Most of us have felt the weight of work. Mondays come too quickly, weekends fly by, and the dream of retirement can sometimes feel like the only light at the end of the tunnel. We live in a culture that often sees work as a “necessary evil” — something we have to do in order to get to the things we really want to do. But when we open the Bible, we see something very different.

When Jesus invited His disciples to follow Him, He was upfront about what it would require. He didn’t tell them to simply enjoy the blessings of God or to follow when it was convenient. He said they must deny themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow Him.

That can sound intimidating. A cross is heavy. A cross is painful. A cross is costly. But what Jesus was teaching wasn’t just about moments of dramatic sacrifice or persecution. Most often, it’s about the daily choices we make when life feels ordinary.

The Christian life is full of tension—what we call the “already and not yet.” On one hand, if you’ve placed your trust in Jesus, you’re already forgiven, already made new, and already secure in Him. On the other hand, we’re still waiting. Waiting for the day when Christ returns, when sin and pain are finally gone, when everything is made right.

That waiting can be difficult. For someone who’s new to faith, it might feel confusing—if Jesus has already saved me, why do I still struggle? For someone who has followed Christ for years, it can feel frustrating—why hasn’t God fixed this yet?

When Jesus stepped onto the scene, He announced something brand new: “The Kingdom of God has come near.” He wasn’t just another prophet or teacher pointing to a distant hope. He was bringing heaven close. Wherever Jesus went, the Kingdom went with Him. That means the reign of God isn’t just something far off in the future; it’s already breaking into our world today.

When we take communion, we’re doing more than eating a little piece of bread and sipping from a tiny cup. We’re stepping into something Jesus designed to pull our eyes in two directions at the same time—backward to the cross and forward to the Kingdom.

Looking back, we remember what Jesus did for us. That bread in your hand? It’s a picture of His body, given for you. That cup? It represents His blood, poured out for the forgiveness of your sins. And this isn’t just about recalling a Bible story—it’s about realizing this is your story. He took your place. He bore your punishment. He broke your chains.

One of the most powerful truths in the Christian life is also one of the hardest to truly grasp: you already have redemption. It is not something you’re working toward. It is not something that hangs in the balance based on your behavior or your emotions. It is already yours if your faith is in Jesus. That means you have been bought back, rescued, and made right with God—not by your efforts but by the blood of Christ.

This truth challenges us because we often do not feel redeemed. We fall short. We slip into old habits. We get tired. We wonder if God is disappointed. But Scripture tells us that before the world was even formed, God chose us.

There’s a tension we all feel, whether we talk about it out loud or not. It’s the tension between what we know is true about God—and what we’re still waiting to see in full. Theologians call this the “already and not yet.” It means that God has already redeemed us through Christ, but we’re not yet living in the fully restored world He’s promised.

You can feel that ache, can’t you?
When you see tragedy.
When your body breaks down.
When your heart breaks.
When the world feels off and you instinctively say, “This is not the way it’s supposed to be.”

And guess what? You're right. It’s not.

Some songs have a way of stirring something inside of us. We might not have lived the story behind the lyrics, but we understand the emotion. Whether it is the ache of longing, the hope of reconciliation, or the beauty of unconditional love, music often speaks to the soul in a way plain words cannot.

Let’s start here. Love does not originate with us. It begins with God. The Bible tells us God is love, and He has always existed in loving community as Father, Son, and Spirit. That means love was not something He created later, it has always been part of who He is. When we experience love or give love to someone else, we are reflecting God's nature, whether we realize it or not.

But here’s where it gets personal. Jesus didn’t say to love "a" God. He said to love the Lord "your" God. That one little word, “your,” makes all the difference.

We live in a culture that encourages compartmentalization. You have your work life, your family life, your social life, your faith life. Most of us have learned to manage these separate areas just to function. But over time, those boxes can start to feel disconnected. You might find yourself being one version of you at work, another at home, and someone else entirely at church. That kind of fragmentation leads to exhaustion and, eventually, to spiritual compromise.

When Jesus answered the Pharisees’ question about the greatest commandment, He didn’t just provide good theology. He offered a way of life.

Romans 12 opens with a single, powerful phrase: “in view of God’s mercy.” That’s the lens. That’s the starting point. Everything Paul says after that flows from this one reality: that God, in His grace, didn’t leave us where we were. He saw our sin, our need, our brokenness… and He came close. He showed us mercy.

So, how do you respond to mercy like that?

We live in a world that constantly tells us who we are based on what we’ve done, or what’s been done to us. It’s easy to let that define us. But Paul spends the first 11 chapters of Romans laying out a different story. It’s a story that says: God sees you through mercy, not merit. Through grace, not guilt. Through the Spirit, not your shame.

Love is hard. It’s beautiful, but it’s hard.

John doesn’t sugarcoat it when he writes, “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.” That’s not a metaphor. That’s not a feel-good quote for social media. That’s the gospel. Jesus gave everything—not because we deserved it, not because we earned it, but because that’s who He is.

How do you know your faith is real?

That’s the question John tackles head-on in his letter to the early church. These were believers who, like many of us, sometimes wrestled with doubt. Not doubt about whether God exists or if church matters, but something deeper. Is this real in me? Do I actually believe this, or am I just hoping it’s true?

Love is a word we all say and celebrate. We decorate with it, post about it, and build holidays around it. But here’s the thing: We rarely stop to ask what love actually means. Most people say we just need more love in the world, but few agree on what that looks like. One person’s definition of love might be tolerance, while another’s might be truth-telling. And without an anchor, love becomes slippery—just a word we use to describe whatever makes us feel good in the moment.

Sometimes Jesus does something that catches us off guard—something that doesn’t fit the version of Him we’ve become comfortable with. In Mark 11, we see Jesus cursing a fig tree and clearing the temple courts. At first glance, it might seem like He's just having a rough day. But if we take a closer look, we discover something much deeper: a warning to God’s people about the danger of appearing fruitful while being spiritually barren.

Every one of us knows what it feels like to carry guilt. We replay our mistakes in our minds, things we’ve said, done, or failed to do, and they echo back with shame and regret. Sometimes those accusations come from others, but more often they come from within. We hold ourselves to impossible standards and then live in the tension of constantly falling short. Our own voice becomes the loudest accuser: You should have known better. You’ll never change. You’re not good enough.

At the same time, we face pressure from the outside. Life can be brutally hard. We experience sickness, betrayal, job loss, anxiety, financial burdens, or simply the weight of trying to keep everything together. It can feel like we’re being crushed by forces we can’t control. The question starts to form in our hearts: If God is for me, why is this happening?

Life doesn’t always feel like God is for us.

There are seasons when pain, uncertainty, or loss seem to shout louder than hope. It can feel like we’ve been overlooked, forgotten, or even punished. But Scripture reminds us of a powerful truth: God is for us.

This passage from John is one of the most powerful examples of invitation in the Gospel. Philip finds Nathanael and tells him, “We’ve found the one Moses and the prophets wrote about—Jesus of Nazareth!” Nathanael’s response is full of skepticism: “Nazareth? Can anything good come from there?” But Philip doesn’t argue or try to convince him. He simply says, “Come and see.”

There’s something about Easter that stirs our hearts. Something about standing in awe at the empty tomb, realizing that the resurrection wasn’t a metaphor or a hopeful story—it was a real, living event that changed everything. Jesus really did walk out of that grave, and because He lives, we’re invited into something far greater than we could ever imagine. We’re invited into a new way of living.