Eternity Church PodCast

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.

A Sunday mornings sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I was challenged the other day by Melissa Archer's reflection on the worship found in the book of Revelation. She writes: “The hymns heard in heaven are to be the liturgy of the churches on earth.”    When we read the book of Revelation we find John alone on the isle of Patmos, seeking the presence of Jesus. Our faith is a communal faith, it is a pilgrimage together as God's people with Jesus and with one another. It is powerful to recognize when Jesus comes, in all His eternal glory and stands before John, He speaks to His disciple and through His disciple to all His people. Like the book of Leviticus, most of us set out to read the book of Revelation and make it through the letters to the seven churches of Asia before we lose steam. After those divine messages to the churches, the apocalyptic and prophetic nature of Revelation are overwhelming. And that's the point. The revelation is revealing. It's prophetically revealing of what's to come, but prophesy is meant to be applied today. In Revelation 4, we enter the throne room of heaven and are overawed by the overmorrow's worship! We are submerged by the flood of “Holy Holy Holy, is the Lord God Almighty!” It is the liturgy of eternity, and this revelatory glimpse of forever is meant to shape our worship today! When we see Christ in apocalyptic splendor, we are reminded not only of the eternal tomorrow, but of our creation. Through Jesus, all things were made (Colossians 1.16-20) and at the present, we are living within His creation. The time to worship Him is now. He is worthy to receive glory and honor and power, yes for all eternity, but nothing is stopping us from exalting Him today! Take time today, right now even while you read these words, and praise our Lord and God, who is worthy. For the one who was and is and is to come, is Holy Holy Holy!

A Sunday morning sermon by Jordan Crews. Today is Rosh Hashanah. Since the giving of the Law in the wilderness, around this time of year, we are invited once again to enter into His rest, to remember He is God and we are not. In Leviticus 23.23-25 we read: “Speak to the people of Israel, saying, In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of solemn rest, a memorial proclaimed with blast of trumpets, a holy convocation. You shall not do any ordinary work, and you shall present a food offering to the Lord.” In the last few weeks, we've had so many new sons and daughters born into our fellowship. In birth, they've begun a new year, their first year. Next year this time we will celebrate once again their emergence in our lives. We commemorate it with rejoicing, with special food and song, with games and laughter. Today is like a birthday for all of us, no matter how old or young we are. It's a call to rest and remembrance. It's an invitation to rejoicing and awe. It's a celebration we share with one another. Today, is a cloak we pass from generation to generation. It is the words of Leviticus lived out by the children of the Exodus. It's a new opportunity to hear, “The Lord our God, the Lord is one,” (Deuteronomy 6.4b). It's a new day to live out our faith by loving the Lord our God “with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might” in such a way that His command is on our heart (6.5). It's a new change to pass the thing most precious to us on to our children, sitting together at home, walking together through life, and embodying our belief all the days of our lives (6.6-9).

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor David Singh. Leviticus is a prelude to the work of the Cross. It is a call to be a holy people who reflect the holiness of God. This is the attractiveness of mission that God's people who are sinful by nature are being redeemed and renewed.  Mission is an invitation to belong to a holy God and to move from death to life.  I am in India right now and it was here, exactly 53 years ago to the day on Sept 16th 1972, that I knelt next to my bed and accepted the offer of Christ to give my life to him. I can never forget the amazing feeling of being forgiven and of the love of Jesus that washed over me repeatedly like the waves of the sea. The Mission of God is two-fold in Leviticus. One is to constantly purify me from sin and to make me more holy like Him. The other is my call to the world and to reflect a life of holiness which, invites all peoples back to God.  Be Holy as He is Holy!

A Sunday morning sermon by Mike Godzwa. Have you ever watched someone work a loom? For thousands of years, diverse peoples and cultures have created clothing and tapestries using looms. These looms make it possible to weave vertical warp and horizontal weft threads. It's mesmerizing to watch. And it doesn't even have to be fast to be impressive. All it takes is one attempt to work a loom—like a novice musician attempting their first chords—to realize how impressive a skilled artisan truly is. When we view the Torah as a single tapestry, we recognize the designs of the exodus already woven in from the beginning. Long before we arrived at the first chapters of Exodus, we foresaw the pain and persecution of Israel interlaced with the compassionate character of God (Genesis 15). This, of course, flies in the face of our preferred view of life. We struggle to see the love of God in the midst of our suffering. We knot up trying to see how the warp of our experiences—good and bad—are sewn into place by the weft of God's presence. When we read the book of Exodus with Genesis in mind, as we see the warp of Israel's suffering our eyes should immediately start anticipating the weft of God's redeeming power for His people.  The tapestry of time and space reveals our loving God who compassionately moves toward His image bearers. This is not a utopian, unrealistic revelation. On this loom, we see the reality of human suffering and the Red Sea parted (Exodus 14). On this loom, we see the firepot of God's presence making a covenant with Abram and the burning bush before Moses (Genesis 15; Exodus 3).  Friend, looking at this Torah tapestry, we begin to recognize the patterns present in our own lives. Today, where does God want you to see the weft of His presence passing through the warp of your experience?

A Sunday morning sermon Pastor Brett Deal. Each generation is capable of passing on gifts to the next. At first, the value of those gifts often those gifts go unnoticed. For example, it was really important to my mother that I learn to sew. Perhaps it was because growing up on a farm to parents who'd gone through the Great Depression made basic skills and frugality paramount to my mother. She was surely right, as my little hyperactive body was set on pushing my shorts and shirts to their breaking point. My childhood was held together by a stitch and a prayer! People might think choosing the right stitch or where to join the pieces of cloth might by the trickier part of sewing, but for me, it's always been threading the needle. I've got to slow down enough to get the thin thread through—what can feel like—an impassible needle's eye. The hardest thing to do, most of the time, is starting out well. I think this is equally true of how we read the Bible and understand the mission of God. If you'll allow me a moment to mix my metaphors, when we rush our reading of Scripture, we start sewing before the thread's through the needle. We weave the disconnected needle through the material, in and out of pages and passages, but no seam emerges; no connection is made. Together, we are going back to the beginning, back to the book of Genesis. We are going to pick up the thread of God's mission and see how it reveals the character of God and our calling as His image bearers in this world; and as we unpack this gift given to us, let's make sure we keep passing it on to the next.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Before the start of my Senior year, I had a surprise chance to come to the States, so I set out from the island of Bioko in Central Africa for far off middle America. The whole way across the Atlantic, I had almost exclusively one thing on my mind: new music! I was barely settled in my room at a small hostel for missionary kids in college, and I was looking for a ride to record store. It might be hard to remember what it was like in the days before streaming and clouds and the digital revolution we're currently in, but back then, unless I wanted to buy grainy knock off cassettes in Nairobi, the land of music was America. Barely had my feet touched the ground and I was loading up sample CDs at the store. One of those CDS has become one my favorites, one I go back to time and time again. It's Purpose by Design by Fred Hammond & Radical for Christ. This album sprints out the gate on the first track, with "I Want My Destiny." You can feel the theology of the song as much as the funky slap bass. This song is a time capsule in my journey of faith. It sings of a life redeemed by Christ. It rejoices in a life recreated for purpose. It shouts of a passion to serve the One “Who brought me and is able to keep me” and to follow Jesus “to the place where He has need of me.” These lyrics provide the surround sound of Apostle Paul's album to the Philippians. His entire epistle, according to G. Walter Hansen is Paul “urging them to join with him in his own journey to know Christ.” Hearing his epistle, set to this soundtrack, we are challenged to recognize, in Christ, our eternal citizenship has current blessing bearer responsibilities. Our salvation is fire insurance. It's calling. It's purpose. We must start living out our citizenship now. Enthusiastically awaiting Jesus' return, “with the time we have / Let's waste not all on selfish reasons / But we must seek to please Him first / Find His will upon the Earth” so that “When they look back from death to birth / They'll say they've seen Him.”

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont. It is a truism in our culture that non-reciprocal giving can make people uneasy. People don't always like the thought of others receiving what they have not earned. Extravagant generosity like this can seem a disruption to the moral order.    This was part of the criticism levelled against Paul's message of righteousness given apart from the keeping of the law. If people are simply given righteousness as a free gift, what becomes of their motivation toward Godliness?    Paul answers this critique in our passage for Sunday. Yes, he puts no confidence in his own human accomplishments to make him worthy before God. Yes, he surrenders everything to receive from God a righteousness that rests only on faith in the Giver. But how Paul uses that gift is the key factor – he does not see himself as perfect by virtue of the gift of God; rather he responds to God's empowering gift by using it to pursue the full working of Godliness within himself that his own efforts could not accomplish. The free gift enables the accomplishment of what his own efforts could not achieve – movement toward “the upward call of God in Christ.”        Paul gives his own life as an example and invites the Philippian brothers and sisters to imitate him in doing so within their own lives.  There is a profound witness for us as those on a spiritual journey toward God. God meets us, gives us what we cannot secure ourselves, and invites us through his messengers to put that gift to use pressing further into the goodness and life of God.    Let's come to worship this week eager to receive the good gifts of God and put them to beautiful usage within our lives before God.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. A striking parallel emerges as we move further into Paul's epistle. In chapter 2, we heard Paul singing his great Christ hymn (Philippians 2.6-11). Now, following the worthy examples of Timothy and Epaphroditus (2.19-30), “Paul's own story bears the imprint of Christ's way of self-emptying and exaltation” (Daniel Migliore).     Hearing Paul's personal story in chapter 3, alongside Christ's hymn in chapter 2, we find a kind of call and response, a divine voice and human echo. In both, we find a movement first to the depths then to the heights (Migliore). We sing of the profound self-emptying of Christ "who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant,” (Philippians 2.6-7a). This is the glorious humility of Jesus toward us. In Paul's story, we see someone who discovers that all the things he held dear, all the pieces of his former piety, were useless, refuse, loss. His descent is discovering his life has been upside down. All the bona fides became meaningless when Paul, having fallen to the ground, heard the voice of Jesus (Acts 9).     This led to the parallel upswing of movement to the heights. In Christ's obedience to the Father, enduring the cross, dying in our place, God the Father “highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the name that is above every name so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father,” (2.9-11). For Paul, it is in knowing Christ that he found himself drawn upward. It is in Jesus he found the goal to press toward, “the upward call of God in Christ Jesus,” (3.14).     Friend, as we increasingly identify with Christ in His suffering, we find ourselves embraced more completely in His glory. Our salvation becomes more secure as we are justified by Christ, sanctified by the in-working of His Spirit and look hopefully for the eternal day we are glorified in resurrection (3.9-11).

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. In the eye of the hurricane, swept up in the majesty of God, Job says, “My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you,” (Job 42.5). That must be one of the most striking verses in the Bible. It confesses a heartfelt belief, something held, something heard; and confirms it to be true. Naveen Rao interprets Job's confessional words through the cultural lens of smriti and shruti. Rao sees God's arrival in the whirlwind, asking questions and pressing Job's positions, as the Lord showing his servant—and us—the difference between smriti and shruti. Smriti is what we remember. It's human memory and traditional understanding. It's our Sunday School theology. Shruti goes beyond smriti. Shruti is divine revelation. It is the personal experience with God that transforms us. Drawing to the end of the book of Job and the many smriti takeaways we will carry with us, bits of information, scraps of new perspective, what we need most of all is shruti. As followers of Jesus (who will experience pain and suffering), we need a divine encounter with God that transforms us more and more into His likeness (2 Corinthians 3.18).  One place we can start is to recognize that the Lord answers our humble prayer. Through the entire book, we've heard Job crying out for his day in court with God. We've heard the voices of his friends, weighing him down with condemnation. In the whirlwind, we not only hear the Lord, but we see His presence. Centuries later, a group of disciples would gather in an upper room to join their voices in humble prayer, not knowing what was to come after, they obediently waited for the promise of God the Father. There, among men and women, young and old, gathered in humble prayer, the whirlwind of God's presence swept into the room, and the disciples, empowered by the Spirit of God, were never the same (Acts 1.4; 2.1-4).  Friend, what was true for Job and for Jesus' disciples is true for you and me. Smriti got us here, but only shruti will guide us where we're meant to go. So, the question is: are you ready?

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. In the eye of the hurricane, swept up in the majesty of God, Job says, “My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you,” (Job 42.5). That must be one of the most striking verses in the Bible. It confesses a heartfelt belief, something held, something heard; and confirms it to be true. Naveen Rao interprets Job's confessional words through the cultural lens of smriti and shruti. Rao sees God's arrival in the whirlwind, asking questions and pressing Job's positions, as the Lord showing his servant—and us—the difference between smriti and shruti. Smriti is what we remember. It's human memory and traditional understanding. It's our Sunday School theology. Shruti goes beyond smriti. Shruti is divine revelation. It is the personal experience with God that transforms us. Drawing to the end of the book of Job and the many smriti takeaways we will carry with us, bits of information, scraps of new perspective, what we need most of all is shruti. As followers of Jesus (who will experience pain and suffering), we need a divine encounter with God that transforms us more and more into His likeness (2 Corinthians 3.18).  One place we can start is to recognize that the Lord answers our humble prayer. Through the entire book, we've heard Job crying out for his day in court with God. We've heard the voices of his friends, weighing him down with condemnation. In the whirlwind, we not only hear the Lord, but we see His presence. Centuries later, a group of disciples would gather in an upper room to join their voices in humble prayer, not knowing what was to come after, they obediently waited for the promise of God the Father. There, among men and women, young and old, gathered in humble prayer, the whirlwind of God's presence swept into the room, and the disciples, empowered by the Spirit of God, were never the same (Acts 1.4; 2.1-4).  Friend, what was true for Job and for Jesus' disciples is true for you and me. Smriti got us here, but only shruti will guide us where we're meant to go. So, the question is: are you ready?

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. What must it have been like for Job when God showed up! One second the young Elihu is encouraging Job to “Keep listening to the thunder of His voice and the rumbling that comes from His mouth [because] God thunders wondrously with His voice; He does great things that we cannot comprehend,” and “then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind” (Job 37.2,5; 38.1)!!! Job's been desperate for God to show up, to answer His unanswered appeals. Maybe you've felt like that, thinking, “If God would just show up and answer me, I could move on with my life!” What Job experienced—all the extreme audiovisuals aside—is the same God who speaks to us today. He begins by making us aware of His presence. He doesn't always show up in a hurricane or in grand visions (check out Ezekiel 1). Sometimes, God reveals His presence quietly with a still small voice (1 Kings 19.11-13). God makes us aware of His presence and then He answers (but probably not in the way we expected). God answers us like He did Job: with questions. Yes, questions! This can hardly feel like what we were waiting for! More questions? Really?! Eritrean theologian Tewoldemedhin Habtu, reflecting on Job 38-39, believes, “Questions are an effective way of teaching, because they force the learner to think for himself.” Friends, isn't that just like God? His presence ministers to us and then His questions broaden our tunnel vision perspective. We want God to make sense of our suffering, but instead, God lovingly (and at times quite amusingly) asks us questions far beyond our capacity. God's questions generously invited Job to loosen his grip on bitterness and disillusionment by contemplating God's kindness toward His whole creation. As you spend time in God's presence this week, give your questions a rest and listen to the questions He's asking you. Listen to the voice of the One who endows the heart with wisdom and gives understanding to the mind (Job 38.36). You might be surprised what you learn.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I once found myself in conversation with a futurist. He'd published several books and was well-known for his study of the future and his predictions on where things were headed. At times it was as if he was looking past the curve of the earth and seeing what tomorrow was bringing. When I asked him how he went about making his predictions for the future, his response was just as surprising. He said the best way to predict what will happen tomorrow is to be fully present today. What a short answer but such a tall order. As we've been reading the book of Ruth, we've seen Naomi overcome by the suffering of yesterday, overwhelmed with the difficulties of today, and full of anxieties for tomorrow. It would be easy to predict a tragic ending if this was the sum and substance of the book! But all of that is outweighed by the actions of two people. Ruth's friendship and Boaz' covenant obedience foreshadow the hope of chapter four. If we've read each chapter well, the kindness of God, poured out through Ruth and Boaz into the life of Naomi, tells us where the story's going. Friends, being present today in Christ, we know what the future holds, we can see where our story's headed. In Jesus, the hope of overmorrow colors every day and every dawning. In Jesus, eternal hope is written on every page and every paragraph of our lives. We feel this hope in the Holy Spirit's invitation to unpack our past. We see it in the fellowship of our brothers and sisters in Christ. We perceive it in the empowering move of the Spirit calling us to deeper faith, to greater trust. Knowing the kindness of God, we are giving new space to surrender our anxieties, bringing our prayers and petitions to the Father with hopeful confidence, as the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guards our hearts our minds in Christ Jesus (Philippians 4.6-7). Today, be present in someone else's life. Share with them the hope of overmorrow, your hope for eternity.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I think Mark Twain was right when he said, “Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” The little book of Ruth is driven by kindness. Amid famine, decimation, and loss, the whisper of kindness soothes deafened ears. In the clashing cymbals of time, when the cacophony of anxiety and worry flood our vision, kindness reveals the movement of God's invisible hand. To paraphrase Nietzsche, an enduring kindness in the same direction is transformative. Where Naomi was left embittered by past pain, kindness led her into renewed freedom for today. Where Ruth, a young widow was left caring for her devastated mother-in-law, kindness led her into a renewed assurance for the future. Where we have been is not permanent. It's where we are, but it doesn't have to be where our story ends. Kindness, born from the love of God into our lives and relationships, transforms our doubt and despair into renewed hope for eternity. This week, be inspired by the kindness that transformed Naomi's life. In the first chapter she was blinded by her loss, unable to escape the shroud of bitterness that consumed her past. In the second chapter, she was semi-conscious as Ruth went out to provide for them in their present poverty. But in the third chapter, Naomi was the one looking to the future. Kindness rekindled the fire in her eyes. Transformed by kindness, Naomi told Ruth, “Wash, put on perfume, get dressed in your best clothes and go” (Ruth 3.3-4a). Naomi was inspired to hope again by the enduring kindness of those around her. May the same be said of us.

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont. Gregory Wagenfuhr, member of the ECO Standing Theology Committee, has spoken of time as a difficult thing to live within. In his telling, we are continually ground between two stones: between processing and making sense of the past, and anticipating and planning for the future. Our task as humans is to live between the weight of past experience and the looming shapes and questions of the future.    In this pressure-packed space, it can be very easy to become paralyzed, overwhelmed, discouraged, distracted, or addicted. In the process, we can find ourselves losing our sense of agency, power, and freedom, the things that make us human! We lose our sense of being alive and empowered within our present moment, our “today.”    Into this dilemma, the reign of God the Father, the victory of Jesus, and the filling of the Holy Spirit function together to bring liberty from our captivity and enable us to live powerfully within each successive present moment of our lives.    Ruth is an example of someone who triumphs through this vitality and trusting action within her present. She experiences deep loss and dislocation, yet she ultimately encounters the greatness of God's purposes as she acts decisively within her present moment—God's actions meeting her actions!    May we move toward worship this Sunday preparing our hearts to encounter the Lord of Life who has worked, is working, and will work to give us freedom to be and become who we are made and called to be—one “today” at a time!

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Every year during the festival of Weeks, the time more commonly known as Pentecost, the people of God would read the little book of Ruth. Annually they would take this short story from their past and listen to it again as it spoke into the current realities they were facing as well as the unknown, unseen possibilities of the future. Starting Sunday, we will walk in the fullness of Pentecost, reflecting on the story of Naomi and Ruth and what their Spirit-inspired story reveals to us about yesterday, today, tomorrow, and overmorrow.  Most likely, you're well-acquainted with the first three time orientations, but that fourth might be new. Always a fan of a nuanced word, I stumbled across the Old English word while praying about this series. Overmorrow, in its simplest definition, is the day after tomorrow. Why did we ever stop saying it!? That little word lit my brain on fire! As I read and reread Ruth, I watched these four time stamps come alive. I found my soul kindled by the bright fire of overmorrow, illuminating hope beyond the horizon of tomorrow. But we only arrive at overmorrow by walking through yesterday, today, and tomorrow. We all, like Naomi and Ruth, have painful stories in our past. Our yesterday's tragedies can easily swallow up any hope we might have for the future. Ruth 1 does not shy away from the lamentable story of yesterday. It lays the weight of the past heavily on our shoulders with all its grief and tragedy. But it does not leave us there. Before we arrive at today, there is a glimpse, a glimmer…a hope of overmorrow.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Elise and I just got back from our own Emmaus road. We set out walking from our Jerusalem, like Cleopas and his companion into the unknown. And walk we did! Over the last two weeks we averaged six miles a day. Our peripatetic journey took us across the British isles. We worshiped in Westminster and Glasgow, the castle heights of Edinburgh and the cliffs of Howth. But of all the amazing places we visited, there was one spot I was particularly excited to visit in the small village of Kirkwall. And we reached it right on time.  Forty days after the resurrection, Jesus took His disciples to a hillside near Bethany and, raising His hands, blessed them as He ascended to the Father. They watched, worshiping and amazed, as He was lifted beyond the clouds. On May 29th, Ascension Day, Elise and I arrived on Orkney Island, where in 1137, Viking Christians began building a church known as the Light of the North. It is the oldest cathedral in all of Scotland. For 900 years, followers of Jesus have gathered in this beautiful church and celebrated the ascension of our Lord. But what do we do once Jesus, who walked with us on the road, has ascended into the heavens? What are we to do now? Like the disciples before us, we return to Jerusalem with great joy, blessing God and expectantly awaiting the promise of the Father (Luke 24.52-53; Acts 1.4). As we gather this Sunday in anticipation of Pentecost, let's prepare our hearts for a fresh outpouring of God's Spirit among us!

A Sunday sermon by Peter DuMont. Why do we worship Jesus?     Six weeks ago we gathered on Easter Sunday with a palpable sense of joy to celebrate Jesus' resurrection. Since then we have been walking through his disciples experience of grief, disorientation, and sorrow between his death and resurrection. This week we arrive at the incredible finale to Jesus' earthly ministry where he is revealed in resurrection wholeness to his gathered disciples.     Seeing him is staggering to the disciples, but Jesus does more than just shock them—he leads them through the Law, the Prophets, and his own teachings to explain the new reality his resurrection brings. He guides them backward into remembrance of God's promises now being fulfilled, and forward into God's future purposes.     Jesus places himself at the center of history and commissions his disciples into a life of witness. A witness borne not from human wisdom or enthusiasm but wrapped in power that the Father promised…power to be revealed at Pentecost.    Let us come to worship Jesus the Lamb of God this Sunday, asking to have our hearts and minds opened to greater wonder and joy at the dimensions of his triumphant reality.

A Sunday morning sermon by Kathleen Hudson. It is not an altogether uncommon experience in our home for someone to shout out to another person asking where something is. The irony of this is that, often, the person seeking what they cannot find is positioned directly in front of the “missing” item. The one called walks in and quickly grabs the item and hands it to them. Now, say it with me if you can hear it reverberate in your own head:  “How did I miss that?”    That's where we find ourselves this week in the walk to Emmaus with Cleopas and his companion, asking ourselves how did they miss that it was Jesus walking with them? Certainly, you or I would have immediately recognized our Lord and Savior. There is no doubt that we would have been overwhelmed by God's presence and stopped everything we were doing. Right?    Hindsight is 20/20, the saying goes, but often in the midst of grief and the feeling of being lost in an unexpected overturn of how we expected life to be, we see very dimly. We cling to what is familiar and let go of the hope Jesus provides in his resurrection. We retreat to our protective shells and pull the stone back over the covering of our tombs.    This week I invite you to look for Jesus in your ordinary. The greatest reality is that Jesus has never left us, and even when we walk down dusty roads after great loss, our Messiah lives.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. After moving back to Kenya for my senior year, I was flying home for a break. Without a direct flight between the island and Nairobi, I stopped in Cameroon on my way. Landing in Douala, the port city close to Malabo, I heard from a friend that a well-known author was in Yaoundé leading a spiritual emphasis week for the group of Bible translators I'd lived with the year before. I'd recently devoured his book on God's missionary call for His people and wanted to meet with him, speak with him. My young mind wanted to see if talking with him might help me connect some dots still at odds with what he'd written. I changed my travel plans and jumped on a bus heading south. Although the event was already underway, I could at least catch the last day of his presentations. Halfway in the journey, however, the ancient and bent-up bus decided it had different plans. It broke down. And when I say it broke down, I don't mean it sputtered or had a momentary lapse. I mean it ceased to be a bus. It gave up the automotive ghost. We had to wait for another bus to come to our rescue. Hours later, now on a new bus, revving with vim and vigor, we continued on our way. I remember at last emerging from the tropical canopy grown over the highway revealing the red rolling hills of Yaoundé. I recognized the roads and quickly made my way to the church where the author was speaking. But because of the bus breakdown, I arrived during the last few minutes of his lectures. Crestfallen, I waited until most had left, hoping to say hello and be on my way. To my surprise, he made time for me. What began as a short greeting became a dialogue. We traded questions and theological perspectives. We moved beyond the surface of doctrinal etiquette into personal applications in our lives. We marveled together as Jesus revealed to us God's sovereignty in the midst of our humanity. We were two disciples on an African road to Emmaus receiving Christ's prophetic hope.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. After a few weeks home, it was time to fly back to Cameroon. With a new visa in my passport and a new semester ahead, I was ready to get back to work. I also had a new lease on the days ahead of me. I didn't want to miss “why” I was in Yaoundé. We all have reasons. I realized I need to reshuffle mine. Some reasons we know. They're written in billboard sized letters. Other reasons we think we know, but they ultimately have little real purpose in our lives. They sound good but are written in invisible ink. And, of course, there are other reasons we are largely unaware of. They are the small print, hidden under a footnote, found only in an appendix. These reasons are small but can have a massive impact on how we live. Living in Yaoundé before my visa fiasco, I was just living day by day, school assignment by school assignment. I walked and taxied in and out of places without really being present. Knowing that I was in Cameroon for a reason, not just to finish eleventh grade, I wanted to live my faith intentionally with renewed vision. I began to see things that were too easily missed; like Lahadi. Lahadi was a guard at a gate. I greeted him every day as I passed by. He worked for the Bible translators I was living with, but he himself didn't know Jesus. As we talked—really talked—I wanted to share with him something in my life that'd been lost in the footnotes. I went and bought him a Bible as a gift. I started to learn a little Hausa. At first, it was just a handful of greetings, to show him how much I cared about him, that I would attempt to speak his language; but as we talked more about Jesus, I began searching for the meaningful words of faith so we could anchor this vision of the Messiah in Lahadi's heart language. Walking with Lahadi, I wanted Jesus to join our conversation. Friends, this is exactly what Jesus does! He meets us on our roads to Emmaus. He asks us questions, listens to our answers, and answers us from within His revelation. He speaks His heavenly truth in our earthly languages! He translates glimpses of His eternal glory into the red clay roads of our lives.  This week, take a walk with someone. Let's find Jesus on our way to Emmaus.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I boarded the little Cessna on the hot tarmac of the Yaoundé international airport. I had just received the grace of the customs and border patrol I surely didn't deserve. I'd been an illegal alien in Cameroon for several months, assuming—as most naïve teenagers are wont to do—the school would keep my papers in order. After a few hours, however, the man behind the desk forgave me. He wiped away my debt and stamped my passport, releasing me. He didn't even block me from renewing my visa to finish my junior year of high school. Remarkably, the plane waited for me. The other passengers waited patiently. The pilot watched the clock but refused to leave until the last possible minute. Once I was released, I joined them as the propellor kicked to life and the wheels began to roll. As everyone else, including the pilot, were more than ready to go, there was only one seat left: the co-pilot's chair. As the little plane took off, climbing into the sky, I gained a vantage point I'd never experienced before. I've flown in countless planes. I've even been in the cockpit of several planes over the years. But never had I faced the oncoming skies from the front row! The view before me wasn't a sideways glance oval. It was a panorama sweeping across my full field of vision! And that is where the trouble began. As we flew toward the clouds, the logical part of my brain said, “Nothing to worry about here. Clouds are just coalescing drops of water gliding around the atmosphere,” but my less logical side—the I've-watched-too-many-Wile-E-Coyote-cartoons side—was sounding off alarm bells! I asked the pilot through the headset if we should be concerned. He wasn't worried at all. He'd flown headlong into clouds before. I'll be honest. I heard him but I still struggled to really believe his testimony! I was like Cleopas on the road to Emmaus, having heard the witness of the women and the apostles, but still struggling to discern what it all meant. We've all been there. We'll all be there again. The question becomes: will we keep moving?

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Back in 1999, I found myself in hot water. As a high school junior, I was living in Cameroon, going to school in Yaoundé. For most of my schooling years I'd benefited from the meticulous care and attention of a much larger academy in Kenya. That year, however, I attended a much smaller school, closer to home. Everything seemed fine until I went to fly home for break. That was when I discovered, much to my surprise, my visa was long expired! Where the other school worked to keep all the student visas in order, this smaller academy did not. I found myself detained, penniless, and wondering how I was going to talk myself out of the country!  There was a Cessna on the airfield waiting for me, a flight plan scheduled to leave, but I was being held in a back office, presented with a fine I couldn't possibly pay and threatened with worse. My hope of a school break began to fade from view. I barely had enough for the taxi to the airport! Seriously, where was I supposed to get the kind of money they were demanding? I did everything I could. I went through all the mental gymnastics I could, looking for ways to appease their justifiable frustration. At the end of the day though, the decision didn't rest with me. It wasn't in my apology. It wasn't in my efforts. It ultimately wasn't what I said or did that would determine my fate; that decision rested with the man behind the desk listening. After a few hours, he did something unexpected. He gave me mercy. He forgave my debt. He forgave my expired visa. He didn't even hold it against my re-entry a few weeks later to finish the school year. I learned several things that day. One is that some of the best learning doesn't happen in the classroom or in a books. It happens in the friction of life that calls forth everything we know and exposes the things we don't. Sometimes the best classroom is a dusty road where we wrestle out our biggest questions with a friend. It's together in the unexpected journey we can become eyewitnesses to hope.

An Easter Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Have you ever noticed how each Gospel speaks from a unique vantage point? Matthew and Mark, Luke and John all speak from a distinct place in the story. Eyewitnesses have shared their personal experiences of being with Jesus. They take several others' testimonies of Thursday's washing and communion, of Friday's execution, of Saturday's traumatic silence. Each Gospel arrives at the dawn of the next day. This Sunday we will take up Luke's account (Luke 24.1-12) as we gather to celebrate Easter, but for today, let's take heed to Matthew's telling of the empty tomb (Matthew 28.1-10). His witness begins at first light, as Mary and others arrive at the tomb. The earth shakes, the stone is dislodged, and the Roman soldiers collapse stunned! Into the women's understandable terror, an angel proclaims Christ is risen from the dead! He has gone to Galilee, and there “you will see Him!” These women give us a perfectly recognizable response! They were “afraid and yet filled with great joy.” Who hasn't felt that strange combination of emotions?! Bursting exhilaration cloaked in fear. Great anticipation tempered by anxiety. These disciples watched their teacher thrashed and mocked and nailed bleeding to a torturous cross. They witnessed the stuff of nightmares, the kinds of violence that make us fight the darkness of sleep. They've been traumatized by the violence of Friday and the silence of Saturday. They are experiencing real fear. Easter morning, their fear is not ignored or denied. It isn't minimized or mocked. It's there, like the heavy clouds of dawn dissipating in the light of day. The clouds are still there, but the rising sun is pushing the gray to silvered edges by irrepressible joy. They are still afraid, but the sense of gladness and joy is breaking through! Walking through Holy Week, knowing that Easter is coming, don't be afraid to feel. Don't try to hide your fears, anxieties, afflictions, or pains. Bring the gray clouds of your experience through sorrow and grief to the empty tomb where we witness the good news together!

A Palm Sunday morning sermon by some of the youth at Eternity Church. One of the best questions anyone ever asked Jesus was, “Do you hear what these children are saying?”  As Jesus entered Jerusalem, with great fanfare and acclaim, as the long-awaited Messiah of Israel, people crowded along the roadside. They raised up palm branches and laid their cloaks beneath the foal's footfalls. In the gathering were children, singing and shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” These boys and girls were witness to the arrival of the Messiah! We can hear the intense indignation and disdain as the religious leaders ask Jesus, “Do you hear what these kids are saying?!” The resounding answer is “Yes!” Entering the Temple courts, hearing the children's repeating refrain, Jesus' heart swelled with the words of Psalm 8. In Israel's song book, the eighth psalm is the first song of praise celebrating God's glory over all the earth! As Jesus' heard them worshiping, He saw the fulfillment of David's song, as God established His stronghold through the praises of children (Psalm 8.2). This Sunday we rejoice in Christ's triumphal entry led by our children and youth. Come prepared to follow their reenactment of Zechariah's prophesy. Be ready to sing with them as they lead us in song. Prepare your hearts to receive from God's word in their pulpit reflection. In their witness we will find ourselves asking the same question, “Do you hear what these children are saying?!” but with a very different posture in heart because our answer will be, “Yes, and Amen!”

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. There's no excuse for my sense of humor. That's an important place to start. It pops up in the strangest of places. For example, in high school my best friend and I named our dorm room. No, that wasn't a normal practice. Dorms had names. Rooms didn't. But I'd been spending dedicated time in the Psalms of Ascent, and I was taken by the thought of pilgrims crossing arid valleys to reach the Temple (Psalms 120-134). Some would pass through valleys like Baca (dehydrating places of weeping), and in the heat and distance, they'd become faint and thirsty (Psalm 84). Priests, therefore, would go into the plains and dig pits so when the rains came the pilgrims would be met with refreshing water along the way. Inspired we named our dorm room “Baca.” I wanted to be like those priests, meeting people in their lowest valleys. But I'm also a sucker for a good play on words. Our dorm's name was Chui, so when people asked where we lived on campus, we said… “Chui baca.” (I'll see myself out.) This week, we find ourselves climbing our way up the Psalms of Ascent, the songs pilgrims sang nearing Jerusalem. But, with the Temple in sight, instead of another song of mountainside praise, we find ourselves giving voice to a psalm of lament (Psalm 130)! It's as if the closer we get to the presence of God we become more aware of what we've carried with us in the valley. It isn't just the thirst the arid place produces or the weeping that's left us weary, but our deeper need of sanctification. It's in the valley we realize our increasing thirst for God's righteousness (Matthew 5.6). That's a more important place to (re)start.  Marcus Mumford describes these emotions beautifully in a new song describing his own journey of faith. How “walking through the valley was what brought me here / I knew I would never make it on my own / And I don't know how it took so long to shed this skin / To live under the shadow of your wings / You are all I want / You're all I need / I'll find peace beneath the shadow of your wings.” As we journey through the penitential psalms, these songs in the valley, may we find the peace of lament beneath the shadow of God's wings (Psalm 57.1; 91.4).

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Have you ever heard a great song or watched an incredible movie then afterwards learned the inspiration for it, and it made it all the more powerful? Years ago, Elise and I were in a little art shop in a mall. Among all the large and impressive art for sale, there was a fairly small oil replica of Vincent van Gogh's Sunflowers. So simple. Flowers in a vase. I walked out with that little framed painting for my office. Later I learned Van Gogh painted the original to display in a room to show his gratefulness for his friend, Paul Gauguin, who was moving in with him. The painting was more than just vibrant impasto colors of liberal oil paint. The paint was more than just a still life of top-heavy sunflowers. The painting was friendship, closeness, gratitude. Psalm 102 is a powerful song we can sing in the valley. It is a song of suffering held deeply in the heart of the singer. Not wanting this to be missed, the compilers of Israel's song book kept a short superscript before the lyrics. It is one of a kind. The superscript of 102 is the only one in Psalms which, according to Rolf Jacobson “describes a psalm as intended for a particular instance in a person's life.” Psalm 102 is Van Gogh's sunflower with the backstory of gratitude. This fifth penitential psalm is at first glance a moving song of sorrow and shadow. It is does not hide its suffering. But holding gently the superscript at the beginning brings a deeper resonance: “A prayer of an afflicted person who has grown weak and pours out a lament before the Lord.” There is a backstory. There is an affliction that has left the voice parched and in pain. This lament is sung from the little remaining, the last drops of oil in the widow's jar, the rasping voice of the thirsty soul. Like the sunflowers, it is a song for someone…and that someone is divine. He is enthroned on high. He is God Almighty. He is the eternal Father, merciful and compassionate. He is the Sovereign King, who builds and rebuilds. He is the Lord who hears our prayers sung in the darkness and responds with the radiance of hope.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Have you ever lost the thread? I imagine the phrase “lose the thread” began in a time when tapestries were still primarily made by hand and the careful design required mindful attention to the weaving. Despite the fact most of us do not mind the literal progress of thread, we still use this phrase to indicate we have lost focus, that the task or talk at hand got jumbled. As we as Christians have walked penitently through Lent for nearly two millennia, I think we have sometimes lost the thread of the season. We sent the thread ahead of us, but lost track of its movement. Gary Castor once observed, “Lent is a solemn season, it is not a somber one.” Talk about nuance! Did we really lose the thread or are we just splitting hairs (another great idiom, but we'll save that for another day)? Looking around, I see a lot of spiritual apprehension, a nervous shift from the feasting of Fat Tuesday to the ashen gloom of the following morning. I think we've lost the thread. Castor believes, “the forty days [of Lent] are not structured to foster morbid gloominess and debilitating self-loathing; they are meant to thrust us into the heart of divine love.” That's the thread! Sincere lament which leads us back to love. When we read Psalm 51, if we aren't careful, we lose the thread. We get caught up in the drama of the backstory and miss the meaning. We miss the peace of lament that turns us toward our Creator in whom we find re-creation and restoration. Psalm 51 is a restart, a tracing back of the thread to the beginning. Lent isn't a dour day, pointless and moody. Lent is a thread of grace which leads us to renewal.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. All of us know what it feels like to fail. The sear of shame, the burning against the skin of our neck born of embarrassment or humiliation. Some of us may hide it better than others, but we've all fallen short of our intentions. We all know what it feels like to regret. Whether it was the weight of our actions or the expense of our words, we've all played back the minutes riddled with guilt, at times unable to break the loop that keeps our minds spinning out. We all know these feelings (whether a little or a lot) because we've all sinned. We've all come to a point in our lives where we recognize the Lord's displeasure with how we're living. King David experienced this and was open about the ups and downs of his life with God. He knew his guilt. He felt his shame. Wisely, he knew better than to suffer long in silence. Knowing he'd sinned against God, he asked for mercy, he requested gentle discipline empty of wrath. He confessed his sin and the weight of iniquities. At times, all he could muster was a sigh, a grief-stricken groan, but he gave it voice before God all the same. Why? Because he knew God alone was his salvation. God alone was the help he needed. In the third century, the North African theologian Athanasius wrote: “When you feel the Lord's displeasure, if you see that you are troubled by this, you can say Psalm 38.” For Athanasius, singing David's song of remembrance was a pathway through penitence to restoration. With David, we admit our failure, lament our sin, and entrust ourselves once more to God. Today, join your voice across the ages with David's voice in Psalm 38, passing through the joy of confession into the peace of lament.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. As far back as the sixth century in recorded history—and probably even further back than that—Christians have reflected on seven psalms as they enter Lent (Psalm 6, 32, 38, 51, 102, 130, and 143). These songs in the hymnbook of Israel sing over us the joy of confession and the gift of repentance. As followers of Jesus, we find in these lyrical prayers the peace with God found through lament. Today, as we kneel before the Lord our God, taking the shape of the cross gently outlined in ash on our foreheads, we internalize the words of Psalm 6. Knowing that we are dust and to dust we will return, we sing with the psalmist, David, starting with a single word: Lord! David wrote this song in the valley of suffering. He was wracked in pain and weeping over his life. He lamented his state, but lest he drift from God's faithfulness, he anchored his experience within the Lord's revealed nature. The first word he sings is the name of God spoken to Moses: Yahweh. As we begin this Lenten season, let's begin our valley lament within the character of Christ. He is the Son of God, the Lord of Moses, the sovereign of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is the God who hears and responds. He is the One who hears our confession and forgives our sin. He heals our sickness and delivers us from evil. On Sunday, we will continue with David's penitential psalms, reflecting on Psalm 32, his song of forgiveness. Lamenting we will also sing rejoicing how God's “steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord.”

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Do you ever find yourself asking, “now what?” I was recently at a conference, and during a follow up session, with the main speaker alongside two respondents, the moderator of the discussion voiced those words. Repeatedly as he was walking with people he was counseling, he would find himself thinking, “But now what?” He'd given them all he had to give, all the best listening he could render, all the best empathy he could muster, all the counsel he could offer, but time and time again he found himself with them at a moment of decision that asked, “now what?” I'm sure we've all been there; a tire blew up on a dark and lonely road; an unexpected change caught us unprepared; a breakdown we don't know how to get past. We've all asked, “now what?” It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. Here at the close of Jesus' sermon on the mount we might be asking “but now what?” Jesus has fulfilled the Law and the Prophets in ways we didn't see coming. We look at the upside-down world around us, and as Jesus has been setting it aright in His Words, we find ourselves discombobulated. We want security. Jesus calls us to trust. We want peace from our enemies. Jesus calls us to pray for them. We want moral philosophy to sit quietly in the back pew of our minds. Jesus calls us to actively live His word (Matthew 7.24-29).  Friends, if we will be still before the Lord, we will realize our “now what?” is an echo of His question to us! What will we do now with what He has given us? He's told us the way of wisdom. Now that we know it, we have a responsibility to live it. Now that we're on the solid rock, it's time to start building.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. You ever have one of those songs you learned as a kid come back to you and get stuck in your head? It's too random to be random!  As we move toward the conclusion of our Sermon on the Mount series, I've been thinking about mountain passes. In boarding school, our fourth-grade dorm was on the edge of the school, and a narrow pass was cut into the cliff rock wall for the track. On a few occasions, we were able to get up close as the train chugged by. It was something to behold, the great train carefully steaming up and down the tracks. At least once, we heard a train derail and dangle dangerously there until it was rescued. It feels like we just walked up this mountainside with Jesus. Here, surrounded by his disciples and the crowd, we've listened to Jesus unpack for us the Law and the Prophets in new and profound ways. Now, before we know it, we are already making our way back down a narrow mountain path. So imagine my surprise when—while I'm sitting with all of this—the most unexpected song started playing in my head. As if a distant train whistle coming closer: “She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes.” Where in the world did that come from? Did I ever know it was an old negro spiritual about Jesus' return? Looking at Jesus' words on the mountainside, walking the tracks of His narrow way, I hear the distant whistle of His return. Are we ready? Along this mountain pass I see trees and their fruit. I see sheep and wolves. I see the way of Jesus and the ways we say are His but aren't. They start out looking like the tracks beneath our feet but veer in time, derailing us on the mountain pass. All the while, the whistle blows. Jesus is returning and the words we sing are true: “King Jesus, he'll be driver when she comes / She'll be loaded with bright angels / She'll neither rock nor totter / She will run so level and steady / when she comes.”

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I'm always amazed when someone can encapsulate a big idea with a small word count! It's incredible! I could write 40,000 words on just how powerful that talent is… but I digress. Sitting with the many thoughts Jesus presents in Matthew 7.1-12, I find myself once again in the presence of master wordsmiths. Reflecting on Jesus' inspired words, Michael Card wrote, “Our confidence in prayer is not rooted in our ability to pray but in the manifestly loving nature of our Father.” Forgive the pun, but what a Mic drop! How often have we stained our prayers with insecurity. At times, we might even become the primary audience for our entreaties, forgetting prayer is not thoughts that swirl in our hearts and minds, but our invitation to dialogue with our God and King! Like in our times of misdirected fasting, our insecurity in prayer is due to our making too much of ourselves, too much of our ability. Praise God he doesn't measure our prayers on our verbal embellishments or lyrical eloquence! As a matter of fact, the fewer words the better.  Our confidence in prayer is rooted in the manifestly loving nature of our Father. This is real security. This is the confidence of a child safe in his mother's arms. This is the assurance of a daughter held tight by her father. This is a sweet surrender of our false sense of control to the One who forever holds us and surrounds us with His love. May this confidence be the basis by which Jesus guides us into His teaching this week on judgment and hypocrisy, worth and wisdom, prayer and aspiration.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. In the middle of Jesus' sermon on the Mount we find ourselves being challenged in countless ways. With a simple statement of when and where we give to the poor and pray, He has called our hearts to deep reflection on the why beneath our benevolence and piety. It isn't enough to give; we must examine why we give. It isn't truly satisfying to pray in public to garner the praise and admiration of others. These rewards are hollow and fleeting. Instead, when we give and forgive, when we pray and fast, we should practice righteousness quietly because our actions are prayerful expressions of worship to God. I love how African theologian Tertullian (from the second century) encouraged us: “Fasting possesses great power. If practiced with the right intention, it makes man a friend of God.” That's what it's all about! When we give to the poor, we are giving to Christ, because He is our beloved. He has called us friend (John 15.15)! We don't fight against social ills to make a name for ourselves but to be more like Jesus. When we pray to the Father, we fix our eyes on the God who sees us (Genesis 16.13). When we fast, we give physical expression to our spiritual hunger for His righteousness in our lives.  Reading Matthew 6.16-34, we discover fasting changes our relationship with our possessions and with the oppressed. We aren't driven by the meager rewards of being seen by others because through fasting we realize we are forever seen by God! This realization drives us to tell others this marvelous gospel truth! Fasting changes our relationship with ourselves and the circumstances that surround us. Fasting is one way to bring our anxieties to the feet of Jesus and trust the Father's love for us. The power of fasting is how it reorients us toward God and toward others. If you're able, take some time this week to fast, leaving your anxieties on the altar and resting in the arms of your Father.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Pools are amazing. There is something so refreshing and enlivening about swimming in a pool. The various depths make the waters accessible to young and old. Because the pool was intentionally designed, it removes the dangers of currents and debris. But pools are amazing for one particular reason. Without fail, any time families gather around the community pool, at some point you will hear a kid shouting, “Mom! Watch this!” Followed a few seconds later by a confirming, “Are you watching?”  As kids, surrounded by family and friends, bounding in and out of the water, nothing matters more to us than to know our parents are watching the aquatic wonders we're achieving! There is something so beautiful and pure about this. We want to share our newest discoveries, to have an audience of one, almost completely oblivious to everyone else around us. What makes this even more amazing is the mother's ear that hear the child's call over all the other voices, over all the commotion and noise. Her ears are tuned in to the cry of her children. No lifeguard knows her son's and daughter's voice as well as she does. In the middle of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6.1-15), Jesus tells us how we should practice our piety and give voice to our prayer. We don't give to the poor to be honored by those around us. We don't pray to be heard by the crowd. We don't give to get attention from others. We don't raise our voice to God to be heard by anyone else. No, we give to the poor before an audience of One. We pray to be heard by the One who is always listening. We care for the marginalized and disenfranchised because we want to be like our Father and know, like a child who calls out to her mother at the pool, His loving eyes are watching.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. I remember like it was yesterday how long it took me to read through the whole Bible. I must have read the New Testament through a few times, but after the amazing stories of Genesis and the adventures times of Exodus, I, like many, got lost in the slog of Leviticus! Finally, I made it through, only to find myself surrounded by some sort of never-ending census in the book of Numbers! Would relief ever come!? One such lifeline that kept me going on my way back into the action-packed story of God's people was Numbers 35. The heading in my student study Bible stood in bold letters: Cities of Refuge. In a time where people exercised vengeance and meted out justice on their own, here were Levite cities scattered among the tribes of Israel, dedicated to being harbors of refuge against the violence of retribution. Like most kids my age, I'd seen my fair share of vigilante justice movies, from the classic cowboy films to Batman the caped crusader. But here, on the page before me, was a vision of something different. It put justice back into the hands of God.  Envisioning these cities of refuge, Jesus' addressing of our human forms of justice took on all kinds of deeper meaning. The same God who called His people to establish refuge for others calls us to endure the imperfection of humanity as we strive to be conformed to the perfection of our heavenly Father (Matthew 5.48). He calls us to endure the insulting slaps of others without slapping back. He calls us to carry the burdens of others further and farther than we are forced to. He calls us to love and intercede for those who make our lives miserable (Matthew 5.39-45). Here in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, in the context of pain and persecution, vengeance and retribution, Jesus speaks the only word that shows us the way back to God our refuge in troubled times: Love. Today, may others know we are Christians by our love (John 13.35).

A Sunday sermon by Peter DuMont. Jesus' earthly ministry broke some of the favorite rules of religious leaders in his day.  Rules about what you should do on the Sabbath, or who you should associate with, or what rituals you should follow. Because he was breaking their rules, some people thought Jesus wanted to abolish all of the rules, even the Law of God given to Moses on Mount Sinai.   Jesus surprised his critics on this second mount by saying, “I have not come to abolish [the Law and Prophets] but to fulfill them. For truly I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished” (Matthew 5).   This last phrase raises an important series of questions:  What role does the Law play in accomplishing God's redemptive purposes?  Didn't God send grace through Jesus because we couldn't keep the Law?  Then why does Jesus say that nothing will pass away from the Law until the end of time?   Could it be that grace in Jesus does not reduce the importance of the Law, but rather sets in motion a heart transformation that enables us to increasingly keep the Law without being condemned by it?     Let's gather to worship before our living God this Sunday, and to let His Word and Spirit cleanse, inspire, and form us into clearer reflections of His glory.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. In the middle of the second century, around AD 160, a Christian by the name of Justin found himself in a deep discussion about the Messiah with a Jewish teacher named Trypho. For two days, they dialogued back and forth about the belief of Jesus' people that He was the long-awaited Messiah. Together they discussed from the richness of the Old Testament. Justin expressed the gospel of Jesus as the fullness of the Law and the fulfillment of the Prophets. Whole chapters of his record, passed down through the centuries as his Dialogue with Trypho, are little more than long recitations of Scripture. At one point, Justin entreats Trypho and those with him to “learn of us, who have been taught wisdom by the grace of Christ.” Having just had a great conversation about word order and the implication of how we read them, this phrase lights up the page. Justin could have said he'd learned grace by the wisdom of Christ; this might even fit our approach to biblical learning better. But instead, he says he learned wisdom by the grace of Christ, and now he longs to share what he's learned with others! At the base of the mount with Jesus, where He will begin to unpack for us wisdom, we are taught by His grace. Reading Matthew 5.1-20, we find the Beatitudes which challenge our understanding of blessedness. We are charged to take to heart what it really means to be salt and light in this world. Jesus' grace is the key which opens the door to true wisdom. Craig Keener challenges us when, reflecting on these verses, he says, “Religious people without transformed hearts will have no place in the kingdom.” Beloved, as we learn at the feet of Jesus our Messiah on this mountainside of life, may we learn the wisdom that only comes to us by the grace of Christ, for that is the way to true spiritual transformation.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Beloved People of God, The older I get the more I'm convinced the longing for “new” is universal. I can't think of a culture or language that doesn't hold dearly to the experience of hope and promise of newness. This longing is inherently human. It brings out the best and worst in us. Our eagerness for the new leads us out into the cold of winter, surrounded by strangers into culs de sac and city squares. We want hope and we want it with others! I remember our family climbing up on the flat roof our home in Dakar to ring in the new year, with sparkling grape juice generously poured into plastic flutes, waiting for the fireworks to shower the skies. Somehow—although at times it felt like it would never come— 2020 had finally coming to an end! From a distance we waved at neighbors and hoped for the beginning of something new. In the same way, 2000 years ago the masses flocked to Jesus in search of the new. Nothing about Jesus was status quo. He taught with authority. He proclaimed the kingdom of God. He healed every disease and affliction (Matthew 4.23). Everyone wanted to witness the teacher walking around Galilee. Matthew tells us how the people (laos) and the crowds (ochlos) followed Him from place to place. It may be surprising to us how Matthew makes a distinction between these two groups. For Matthew, the people are a unified entity. They are like the citizens of the same city-state. The crowd, however, is a mixed menagerie of seekers and skeptics, a mob with shifting allegiances that could turn at any moment. Like wheat and weeds, they may be hard to tell apart here at the start of his gospel (Matthew 13.24-30). Together, the people and the crowd are led to the foot of the mountain, and together they receive the truth. Here at the start of this new year, we find ourselves moving with the masses toward the place where Jesus is sitting, bringing to all of us the fullness of the Law and the fulfillment of the Prophets. Beloved, may the Lord speak to us as His people amid the crowd. May we be united as His disciples, ready to receive His Word and serve all the men, women and children who gather around us this new year. 

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Beloved People of God, Today is Christmas, and with it Christide follows in its marvelous wake! Christide, also known as the twelve days of Christmas, carries us on its waves of rejoicing into the new year. Beloved, perhaps this past year has felt like a rocky shore that has shaken your faith or like a desert island scarred by loneliness. I pray the days of Christide would sweep you into the newness of a new season. Maybe 2024 was your best year, and the thought of tomorrow fills you with anxiety. I pray the year ahead would be one illuminated by the nearness of Jesus, no matter what lies ahead. Friends, Christide is the best possible way to enter the new year. Don't let the Spirit of Christmas fade from our lives when the last piece of wrapping paper is dutifully piled into the trash or the final slice of turkey's been consumed from our Christmas table. May our song be that of David as we glory in the arrival of Jesus, our long-awaited King: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name!” (Psalm 103.1). I pray today's celebration would truly be the beginning of something new. Christmas morning is a time of wonder and glory. Beloved, the Christ-child is in the manger! But Christmas morning is followed by Christmas afternoon and evening. It's then matched by the next day and the day after that. Each fresh dawn is followed by a new noonday awash in the presence of the Christ-child, God born among us! In the name of Jesus, the Son of David—who is our Great High Priest—I bless you this Christmas: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace,” (Numbers 6.22-27).

A Christmas Eve sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. As soon as Solomon finished his prayer, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices, and the glory of the Lord filled the temple. And the priests could not enter the house of the Lord, because the glory of the Lord filled the Lord's house. When all the people of Israel saw the fire come down and the glory of the Lord on the temple, they bowed down with their faces to the ground on the pavement and worshiped and gave thanks to the Lord, saying, “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.” (2 Chronicles 7,1-4)  Beloved People of God, The people of God from across the kingdom were gathered to see King David's vision of a Temple realized in Jerusalem. The first several chapters of 2 Chronicles tell us in great detail how Solomon set about collecting the materials and assigning the craftsmen to their work. The elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes were assembled as the Ark of God's covenant was brought into the Temple. The people crowded around the periphery pressed in as the priests came back out surrounded by the billowing clouds of God's glory. Repeatedly, with fire and cloud, God's made His presence known among His people. Solomon, the son of David blessed God's people. Standing before the altar, with his hands outstretched toward the people, he prayed a prayer of dedication. That day the king alone sacrificed 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep! God answered Solomon's prayer (2 Chronicles 7.12). Centuries later, in Bethlehem, the promised son of David, the son of Solomon—truly the Son of God—Jesus Christ was born (Matthew 1.6). But this time, the first to receive the heavenly witness to God's presence among His people would not be the prominent and the powerful. It would be shepherds laboring in the fields by night. Surely, some of the sheep they were tending were destined for the Temple. Carefully, they watched over their sheep, keeping them from defect or injury (Leviticus 3.6). Can we really imagine what it must have been like for these shepherds working the graveyard shift?! Diane Chen tells us, “When light pierces through darkness, it is sudden, illuminating and terrifying.” Then add the sound of a heavenly choir and the glory of the Lord illuminating the midnight skies! Jesus, the son of David, a newborn swaddled in his mother's loving embrace, blessed all people. Laid in a manger with His arms outstretched to the shepherds, He was the answer to our prayers for God's presence (Psalm 91.1-2; 122.6-7). That day in Bethlehem, only one lamb was born to become the sacrifice for all (1 Peter 1.19). And in His presence, we have peace.

A Sunday sermon by Peter DuMont. Joy is a beautiful emotion. It resonates deep within and brightens everything we experience. Like Love and Peace, Joy can be seen as a ‘ruling emotion' that bears beautiful fruit.     Joy is a gift of God and a primary characteristic of God. We receive joy from God for the same reason we receive love: because joyfulness is a significant part of God's nature. King David exclaims in Psalm 16, “in your presence there is fullness of joy.”     When we search for God, we are in search of joy. To find God is to find joy. Yet we ponder at Advent a Joy that suffers, that experiences limitation, that empties himself to become one of us. Motivated by joy set before him, Jesus endures great suffering and death, so that Presence can be restored among mankind.     Joy, Suffering, Presence…all these movements of God begin at a manger.   This Advent season, the God of Joy is waiting to be encountered at the mangers of our lives. Let us move toward him there this Sunday!

A Sunday message from Eternity's Youth. It seems only natural that after the first week of Advent in which we focus our hearts and minds on hope, the Spirit of God would lead us into love. Perhaps that's why so often when we try to slow down, to take a breath and fix our thoughts on hope, we stumble into despair. What was meant to be a time of quiet rejoicing in eternal hope becomes cloudy with the worries of the world. Friend, all the more reason to hold to hope! The cord of hope that God lowers to us is not something we can create. Divine hope is not something humanity can manufacture. God's hope must be extended to us. Only then can we take hold of it. But this presents a whole new worry. When we grip tightly to the rope of God's hope, He begins to lift us from our muck and mire (perhaps the very thing we were praying He would do!). But no sooner has He begun lifting us, we are tempted to let go of hope because without our present condition (our cares and concerns, our anxieties and all the things we define our lives with) we won't know who we are! We let go of hope and cling to the things we think are within our control.  John Bunyan described this in his classic Pilgrim's Progress as the “slough of despond” (or as we might say it, the bog of despair). But when his protagonist, Christian, was stuck in the swamp, Help came along, took him by the hand, and helped lift him out. Christian could have struggled against Help. He could have stressed and strained and in his vain effort pulled his potential rescuer in with him! Beloved, as we hold to hope this week and feel the impulse to achieve by our own power and might, hear the wisdom of Madame Guyon: “Rest. Rest. Rest in God's love. The only work you are required now to do is to give your most intense attention to His still, small voice within.” 

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. As we gather together this Sunday, we will light the first candle of Advent. The first candle is known as the “Prophet's Candle” because it symbolizes the anticipation of the ages felt by men and women, prophets and kings, who longed for the arrival of the Messiah. When times felt consumed by the dark, the candle of God's prophetic voice speaking through His prophets burned brightly for His people. The Spirit spoke through women and men like Deborah and Samuel who sang of the Lord's enduring faithfulness toward His people. We light this first candle in hope. We rejoice in the lumination hope brings to our dark places. The light of hope casts out the shadows and drives away our doubts. By the light of hope, we work out our salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2.12). As Paul told his spiritual son Timothy, this “is why we labor and strive, because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, and especially of those who believe” (1 Timothy 4.10). We find hope in prayer, and our prayer of hope leads us more deeply into belief. The light of hope guides our feet in all times and all sorts of situations. We can dream of easy days and comfortable nights, but life shows us that the light of hope is all the more meaningful when we face difficult days and nights stained with tears. In those dark times, the flicker of hope is all we can keep our eyes on. This must have been how Joseph and Mary felt as the Messiah grew within Mary's virgin womb. God's plan created complications in their lives that needed the light of hope. The Irish Jesuits reveal how clear it was that “Joseph puzzled over what he should do and finally resolved on a particular course of action before the angel intervened. We too are often left by God to puzzle over what we should do in difficult circumstances.” But we do not puzzle alone or in the dark. We have the light of hope, the candle of Christ's prophetic promise. This Advent, let's begin praying with hope.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. For Elise and I, it's never too early to start celebrating Christmas! I know some refuse to deck the halls until after Thanksgiving, but in our house, we rarely make it all the way to All Saints Day before we start decorating! And after Epiphany, when we finally take down the tree, we put up a little leafless tree branched with lights to take its place until next year's festivities. In the hustle and bustle of life, often the first thing to get lost in the rush is celebration. The to-do list takes precedence. Our holy days (now jammed together into one word: holiday) lose their sacredness not because God is absent, but because we didn't stop to be present with him. This can be because work is hectic or the concerns of the world weigh too heavily on our souls. Surely this was at least in part what Pope Pius XI had in mind when, as he witnessed the rise of fascism changing the political landscape of post-Great War Europe, he instituted the Feast of Christ the King. Several denominations and fellowships have followed suit in the decades following 1925, calling Christ's people to slow down and celebrate a feast on the last Sunday of November. For nearly one hundred years, millions of Christians have celebrated the Feast of Christ the King! As we read Jude's final words to the Church (24-25), his great doxology of praise and adoration, let's celebrate together that Jesus Christ is King! This Sunday, we rejoice as we dedicate our children to Christ's love and care, baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and break Christ's bread of communion. In the fellowship hall we will have some special treats and ways to feast together. But that is just the beginning! Take this final week before Advent as a time to remember how Jesus was born among us, how He made His dwelling in our midst, and how we now wait in expectant wonder for His return; and celebrate with your friends and family what it means that Christ is our King. This is good news, indeed!

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.  Some movies just have to be watched on the big screen. Big action! Surround-sound score! A small screen at home struggles to immerse us in the story. Home for the holidays in high school, I had a copy of a brand-new blockbuster. Instead of watching it on a cramped old tube TV, I borrowed a projector and screened against the biggest wall in my room. It was epic! Once Henry was old enough, we watched that movie together (alas, no big screen). But the other day, he ran in shouting a trailer for a sequel had just been released! We watched it, on the edge of our seats, drinking in the carefully curated clips from the film coming to a theater near you! Jude's letter is a lot like a movie trailer. Where Peter and John go to great apocalyptic length to color God's revelation to a Church in troubled times, Jude captures all the big ideas in rapid-fire shots. If we know the stories of the Torah and are acquainted with the good news of King Jesus, as we read Jude, we are jumping out of our seats with all the cameos! You can hear the audience's shouts of surprise as different characters appear on the screen. In verses 17-23 we arrive at the climax of Jude's cinematic letter. He's exposed the opponents of the Church. He's anchored our view of one another in Christ and shown us how to pray. Now, as the soundtrack swells, he hooks us. He breaks down the fourth wall and calls us personally to response. We are part of this story. He charges us to build up our faith. Right now, in our church, we have a choice: faith or friction. Will we build up our faith—praying in the Spirit, wait for Christ's mercy, keeping ourselves in God's love (Jude 20-21)—or will we slide into judgment, choosing merciless division, behaving like those opposed to Christ? As the screen fades to black and the score goes silent, a few bright words appear: What will you choose?

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. For the past several days I've had a special song on almost constant repeat. Making coffee to start the day. Driving to visit dear folks for lunch. Walking into the library with a hum in my heart. The Sensational Nightingales—seriously, is there a better band name!—gave a beautiful four-part harmony to Dottie Rambo's "Remind Me, Dear Lord." With a slow measured pace, the song leads us down a country road between rolling hills covered with leaves. Beside our drum-like footfall comes a voice, “The things that I love / and hold dear to my heart / are just borrowed they're not mine / not mine at all / Jesus only lets me use them to brighten my life.” In a world corrupted by sin and clamoring for power, the sweet things we cling to can get lost in the scuffle, obscured from memory by growing layers of grief. This song encourages us to remember though Fall may cast our leaves to the ground, the promise of winterbloom waits on the unseen horizon. Beloved, all hope is not lost, even if a cold winter lies ahead. Born in the middle of the Great Depression, Dottie Rambo grew up longing for a wider view. A culture of greed which crashed the world's economy revealed the hollowness of wealth and the tunnel vision of avarice. At the height of the revolutionary 60s, when a new generation was fighting to carve the path America is currently on, Rambo wrote the words to this song. Like Jude, she doesn't call us to rely on dreams or wrestle for authority. Her song doesn't incite us to rebellion or self-preservation at the expense of others. No, her words are a prayer for God to “Roll back the curtain of memory now and then / Show me where you brought me from / and where I could have been / Just remember I'm a human and humans forget / So Remind me, remind dear Lord.” Reading Jude 8-16 leads to a fork in the road, if we are to take Jude's words to heart. A divide between revelation and rejection. May the soundtrack for our reading be this prayer, asking Jesus to roll back the curtain of our biblical and personal memory to bring comfort and conviction, healing and hope, purpose and peace.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. During heightened times of aggressive political rhetoric and social upheaval, it's hard to be at peace. Name-calling and accusation slinging feel like daily occurrences. All the televised vitriol can leave us unsettled and dis-enchanted. In a sociopolitical environment fostering “us-vs-them” thinking, we unconsciously find ourselves drawing dividing lines between ourselves and others. In the process, we absolve ourselves of any consequence as we burden others with our choices.    We would be wise to heed the Swahili proverb: kikulacho kiko nguoni mwako, “That which consumes you is concealed within your clothing.” Andrew Mbuvi tells us “The common understanding of the Swahili saying is that the source of one's trouble is usually those closest to him or her. It is usually used as a warning to the fact that those most likely to cause you the gravest harm tend to be the ones closest to you, since they know both your strengths and weaknesses.”   Jude, the brother of Jesus, wanted to write the church and celebrate about the joy of salvation they shared, but faced with troubled times within the church, he was compelled to write a very different letter, one that speaks to us in our current times as much as it did two thousand years ago.    Beloved, reading Jude's words will challenge us. So, as we set out to receive the Word of the Lord, let us root our reading in his first and final words. Jude begins by reminding his brothers and sisters in Christ who they are: called by the Father, beloved and kept in Christ. He concludes his letter in a doxology, a hymn of praise “to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of His glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.”    Friend, let's not allow ourselves to be consumed from within by fighting or fear. Hearing Jude, let's hold nothing back from the Spirit, remembering who we are and who Jesus, our Savior and Lord, is.

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont. When we consider God's self-revelation in Scripture, we think in terms of Fullness and Life. John the Apostle addressed this in his Gospel when—speaking of Jesus—he wrote, “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (John 1:16). There is something deeply satisfying about the experience of the fulness of God. King David writes of it in Psalm 23 when he exults, “you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”     We have been looking at language of dis-enchantment and re-enchantment around our experience of Scripture, of God's leading, and the world around us. Last week Brett brought us into Ezekial 47 for a vision of the River of God flowing from God's Temple into the world, beginning as an ankle deep gurgle, and flowing deeper and deeper into overwhelming, life-giving fullness.     This Sunday we are going to conclude our Re-Enchantment series by engaging with what it looks like to move deeper into becoming a church marked by the Spirit and the Word, where we seek to live more and more in the living presence of God's Spirit as it bears witness to the eternal proclamation of the life and work of the Son-Logos-Word of God.     Let us move toward worship Sunday preparing to wade into the water of the flowing fullness of the Triune God!