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This week creates room for those carrying grief that cannot be resolved by a sermon, a prayer, or a well-intentioned explanation. The presence of God is not dependent on our ability to make sense of what has happened to us.
There are things about ourselves we'd rather not admit. Patterns we keep repeating. Desires we struggle to control. Habits we hide from the people who love us. Sometimes we've lived with them for so long that we've begun to believe they're simply part of who we are.
Jacob knew something about this. His life was a long history of deception, manipulation, and running from the consequences of his decisions. But one night, alone beside the Jabbok River, Jacob encountered God in a way that would leave him forever changed. He walked away with a new name, a limp, and a different future.
Aaron Dunn teaches on John 15:1-17.
On the night before his death, Jesus gives his disciples an image for the life they will need after he is no longer physically beside them: a vine and its branches. Again and again he tells them, remain in me. Branches don't strain to manufacture fruit. They remain connected to the source of life, and fruit grows. Jesus then connects this abiding life to love: “Remain in my love… love each other as I have loved you.”
Jesus imagines mission as ordinary disciples carrying his presence into ordinary places. They enter homes. They sit at tables. They receive hospitality as well as offer it. They pay attention to what God is already doing and announce that the Kingdom has come near. This shapes how Axiom thinks about Peoria. The church isn't simply a gathering we're trying to get our neighbors to attend. We are a people Jesus sends into neighborhoods, schools, workplaces, businesses, parks, tables, and homes. Our prayer—In Peoria as it is in Heaven—becomes something we actually inhabit.
Six days before Passover, Jesus returns to Bethany. Martha serves, Lazarus sits at the table, and Mary takes an extraordinarily expensive perfume and pours it onto Jesus' feet. Then John gives us this beautiful sensory detail: “The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” Judas immediately measures Mary's offering according to usefulness and efficiency: Why wasn't this sold? Jesus refuses the calculation and receives her beautiful, extravagant act.
John tells us that Jesus knows exactly who he is: he knows the Father has placed all things under his power, that he has come from God, and that he is returning to God. So he gets up from the table and takes a towel. The one with all authority assumes the posture of the lowest servant and begins washing feet. When he finishes, Jesus tells his disciples, “I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.”
The Christian life begins with Jesus himself. Christianity is not primarily an idea to understand, a morality to maintain, or an institution to support—it is an invitation to come, see, and follow. This is where Axiom begins too. We want everything we build to help people encounter Jesus, become attentive to his presence, and invite others into life with him. Before we ask people to believe everything, join everything, or understand everything, we can repeat the invitation of Jesus: come and see.
Our practices don't create the presence of God but instead create space for us to be more aware of God's love and presence.
Scripture is not merely information about God but an encounter with the living God.
Jesus did not leave His followers with a set of ideas to master but with His own Spirit to guide, comfort, and transform them. The Spirit teaches us to recognize God's presence, depend on His leading, and experience a faith that burns from the inside out.
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