Pieces of the Puzzle

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” — Romans 12:1 (NRSVUE)

Stewardship often begins with a simple question:

What has God placed in my hands?

Our time. Our resources. Our abilities. Our relationships. Our opportunities.

Psalm 24 begins with the reminder that “the earth is the LORD’s and all that is in it” (Psalm 24:1). Everything we have ultimately comes from God. Christian stewardship, then, is about receiving those gifts with gratitude and using them faithfully.

But Scripture eventually takes us deeper.

God is not simply interested in what is in our hands. God is interested in the person those hands belong to.

All of Life

In Deuteronomy, Moses tells the people:

“You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.”
— Deuteronomy 6:5 (NRSVUE)

Then Moses makes this command surprisingly ordinary. God’s people are to speak of these words while they are at home and while they are away, when they lie down and when they rise (Deuteronomy 6:6–9).

In other words, loving God is not something confined to a worship service.

Our faith belongs at the kitchen table and in the workplace. It travels with us in the car and accompanies us into difficult conversations. It shapes what we do with our money, how we spend our time, how we treat our neighbors, and how we respond to people who hurt us.

There is no part of ordinary life that falls outside our worship of God.

That can sound like an enormous demand.

All my heart? All my soul? All my strength? God wants all of me?

But before we hear this as one more religious obligation, notice where Paul begins when he talks about offering our whole lives to God.

Because of God’s Mercies

Romans 12 begins with these words:

“By the mercies of God…” (Romans 12:1).

The order matters.

Paul does not say, Offer yourself so that God will be merciful.

Paul does not say, Give God enough of your life and perhaps God will love you.

Paul has spent the previous chapters of Romans describing what God has already done: grace freely given, reconciliation accomplished through Christ, new life offered to people who could never earn it for themselves (see Romans 3:21–26; 5:6–11; 8:1–2, 31–39).

Grace comes first.

Then, because of God’s mercy, Paul invites us to offer our lives in response.

That distinction matters whenever Christians talk about stewardship. Stewardship can easily become a list of everything we ought to do:

Give more.
Serve more.
Volunteer more.
Be more committed.

But the Christian life does not begin with what we give to God. It begins with what God has given to us.

Our generosity, our service, and even the offering of all that we are are responses to grace.

Becoming a Living Sacrifice

Paul describes this response as presenting ourselves to God as a “living sacrifice” (Romans 12:1).

It is a strange and beautiful phrase.

A sacrifice was something placed on an altar and offered to God. But this sacrifice is living.

A living sacrifice gets up in the morning.

It goes to work or school. It makes breakfast. It pays bills. It sits around the dinner table. It cares for someone who is hurting. It makes decisions about money. It chooses how to respond when someone says something hurtful.

A living sacrifice lives an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

This is where Deuteronomy and Romans meet. Loving God with all that we are means our ordinary lives become places of worship.

The way we treat people can become worship.

The way we use our time can become worship.

The way we care for another person can become worship.

Our hearts, minds, relationships, choices, resources, and ordinary days can all become offerings to God.

What Is Shaping Us?

Paul continues:

“Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of the mind.”
— Romans 12:2 (NRSVUE)

Something is always shaping us.

Every day, voices tell us what matters, what success looks like, what we need in order to be happy, what we should fear, who deserves our attention, and what makes a life valuable.

Often that shaping happens so quietly that we hardly notice it.

Paul invites followers of Jesus to discover another way of seeing.

God’s grace does not only change what we believe about God. Grace begins changing the way we see everything.

It changes how we see ourselves.

It changes how we see people who are different from us.

It changes how we think about possessions and success.

It changes how we respond when someone hurts us.

It changes what we believe is worth giving our lives to.

This transformation rarely happens all at once. God continues working within us, renewing our minds and teaching us to see ourselves and our neighbors more fully through the love of Christ.

Jesus shows us what such a life looks like: noticing people others overlook, serving rather than seeking to be served, and giving oneself away in love (see Mark 10:42–45; Luke 10:25–37; John 13:1–17).

Grace does not simply forgive us and leave us where we were. Grace keeps forming us into people who love God and our neighbors more fully.

We Belong to Each Other

Significantly, Paul moves from personal transformation directly to community.

“For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another.”
— Romans 12:4–5 (NRSVUE)

Christian faith was never meant to be lived alone.

We belong to one another.

That means each of us has something to offer, and each of us needs what others have been given.

Paul names some of these gifts: serving, teaching, encouraging, giving, leading, and showing compassion (Romans 12:6–8).

Different people. Different gifts. Different ways for God’s grace to become visible.

One person teaches. Another fixes what is broken. Someone notices a lonely neighbor and makes a phone call. Someone prepares a meal. Someone makes music. Someone gives quietly. Someone sits beside a hurting person and listens. Someone offers encouragement at exactly the right moment.

The people doing these things may not even think of them as spiritual gifts. They may simply think, This is who I am.

But when those gifts are offered in love, the grace we have received begins flowing through us toward someone else.

None of us can be the whole body of Christ by ourselves.

Perhaps that is part of the gift: God has not given everything to any one of us.

God has given us to one another.

So perhaps the question is not simply, What am I good at?

A better question might be:

Who has God created and shaped me to be—and how can that life become a gift to someone else?

The Person in the Mirror

Imagine standing in front of a mirror.

What do you see?

When Paul says to “present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (Romans 12:1), the invitation is not simply to consider what you possess that could be given away.

The invitation is to see your whole life as an offering.

The person in that mirror.

Your heart.
Your mind.
Your abilities.
Your experiences.
Your relationships.
Your compassion.
Your resources.
Your ordinary days.

All that you are.

But remember where Paul began:

“By the mercies of God.”

The person in the mirror does not have to prove anything to God.

You do not have to become more useful to earn God’s love.

Grace has already come to you.

And grace is still at work within you—transforming, renewing, and teaching you to love.

So the next time you catch your reflection in a mirror, consider offering a simple prayer:

God, how can you use me to share your love today?

Or, put another way:

How can the grace I have received become grace for someone else?

Perhaps it will happen through listening.

Encouraging.

Serving.

Giving.

Showing mercy.

Noticing someone who needs care.

Simply being present.

Stewardship begins with the question, What has God placed in my hands?

But eventually the invitation goes deeper:

How can God use the person those hands belong to?

All my heart.
All my soul.
All my strength.
All my gifts.
All my ordinary days.

All we are, in response to all God has given.

Midweek Devotional | Matthew 25:14–30

“So I was afraid, and I hid my valuable coin in the ground.” — Matthew 25:25

Have you ever kept something so safe that you never actually used it?

Imagine receiving a packet of seeds. You could tuck it into a drawer where the seeds would be protected from birds, storms, and anything else that might harm them. Months later, every seed would still be there, exactly where you left it.

But nothing would have grown.

In Jesus’ parable of the talents, a master entrusts three servants with extraordinary amounts of money. Two put what they have received to work. The third buries his share. When the master returns, the third servant explains his decision in five revealing words: “So I was afraid.”

He hadn’t stolen the money or spent it carelessly. He had kept it safe. But fear prevented him from doing anything with what had been entrusted to him.

I wonder how often fear shapes our own decisions.

Perhaps you’ve hesitated to offer your abilities because someone else seems more qualified. Maybe you’ve held back an act of generosity because you worry about having enough. Or perhaps you’ve felt a nudge to reach out to someone but feared saying the wrong thing.

Fear can convince us that keeping everything safe is the most responsible choice.

But Christian stewardship begins with a different understanding of our lives. As Psalm 24 reminds us, “The earth is the LORD’s and everything in it.” Our time, abilities, relationships, and resources are gifts from God, entrusted to our care.

And God’s gifts are meant to bear fruit.

That doesn’t mean every risk is wise or that every attempt will succeed. It means we can trust God’s grace enough to take a faithful next step.

On Sunday, we celebrated World Communion Sunday. Around the world, Christians gathered at Christ’s Table with open hands. We came not to prove what we had accomplished, but to receive what Christ freely gives.

That is where faithful stewardship begins: not with pressure to do more, but with gratitude for what we have already received.

So consider what God has placed in your hands. It may be an ability, a resource, an opportunity, or simply the capacity to offer someone kindness.

You don’t have to know exactly what will grow from it.

Sometimes faith means planting the seed, trusting God, and seeing what grows.

What is one gift God has placed in your hands that fear may be keeping you from using? What would it look like to take one small, faithful step this week?

Generous God, thank you for the gifts you have entrusted to me. Where fear has caused me to hold back, give me courage. Open my hands to receive your grace and share it with others. Help me plant what you have given me and trust you with what grows. Amen.

Inside my head, it is rarely quiet.

There always seems to be something rolling around in my brain—ideas, lists of things I need to do, things I need to remember, and, sometimes, things I’m worried about.

And when all of that gets quiet for a little while, there is usually music.

A song will get stuck in my head and play over and over again, sometimes for reasons I don’t completely understand. A few weeks ago it was Kermit the Frog singing Rainbow Connection.

More recently, another phrase has been playing in my mind:

“Make My Life an Alleluia.”

That is quite a prayer when you think about it.

Not simply, “Give me a song to sing.”

Not simply, “Give me something to believe.”

But make my life an alleluia.

Make the way I live, the way I love, the way I forgive, the way I serve, the way I treat my neighbor—make my whole life a song of praise to God.

Because an alleluia isn’t meant only to be something we sing in worship. It is meant to become something we live.

That gets to the heart of what it means to be the church.

Christ calls us to be a people centered on Jesus. A people shaped by grace. A people growing together in faith. A people who recognize that each of us has gifts to offer and a place in the body. A people learning to love and serve as the body of Christ.

Paul gives us that picture in Ephesians 4:15–16: a body growing together, each part doing its share, until the whole body is growing into Christ and building itself up in love.

And that raises an important question:

What is Christ forming us for?

We want meaningful worship, strong ministries, people using their gifts, children and youth growing in faith, and new people finding a place in Christian community.

Those things matter.

But they are not the destination.

Jesus never intended the church to exist simply for itself.

The church is formed by Christ because the church is sent by Christ.

And that brings us to a mountain in Galilee.

The tomb is empty. Jesus has been raised. The disciples have gone where Jesus told them to meet him.

These are people who followed Jesus and learned from Jesus. They also misunderstood Jesus. They failed Jesus. When everything fell apart, they ran away (Matthew 26:56).

And yet these are the people Jesus calls to the mountain.

Before Matthew brings his Gospel to an end, the risen Jesus tells them—and us—what comes next.

Matthew 28:16–20

Still Becoming Disciples

There is a remarkable detail in Matthew’s account of the disciples standing on that mountain:

“When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” (Matthew 28:17)

They worshiped.

And they doubted.

And Jesus sent them anyway.

Jesus doesn’t say, “Come back when you have everything figured out.” Jesus doesn’t wait until their faith is perfect, their questions are gone, and they finally understand everything he has been trying to teach them.

Jesus entrusts his mission to disciples who are still becoming disciples.

That sounds a lot like the church.

We worship, and sometimes we question.

We trust, and sometimes we struggle.

We follow Jesus, and sometimes we stumble.

Christ is still forming us. And these are the people Jesus sends into the world.

Not perfect disciples.

Disciples who are still learning to follow.

Come Follow Jesus With Us

So what exactly does Jesus send these disciples to do?

We usually call these words the Great Commission, and our attention often goes immediately to that first word: Go.

But the heart of Jesus’ command is make disciples.

Jesus does not say, “Go get more people.”

Jesus does not say, “Go fill some pews.”

Jesus says:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” (Matthew 28:19)

And Jesus tells us what that involves:

“Baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Matthew 28:19)

And:

“Teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:20)

Everything I have commanded you.

Matthew has spent an entire Gospel showing us what that looks like.

Love your enemies (Matthew 5:43–48).

Forgive (Matthew 6:14–15; 18:21–35).

Seek first God’s kingdom (Matthew 6:33).

Care for those others overlook (Matthew 25:31–40).

Reconcile with one another (Matthew 5:23–24; 18:15–20).

Serve rather than seek greatness (Matthew 20:25–28).

Love God and love your neighbor (Matthew 22:34–40).

Take up your cross and follow (Matthew 16:24–25).

So making disciples isn’t simply passing along information about Jesus.

It is helping people learn the way of Jesus.

That is much bigger than getting someone through the doors of a church.

Of course, churches want people to become part of their communities. We want congregations to grow. We want people to find places where they are known, loved, challenged, and supported in faith.

But getting someone into a pew is not the same thing as making a disciple.

A disciple is someone learning to follow Jesus.

And we don’t stand before the world as people who have Jesus figured out. We are still learning too.

Still learning to forgive.

Still learning to love.

Still learning to trust.

Still learning to serve.

So somewhere along the journey, we turn toward another person and say:

“Come follow Jesus with us.”

Not because we have all the answers.

Not because we’ve gotten everything right.

Come walk with us.

Learn with us.

Serve with us.

Grow with us.

Follow Jesus alongside us.

Because making disciples grows out of being disciples.

Make Our Life an Alleluia

And we don’t learn that life alone.

We learn it together.

“Make my life an alleluia” is a beautiful prayer.

But perhaps the church needs to change one word:

Make our life an alleluia.

Following Jesus is deeply personal, but it was never meant to be private.

Paul describes one body with many different people and many different gifts, growing together and building itself up in love (Ephesians 4:11–16; 1 Corinthians 12:12–27).

And that means people don’t only hear what Christians say about Jesus.

They see what following Jesus is doing among us.

They see how we treat one another.

They see whether there is room at the table.

They see how we respond when we disagree.

They see whether we notice the person who is hurting.

They see whether the grace we proclaim on Sunday becomes grace we practice on Monday.

Our life together says something about the Jesus we invite people to follow.

That doesn’t mean we have to be a perfect church.

Those people on the mountain certainly weren’t.

Neither are we.

But even while Christ is forming us, our life together can point beyond us to Christ.

When someone is welcomed, our life can say:

There is room for you.

When someone is hurting and discovers they don’t have to carry it alone, our life can say:

You are not alone.

When someone makes a mistake and encounters grace, our life can say:

Grace is real.

That is an alleluia the world can hear even when no one is singing.

I Am With You Always

To make our life an alleluia is a beautiful calling.

It is also a big one.

And we could hear all of this and think, “The church has a lot of work to do.”

We do.

But if that is all we hear, we have missed the final words of Jesus.

Jesus does not end with a command.

Jesus ends with a promise:

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

Those words take us all the way back to the beginning of Matthew.

Before Jesus was born, Matthew told us:

“They shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” (Matthew 1:23)

Matthew begins the Gospel with God with us.

Matthew ends the Gospel with I am with you.

And everything Jesus asks of his disciples stands between those two promises.

The future of the church does not finally depend upon how capable we are.

It doesn’t depend upon whether we have enough people, enough money, all the right programs, or all the answers.

The future of the church belongs to Jesus Christ.

The same Christ who calls us is with us.

The same Christ who forms us is with us.

The same Christ who sends us is with us.

We do not have to have the future figured out before we faithfully step into it.

We begin where we are.

We use the gifts God has already placed among us (Romans 12:4–8).

We love the people God has already placed around us (Matthew 22:37–40).

We keep learning to follow Jesus.

We invite others to follow Jesus alongside us.

And we trust the promise of the risen Christ:

“I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20)

We are sent. But we are never sent alone.

Through the Doors

Every worship service eventually ends.

A final hymn is sung. A blessing is given. People gather their things, get up from their seats, and walk through the doors.

But walking through those doors does not mean worship is over.

It means we are being sent.

Sent back to our homes, our work, our schools, our neighborhoods, our friends, and the people whose stories we have not yet heard.

We go as disciples still learning to follow Jesus.

We go carrying the grace we have received.

We go looking for opportunities to serve, listen, forgive, encourage, and love.

And along the way, we invite others to follow Jesus alongside us.

That is what Christ has been forming us for.

Not simply to come to church.

Not simply to keep a church going.

But to be the church—the body of Christ alive in the world (1 Corinthians 12:27).

So when we walk through the doors, our prayer continues:

Make my life an alleluia.

Make our life an alleluia.

May the life we share inside the church become good news beyond its walls.

May the grace we have received become grace we freely share.

And wherever Christ sends us, may we remember:

“I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20)

We have been formed. Now we are sent. And Christ goes with us.

What Peter and Cornelius can teach the church about grace, belonging, and learning to see one another differently.

Scripture: Isaiah 56:6–8; Acts 10:1–48

None of us shows every part of ourselves to everyone we meet.

There are parts of our lives we share easily. There are stories we tell only to people we trust. And there may be parts of ourselves we rarely talk about at all.

Sometimes that is simply healthy privacy. But sometimes experience has taught us to be careful about how much of ourselves we reveal.

We learn what people expect from us. We learn what seems acceptable and what might cause someone to see us differently. And somewhere beneath all of that can be a much deeper question:

If you really knew me, would you still receive me?

Would there still be room for me?

That question isn’t only about how other people see us. It can shape the way we see other people too.

Because just as others never see everything about us, we never see everything about them.

We see part of the story.

And sometimes we decide what the rest of the story must be.

Throughout the Christian life, we continue to discover what it means to be a people centered on Christ—a people shaped by grace, welcome, love, and growth. Following Jesus means continuing to allow Christ to shape us.

Acts 10 gives us a remarkable example.

Peter had followed Jesus from the beginning. He had heard Jesus teach. He had watched Jesus welcome people others overlooked. He had seen the risen Christ. He had received the Holy Spirit and become a leader in the early church.

And Peter was still learning.

Acts 10 brings Peter together with a man named Cornelius, a Roman centurion and a Gentile.

Cornelius is praying when he receives a vision telling him to send for Peter, so he sends messengers to find him (Acts 10:1–8).

But before those messengers arrive, Peter has a vision of his own (Acts 10:9–16).

By the time these two men meet, Peter will discover that God has been at work in ways he did not expect.

God Is Already at Work

One of the things that strikes me about this story is that God is already at work before Peter and Cornelius ever meet.

Cornelius is praying, giving generously to people in need, and seeking God (Acts 10:2).

And God is reaching toward him.

At the same time, God is at work in Peter.

While Cornelius is sending messengers to find him, Peter receives a vision that challenges some of the assumptions he has carried throughout his life.

Neither man can see the whole picture yet.

But God can.

Before Peter ever arrives at Cornelius’ house, God is already at work on both sides of the door.

In the Methodist tradition, we call this prevenient grace—the grace that goes before us. The church never goes anywhere that God has not already gone ahead of us.

We don’t carry God into someone else’s life as though God were absent until we arrived. We go with open eyes, paying attention for the signs of grace already at work.

Perhaps that should not surprise us.

Long before Peter and Cornelius met, Isaiah described God gathering people who might have wondered whether there could possibly be a place for them. God declares:

“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.”
—Isaiah 56:7

God’s vision was already larger than the boundaries people expected. And now, in Acts, Peter is about to discover just how large that vision really is.

Peter Has Something to Learn

Cornelius isn’t the only person in this story in whom God is at work.

God is changing Peter.

That is important, because Peter’s hesitation doesn’t come out of nowhere. He has been formed by religious practices that helped define what it meant to live faithfully as part of God’s people. There were foods he would not eat and boundaries he would not ordinarily cross.

Peter believed he understood where the boundaries were.

Then God gave him a vision.

Three times Peter sees something like a large sheet lowered from heaven, filled with animals he has been taught not to eat. He hears a voice telling him to kill and eat, and Peter resists (Acts 10:9–16).

Peter is trying to be faithful.

But God is showing him that faithfulness is going to require him to see something differently.

That becomes clear when Peter finally enters Cornelius’ home.

Peter says:

“God has shown me that I should not call anyone profane or unclean.”
—Acts 10:28

Notice those words:

“God has shown me.”

Peter doesn’t say, “I’ve decided to become a little more open-minded.”

He doesn’t say, “I’ve decided to make an exception for Cornelius.”

Something deeper is happening.

God is changing the way Peter sees another person.

And that is one of the more challenging parts of following Jesus.

We may like the idea that God is still working on us when we imagine God making us more patient, more loving, or more faithful.

But sometimes God’s work in us involves challenging something we were certain we already understood.

Sometimes following Jesus means discovering that God’s grace is larger than our understanding of God’s grace.

Peter had gone to Cornelius’ house thinking he knew where the boundaries were.

But when he arrived, he discovered that God had gotten there first.

Perhaps that is a next faithful step some of us are called to take.

Not deciding how somebody else needs to change.

But becoming open to the possibility that God may still be changing us.

When People Wonder Whether There Is Room for Them

This brings us back to the question we began with:

If you really knew me, would there still be room for me?

The good news of grace is that God already knows.

God knows our strengths and our wounds, our faith and our questions, the things we celebrate and the things we carry quietly.

And still, God moves toward us in love.

That doesn’t mean every part of our lives remains unchanged. Grace receives us, and grace continues to shape us.

But we do not have to become someone else before God will love us.

As Paul writes, “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

And if that is how God has received us, then it raises an important question about the kind of church we are becoming.

What would it mean for our churches to be places where people do not have to pretend in order to belong?

This doesn’t mean everyone has to tell everyone everything. Trust takes time, healthy boundaries matter, and some people have good reasons for being careful with their stories.

But the church can become a community worthy of greater trust.

A place where questions do not disqualify you.

Where struggles do not make you an outsider.

Where your past does not become the only thing people see when they look at you.

Where you do not have to become more like everyone else in the room before someone believes God might be at work in your life.

Peter entered Cornelius’ home and discovered that God was already there.

Perhaps part of having an open heart is learning to believe that about the people who enter our lives as well.

God may already be at work in them before we know their story.

Open Hearts Begin with Seeing Differently

When Peter begins to speak in Cornelius’ home, he says:

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality.”
—Acts 10:34

Peter is beginning to see differently.

And perhaps that is where an open-hearted church begins.

Being welcoming matters. But an open heart goes deeper than being friendly.

We can welcome someone into the room and still quietly expect them to become more like us before they really belong.

Peter discovers that he cannot simply make a little more room for Cornelius while holding on to all of his old assumptions. God is changing the way he sees Cornelius in the first place.

So perhaps the question isn’t only:

“How can we welcome more people?”

Perhaps it is:

“Whom is God inviting us to see differently?”

Who have we already decided probably wouldn’t be interested?

Whose story have we assumed we already understand?

And where might God already be at work beyond what we can see?

Following Jesus is gradually freeing us from both the need to prove that we belong and the temptation to decide who else belongs.

Peter entered Cornelius’ home and discovered that God’s grace was already there.

Then something happened that Peter and those who came with him could not ignore. While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon the Gentiles who were listening (Acts 10:44–46).

Peter did not bring the Spirit into the room.

God was already acting.

Peter’s task was to recognize what God was doing.

He responded:

“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?”
—Acts 10:47

An open-hearted church learns to live with that same expectation.

We look at the people God places before us and remain open to the possibility:

God may have something to show us here.

There Is Room

Long before Peter entered Cornelius’ home, Isaiah spoke of God’s promise:

“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.”
—Isaiah 56:7

Generations later, Peter walked through a doorway he once would not have crossed and said:

“God has shown me.” (Acts 10:28)

Maybe those words are worth carrying with us.

God has shown me that grace is already at work.

God has shown me that I do not always see the whole story.

God has shown me that the boundaries I expect are not always the boundaries of God’s grace.

And God is still showing us.

We began with a question:

If you really knew me, would there still be room for me?

The good news is that God already knows.

God sees beneath every layer. God knows the stories we tell and the stories we carry quietly. God knows our faith and our questions, our hopes and our wounds.

God sees us fully, and God loves us still.

That grace also invites us to examine our own hearts.

Where have our assumptions shaped the way we see another person?

Where have we decided that we already know someone’s story?

Where has fear made it difficult to make room for someone else?

And where might God be inviting us to cross a doorway we once would not have crossed?

The story of Peter and Cornelius reminds us that an open-hearted church is not simply a church that opens its doors.

It is a church whose people remain open to God.

Open to grace.

Open to growth.

Open to seeing our neighbors differently.

Open to discovering that God has been at work in places—and in people—we never expected.

Because sometimes we walk through the door believing we are bringing the welcome of God with us.

And then we discover:

God was already there.