INTRODUCTION — THE DAY I FORGOT SOMETHING IMPORTANT
There’s a small story that still follows me around, even years later. It’s one of those stories that begins harmlessly—nothing dramatic, nothing tragic, nothing you’d write in your journal unless you were trying to laugh at yourself.
It happened on an ordinary morning, on an ordinary road, on an ordinary rushing kind of day. And like most modern people, I thought I had everything under control. I had a plan. I had a schedule. I had devices to remind me of my reminders. I had alarms for my alarms. I had everything… except what mattered.
I was driving across town on a Friday morning. I had three stops to make. I had a meeting. I had messages waiting. And somewhere between the second traffic light and the third cup of coffee, it happened.
My phone buzzed.
My dashboard chimed.
And suddenly the car behind me blasted its horn for reasons that were probably my fault.
I pulled over for a moment, took a breath, and tried to get my bearings.
And that’s when it hit me.
I had forgotten something important. Not my wallet. Not my keys. Not my appointment. Not my phone charger. It was something deeper than that. Something heavier. Something that doesn’t fit in your pocket or your glove compartment.
I had forgotten myself.
I had forgotten who I was trying to be. I had forgotten the peace I claimed to believe in. I had forgotten the priorities I preached to others. I had forgotten the quietness of heart I told people to pursue. And in that moment—flustered, frustrated, irritated, and running late—I found myself whispering a sentence I wasn’t expecting:
“How does a person forget what matters most?”
And it’s funny—because forgetting isn’t something we do on purpose. It sneaks up on us. It creeps in sideways. It slips between the cracks of responsibility, habit, routine, and noise. You look away for a moment, and the thing you needed most has been pushed to the bottom of the pile.
We forget birthdays.
We forget passwords.
We forget why we walked into the kitchen.
We forget to return calls.
We forget names seconds after hearing them.
We forget what we promised ourselves we would never forget.
But there is something far more dangerous than forgetting an appointment.
There is the forgetting of the soul.
There is the forgetting of identity.
The forgetting of origin.
The forgetting of purpose.
The forgetting of relationship.
The forgetting of the God who formed you from dust and breathed His life into your lungs.
We forget who He is.
And we forget who we are.
The older I get, the more I realize that humanity’s greatest spiritual problem is not rebellion—it is forgetfulness.
Before people stop serving God, they forget why they ever loved Him. Before they stop worshiping, they forget who they’re worshiping. Before they break covenant, they forget the covenant’s story. Forgetting comes first… and everything else follows.
And so the question presses in on us:
“What have we forgotten?”
Humanity has forgotten many things. But Scripture says there is one thing—one day—one truth—that God knew we were most likely to misplace.
The day God told us to remember
… is the day the world forgot.
And to understand why this matters, we must take a journey back—back beyond our routines, our stress, our alarms, our schedules—back to the place where God Himself wrote a word in stone.
And He didn’t just write a command.
He wrote a reminder.
Four thousand years before smartphones were invented… God said, “Remember.”
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THE HUMAN CONDITION — THE TERRIBLE CHOICE
Philosophers have a phrase for the human dilemma. They call it “the terrible choice.” It’s the idea that every moment of life places you at a crossroads, forcing you to choose between paths that lead toward righteousness or rebellion, wisdom or foolishness, selflessness or selfishness, life or death.
You choose with your words.
You choose with your impulses.
You choose with your desires.
You choose with your reactions.
You choose with your patience.
You choose with your silence.
You choose with your time.
And the world as we know it—the brokenness we lament, the violence we fear, the injustice we witness, the sorrow we feel—is largely the result of wrong choices repeated until they become culture.
People don’t set out to destroy themselves.
They simply forget who they were meant to be.
They lose the thread.
They drift.
And drifting happens because we choose without truth.
We react without reference.
We live without a center.
We function without a hub.
If you’ve ever watched a wheel whose hub is missing or cracked, you know what happens: everything wobbles. Everything strains. Everything pulls away from the center. A person without a spiritual hub will live unbalanced, pulled by circumstances instead of anchored by truth.
And that is where Scripture cries out to us:
Before you can choose rightly, you must know the God who made you.
Before you can walk rightly, you must understand the God who redeems you.
Before you can live rightly, you must remember the truth that holds your world together.
This is why the Bible says again and again:
“Remember.”
Remember who created you.
Remember who rescued you.
Remember who sustains you.
Remember who forgives you.
Remember who walks with you.
Remember who calls you.
Remember who loves you.
The greatest spiritual victories come not from discovering something new but from remembering something ancient.
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THE HUB OF TRUTH — GOD AND MAN
The great evangelist Billy Graham once said that the two most important things any human can ever learn are:
1. The nature of God.
2. The nature of man.
Everything hangs on those two truths. If you know who God is—and you know what humanity is—every moral choice becomes clearer. Every temptation becomes understandable. Every spiritual struggle becomes navigable.
God is Creator and Redeemer—holy, loving, powerful, just, merciful, patient, and pure.
Humanity is dependent—broken, inclined toward evil, fragile, forgetful, in need of grace.
No wonder the world is confused.
We forgot both stories.
We forgot the nature of our Father.
We forgot the nature of our own hearts.
And when you forget those two things… everything else collapses.
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THE MOMENT GOD SPOKE FROM FIRE
Four thousand years ago, God descended upon a mountain wrapped in smoke and thunder. The earth shook. Trumpets sounded. Fire burned. The mountain quivered under the weight of His voice. The people trembled as heaven touched earth.
And God—not an angel, not a prophet—God Himself spoke ten words that would define everything.
Ten principles.
Ten anchors.
Ten eternal realities.
And in the very heart of that law, God placed one commandment that did something none of the others did:
It told us to remember.
“Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.”
Remember what?
Remember who made you.
Remember who redeemed you.
Remember where you came from.
Remember what you were created for.
Remember the rhythm of grace.
Remember the rest of God.
Remember the covenant.
Remember the relationship.
Remember the story.
The Sabbath is not just a command.
It is a revelation.
A memorial.
A love letter.
A weekly rescue from spiritual blindness.
A returning of the soul to its center.
And this is where Part 1 ends—poised at the edge of Sinai, hearing God say:
“Remember.”
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THE COMMANDMENT BUILT AROUND A WORD WE IGNORE
“Remember.”
It is such a gentle word.
It doesn’t thunder like “Thou shalt not.”
It doesn’t echo like “Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.”
It simply leans in close—Father to child, Creator to creature—and whispers:
“Don’t forget what the world is determined to erase.”
The fourth commandment begins with a divine assumption:
we are prone to forget the very things that keep us alive.
And isn’t that true?
We forget what brings us peace.
We forget what nourishes our soul.
We forget what restores our strength.
We forget what heals our spirit.
We forget the One who loved us first.
The Sabbath commandment is God anticipating our forgetfulness.
It is God intervening before the drift begins.
It is God protecting us from the erosion of identity.
It is the reminder behind every reminder.
And yet—tragically, ironically—this is the one commandment humanity has buried the deepest. The one He asked us to remember… is the one the world forgot.
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THE LAW REVEALS THE TWO STORIES WE CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT
When God spoke the Ten Commandments at Sinai, He did not merely give rules. He revealed two stories every human heart must never lose:
1. The story of the God who made you (Creation).
2. The story of the God who saved you (Redemption).
These are the pillars of identity.
They are the foundation of worship.
They are the north star of moral choice.
They are the map for the wandering soul.
And the Sabbath is the weekly reminder of both.
No other commandment does this.
No other commandment holds both stories.
No other commandment roots the soul in both origin and destiny.
The Sabbath says:
“You are not an accident—you are created.”
“You are not forsaken—you are redeemed.”
Take those two truths away and humanity collapses.
If you forget who made you, you will forget why you exist.
If you forget who saved you, you will forget how to live.
And if you forget both… your life becomes a wheel without a hub—spinning, wobbling, rattling, losing balance, losing direction, losing purpose.
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THE SABBATH: THE COMMANDMENT MAN WOULD NEVER INVENT
The writer you shared is exactly right:
Humanity would never have created the Sabbath commandment on its own.
It is unnatural to fallen hearts.
It confronts every idol.
It exposes every false god.
It resists every cultural current.
It challenges every instinct of self-sufficiency.
If humanity were inventing commandments, we would have created:
“Work harder.”
“Make more.”
“Climb higher.”
“Build bigger.”
“Do not stop.”
“Stay ahead.”
But God says:
“Stop.”
“Cease.”
“Rest.”
“Remember.”
Why?
Because there is no true Sabbath without surrender.
There is no surrender without trust.
And there is no trust until you believe in the goodness of God.
The Sabbath is not a human idea.
The Sabbath is a divine intervention.
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THE MULES AND THE MINERS — THE BLINDNESS OF A BUSY WORLD
The old story is unforgettable.
Years ago, when mules were used in the coal mines of Pennsylvania, they lived underground, hauling loads in the dark for six days straight. But on the seventh day, the miners brought them up into the sunlight. They didn’t do it because the mules needed the day off. They did it because if they were left underground long enough, they would go blind.
Darkness does that.
Crowded, pressurized places do that.
Living without the light does that.
Working without pause does that.
Running without reflection does that.
Forgetting the Sabbath does that.
And if that is true for animals…
How much more for the human soul?
We live underground in the mines of this world.
Pressure.
Production.
Deadlines.
Screens.
Noise.
Phones.
Expectations.
Demands.
Temptations.
We spend six days being buried alive by life.
And God, in His mercy, says:
“Come out into the light.”
“Let me restore your sight.”
“Let me return your balance.”
“Let me remind you who you are.”
The Sabbath is sunlight for the soul.
The longer we go without it, the dimmer our spiritual vision becomes.
Many people today cannot see God—not because He is far, but because they are spiritually blind.
Blindness doesn’t begin with rebellion.
Blindness begins with forgetting.
And the Sabbath was given to prevent exactly that.
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THE SABBATH AND THE ORDERING OF LIFE
Isaiah says:
“Blessed is the man that keeps the Sabbath… and keeps his hand from doing any evil.”
(Isaiah 56:2)
That is not coincidence.
That is cause and effect.
Scripture teaches that a life ordered around God’s holy day becomes a life ordered around God’s holy ways.
Ezekiel says:
“I gave them my Sabbaths, to be a sign between Me and them, that they might know that I am the Lord who sanctifies them.”
(Ezekiel 20:12)
A sign of what?
That you know Him.
That He is your Creator.
That He is your Redeemer.
That He is the One who makes you holy.
Holiness is not the reward of Sabbath-keepers.
Holiness is the fruit of Sabbath-keeping.
You cannot enter God’s rest without stepping out of your chaos.
You cannot live a sanctified life while living at the pace of the world.
You cannot experience grace while worshiping productivity.
You cannot be transformed while refusing to slow down enough to be touched.
The Sabbath is not a legal requirement.
The Sabbath is a lifeline.
It is not a burden on the back.
It is a blessing for the heart.
It is not a day of restriction.
It is a day of restoration.
It is not a day God demands.
It is a day God gives.
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JESUS AND THE TWINS OF EDEN
This is where the essay shifts to something profound:
Jesus came to restore the two Edenic institutions the world had twisted—
marriage and the Sabbath.
He confronted man-made traditions that strangled the Sabbath.
He rejected cultural customs that diminished marriage.
He lifted both institutions out of the dust and placed them back in the sunlight of God’s original design.
And please hear this:
Jesus never defended any ceremonial law that was soon to pass away.
But He defended the Sabbath.
He honored the Sabbath.
He restored the Sabbath.
He lived the Sabbath.
He blessed the Sabbath.
He commanded His followers to pray about the Sabbath.
Why?
Because the Sabbath is not ceremonial.
It is relational.
It is covenantal.
It is foundational.
It is eternal.
Jesus didn’t just believe the Sabbath.
He breathed the Sabbath.
He said:
“The Son of Man is Lord also of the Sabbath.”
Not to abolish it.
To restore it.
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THE PROPHECY OF A DAY WE WOULD FORGET
Jesus’ last reference to the Sabbath is startling:
“Pray that your flight be not… on the Sabbath day.”
(Matthew 24:20)
This wasn’t Old Covenant counsel.
This wasn’t ceremonial advice.
This wasn’t temporary instruction.
This was a prophecy.
A last-days warning.
A message to the final generation.
Jesus said:
“As the world grows darker, pray that you do not forget the Sabbath.”
Not because keeping a day saves you.
But because forgetting a day blinds you.
The Sabbath keeps the soul awake.
The Sabbath keeps the heart centered.
The Sabbath keeps the life aligned.
The Sabbath keeps the believer grounded in Creation and Redemption.
In a world drowning in schedules, storms, and screens, Jesus says:
“Pray for a Sabbath-loving heart.”
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THE WORLD WE LIVE IN — AND THE DAY WE NEED MOST
We live in an age where the clock never stops.
Where the phone never turns off.
Where the notifications never sleep.
Where the world’s noise never quiets.
Where the demands never lessen.
Where the mind never rests.
Where the soul is rarely still.
And because of this, people are exhausted in ways their grandparents never imagined. Not just physically exhausted—but spiritually exhausted, emotionally threadbare, mentally scattered. We are the most connected generation in human history… and the most internally disconnected.
We know more… but remember less.
We have more tools… but fewer anchors.
We have more access… but less direction.
We have more information… but less transformation.
And the reason is simple:
People forget God long before they deny Him.
Forgetfulness is the first stage of spiritual decline.
Not anger.
Not rebellion.
Not skepticism.
Just forgetting.
Forgetting the sweetness of prayer.
Forgetting the joy of Scripture.
Forgetting the peace of worship.
Forgetting the stillness of God’s presence.
Forgetting the meaning of rest.
Forgetting the rhythm of grace.
And then comes the slow drift—a life built on doing instead of being, performing instead of receiving, producing instead of abiding.
No wonder Jesus said:
“Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Rest is not optional.
Rest is not a luxury.
Rest is not a treat.
Rest is not for the weak.
Rest is for the holy.
Rest is a command because rest is a calling.
And the Sabbath is where that calling becomes visible.
The Sabbath isn’t just a break in the week.
It is the remembrance of who God is.
It is the remembrance of who you are.
It is the remembrance of who you belong to.
And that’s what the world has forgotten.
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THE SABBATH IS A REMINDER OF THE GOD WHO CREATED YOU
Every Sabbath is a hymn sung back to the Creator:
“For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day.”
This is why the commandment does not say:
“Keep the Sabbath because you are tired.”
“Keep the Sabbath because it’s cultural.”
“Keep the Sabbath because it’s tradition.”
“Keep the Sabbath because it’s beneficial.”
“Keep the Sabbath because it’s ethical.”
It says:
“Keep the Sabbath because you were created.”
The Sabbath is God saying:
“I made you on purpose.”
“I made you with purpose.”
“I made you for Myself.”
“I made you with eternity in mind.”
“I made you to walk with Me.”
“I made you because love wanted someone to love.”
Every seventh day, God presses pause and asks:
“Do you remember where you came from?”
Because identity begins with origin.
If you forget your beginning, you will lose your way in the middle.
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THE SABBATH IS A REMINDER OF THE GOD WHO REDEEMED YOU
But the Sabbath doesn’t only look backward to Creation.
It looks upward to Calvary.
It looks inward to grace.
It looks forward to eternity.
In Deuteronomy 5, God gives the Sabbath command a second time—and this time He roots it in deliverance, not merely in creation:
“And remember that thou wast a servant in the land of Egypt, and the Lord thy God brought thee out… therefore the Lord commanded thee to keep the Sabbath day.”
Did you catch it?
“Remember you were slaves.”
“Remember who rescued you.”
“Remember who broke your chains.”
“Remember who redeemed you.”
“Remember who restored you.”
The Sabbath is not only a memorial of the God who made you.
It is a memorial of the God who saved you.
It is grace carved into time.
It is salvation wrapped in rhythm.
It is the gospel in a day.
Every seventh day, the redeemed gather to proclaim:
“I am not what I once was.”
“I am not who I used to be.”
“I am free in Christ.”
“I live by grace.”
“I walk in mercy.”
“I rest in the love of my Redeemer.”
The Sabbath is the breathing space of the gospel.
When you honor the Sabbath, you are remembering your rescue.
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THE SABBATH IS A REHEARSAL
There is another truth we dare not miss:
The Sabbath is a rehearsal.
Not of death—but of life.
Not of escape—but of presence.
Not of legalism—but of love.
Not of ritual—but of relationship.
The Sabbath is a training ground for Heaven.
Heaven is not a place for people who endure God one day a week.
Heaven is the home of people who love God every day of the week.
And the Sabbath is the weekly reminder of the God we love.
It teaches us:
How to lay down the burdens that crush us
How to silence the noise that distracts us
How to turn away from screens and turn toward Scripture
How to move from hurry to holiness
How to slow our pace so God can speak to us
How to cherish His presence above all other things
Sabbath is Heaven’s rhythm placed inside an earthly week.
It is the down payment of eternity.
It is the appetizer of glory.
It is the promise of the rest to come.
When we forget the Sabbath, we forget where we are headed.
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THE EGYPTIAN BUTLER’S MISTAKE — AND OURS
The essay ends by reminding us of the old story in Genesis—the Egyptian butler who promised Joseph he would remember him, only to forget him the moment he returned to Pharaoh’s court.
For two full years Joseph sat alone in prison—unremembered, unmentioned, ignored.
And the writer asks the question:
“Are we like the Egyptian butler who forgot the One who saved us from death?”
Because let’s be honest:
We forget God more easily than we forget an appointment.
We forget His blessings more easily than we forget our frustrations.
We forget His grace more easily than we forget our grievances.
We forget His Word more easily than we forget our worries.
We forget His rest more easily than we forget our routines.
And God says:
“Remember.”
Remember the Sabbath.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Redeemer.
Remember who you are.
Remember who saved you.
Remember who loves you.
Remember who is coming again.
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A FINAL QUESTION — AND AN INVITATION
Now we arrive at the question at the heart of this entire sermon:
What have you forgotten?
Not what the world forgot.
Not what your neighbor forgot.
Not what the culture forgot.
What have you forgotten?
Have you forgotten the sweetness of Sabbath?
Have you forgotten the peace that comes from resting in Christ?
Have you forgotten the joy of laying aside burdens?
Have you forgotten the holiness of stopping, breathing, remembering?
Have you forgotten the voice
that whispers, “Come unto Me”?
Have you forgotten the God who made you… and the God who saved you?
Maybe your life feels chaotic.
Maybe your heart feels scattered.
Maybe your soul feels off-center.
Maybe your vision feels dim.
Maybe your week feels like six days in a mineshaft.
If that’s you, God is not condemning you.
He is calling you.
He is inviting you.
He is welcoming you home.
The Sabbath is not God’s test.
The Sabbath is God’s gift.
A gift to restore sight.
A gift to restore identity.
A gift to restore relationship.
A gift to restore joy.
A gift to restore balance.
A gift to restore the soul.
The question is not:
“Do I have to keep the Sabbath?”
The question is:
“Why would I ever want to forget it?”
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APPEAL
Father in heaven,
We come to You weary, busy, scattered, and often forgetful.
We confess that we have allowed the world to shape our rhythm more than Your Word.
We have filled our days with hurry and emptied our hearts of remembrance.
We have forgotten the day You blessed, the day You made holy, the day You gave as a gift of love.
Tonight, we ask for something simple but supernatural:
Teach us to remember.
Not just the command—
but the Creator.
Not just the day—
but the Deliverer.
Not just the rest—
but the Redeemer.
Restore our sight where it has grown dim.
Restore our balance where we have become unsteady.
Restore our identity where we have forgotten who we are.
Give us a heart that longs for the Sabbath,
a mind that treasures Your Word,
a spirit that delights in Your presence.
Let the Sabbath no longer be the day the world forgot—
let it become the day our hearts remember You.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
