The journey of faith is often marked by struggle and suffering, yet it is precisely in these hardships that our true identity in Christ is revealed and deepened. Following Jesus is not a path of ease but one of steadfast perseverance, shaped by the example of Paul, who endured rejection, persecution, and even near death, yet was sustained and rescued by the Lord through it all. Faith is more than belief—it is a transforming allegiance that shapes how we live, how we love, and how we endure. The gospel calls us not only to trust in Jesus but to follow Him with patience and sacrificial love, even when it costs us socially or physically.

Scripture reminds us that living a godly life in Christ inevitably leads to persecution, yet this suffering is not without purpose. It refines us, reveals our dependence on God, and binds us closer in community with others who follow Jesus. Like Timothy, we are invited to embrace our calling with courage, knowing that while the world may reject us, God never will. In Christ, suffering passes through death into resurrection life—life abundant, eternal, and secure in God’s love. May we hold fast to this hope and boldly follow the narrow way, trusting that our Savior walks with us every step of the way.

Paul’s warning to Timothy continues, emphasizing the presence of individuals within his church who are preying on vulnerable women through false teaching. The church’s call is to protect the vulnerable and strive to avoid becoming vulnerable ourselves. This is achieved by uniting around the words of God, safeguarding those in need, and actively combating the darkness within our midst.

As the people of God who live in hopeful expectation of Jesus’ return, Scripture tells us that we are already living in the last days. In this passage, Paul warns Timothy that as the end draws nearer, the world will be increasingly marked by distorted loves—self-centeredness, pride, and a rejection of God’s authority.

Paul’s instruction to “avoid such people” is not a call to withdraw from mission or disengage from those far from God. Rather, Paul understands that formation happens in community. The people we give influence to will either shape us to look more like Jesus or slowly form us in the image of the world.

Therefore, while the church remains sent into the world with the gospel, we are also called to carefully guard the community that forms us, ensuring that our deepest loves, practices, and relationships lead us toward Christ and not away from Him.

God is stirring in our world, our city, and among our people. As the wind of the Spirit moves in our midst, we desire to be a people who respond and follow what God is already doing among us. In 2026, we are committing to be a church that intentionally makes room so that one more life may come to know the eternal salvation found in King Jesus—to the glory of God the Father.

Our Triune God is a God who sends and comes. The Father sends the Son to seek the lost and bring them home. The Son sends the Spirit to awaken life in spiritually dead hearts. And now, as recipients of this great rescue, we are sent into the world, sowing seeds as we share Jesus, so that one more life might be found and rescued.

Humanity was made for harmony with God, one another, and creation, but sin entered and brought death, estrangement, and a world riddled with hostility. Through the ages God preserved a people and set in place the sacrificial system to show both the costliness of sin and our need for a deeper rescue. That rescue arrived in Jesus. He did not merely teach; He reconciled. He unlocked access to God that we could not open ourselves, and He moved us toward peace with one another.

At the center of the good news: the great exchange. Our sin was imputed to Jesus; He bore the just judgment of God. His righteousness was imputed to us; we are made right, not just better. Because of this, the soul finally feels its worth, hostility loses its grip, and a new creation life begins even now.

Looking at Joy to the World, which is surprisingly not about Christmas morning but about Jesus’ return. Rooted in Psalm 98, it celebrates the day when the consequences of His birth, life, death, and resurrection are fully realized—when creation itself sings because sin and death are judged and undone. Scripture tells us the scope of His rescue: Jesus removes the penalty of sin, breaks the power of sin, and will one day remove the very presence of sin. Revelation 21 gives us a foretaste: no more tears, mourning, pain, or death—only life, light, and freedom with God among His people.

In O Holy Night, we see the arrival of Jesus in beauty and clarity, and throughout the Gospels, whenever Jesus arrives, everything changes: worth is restored, the unclean are made clean, and death is turned into life. This is what happens when Jesus comes—a weary world rejoices! At Christmas, we remember His first arrival as we also look forward to His second coming, the ultimate end of all death, darkness, and brutality. This is why we sing at Christmas: His power and glory evermore proclaim!

We turned to Luke 2 and listened with fresh ears to the angelic announcement: “good news of great joy.” A Child is born who is Savior, Christ, and Lord—three titles that reframe everything. Savior because we truly need rescuing; Christ because He’s the promised, long-anticipated King whose kingdom won’t end; Lord because this Savior is God Himself. Veiled in flesh, the Godhead appeared. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Jesus didn’t just dip into humanity; He took on our frame fully—learning to walk, growing tired, grieving, feeling anxiety—yet without sin.

Why this way? Because Rome wasn’t our deepest bondage; sin and death were. Only God made like us could die as us and break the power that held us. Hebrews 2 says He shared flesh and blood “that through death He might destroy the one who has the power of death.” He is the true and better Passover Lamb—unblemished, crucified, declaring “It is finished,” buried, and risen—bringing light and life, healing in His wings. That’s why we sing: born that we no more may die.

Many of us feel like heaven is a locked vault with a combination we could never learn. But the announcement that night was this: the vault has been opened from the inside. The Treasure Himself has come to us to lavish riches we don’t deserve—grace upon grace.

Christmas matters because it anchors us in the real story of a Savior who actually entered history. As we sing through the season, Come Thou Long Expected Jesus helps us bring our hunger, our hopes, and our honest longings to the One who fulfills them. The human heart understands anticipation—like a child waiting for gifts—and that small ache points to a far greater, older ache: humanity’s long wait for the Messiah. From the earliest pages of Scripture (Genesis 3), God promised that someone born of a virgin woman would crush the serpent, even at great cost. The prophets wrote and wondered what that would look like, and their words narrow the focus until only one person can possibly fit.

Jesus is not a vague religious option; He is the precise fulfillment of centuries of promises. Born of a virgin in Bethlehem, from Judah’s tribe and David’s house, entering a specific prophetic window, pursued by a murderous king, called out of Egypt, bringing light to Galilee—His life, death, and resurrection fulfill prophecies that predated crucifixion itself. He healed, taught with Spirit-anointed authority, lived without sin, was betrayed, pierced, mocked, buried in a borrowed tomb, and rose—just as foretold. Our faith is not blind; it rests on a God who told us what He would do and then did it in plain sight.

We now live between arrivals. Jesus has come—and He will come again. That means we endure a world where sin’s effects still ache, yet we do not despair; we fix our longing on the One who will finish what He started. The hymn teaches us to pray from both directions: grateful for His first coming and hungry for His return.

Peter blesses God for new birth into a living hope through Jesus’ resurrection, and I celebrate that this isn’t theory—Jesus is alive, present, and calls us to participate with Him. We don’t pursue holiness to earn salvation; salvation is secured. We pursue holiness so His kingdom breaks into this dark world through our lives, so others see Jesus and we taste eternal life now. That’s the backdrop as Paul writes Timothy, a pastor in a corrupt Ephesus where the church is bending to culture and false teaching. The call is timely: embrace your calling and confront corruption—but do it God’s way.

Paul starts with me and you. Before correcting others, depart from iniquity, clean the vessel, and then not only flee what corrupts but pursue what fills: righteousness, faith, love, and peace. Flee means run for your life; pursue means chase hard after what looks like Jesus. This pursuit is communal. We do it “with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart,” because oneness isn’t optional—it is God’s cosmic sermon to the powers that His gospel reconciles.

Then the surprising turn: the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome. In a world that monetizes outrage, we resist foolish controversies and the inner itch to fight. Yet we do not retreat from truth. We enter the fray with an uncommon posture—kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting opponents with gentleness. This posture is not weakness; it’s alignment with how God changes people. God may perhaps grant repentance, and repentance then opens the door to truth. Kindness tills the soil; truth is the seed; repentance is the miracle God performs.

Finally, we remember who the enemy is. People trapped in falsehood are ensnared by the devil, often senseless to their captivity. We don’t fight them; we fight for them, against the powers that hold them. So we flee youthful passions, pursue kingdom character in community, refuse quarrels, and correct with patient gentleness. This is how we confront corruption without becoming corrupt—and how the world begins to wonder who we are and who our King must be.