The Final Sermon
The morning sun bathed the sanctuary of Cornerstone Church in a golden glow, casting long beams of light through the stained-glass windows. It was a Sunday like any other, yet an unshakable feeling of reverence hung in the air. Pastor Matt Hagee stood at the pulpit, his Bible open, his hands steady. His voice carried the same conviction it always had, but there was a weight behind his words, as if he knew something the congregation did not.
“Faith is not about knowing the path,” he preached, his voice echoing through the grand hall. “It’s about trusting the One who guides us, even when we don’t see the way ahead.”
A hush settled over the crowd. Many nodded in agreement, some wiping tears from their eyes. They had always admired Matt’s devotion—how he spoke with unwavering belief, how he carried his father’s legacy while forging his own.
His wife, Kendal, watched from the front pew, their children beside her. She noticed the way Matt clutched the edges of the pulpit, his knuckles paling. A flicker of worry crossed her heart, but she pushed it aside. He was passionate, that’s all.
As he closed his sermon with a powerful prayer, his voice trembled ever so slightly.
“Lord, let us walk in Your light, knowing that when You call, we will answer. In Your holy name, Amen.”
A chorus of “Amen” filled the sanctuary, and as Matt stepped down from the pulpit, a warmth flooded his chest. A lightness. He smiled, greeting his congregation as they filed out. Some clasped his hands, others hugged him, all unaware that this would be the last sermon he would ever give.
That evening, as the stars twinkled above San Antonio, Matt sat on his porch, a cup of tea in his hands. The cool Texas breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and he closed his eyes, listening to the distant hum of crickets.
Kendal joined him, resting a hand on his knee. “You were amazing today,” she said softly.
He looked at her, his gaze filled with something deep, something unspoken. “I just want to make sure they’re ready,” he murmured.
“Ready for what?” she asked, but before he could answer, he winced. A sudden tightness gripped his chest. The tea cup slipped from his fingers, shattering against the wooden porch.
“Matt?” Kendal’s voice rose in panic as he slumped forward.
Time seemed to stop. The next moments were a blur of sirens, rushed prayers, and whispered pleas. But by the time the paramedics arrived, Matt Hagee had already answered a call greater than any earthly one.
The news spread like wildfire. Shock, grief, and disbelief rippled through the church, the city, and beyond. The man who had spent his life guiding others toward faith had walked into eternity at just 46 years old.
But in the days that followed, as mourners gathered in the very church where he had preached his final sermon, one thing became clear—Matt Hagee’s voice had not been silenced. His words, his teachings, his faith lived on.
And somewhere beyond the veil, he smiled, knowing his work was finished.
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