Dock Resource Kit
Sunday sermon, 30 March 2025
This week, Mark spoke to us about what it means to live as a living sacrifice in response to God’s mercy, drawing from Romans 12. With vivid imagery from the Old Testament tabernacle and the metaphor of surfing, we were invited to offer our everyday lives—mess and all—back to God as an act of true worship. The sermon explored how mercy not only saves us but transforms us, how humility opens the door to renewal, and how resisting the pull of the world leads us deeper into God’s presence. We were reminded that this isn’t something we do alone, but together—as one body, responding to the Spirit’s wave.
Dock Discussion Questions
What does it mean for you personally to “get on the altar” each day? What might that look like practically in your daily rhythm?
Paul tells us not to conform to the pattern of this world. Where do you sense the world’s influence in your life right now, and how might you actively resist it?
Humility is named as the starting point for transformation. What does humility look like in your current season? How is God inviting you to think of yourself less?
We’re called to do this not alone, but as one body. What role does community play in helping you stay on the altar and live a life shaped by mercy?
Long-form, editted transcript
Romans Series – Pt. 8:
Get on the Altar
Romans 12.1-8
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.
For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.
Hello, everybody. Today we are in Romans 12. And it’s a special moment in Romans.
We’ve been going through this series—and hats off to those who’ve led us through these chapters all the way to where we are today. And today you get me.
I’m the co-leader of the House of Prayer for East London. I’m also member here at St Paul’s Shadwell. I’m one of the clergy team. And, my wife and I planted out about a year and a half ago. Some of you may have even visited our House of Prayer—a big old clergy house up in Stepney Green—and it’s just been an amazing journey for us.
But like so many things, including here in the Book of Romans—as was described this morning as we prayed before the service—Sunday sometimes is like this crest of a wave. There are swells in the week and then a wave crashes and there’s another set. In lots of ways, planting the House of Prayer for us was another wave in the series of waves that have come through our life as we’ve followed God and gone on adventure with Him.
There’s this thing that builds to a point where you think, “Oh, I’ve got to do something about this,” and then it crashes into a whole new season, a whole new chapter of what life might look like.
Riding the Waves of Romans
Paul, I think, is an absolute master when it comes to guiding us through the big theological landscape of Romans. He takes us on this sweeping journey—chapter by chapter—as if each one is a wave rising and building, drawing us deeper into the reality of who God is and what He’s done.
In chapter one, the wave builds with Paul naming the human condition—our brokenness, our desperate need. It’s stark. It’s raw. And as you read it, you feel the swell of it rising.
Then come chapters two to five, where the wave grows larger still. Here, Paul reveals the staggering truth that justification doesn’t come through anything we’ve done, but through what Jesus has done for us. Suddenly we’re being carried—no, lifted—by this wave of grace and mercy. Not by our effort, but by the righteousness of faith.
Then in chapter six, Paul anticipates our natural question—if we’ve been justified, does that mean we can just go on sinning? His answer is a firm no. We are dead to sin, he says, but alive in Christ. And you sense it again—that this isn’t just a set of ideas. It’s movement. It’s transformation. We’re being invited to ride wave after wave, deeper into the mystery and mercy of God.
I remember once, on a long car journey to Sheffield, my wife and I decided to read the entire book of Romans aloud. One of us drove while the other read. We didn’t listen to music or a podcast—we just read the text, word for word. And it was powerful. We weren’t doing any deep theological reflection at the time, we were just reading—but Scripture has a way of doing its own work. It breathes. It speaks. And somewhere along that drive, it came alive.
We got to chapter 8—one of the most powerful chapters in all of Scripture—and I remember hitting that line: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” And I was gone. Tears. That was it. The wave crashed in. Just moments before, in chapter 7, Paul had cried out, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” And now he was declaring that rescue had come. Not in theory—in Jesus. Jesus is the one who steps into our brokenness and makes a way.
Paul goes on in chapter 8 to say that we’re no longer slaves, but children. We’re adopted into this new family. By the Spirit, we cry, “Abba, Father.” It’s not just doctrine—it’s belonging. It’s intimacy. It’s new life.
The Mercy That Reshapes Us
Last week, we heard about mercy—this mercy that is more than just a nice idea. Mercy is what calls us. It’s what makes us children. It’s what makes a way. Jesus is mercy personified. He doesn’t give us what we deserve—He gives us Himself.
And that changes everything.
Mercy says you don’t have to carry guilt anymore. You’re not defined by your worst decisions—you’re defined by what Jesus has done for you. That’s the power of mercy. It humbles us. It frees us. It opens the door to live a whole new life.
A Living Sacrifice
And so we arrive at Romans 12. Paul says, “Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters…” That “therefore” carries the weight of everything that’s come before. Chapters 1 to 11. The whole sweep of salvation history. The story of Israel. The story of humanity. The story of you and me.
“Therefore, I urge you… in view of God’s mercy… offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.”
Paul is making a shift here. He’s not laying out another theological argument—he’s inviting us into a response. In light of everything God has done, how should we live?
Not to pay God back—that would be old covenant thinking. No, mercy doesn’t demand repayment. Mercy calls us into a new kind of life. A life offered back to God. A life lived on the altar.
The Tabernacle and the Altar
To really understand Paul’s language here, we need to look back to the Old Testament and the image of the tabernacle. The tabernacle was a sacred tent set up by the Israelites during their wilderness journey—a place where God’s presence dwelled among them. It was holy ground.
At the heart of the tabernacle was the Holy of Holies, the innermost space where heaven and earth met. But you couldn’t just waltz in there. To approach God’s presence, you had to pass by the altar. And on that altar, sacrifices were made—animals, grain, oil—offered as a way of drawing near to God.
It was messy. Bloody. Intense. Somewhere between a butcher’s shop and a roast dinner.
But this is what Paul is evoking when he talks about sacrifice. His Jewish listeners would have instantly understood the imagery. Sacrifice was about making a way to come close to God.
And yet Paul flips the image. This time, the sacrifice is not a dead animal—it’s a living person. It’s you. It’s me. And it’s not just your flesh and blood—it’s everything. Your whole being. Your heart, your mind, your desires, your decisions. Everything is placed on the altar.
Get on the Altar
This is the invitation: to get up on the altar.
In The Message version, it’s phrased like this: “Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering.”
Not just your Sunday morning life. Not just your spiritual gifts. Everything.
And here’s the practice I’ve found helpful. When you wake up in the morning, don’t just plant your feet on the floor—get on the altar. Before you check your phone, before you do anything else—offer yourself to God again. Your day. Your emotions. Your whole self.
Because that’s the worship God is after.
Learning to Surf
Let me make a confession: I used to lie about being a surfer. I liked the identity. It made me feel secure. I had the skateboard, the music taste, the attitude—but not the actual surfing skills. A few goes on a board, but I mostly got knocked over by waves.
But last summer, we did a proper surf lesson as a family. And let me tell you—it’s humbling. It’s hard. Boards flying. Kids drifting. Waves crashing. But in those few seconds I actually stood up, I got it. I understood the thrill. The freedom. The joy. And I thought, “Ah, this is why people stick with it.”
Learning to offer your life to God is like learning to surf. It’s not easy. You fall off. You doubt. You flail. But something keeps calling you back to the water. The wave is coming—and mercy is the swell that lifts you.
You don’t generate the wave. You don’t generate the life. Jesus is the life. And when you offer your life to Him, His life wraps around yours. His strength becomes yours. His stability becomes your foundation.
Stay on the Altar
It’s one thing to get on the altar. It’s another thing to stay there.
Because let’s be honest—everything in the world is trying to pull you off.
Paul says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world.” And that’s no small ask. We live in a world that is constantly discipling us, forming us. If you’re not being shaped by Jesus, you’re being shaped by something else. Often, multiple things.
So how do we resist?
This is where spiritual disciplines come in. Fasting. Prayer. Simplicity. Generosity. Service. These are not checkboxes—they’re training tools. They help us resist the pull of the world and stay present to the Spirit.
But Paul doesn’t start there. The first thing he says is this: “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought.” His starting point is humility.
Not some impressive spiritual practice. Just humility.
The Way of Humility
Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself. It’s thinking of yourself less. The world is obsessed with self—self-promotion, self-discovery, self-actualisation. But the gospel is different.
Jesus didn’t come to impress or dominate—He came to serve. He emptied Himself. He gave Himself away.
And we are called to do the same.
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flashy. You just need to ask, “What do I have to give?” Your loaves and fishes are enough. Because Jesus knows how to multiply what we offer.
It’s Supposed to Be Hard
Let’s not pretend this is easy. Being transformed is hard. Living differently is hard. Everyday life—relationships, parenting, work—it’s all hard.
The world is at war. And there’s a war inside us too.
One writer put it this way: “If you don’t have a load of problems that non-Christians don’t understand, you’re probably not a Christian.” In other words, this isn’t supposed to make sense to the world. Following Jesus is weird. It’s costly. It doesn’t always look impressive. But it is good.
Kurt Thompson says, “We think becoming like God means becoming more powerful and protected from pain. But in fact, it’s through suffering and persevering that we become like Jesus.”
You don’t get immunity. But you do get His presence.
A Community on the Altar
Paul says in Romans 8 that “creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.”
This is not just about you—it’s about us.
We are a body. We belong to one another. The faith Paul talks about here isn’t just individual—it’s collective. It’s shared. And that’s good news. Because even if all you’ve got is a mustard seed of faith, someone else might have a tree.
Imagine if we all got on the altar together. If we all said yes to the Spirit together. If we were ready when the wave of God’s presence came, not just as individuals but as one body.
Heaven would be cheering. And the world would take notice.
Access to the Holy of Holies
Back in the tabernacle, once a sacrifice was made, the priest could enter the Holy of Holies.
Now, because of Jesus—the true and final sacrifice—we all have access. You don’t have to go through ritual. You don’t need a special place. You have access. Right now.
Brother Lawrence, a monk who spent his life washing dishes, knew this. He called it “practicing the presence of God.” Even in the most ordinary tasks, he found he could enter into communion with the Holy One.
You can too.
Whatever your circumstances—dark or mundane—you can step into the presence of God. The altar is the doorway.
Step Into the Presence
This is the heart of it: the invitation is not just to sacrifice, but to presence. To nearness. To intimacy with God.
The image of the tabernacle reminds us that the altar was never the destination. It was the doorway. The offering allowed access to the place where God dwelled. And now, through Jesus—the true living sacrifice—we have permanent, unfettered access to that same presence.
We can step right in. Not because we’ve earned it, but because we’ve offered ourselves to the One who already gave everything.
And that’s what changes us.
The closer we get to God’s presence, the more we are transformed. The more time we spend with Him, the more our thinking is renewed, our hearts softened, our lives reshaped. The altar isn’t a place of death—it’s the gateway to life.
You Can Do This Anywhere
You don’t have to be in a church building. You don’t need incense or a band or a sacred soundtrack. You can do this anywhere.
That’s what Brother Lawrence understood—scrubbing pots and pans in a monastery kitchen, whispering prayers, quietly lifting his soul to God. He knew that even in the mundane, we can step into the Holy of Holies. The presence of God isn’t locked in a room—it lives within you.
And so I don’t presume to know what you carry. I don’t know what your mornings feel like or what battles you’re facing as you lie awake at night. But I do know this: Jesus, by His mercy and through His risen life, has made a way. And because of that, you can say—today, again—Lord, help me get on the altar. I want to be with You.
A Moment to Respond
So perhaps now—wherever you are—you could just pause. Change your posture, if it helps. Maybe stand. Maybe kneel. Maybe simply sit and open your hands.
Take a moment to invite the Holy Spirit to bring something to mind. Is there a part of your life that needs to be offered afresh? Something painful? Something precious? Something you’ve been holding onto?
Now imagine laying that thing on the altar. Not as a final gesture, but as a beginning. A doorway.
A Closing Prayer
Father, we give You everything. Our whole selves. Not just the polished bits, but the hidden things. The mess, the beauty, the doubt, the love.
We give it all to You.
Holy Spirit, would You come now? Fall afresh on us. Like fire from heaven, receive what we bring and do what only You can do with it.
Take our loaves and fishes—our small, inadequate offerings—and multiply them. That we might become a blessing to the world around us.
Thank You that mercy has made a way. Thank You that we are forgiven, free from condemnation, free to live in the fullness of life You offer.
And so we repent of the ways we’ve wandered. The ways we’ve missed the mark. We also reject the pull of the world around us—the lies, the distractions, the patterns that lead us away from You. And we choose again, in this moment, to hold on to You.
Lord, help us to get back on the altar today. And tomorrow. And the day after that.
And lead us, not just as individuals, but as a body—together. A community. A church marked by mercy, humility, and sacrificial love.
Show each of us the part we have to play. The gift we have to bring. The story we’re invited to write—together.
For the sake of the lost, the broken, the hurting. For East London and beyond.
Amen.