We are in week one of our series 'Altar Ego,' based on a book by Craig Groeschel with the same title. This morning, I want to start by exploring the word 'altar.' When you hear the word 'altar,' I want you to think surrender.

In Scripture, the altar was a sacred place where people met with God, offered sacrifices, and laid down something of value in worship. It was never casual; it was holy ground, the place where heaven touched earth, and hearts were transformed in God's presence.

The altar is where Noah stepped off the ark and chose worship over fear. He had just walked through destruction, grief, and uncertainty. Yet his first recorded act after stepping onto dry ground was worship. The Bible says,

“Then Noah built an altar to the Lord and, taking some of all the clean animals and clean birds, he sacrificed burnt offerings on it” (Genesis 8:20).

And so, the altar became a place of gratitude and covenant, and it was there that God responded to Noah with a promise.

The altar is where Abraham laid down his son, Isaac, the promise God had given him. The Bible says,

“So Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood” (Genesis 22:9).

And in that place of surrender, God revealed himself as provider. Abraham surrendered what he loved the most and God provided what Abraham couldn’t see coming.

And so, the altar becomes a place of exchange. Like Jacob built an altar after God met him and renamed him.

“There he built an altar, and he called the place El Bethel, because it was there that God revealed himself to him” (Genesis 35:7).

This altar represents transformation, as Jacob, the deceiver, became Israel. The altar becomes the place where false identity dies, and God-given identity is affirmed.

The altar is where Elijah called on the name of the Lord, and fire fell from heaven. But we cannot rush past what happened before the fire.

“Elijah said to all the people, ‘Come here to me.’ They came to him, and he repaired the altar of the Lord, which was in ruins” (1 Kings 18:30).

In other words, the altar was not functional; it was broken and neglected, with stones scattered, and worship had been replaced by compromise. And so, before there was fire, there was repair. Before there was power, there was repentance. Before there was public victory, there was private obedience.

Elijah didn't start with a prayer for fire; he began by restoring what had been torn down. He collected stones and rebuilt what once honored God. He put everything back in its proper place, and only after the altar was restored did the fire fall.

And the same is true for us, before the fire falls, before the power comes, before there is visible transformation, the altar must be restored. Surrender must happen. Pride must come down. Compromise must be cleared away. Hearts must be realigned. God still sends fire, but He sends it to an altar that has been repaired.

If we want new fire in our lives, we do not start by demanding power. We start by rebuilding the altar because it’s where repentance meets mercy. It is a symbol of exchange. You lay something down, and God does something new. You surrender what you cannot fix, and he releases what only he can give. The altar is where change happens because it is the place where we trust him with what we value most.

In this series, we are not just talking about a physical altar at the front of a church. We are talking about the altar of the heart. Scripture says,

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

And so, if you are the temple of the Holy Spirit, that means the altar is not a piece of furniture; it is your heart. It is the inner place where worship occurs, surrender happens, and where God does His deepest work.

Now, let’s pause to examine the word ego. Your ego is how you see yourself. It shapes how you define your identity. But the truth is, many of us don’t see ourselves clearly. Some people think too highly of themselves, while others underestimate who they are. As a result, we struggle to understand who we truly are and who God created us to be.

You see, each of us holds an internal story about who we are. That story has been shaped by wounds, failures, disappointments, and words spoken over us. Some of those words were careless. Some were cruel. Some we have repeated to ourselves so long that they feel true. Often, those stories become the altar where we build our identity instead of allowing the Holy Spirit to shape it according to the truth of God’s Word.

Instead of seeing ourselves as God sees us, we start building our identity around those wounds and words. We switch into survival mode. We protect ourselves. We strive to be accepted. We pretend to be stronger than we actually are. Over time, that made-up version of us becomes our altar ego, the image we project and fiercely defend, even when it is not who God created us to be.

In this series, we are bringing that false image to the altar. We are laying down who we think we are so we can become who God says we are. We are surrendering the labels and the lies. We are choosing truth over fear and freedom over shame. And as we lay our altar ego down, we make room for the Holy Spirit to shape our identity according to the Word of God.

But we cannot do this on our own. Letting go of our ego, surrendering our pride, and choosing not to take offense are spiritual acts. They depend on the Holy Spirit working inside us. Scripture tells us:

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22–23).

Every one of these qualities is necessary if we are to lay down offense. This is not about self-help or self-improvement; it is about surrendering to the Spirit of God and allowing Him to produce in us what we cannot do on our own.

Today we are talking about a specific false altar that many of us have built over the years—the altar of my right to be offended. And God is asking us to lay it down. Jesus made it clear that offense is part of life in a fallen world. He said:

“It is impossible that no offenses should come” (Luke 17:1).

The issue is not whether offense will come, but how we respond.

If we're honest, many of us treat our right to be offended as if it belongs to us. We protect it. We stand up for it. We justify it. Soon, we're not just upset by big wounds but by small moments that won't matter five minutes later.

And offense sneaks in so quietly. It starts as a feeling, becomes a mindset, and soon influences how we see people. We assume the worst. We replay conversations. We create arguments that never even happened. All the while, we tell ourselves we're just protecting our hearts.

I'll be honest. For years, it didn't take much to irritate me. A careless comment. A small misunderstanding. Something said in the wrong tone. Or not said at all. It was amazing how quickly my mood could change. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you've felt that spark inside that says, I have every right to feel this way.

One place I noticed it most was behind the wheel. Driving tends to reveal what is really inside you. You can worship on Sunday and still struggle with your attitude on Monday in traffic. I have sat waiting to pull out while car after car passes, and no one lets me out. Immediately, I can feel the frustration beginning to build up.

Or when I let someone pull out in front of me, I have two simple expectations: move quickly and acknowledge my kindness. A small wave or a quick thank you is enough, but when someone pulls out without even a glance, I can go from being generous to feeling offended in seconds. One moment I feel benevolent, and the next I am judging their character.

I find it incredible how quickly offense can turn a mood around. What begins as a simple act of kindness becomes a silent courtroom in my mind where I take on the roles of judge and jury, all over something so minor.

And why does this happen? Because, more often than not, we are easily offended. It doesn’t take much to touch that nerve. Something small feels personal. Something happens, and it seems intentional. And before we even pause to pray, we are already forming a response in our hearts.

Maybe someone speaks with a tone you don't like. Maybe you send a text and get no reply, and your mind fills in the blanks. Maybe someone never apologizes. Or you do something thoughtful and receive no acknowledgment. It’s funny how quickly we shift from grace to judgment when someone inconveniences us.

Even within the church community, offense spreads rapidly. We criticize preferences, styles, and differences as if we are the standard of maturity. We can be so quick to judge what feels different without considering what God might be doing in it.

Why does this happen? Because we are driven by our ego. Our ego wants to be correct, and for us to be correct, someone else must be wrong. Our ego seeks validation. It craves recognition. It guards our image. And when we act that way, we become sensitive and defensive. We interpret neutral moments as having motives. We build walls instead of bridges.

And yet, as we turn to the Scriptures, Proverbs 19:11 says:

“A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense” (Proverbs 19:11).

That verse flips our instincts upside down. Culture encourages defending yourself and proving your point. Scripture, on the other hand, teaches that wisdom leads to patience, and true honor is found in forgiving an offense. It’s about not reacting, not escalating, and not keeping score.

Consider how forgiveness was represented at the altar in the Old Testament. People brought an innocent animal, and forgiveness was made possible through the shedding of blood. During Passover, families painted the blood of a lamb on their doorposts. When the angel of death arrived, he passed over every home marked with that blood. Judgment does not enter where the blood has been applied.

All of that pointed to Jesus, about whom John the Baptist declared:

“Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29).

Jesus is the Lamb of God. His blood was shed on the cross. Because of His sacrifice, God passes over our sins. He forgives us not because we earned it, but because Christ paid for it in full.

That is what we bring to the altar. Not just our offenses against others, but our own record—every failure and every selfish moment. And Jesus covers it with His blood. The altar is where exchange happens. We lay down what we cannot carry, and He gives us what we could never earn.

When I talk about laying down your right to be offended, I am not asking you to pretend the hurt never occurred. I am asking you to come back to the altar and remember what it cost to forgive you. Let that remembrance change how you see others.

To overlook doesn't mean to deny; it means to choose forgiveness. You see it, but you refuse to dwell on it. You acknowledge it, but you don't let it control you. The victory isn't in winning the argument; it's in having the strength to release it and lay it down.

The apostle Paul says in Romans 12:3:

“For by the grace given me I say to everyone: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you” (Romans 12:3).

Paul begins with grace because, before following Christ, he persecuted believers. However, God showed him mercy. God forgave him, called him, and used him. That is the grace he refers to—the grace he has received.

And so, he speaks as someone who knows what it is to be humbled by God, saying think of yourself with sober judgment. He’s not promoting having low self-esteem; he is talking about seeing yourself clearly and being grounded in the truth of God’s word. Because when our ego is inflated, even the smallest things feel like a personal attack. But when we are rooted in grace, we don’t need to defend ourselves, we are secure enough to let things go.

So, when Paul says, “For by the grace given me,” he reminds us that everything we are comes from mercy. Just think about it for a moment: has God given you grace, and have you received mercy instead of judgment? Absolutely, right? We all have.

And so, let me break this down into three practical steps.

First, God has been gracious to me and you so that we can show grace to others. Ephesians 4:2 says:

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love” (Ephesians 4:2).

That is important because our natural tendency is to judge others by what they do but ourselves by what we meant to do. In other words, we want others to consider our background and history, but we don’t slow down to understand theirs.

And so, when someone speaks sharply, because of the grace I have received, I choose to assume the best rather than the worst, since they might be dealing with something, going through something, exhausted, and overwhelmed.

As followers of Christ, we need thick skin and tender hearts because hurt people hurt people. When I remember that, I begin to respond with prayer instead of offense, because that is the work of the Holy Spirit within me. Patience, kindness, and self-control are fruits of the Spirit, so when someone is irritating, I can ask the Holy Spirit to help me respond differently. And the Bible says, if we ask God for anything that agrees with His will, He listens to us. And if we know that He listens whenever we ask, then we can be confident that what we have asked for is already ours (1 John 5:14–15).

That is a powerful promise because God is present and he is willing.

Next, because God has shown me grace, I will not label people. We often do this when we focus on one part of their story and treat it as their entire identity. Instead of seeing someone fully made in God’s image, we reduce them to a category, a mistake, or a stereotype.

What if God defined you by the worst thing you've ever done? Just take a moment to think about that because, before Christ, many of us engaged in actions we now regret, are ashamed of, yet God forgave us and gave us a new identity.

In Luke chapter 6, Jesus said:

“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Luke 6:36–37).

Yet we often freeze people by a single failure. We forget that the Holy Spirit continues to work within them. And so, when we label someone, we impose limits on what God can do. But God did not define you by your worst moment and so we should extend the same mercy to others.

Third, because Christ has forgiven me, I will forgive others in the same way I have been forgiven. Colossians 3:13 says:

“Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you” (Colossians 3:13).

Now, I know some of you might say, I can forgive the little things, but what about betrayal? What about the deep wounds? And I don’t want to downplay your pain in any way because the hurt is real, but Jesus said,

“If you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins” (Matthew 6:14–15).

In other words, if you keep tallying your sins against them, holding their faults over their heads, blaming and accusing them. But Ephesians 4:32 gives us a new standard:

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32).

And so, we forgive not because they deserve it, but because we didn’t deserve God’s forgiveness either.

For some of you, forgiveness will be a process. It will involve daily surrender. It will mean bringing the same wound back to the Lord again and again and saying, Lord, I need Your Spirit to help me. That is not weakness. That is dependence on the Holy Spirit.

We need to remember that hurt people hurt others, but forgiven people forgive others. When you know you are covered by the blood of Jesus, it becomes harder to demand justice for everyone else. This isn’t about defending your pride or your family; it’s about reflecting the heart of Christ.

I realize I don’t have the right to hold onto offense as if it belongs to me because my life is not my own; I was bought with a price. Because of what Jesus has done for me, I choose grace. And therefore, I refuse to keep replaying what God has called me to release, recognizing,

“It is to his glory to overlook an offense” (Proverbs 19:11).

But that kind of response doesn’t come from willpower alone; it flows from a heart that has been to the altar. You bring your offense, your pride, your right to be right, and you lay it down. In that moment, God gives back peace, freedom, and a heart that looks more like Jesus.

That’s important because the altar is not just at the front of the church. The altar is in your heart because the Bible says,

“Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

And so, you are the temple of the Holy Spirit, your heart is the altar, and the Holy Spirit is present right now, inviting you to respond.

Maybe today, you have been carrying an offense for weeks or years.

Maybe you have labeled someone and haven't given God room to work.

Maybe forgiveness feels impossible because the wound is deep.

That is exactly why we need the altar. The altar is for people who know they need God.

If you're ready to lay it down, this is your moment. You can pray right where you are. You can come forward if you need a physical act of surrender. You can open your hand now as a sign of letting go. Bring your offense to the altar and allow the Holy Spirit to do what only He can do.

Graphics, notes, and commentary from LifeChurch, Ministry Pass, PC Study Bible, Preaching Library, and Sermon Central. Scripture from the New International Version unless otherwise noted.