Take Heart! God Wins John 16:16–33; Romans 8:31–39

Take Heart! God Wins

John 16:16–33; Romans 8:31–39 Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins October 11, 2026

16’A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me.’ 17Then some of his disciples said to one another, ‘What does he mean by saying to us, “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me”; and “Because I am going to the Father”?’ 18They said, ‘What does he mean by this “a little while”?

We do not know what he is talking about.’ 19Jesus knew that they wanted to ask him, so he said to them, ‘Are you discussing among yourselves what I meant when I said, “A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me”? 20Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy. 21When a woman is in labour, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. 22So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you. 23On that day you will ask nothing of me.

Very truly, I tell you, if you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you. 24Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete. 25’I have said these things to you in figures of speech. The hour is coming when I will no longer speak to you in figures, but will tell you plainly of the Father. 26On that day you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf; 27for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God. 28I came from the Father and have come into the world; again, I am leaving the world and am going to the Father.’ 29His disciples said, ‘Yes, now you are speaking plainly, not in any figure of speech! 30Now we know that you know all things, and do not need to have anyone question you; by this we believe that you came from God.’ 31Jesus answered them, ‘Do you now believe? 32The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. 33I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!’

31What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? 32He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? 33Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. 34Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. 35Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? 36As it is written,

‘For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’

37No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Before I could speak, I was a Tennessee Volunteers fan. Some of you already know this about me. It’s just what happens when you’re born in East Tennessee. Babies born in East Tennessee come out of their mama’s wombs wearing a little orange onesie. There’s not much you can do about it.

And if you’ve ever loved a team like the Vols, you know that being a fan isn’t relaxing. You don’t watch the game so much as live through it. You pace. You bargain with God. You suddenly need a snack in the third quarter just to get out of the room.

So let me take you back to the third Saturday in October 2022. Tennessee played Alabama in Knoxville. If you’re not a football person, here’s what you need to know: Alabama had beaten us fifteen years in a row. Fifteen. It wasn’t a rivalry anymore so much as an annual tradition of despair.

And that afternoon the game went back and forth all day. Alabama came back late and tied it up, and I’m pretty sure half of East Tennessee stopped breathing. It came down to a field goal as time ran out. Final score? Fifty-two to forty-nine. Tennessee. Woo hoo!

The students tore down the goalposts, marched one of them out of the stadium, and threw it in the Tennessee River. I’m not saying I endorse that. I’m also not saying I didn’t cheer.

Nick Saban (the Alabama football coach at the time) mentioned that in fact a couple of weeks ago on ESPN GameDay. Something he won’t soon forget!

When I watched that game on the third Saturday in October 2022, I am certain I had varying degrees of heart palpitations. That’s how invested I get in those kinds of games. But what if I were to watch it now? Now that I know the outcome? Maybe I wouldn’t throw my diet coke across the room every time Alabama scores. Maybe I would even smile when Alabama ties it up in the fourth quarter. Maybe you’d even find me “in my zen.” Why?

Because I know how it ends.

Nothing about the game has changed. The bad plays are still bad plays. Alabama still scores. But knowing the ending changes how you watch the middle.

That’s what I want us to hold onto this morning. Because this whole series takes its name from something Jesus says in today’s reading. And he says it to a room full of people who very much did not know the score.

It’s the last night. The upper room. Supper is over, and Judas has already slipped out into the dark. Jesus has been talking for a long time, and then he says something that sounds like a riddle:

“In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me.”

And the disciples do exactly what we’d do. They start whispering to each other. What’s he talking about? What does he mean, “a little while”? I love that John leaves that in. They’re confused, and maybe a little embarrassed about it, so instead of asking Jesus they huddle up and ask each other. Like a classroom where nobody wants to be the one to raise a hand.

Jesus knows, of course. And here’s what surprises me: he doesn’t make it sound easier. He tells them straight. You will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. People are going to celebrate while you grieve.

A little later he says it even more plainly: “In this world you will have trouble.” Not “might.” Will. I find that strangely comforting, honestly. I don’t trust people who promise me nothing bad will happen. Jesus doesn’t promise that. What he does is tell them what the trouble is not.

It isn’t the ending.

Then Jesus reaches for a picture. Verse 21:

“A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world.”

Now. I love Jesus. I’d follow him anywhere. But I might push back on his suggestion that “she forgets the anguish.” You see, I’ve given birth twice, and I’m here to tell you, I haven’t forgotten the pain.

With my firstborn, I became very sick near the end of my pregnancy with pre-eclampsia. It’s a very serious disorder that can lead to death—the only cure is delivery of the baby. Now, I had all the symptoms: the high blood pressure, the protein, the edema. I have a couple of pictures of me from those days; think of a Japanese sumo wrestler and you get the idea.

I had to deliver Jake seven weeks early by C-section. Now, a C-section requires an injection at the base of the spine. So there I am, terror-stricken by delivering this baby seven-weeks early or I’ll die, my sumo wrestler body shaking like a leaf. Then they bring out the needle. It’s HUGE! They stick it in my back, but it doesn’t take. Why? Because they’re dealing with a swollen sumo wrestler. The edema makes it tricky to find the right spot. So they stick the world’s largest needle in me not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES!

Then if that wasn’t enough, a few minutes later, in the middle of the surgery, I went into anaphylactic shock. I had an allergic reaction to something in the anesthesia. “I can’t breathe,” I squeaked to my husband, who assured me that I was just fine until the anesthesiologist got wide-eyed and administered the world’s largest dose of Benadryl.

So, no, I haven’t forgotten the anguish of childbirth. Are there any moms here who have forgotten the anguish of childbirth?

Jesus got it right, however, in verse 20: “Your grief will turn to joy.” Nothing compares to holding your newborn baby in your arms. Grief turned to joy. Note that Jesus doesn’t say the grief disappears and joy shows up to replace it. The grief itself gets turned. Same raw material, completely transformed. The pain was real. Every bit of it. But it was going somewhere.

And then there’s this promise: “No one will take away your joy.”

No one. Not the people celebrating at the wrong time. Not the long night. Not whatever comes next.

There’s a crazy story out of World War II. In December of 1944, a young Japanese intelligence officer named Hiroo Onoda was sent to a small island in the Philippines called Lubang. His orders were simple: hold out and never surrender.

Eight months later, the war ended.

Onoda didn’t believe it. Leaflets were dropped all over the jungle announcing the war was over, but Onoda decided they were enemy tricks. Search parties came, and he hid.

Eventually his own family came and called for him over loudspeakers. He stayed put. He stayed put for twenty-nine years.

He finally walked out of that jungle in 1974, and only because his former commanding officer flew to the island and, in person, ordered him to stand down. By then Onoda was fifty-one years old. He had spent nearly his whole adult life fighting a war that had already been decided.

I’m not sure whether that story makes me want to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

Now look at what Jesus says at the end of our reading. First, the hard part, verse 32: “A time is coming and in fact has come when you will be scattered, each to your own home. You will leave me all alone.” He knows. He knows they’re about to run. And then, in the very next breath:

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

There it is. Our “Take Heart” series, in one sentence.

But notice the tense. I have overcome. Past tense. He says it the night before the cross. Before the arrest, before the trial, before the cross, before the tomb. Jesus announces the final score before anyone has seen the game.

But so many of us live our lives like Onoda: the war is finished but we’re still out in the jungle. Still fighting. Still guarding the perimeter. Bracing for something that isn’t coming. Maybe it’s an old shame you keep clinging to. Maybe it’s the fear that there won’t be

enough: enough money, enough time, enough of you. Maybe it’s just a habit of living braced, because that’s how you’ve always lived. Your nervous system just can’t let go.

Onoda needed someone he trusted to come in person and tell him it was over. That’s what Jesus does. He doesn’t drop leaflets. He comes himself.

It’s over. You can come out now.

Paul picks up this idea of victory in Romans 8. And I want you to know that Paul wasn’t writing this from a beach chair. Look at his list in verse 35: trouble, hardship, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, sword. That’s not a list of hypotheticals. That’s Paul’s lived experience.

So when he asks, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” he isn’t being naive. He’s looked squarely at everything that could be against us. He’s been through a lot of it. And he asks the question anyway.

Then comes the list that ends everything:

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Neither death nor life.

Some of us heard those words differently this year. Some of us heard them differently this week. There are seats in this room that feel very empty right now. The grief is real. I’m not going to suggest otherwise.

But notice where Paul puts death. He puts it on the list. On the list of things that do not get to separate us from the love of God. Neither death nor life will be able to separate us from the love of God.

In other words: death loses. Period.

Paul says that in all these things we are “more than conquerors.” I used to hear that as a pep talk, like if we just try hard enough we can win. But read the rest of the sentence: more than conquerors through him who loved us. We don’t win because we’re tough or tenacious or resilient. We win because we’re loved, and that love has already won.

We’ve been at this for a while now, this Take Heart series. And I’m not going to recap it. But I want you to hear something . . .

Week after week, we’ve been saying it. God shows up. God goes with. God sees. God surrounds. God proves able. God responds. God blesses. God listens. God shows mercy.

I don’t think those were separate ideas. I think they were glimpses. Two midwives defying a king. Joshua, terrified, being told not to be afraid. Three young men in a furnace. A worn-out prophet asleep under a broom tree. A woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. A blind man yelling on the side of the road while everybody tells him to hush.

Every one of them was living in the middle of the story. None of them knew how it was going to turn out. And every one of them caught a glimpse of the ending anyway.

I think that’s what courage is. Courage is not the absence of fear. (Most of those folks were scared to death.) Courage is living in the middle of the story like you know how it ends.

So here’s where we are. We’re somewhere in the middle of the game. Maybe the fourth quarter, maybe not. There are going to be more bad calls. There are going to be weeks when it looks like Alabama is coming back. Some of us are living through one of those weeks right now.

But we’ve heard the score. Jesus told us the night before it happened.

In a few minutes we’ll sing “Lift Up Your Heads, Ye Mighty Gates.” It’s an old hymn built on Psalm 24, and the picture is of gates being flung open so the King of glory can come in. I love that this is where the series lands. It doesn’t end with us white-knuckling the door, holding the line out in the jungle. It ends with the gates thrown wide open. The King comes in. Everybody comes home.

That’s the ending. That’s how the story goes.

So take heart my dear friends. We know the final score. We know how the story ends. Take heart beloveds, because (spoiler alert) . . . our God wins.