Peter wrote this letter from Rome — which he called Babylon — to scattered believers living under real pressure. But before we get into the letter, we need to understand the man who wrote it. This week we looked at four defining moments in Peter's life: his calling, his crash, his restoration, and his empowering by the Holy Spirit. And on Pentecost Sunday, of all days, it felt like the right place to begin — because the same Spirit that turned a fisherman hiding by a fire into someone who preached boldly to thousands is still at work in us.

Most people come to 1 Thessalonians for the end times content — the trumpet, the clouds, the return of Jesus. Paul gets there. But before he does, he gives the church a plain, unglamorous list of how to actually live while they wait: avoid sexual immorality, love each other, lead a quiet life, mind your own business, work hard. The goal isn't to look more religious. It's so your daily life wins the respect of the people around you. That question pulled us into Joel 2 — a call to return to God before the outpouring, to rend your heart and not just your garments. The new wine is coming. The question is whether you have fresh wineskins to carry it.

Most of us know we need community. We've felt the pull toward it, maybe even tried it before. But something happened — a hurt, a disappointment, a season of life that just got in the way — and somewhere along the line, we stopped. This final week of our series on community doesn't try to argue you back in. It just asks an honest question: what's keeping you from going one step deeper? Hebrews 10 was written to people under real pressure to walk away from one another, and the author's answer was a string of "let us" — because whoever wrote it knew that what Jesus was forming in them couldn't happen alone. That's still true. We get hurt in community. But we also get healed there.

What's actually keeping you from real community? It might be shame — and it might be quieter than you think.

In this message from our Community series, Pastor Brent unpacks the difference between guilt and shame, why confession belongs in community (not just in private), and what it looks like to actually step into the light together. James 5, 1 John 1, and Romans 7–8 all point to the same thing: freedom happens when we stop hiding.

Most of us have a default answer ready before the question even finishes — fine, good, busy — and it keeps everyone at a comfortable distance. Romans 12 has something different in mind. This message digs into the historical situation behind Paul's letter and lands on one of the most practical things he ever wrote: Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep. Simple words with real weight — and a real challenge to the way most of us do community.

Romans 16 ends with something most people skip — a long list of names. Twenty-nine of them. But what if that list is one of the most important things Paul ever wrote? In this week's message from our Community series, we slow down there and discover that the early church wasn't organized around programs. It was organized around people. Family. And according to both Scripture and researcher Robin Dunbar's model of human relationships, our deepest growth and healing don't happen in the crowd — they happen in the smaller circles, around a table, with people who actually know us.

⚠️ Note: We experienced some technical difficulties during this recording. A short section was cut, and you may notice a few glitches in the audio and video following that point. Thanks for your patience.

Something shifts when people stop just gathering and start actually belonging to each other.

Acts 2 gives us a picture of a community held together not by programs or shared preferences—but by shared life. Meals, prayer, generosity that cost something real. And underneath all of it, a kind of joy that kept showing up anyway.

This message traces where that comes from. And what it actually asks of us.

Most Easter messages go to the Gospels. This one goes somewhere else.

What if the most important thing that happened on Resurrection Sunday wasn't on earth at all? Revelation 5 opens a window into the throne room of heaven—where a search goes out across all of creation for someone worthy to open a scroll, and no one is found. Not one. Heaven falls silent. And then a lion is announced.

But when John turns to look, it's not a lion.

This is Easter from heaven's vantage point—and it changes what we think we know about power, sacrifice, and why all of creation erupts in worship.

Who do we trust to make things right?

In Revelation 5, everything seems to stall—a scroll in God’s hand, no one worthy to open it, and the weight of a world that feels stuck. Then the answer comes… but not how anyone expects. This Palm Sunday, we wrestled with the kind of power we’re looking for—and what it means that Jesus reigns not as a conquering force, but as a Lamb. As we step into Holy Week, we’re invited to let that reshape our hope, our expectations, and the way we follow Him.

What if heaven isn't something we escape to, but something breaking in right here? In Revelation 4, John sees a door standing open—not one we climb toward, but one where God's reality meets ours. These moments don't come through striving. They show up in the middle of ordinary life. At the center of it all is a throne, surrounded by a worshiping family from every tribe and nation—a picture not of evacuation, but of restoration. A God who comes near, throws a feast, wipes away tears, and invites us into what He's doing right now.