Where There’s Blayze

It’s not every day a preacher gets invited to speak somewhere outside their usual stomping grounds. As a Methodist minister, I’m used to the rhythm of Sunday services, three churches and a school, all in a familiar loop. People get to know my quirks: my tendency to wander while speaking, my habit of veering off-topic (but always coming back… close enough, anyway).

So when someone actually invites me to preach, it feels a bit like being asked to the party instead of being expected to host it. That’s how I felt when Alex asked me to speak at his Baptist church down south. Genuinely thrilled. Whether my sermon ended up being a blessing or a burden? Well, that’s for them to decide.

The Disney Sermon Debacle

Let me start with a story, the most terrifying preaching experience of my life.

I was working as a children’s and families worker in Marlborough when a friend, a youth pastor up north, asked me to speak at a youth retreat. “It’ll be great,” he said. “Oh, and by the way, 25% of the kids aren’t Christians. And each speaker has to preach from a Disney movie.”

My assigned film? The Emperor’s New Groove.

Now, if you’ve seen it, you’ll know: fun movie, terrible sermon material. A selfish emperor turned into a llama? Not exactly the Gospel of John. I mean, what’s the sermon here? “Blessed are the llamas, for they shall inherit the… hay?”

Still, I said yes.

Getting there was another challenge. “Turn left at the cows and follow the dirt road, you’ll know it when you see it.” Spoiler: I did not know it when I saw it.

After hours of driving, I arrive at a dark cabin in the middle of nowhere. I knock. Nothing. Lights are on, but no one answers. I begin circling the building, flashlight on, phone out. I must have looked more like a burglar than a guest speaker. Eventually, I spot a lit window and approach, only to realise it’s the girls’ dorm. And there I am: strange man, in the dark, phone out, lurking.

What do you do? Wave? Nope, that’s worse. Run? Definitely not. So I did the only thing I could think of: turned off my flashlight and laid in the grass.

Genius.

Eventually, a group of girls from another room saw me, opened their window and asked me what I was doing, and I panicked, shouting, “I’m just trying to get in!” Which, in hindsight, sounds much worse.

Eventually my friend found me and cleared things up. But walking into a hall of 100 teens, half of whom now thought I was some kind of field-dwelling creeper? Not ideal.

The youth pastor got up and introduced me with:

“Ladies and gentlemen, our speaker tonight—many of you haven’t seen him before, but don’t worry. He’s seen you.”

And still, I preached. Because sometimes, you face the fear. Even if that fear is being “that guy from the bushes.”

Thomas: More Than a Doubter

Fear is a tricky thing. Sometimes it shows up as doubt. And nowhere is that more evident than in the story of Thomas.

We know him as “Doubting Thomas.” Even in homes where church wasn’t a big deal growing up, the phrase, “Don’t be a doubting Thomas” still made its way around. But honestly, I think Thomas has been misunderstood. He wasn’t just a doubter. He was also incredibly brave.

Remember in John 11, when Jesus wants to return to Judea, the place where people had just tried to stone Him? All the disciples are terrified. And who’s the one who steps up and says, “Let us also go, that we may die with him”?

Thomas.

Does that sound like someone prone to doubt? Or someone deeply committed, even in the face of death?

Fear Behind the Locked Door

In John 20, the disciples have heard the tomb is empty. They go, they see the linen cloths, folded neatly. (Honestly, if you’re stealing a body, you don’t stop to fold the laundry. These are the tidiest criminals in history if that’s the case.)

And they believe. But what do they do? Run out shouting the Good News? No. They go home.

Later, they gather in a locked room, gripped by fear. The resurrection has happened, and yet they’re hiding. Until Jesus enters the room—miraculously and says, “Peace be with you.” He shows them His hands and side, and then He breathes on them. The Greek word for “breath” is linked to the Spirit, Ruach. It’s not just air. It’s presence. Power. Life.

Thomas’ Real Struggle

Thomas wasn’t in the room that day. And when he hears the others talk about it, he says, “Unless I see the marks, I won’t believe.”

We read that as doubt. But think about it, eight days go by. Eight days of being surrounded by people he trusts, all insisting Jesus is alive. If that were me, I’d at least be asking questions.

But maybe it wasn’t doubt. Maybe it was fear. Because if Jesus is alive, then everything changes. You don’t get to stay safe anymore. You have to go out. Preach. Heal. Get rejected. Face the same dangers Jesus did. That’s terrifying.

And Jesus returns. He walks into the room and, again, says, “Peace be with you.” He invites Thomas to touch His wounds, but the text never says Thomas did. Instead, Jesus says, “Because you have seen me, you believe.” Not touched. Seen.

Believing was never the end goal. Encountering Jesus was.

It Takes an Encounter

The disciples didn’t set the world on fire in the book of Acts just because they believed. They had an encounter with the risen Jesus. And it changed them.

Same with Job. Job suffered beyond imagination. He questioned, he wrestled, he lamented. And when God finally speaks in Job 38–42, He doesn’t give answers, He gives Himself. That encounter with God is what transforms Job.

Even John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, had a moment like this. After a rocky start in ministry, it was at a meeting in Aldersgate that he felt his “heart strangely warmed.” That moment, an experience of Jesus, not just a belief about Him, changed everything. After that, he traveled 250,000 miles and preached 40,000 sermons, fighting for the poor, the enslaved, the sick, and the forgotten. Not because he believed. Because he experienced.

So Where Is the Church Today?

Let’s be honest. We believe. But do we experience?

Do we live like we’ve encountered the risen Christ? Or are we more like the disciples, still locked in our upper rooms?

When people think of the Church today, what do they see? A passionate, fearless community like in Acts, or something else? Something quieter, more afraid, more inward?

If the world sees the Church as nothing more than a religious hobby, a museum of outdated beliefs, maybe it’s because we’ve stopped stepping out. Maybe we’re waiting for people to come to us, when really, we need to go to them.

Final Thoughts

So let me ask you:

Do you believe?

More importantly, have you encountered Christ?

Because if you have, it’s time to get out of that upper room. It’s time to let go of fear. It’s time to be the kind of people the world might call weird, people so convinced by their experience of Jesus that they can’t help but share Him.

Be the weird Christian. Be the one who stepped out of the bushes, who faced the awkward, the uncomfortable, the fear. Let’s be those people. Let’s bring revival, and settle for nothing less.

Because belief might bring us to the door.

But an encounter with Jesus? That’s what will make us walk through it.