Eternity Church PodCast

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont.How has God made you uncomfortable this week? We all have preferred ways of doing things, the ways in which we might like to definitively order our lives (and the lives of others) if we had the means to do so. As we continue our Epiphany series in Matthew 8-9, we see Jesus raising some questions and some hackles by what he is doing: “Why does the teacher eat with sinners?” “Why aren't his disciples fasting like John's and the Pharisees?” Jesus answers these questions by describing his ministry as marked by joy and a stretching agent. His message and actions provoke change, and this will be uncomfortable for those who want Jesus' arrival to fit into comfortable ways of doing things. Conversely, for those at their wits end with nowhere to turn, Jesus' arrival will mean rescue, deliverance, resurrection. What are we to make of a Savior who promises to reconcile and transform everything for good, but also promises to not leave us unchanged in the process? Are we willing to see our apple carts upset--our preferences overruled--as part of sharing in the advance of God's Kingdom, or will the work of God stretch rigid places within us to the tearing point? Let's come to worship this Sunday amazed at the power and life that Jesus brings, hungry to partake in his gospel reality, and willing to be formed and stretched by the oncoming movement of his kingdom.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Tonight, we sit on the water's edge of a new year. With the sun set and moonlight piercing the darkness, we watch the slow ripple on the waves of yesterday and watch for dawn. It may not seem it, but the hours before sunrise are some of the best for fishing. This silent time lit soft by stars is the perfect time to cast wide our net into the new year. I'm not talking about new year's resolutions that only last a day or two. I'm talking about epiphany! Epiphany is the culmination of prolonged effort—like wisemen from the East making their long journey to Bethlehem or a faithful fisherman patiently casting out His net. At the beginning of last year, Jesus enlightened us with his preaching (Matthew 5-7). On a mountainside He spoke light and life, opening our eyes and ears and illuminating our hearts. Now, Jesus will come down from the mountain and walk among us, living His message into our world (Matthew 8.1). As we set out with Jesus the Messiah, would you enter this new year challenged by our fourth century sibling, Chromatius of Aquila, who wrote:“‘The kingdom of heaven is near.' So do you want the kingdom of heaven to also be near for you? Prepare these ways in your heart, in your senses and in your soul. Pave within you the way of purity, the way of faith and the way of holiness. Build roads of justice. Remove every scandal of offense from your heart. For it is written: ‘Remove the stones from the road.' And then, indeed, through the thoughts of your heart and the very movements of your soul, Christ the King will enter along certain paths,” (emphasis added).Beloved, the King and His Kingdom are near, so let us begin this new year intently going through the gates, preparing the way for all people, building up the way of the Lord to dwell among us (Isaiah 62.10). Let us join Jesus in the journey as He casts the net wide.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Time is a funny thing. Think about it. There are times minutes feel like months, and seconds unending seasons of waiting. Then, there are sparkling decades which rush by in a blink of an eye. When our kids were little, the constant refrain we heard was “Don't blink, before you know it…” You know the rest. Friend, I blinked. When my eyes opened, our newborns were all teenagers!Tonight is Christmas Eve. It's been one short trip around the sun since our last candlelit service, singing our Advent songs. It's also been two millennia since Jesus was born to a virgin and placed gently in a manger (Luke 2.7). For two thousand years we've celebrated that Christ has come, born among us, bringing salvation into our world (John 3.17). Our present is anchored in this past tense fulfillment! But now, consider what it must have been like for those eagerly awaiting the first Advent! Let's not take for granted how blessed we are to have seen and heard this good news (Matthew 13.16)! “For truly,” when we stop and think about it, many prophets and righteous people longed to see and hear what we have seen and heard (Matthew 13.17).Day after day, century after century, they waited for the Messiah to arrive. They set their hope on the prophetic word the Holy Spirit was speaking into their lives. They believed for what they did not see, trusting the faithfulness of God. And then, in Bethlehem, all of a sudden—long-awaited—Christ was born. Are we surprised a weary world rejoiced with this thrill of hope?!Friend, we gather this Holy Night, placing ourselves with the prophets of old, expectant for the first Advent (1 Peter 1.10-12). And with a thrill of hope in His first Advent we wait all the more expectantly for His return! Indeed, His second Advent might be today! So come rejoicing for "His law is love and His gospel is peace." Let's take the time, while there is still time before us, and "let all within us praise His holy name!"Merry Christmas!

A Christmas Eve sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Can you imagine what it must have been like in Jerusalem when the wise men showed up? Children fetching water. Merchants selling in the market. Scribes dutifully copying the biblical scrolls for synagogues near and far. Priests serving in the Temple. Meanwhile, King Herod, is looking over his shoulder to see what family member he needs to kill next. Like a neurotic groundhog, whenever Herod saw his shadow, someone suspiciously drowned, was strangled, or ended up in a vat of honey. Maybe that day started out like any other…that is until these foreign wise men rolled into town seeking a royal audience, searching for the new king of the Jews. This sent Herod—the current king of the Jews—into a rage, and everybody in Jerusalem felt it (Matthew 2.3)!Upsetting news like this required a general assembly of the religious elites. Herod called for the chief priests and scribes to reveal through their scrolls where this Messiah was to be born (2.4). Steeped in Scripture, they unveiled the answer from Micah the prophet (Micah 5.2). They knew the promise of the Messiah, foretold to David who would reign over God's people forever (2 Samuel 7.14). He would be a Shepherd King (2 Samuel 5.2), born in Bethlehem, the little hamlet of David's own birth.How unnerving it must have been to tell the temperamental Herod the answer to his question! The stark contrast must have been unsettling to share. According to Leslie Allen, “It is within this drab frame of royal misfortune that Micah sets a glorious picture of royal majesty. The figure of failure of verse one stands as a foil to his radiant counterpart here.” The Lord was bringing a true king for His people, a Shepherd King for His sheep in Israel and among all nations (Micah 7.14-15; John 10.16). If you're Herod, or someone benefiting from his governance, this news spells disaster. But, if you are poor, seeking relief, oppressed in search of solace, if you are wise men from the East following a star, this is absolutely good news! The Advent of the Messiah is the promise of a Shepherd who cares, who brings healing with His touch and peace in His reign (Malachi 4.2; Matthew 11.28-30).

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont.Advent is a season of wonder, an opportunity to consider encounters between Heaven and Earth with renewed amazement: a young girl overshadowed by the Spirit of God, wise men pursuing signs in the stars, shepherds surrounded by angelic rejoicing. This third week of Advent, we look at Simeon and Anna—two figures marked by deep connection to God and a burden for the heartbreak of their people. Their recognition of the newborn Christ in the Temple demonstrates an extraordinary spiritual attunement. They do not require angelic visitation to recognize the Rescuer they are seeing and what his arrival will bring. Led by the Spirit, they see Jesus' arrival as the culmination of their life's labors of intercession before God. Simeon and Anna function as two of the final prophets to Jesus' coming. Their responses equip Joseph and Mary for their own extraordinary callings and point toward the global life of Christ's church into which we have been adopted. This week, may their lives challenge us in new ways, calling us into a greater attunement of our own hearts to God's heart. May we receive new eyes to see God among us in the turmoil, heartache, and kingdom movement of our own moment in redemption history.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Reading the Bible carefully we often find passages packed with foreshadowing. Luke's Gospel is a great example of this. Like a great symphony, the theme is set at the start. We hear everything we need to know at the beginning.Luke draws our attention to the fulfillment of the Messianic promise through the Old Testament in the words he chooses and the stories he tells. Many of the stories he adds to his Gospel, which mirrors that of the Apostle Matthew and his co-laborer Mark, drive this point home. More than any other book in the New Testament, Luke contrasts the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. God is the Most High (1.32, 35, 76; 6.35; 8.28) and His dwelling place is on high (1.78; 2.14; 19.38; 24.49).So, when Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of the Most High God is born, who are the first witnesses to His Advent?! Not the powerful or important. Not emperors or the kings in the comfort of their kingdoms. No, the year of Jubilee is announced to the poor and lowly, to shepherds working in the middle of the night. Although the Messiah's good news is for all people from every nation and economic status, the highest and glorious good news is good-est for the poor, the brokenhearted, the pushed down and bound (Isaiah 61.1-3).The first evangelists in Luke's gospel were the shepherds who followed the heavenly host's announcement and found Jesus in the manger. When they saw Him for themselves, just as the angel proclaimed, “they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child,” (1.17). Their testimony revealed the gap between the natural and the supernatural, between the highest of high and the lowest and low. In their evangelism they rejoiced the Messiah from on High had drawn near to their lowly estate, declaring the Lord's favor! Hearing the shepherd's witness “all who heard it marveled at what the shepherds told them,” (1.18).This Sunday, our youngest will lead us. Our children and youth will make known to us what's “been told them concerning this child.” May we marvel at their witness and follow their good news to the manger!

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.The Bible's rich with all kinds of words. Some are everyday words: the, and, to speak; but others only show up a handful of times, and their rarity causes them to stand out. One great example is episkiazó. Following Matthew, Luke used episkiazó (meaning to overshadow) describing Jesus' transfiguration.  All three Synoptic Gospels harmonize their use of this word (Matthew 17.5; Mark 9.7; Luke 9.34) where on the mountain, as Jesus' disciples watched in awe, Jesus “was transfigured before them, and His face shone like the sun, and His clothes became white as light,” and “a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him.”Imagine Luke on a missionary voyage with Paul, with the scroll of Matthew's Gospel rolled out before Him, praying for the best way to share the good news with his friend Theophilus. Then, struck like a divine lightning bolt, Luke's heart was set on fire with the word episkiazó! Luke used overshadow three times. The third time was in Acts 5.15, describing the Apostle Peter—so heavily anointed by the Holy Spirit after Pentecost—people would bring their sick loved ones out to the street where they were healed, overshadowed by the passing Apostle. The second was Christ's transfiguration, but both are imbued with deeper meaning when read them the light of the first. Luke told Theophilus at the beginning when Gabriel the angel announced to Mary about the arrival of the Messiah: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God,” (Luke 1.35). Luke's triple use of episkiazó is illuminating. The Spirit's overshadowing places the emphasis on the actor more than the act. It is the same Spirit overshadowing Mary which magnifies Christ before His disciples. Is it the same Spirit overshadowing Peter which miraculously heals the hurting. Beloved, it is the same Spirit overshadowing you and me today as we draw near to the Father, and say, “I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word,” (1.38).

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. In Matthew's Gospel, Jesus tells us a parable revealing the nature of the heavenly kingdom we see in Revelation. He says: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son,” (Matthew 22.2).Can you imagine then how shocked Jesus' disciples were as the parable unfolded? The king's servants went out with the good news of the wedding feast but so many of the invited guests didn't care! They declined to come. They paid no attention to the joyous news, prioritizing their own plans. What's worse, some seized the king's servants, treated them shamefully and killed them. Because of their violent refusal, the king sent his army to measure out justice against the violent. Once again, king sent out his servants, “The wedding feast is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore to the main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find,” (22.8b). His invitation to the table was for everyone! Regardless of their past or their worth. Good and bad, rich and poor, all were invited to celebrate the wedding feast! In Revelation 19, we see the eschatological truth of this revealing parable. All those who chose to build their own kingdoms, who rebel against the Lord, who opt for Babylon over the Son of God are given over to their decision. After one last invitation, the door is closed to them. But to those who will listen, these are the true words of God: “Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb,” (Revelation 19.9).Friend, we've been invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb! Every Sunday, we gather around the Table and, holding the symbols of Jesus' real and mysterious presence among us, we take the break and the cup. Friend, His invitation deserves thanksgiving! The King of Glory has invited us to draw near! His invitation deserves our best. Let's take this time we have, to do justice, love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6.8); to cloth ourselves in righteous deeds (Revelation 19.8) which bring glory to His name. Let's get ready, the wedding feast is closer than we think (Revelation 3.11; 22.7, 20)!

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Music is such a unique gift. With a few simple chords a song can energize us. A few words become an anthem when set to music. With the strum of a few strings our souls can be set at ease (1 Samuel 16.23).In the middle of the outpouring of God's final wrath, the final measure meted out against those who oppose His justice and truth, a song is sung in heaven. We've seen in Scripture how God puts His sovereignty powerfully on display over the chaotic waters. His Spirit was above the waters of creation and drove apart the Red Sea (Genesis 1.1-2; Exodus 14). Dwelling among Jesus walked on the stormy waters and calmed the raging seas with His voice (Matthew 14.22-33; Mark 4.35-41).Now, at the end of His wrath, the Lord pours His judgment on land, sea and sky. As /his messengers carry forth His command, an angel placed over the waters sings. He sings of God's just judgment and righteous truth (Revelation 16.5-6). Like King Saul, tormented by his own wickedness, it is easy for us to condemn God's just judgment against us. We isolate decisions and excuse behaviors. We align ourselves with the powerful of this world in their injustice against others and refuse to see the blood on our own hands (Amos 2.6-8; Isaiah 10.1-4).It is to us the angel's song is sung as the judgment is poured out. It is a renewed invitation to repent and live in Christ's compassion. This song is a call to sing with those beneath the altar, the witnesses who've gone before us, the men, women and children's whose lives testified to the mercy of God denied justice by cruel humanity. Beloved, let's repent of our sin. Let's lay our souls bare before our righteous and compassionate God, following His Spirit into the lives of the widow, the orphan and the resident alien (James 1.27). And with our brothers and sisters beneath the altar, let's sing in reply, “Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!” (Revelation 16.7). 

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Years ago, Bebe Winans in a live recording of Nothing but the Blood, as the piano keys tinkled in the background, shared how across American Christianity, we sang the same songs, just with different arrangements. He demonstrated what he meant by taking the song, commonly sung as a single voice, arranged the lyrics as a call and response. Winans asks, “What can wash away my sin?” and the choir reply, “Nothing but the Blood of Jesus!” And as the drums kick back on the rhythm, the bass line bouncing up and down, together the voices rejoice: “O precious is the flow / that makes me white as snow / no other fount I know / nothing but the blood of Jesus!”Reading Revelation 15, we've heard this song of before, just with a different arrangement. What we've sung before crossing on the dry ground through the Red Sea, a song of Moses, a hymn of praise to our Almighty God (Exodus 15), has become the song of the Lamb. Amos Young artfully said it this way: “As the Hebrews cried out to their God and then celebrated with Moses in the wake of their deliverance, so also can the church today pray to the Almighty one and continue to sing Moses's song, albeit attuned now to the Lamb's new key.”Beloved, take time today as you sing the songs of Eternity, hear John's revelation as a call to which we respond. Here him exalting: “This is all my hope and peace” and join all creation singing “nothing but the blood of Jesus.” Together, let's sing of His great and awesome works among us! Let's lift our hands in praise as we entrust ourselves to His ways that are just and true (Revelation 15.3)! In the assembly of the saints, let's hear the Apostle's humble worship, “This is all my righteousness,” and join him—bowed low before the Lamb who was slain, by whose blood we are ransomed to be a people for God,” (Revelation 5.9)—knowing we stand before the Lord God by “nothing but the blood of Jesus.”Whatever arrangement you sing, friend, let's go through this day rejoicing!

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Years ago, I heard Duke Ellington's Heaven for the first time, and it rocked my world. In middle school I'd stumbled across Ellington (a jazz album misplaced among the blues records), and since then I began to collect his compositions. I thought I knew his sound until Heaven. His soft recognizable piano playing is accented by a crisp soprano voice praying “Heaven come by,” sonically climbing up to the note. I sat there, enraptured by the song. The closest to that yearning for God's eternal presence was listening to Coltrane's Love Supreme a few years later. That was until last week.At an evening of jazz arranged by Taylor Barnett, where Steve Wilson and Daniel Clarke improvised Heaven, I found myself swept up again. All the fundamentals were there, but their interpretation made the song new, fresh, like a thunderbolt of worship. It wasn't just a saxophone and a piano. It was a testimony.Together, exploring the book of Revelation, we've sung the songs of eternity. We've exalted the Lamb of God who was slain for all nations (Revelation 7.9-12). We've praised the Lamb of God because we've been ransomed by His blood to bear prophetic witness to all nations (5.9-14; 11.3-13). Now in Revelation 12, we've reached the apocalyptic tipping point—Revelation's core—the place of worship where all time converges before God's throne. All of Scripture—from Genesis to Revelation— has been telling this one grand story, but now, in worship, we rejoice God's victory won over all time—past, present and future. “Now the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down, who accuses [God's people] day and night before our God,” (12.10b). That's heaven, the eternal presence of God among His people, and looking and longing for that day we sing, “Heaven, my dream / Heaven, divine / Heaven supreme / Heaven come by.” 

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Steve Hartman.Brett has been leading us in the Songs of Revelation. Brett said as we began, “Jesus deserves our holistic worship, a worship that is rooted in the depths of our heart…” So, we are looking at these “songs” with the aim of more fully joining the worship we see as we read and study these songs the picture to us the worship of the heavenly chorus.In our first passage we see a throne. Jesus is the king, he is reigning. When you and I trust in Jesus, He comes to live in us. He begins to reign in us. We were kings of our hearts. Now, we have begun to experience the blessing—the new freedom as we let Him reign/rule/be-in-charge in our lives. But, in our main passage for Sunday (Revelation 11.15-19), we see that reign, largely hidden until now, become visible. And all the heavenly beings celebrate—they worship—Jesus the king has begun to visibly reign. As you meditate on the Scripture below, I invite you to let the reality of the reign of Jesus now in our hearts and in history, though hidden, and the visible reign of Jesus that is coming lead you into fuller worship of the King of Kings.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.Arriving at a defining passage for our church, Revelation 7, I am encouraged by the words of G.K. Beale & David Campbell:  “The focus of the revelation John received from God is how the church is to conduct itself in the midst of an ungodly world.” I don't think it would come as a shock to anyone that we live in times marked more by humanism than holiness. No matter which channel you turn to, be it cable news, broadcast news or even a comedy channel, people are divided on every topic imaginable. We've become so busy fortifying our encampments against the opinions of others, we missed the Apostles' calling exhorting, encouraging and charging us “to walk in a manner worthy of God, who calls you into his own kingdom and glory,” (1 Thessalonians 2.12).Beloved, if we are offloading our calling for tomorrow in eternity instead of walking in the ways of Jesus today, we will be blind to the image of God in us and in others. When we dehumanize—and even demonize—those around us (yes, even our spiritual brothers and sisters!) we are failing to take to heart the prophetic and apocalyptic challenge of Revelation. John's foretelling of tomorrow is meant to shape not only the way we see overmorrow but bring actionable vision for how we live today.When we lift our eyes toward eternity, we don't see a monochromatic mass or single tribe. No, we “behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb!” (Revelation 7.9). Together at the throne of God we will sing of salvation and bless Christ's name forever! That, my friends, is something worth celebrating, and it's worth celebrating today! So today, may you and I, as God's priesthood among the nations, “walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace,” (Ephesians 4.1-3).

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).