Eternity Church PodCast

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!

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Even when our kids are little, we sometimes want to share with them our favorite things. The week our oldest came home, while she nestled in my arms, I “showed” her one of my favorite movies: Citizen Kane. I could talk for hours about Citizen Kane. But for some reason, my newborn didn't seem entirely interested in that cinematic wonder. One movie, however, that did catch our little kids' attention was Singin' in the Rain. Packed with vibrant colors, singing and dancing, hilarious pratfalls and sight gags, it's an easy film to get excited about! Unlike Citizen Kane which uses the stark contrast of black and white to tell its tragic story, Singin' in the Rain is bursting with color as it tells a heartwarming story of creativity and innovation. I think this is what N.T. Wright was getting at when he said, “It is possible to allow the study of the text, and of different interpretations of the text, to become a substitute for allowing the text to bring us into the presence of the living God.” We can appreciate the biblical complexity, tightly packed within grammar and genre, time and place, like a black and white masterpiece. There is value to devoted study, but we cannot substitute the leading of the Holy Spirit with academic rigor. When we are led by the Spirit into Scripture, we are immersed in awe and wonder, vibrant colors, singing and dancing, hilarious wordplay and life-defining reality. As we prepare our hearts to reflect on Ezekiel's vision (Ezekiel 47.1-12), ask the Holy Spirit to bringing God's Word to life in living color along the banks of the desert and Dead Sea of our disenchanted imaginations.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. When our kids were little one, of our favorite movies to watch as a family was Enchanted. Like The Little Mermaid, it has memorable music and a compelling “fish out of water” story. There is a hilarious part of the film where Giselle (the cartoon protagonist who was pushed into the real world by an evil queen) is walking through Central Park with Philip, the unsuspecting lawyer who found her lost in the rain. In the middle of their conversation, not accustomed to the real world, she breaks out into song. Before Philip can stop her,  hundreds of other park-goers join in! In her book, Re-Enchanting the Text, Cheryl Bridges Johns explains what she means when she refers to enchantment. “The word enchantment comes from the Latin verb cantare (to sing) preceded by the preposition in- (into): incantare… At its root, enchantment means the experience of ‘finding oneself in a song' or ‘to sing into.' An enchanted world is one in which there is harmony.” This exactly what we find in the movie: people who've become disenchanted by life and the rough and tumble existence of the world, re-enchanted by a person with a song to sing. For the Prophet Ezekiel, he doesn't find himself in a park with dancing octogenarians and a mariachi band (seriously, go watch the movie). No, Ezekiel finds himself in a valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37). And yet, in this place with God on a lifeless battlefield, Ezekiel finds himself re-enchanted. He spoke forth the prophetic word given to Him by God. Over and over again he says, “Thus says the Lord God” and watches in awe as bones are bound back to one another by sinew and skin. He marvels as wind sweeps into reborn lungs when, at the height of God's resurrection music, the Lord reveals the meaning of this vision. This vision is for Ezekiel, yes, but it is also for all God's exiled people. God is re-enchanting the Text. Through Ezekiel's song, God is re-enchanting the Torah. Just as the first vision stirred our imaginations with the past and the Passover (Exodus 12), so this vision reminds us of God in the Garden bringing His image bearer's breathless body to life (Genesis 2.7). Beloved, what is the song God is singing over your life? How is He drawing you away from the cruel comfort of isolation into the re-animated joy of community? As a church, how is God calling us to sing together?

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. When was the last time you were completely absorbed into a movie? You sat down to watch something, and before you knew it you were fully grafted into the story. It wasn't until the credits rolled that you felt yourself peeling away from the screen. I remember the first movie I ever watched in the theater. I was six, and my parents had dropped my older brother and I off at the cinema. I was still coming to grips with being in America, and then once I had my ticket in hand, my brother bought himself a ticket to a different movie. In the darkened theater I watched as an entire wall of the room submerged me far beneath the ocean surface (my little island heart was so full!). I was transfixed as singing crabs and colorful fish filled my field of vision. Without having the words, I saw myself—a little boy alone in a different culture, awkwardly navigating a place like a fish out of water—in a little mermaid. Film is a combination of the arts and storytelling that rapture us from where we are into a different place and time. We see the world through another's eyes and find new perspectives we'd never considered before. Where cinema uses light and color, symphony and storytelling, the Bible is brought to life by the indwelling Holy Spirit. When we sit down to hear Paul's letters or read Ezekiel's prophetic visions, in Christ we have a built-in audio-visual system without rival. Gene Veith and Matthew Ristuccia once observed, “Imagination lets us relive the past and anticipate the future.” This has profound implications when we set our imagination toward our Creator and His revelation. “When God captures our imagination, He captures the rest of our mind, including our understanding and will.” This week as we turn our eyes to Ezekiel 1, ask the Spirit to adjust your inner AV system. Perhaps your reading of scripture has grown too dim. Ask the Spirit to brighten it. Perhaps the soundtrack of your life has swallowed up the dialogue. Ask Him to adjust the volume settings. As we fix our eyes and ears on Christ, let's ask the Father to overwhelm our senses with His manifest presence.

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont. Literacy is foundational to learning and connection.  Your reading of the words in this sentence is the fruit of labors that you, your family, and your teachers took up. We work hard to establish literacies in our primary language, in second languages, in other disciplines—learning to read a blueprint, a source code, a new recipe, or a room full of people.     Pentecostal scholar Cheryl Bridges Johns points to a critical illiteracy in Christian communities. She writes, “we live in a world that cannot abide silence …Yet there is a silence that no one seems to mind [wherein] the voice of Scripture is falling silent in the preaching and teaching of the church and in the consciousness of Christian people, a silence that is perceptible even among those who are most insistent on their devotion to the Scriptures.”     She attributes this silence to a long-unfolding “disenchantment” of what is sacred, mysterious, and challenging within Scripture, and proposes a “re-enchantment” of both our view of the power of Scripture and of the presence and work of God's Spirit within the modern world.     As we come to worship Sunday, may we bring our full selves into an encounter with the Spirit of God moving upon the people of God as His word is proclaimed!

A Sunday morning sermon. The other morning, I came across a verse, one I've read countless times (I'm sure you've been there). It's the kind of verse you've reflected on before but with this newest reading, it shines off the page. In his Gospel, the Apostle John writes, “Thomas said to Jesus, ‘Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?'” (John 14.5). This is the kind of question I've heard many times from people in the Middle East on their way to faith. And it's a great question. It makes perfect sense to ask it! In the context of the verse, it doesn't feel like Jesus is giving the disciples much comfort for their troubles. He said, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” but his answer isn't a ten-step guide or a pinpoint location for where He is going. Jesus instead says, “You believe in God; believe also in me.” Biblical scholar Karen Jobes recognizes, “Thomas, the loyal but ever pragmatic disciple, asks a perfectly logical question. Without knowing Jesus' destination, how could they know the route to take? Where is the Father's house to which Jesus is departing?” So often in life, and particularly when we consider the mission of God, we want all the details. We want the 10-point plan. We want all the details that seem obscure to us. But this isn't what Jesus offers His disciples. It isn't what He offers us. Jesus doesn't spend His precious time with His disciples giving them a roadmap to success or a series of mantras to reduce their anxiety. He gives the Way. He gives them Himself. “Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. If you really know Me, you will know My Father as well. From now on, you do know Him and have seen Him,'” (John 14.6-7). Jesus offers them an avenue within Himself to trust. He shows us the Way because He is the Way and He is walking with us. And we have this great and awesome privilege to invite others to experience redemption and transformation on the Way of Jesus.

A Sunday morning sermon by Mark Turney. In a little classroom a few miles from the Nile, I stood in front of my science students and explained potential energy. By day, I was a science and sociology teacher at the fourth best school in the country. In my classroom were children from affluent families. Sons and daughters of high-ranking military officers, ambassadors, and titans of industry sat in my lab. There were also students on scholarships, fortunate young people who were able to receive a solid education that equally prepared a potential pathway to the best schools in the West. Looking back at that moment, I see one brimming with significance. Those young men and women have now gone on to lives around the globe. Many of them are married with children of their own, thriving in their various fields. But back then, they were just a bunch of middle schoolers who would groan how they had recieved “too much” homework and struggled to memorize the periodic table. Stuck in this moment, their today was shrouded in the mystery of tomorrow. They were packed with invisible potential! How often we overcomplicate what it means to be the bearers of God's blessing to all peoples! We know that God so loved the world He gave His one and only Son, Jesus Christ, offering to us all the potential of belief (John 3.16). Like middle schoolers, we sweat trying to unpack divine mysteries, to comprehend the incomprehensible. All the while, we miss our immense potential energy as Christ's blessing bearers! We get lost in condemnations, from within and without, forgetting that God did not send Jesus into the world to condemn the world, but to save it (John 3.17)! Likewise, He sends us with His good news not to condemn the world but to offer the potential of salvation. Beloved, we have all the potential for the world to bear God's blessing for all people! We have been crucified with Christ; therefore, it is not we that live, but Christ in us (Galatians 2.20)! This means we carry His mysterious and transformative Spirit into all places, among all peoples, by His power, not ours!  Let's follow the leading of the Spirit and put our potential to work! Dear brothers and sisters, let's in the words of the Apostle Paul: “be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain,” (1 Corinthians 15.58).

A Sunday sermon by Nisha Grant.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.  My first memories are from Costa Rica. I remember eating Maria cookies in preschool while my parents learned Spanish. I remember our little apartment and some of the faces of neighbors. I remember walking the plank to get into church during rainy season when the rains were so heavy a muddy moat separated the door from the road. I remember drinking Coca Cola from a plastic bag on the roadside between endless fields of bananas. I remember my birthday cake, which the pastor's wife made look like a train engine. Those memories are few but vibrantly colored. My dad tells one his memories from those early months in San José. He and mom were doing their best to learn the language and engage in life around them. One day at church, as he was struggling to discern the words of the song we were singing, he looked down to see that I was singing my heart out. Amusingly, his first response was mild annoyance! Here this little kid was seemingly making no effort to learn the language but singing with ease, while he stretched and strained for every sentence and structure! That story is meaningful to me, not only because it resonates deeply with anyone who has tried to learn a new language as an adult, but also because it reveals a valuable kingdom truth: we are God's global people! What a gift to be raised in the embrace of the nations! In this way we are the sons and daughters of Abram, who are raised as blessing bearers for all nations (Genesis 12.1-3)! As we move through this month, look for ways to worship as God's global people. For example, check out Layık Tanrı, a beautiful Turkish worship song composed in Latin America. Below are lyrics translated to English. For His Name's Sake, Brett    O God, make Christ known to us more deeply Let us see the richness of your glory Illuminate our eyes with your light   God, show your eyes that shine like fire And your face shines like the sun Show the incomparable beauty of Jesus,  Worthy God   Lord, show your mighty floating voice And the holiness you wear Reveal the awesome beauty of Jesus,  Worthy God

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. The other day I was listening to a favorite song by Colin Hay, and it transported me back in time. In his song, he breathes out his aspirations during a nebulous season. Written at a time when, after several years on the international stage with Men at Work, he was himself dropped from his record label. Confused about what to do with the rest of his life, he poured his emotions into a song, singing “I'm ready for my real life to begin.” That song captures how I felt in the summer of 2003. I'd found the perfect ring for the perfect girl. All that separated us was a thousand miles. I spent the summer counting down the days until I would see her again. I was ready for my real life to begin. Literally minutes after my summer job ended, I was tearing down the highway headed East. I'd packed the night before to make quick work of the distance. There would be nothing stopping me. Not torrential rain in St. Louis or a blown tire in Illinois (more about this Sunday). The future was on the horizon, and I was ready for my real life to begin. This is very much how Epaphroditus felt. He'd been sent to care for Paul, imprisoned in Rome. Far from home, he became so sick they all thought he was going to die! God's mercy saved them from that tragedy, but as he came back to physical health, his heart remained sick. He longed for home, to be with the men, women, and children he knew by name, to be with the people God placed dearly in his heart. Serving Paul was a great gift, but he was ready for his real life to begin, back home in Philippi. But isn't it interesting, while we're waiting for our lives to begin, how much real life we find ourselves living? This is true for Epaphroditus, Timothy, and Paul (Philippians 2.19-30). It's true for us too. Taking this to heart, let's not be in such a rush we miss the names and faces of those Jesus has placed around us. Tomorrow will come, and it will be glorious, but today is before us. Real life has already begun.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. “Do you know how fast you were going?” Those were the words I heard the last time I got a ticket. It's been over ten years, but those words still stand out. I'd blown past all the signs. All the posted speed limits, all the cars wisely slowing down in advance of the speed trap. But isn't that just life? We're so busy trying to get there, we miss all the signs that get us to our destination. In Philippians 2, Paul commands followers of Jesus to love one another, to put the interests of others before their own. The Philippians were rushing through life and missing the gift of fellowship where we stop long enough to see each other and carrying one another's burdens. Paul uses the best example he knows: Jesus. Jesus, the Son of God, who being in the very nature and essence God, did not consider equality with the Father something to be grasped but emptied Himself. He slowed down for our sake, so that we might know Him. Matthew's gospel has several such road signs. At Jesus' baptism (3.17), the Father called Jesus His “Beloved.” Then, in the hustle and bustle of ministry, Jesus withdrew from the rush with His disciples and fulfills the prophetic words of Isaiah as God's “Beloved” (12.18). Later, with His three closest friends and disciples, Jesus ascended a mountainside and was transfigured with His glory! Over all the sound and lights, the voice of God proclaimed Jesus His “Beloved” (17.5). What does all of this have to do with Phillipi? Is this midweek thought little more than a speed bump in your busy week? Reflecting on Jesus, Paul turned to the people in Philippi and used the Father's word. He called them “Beloved.” Slow down and hear that. This is who you are in Christ! You are beloved. You are God's beloved. Friend, if this is true, it should affect the way we see everything! Today, hear your belovedness over every encouragement and admonition in Philippians 2.12-18.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Steve Hartman.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. The other morning driving up 95, my thoughts were running about as fast as my minivan (which between you and me was probably a little too fast for useful thinking or the congested traffic). Wisely, I eased up on the pedal and put on a gospel playlist. Over the soft hum of the organ, the voice of the singer spoke the words of found in Nehemiah 8.6: “And Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, “Amen, Amen,” lifting up their hands. And they bowed their heads and worshiped the Lord with their faces to the ground.” With each invitation, I found my heart singing “Amen!” This beautiful song, composed by Andrae Crouch and sung by Marvin Winans, is an invitation for all of us to step back from the hectic sprint of our minds and the hustle and bustle of our days. Every stanza and chorus is an invitation to stand with Ezra and Nehemiah and the Israelites gathered home in Jerusalem. Every line, a new chance to agree with their words of worship. Ezra blessed the Lord and the people said, “Amen!” This isn't just a long ago celebration of who God has been, but a present place of agreement for who God is right here and right now. It is also a prayer packed with hope and faith, rejoicing in who God forever will be! Here and now let us agree and say, "Amen!” Truly, if there is—and I know there is—“any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2.1-4). Beloved, with the Apostle Paul, and the great cloud of witnesses, let the Church say, “Amen!”

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. For the last few weeks, we've walked with Elihu, following him into the deep suffering of Job. All along the way, moving closer to the man of sorrows on the ash heap, we've asked: How do we walk with the broken? The closer we get, the more clearly we see the sores on his hands, the boils on his face, the bleeding fissures on the soles of his feet. This compounds our question: How do we walk with the broken when they are unable to walk!? We like to see ourselves as people of action, go-getters. We want to know our lives have meaning, and we often measure that in terms of movement and action. But facing Job on the ash heap, scratching at the sores with shards of shattered pottery, we are left scratching our heads (Job 2.7-8). Is this what we signed up for? We liked it better when we were asking: How do we walk with the strong? It feels easier on our faith to remain uncorrupted by power sprinting alongside the influential people of the world, than to feel our life grind to an interminable halt on the burnt-out hillsides of the broken. And yet, if we are to follow Elihu's example, we must not only set out to walk with the broken but also be willing to sit with them in the ashes of their suffering. It is only from sitting with them in their grief that we will be able to share with them the good news of Jesus. Jesus touched the lepers, he sat with the Pharisees, he spoke with the outcasts. We must follow Jesus into the wilderness and learn his way. Only then will we be able to see the greatness and majesty of God the way Elihu did (Job 36-37). Beloved, if we are to see the wonders and glories of God, we must follow Him into the lives of the lowly.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal.   As a child I loved to stare at the globe, to spin it as fast as I could and trace my finger across the continents. How many of us played that game, planning future trips to far off places? The sphere would slowly stop, and where our finger pointed, we would imagine our next adventure. How many of us spent a lot of time in the vast Pacific Ocean as a result!    In the history of Pacific exploration, generations before Captain Cook weighed anchor or Vasco Núñez de Balboa set sail, Polynesian peoples were way-finding through the vast, seemingly endless ocean. These intrepid explorers flipped my childhood game into reality. Instead of envisioning the spinning orb of earth beneath their finger, these adventurers set their eyes toward the starry night. They set out, not coursing the pages of tanned maps, but following the constellations of the skies. Our lives in Christ can feel like both. For many of us who grew up in the Church, holding the Bible in one hand and our forming traditions in the other, we think we have an idea of how the world turns. We move along just fine through life until pain or suffering or the unknown dislodges us from our normal way of seeing the world. It's at those times we need to lift our eyes from what we've known to a new way of seeing. This is what Job discovered as he wept his way through the unforeseen struggles that turned his life upside down. The knowledge and understanding which got him to that point in his life wasn't the wisdom he needed to step into the future. In Job 35, Elihu carefully holds the contradictions plaguing Job's view of God and offers him a new way forward. As we look forward to this weekend, gathering to celebrate the goodness of our God and the faithfulness of our King, may we take the time to hold each other's stories well. May we ask the Spirit of God to guide us from the globe we know beneath our fingertips to the unsearchable vastness of His wisdom.

A Sunday morning sermon by Kathleen Hudson. Our walk with Job has been a challenging one to process and digest in application to our walk with God. In examining Elihu's speeches, we may seek to find ourselves in the story.  Do we identify with Job, the one who has been beaten up by loss and by life? Do we see ourselves in Job's friends, those who seek to provide explanation and quick balm to grief without really acknowledging the depth someone's pain? Does the nature of Elihu, the one who speaks from the margins, ring true to our core? Or would we rather close the book altogether and walk away from the idea of having to experience pain?    The truth is that we have been in each of these positions repeatedly in our time on this earth. Humanity rubs against humanity. Sometimes that polishes, and sometimes that chafes. But we were intended to live and worship in community.  Living in community or being a family encompasses all of the human experience and our responses to that experience. God has called us to this community.  What does that mean for us as we worship together and share the details of life together?  How does God call us to respond in our lives within this family?    Job 34 leads us to Elihu describing the very nature and grandeur of God and, inherent in God's nature, the justice of God. In God's justice, we are healed through restoration. We will take a look this week at what it means live as a family walking with one another towards this restoration.

A Sunday sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. There's nothing quite like a brand-new book. Crisp pages bound to a spine without a single hint of a crease or crack. No pages sullied with dog ears or bent edges. In my youth I despised worn out books! I didn't loan books because I knew they'd never return in “acceptable” condition. Better to give the book away than grieve a broken spine or a deranged page. As a young reader, I could never comprehend the sickness that would cause someone to write in the margins! Decades down the road, I can't quite pinpoint the moment when my rigid approach to treatment of books softened. Perhaps it was one-too-many books in “very good” condition purchased online that arrived with random highlights and inked interpretations that wore me down. Or it could have been my wild imagination that started drawing mental images of the notetakers. A curiosity that couldn't help but ask why this or that phrase was so meaningful to someone else. Maybe it was the books of mentors that carried with them the feeling of hidden insights quietly passed on to me. The Elihu chapters feel like that. Through the dog-eared book of Job, we've heard the man of sorrows and his friends arguing. Along the way, Elihu sat silently underlining passages and highlighting statements. Now, all Elihu's thoughts and reflections, all his margin notes have been compiled, bursting at the seams, ready to pour out. Elihu is like Job because he speaks from the margins. Where Job is alone in his suffering, rejected by his friends, Elihu is young. In the minds of the other men present, Elihu is the last person who should speak up. No wonder the first part of Elihu's speech is just asking the older men to give his words an audience! This week as we read Job 32-33, ask the Spirit of God to help you read the words of Elihu with a new perspective. You have have received he book of Job, purchased full price because it was supposed to be in “like new” condition, only to find the pages cut and cuffed, the margins packed with cramped notes. Before we rush past, let's take time to read them too.

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. For the last five weeks we've been reading the book of Esther, asking ourselves: how do we walk with the strong without being corrupted by power? It has been such a rich and important conversation. Equally important, now we prepare to ask: how do we walk with the broken? That question takes us in so many directions. How do we walk with the broken and not be corrupted by simplistic answers? How do we walk with the broken and not be beaten down by compassion fatigue? How do we walk with the broken instead of just avoiding them? This leads us into the life of Job. Job is a righteous man, blameless and beloved by God, and yet he suffers. We struggle to reconcile the two. Throughout the book, his friends, Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, offer him cold comfort wrapped in simplistic answers. They represen the best thinking of their time, but that doesn't help them see Job or be present with him in his pain. In their book, How to Read Job, scholars John Walton and Tremper Longman III provide us with three important insights that are often missed: Job has trials, but he's not on trial.The book is about God, not Job.It is about the reasons for righteousness, not the reasons for suffering. Friends, you may feel like Job. Don't confuse the trying times you're walking through with a trial imposed by God. Surround yourself with the people of God who will lift you up in prayer instead of tearing you down. In the middle of suffering, fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and fulfiller of your faith. We don't want to misread the book of Job. In the same way, we don't want to misread our own suffering. As Walton and Longman tell us: “His suffering does not give us direction about our suffering, but his reasons for righteousness should make us think about our own reasons for righteousness.”

A Sunday morning sermon by Peter DuMont.  The way of the disciple of Jesus is the way of powerless strength.  Scripture is filled with stories of faith marked by overmatched people who find great victory against overwhelming odds.   The Hebrews before the Red Sea with Egypt behind them, David standing before Goliath, the disciples standing before thousands of hungry people with a few loaves and fish between them.      Mordecai is another hero of faith within the Esther story.   Long before Haman, he knew what it was to be powerless. He watched the fall of Jerusalem unfold, was carried into captivity in a foreign land, was pressed into service in ways that likely marked him forever. He lived as an exile, a man without kingdom, capital, or army to protect him.     Despite severe hardship and trial, we find in Mordecai a person unbowed to his circumstance, moving in great strength in the midst of an overwhelming situation. He carries strength to face the truth of Haman's threat to the Jewish people, refusing consolation or escape. He lives in the strength of God's promise to the children of Abraham, confident that deliverance will somehow come. He lives in a strength of relationship, calling forth courage and profound sacrifice from Esther to meet his own as they each embrace strength within powerlessness.     How might their witness call forth a similar response within us? 

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. Exploring the book of Esther, we've met people who risked their lives to speak up for themselves and others. In these pages, we've come face to face with marginalized foreigners like Mordecai and Esther, who miraculously found themselves with cultural capital to spend for the sake of others. We should ask ourselves: if we were in their place, would we risk our lives, our comfort, our place in society, for the sake of God's people? Hopefully as we've spent this time with Esther and Mordecai, we've discovered, just as they did, that standing up for what is right is dangerous when we are immersed in a hostile world. We would be tempted to think that grasping at power is the answer. We think if we had the power we could walk righteously with the strong. But reading the book of Esther we see countless examples of those who walked with the strong, corrupted by the power they reached out to hold. No greater example can be found here than the life of Haman the Agagite. By the time we meet him, he is wealthy, affluent and influential, but he is also grotesquely deformed by his own craven hunger for power. It is that malformation that will sadly lead to his vicious end. As we prepare to sit down for dinner with Haman one last time, let's heed the challenging words of Peter Hon Wan Lau: “When we reflect on our lives, we might find that we are sometimes like Haman. We are tempted to place pride in our possessions and achievements. We are tempted to seek honor from those around us.” Friends, as we prepare our hearts, let us follow Esther's wisdom into our new lives in Christ. Where have we allowed the views of this world to deform our view of the life Jesus offers us (Galatians 1.6-12)? Where have we co-opted His good news and made it into a cultural possession for our own advancement (Philippians 1.15-18)? Beloved, where have we allowed pride to corrupt our minds, causing us to miss the blessing of transformation promised to us by the Father (Romans 12.1-2)?

A Sunday morning sermon by Pastor Brett Deal. “God moves in mysterious ways.” I'm guessing we've all heard that at one point. Most of the time that statement is made when we don't understand things that are going on around us. Unfortunately, those words seem to be the extent of some people's response to fraught times or complicated situations. Throughout the book of Esther, we see intrigues and conspiracies, cloak-and-dagger plotting and national upheavals. All in all, in a dog-eat-dog world like ancient Persia, it would be the perfect time to shrug our shoulders and flippantly say, “God moves in mysterious ways.” That is not, however, the response of Mordecai and Esther. As each layer of the schemes and dreams of man unfold, we find Mordecai and Esther repeatedly fasting and praying (Esther 4). They are painfully aware that God moves in mysterious ways, and this leads them to cry out to the Lord in prayer, fasting from food as they long to be sustained by His provision. This week as we prepare our hearts to dive again into the story, I would encourage you to do three things. First, take thirty minutes and read the whole book of Esther again, highlighting Esther's life and responses. Second, join us at 6:30 PM this Thursday night (in person or on zoom) as we explore the intersection of prayer and the mystery of God. Third, if you're able, dedicate a day to fast and pray for God's people who are waiting for the mysterious movement of God in our world.