May 29

“Finding Rest in a Reliable Word”

2 Timothy 3:16–17; Hebrews 4:11–13

There are seasons when our hearts feel thin.
When the noise of the world grows loud.
When our own thoughts feel scattered.
When we long—quietly, desperately—for a place to rest.

In those moments, Scripture becomes more than a book. It becomes a refuge.  And the passages before us this week remind us why.

Scripture is not merely ancient wisdom or human reflection.  It carries the breath of God itself.  Inspiration means “breathed out by God.”  God is breathing on us when we interact with the Bible.  It is something that is living, trustworthy and meant to equip us for every good work. 

Then Hebrews names the longing we all feel; the longing for rest—not just physical rest, but soul rest.  The rest that comes from knowing we are held, known, and safe. 

Some are alarmed at the depth that God knows us, “all are naked and exposed.”  We often take these words for condemnation, but the opposite is true.  God sees you fully.  This God loves you completely.  That is good news, especially to those that are judged a society that looks only on the outward.  God knows you deeper than your sexuality, identity, or your doubts.  God knows you completely and loves you as you are infinitely. 

God invites us into God’s word to take refuge.  God’s promises hold, God’s character does not shift, God’s voice does not fail, and God’s rest is real and available. 

That is why we must consider, “What am I desiring?’  Peter gives us a simple picture to encourage us in our desiring of the Word of God.  “Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good. “(1 Peter 2:2-3)

Pastor Greg

May 27

Why Christ Is the Hope of the World

Romans 8:18-25

Hope is a word our world uses often, but rarely understands.
We “hope” the weather cooperates.
We “hope” things get better.
We “hope” people will change.
In everyday speech, hope is little more than a wish—something fragile, uncertain, easily shaken.

But the hope we meet in Christ is something entirely different.

Romans 8 describes a world that is groaning—creation itself aching for renewal, people longing for healing, communities yearning for justice. Paul doesn’t minimize the pain. He names it. He honors it. And then he says something astonishing: God has already begun the renewal the world longs for. The resurrection of Jesus is not just a promise for souls; it is God’s declaration that suffering, injustice, and decay will not have the final word.

Christian hope is not optimism.
Optimism depends on circumstances.
Hope depends on God.

Optimism rises and falls with the news cycle.
Hope rises from the empty tomb.

Optimism says, “Maybe things will improve.”
Hope says, “God is already at work making all things new.”

In a world that misunderstands hope as wishful thinking, the Gospel gives us a hope that is active, embodied, and courageous. Christ enters the world’s groaning, bears it, transforms it, and promises a future where creation itself is set free. And through the Spirit, we begin to taste that future even now—in acts of compassion, in communities of welcome, in justice pursued, in mercy practiced.

This is why Christ is the hope of the world:
because God has not abandoned creation.
God is healing it.
And we are invited to live as signs of that hope—patient, persistent, joyful—until the day when all things are made new.

Peter’s words provide for us the fullness of this hope (1 Peter 1:3-5): 

Born Again to a Living Hope

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

Pastor Greg

May 19

Pentecost:The Birth of the Church and the End of Hierarchy

When the day of Pentecost arrived, the disciples were “all together in one place”.  They were waiting—unsure of what would come next—when suddenly the room filled with “a sound like the rush of a violent wind”.  Tongues “as of fire” rested on each of them, and “all of them were filled with the Holy Spirit”.

This moment is often called the birth of the church, but it is also something even more radical: the end of hierarchy as the world knew it.

When Peter stands to speak, he does not explain the wind or the fire. Instead, he explains who the Spirit has fallen upon. Quoting the prophet Joel, he announces that God will pour out the Spirit “upon all flesh”—sons and daughters, young and old, even “slaves, both men and women”.  In a society built on rigid layers—men over women, elders over youth, free over enslaved—Pentecost is God’s great leveling.

But this leveling is not about pushing anyone down. It is about lifting everyone up into the full dignity of God’s calling. The Spirit does not replace one hierarchy with another. The Spirit removes the very idea that some people speak for God while others remain silent. At Pentecost, every voice is invited, every gift is needed, every person is empowered.

Philippians 4 shows us what this Spirit‑shaped life looks like. A community born in the Spirit is marked by joy— “Rejoice in the Lord always”—and by gentleness that is “known to everyone.” It is a community freed from anxiety, grounded in prayer, and guarded by “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding”.

The birth of the church is the birth of a new way of being human together.  No one elevated above others.  No one pushed aside.  All of us standing on level ground, lifted by the same Spirit, called into the same mission.

This is Pentecost: the end of hierarchy, and the beginning of a Spirit‑shaped community where every voice matters.

So, on this Pentecost, let us receive the fresh anointing of the Holy Spirit for the central work of the gospel—all are included, all are welcome, all are now celebrated as partners in the work of Christ!

Pastor Greg

May 15

It Is Not About the Power

Philippians 2:1–13

Ascension Sunday often gets misunderstood as the moment Jesus “takes power” in some triumphant, king‑of‑the‑mountain way. But Philippians 2 tells a very different story. Christ is exalted not because he grasped for greatness, but because he let it go. His glory rises from humility, not dominance.

Paul reminds us that Jesus “did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped” but instead “emptied himself” and took “the form of a servant”.  In a world where power is usually something to seize, protect, or defend, Jesus shows us a different way. He bends low. He listens. He serves. He loves without self‑protection. And therefore—because of this humility—God lifts him up.

Ascension, then, is not about Jesus escaping the world or claiming a throne of domination. It is God revealing that self‑giving love is the true shape of divine power. The One who kneels to wash feet is the One God exalts above every name. The One who refuses to coerce becomes the One before whom every knee bends—not out of fear, but recognition.

This matters for us. Paul begins the passage by urging the church to be “of the same mind,” to look to the interests of others, to live with the same humility that shaped Christ’s life. Ascension is not just a doctrine to believe; it is a pattern to embody. We follow a Lord who reigns through compassion, not control.

In a culture obsessed with winning, Jesus invites us into a different kind of strength—the strength that lifts others up. The strength that trusts God to do the exalting. The strength that knows the deepest power is always love.

It is not about the power.
It is about the One who uses power to heal.

Pastor Greg