It’s difficult to read Acts 2:42–47 and not feel both inspired and impossibly challenged. The early church’s radical devotion—learning together, sharing everything, praying with fiery expectancy—often feels like an unreachable ideal, especially amid the whirlwind of modern life in Orange County. And yet, as Josh Harrison invites us to ask, what if we refused to let cynicism or circumstance steal that vision from us? What if, rather than moving on, we wrestled together with how such devotion might actually take shape here and now?

What made the early Church so powerful and world-changing. The answer is detailed in Acts 2:42-47: their stubborn devotion to teaching, radical generosity, prayer, and the breaking of bread. These weren’t just boxes to check, but the core convictions of a “no matter what” community. Against all odds—amid cultural, political, and social complexity—they pursued a unity and diversity that shocked the world and drew people in daily.

Does such a church exist today? Could it again? The world is longing to find out.

It’s been just over a month since we launched our Acts series, so perhaps a quick recap is in order.

We started by tracing our spiritual genealogy, looking back at the early church and asking what they believed about Jesus and themselves. What we found, again and again, is simple—these ordinary people were empowered by the Spirit, defined by mercy, and sent with a purpose to embody Jesus in the world. Contrary to popular imagination, “end times” are not about fear or chaos; Peter insists they are marked by resurrection, victory, and the presence of God. We stand on the cusp of a new age—merciful, powerful, and beautiful.

It is perhaps easy, in looking at the events of Pentecost in Acts 2, to reduce the Spirit’s arrival to spectacle—wind, tongues of fire, languages spoken and understood as if by magic. We tend to ask, “What were the signs?” But let's look deeper. What if the greatest miracle was not what the disciples did, but who they discovered themselves to be? Jesus called the Spirit “the Advocate,” a Paraclete, sent not just to empower or instruct—but to assure us we are adopted, chosen, irrevocably loved. This changes everything. We live as heirs.

It’s been a few weeks since we started our walk through Acts, and perhaps a brief reflection is in order.

We’ve traced the Church’s story from confusion and fear, stumbling through the aftermath of Jesus' ascension, to the radical transformation at Pentecost—the moment the Spirit moved in, not to a building or a mountain, but to people. Fire, wind, and voices mark this act of God dwelling intimately within each believer. This changes everything. Church is no longer merely a gathering; it’s a place of encounter, forgiveness, and power. What happened in Jerusalem is still happening in Costa Mesa—and in us.

It is a curious thing, after centuries of Christian tradition, how one of the most extraordinary moments in the story of Jesus—his ascension—is so often overlooked. This week, we returned to the opening verses of Acts, asking not simply “What is the Church?” but “Who is this Jesus we gather around?” The earliest Christians staked everything on the belief that Jesus ascended—not as a disappearing act but as advocate, architect, reigning king, and giver of gifts. This one truth unlocks a deeper hope, a truer identity, and a more courageous mission.

Last week we found ourselves at the threshold of Acts, asking a deceptively simple question: what is the church? Josh Harrison reminded us that, despite all we've accumulated—practices, traditions, and ambitions—the essence of the church isn't found in what we’ve built around Jesus, but in what he established at the start.

The early disciples, confronted by the resurrected Christ, understood neither the timing nor methods of God’s kingdom. Instead, they received two things: a gift (the Holy Spirit) and a mission (to be witnesses—embodiments of hope—beginning in Jerusalem and extending outwards).

May we live as witnesses today, expectant and empowered.

As we begin a new series in Acts, a brief recentering is in order. If you’ve spent any time in church, you’ve likely heard the phrase “Body of Christ” thrown around casually, as if it were merely a metaphor—a nice way to describe collective gifts. But in the earliest days, believers didn’t consider this figurative; they truly lived as Christ’s body, continuing his work on earth, animated by the Spirit. Their conviction transformed families, communities, and ultimately the world. As we plant and form this church, the question before us is: What might God do through us, if we truly embody this reality?

It’s been several weeks now since we first began tracing the Lord’s Prayer as a roadmap for attentiveness and expectancy in Advent. Along the way, we’ve rediscovered prayer not as a rote discipline, but as the core of our relationship with the infinite and personal God. This week, we arrived at a phrase often spoken, if rarely pondered: “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” Here, we’re reminded that Jesus offers more than mere forgiveness—He invites us to follow closely, learning to move through temptation without falling into it, and so experience His kingdom, power, and glory.

Three weeks into our Advent series, we've been tracing the ancient contours of the Lord’s Prayer, exploring what it truly means to wait with both attentiveness and expectancy—a posture Jesus not only commands but embodies. Beginning with our Father who is both utterly holy and intimately close, surrendering our kingdoms to His, we've journeyed into the wilderness of dependence: “Give us this day our daily bread.” Here, Jesus teaches us not self-sufficiency, but radical daily trust. And when we inevitably fumble for control, He offers forgiveness, and calls us to extend the same mercy to others. This wilderness transforms us—together.