This week, we’re setting aside our typical rhythms at Nexus for a Looking Glass Sunday—a morning to pause and notice our ancestors of faith. We want to use this Sunday morning to reflect on the ones who steadied us, surprised us, encouraged us, nudged us toward grace, or simply showed us what a faithful life can look like in the ordinary and unpolished places.

Another season of Advent begins, and here again are the competing pulls of hectic shop-till-you-drop fervor and quiet invitations…to stillness and taking time to reflect on our longings and hopes…to consider what Jesus’ coming might mean for me personally, and the world I was born into…to love through giving our presence (see what I did there?).

Why do stories move us so deeply? Why do we keep turning to them to make sense of our lives? As we wrap up our Narratology series, we’ll step back and look at the bigger picture — not just the seven plot lines we’ve explored, but the deeper pattern that gives every story its power. This Sunday I want to explore why humans can’t help but narrate their lives, why our souls refuse “raw experience,” and why the stories we tell ourselves quietly shape everything from our wounds to our hopes.

Well, we have come to the final plot line in our series, and of all the plot lines, this one probably feels closest to the heartbeat of faith itself. And, for everyone who’s ever told me that The Shawshank Redemption is their favourite film (or the GOAT of films), this is its Sunday to shine. We are going to be exploring the Rebirth plot line, the one where freedom begins not with escape, but with surrender.

Friends, we are onto our sixth of seven storylines. It is time to explore Tragedy. Now of course, some suffering finds us by chance — illness, loss, disappointment. That is tragic, but the plot line of tragedy has much more to do with the suffering we quietly choose ourselves.

Everyone knows what the comedy plot line is all about, because unlike the other storylines, we measure the comedy plot line by one metric alone: Does it make us laugh? We know that good comedy is supposed to make us laugh, but why?

Do you remember the first story that swept you off your feet? The one that carried you somewhere strange, only to bring you home seeing everything differently? This Sunday, we’re stepping into the Voyage & Return storyline: the kind of story that reminds us that sometimes you must leave home to truly find it. These are the stories of wandering and awakening, of losing your way and discovering grace in the most unexpected places.

Friends, “There’s a line where the sky meets the sea — and it calls me.” A little Moana wisdom for you there. You see, every so often, something stirs within: a whisper to leave the shore and set out toward something unknown but deeply worth finding.

This week in our Narratology series: what do Cinderella’s slipper, Rocky’s gloves, and Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs all have in common? They’re reminders that the greatest stories don’t begin with crowns and castles but with ashes, obscurity, and a touch of ordinary. The “Rags to Riches” storyline has enchanted us for centuries—not because it promises wealth, but because it whispers that hidden lives can be holy ground, and that small beginnings might just be the birthplace of transformation.

Well, into our Narratology series we go, and to start, we begin with Overcoming the Monster. From our earliest days, humans have told stories about monsters: the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Enuma Elish, Leviathan, Perseus and Medusa - all are ancient overcoming the monster stories.