After a year marked by prayer, strategic planning, and a necessary season of discernment, my wife and I, alongside our dedicated team, finally moved forward with what had once been only a dream: the launch of a new church community, The Gathering Place North Shore (GPNS).

It’s a bit challenging to really put into words the significance of this past year.  What began as a quiet stirring in our hearts grew into a clear call we couldn't ignore, so we shared it with the team.  The initial question, "What if we start a new church,” quickly turned into a journey of tested faith.

The journey to this moment was neither instant nor free of challenges; it was often characterized by deep uncertainty.  Yes, there were times when alignment felt effortless, when the providence of God opened doors and confirmation arrived in unmistakable ways.  But there were seasons when the counsel of doubt tested our resolve, quietly at first, then more acutely.  So we asked the hard questions: Are the resources sufficient for this undertaking?  Do we have enough time in our busy, demanding days to care for people and to nurture this?  Will the church sustain herself?  We wanted to be sure we counted the cost of what we were praying for.

Those questions—the “what ifs”—could have stalled our progress.  And honestly, at some points, they nearly did.  Even so, during this necessary scrutiny, a core truth anchored us: this was not a human undertaking alone; this stirring in our hearts was not something we placed there.  This was something God was doing.  God had been working in the city of Lynn and the surrounding neighborhoods way before we even began to dream.  He was already touching the hearts of people we would connect with to help us.  And if He was the one leading this charge, our primary duty was not to have every certainty, and every question answered, but to exercise faithful obedience in taking The Next Step.

Prayer became the foundation of every endeavor.  Not only routine devotional prayer, but desperate, honest, faith-filled conversations with Him, often together with the team. There were mornings when those prayers were full of confidence and clarity, and nights when all that remained were questions and silence.  But even in the silence, God was actively present.  Even when the full scope of the vision was not visible, He was already at work behind the scenes.

Planning necessarily followed prayer, but even our most robust strategies had to remain flexible. We mapped out structures, timelines, Excel sheets, and spiritual goals, only to realize that God often shifts the path at the precise, perfect moment. What we anticipated unfolding one way often manifested in a completely different way, and always with results way superior to our original expectations.  Because to Him be all the Glory!

Throughout this sacred process, a change occurred within the leadership and the emerging community.  We began to understand that this journey was more than launching a physical church; we were being refined in the process.  Our faith was stretched.  Our patience was disciplined.  Our dependence upon the Lord deepened greatly.  We learned what it meant to rely on Him not just in the significant, visible milestones but also in the small, hidden acts of ministry.

And then, after a year of preparation and dedication, the day arrived - Launch Day!  You can view the recap of that day here.

It was a moment imprinted in our collective memory.  What once existed only in our prayers and private meetings became reality.  People entered through the doors.  Worship filled the sanctuary.  Extra chairs needed to be put out.  Fellowship was shared afterward while eating whoopie pies and pumpkin cake (Thanks, Sister Hope).  There was a palpable energy, a sense of that holy expectation, and the tangible recognition that God was accomplishing something special.

Was the initial service executed without incident?  Yeah right!  In any major spiritual endeavor, minor logistical imperfections happen.  But these details faded into insignificance.  The reality was that the Holy Spirit filled that space with His presence and the people He brought together for His purpose. That day was defined by divine faithfulness—a faithful Next Step

Since that time, we have already witnessed the fruit of this ministry.  Lives are being impacted.  People are discovering genuine community.  Hope is being restored in ways that constantly reaffirm why we first responded to the call.  People are asking to be baptized and wanting to join small groups.  There is immense power in watching God move in real time, observing prayers answered not abstractly, but through tangible, life-altering actions. We are living in answered prayers.

Faith is not predicated on having every detail pre-determined.  It is, though, in taking The Next Step of obedience, even when the full mission and vision are unseen. It is, though, in choosing spiritual calling over personal convenience, and trust over the temptation of fear.

Looking back, it is humbling to see how far we have come.  What began as a simple question, "What if we start a new church," has been shaped into a living, breathing community.  What once felt uncertain now stands as a testimony of God’s faithfulness.

Lord knows we have ways to go.  But along the way, we've learned some things.  If you find yourself in a season of waiting, questioning, or wrestling with your own mission, do not lose heart.  The preparation process may feel long and grueling, and the questions may seem overwhelming.  But God is actively working, even when you cannot perceive it.  Every prayer, every step of faith, every moment of obedience—all of it holds eternal significance.

In time, you will look back and recognize how every piece was brought together.  You will realize that what felt uncertain was actually intentional.  That what felt delayed was, in reality, preparation.  And that what felt impossible was simply awaiting the perfect timing of the Lord.

A year on, a church was launched, and a community is forming.  We believe that the best of this ministry still lies ahead.  Because this story is a chronicle of what God is continuing to do.  And we eagerly anticipate witnessing The Next Step.

When people ask me what I do for a living, I often pause to reflect before answering because I do many things that bring me joy.  But I usually start by saying, "I'm a Bishop that's starting a church, The Gathering Place North Shore (GPNS) in Lynn," and also mention, "I'm the Community manager for Lynn's newly launched Unarmed Response Team, Calm."

At first glance, these two roles might seem to exist in entirely different spheres.  However, these two roles are deeply intertwined for me.  Lynn, a vibrant city of ~100,000 residents, is a community where nearly one in five households live below the poverty line, almost a third of families speak Spanish at home, and affordable housing and trust in institutions are often fragile.  It is in this context that my work in church planting and unarmed response is complementary and fundamentally aligned.

Both of these roles, I believe, focus on one profound question:  How can we, as a community, nurture and maintain peace so that we can live with awareness, compassion, and surrender amidst life's imperfections?

My role as a Bishop who's starting a church involves nurturing a spiritual community that offers solace, connection, and a sense of belonging.  The GPNS aims to provide a vital counter-narrative to the isolation and despair that often accompany systemic challenges.  The vision of this church is to make Christ known in our city, make disciples, and champion biblical justice while building a diverse, culturally responsive body rooted in the historic faith of the Church.  I wrote more about why Lynn needs this type of church here.

At the same time, my work with Lynn's Calm team centers on de-escalating conflicts, promoting understanding, and building bridges across the city.  By doing so, it provides a concrete way to address situations that might otherwise turn into violence or distrust.  These two efforts work together to create a more resilient, compassionate, and peaceful city.

Traditionally, bi-vocational ministry meant that pastors had a "day job" and did church work on the side.  However, recently, global leaders have discussed Co-vocational Ministry, where work and ministry are integrated rather than separated.

Living in Lynn, co-vocational ministry comes naturally.  Churches here can't afford to ignore the city's struggles.  A pastor might also be a teacher, a principal like my wife, a social worker, an entrepreneur, or, in my case, a Community Manager for an unarmed response team.

Starting a church in Lynn requires careful intention.  Every decision matters:  How we address poverty in our prayers, how we develop leaders who represent the city's racial and cultural diversity, and how we discuss the current state of our country, among other things.

The Calm team emphasizes that same intentionality.  I don't enter neighbor disputes by accident.  I prepare.  I train.  I choose to listen first and speak second, and I de-escalate rather than dominate.  In a city where public safety and residents sometimes struggle to trust one another, showing up with compassion and self-restraint is revolutionary.

Leading the Calm Team is more than just civic duty.  For me, it has become a spiritual practice.  When I walk into a sometimes volatile situation unarmed, I bring presence, patience, compassion, and prayer.  I am reminded that Jesus Himself came unarmed.  He had no sword, no force, only love strong enough to face problems without perpetuating them or making them worse.

The Send Network, a church planting network that supports church planters, explains that co-vocational church planting is about "reshaping vocation so that secular and sacred callings serve God's mission together." ¹ And Northern Seminary calls co-vocational ministry "the future of sustainable church planting." ² I integrate both the secular and the sacred as best as I can.  What you see on Sunday, you also see Monday - Saturday.  In other words, I don't juggle two separate professions and change who I am based on where I'm working.  Instead, I view myself as having one primary calling that manifests in two different areas.  They are so connected that leaving one wouldn't feel like a genuine departure, because my life is deeply intertwined with both.

Starting something new always sounds exciting until it actually happens.  The first rollout usually reveals one unavoidable truth:  Something will go wrong.  This feels especially true for me because, along with my team, I'm building both The GPNS and The Calm team at the same time.

The truth is, anything worth building requires some troubleshooting.  The first few months of any new program or venture often resemble a line graph that has its share of peaks and valleys.  The vision might be clear, and the heart might be in the right place, but systems take time to breathe, adjust, and find their rhythm.  Anyone who's been part of a new project understands what I mean.  Plans seem perfect on paper—then the printer jams: Volunteers fall ill, the website malfunctions, funding falls through, and key people leave; things go wrong.

When a community is growing or building something new, we need patience from each other.  We need the kind of grace that says, "I see what you're trying to do, and I'm still with you - even if it's not perfect yet."  Because with every new thing, there are people:  people learning, testing, adjusting, and sometimes people failing their way into faithfulness.

Every successful ministry or community effort begins with what is available, not what is ideal.  But like the five loaves of bread and two red snappers, God has a way of multiplying what seems small when people bring it with sincere hearts.

So, when you visit The GPNS and don't see the fancy upgrades, or the children's or youth ministry, or when The Calm Team doesn't respond quickly enough, the phones are busy, or maybe we didn't resolve the reason for your call the way you wanted.  Remember, programs start simple before they scale.  Know this:  We are being careful stewards.  We want to build sustainably and not recklessly.  We're investing thoughtfully in resources that will have a long-term impact.  This means we have to start with version 1.0 before reaching the polished 2.0; some things will require 2.1 and 2.2.  As a result, progress may take longer than we'd like.

This also means that your patience and support are more critical than ever.

Troubleshooting, funding, and growing all take time.  Over time, we discover who we are as a community.  We learn to encourage rather than to critique harshly, and to pray for the vision rather than demand perfection.  In scripture, Paul, a man who was by far an outstanding entrepreneurial leader, thanks the church in Philippi for their partnership in the Gospel, not just for their applause, but for their tangible support.  See, the church in Philippi gave, prayed, and they believed in the vision, even when it wasn't flashy or complete.  

For both of these initiatives, that's the kind of community we're building, a community that understands that progress takes time and that patience is part of success.  

As we launch new initiatives, whether churches, ministries, outreach programs, or dreams that are just beginning to take shape, we are thankful for your patience, prayers, partnership, and valuable feedback.  We commit to addressing challenges wisely and stewarding resources responsibly, while maintaining our focus on excellence throughout the process.  Because in the end, grace is the true foundation, and as long as we stay grounded in it, everything will come together - one faithful adjustment at a time.

When we gather for worship at The GPNS on the first and second Sunday of the month, until our official launch on Easter Sunday 2026, we reaffirm our shared purpose and dedication to action.  During these times, we are united by the divine calling to serve.  These gatherings are intentional; they direct our every step, ensuring our efforts are meaningful and well-focused.  Ultimately, it is a service that roots us deeply, connects us to the needs of our community, and grounds our faith in tangible acts of love and compassion.

Consider the dynamic relationship between planting a new church and the demanding, often risky task of leading an unarmed response team in the heart of Lynn.  At first glance, these may seem like separate, even competing callings:  One focused on spiritual growth within sacred walls, the other on intervention in the city's streets.  Yet, I see them not as conflicting efforts, but as deeply connected expressions of the same overall mission.  They serve as potent reminders that the Gospel's powerful and transformative nature isn't limited to the sacred space of the sanctuary.  It is strong enough to encompass both the quiet dignity of a worship service and the urgent, often chaotic realities of our city's streets.  The Gospel calls us to act holistically by nurturing souls and ministering to bodies.  The Gospel calls us to build spiritual communities and create safer neighborhoods.  In Lynn, these paths are not separate but woven together in God's redemptive work.

1. North American Mission Board, “Co-Vocational Church Planting: Rethinking Vocation.”NAMB.net

2. Northern Seminary, “Post-Pandemic Church Planting Initiative.” seminary.edu

Today, we have a contributor to my blog.  Danny is a dedicated member of our church community, where he faithfully serves in all aspects of media.  If you've been following us on Instagram or Facebook, you can see his passion.  His profound love for sacramental theology complements his technical expertise.  I'm so honored to share his piece on my blog.
You can find Danny on Instagram or Facebook.

I still remember the first time I held the small piece of bread and the tiny cup of juice in my hands. The sanctuary was quiet, the air heavy with reverence. I was young in my faith, unsure of what to feel, although it was something we did every year, I knew this moment mattered. It was not just a ritual; it was a reminder, a proclamation, and a mystery all at once.

As a Pentecostal, growing up, the word eucharist did not exist in our paradigm—it was often called the Lord’s Supper or “la santa cena” and it was all about remembering. “Do this in remembrance of me,” Jesus said (Luke 22:19). And so, we remember: His body broken, His blood poured out, His love given freely. A SYMBOL of his sacrifice. But over the years, while diving deep into church history, learning how deep and profound it was to the early Christians, I have come to see that it is more than a memory. More than an ordinance. More than a symbol, it is nourishment. It is grace. It is a sacrament.

Different traditions within Protestantism understand the Eucharist differently. Some emphasize it as a symbolic act, a way of recalling Christ’s sacrifice. There are also those who limit Christ words “this is my body” “this is my blood” to a simple metaphor and nothing more like when Jesus said “I am the door” (john 10:9) or “I am the vine” (john 15:5) Others, like the Reformed tradition, speak of Christ’s real spiritual presence—He is not physically in the bread and cup, but He is truly present with His people as we partake.

For me, the Eucharist or the Lord’s supper is more than a symbol and has become a place where heaven and earth meet. When Christ said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” he wasn’t simply talking about a memorial. The Greek word for Remembrance is anamnesis; this word not only means to recall something mentally, but it also means that we are bringing it into the present time. So, what does that mean exactly? There is a part in the liturgy of the eucharist when the bishop or priest extends their hands over the elements (the bread and the wine), asking God to sanctify them and make Christ truly present in the elements by the power of the holy spirit. With this action, God brings heaven on earth. The elements are no longer just bread and wine, but they become the body and blood of Jesus Christ. “This is my body,” “this is my blood” becomes a literal fact instead of a metaphor. We do not know how it happens, but it does! It is a mystery! It is not just about looking back to the cross, but also about experiencing Christ’s presence here and now. In seasons of doubt, when prayers feel dry and God seems silent, the bread and cup remind me that His grace does not depend on my feelings. He is with me, even when I cannot sense Him.

It is not a private act. It is a shared meal. When I take the bread and cup, I do so alongside brothers and sisters who are as broken and needy as I am. We come from diverse backgrounds, with different struggles, but at the table, we are one body.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 10:17, “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread.” The Eucharist humbles me. It reminds me that faith is not an individual achievement but a shared journey.

Finally, the Eucharist points forward. Every time I eat the bread and drink the cup, I proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes (1 Corinthians 11:26). It is a rehearsal for the great banquet of the Lamb when every tear will be wiped away and every hunger satisfied.

In that sense, the Eucharist is both sobering and hopeful. It anchors me in the reality of Christ’s sacrifice, but it also lifts my eyes to the promise of His return.

For me, the Eucharist is not just bread and cup, not just memory and symbol—it is encounter. It is the place where Christ meets me in my weakness, where His grace breaks into my ordinary life, and where I am reminded that I belong to something far greater than myself. At the table, heaven touches earth. At the table, strangers become family. At the table, the crucified and risen Lord nourishes His people with His very life.
Every time I come forward with empty hands, I am reminded that this is how we all come to Christ—empty, needy, dependent. And every time, He fills me again with His presence, His mercy, His promise. The Eucharist is not about what I bring, but about what He gives.

It's that time of year when the Christian community finds itself divided once more, as if it weren't already divided enough, over the debate surrounding Halloween.  On one side, voices declare Halloween to be inherently evil and a day dedicated to the devil, and should be a day to be avoided entirely by Christians.  Any participation is an endorsement of warlocks, witches, and pagan practices.  On the other side, a more lenient perspective suggests that Halloween is merely an innocent occasion for dressing up, enjoying festivities, and harmless fun.  Two opposites within the Christian world, each deeply held and passionately defended.  Given that this discussion occurs every year, I have decided to dedicate a blog post to the subject to share my thoughts and position on the matter.  This way, I also hope to prevent the annual inquiries about my stance on the Halloween debate.  

I was raised in a fundamental Christian church and was instructed that Halloween was an embodiment of evil.  Annually, in October, the directive was clear: "Have no part in the unfruitful works of darkness."  While my peers wore costumes as superheroes or princesses, I at least hoped to attend "Harvest Night" events, "Trunk or Treats" events, or even participate in Bible Trivia nights.  However, my Church was so staunch against Halloween that even trying to change the names was not an option; the foundation of these alternatives was still celebrating Halloween.

As a child, I accepted this without question.  It was simply what we did, or, more accurately, what we abstained from doing.  Halloween was strictly forbidden, deemed malevolent, pagan, and demonic.

As I matured, my faith developed, and I began to ask more profound questions, not out of rebellion, but rather in pursuit of understanding.  Why did we harbor such intense apprehension concerning this particular day?  Was it truly honoring darkness, or had fear of Halloween become an object of unconscious understanding?  In my capacity as Bishop and spiritual leader of God's people, I continue to refrain from celebrating Halloween.  Yet, my reasons differ from those I was taught during my childhood.  I do not avoid it due to concerns about witches, demons, or any curse.  And I certainly don't believe that those participating safely are bringing home hexes and evils.  

My non-participation stems from a refusal to engage in a season that glorifies fear.  
And fear, I affirm, is not a divine origin.

I was always a person who enjoyed scary movies, and the adrenaline rush from the scary jumps was thrilling.  Several years ago,  I wanted to go on a date night with my wife to watch one of these scary movies. Now, I can't remember which one it was, but what I do remember is what my wife told me.  I remember it clearly because it left a lasting impression on me.  "The Bible says that God doesn't give us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and a sound mind.  I refuse to willingly invite into my life a spirit that God has not given me."  She was referring to what Paul told Timothy in his second letter to him. I sat with that comment for a while and agreed with it.  Every time I went to watch a scary movie, I got anxious. Random sounds scared me, and often, I would have nightmares about those movies, which would disrupt my peace.  And those feelings would stay with me for quite some time.  She was on to something, something I had never considered.
 
I don't remember the last time I watched a scary movie.

That verse that she quoted, 2 Timothy 1:7, wasn't seasonal.  It's a spiritual truth that applies to every day of our lives.  God has called us, His people, to live anchored in love, steadied by prayer, and guided by a sound mind.  Fear, in contrast, distorts all three.  It clouds out judgment, cripples courage, and distorts perception.  

And if we look around during October, fear is everywhere.

Haunted houses, horror films, and costumes that celebrate death, the culture around Halloween feeds on fear.  Halloween markets fear, it decorates it, and sells it at every department store.  Fear around this time becomes a form of entertainment, a commodity to consume.  The entertainment industry thrives on fear: every October, new horror films premiere.  People pay to be scared.  What concerns me is the industry's creativity.  It's conditioning our culture.  We are becoming comfortable with fear.

And as believers, we have to ask ourselves, "What happens when we normalize what Jesus came to conquer?"

Scripture never treats fear as a toy.  Fear is not cute, nor is it harmless.  In fact, the Bible warns us repeatedly not to fear.  Why, because fear competes for the same space that faith is supposed to occupy.  When we let fear take root in our hearts and minds, it begins to shape how we see the world and ourselves.  It whispers lies about who we are, who God is, and what He's capable of doing.  And the moment we give in, fear starts to define our reality.  Fear lost its authority when Jesus emerged from the tomb.  So why hand fear the microphone again?

This is why I choose not to celebrate Halloween.  NOT because I believe the day itself holds power, and people are sacrificing bunnies and warlocks and witches are praying for little ones dressed in costumes to be possessed and hexed.  No, C'mon - God is greater than that.  And if you think that Halloween is the one day when God's power and grace are weakened, you and I serve a different God.  
"I just refuse to willingly invite into my life a spirit that God has not given me."

And I know some might say, "It's just fun.  It's harmless."  And for many, that's true.  Dressing your kid as a firefighter or princess isn't a sin.  You will find no verse in the Bible that says "Thou shalt not trick-or-treat."  

Let me be clear, I'm not writing this to shame or condemn anyone who celebrates Halloween.  I have seen faithful Christians celebrate Halloween.  There are people that I pastor who celebrate Halloween.  Some use this season as an opportunity to engage their neighbors, love their community, and even share the Gospel in creative ways.  So NO - I don't believe every believer who participates in Halloween is sinning.

Paul, the same guy who wrote that letter to Timothy, wrote another letter to the church in Rome and said, "One person considers one day more sacred than another, another considers every day alike.  Each of them should be fully convinced in their own mind.  Whoever regards one day as special does so to the Lord."

For some, celebrating Halloween is a cultural experience, for others, it is about community and creativity, and for some, as it is for me, it's just about candy. For others, it's spiritual, and a line they'd rather not cross.  Both can be true, as long as the heart remains aligned with God's truth.  
So, if a Christian family chooses to participate in Halloween with a heart to bless others and not glorify fear, then may the Lord bless that.  And if another family decides to abstain, may the Lord bless that, too.

At the end of the day, Halloween is just one night, but fear is an everyday reality for many people.  Anxiety, uncertainty, and loneliness - all of these take on different forms throughout the year.  That's why this conversation matters, not because of pumpkins or candy corn (which, by the way, please don't give to kids that come to your door - those are nasty), but because of what it could reveal in our hearts.  Fear lurks around many corners of our lives: fear of failure, rejection, and the unknown.  However, the good news is that fear doesn't have the final word; Jesus does.  And His word over your life is peace.  

So yes, I still don't celebrate Halloween.  But my reasons are different now.  Not because I'm afraid of the dark, or because I believe there's a demon behind every door, but because I believe that the power of perfect love casts out all fear.  In choosing to not celebrate, I also choose to not condemn anyone else's choice.  If you celebrate, do it with purpose.  If you don't, do it with grace.

Every so often, I stop in the middle of a Sunday gathering and take it all in: the sound of voices singing, the quiet hum of prayer, the sense of something larger than ourselves unfolding before our eyes.  It's in those moments that I'm reminded that Jesus is, in fact, building His church.  Not brick by brick, but heart by heart.

That feeling came rushing back to me recently at our 4th interest meeting.  You can view the recap here.  We gathered at the newly renovated Demakes YMCA rooftop in Lynn, unsure of what to expect.  Would people show up?  Would the vision and mission resonate?  Would this even feel like the beginning of a church family?  By the time we closed in prayer, I had my answer.  The place was filled with eager attendees, palpable excitement, spiritual hunger, and a deep, undeniable sense that our beloved city of Lynn is genuinely ready for something new—a fresh outpouring of God's grace and a vibrant community ready to experience it.

As people shared their stories, I was struck by the profound longing that exists in this city, longing for community, healing, and a place where people can grow in faith and discover their purpose.  Some spoke of praying for a church like this - one that is diverse, open to grappling with hard questions, rooted in Scripture, and welcoming.  Others said they weren't sure why they came, only that they felt drawn.  By the end, it was clear: God is already stirring hearts.  He is already writing a story here, and we're being invited into it.  

I left that meeting in awe of God's faithfulness.  We are stepping into a work that God has already been doing.  

It's been a few days since that meeting, and I've been reflecting on the journey so far.  When my wife and I followed God's call to start a church, we knew it would require faith, prayer, and a strong sense of community.  We also knew it would take time.  Planting a church is never simple, but the joy comes in moments like these - when we can see lives being changed, people stepping into their callings, and a family of believers beginning to take shape.

One of the most beautiful parts of this journey has been the diversity that God has brought together.  At every gathering - whether an interest meeting or a Sunday service - I see people of different ages, backgrounds, and even different Christian traditions.  Some are brand-new to the faith.  Some are returning after a long time away, after being hurt.  Some have been walking with Jesus for years.  Together, we are discovering what it means to follow Him in this city, side by side.

This interest meeting reminded us of the hunger and the need that already exists.  Now, we're building on that momentum through our preview services, held on the 1st and 2nd Sundays of every month at 1:00 p.m. at 233 Eastern Ave in Lynn.  We are meeting at the 1st Church of the Nazarene.  These preview services are moments of worship, prayer, and community that offer people a glimpse of what God is doing as we move toward our official launch on Easter Sunday, 2026.  

What's amazing is that every time someone walks into a preview service, I see the same thing I saw at our Interest Meeting: Openness, Curiosity, and a desire to belong.  And every time, I'm reminded that Jesus is faithful to His promise: "I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it" (Matthew 16:18)

Some may wonder, "Why start another church?"  The answer is simple:  Because the need is real.  Our city is full of people who don't yet know the love of Jesus, feel like they don't fit in anywhere, or have been hurt by others in the church in the past (I wrote a little more about that here).  A new church creates a fresh space for people to encounter God, maybe for the very first time.  A new church creates an invitation to experience grace anew, to heal old wounds, and to discover a community where they can belong.  It's an opportunity to re-imagine what faith can be.  

And the more I immerse myself in this journey - listening intently to eager voices that filled our interest meeting, engaging deeply with those who now joyfully join us on Sundays for worship and fellowship - the more I am profoundly convinced with unwavering certainty that this endeavor is far more than just a well-intentioned human initiative.  This is far more than a good idea born from strategic planning or a passionate desire alone.  No, this is unmistakably God's idea, and He is calling us to participate in something truly extraordinary that He is building in the heart of Lynn.

There is a sermon series we put together a few months ago titled "Whatever happens...Jesus". In it, we discover that Jesus is always present, faithful, and worthy of our trust in every chapter of our lives.  

Church planting comes with challenges.  Living in this city also presents its own challenges.  But Jesus is steady.  "He is the vine, and we are the branches" (John 15:5). As long as we remain in Him, He will remain faithful.  That's what we saw in the interest meeting.  That's what we see at every preview service.  And that's what gives me confidence that God is building this church.

If you're reading this, I want you to know:  There is a place for you here.  Whether you're deeply rooted in faith, cautiously returning, or simply curious - You belong.  

Our preview services take place on the 1st and 2nd Sundays of every month at 1:00 PM, and we would love for you to join us.  You'll be attending a worship service, but you'll also be part of something that God is building from the ground up.  You'll get to experience firsthand the joy of community, the power of worship, and the hope we find in Jesus.

So consider this your invitation.  See for yourself what God is doing in this new church.  Bring your questions, your hopes, your fears.  And together, let's keep looking to Jesus - the faithful one, the one who is building, the one who promises to be with us forever.

I stared at this AI picture of me hugging five-year-old Javier for a long time.  There's something strange about seeing the child you once were frozen in time, and then standing next to him as the adult you've become.  You start asking questions:  What would I tell him, what would he think of me, and how did we get from there to here?  
That reflection sent me down a rabbit hole to another tunnel.  When I was a kid, I only ever saw my mom and dad as Ma and Pa.  Full Stop!  They weren't people with ambitions, fears or private dreams; they were parental fixtures.  Like the dining room table, they were there, stable, dependable, and, if I'm being honest, occasionally annoying.  Their jobs were to make sure I ate, that I didn't destroy the living room, that I did my home work, and that my shoes matched.  I rarely stopped to consider that they had interior worlds, longings, disappointment, hobbies, and burdens that existed apart from me.  Now as a parent, the curtain has been pulled back.  And Yooooo, let me tell you:  It's a heavy curtain.

It's a disorienting experience when you realize that your children see you as you once saw your own parents.  They don't perceive my daily struggles, The financial worries, the unfinished projects, the hope of going back to school.  To them, I'm simply Papi: The one who makes the farina, forgets stuff, lends money, and seemingly has everything under control.  The reality, however, is that some mornings I'm still figuring out how to be a good husband, father, and a decent human being all before 11:00AM.
This gap between how children perceive their parents and the reality of parental improvisation is both hilarious and sacred.  
Kids believe that you're invincible; Parents know they're winging it.

Now, as as adult, my relationship with my parents has shifted.  We've moved from the land of "Did you clean your room?" To "Viejos, How are you really doing?" We're in a new season where I can ask about their dreams, the sacrifices they made, the fears that they carried silently while making it all look so effortless.  
I hear my mom recount the emotional journey of leaving her family in the small town of Jutiapa in the southern part of Guatemala to go to the Capital City and embark on a new and uncertain chapter.  And then after more than a decade there, pick up the life she and dad built to head over to yet another foreign land here in the States.  I hear my dad talk about opportunities he didn't seize, paths he chose not to take, and lingering thoughts of things he sometimes wishes he had done differently.  Those moments of vulnerability are illuminating and their stories paint a vivid picture of courage and resilience.  And I realize:  Ma and Pa weren't superheroes my childhood imagination had crafted.  They were, and are human beings - complex, flawed, and yet possessing an extraordinary courage that allowed them to confront uncertainties with unwavering resolve.  Their strength wasn't in their lack of fear, but in their ability to act despite that fear.
 
AND THAT, IS WHAT MADE THEM HEROIC!

Gracias, Viejos for those often unseen acts of selflessness that paved the way for my own opportunities.

Behind every Mom stands a woman with an intricate tapestry of untold stories.  A woman who existed long before she became a mother.  A woman who was filled with her own dreams, her own struggles, her triumphs, and heartbreaks.  She faced unique challenges, hid private aspirations, and navigated a world that shaped her into the person she is now, far beyond the confines of her maternal role.

Behind every Dad stands a man who was once a five-year-old version of himself brimming with an innocent wonder at the world, and also grappling with the tender insecurities that define childhood.  He, too, has walked a complex path, experiencing failures and successes, love and loss, ALL of which contribute to the intricate layers of his identity before he ever held the title of "Dad."

Mom and Dad are vital roles, serving to anchor in our development, but they are merely facets of a much larger, more complex person.  And to truly understand and appreciate our parents, we must look beyond those roles.  Only then can we begin to grasp the full measure of their lives, and the profound impact they have had, not just as parents, but as individuals navigating their own multifaceted journeys.

I look at my own kids now and I know the cycle will repeat.  Right now I'm lucky if I get "Papi" - It's usually more like Bruh to them.  They're not wondering about my late-night prayers, the times I wrestle with my calling, or the profound weight I feel in leading our home as Christ has called me to.  Those are the quiet battles I fight, the unseen burdens I carry.  For them, in their world, the biggest question of the moment is simply whether we're going out for dinner after church.  It's a question born of simple desires and immediate gratification, a beautiful contrast to the complex landscape I navigate daily.
AND THAT'S OK.  THAT'S OK, JAVIER

They don't need to know the full script right now, the plot twists, or the deeper meaning behind every scene.  What they need is the unwavering security of believing that Bruh got it under control, a steady hand that's guiding their world.  The same way I needed that comforting assurance from my viejos when I was their age.

But there will come a day when the questions shift, when their understanding of the world expands, and their curiosity dives deeper than the immediate and the tangible.  A day when my children will no longer be content with simple answers, and begin to ask about my fears, the very anxieties that keep me up at night.  They will ask about my dreams,  and the aspirations that fuel my spirit.  They'll ask about my regrets, and choices I wish I could have made differently.  

And my deepest hope, my most fervent prayer is that by then I would have lived a life that was authentic, with integrity and with unwavering faith.  That they don't just see me as their father, the one who provided and protected.  My hope is that they see me as a fellow traveler on this journey we call life, a human being who, like them grappled with doubts and celebrated triumphs, and who, through it all, trusted God implicitly.  

That AI picture of little me hugging grown up me; maybe that's what family really is.  A lifelong hug across generations.  My parents carried me through seasons when I couldn't see their humanity.  Now, I have the privilege of carrying them, not as idealized figures, but as real people whose stories continue to shape mine.
And one day, my children will carry me in the same way.
Until then, I'll keep making farina, fumbling through fatherhood and forgetting my keys and wallet.  I'll remind myself that just as I whispered to five-year-old Javier, God whispers to me now: It's all going to be okay.  You are going to be brave, you are going to be strong, and you are going to figure it out.

Because the truth is, none of us ever really stop being that five-year-old kid!  We just grow into new titles.

Let's say that out loud together, I promise it will make you feel better - Ready? "I Don't Always Trust Church People . . . . . And That's OK.
You're not crazy.  You're not bitter.  You're not a heathen, and it doesn't make you rebellious or a bad Christian.  You're human, and maybe, just maybe, your soul has experienced something sacred being handled the wrong way.  Your soul, my friend, is probably paying more attention than you think.  Because here's the truth:  Church people can be beautiful, compassionate, generous and kind.  But also very judgmental and cruel.  Hypocritical at times, and loud with opinions.  

The Church is supposed to be the place where the broken come to be healed - but for many of us, church has been a place where the broken get bruised even more.  I lived that story growing up.  Let me let you into a little bit of my spiritual journey.

I grew up in a church where rules were EVERYTHING!  But not the kind of rules that help form character - but the kind of rules that made you feel like God was a micromanager just waiting for you to slip up so he can fire you.  

I was told that I couldn't visit other churches unless they were the same denomination as mine.  Why?  Because the men over there faded their hair and grew beards.  Apparently, that was an outward sign of spiritual decay.  And let's not get started on the women from those churches.  They wore pants, dyed their hair and wore make-up.  That was enough to be labeled "worldly," and if you were caught associating with them, your loyalty to God was in question.

I recall one time I wore ripped jeans out in public.  Ripped.  Jeans.  Somebody saw me, reported me, and my pastor called me in to tell me that I was "going astray" and "fell from grace."  Bruh.  I got sat down - just like that.  No conversation.  Just judgment disguised as "correction."

If the person that snitched on me is reading this and reaches out to me.......

Ultimately, the message I heard was clear:  How you look is more important than how you love.  

If you've ever walked away from church because of people, I honestly don't blame you.  Some of the things that get done in the name of God have absolutely NOTHING to do with His heart.  

Jesus had real love for people - but when it came to the Pharisees (the ultra-religious rule-keepers), He didn't hold back.  He called them out for missing the point, for turning holiness into performance, for creating a culture of fear rather than one of freedom.  

And maybe that's what's happened to you. You've experienced Religiosity but not Religion.  

Religiosity is performance - driven, and often obsessed with outward appearance rather than inward transformation.  When speaking about religiosity Jesus said in Matthew 15:8 "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me."  If I could put it in a one liner; Religiosity is like a spiritual hustle culture, where you work hard to appear holy but end up empty inside.

Religion though, is about loving God and loving people in a way that reflects God's heart. It's not about proving yourself - It's about being who God created you to be, transformed by His love.  James 1:27 puts it plainly:  "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this:  to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

Religion is rooted in love and justice.  Marked by transformation and a real reflection of Jesus who was known for being with the broken, loving the outcasts, and offering grace.

Religiosity looks holy but lacks love.  

Religion loves well and lets holiness flow from that love.

It was not the Church that hurt you, It was the people in the church that hurt you.  Often times when we say "I have Church hurt," what we mean is that "People who were supposed to represent Christ in the Church, misrepresented Him to me."  There is great truth in that distinction.  The Church, as God designed her to be was a place of healing, a place where people would be nurtured and cared for.  

St. Cyprian of Carthage is famously known to have said "You can't have God as your Father, without the Church as your Mother."  St. Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage lived during the 2nd century when Christianity was still being shaped, and the Church was under heavy Roman persecution.  For these early Christians, the Church wasn't a building or an institution.  She was a living, breathing family of God.  

Just like a mother nourishes, teaches, and protects her children, The Church is meant to feed believers through scripture, community, worship and the Holy Sacraments.  

But not all mothers are loving and kind.  What happens when the mother fails?  That's a valid question.
 
All in all, the early church leaders knew that the Church was made up of broken people, but they still believed in her divine calling because the Church is Jesus' body, not just a project that man invented.  Cyprian and other fathers of the church weren't saying that we ought to endure in silence.  He was saying that we can't grow in everything that God intended us to grow in, without being connected to the community He created to nurture us in.  

It wasn't the Church that gossiped about you.  It was people in the Church.
It wasn't the Church that weaponized scripture and withheld grace.  It was people in the Church.
It wasn't the Church that sat me down with no explanation and no grace for wearing the ripped jeans.  It was people in the Church.

It was people in the Church that hurt.  
It was people in the Church who misunderstood grace.
It was people in the Church who confused control with holiness.

Think of it this way - You were hurt in the Church, but not by the Church.

You haven't completely given up.  There might still be some curiosity, and maybe a flicker of hope left in you.  
Don't ignore that flicker. . .That's a holy thing.  

My advice? You don't have to pretend that everything is fine.  You don't even have to rush back to church.  Shoot, you don't even have to start trusting church people right away.  But maybe, just maybe, you can start trusting Jesus again.  My wife, Pastor K, preached this past Sunday on doubts that we might have of Jesus - You can watch that sermon here. One of her points was that Jesus isn't afraid of your doubts, and He's definitely not disappointed in your questions.

You are loved.  You are valued.  You are Welcomed.

The late Eugene Peterson translated John 1:14 as, “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” That imagery is striking - Jesus, the Son of God, leaving His heavenly majesty to live among humanity, embedded Himself in the struggle, the pain, and the everyday lives of the people He came to redeem.  If Jesus did this, what does it mean for us to follow His example in today’s world?

I first read the book Encounter God In The City, by Randy White in Grad school.  I recently picked it up again as I considered how best I can serve my community during these tough times we are living in the States, in particular, the city of Lynn, where I work and reside.  White challenges readers to consider what it means to truly live out the Gospel in the places where people experience struggle, arguing that transformation - both personal and communal - does not happen at a distance. He notes that “we will not be able to commit ourselves to the transformation of the city if we have not experienced some of its pain.” ¹ Transformation can only truthfully happen when we engage deeply, enter into spaces of pain, and when we commit to understanding the lives of those who are marginalized.

But what does this mean for us today, especially in a political climate marked by mass deportations, increased hostility toward immigrants, and the widening gap between the privileged and the vulnerable?  How do we, as people of faith, become better neighbors to those who are struggling?

I was two years old when I immigrated to the United States from Guatemala City, in Central America.  My education was entirely obtained here, therefore I quickly learned English and assimilated into the culture.  I was, and still am what Cuban-American Dr. Rubén G. Rumbaut, professor of sociology at the University of California, coined the 1.5 generation immigrants. His assessment of those who arrive to the United States in early childhood “are pre-school children who retain virtually no memory of their country of birth, were too young to go to school to learn or read or write in the parental language in the home country (and typically learn English without an accent), and are almost entirely socialized here.” ²

Despite having the luxury of knowing the language and being educated in the United States, growing up as a 1.5-generation immigrant, I knew what it meant to struggle.  I knew what it was to live in communities with high rates of poverty and low income.  As our family gained more financial stability, we found ourselves moving away instead of moving toward - or in our case staying. For many, success often means moving out - out of the neighborhoods where one grew up, out of spaces of struggle, and moving into places of comfort.  Now I want to make something very clear - There is nothing inherently wrong with seeking better opportunities, but White challenges us to ask ourselves: What does it mean to live among those who are suffering?

My parents worked tirelessly to provide a better life for my siblings and I.  I will forever be grateful for that.  Gracias, Viejos.  Myself, as an adult, have moved out of urban communities into more affluent ones, to provide an even better life for my children also.  But I'll be honest, my friends.  I have wrestled with the tension of my privilege.   I’ve lived in the space between struggle and opportunity.  I remember what it was like to lack resources, to feel the weight of uncertainty, and to push forward despite the odds.  Yet, through hard work and doors opening at the right time, I’ve moved forward in life.  But with that progress comes a deep awareness - knowing that while I’ve been given opportunities, many still face the same struggles I once closely experienced.  It’s a constant pull between gratitude and responsibility.  A constant pull between privilege and the call to stand with those still fighting their way up.

Have you ever wrestled with your own privilege? Have you found yourself torn between gratitude for your blessings and grief for the injustices around you?

We have to also consider that privilege goes even further than just where you live or what you have accumulated in your lifetime.  White reminds us that “our ethnic appearance is the first piece of information people take in when they meet us.” ³ This reality affects everything - from how we are perceived, to the opportunities we are given.  As a light-skinned Hispanic - Latino, I recognize that my experience differs from my Black brothers and sisters.

Additionally, I also recognize the privilege I have as someone with documents.  While I have faced struggles as an immigrant, I have not had to live with the daily fear of deportation, family separation, or being denied basic rights due to my status - especially with the climate of our current administration.  Many of my undocumented friends and neighbors in the city of Lynn do not have that same security.  Their lives are marked by uncertainty, vulnerability, and systemic barriers that make it difficult to thrive.

My friends, if we ignore these differences, we fail to see people the way God sees them, with all their history, with all their pain, and with all their beauty. To be a better neighbor means to acknowledge the disparities and be intentional about standing alongside those who face discrimination and hardship. 

John 1:14 “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.” How is it that Jesus, the son of God, who was living in majesty and glory, could move into Earth, a neighborhood marred with sin?  Living and doing life together with those not as privileged as us allows us to better understand how the Gospel brings about resolutions, in communities where there seems to be none.

Jesus did not remain distant.  He moved into the neighborhood.  In a time where so many are being pushed to the margins through deportations, systemic racism, and economic inequality, how can we, as the Church, embody His love in tangible ways?

It may not mean physically moving, but it does mean shifting our posture.  It means standing with the oppressed, amplifying their voices, and committing ourselves to the kind of justice that reflects the heart of God.  So, my final question to you is, how will you move into the neighborhood? 

¹ Randy White, Encounter God in the City: Onramps to Personal and Community Transformation (Downers Grove, Ill: IVP Books, 2006), 97.

² Ruben G. Rumbaut, “Ages, Life Stages, and Generational Cohorts: Decomposing the Immigrant First and Second Generations in the United States,” International Migration Review 38, no. 3 (September 2004): 1160–1205.

³ Ibid., 104.

So yea, Today, I turned 43! It's crazy how I used to think 40 was old - No Way!  My 40's have been Grrrrrreat (if you're my age you'd understand that reference)! Another year of life, another year of lessons, of love, and grace.  I just could not let this moment pass without pausing to say THANK YOU, GRACIAS, MERCI, That's it, 3 languages is all you get.

When I hit my 40s I realized that Birthdays are more than just a celebration of another year; I've taken them as times to reflect and be thankful. I've looked back on some of the key lessons from past years, and share my hopes for the future with my wife.  This past year has been full of growth, unexpected blessings, and yes, also challenges. Through it all though, one constant has been God’s faithfulness. He has been my guide, my provider, and my strength. 

Looking back, here are a few things I’ve learned (or been reminded of) this past year:
1. Rest is not a luxury; it’s a necessity! 
Slowing down isn’t a sign of weakness - Jesus rested, so why shouldn’t I?  Slowing down is also not just a sign that you're older and maybe more tired - it’s wisdom.  I'll say that again. .  Rest is NOT a sign of weakness - Your body, physically, mentally and emotionally needs rest.

2. Community is a gift. 
I’m grateful for the people who encourage me, and walk with me through every season. I'm thankful also for those that challenge me, whether through deep conversations, shared prayers, or just laughing over un buen cafecito!  Community is a reminder that God places the right people in our lives for a reason.  If  I've yet to build community with you, I want this year to be a start.  I love meeting people, I love hearing and telling stories, especially if the story has a lesson to teach. 

3. God’s plan is always bigger and better than my own. 
There were moments I thought I had every box checked and my plan was top notch, only to realize God had something not just different, but better. The plans He has have a way to challenge me by pushing the envelope, and ultimately leading me to the exact place that I need to be.  Augustine of Hippo said "To confess that God exists, and at the same time to deny that He has foreknowledge of future things, is the most manifest folly." [1]

I’m truly overwhelmed by gratitude, so I wanted to take some time to say Thank you.

To God, even in my weakest moments, Your love and grace has remained constant.

To my Queen, you always know what to say, and more importantly how to say it.  Even your silence speaks loud.  I would easily take another 43 birthdays with you.  

To my family, especially my two girls, thanks for making today fun.  Your farter, loves you. . . I mean Father ?

To my friends - the ones who show up, who encourage me, and who make life richer.

And lastly a big thank you to The Gathering Place North Shore, the wonderful church we are building here in the city of Lynn.  Thank you for the opportunity to serve alongside of you all.  I’m thankful for the ways God has allowed us to impact others.

My prayer for this 43rd birthday year is simple.
“Lord, this year let me be a reflection of Your love, grace, and purpose. Use me to make a difference, to love people well, to be kind as you have been kind to me, and to walk in the fullness of Your calling.”

I truly want this year to be about purpose, and obedience.  I want to go where God leads, and to love without hesitation.

If you've gotten this far, thank you.  If I could ask for something from you for my birthday, it would be for your wisdom.  

If you could give me one piece of advice for this year, what would it be? It doesn’t matter if you’re younger or older.  We can all learn from each other.

Thank you again.  I appreciate you.

[1] Elliot Ritzema, 300 Quotations for Preachers from the Early Church, Pastorum Series (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2013).

I've always been an person who thinks about the future, albeit very rarely is it not accompanied with out anxiety.  It's always been part of me, excessively worrying about potential future events.  I thank God for my wife, she has a gift to ground me and bring me back to reality when those times of worry and fear come.  That's the thing about fear though, it has a way of creeping in when life feels the most unstable. Whether it's financial struggles, health concerns, relationship issues, or in my case the uncertainty of the future, worry can weigh heavy on our hearts. It's those whispers of doubts that fuel anxiety, and make us question if things will ever be okay. If you’ve ever found yourself awake at night, staring at the ceiling, running through all the ‘what-ifs,’ you’re not alone.

Scripture reminds us over and over, “Do not be afraid.” Now, I'm not sure how true this is, but I've heard it said that variations of this command of not fearing appear 365 times in the Bible—one for every day of the year. I hope it's true, because that would make a great sermon, but either way - the bible does remind us to not fear quite a few times.  God knew we would struggle with fear, but He also gave us His promises to anchor our hearts when uncertainty tries to shake our faith.

Let's be honest, It’s easy to trust God when life is smooth, but real faith is forged in the fire of uncertainty. There's a story in Mark 4:35-41 that tells us that the disciples were caught in a violent storm while Jesus slept in the boat (He must've been uber tired of all the parables he was sharing with the crowds earlier that day). Anyways, while they were caught in that violent storm they panicked and thought that they would drown, but Jesus woke up, rebuked the wind and the waves, and said, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

We are often like those disciples—overwhelmed by the storm, forgetting that Jesus is in the boat with us. Fear has a way to blind us to His presence, making us feel like He’s taking a nap on our problems. But He never is. He is always in control, even when the waves seem too high and the winds too strong.  

I want you to understand this "Having faith does not mean that you won't have fear; Having faith is choosing to trust God despite the present fear."  The enemy wants us to live in fear because fear paralyzes. It stops us from moving forward, and ultimately from believing the promises we read in scripture. But faith pushes back. Faith declares that God is greater than any obstacle, stronger than any worry, and faithful in every circumstance.

So how do we keep our faith anchored in uncertain times?  Here are a few ways that I've been able to be grounded.

1. Read and trust God’s Word – When fear rises, drown it out with Scripture. Meditate on those promises like Isaiah 41:10: “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

2. Pray and be honest with God – He isn’t afraid of your fears. Bring them to Him. Pour out your worries in prayer and allow His peace to guard your heart.

3. Surround Yourself with Faith-Filled People – Community matters, my friends. Find people who will encourage you, pray with you, and remind you of God’s goodness when your faith feels weak.  Stay away from Negative Nancy and her cousin Debbie Downer.

4. Remember What God Has Already Done – Think back on the times God has come through for you before.  A great song that emphasizes this is the song If He was faithful then, He will be faithful now by Vertical Worship.

The truth is, my friends that we don’t know what tomorrow holds, but we know Who holds it. That’s not just a comforting or cliche phrase; it’s a reality. The God who parted the Red Sea, fed thousands with a few loaves and fish, and raised Jesus from the dead is the same God who walks with us today.  

My devotional this week has called us to contemplate on Paul’s words concerning his words to the church in Philippi.  As Philippians 1 crescendos, Paul magnifies what many have described as The most famous mission statement in all of the New Testament, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21 ESV) [1] Think about this for a second, Paul is in prison (as per usual) for preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and let’s be clear, being a prisoner in a Roman prison was no walk in the park.  Roman prisons were small, dark, smelly due to the poor ventilation and the likelihood of them being underground.  Yet, in this atmosphere, Paul finds it fitting to write to the Philippians that his imprisonment has served to advance the Gospel that he preached.

The perspective that Paul had was extreme, and yet at the same time, glorious.  His moments of anguish and suffering were not ones that moved him to find comfort, but were ones that moved him to continue to share the message of Jesus.  It was in this message that he preached where Paul’s comfort was found.  When speaking about the providence of God for those early martyrs that were put into dungeons, exiled and killed by the hands of the Romans, John Calvin says that  “The only proper question under the circumstances was, “What did God intend by their suffering?” [2]  This too was Paul’s question, and he answers it by letting the Philippians know that for him, whether imprisoned or in freedom, he would find ways to advance the kingdom of God.

If we were to sincerely reflect on this declaration, how differently would our priorities change.  How differently would we look at the small things that don’t go our way, how differently would we live in this world that often promotes self-fulfillment, success, or comfort, sometimes at the expense of others.  We would be challenged to ask ourselves, What do we live for? Is Christ truly at the center of our decisions, our relationships, our aspirations?

If we were to truly live as Paul and declare that “to live is Christ,” we commit to making Him the reason behind everything we do, whether we’re at work, home, or interacting with others. It's a call to embody the love, humility, and purpose of Jesus in our everyday lives. Paul’s life was inseparable from Jesus’.  Every aspect of his decisions, of his actions and of his sufferings were tied to him glorifying God.  In his epistle to Polycarp, Ignatius writes to him exhorting him that “A Christian has not power over himself, but must always be ready for the service of God.[3] Today, let this ring loud for us, whatever it is that we are going through in our lives, as much as it hurts, as much as we don’t want to go through it, what is Jesus trying to do with it?  He is more precious, more valuable and satisfies us more than anything this world could provide.

 [1] Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are from the English Standard Version.
 [2] Joseph Haroutunian and Louise Pettibone Smith, Calvin: Commentaries (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1958), 39.
[3] Ignatius of Antioch, “The Epistle of Ignatius to Polycarp,” in The Apostolic Fathers with Justin Martyr and Irenaeus, ed. Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson, and A. Cleveland Coxe, vol. 1, The Ante-Nicene Fathers (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Company, 1885), 96.