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“Lord, we pray this day mindful of the sorry confusion of our world. Look with mercy upon this generation of your children so steeped in misery of their own contriving, so far strayed from your ways and so blinded by passions… Amen.”

It’s not a common practice for me to do this but this past Sunday, Cory shared an extensive quote from Nicholas Wolterstorff’s book, “Lament for a Son,” and I’d like to share it in its entirety here (hoping I’m not violating any copyright laws in the process! 😬). Please take a few minutes to read this slowly and reflectively:

On Sunday, we began a conversation that we need to have but that, all too often, the Church has been too reluctant to have. We’re diving into the deep waters of suffering, asking: Why does a loving, all-powerful God allow pain and suffering?
It’s not an easy question and not one that we’ll pretend to have clear and concise answers for either. It’s also not a new question either. As we said on Sunday, the Book of Job, written some 3000 years ago, spends 42 chapters wrestling with it. Jesus’ own disciples asked it. You and I have probably asked it more times than we care to admit.

Yesterday, the husband of the principal of the school we taught at the Bahamas died suddenly from blood leakage on his brain. His name was Troy Albury and he was in his mid-50s and just a few weeks away from experiencing the joy of giving his daughter away to be married. So tragic. So random. So few answers to be found. At some point in life, most of us will bump into a version of the same question: If God is good and all-powerful, then why…?

So, this past Sunday I shared about the powers and principalities and if you were there, you’ll note that I wasn’t referring, necessarily, just to the scary ones with ominous names and spooky vibes—but more the subtle ones that tend to get a pass due to their very innocuous and non-threatening nature. You know, the ones that smile politely and offer you a coffee while they rearrange your soul and challenge your allegiance.

In preparation for our current series on The Kingdom and the Powers, I’ve been digging into the story of the Early Church—especially what it looked like before it became entangled with empire, when Christianity was still on the margins of society.

As I mentioned last Sunday, the earliest Christians were a ragtag group of nobodies. They lived in the Roman world, but their allegiance belonged to a different Kingdom—one ruled by a crucified and risen Messiah. They believed that this Kingdom wasn’t just a future hope, but a present reality breaking into the world. And they were committed to being catalysts of that inbreaking. 

This week I decided to publish a video rather than a blog post to switch things up a bit. Please watch this almost 10 minute diatribe – I hope it challenges and convicts all of us!

So it’s Holy Week, the long walk to the cross begins. I know Holy Week is a key time for us to consider just who the person of Jesus, and thus the character of God, truly is. And let me tell you, I am so grateful for that. The cross, first off, speaks of Jesus’ profound mercy and compassion, while the Resurrection boldly proclaims his power over all things – including Death itself. It’s such a beautiful story. Yet, Holy Week also reminds us that this is a story with real-world stakes. A story about how our theology and beliefs and convictions, when wielded carelessly or self-righteously, can crush the very people it claims to save.

There’s no shortage of things to get us down these days—and with good reason.
I feel like I keep coming back to this write-up schtick every week, but alas. You know the routine: we’re bombarded with headlines that range from unsettling to downright frustrating and discouraging. South of the border, political action surrounding immigrants and tariffs continues to cause jaws to drop on the daily, and that noise has spilled across the border and into our social media feeds and our own political landscape as we near a federal election with bated breath. Global tensions seem to be mounting, with wars and conflicts reminding us how fragile peace can be. The ongoing war in Ukraine, now stretching into its third year, is one of those heart-wrenching reminders. Thousands have lost their homes, their loved ones, their sense of safety. The despair is real and pressing in more each day.

And yet—this week, I saw something that changed the air around me.

I don’t know about you but the last few weeks of Sunday morning teachings have been received as a bit of a punch in the gut. This idea of moving from admiring Jesus to the seemingly impossible task of following him – even to death. And then last week, we leaned into a truth that’s as challenging as it is liberating: the cross doesn’t invite our applause—it demands our participation. The way to bending our knee to such radical participation is only through the hard road of discipleship and taking those moments of life to act as catalysts toward our transformation.