Trading Excuses For Obedience

Introduction — The Power of “B.U.T.”

There’s a small word that can sabotage the biggest dreams, derail the best intentions, and shrink the boldest faith. It’s just three letters long, yet it carries the weight of an anchor. The word is but.

A teacher once asked her students to write about something they did over the weekend. A young girl read her paper aloud:

“I tried cooking a new recipe, but the cat insisted on taste-testing everything. I think he judged my soufflé — harshly.”

The class erupted in laughter, and the teacher smiled. “It seems ‘but’ is just code for ‘plot twist starring my cat.’”

That tiny word flipped a success story into comedy. And if we’re honest, it does the same thing in our walk with God.

“I’m going to forgive … but.”

“I’ll start praying again … but.”

“I’ll surrender everything to God … but.”

Every time we add that little conjunction, obedience turns into negotiation, and faith becomes hesitation.

We come to the altar with passion and leave with punctuation marks. But becomes the spiritual brake pedal. It’s the pause between conviction and commitment, between what we know we ought to do and what we actually choose to do.

That’s why today’s message carries a single challenge: It’s time to shrink the “but.”

Because as long as your but is big, your obedience will be small.

Some of us have been lugging around our buts for years — carefully polished excuses, polite rationalizations dressed up as humility. We tell God, “I want revival,” but we secretly add, “not if it changes my comfort zone.” We want to follow Jesus, but not if it costs too much or takes too long.

And yet the call of Christ was never “Follow Me — unless.” It was simply, “Follow Me.”

The Bible is filled with people who discovered what happens when you stop hiding behind your “but.” Peter, who said “But Lord, I am a sinful man,” became the one who preached Pentecost. Moses, who protested “But I can’t speak,” became the voice of deliverance. Each time a human said but, God replied, “Because I am with you.”

So the issue isn’t God’s calling — it’s our conjunction. The message today isn’t about grammar; it’s about grace. God wants to teach us how to replace every but with a because.

Because He forgave me, I can forgive.

Because He served me, I can serve.

Because He first loved me, I can say yes without fear.

The Big Little Word That Changes Everything

“But” is a hinge-word — and a hinge decides which way the door swings.

A woman told her neighbor, “My dog is very obedient … but only when he’s asleep.”

A boy bragged, “I taught my goldfish to play dead … but now it won’t stop doing stand-up comedy.”

Someone announced, “I ran my first marathon … but I ran it backwards.”

Another said, “I cleaned my room … but I hid all the mess under the bed.”

And a writer groaned, “I finished my novel … but I accidentally saved it as a GIF.”

Every “but” flips triumph into absurdity. It’s the hinge that turns accomplishment into irony.

Spiritually, that same hinge creaks in our lives:

“I believe in God … but I’m not ready to change.”

“I want to serve … but I don’t have time.”

“I forgive … but I’ll never forget.”

God hears that word and sighs, not because He’s angry, but because He knows we’re living beneath our calling. He’s not looking for perfect grammar; He’s looking for surrendered hearts.

Every great move of God begins when someone drops their but and picks up their because.

“But” focuses on obstacles. “Because” focuses on opportunity.

“But” argues for limitation. “Because” argues for liberation.

“But” looks at me. “Because” looks at Him.

So let’s open Scripture and see what happens when we trade excuses for obedience, when we let the Spirit shrink the “but” until all that’s left is a wholehearted yes.

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1 Purity Before Performance — Leviticus 12 : 1 – 7

Leviticus doesn’t top the best-seller list. It’s filled with regulations about sacrifices, cleansing, offerings — details that seem distant from modern life. But tucked in those ancient instructions is a principle that burns with relevance: Before you do anything for God, you must first be made clean by God.

After childbirth, a woman in Israel was considered ceremonially unclean for a set period. That wasn’t punishment; it was protection. God built time for healing into His law. At the end of those days, she brought her offering — a lamb if she could afford it, or two turtledoves if she couldn’t. Grace was written right into the statute: no one priced out of purity.

The message is simple: Holiness comes before hurry.