Anderson Hills

The prologue of John's Gospel describes Jesus as the agent of creation, the source of life, and the light of mankind who took on human form to dwell among people. Everything that exists finds its source in Him, and the life He brings is the light humanity desperately needs. From the first verses, John makes clear that Jesus is unmatched in identity and authority. This text presses a personal question: will we receive Him? To believe in Jesus is to welcome the light, to trust that in Him we truly see God and truly find life.

The prologue of John's Gospel describes Jesus as the agent of creation, the source of life, and the light of mankind who took on human form to dwell among people. Everything that exists finds its source in Him, and the life He brings is the light humanity desperately needs. From the first verses, John makes clear that Jesus is unmatched in identity and authority. This text presses a personal question: will we receive Him? To believe in Jesus is to welcome the light, to trust that in Him we truly see God and truly find life.

The color of Easter is white, the color of light, victory, purity, and resurrection. White is what comes after suffering. White is what remains when darkness is undone. White is not the absence of color; it is the fullness of it. But white is not just the color of the resurrection morning. White is the color of Christ's eternal reign. He is alive. He is alive forever. And He holds the keys of death and Hades.

The color of Easter is white, the color of light, victory, purity, and resurrection. White is what comes after suffering. White is what remains when darkness is undone. White is not the absence of color; it is the fullness of it. But white is not just the color of the resurrection morning. White is the color of Christ's eternal reign. He is alive. He is alive forever. And He holds the keys of death and Hades.

The color of Easter is white, the color of light, victory, purity, and resurrection. White is what comes after suffering. White is what remains when darkness is undone. White is not the absence of color; it is the fullness of it. But white is not just the color of the resurrection morning. White is the color of Christ's eternal reign. He is alive. He is alive forever. And He holds the keys of death and Hades.

Purple is the color of royalty. In the ancient world, it was expensive, rare, and reserved for kings and emperors. And yet, we read that soldiers put a purple robe on Jesus — not to honor Him, but to mock Him. They pressed a crown of thorns into His head and bowed down, sneering: “Hail, King of the Jews!” Purple meant power. But here, purple was used to humiliate. A crown became a weapon. A robe became a joke. This is the heart of Lent: the King we follow does not enter with parades and armies, but with humility and suffering.

Purple is the color of royalty. In the ancient world, it was expensive, rare, and reserved for kings and emperors. And yet, we read that soldiers put a purple robe on Jesus — not to honor Him, but to mock Him. They pressed a crown of thorns into His head and bowed down, sneering: “Hail, King of the Jews!” Purple meant power. But here, purple was used to humiliate. A crown became a weapon. A robe became a joke. This is the heart of Lent: the King we follow does not enter with parades and armies, but with humility and suffering.

Red is the color of blood, of warning, and of sacrifice. It's also the color of the Red Sea, where God's people were delivered from slavery into freedom. Just as Israel passed through water from slavery to freedom, we pass through the blood of Christ from sin to salvation. During Lent, we remember that salvation came at a cost. Red reminds us of the Lamb who was slain, whose blood marks our deliverance. Just as Israel passed through water to freedom, we pass through the cross to life.

Red is the color of blood, of warning, and of sacrifice. It's also the color of the Red Sea, where God's people were delivered from slavery into freedom. Just as Israel passed through water from slavery to freedom, we pass through the blood of Christ from sin to salvation. During Lent, we remember that salvation came at a cost. Red reminds us of the Lamb who was slain, whose blood marks our deliverance. Just as Israel passed through water to freedom, we pass through the cross to life.

Brown reminds us of wood — rough timbers, heavy planks. Noah's ark was made of brown wood. Brown reminds us of earth and dust, and in Lent we remember that we too are dust, and to dust we will return. The flood came. Judgment fell. But Noah and his family were safe inside the ark. We see the gospel pattern here. Sin cannot be ignored. But grace provides shelter. The ark points us to the cross. Brown wooden beams once carried Noah to safety. And another wooden cross carries us to salvation in Christ. In Christ, we are sheltered and saved.

Brown reminds us of wood — rough timbers, heavy planks. Noah's ark was made of brown wood. Brown reminds us of earth and dust, and in Lent we remember that we too are dust, and to dust we will return. The flood came. Judgment fell. But Noah and his family were safe inside the ark. We see the gospel pattern here. Sin cannot be ignored. But grace provides shelter. The ark points us to the cross. Brown wooden beams once carried Noah to safety. And another wooden cross carries us to salvation in Christ. In Christ, we are sheltered and saved.

We start with green — the color of life and growth, but also the color that reminds us of the serpent in the Garden. After God finished His creation, He declared it was very good. It was a world in perfect harmony. Oceans pure, skies clear, foliage lush, green and fruitful, relationships whole. No sin, no shame, no death. This is how Lent begins, by remembering the good God intended. But Lent also reminds us that the beauty we long for is not the beauty we always see. Creation still groans. Our lives still ache. And the question of Lent is this: What went wrong? Why do we feel so far from Eden?

We start with green — the color of life and growth, but also the color that reminds us of the serpent in the Garden. After God finished His creation, He declared it was very good. It was a world in perfect harmony. Oceans pure, skies clear, foliage lush, green and fruitful, relationships whole. No sin, no shame, no death. This is how Lent begins, by remembering the good God intended. But Lent also reminds us that the beauty we long for is not the beauty we always see. Creation still groans. Our lives still ache. And the question of Lent is this: What went wrong? Why do we feel so far from Eden?

Last week, the veil was torn, and the door opened. This week, we step into the room and see what's at the center: the Ark of the Covenant, God's throne on earth. The Ark carried evidence of humanity's failure: the broken commandments, the manna, and the rod. But God didn't remove them; He covered them. Mercy doesn't dismiss truth; it transforms how truth is applied. Over the law lay the Mercy Seat, the golden lid where blood was applied, and glory appeared. The Mercy Seat was the literal meeting place of heaven and earth, where justice and grace joined.

Last week, the veil was torn, and the door opened. This week, we step into the room and see what's at the center: the Ark of the Covenant, God's throne on earth. The Ark carried evidence of humanity's failure: the broken commandments, the manna, and the rod. But God didn't remove them; He covered them. Mercy doesn't dismiss truth; it transforms how truth is applied. Over the law lay the Mercy Seat, the golden lid where blood was applied, and glory appeared. The Mercy Seat was the literal meeting place of heaven and earth, where justice and grace joined.

The Holy of Holies was the most sacred space in the tabernacle, hidden behind a thick veil that symbolized the unbridgeable divide between a holy God and sinful people. Only the high priest could enter, and only once a year. But when Jesus breathed His last, that veil was torn from top to bottom. The separation ended. The climax of worship is not what we bring to God, but what He opened for us: direct, confident access to His presence.

The Holy of Holies was the most sacred space in the tabernacle, hidden behind a thick veil that symbolized the unbridgeable divide between a holy God and sinful people. Only the high priest could enter, and only once a year. But when Jesus breathed His last, that veil was torn from top to bottom. The separation ended. The climax of worship is not what we bring to God, but what He opened for us: direct, confident access to His presence.

The outer court of the Tabernacle was about access and atonement. The inner sanctuary was about abiding and adoration. Inside, three sacred furnishings illuminated the ministry of worship: The Golden Lampstand – the light of the Spirit. The Table of Showbread – the nourishment of Christ. The Altar of Incense – the fragrance of prayer. Together they reveal that worship is not an event; it's a continual ministry of light, communion, and intercession before the Lord.

The outer court of the Tabernacle was about access and atonement. The inner sanctuary was about abiding and adoration. Inside, three sacred furnishings illuminated the ministry of worship: The Golden Lampstand – the light of the Spirit. The Table of Showbread – the nourishment of Christ. The Altar of Incense – the fragrance of prayer. Together they reveal that worship is not an event; it's a continual ministry of light, communion, and intercession before the Lord.

Having entered through the gate and offered sacrifice at the altar, the priest would move next to the Bronze Laver, a basin of water for washing hands and feet before entering the Holy Place. This was more than ritual hygiene; it was spiritual preparation. The Laver teaches that God not only forgives sin, He also purifies hearts. The altar deals with guilt; the laver deals with grime. In Christ, both are complete: He cleanses us by His blood and continually renews us through His Word.

When worshippers entered the tabernacle courtyard, they encountered the altar. It stood between the gate and every other act of worship, an unavoidable reminder that access to God is always costly. The altar was Israel's price of admission into God's presence. It reminded them that holiness isn't cheap, and sin has consequences. But it also reminded them that God had made a way for mercy through sacrifice. The altar was not decorative; it was declarative. It declared that sin costs life.

When worshippers entered the tabernacle courtyard, they encountered the altar. It stood between the gate and every other act of worship, an unavoidable reminder that access to God is always costly. The altar was Israel's price of admission into God's presence. It reminded them that holiness isn't cheap, and sin has consequences. But it also reminded them that God had made a way for mercy through sacrifice. The altar was not decorative; it was declarative. It declared that sin costs life.

The first step toward the presence of God was through a single, distinct entry point — the gate of the outer court. It was the one way in. There were no side doors, no secret paths. Worship began the moment a worshipper chose to enter God's way rather than their own. That gate foreshadows Jesus. His body became the doorway to God's presence. There is no other entry point into a relationship with the Father. Jesus is not one of many access points to God; He is the access point.

The first step toward the presence of God was through a single, distinct entry point — the gate of the outer court. It was the one way in. There were no side doors, no secret paths. Worship began the moment a worshipper chose to enter God's way rather than their own. That gate foreshadows Jesus. His body became the doorway to God's presence. There is no other entry point into a relationship with the Father. Jesus is not one of many access points to God; He is the access point.

Before there was a church, before there was a temple, there was a tent, a tabernacle in the wilderness. And in that tent, God was teaching His people how to worship – not just what to build, but who to become. Moses's tabernacle is the heavenly pattern for worship, not just a physical structure, but a spiritual rhythm that still forms God's people today. The tabernacle is not ultimately about construction; it's about connection. It's about God coming near.

Before there was a church, before there was a temple, there was a tent, a tabernacle in the wilderness. And in that tent, God was teaching His people how to worship – not just what to build, but who to become. Moses's tabernacle is the heavenly pattern for worship, not just a physical structure, but a spiritual rhythm that still forms God's people today. The tabernacle is not ultimately about construction; it's about connection. It's about God coming near.

Matthew's genealogy moves through generation after generation of broken people, surprising names, and flawed kings. Then, at the very end, everything changes: “and Mary was the mother of Jesus, who is called the Messiah.” For 42 generations, the story had been built toward this moment. As we head into a New Year, we remember that all the sin, shame, and struggle carried through that family line led to a baby born in Bethlehem—God with us. Worship not only the child in the manger but the Savior on the throne and take your place in the family story He came to write.

Matthew's genealogy moves through generation after generation of broken people, surprising names, and flawed kings. Then, at the very end, everything changes: “and Mary was the mother of Jesus, who is called the Messiah.” For 42 generations, the story had been built toward this moment. As we head into a New Year, we remember that all the sin, shame, and struggle carried through that family line led to a baby born in Bethlehem—God with us. Worship not only the child in the manger but the Savior on the throne and take your place in the family story He came to write.

As we approach Christmas, we remember not only the baby in the manger but also the long story that led to His birth. Jesus' genealogy reminds us of kings—some faithful, some faithless. Hezekiah shone as a bright light, tearing down idols and trusting God to deliver His people. But his son, Manasseh, would become one of the darkest rulers in Judah's history. The line of Jesus carries the scandal of kinds like Manasseh to remind us that the Messiah was born not in a sanitized family tree, but in one filled with rebels and prodigals—because He came for sinners like us.

As we approach Christmas, we remember not only the baby in the manger but also the long story that led to His birth. Jesus' genealogy reminds us of kings—some faithful, some faithless. Hezekiah shone as a bright light, tearing down idols and trusting God to deliver His people. But his son, Manasseh, would become one of the darkest rulers in Judah's history. The line of Jesus carries the scandal of kinds like Manasseh to remind us that the Messiah was born not in a sanitized family tree, but in one filled with rebels and prodigals—because He came for sinners like us.

Matthew continues to highlight the messy ancestry in Jesus' genealogy. He names Ruth, a Moabite whose people descended from an incestuous relationship, reminding us that even those considered outsiders or accidents are fully included in God's plan. When he presents Solomon, he mentions that his mother was “Uriah's wife,” reminding everyone of his father David's adultery and his orchestrated murder. He wants us to know that Jesus came not in spite of sinners but through them.

Matthew continues to highlight the messy ancestry in Jesus' genealogy. He names Ruth, a Moabite whose people descended from an incestuous relationship, reminding us that even those considered outsiders or accidents are fully included in God's plan. When he presents Solomon, he mentions that his mother was “Uriah's wife,” reminding everyone of his father David's adultery and his orchestrated murder. He wants us to know that Jesus came not in spite of sinners but through them.

There's a principle showing the Gospels are reliable because they include details that no author would invent—embarrassing failures of the disciples, scandals, and brokenness. Matthew goes out of his way to highlight the flawed people in Jesus' family tree. One of those is Rahab, remembered in Scripture as “Rahab the prostitute.” From this, we see that God's holiness is not at odds with His mercy – He redeems people with labels, and their stories become part of His story.

There's a principle showing the Gospels are reliable because they include details that no author would invent—embarrassing failures of the disciples, scandals, and brokenness. Matthew goes out of his way to highlight the flawed people in Jesus' family tree. One of those is Rahab, remembered in Scripture as “Rahab the prostitute.” From this, we see that God's holiness is not at odds with His mercy – He redeems people with labels, and their stories become part of His story.

The Bible is not a sanitized book of morals but a raw, often gritty history of God stepping into human mess. The central storyline of Scripture is simple: humanity broke everything, and God waded in to fix it. When the time was right, God entered the world as Jesus—born into the mess rather than avoiding it. Matthew's genealogy reminds us that Jesus' lineage is full of broken, messy people. This is intentional—because it underlines the message that Jesus came for sinners, not the spotless.

The Bible is not a sanitized book of morals but a raw, often gritty history of God stepping into human mess. The central storyline of Scripture is simple: humanity broke everything, and God waded in to fix it. When the time was right, God entered the world as Jesus—born into the mess rather than avoiding it. Matthew's genealogy reminds us that Jesus' lineage is full of broken, messy people. This is intentional—because it underlines the message that Jesus came for sinners, not the spotless.

This broken world is not the end of the story. In Isaiah, God paints a breathtaking vision of what's to come. For those who know God, paradise is not a distant dream but a promised reality. Every sorrow, every injustice, every tear will one day be wiped away in His new creation. The pain of the present will give way to the joy of His presence. Paradise is not just a place we will go; it is a future we are already moving toward because of Christ, so keep one eye on eternity as you live each day.

This broken world is not the end of the story. In Isaiah, God paints a breathtaking vision of what's to come. For those who know God, paradise is not a distant dream but a promised reality. Every sorrow, every injustice, every tear will one day be wiped away in His new creation. The pain of the present will give way to the joy of His presence. Paradise is not just a place we will go; it is a future we are already moving toward because of Christ, so keep one eye on eternity as you live each day.

If you are in a season of spiritual battle, hold fast to this truth: you are not fighting for victory—you are fighting from victory. God's Word is your weapon, His Spirit is your strength, and His covenant love is your guarantee. Every weapon formed against you will fail, and the triumph of the Lord will be your song. Our victory has already been won through Jesus Christ. As we lean into Him, daily victory over the enemy's attacks is possible.

If you are in a season of spiritual battle, hold fast to this truth: you are not fighting for victory—you are fighting from victory. God's Word is your weapon, His Spirit is your strength, and His covenant love is your guarantee. Every weapon formed against you will fail, and the triumph of the Lord will be your song. Our victory has already been won through Jesus Christ. As we lean into Him, daily victory over the enemy's attacks is possible.

If you feel worn out, lost in regrets, or uncertain about what lies ahead, take heart: God's promise of restoration is not wishful thinking—it is His declared intention. He is still making a way in the wilderness. He is still pouring out His Spirit on dry ground. And He is still turning brokenness into beauty, one life at a time. Your story is not over; renewal is already springing up. God's work is not stuck in the past—He is doing something fresh and restorative in your life.

If you feel worn out, lost in regrets, or uncertain about what lies ahead, take heart: God's promise of restoration is not wishful thinking—it is His declared intention. He is still making a way in the wilderness. He is still pouring out His Spirit on dry ground. And He is still turning brokenness into beauty, one life at a time. Your story is not over; renewal is already springing up. God's work is not stuck in the past—He is doing something fresh and restorative in your life.

God is ever-present. If you are walking through deep waters, remember this: you are not wading alone. The God who parted the Red Sea, quenched the flames for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and raised Jesus from the dead is the same God who walks beside you now. The storm may roar, but His voice still whispers, “Do not fear, for I am with you.” God's presence in suffering is not conditional—it's covenantal. We are called by name and are never alone.

God is ever-present. If you are walking through deep waters, remember this: you are not wading alone. The God who parted the Red Sea, quenched the flames for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and raised Jesus from the dead is the same God who walks beside you now. The storm may roar, but His voice still whispers, “Do not fear, for I am with you.” God's presence in suffering is not conditional—it's covenantal. We are called by name and are never alone.

When you feel drained, worn thin by life's demands, or simply tired of carrying burdens, take heart. God has not forgotten you. His promise is sure: He will renew your strength as you lean on Him. The waiting may be hard, but it is not wasted. In the waiting, He lifts you. In the trusting, He steadies you. And in His presence, you will discover that weariness does not have the final word—His strength does. Put your hope in the God who never grows tired.

The wilderness may feel like abandonment, but in Isaiah, it becomes the very place where God draws near. The wilderness is not the end of the story—it is the stage where God shows His glory. The barren places of life are where His presence becomes unmistakably real. God's promise is not that we will avoid hardship but that we will never walk through it alone.

The wilderness may feel like abandonment, but in Isaiah, it becomes the very place where God draws near. The wilderness is not the end of the story—it is the stage where God shows His glory. The barren places of life are where His presence becomes unmistakably real. God's promise is not that we will avoid hardship but that we will never walk through it alone.

Painful events like betrayal, divorce, illness, or loss often trigger feelings that God has abandoned us. In such situations, we ask ourselves the question, “God, where are you?” We're not alone in this. Even Jesus—God in the flesh—asked that very question on the cross. When we don't understand what God is doing and doubt His goodness, we must still trust who He is.

Painful events like betrayal, divorce, illness, or loss often trigger feelings that God has abandoned us. In such situations, we ask ourselves the question, “God, where are you?” We're not alone in this. Even Jesus—God in the flesh—asked that very question on the cross. When we don't understand what God is doing and doubt His goodness, we must still trust who He is.

The reason that so many people doubt Christianity is because of what Jesus claimed. Most people don't have a problem with how Jesus lived or how He loved. He was compassionate, gracious, forgiving, humble—He even turned water into wine at a party! But many draw the line at what Jesus claimed because what He claimed was bold, audacious, and, to many, offensive.

The reason that so many people doubt Christianity is because of what Jesus claimed. Most people don't have a problem with how Jesus lived or how He loved. He was compassionate, gracious, forgiving, humble—He even turned water into wine at a party! But many draw the line at what Jesus claimed because what He claimed was bold, audacious, and, to many, offensive.