and asked Grandpa if he could pray for the boy. Grandpa wasn’t exactly known for his piety in town—but that day, he said yes.
The preacher climbed the narrow staircase to Emil’s room, knelt beside the bed, and prayed a simple prayer. Then he left.
That night Emil was healed. The fever broke. The color returned.
And by morning, Grandpa and Grandma had given their lives to Jesus.
Faith took root that night—and generations later, I’m still standing in the shade of that miracle.
I’ve often thought, if it had been a Mormon missionary who stopped by that evening instead of an Adventist preacher, I might have grown up Mormon. But God, in His mercy, sent someone with the message of His soon return. And that message changed the course of our family forever.
When we talk about Back to the Future, we’re not borrowing from Hollywood—we’re talking about what happens when faith remembers its roots. Because every great movement of God begins with remembrance.
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A Faith That Grew Up
Those early Advent believers had no buildings, no publishing houses, and no formal training.
What they did have was conviction—and an unshakable sense that God Himself was guiding them.
They studied by candlelight.
They preached from wagons and barns.
They printed tracts on hand presses and carried them by horseback across the countryside.
They weren’t perfect—but they were passionate.
And from those small, rough beginnings came a worldwide movement centered not on human achievement, but on divine leading.
What they lacked in sophistication, they made up for in surrender.
They believed truth was not a possession but a trust—something to be lived, not merely argued.
And slowly, their faith grew up.
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From Then to Now
Fast forward to today.
We have technology they couldn’t have imagined: livestreams, satellites, hospitals, universities, humanitarian agencies.
We’ve gone from saddle bags to satellites—but the same question remains:
Do we still remember why we began?
Because the danger of success is forgetfulness.
When faith becomes comfortable, conviction can grow soft.
And when the memory fades, mission loses its urgency.
That’s why this story still matters.
It’s not nostalgia—it’s necessity.
Remembering is how we keep our compass pointed toward home.
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The Arc of Every Institution
The pioneers started with raw conviction.
Then came structure—schools, hospitals, presses, committees—all good and necessary things.
But over time, movements tend to solidify. The flame becomes a framework, and the framework becomes furniture.
That’s the arc of every institution.
It begins with evangelism—born in the wild air of faith and mission.
It settles into institutionalism—organized, efficient, and respectable.
And if we’re not careful, it ends in fossilism—preserving the past instead of pursuing the promise.
We need to reject fossilism.
And the only way to do that is to go back to the future—
back to the passion that started it all,
back to the faith that believed God could do the impossible,
back to the simplicity of Scripture and the power of the Spirit.
Going back to the future means remembering how God has led—not so we can relive the past, but so we can reclaim its purpose.
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The Evangelistic Model
Some parts of the church never really passed through all the stages of growth.
We matured organizationally, but not always methodologically.
We still depend on models of evangelism that worked beautifully in the 1950s—when families gathered around a single radio, when a marquee preacher could draw a crowd just by putting up a tent and turning on a microphone.
But society has changed.
People no longer come because there’s a platform; they come because there’s a relationship.
They don’t respond to celebrity; they respond to authenticity.
We can’t simply recreate the old crusades of the past.
We must learn to live the gospel in the present—to meet people in their stories, their questions, their struggles.
The world doesn’t need louder preachers; it needs deeper witnesses.
Evangelism isn’t a program—it’s a person.
It’s Christ in you, the hope of glory.
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Uneven Growth and New Leadership
Until quite recently, most of our church administrators came up through evangelism.
That was the proving field—they knew how to preach, how to call, how to count decisions.
And thank God for that heritage; it gave our church its heartbeat for mission.
But perhaps other parts of our institutional growth didn’t keep pace.
We learned how to win people but not always how to grow them.
We knew how to start things but not always how to sustain them.
As a result, some of our systems matured unevenly.
The evangelistic model kept expanding while the pastoral, educational, and relational sides of ministry stayed underdeveloped.
That’s part of the tension we feel today:
we inherited the zeal of the tent, but we’re living in the age of the table.
People are no longer waiting for a crusade—they’re looking for community.
And that’s why it’s significant that our current world leader, Pastor Erton Köhler, didn’t rise through the traditional evangelistic route.
His background is pastoral, relational, and developmental—focused on mentoring, systems, and service.
That marks a shift from microphone to ministry, from platform to presence.
Maybe that’s how God is bringing us back to the future—restoring the pastoral heart of leadership that Jesus modeled.
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Faith for This Hour
We’re living in a moment of both anxiety and opportunity.
The headlines may change, but the human heart hasn’t.
People still ache for meaning, still long for peace, still search for something that lasts.
The good news is—our hope has a name: Jesus.
He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
And His invitation hasn’t changed: “Follow Me.”
This isn’t about prophecy charts or timetables—it’s about relationship.
He’s still calling a people to stand as lights in the dark, to love when others hate, to serve when others withdraw, to lift up the cross when the world is weighed down with self.
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Our Identity in Christ
If you strip away all the labels—denomination, tradition, culture—here’s what remains:
We are a people saved by grace, called to reflect the character of Christ in the closing scenes of earth’s story.
That’s not arrogance; that’s assignment.
We’re not better than anyone else—we’re just blessed to know the message of hope and responsible to share it.
The everlasting gospel is still everlasting.
The commandments of God are still life-giving.
And the faith of Jesus is still transforming.
That’s who we are.
That’s why we remember.
That’s how we move forward.
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A Renewed Vision
We don’t go back to repeat the past; we go back to remember the passion, the purpose, and the presence that started it all.
We don’t reject our institutions—we reclaim their mission.
We don’t abandon evangelism—we rediscover its heart.
Imagine a church where structure supports mission instead of stifling it.
Where administrators think like shepherds, and shepherds think like missionaries.
Where evangelism is not a campaign but a culture.
Where the local church isn’t a program hub but a family of grace—growing, serving, remembering.
That’s what it means to go back to the future.
It’s not nostalgia—it’s resurrection.
The same Spirit who breathed life into a handful of disappointed believers in 1844 is breathing life into us again.
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Appeal – The Stones Still Speak
Every generation has to gather its own stones of remembrance.
We can’t live on borrowed faith.
The stories of the past are gifts, not substitutes.
They remind us who we are—but they also challenge us to become what we were meant to be.
So tonight, I’m inviting you to remember.
To look back with gratitude.
To look within with honesty.
And to look ahead with courage.
Maybe it’s time to rebuild your own altar of remembrance—
to say, “Lord, I don’t want to fossilize.
I want to be part of a living movement of grace.”
If that’s your desire,
stand with me—in heart, in prayer, in purpose.
Let’s go back to the future—together.
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Closing Prayer
Lord,
Thank You for leading us through disappointment, through growth, through correction, and through grace.
You have not changed—Your promises are still sure.
Forgive us for turning movements into monuments.
Breathe new life into our faith, our churches, and our witness.
May we remember not just what You did, but what You’re still doing.
Send us from this place not as caretakers of an institution,
but as carriers of Your mission.
We don’t have time in this world to start another denomination.
The hour is too late, the need too great, and the gospel too beautiful to divide into smaller pieces.
What God began as a movement, we must not reduce to machinery.
What started with urgency must not end in bureaucracy.
We’re not called to start something new—we’re called to finish what Christ already started.
We don’t know the how, but this we do know:
Jesus has gone to prepare a place for you and for me.
And He will soon return to bring the future into forever.
That’s the hope that carried our pioneers through disappointment.
That’s the faith that still drives our mission today.
And that’s the promise that will one day turn memory into glory.
So let the next generation find us faithful—
hands in the work,
hearts in the Word,
eyes on the skies.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
