Do you remember Magic Eye pictures? If you grew up in the ’90s, there’s no way you didn’t encounter them. They were everywhere. I remember they were even included in the Sunday edition of our local newspaper.
 
If you don’t know what a Magic Eye is, they’re officially called stereograms. They’re 2D images that, when you look at them just right, suddenly become 3D. Each Magic Eye contained a hidden shape or object. It might be a unicorn, a baseball player, or something equally random. The trick was getting the image to pop and holding it long enough to figure out what you were actually looking at. Were you ever able to make them work?
 
The first Magic Eye book had the tagline, “A new way of looking at the world.” And it’s true. It was a new, headache-inducing way to see the world.
 
This week, we’re going to explore the life of a man who saw the world differently. His name was Stephen. Stephen lived with his eyes fixed on Jesus, and because of that, he navigated the world differently than everyone around him. We’ll see how Stephen’s vision of Jesus gave him the courage to die for his faith and became part of God’s plan to launch the church out of Jerusalem and into the rest of the world.
 
I’d love for you to join us tomorrow as we discover a new way of looking at the world, and how that vision can shape our lives in beautiful and life-changing ways.
 
Plus, it’s the first Sunday of June, which means we’ll be celebrating communion together. I hope you’ll join us.

Have you seen the new Instagram Instants? They’re uncurated snapshots of life, and all the kids are using them. What I find funny about them is that they’re the complete opposite of what Instagram was originally built on.
 
If you remember, Instagram started as the artsy alternative to Facebook. You were supposed to take pictures from interesting angles and drench them in filters. We were all out trying to capture the perfect shot of our exploits, from the perfect angle, with the perfect people, and the perfect pose.
 
Instants are meant to capture life without filters or preparation. Just snap a picture of your life and share it. It’s all about authenticity.
 
Millennials like me love a well-shot photo, but Gen Z tends to make fun of curated Instagram feeds. They know that the moment before that picture was taken, everyone was probably acting crazy or miserable… maybe both. Dad was yelling. Mom was crying. The kids were screaming. The Gram looked great, but it wasn’t authentic.
 
And this cycle just keeps perpetuating itself. Because when I see your perfectly curated vacation photos, suddenly I need some of my own! So I go to the spot, not necessarily to enjoy the spot itself, but so I can post a picture from THE spot. There are entire industries built around this idea.
 
Even discipleship and faith aren’t immune.
 
We’ve all probably seen the girl with her journal, coffee, and perfectly highlighted Bible open, posting a verse about her sweet time with the Lord. Or the guy sitting around a campfire, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey with “great men of faith.”
 
The reality is more mundane. Everyone’s life is some mixture of great, good, bad, and terrible. Social media can make it feel like everyone else has it all together, but we all have hard days.
 
I once heard someone say that social media is driving us crazy because, “You’re comparing your behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel.”
 
This week, we’re looking at a couple named Ananias and Sapphira who started playing the comparison game, and it ended terribly for them. They gave the appearance of holiness without the sacrifice of holiness, and it cost them their lives.
 
This Sunday, we’re going to talk about what it means to live authentically as a Christian. Christianity is not about having the holiest-looking Instagram feed, saying the right Christian words, or curating a polished spiritual image.
 
It’s about honestly bringing your broken self before Jesus, trusting what He accomplished through the cross and resurrection, and allowing Him to transform you over time.
 
I hope you’ll join us this Sunday.

Have you ever had that dreaded text come through? You know the one. The text you were expecting, but hoping would never actually arrive. Maybe it was about a relationship, bad news, or something you’d been trying to avoid. How do you respond? Do you freeze?
 
I know I freeze sometimes. I’ll see the text come through, read the first few words, and leave it sitting in my inbox. Because if I open it, they’ll see I’ve read it, and honestly, I’m not ready to deal with it yet. So, I leave it there with that little blue dot beside it and promise myself I’ll come back later. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes days pass before I respond.
 
Now, to be fair, maybe I need a few minutes to think through a coherent response. Maybe it’s late and the text can wait until morning. But let’s be honest: I don’t need days. I’m usually just delaying the inevitable.
We all know what it’s like to freeze. Peter did too.
 
One night, around a campfire, Peter got a dreaded question from a servant girl while Jesus was on trial and heading toward the cross. “Weren’t you with Jesus?” Peter froze. He fumbled. And eventually, he denied even knowing Jesus.
 
But somehow, that same Peter becomes one of the boldest witnesses for Christ the world has ever seen.
 
Just weeks after freezing, he stood in Jerusalem, the very city where Jesus had been crucified and publicly preached that Jesus had risen from the dead. The people who killed Jesus could’ve easily turned on Peter too. But the man who once froze around a campfire now boldly proclaimed Christ in the streets.
What changed? That’s exactly what we’re going to look at this Sunday as we continue our series through Acts.
 
Because we all live in a culture where being open about our faith can feel uncomfortable. It can be hard to speak up. Hard to stand out. Hard to be bold.
 
But Acts shows us something surprising: Boldness isn’t a personality trait reserved for extroverts. It’s not natural confidence or charisma. Boldness is a gift God gives ordinary people through the power of the Holy Spirit.
 
I can’t wait to worship with you this Sunday!

Before Apple and Android were battling for smartphone domination, Nokia reigned supreme. I still remember the first time I saw a Nokia phone. It felt like magic.
 
That thing was sweet. It’s clear case allowed you to see all the internals, it flashed different colors when it rang, and you could send these revolutionary things called “text messages.” But beyond the coolness was an ability that almost seemed like magic: it was indestructible. I immediately got one when I turned 18.
 
Eventually I upgraded phones, and while I can’t remember what happened to it, it’s most likely still functioning somewhere on earth today. Modern smartphones need thick protective cases just to survive a 3-foot drop. Meanwhile, a Nokia could fall off the Pru, crack the sidewalk, and still have three bars of service. Rumor has it Boston may start lining the sinking parts of Back Bay with old Nokia phones to stabilize the foundation.
 
I’m not entirely sure how they did it, but against all odds, those little plastic bricks were unstoppable.
 
Ok, weird detour, I know. But I promise this has something to do with Acts 2.
The early church was a little like a Nokia phone. It was unstoppable. And honestly, it doesn’t make sense on paper. The Apostles were fishermen, tradesmen, a political activist, and a tax collector. It sounds less like the beginning of a world-changing movement and more like the setup for a bad joke.
 
And listen, those are respectable jobs. But if you and I were assembling the “Gospel Avengers,” we probably wouldn’t have picked those guys.
 
Yet somehow, this ragtag group of mostly uneducated Galileans became the catalyst for the most influential movement in human history. By all accounts, Christianity should have disappeared a few years after Jesus’ crucifixion. Instead, 2,000 years later, we’re still feeling the effects of their ministry.
 
So what happened? How did this tiny movement become unstoppable?
 
Tomorrow we’re going to look at Acts 2 and uncover the explosive secret behind the launch of the church, and why that same power still matters today.
 
I hope you will join us for worship!

It’s not uncommon for a dynamic leader to leave a company or movement and see everything fall to pieces.
 
Steve Jobs co-founded Apple with Steve Wozniak in the garage of Jobs’ parents. What started as a small startup would eventually become one of the largest companies in the world. But the road there wasn’t exactly smooth.
 
In 1985, Steve Jobs was fired from the company he helped create after major disagreements with Apple’s leadership. At first, Apple survived without him. But over time, the company began to lose its innovative edge. Roughly a decade later, Apple was nearing collapse and desperately trying to rediscover its identity. In one of the greatest comeback stories in business history, Apple rehired Jobs as CEO, and the company was completely transformed.
 
That pattern is common. A visionary leader leaves, and eventually the movement loses momentum.
 
Which makes Christianity so strange.
 
Around 2,000 years ago, Jesus ascended into heaven, leaving behind a small group of ordinary followers with no political power, no wealth, and no influence. Most people probably assumed the movement would slowly disappear.
 
Instead, it exploded across the world.
 
Why?
 
Because Jesus didn’t abandon His mission when He ascended. Unlike Steve Jobs leaving Apple, Jesus never stopped leading His church. He still rules, reigns, and works through His people today. When Jesus sent the church into the world, he didn’t send us alone, he sent us with his Spirit and his power.
 
That’s why the church is unstoppable.
This Sunday we’re launching a brand-new 10-week series through the book of Acts called The Church Unstoppable. Together we’ll discover how the risen Jesus continued His mission through ordinary people empowered by the Holy Spirit, and how He’s still doing it today.
 
Plus, you won’t want to miss our Mother’s Day celebration and baby dedication. See you Sunday!

This week I was struck by an interview I watched with former Nebraska senator Ben Sasse. Ben Sasse was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer in December. He likely has only weeks or months to live. In these final days, he has done some heart-wrenching and inspiring interviews. Recently, Scott Pelley from 60 Minutes sat down with him and discussed politics, family, faith, and his diagnosis.

Toward the end of the interview, Scott asked Ben about his Christian faith. You might assume that a man with a family and so much potential would be angry at God about a diagnosis like this. But his answers were stunning.

He said he’s “super bummed” that he won’t be around for his family—but he also said they’ll be okay without him. In his words, they’re “rockstars.” Then Scott asked, “But it’s not a surprise to God? And God, you believe, has a plan?” Ben responded, profoundly and without hesitation, “Absolutely. There are no maverick molecules in the universe.”

How can Ben Sasse have that kind of unwavering faith and courage in the face of his approaching death? Because he knows this isn’t the end. At the risk of putting it too lightly, this is just a bump in the road. Cancer may be his reality today, but his future is resurrection.

For me, it was another powerful reminder of how central the resurrection is to the Christian life.

This Sunday, we’re closing out our series on the resurrection by looking at the end of time and our future bodily resurrection. We’ll see three powerful ways from the book of Daniel how it gives us hope in life’s darkest days.

A few years ago, Allie and I took a trip to San Francisco. While we didn’t make it to Alcatraz itself, we did go to the gift shop! They had some real cute stuffed bears in prison clothes.

Built in the 1930s, Alcatraz was surrounded by frigid water and strong currents, and it was marketed as an inescapable prison. For decades, it lived up to that reputation. Dozens of prisoners tried to escape, and every one of them was either caught or died trying.

But in 1962, three men, Frank Morris and brothers John and Clarence Anglin, attempted the impossible.

For nearly a year, they schemed. Using spoons, they dug tunnels through the concrete walls of their cells, hiding the holes with painted cardboard and masking the noise with music. But escaping their cells was only half the battle. The real problem was the bay. No one had ever made it across.

So they improvised. They stitched together more than fifty raincoats into a makeshift raft. On June 11, 1962, they escaped and disappeared into the darkness. The guards didn’t realize until the next morning because they had, get this, made dummy heads and placed them in their beds to delay detection.

To this day, no one really knows what happened. Some believe they drowned, but family members insist they made it (And The Myth Busters proved their escape was plausible). Honestly, we may never really know. But we’re drawn to stories where someone escapes the unescapable.

Christianity makes a far greater claim. It says that Jesus Christ walked out of the one prison no one can escape: death.

Colossians 3 takes it even further: “You have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” The claim is that if you belong to Christ, his story becomes your story!

This week, we’ll look at what that means. Not just that Jesus rose, but what it looks like to start living the escape story Jesus died and rose to give you.

 

Years ago, Rhett McLaughlin and Link Neal were some of my favorite YouTubers. My morning routine often included their show Good Mythical Morning. They were funny, clean, and, at the time, very open about their faith. They taught Sunday school, served in their churches, and even did mission work.
 
But in 2020 Rhett and Link publicly walked away from their faith. What happened?
 
It’s complicated, but at least part of it had to do with the foundation of their faith. Rhett has been pretty open about how questions surrounding evolution and a literal six-day creation played a big role in unraveling his faith. And that raises a really important question: should doubts about the timing of creation be strong enough to collapse your faith?
 
Let me be clear, asking hard questions is not the problem. Christians have wrestled with creation, Adam and Eve, the virgin birth, and all kinds of difficult passages for a long time. The problem isn’t that the questions exist. The problem is what our faith is anchored to when those questions come. Because if your faith is built on having every answer lined up, or on one specific interpretation of a difficult passage, then if that interpretation is wrong or shaky, your faith goes down with it.
 
The Bible is actually very clear. Christianity rises and falls on one decisive event: the resurrection of Jesus. If Jesus rose from the dead, our faith is secure. And if he didn’t? It’s game over.
 
We’re living in a moment where deconstruction stories are everywhere, and a lot of them follow the same pattern. A difficult question comes up, their framework can’t hold it, and then their faith collapses. But what if the problem isn’t the question? What if the problem is the foundation?
 
If you’re someone who’s wrestling with questions and doubt about your faith, I want you to know, you’re not wrong for asking questions. But don’t anchor your faith to something that can’t hold you.
 
Tomorrow we’re going to talk about what actually can. I hope you’ll join us at 10 AM.

The Lord has tested me with trials, so I asked Him to test me with wealth. And wouldn’t you know it, just a few days later, I checked my mail and found a letter from a long-lost relative. I had never heard of them before, and I’m not sure how they found me, but the letter looked official. I had to open it.

 I carefully peeled back the envelope, pulled out a tri-folded stack of papers, and started reading. As I went, I realized this previously unknown relative had included me in their will… and there was money involved. A lot of money.

Even $10,000 would be a welcome surprise. But this was different. I had inherited $5 million.

I almost fainted. That’s life-changing money. The kind that could impact generations if used wisely. So if you see me driving a fancy new car, you’ll know why.

Now, before you get too excited for me, let me come clean. I didn’t actually receive an inheritance. April fools? (It’s still April).

But I wish I had.
 
Because here’s the thing: even if I received that letter and wasn’t sure it was true, I know one thing, I would absolutely want it to be true. Because that kind of money would change my life.

That’s what the resurrection is like.

It’s like receiving a letter that says you’ve inherited something life-changing. You may not be completely convinced it’s true, but if you understood what’s being offered, you would want it to be true.

Every year we talk about the resurrection on Easter. But this year, we’re taking a few more weeks to explore what it really means. This Sunday, we’re looking at one of the biggest implications: how the resurrection saves us.

I hope you’ll join us for worship tomorrow. Because the resurrection isn’t just for Easter. It’s for every day of the Christian life.

Do you remember YOLO? It stands for “You Only Live Once.” The idea was simple: you only get one life, so live it up. Don’t miss anything. Do whatever you want, it’s your one shot.

Eventually YOLO gave way to FOMO, “Fear Of Missing Out.” Because if this life is all there is, then every missed opportunity feels final.

I’ve always thought YOLO was a little ironic. If you only live once… shouldn’t you be more careful? But I digress.

But here’s the deeper issue: YOLO assumes this material world is all there is. Once you’re gone, it’s over. You’re just food for worms. So you better experience everything you can while you can.

I get why people think that. Life is short, and somehow as you get older it feels like it keeps speeding up (Wasn’t it just Christmas a couple of days ago?).

But the resurrection has something to say about YOLO.

Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection tell us there is more to life than these 80 or so years. You see, if we really believe that he rose from the dead, we can’t keep living like this life is all we have.

Everything changes. It has to!

I’d love to invite you to join us for Easter tomorrow. We’re going to look at three destructive lies we believe, and how the hope of the resurrection completely shatters them. I pray you’ll join us at 10 AM tomorrow morning.

Of all the things we know about Jesus (his patience, compassion, love, care, and desire to heal), his table-flipping moment comes as a bit of a surprise.

Palm Sunday is when Jesus rode into Jerusalem to a parade of followers glorifying him. People are throwing down cloaks, waving branches, and shouting his name. It was a king's welcome. And where does King Jesus go first? Not a palace, where you’d expect a king to go. He goes to his Father’s house: the temple.

What he finds there is disturbing. He doesn’t find worship, but greed. People who came to worship were being gouged by merchants who overcharged them for required sacrifices. The whole system had turned rotten, and everyone had gotten used to it. But not Jesus.

He didn’t lose his temper; he was making a point… loudly. Tables go over, coins scatter, and the courtyard is chaos. But the chaos has a message: God was about to free the world from sacrificial worship.

What he came for would happen a few days later, on a cross. One final sacrifice that made the whole system irrelevant. Because the system was always pointing to the moment he offered himself as the final sacrifice on the cross. No more middlemen. No one trying to buy their way in. Just absolute trust in the sacrifice of Christ for true and eternal life.

Which reframes everything about the nature of worship. It's not a transaction. It's not showing up and hoping to get something. It's a response because, through Christ, you have already received something amazing.

The King who flipped the tables is the same one who gave his life. That's a lot to sit with heading into the week before Easter.

We'd love to have you with us this Palm Sunday. We’ll be diving deeper into this story and seeing how Christ’s plan truly changed the world.

Every few years, we’re told the same thing: This is the moment. This is the election. This is the movement that will finally fix things.
 
And to be fair, things can get better… and they can get worse. Not every candidate is equal in their morality or impact. Policies matter, systems can improve, and justice can move forward in real, meaningful ways.
 
But if we’re honest… something still isn’t right.
Because no matter who we elect or how much progress we seem to make, the same problems keep showing up. We continue to see corruption, division, injustice, and misuse of power. Even when we elect the people we think are good. Because even good people and good systems warp over time.
 
Why does this keep happening?
 
Most of us live inside what philosopher Charles Taylor calls “the immanent frame.” It’s a way of seeing the world where all the solutions are inside the system. If we can just get the right leaders, the right ideas, the right structures… we can fix what’s broken.
 
But what if our biggest problem isn’t our systems? What if the real problem is our hearts? No matter how many systems we fix, no system can fix the human heart.
 
That’s the tension Jesus exposes. When asked about eternal life, He doesn’t point first to systems or solutions (And if you think our systems are broken, the systems of ancient Rome were far more unjust). Instead, Jesus points to a cross-shaped life. He tells us to love God fully and love our neighbors deeply. It’s not either-or, but both-and.
 
Because the gospel doesn’t just address broken systems it addresses broken hearts. And that changes everything.
 
Christians should care deeply about justice. We should serve, love, and work for the good of our city. But don’t confuse our efforts with ultimate hope. Because the world doesn’t just need to be improved. It needs to be redeemed.
 
It needs someone from outside the system who is able to fix what’s really broken.
 
This Sunday, we’re talking about what it looks like to live a cross-shaped mission in a world that’s still broken and why Jesus offers something no system ever could.
 
I pray you’ll join us as we rethink what kind of savior we’re really looking for.

Bilbo Baggins is a wealthy hobbit who lives at the top of the Shire in Bag End. He has a cozy little life filled with doilies and fancy cheeses. His walls are lined with paintings of his relatives, and his cupboards are stocked with their dishware. The wildest thing Bilbo does is enjoy a little Old Toby pipe tobacco in his spare time.

Until one day a wizard named Gandalf shows up at his door looking for someone to share in an adventure. Bilbo isn’t interested.

In his own words, adventures are “nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things that make a person late for dinner.” He runs off, adamant that he wants nothing to do with adventures, locking the door firmly behind him.

That night, sent by Gandalf, a gang of dwarves arrives. Though Bilbo would prefer not to let them in, he doesn’t really have a choice. They make themselves right at home: putting their feet on the tables, eating his food, soiling his doilies, cracking his plates, and making the most disturbing noises.
Eventually Bilbo learns about the great adventure the dwarves are about to undertake. They try to recruit him, but he repeats that he wants nothing to do with adventures. Late that night he goes to bed, distraught over the state of his quaint little house.

But the next morning he wakes up and the dwarves are gone. It’s as if they were never there at all. Almost. A contract waiting for his signature sits on his table.

And in that moment Bilbo realizes something. His comfortable, predictable life suddenly feels small and meaningless. He grabs the contract, packs a bag, runs out the door, and shouts to the people of the Shire, “I’m going on an adventure!”

And what an adventure it is! There will be magic rings, dragons, elves, orcs, and wars. When Bilbo finally returns home, he’s still a hobbit… but he’s a hobbit who has been forever changed by the great adventure he went on.

Let’s face it: life can feel monotonous sometimes. We get stuck in the routines of everyday life. The same schedule. The same responsibilities. The same problems. And sometimes we can start to feel like Bilbo, living a boring or even meaningless life.

We could all use a little adventure.

Tomorrow we’re going to look at the call of Elisha and discover the great adventure God calls us into. If you’re feeling stuck, bored, purposeless, or some combination of all three, join us for worship tomorrow.

I can’t wait to tell you about the great adventure that awaits you… if you’re willing to go on it.

In 2004 the Red Sox were on the brink of breaking the “Curse of the Bambino.” The last championship had been in 1918, and Boston was desperate. People camped outside Fenway Park for days just for the chance to buy a ticket. Bleacher seats that normally cost $70 were selling for over $1,000. Adjusted for inflation, that’s nearly $1,700 today!
 
People were willing to give their time and money for tickets to a three-hour game, with just the slim hope that the Red Sox would break the curse, beat the Cardinals, and finally win another championship.
 
If that seems crazy to you, remember: people will pay whatever price to purchase something they think is valuable. Everyone sacrifices for something.
 
For Red Sox fanatics in 2004, it was World Series tickets. Maybe you’re not a Sox fan, but I guarantee there is something you believe is worth sacrificing for: education, prestige, success, beauty, promotion, popularity, experiences. The list could go on.
 
In John 12 we meet a woman who does something that looks just as ridiculous. She pours out a year’s salary worth of perfume on Jesus. Her act was over the top and extravagant, but it causes us to ask one of the most important questions in life: What is Jesus worth to me?
 
I want to invite you to worship with us tomorrow at 10 AM as we answer this essential question.

As I often do, I was reading an old sermon by the Victorian preacher Charles Spurgeon, and it made me laugh. He went on for several paragraphs about coincidence versus God’s providence. It was so good that I paraphrased it into modern English for you to enjoy.
  
Spurgeon’s point was simple: There are no coincidences. God is at work in every part of our lives. He is not distant or uninterested in our day to day lives. He is actively involved and deeply cares about us.
 
This week we’re addressing the misconception that Jesus is distant. In Acts 17, Paul tells a gathering of intellectuals that God “is not far from each one of us.” If you’ve ever felt like God is distant, join us as we discover just how close He truly is.

My palms were sweating, my face was flushed, and my stomach was in knots as I walked onto the stage to audition for Honors Children’s Choir (A group made up of some of the best young singers in South Carolina).
 
I had just listened to the girl who auditioned before me. She was incredible. She had clear tone, amazing pitch, and effortless confidence. I didn’t stand a chance.
 
Then it was my turn.
 
The cassette recorder clicked on, and everything I knew about music vanished. I forgot parts of the melody I had practiced for weeks. When it came time to sing scales, I could barely remember what a scale was. I walked off the stage embarrassed and defeated. The lights were too bright for my middle-school self, and I was sure I’d blown it.
 
A few weeks later, I got the call: I had made it. I HAD MADE IT! I must have done better than I thought.
 
That was shocking, but even more shocking: the girl who sang beautifully didn’t make it. She was crushed, and I felt terrible.
 
At the retreat, I learned the reason I made it and she didn’t. Most of the auditions had been girls, so the competition was much steeper. Meanwhile, most boys were trying out for baseball, if you were a guy who could fog up a mirror, you were in.
 
Turns out, I hadn’t really earned my spot. I had simply filled a need. I got a participation trophy.
That works fine for middle school choir. But is that how eternity works?
 
Somewhere along the way, many of us started believing heaven functions like a participation trophy. As long as you’re not a monster, you’re in.
 
But if everyone ends up in heaven no matter what… why did Jesus speak so seriously about judgment? Why did he warn about separation? And if there are no real consequences for rejecting him, what exactly did he die to save us from?
 
This week, we’re stepping into one of the most uncomfortable conversations in Christianity: hell. And we’re not doing it to scare or manipulate, but to wrestle honestly with what Jesus actually taught and why it matters. We’re going to see that the concept of hell is one of the most misunderstood doctrines in the Bible and has very little to do with pitchforks or Dante’s Inferno.
 
If this is a subject you’ve wrestled with, I really encourage you to join us tomorrow at 10 AM.

I’ve always had a bit of a rebellious streak in me, but I was a relatively good kid. So I never did anything too crazy. Still, one of the most hurtful things I ever did happened on my grandmother’s watch.

We’ve always had a great relationship. When I was her only grandchild, we’d take trips together, visit family, play games, and laugh a lot.

As I got older, she found ways to keep me coming on those trips. One year she let me invite friends. So I brought my best friends Kris and Allie (my one-day wife) on a trip to the mountains of North Carolina. It was a great trip. She gave me a lot of freedom. Remember, she trusted me.

One evening I asked to borrow her minivan so we could go cruising. She said yes without hesitation. What she didn’t know was that we weren’t cruising, we were hunting for a tattoo and piercing shop. Kris and I had just turned eighteen. We were in a punk rock band. And nothing says punk rock like a lip ring.

Admittedly, the punk rock spirit didn’t run in me like it did Kris. I chickened out on the tattoo, but Kris went through with the piercing. When we got back, there was no hiding it. My grandmother was absolutely floored. And my attempt to comfort her with the information that I planned on getting a tattoo but chickened out, didn’t help. Sure, she didn’t like tattoos and lip rings (Few grandmas do), but the bigger issue was that I broke her trust. I hurt her. That’s about the worst I’ve ever felt.

Eventually I made it right, and she forgave me quickly. More than twenty years later she’s one of my biggest cheerleaders.

We’ve all hurt people. More than that, we’ve hurt the heart of God. The question is: how does he respond? Is he anxious to judge us? Or is His heart bent toward something else?

This Sunday we’re looking at the Prodigal Son, and discovering that while God is the holy Judge, He is also a Father who loves.

Some parts of the Bible are genuinely hard to understand. There are a few passages Christians disagree over, and others that believers and skeptics alike wrestle with. Some verses have to be read two, three, or ten times just to make sense of them. But the reality is, most of the Bible isn’t difficult to understand. It’s just hard to follow.
 
Mark Twain famously quipped, “It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me; it’s the parts that I do understand.”
 
This week, we’re looking at a passage exactly like that. On the surface, it’s not confusing, it’s just strange. In fact, it’s so strange and so offensive, that many people walked away from Jesus because of it. Not because they didn’t understand what He was saying, but because they understood it perfectly and could not accept it.
 
In John 6, Jesus tells the crowds that if they want eternal life, they must gnaw on his flesh and drink his blood. If your reaction is, “Wait… what?”, you’re hearing it correctly. That was the disciples’ reaction too. And for many of them, it was a step too far. It was the moment they walked away.
 
The crowd was happy to follow Jesus when He was giving them bread, solving problems, and meeting their needs. But the moment He stopped being useful and started demanding trust, dependence, and surrender they were done.
 
This Sunday, we’re going to unpack what Jesus actually means when He talks about eating His flesh and drinking His blood. We’ll see why this strange and uncomfortable language gets to the very heart of the gospel. Let me encourage you not to walk away just because it sounds weird. Join us for worship. It will be worth it.

Not everyone knows that I was an art minor in college. I took drawing, printmaking, and graphic design. They were all classes I felt pretty comfortable with. But there was one course that made me nervous: painting. Aside from the cheap watercolor sets you use as a kid; I had almost no experience with painting... Especially not with oils. Surprisingly, it became one of my favorite classes.
 
Painting gave me a whole new understanding of art. With drawing, you can erase, but faint lines often remain. With printmaking, almost every mark is permanent, so you’d better get it right the first time. Graphic design is done on a computer, where edits are simple and reversible. But painting, especially with oils, is different.
 
Oil paints let you work and rework directly on the canvas. Don’t like a color? The paint is still wet. Just add a little more burnt umber. Need to adjust that nose? Keep working at it. And if all else fails, you can paint over the whole thing and start again.
 
I remember spending weeks on one painting that was meant to depict a woman joyfully worshiping God. Instead, it looked like a mash-up of Ariel and Belle (beautiful in their own right, but not the goal). I adjusted, edited, and repainted for days, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t un-Disneyfy it.
 
Eventually, I got so frustrated that I stopped working on it altogether. A few days later, I returned to the studio with clarity. I painted the entire canvas black and started over. The final result was very different, more abstract, but it expressed the ecstasy of genuine worship far better than my original attempt.
 
That experience reminds me of our passage this week. As we begin a new series on the real Jesus. He’s not who culture says, who we say, or even who I say. Jesus is who the Bible says he is. Our first week of Community Group focuses on how we try to edit Jesus into our image. We can be tempted to treat him like he’s the painting and we’re the artist. Christianity flips that entirely. Jesus is the artist. We are the canvas. He edits, reworks, and sometimes starts over, and not to make us more comfortable, but to make us more like Him. He makes us in his image.
 
This week we're studying Romans 8:28, where God says he works all things for our good. Join us this week as we discover what that “good” really is.

If I were to say, “Hey, how are you?” what would you say?

Most of us respond with something like, “I’m good! How are you?” And the exchange ends there. When we ask “How are you?” we rarely mean it, and we rarely answer it honestly. In fact, if someone actually starts telling the truth, it can get a little awkward.

It’s not because we’re liars. It’s usually because we know the other person doesn’t really want to know, we don’t want to expose what’s actually going on, or, more often than we realize, we don’t really know how we’re doing ourselves.

But a counselor asking that same question is different. When they ask, “How are you?” they mean it. They’re not making small talk, they’re actually want to know how you're doing. Why? Because they're helping you look beneath the surface and understand what’s really happening inside, sometimes even before you’re aware of it yourself.

And that’s the truth for most of us. There are thoughts, fears, and patterns shaping us, and we haven’t slowed down long enough to notice. We often need help to see ourselves clearly.

Tomorrow we’re looking at one of Jesus’ most famous parables, about two men who go to pray. One is religious but blind to his own heart. The other is painfully honest and dependent on God. Jesus shows us that the difference isn’t religion or morality, but a real honesty understanding of ourselves and our need for God.

Jesus is inviting us to tell the truth about ourselves before God. And surprisingly, that kind of honesty isn’t terrifying. It’s freeing.

Do you remember all the excitement around 2020? A new decade was beginning, and more than any other time I can remember, people were ready to make big changes. I wasn’t immune to that feeling.
 
In my mind, 2020 was going to be the year our church took a big step forward. One of my first sermons of the year was called 20/20 Vision. I thought I was pretty clever. I laid out bold plans for the decade ahead: attendance goals, hopes for a permanent space (we were still meeting at Curley K–8 at the time), and new ways we would serve Jamaica Plain. If I’m honest, I was impressed by my own vision.
 
Then there were rumblings of a virus spreading across the world. I had lived through the bird flu, swine flu, and Ebola scares. This one would be no different. So we kept moving forward. Everything was going according to plan… until March 23, 2020, when the world shut down for “two weeks.”
 
Like everyone else, we shut down the church and went fully remote. Overnight, our 2020 vision went out the window faster than a Chick-fil-A drive-thru order at rush hour. We did the best we could with Zoom after-church hangouts, Zoom community groups, and more Zoom. Zoom on Zoom on Zoom.
 
And I remember thinking, “God, did you perform all kinds of miracles to bring us here to start a church, only to have it shut down in less than three years?” I wasn’t happy. It felt like God had pulled the ground out from under us. After all the work, the sacrifice, the money, the effort. Why, God? Many of us felt something similar in that season.
 
Looking back now, I can see that God was at work in the middle of a really difficult time. We didn’t just survive the pandemic. We grew in the years that followed and eventually found a building. But in the moment, there were times it felt like God had abandoned us. He hadn’t, but it felt that way.
 
This week we’re going to look at one of the most powerful moments in the life of the prophet Elijah. After incredible victories and undeniable miracles, Elijah finds himself exhausted, discouraged, and ready to give up. And it’s there, in his limits, that God meets him.
 
Join us for worship as we see what it looks like to accept where God has placed us and trust Him in the life we actually have.

Little-known fact about me: I woke up early on Monday morning, April 6, 1992, to watch the premiere episode of Barney. Even at seven years old, I wasn’t particularly impressed. But at the end of the episode, a song played that has been burned into my memory ever since. You probably know it:
 
“I love you.
You love me.
We’re a happy family.
With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you,
won’t you say you love me too?”
 
It sounds like a sweet, innocent little tune. But a Stanford professor named Clifford Nass once suggested, half jokingly, that it may have caused irreparable harm to society. Okay, that might be overstating it, but Nass pointed out something fascinating hidden in the lyrics.
 
First, a fictional, virtual character on a screen, someone I’ve never met, can love me. Second, I apparently love him back. I didn’t even get a choice. It’s just assumed. Third, we’re suddenly a “family”: me, some other kids on TV, and a purple dinosaur. It gives new meaning to the idea of a blended family. And fourth, we can hug and kiss, virtually, through a screen.
 
Nass believes this subtly prepared us for the digital age we now live in, where more and more of our relationships happen through screens and the real world slowly becomes secondary. We exchange hugs, hearts, love, and friendship through a black mirror we carry in our pockets. And here’s the key insight Nass uncovered: multitasking is a myth. If we give our attention to digital relationships, we cannot give our attention to real ones. No matter how capable we think we are, we can’t fully attend to two things at once.
 
In a world filled with attention-stealing apps, constant notifications, and buzzing watches, we need to touch grass and return our attention to the things that matter most.
 
Tomorrow, we’ll look at the classic story of Mary and Martha. Both women love Jesus. Both want to do the right thing. But only one gives her attention to what matters most in that moment. If you’re in need of an attention reset like I am, join us tomorrow at Arborway.

Our world is so noisy.

The refrigerator humming, a fan squeaking, steam radiators knocking, and the distant sound of sirens. Even when it feels quiet, there’s always a background buzz. It’s even louder in the city. In Boston, the average ambient noise is around 70 decibels. For context, that’s roughly the sound of a vacuum cleaner running all the time. And most of it goes completely unnoticed… until the power goes out.

But when the power goes out, everything stops. You realize just how loud the world really is. No more humming, buzzing, or squeaking. Just a defining silence. You can almost hear your own blood pumping. And it’s more than sound. There’s no Wi-Fi. No Netflix. If the outage lasts long enough, your phone goes too. No Spotify, no podcasts, and no TikTok. Just silence.

Those moments can feel off-putting at first. But if we let them, they can become an opportunity to detox from the distractions and come back to reality. In other words, to touch grass.

Tomorrow we’re starting a new sermon series called Touch Grass, where we’ll explore how to find reality in a world that often feels insincere and overstimulated.

We all know the familiar spiritual disciplines of reading the Bible, prayer, and church attendance, but in our new series, we’re going to explore some lesser-known disciplines. Lesser-known doesn’t mean less valuable. In fact, they may be the most important disciplines of all because they’re foundational for everything else. I’m talking about practices like consistency, acceptance, focus, and repentance.

If you need to get back to reality after a long and exhausting 2025, join us on this first Sunday of 2026. Sing with us, hear from God’s Word, and come to the table for communion. I can’t wait to worship with you tomorrow!

We’ve come to the end of 2025, and what a year it’s been.
 
By many measures, it was an amazing year for our church. We saw our highest average attendance, our highest-attended Sunday ever, and the most baptisms we’ve had in a single year. But what matters most isn’t just the numbers, it’s the way God has been at work in and through our people.
 
Together, we were able to love our neighborhood in some truly meaningful ways for a church our size. This year included four fun community movie nights, a free basketball clinic, a school-supplies giveaway, help launch a gospel daycare for refugees, and the launch of a food pantry. We also grew as a congregation, offering three discipleship seminars focused on Christian finances, dating, and faith. And honestly, there was even more than that… but I’m writing this the day after Christmas, and I’m still a little too full of cookies to remember everything.
 
One of my favorite things we do each year is our Season of Generosity offering, and this year was especially encouraging. Our goal was $2,500, with half going to international missions and half to our “Love Your Neighbor Fund,” which helps support neighbors in need. As of last Sunday, we had already given $3,326.06! That’s well beyond our goal.
 
What I love most is how it happened. There wasn’t one large gift that carried us over the finish line. Instead, it was a true group effort, with many people giving as they were able. Even though we’ve already surpassed our goal, if the Lord is still leading you to give, every penny will continue going toward those two funds. Giving will remain open through December 31.
 
I’m already excited for what’s ahead in 2026. Our first series of the year is all about getting a grip on reality. I’m calling it Touch Grass. If you’re in need of a reset, the beginning of the year is a great place to start. After that, we’ll be diving into a churchwide study called Not My Jesus.
 
But before we turn the page, 2025 still has one Sunday left. I know it can feel like this week exists in a strange in-between space, somewhere between reality and imagination, but I’d love to see you at worship with us this Sunday. Matt’s dad will be preaching, and if you missed him last year, you truly missed out. I can confidently say it will be a powerful message.
 
Thank you for being part of what God is doing here. I’m grateful for you and expectant for what’s ahead.

Christmas is a season of love. I mean the whole reason we have Christmas is because God loved us enough to send his Son. Love is foundational to the season. But what is love…
 
I love the Lord.
I love my wife and my kids.
I love my church, my city, my friends.
 
But…
 
I also love burritos.
And Mexican food.
And Star Wars.
And my bike.
 
It’s all the same word, but very different meanings.
 
That’s the problem.
 
In English, love does an incredible amount of heavy lifting. We fall in love. Fall out of love. Love on people. Make love. We can even love love. We have stretched this word to the point of breaking.
That’s why love is confusing. It can both mean everything and nothing.
 
Our culture uses the word constantly, but rarely precisely. So, part of my job is to slow us down and ask a better question:
 
When the Bible talks about love, what does it actually mean?
 
Because the love at the heart of Christmas isn’t vague or sentimental. It’s clearer, deeper, more demanding than we expect, and far more powerful than we imagine.
 
Join us for the last Sunday of Advent as we look at what real love is.