In today’s passage, Paul uses an agricultural metaphor: rooted and built up in Christ. Deep roots provide stability in storms and nourishment for growth. The local church is the soil in which these roots grow deep.

All too often, we overcomplicate the Gospel.  It’s difficult for us to grasp how God could declare us worthy of infinite, inexhaustible, unconditional love. We are most familiar with human love—which is limited, provisional, and often transactional. When we are faced with a love that is so freely given, we don’t know how to receive it. So we try to earn it.

What if you discovered that you've been thinking about church the wrong way your entire life? Most of us grew up with a simple equation: church is a place you go, and ministry is what the paid staff does. You show up, participate in the service, volunteer occasionally, and head home. However, Peter completely flips this upside down. 

Faith is not invented in each generation—it is handed down, preserved, and proclaimed. We stand in a long line of witnesses who have carried the gospel forward. This doesn't mean we mindlessly repeat the past. It means we recognize we're part of something larger than ourselves—a story that began before us and will continue after us.

In Corinth, there was division. Some said, "I follow Paul!" Others claimed, "I follow Apollos!" Still others, "I follow Peter!" The church was fracturing along the lines of preferred leaders and teaching styles. Sound familiar? Today, we splinter over worship styles, theological distinctives, charismatic leaders, and trendy methodologies.

God is in the reconciliation business. It's what He does. It's at the very heart of the gospel. Through Christ, God reconciled the world to Himself—bringing hostile rebels back into right relationship with their Creator. That alone would be enough. But God goes further. He then reconciles us to each other, breaking down the walls that divide us.

Pilate's question to Jesus in today’s passage was straightforward: "Are you the king of the Jews?" It's a yes-or-no question. But Jesus' answer reveals something far more complex and beautiful: "My kingdom is not of this world."

The statistics are grim, and panic is surging throughout congregations around the world. People are leaving the church by the tens of thousands. People of all ages are disillusioned by the politics, division, shame, and judgment that characterize mainstream “Christianity.” They conflate God’s character with that of His broken people. Consequently, they want nothing to do with Jesus—or, rather, the false caricature we can at times present to the world around us.

We live in a world obsessed with power. Climb the ladder. Make a name for yourself. Win at all costs. Leverage your platform. The loudest voice wins. The strongest survive. Then Jesus shows up and flips the entire script.

Picture the scene: Jesus has risen from the dead, and His disciples are buzzing with excitement. Surely now He'll overthrow Roman occupation and restore Israel's glory, right? They ask Him point-blank: "Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?" Jesus' response must have stunned them. He essentially says, "You're thinking too small."

As Christians, we are called to live in a way that is radically different from the world around us. Our lives are meant to stand out—and stand against—the norms and values of a broken world.

If you're like most people, you feel pressure to produce. To perform. To prove your worth through what you accomplish. We live in a culture that constantly asks, "What have you done lately?" And if we're honest, we bring that same mentality into our faith. We feel like we should be doing more, serving more, growing more, making more of an impact. The pressure is exhausting. But, in today’s passage, Jesus offers a radically different paradigm. He doesn't say, "Try harder." He doesn't give us a longer to-do list or a more demanding set of expectations. Instead, He gives us a simple invitation: abide. Stay connected. Remain. That's it.

Jesus isn't being harsh here—He's being honest. He's giving us a diagnostic tool, a way to evaluate not just others but ourselves. What's growing in your life? What are you producing? Because the fruit always reveals the root. You can't fake fruit forever. You might be able to maintain appearances for a season, but eventually, what's really inside you will show up in what comes out of you.

We're all thirsty for something. Meaning. Connection. Purpose. Security. The ache for "more" is universal—it's written into our design. But the question that shapes our entire lives is this: Where do we go when we're thirsty? In today’s passage, God confronts His people with a devastating diagnosis.

There's a tension many of us feel when we think about faith and works. On one hand, we know we can't earn God's love—it's a gift, pure grace. On the other hand, we sense that our faith should produce something tangible, something real. So which is it? Are we saved by grace or called to good works? Paul's answer in Ephesians 2:8-10 is beautifully simple: yes.

Peter writes to Christians facing intense persecution, and his message might surprise you: don't be surprised by suffering. This isn't the prosperity gospel promising health, wealth, and happiness. This is the honest gospel that acknowledges following Jesus sometimes costs us everything—and calls us to faithfulness anyway.

James opens his letter with what might be the most counterintuitive command in Scripture: consider trials pure joy. Not fake joy. Not forced joy. Pure joy. This sounds crazy until you understand what James is actually saying—and what he's not saying.

Paul wrote today’s words not from a comfortable study but likely from a Roman prison cell. He wasn't theorizing about suffering—he was living it. Yet his message rings with unshakeable conviction: nothing can separate you from God's love. This is what faithfulness sounds like when it's been tested and proven true.

The church in Corinth faced relentless persecution from Roman authorities and rejection from their neighbors. They refused to partake in imperial religious practices, causing them to be viewed with suspicion and treated as enemies of the state. Fear and grief were their constant companions. 

Imagine losing everything in a single day—your wealth, your children, your health. This was Job's reality. Sitting in the ashes of his former life, covered in painful sores, Job uttered one of Scripture's most powerful declarations of faithfulness.