What's Happening?

There are moments when we long to cry out—to be seen, to be heard, to be known. But something stops us.

In Luke 18, a blind man sits by the roadside, calling out to Jesus. “Son of David, have mercy on me!” The crowd tells him to be quiet, to stop making a scene. But he refuses to be silenced. He calls out even louder, and Jesus stops. Jesus listens. Jesus heals.

And then, in the very next chapter, we meet Zacchaeus. He doesn’t cry out, but there’s something in him that longs for Jesus. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s a quiet hope. But Zacchaeus doesn’t push through the crowd like the blind man. Instead, he hesitates. He climbs a tree, watching from a distance. Maybe he thinks he isn’t worthy. Maybe the voices in his own head whisper, He won’t notice you. You don’t deserve this.

Two men. One silenced by others, one held back by himself.

How often do we experience this tension? The world tells us to quiet down, to keep our struggles to ourselves. We’re encouraged to push through, to handle things on our own, to maintain the illusion of control. Admitting need can feel like weakness. Asking for help can feel like failure.

And sometimes, the strongest resistance doesn’t come from the world—it comes from within.

There’s that voice, the one we know too well:
You should have it together by now.
Other people have real problems—yours aren’t that bad.
You’ll just be a burden if you say anything.
You’re not worthy of healing, of love, of grace.

Or maybe it’s the opposite:
You’re too much.
You ask for too much, feel too much, need too much.

These voices convince us that we should stay quiet, stay small, stay hidden. They tell us that Jesus would rather focus on someone else. Someone more deserving.

But Jesus stops for both men.

He hears the blind man’s cry over the noise of the crowd. He stops. He listens. He responds.

And Zacchaeus? Jesus sees him—not just as a man in a tree, but as someone longing for something more. He calls him by name, inviting him into a new way of living.

What if Jesus is stopping for you, too?

What if, even in your hesitance, he sees you? What if, in the middle of the noise—both around you and within you—Jesus is already calling your name?

So I ask again:
What voices—internal or external—try to silence your own cries for grace or healing?
And what might happen if you called out anyway?

Luke 16:19-31 tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus—a striking contrast between abundance and suffering, privilege and neglect. The rich man feasts lavishly every day while Lazarus, covered in sores, lies at his gate, longing for scraps. But despite their proximity, the rich man never truly sees Lazarus. He walks past him, day after day, unmoved.

It’s a hard story, but Jesus tells it for a reason. He wants us to notice not just Lazarus but the blindness of the rich man. And so, a question arises: What prevents us from seeing and responding to the needs of others?

Perhaps, like the rich man, we get caught up in the comfort of our own lives. Maybe it’s not intentional disregard, but simply the ease of looking away. We live in a world where suffering is often at a distance—on the news, in other communities, in places we don’t frequent. Or sometimes, it’s right at our doorstep, but we’re too preoccupied to stop and truly see.

Fear might also hold us back. The needs of others can feel overwhelming. What if I can’t fix the problem? What if helping means stepping into discomfort? What if it changes me?

Then there’s the illusion that there will always be more time. The rich man only realizes the gravity of his choices when it’s too late. How often do we put off kindness, assuming we’ll get to it eventually?

But this parable is not a warning; it’s an invitation. Jesus calls us to open our eyes and our hearts, to notice and respond while we can. Who in our communities is longing to be seen? Where is God nudging us to act with compassion? What step—small or large—can we take today?

May we be people who see. And in seeing, may we love as Christ calls us to love.

Reflection Questions:

• Who in your daily life might be longing to be noticed, helped, or heard?
• What holds you back from responding?
• What is one intentional act of compassion you can offer this week?

This week’s focus scripture, Luke 15:1-32, brings us one of the most well-known and deeply moving stories in the Bible: the parable of the Prodigal Son. It’s a story that speaks to the heart of God’s grace, but it’s also a story that reveals how difficult grace can be for us to understand, receive, and extend.

As I read this passage, one question kept coming to mind: Who do I most identify with – the younger son, who needs to receive grace, or the older son, who struggles to offer it?

At different points in my life, I’m sure I’ve found myself in both roles. Maybe you have too. Let’s take a moment to reflect on what these two sons can teach us about our own relationship with grace.

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The Younger Son: Receiving Grace

The younger son’s story is one of rebellion, regret, and redemption. He takes his inheritance, squanders it, and hits rock bottom. But when he returns home, broken and ashamed, his father runs to meet him with open arms. No questions, no conditions – just pure, overwhelming grace.

If you identify with the younger son, you might be in a place of needing to receive grace. Maybe you’ve made mistakes, wandered far from where you thought you’d be, or maybe – for whatever reason – you feel unworthy of forgiveness. The beauty of this story is that it reminds us grace isn’t something we earn – it’s a gift. The father’s response shows us that no matter how far we’ve strayed, God’s love is always waiting to welcome us home.

Reflection:

• What would it look like for you to fully accept the grace and forgiveness when it is offered to you?
• Are there areas where you still feel unworthy or hesitant to receive it?

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The Older Son: Extending Grace

Then there’s the older son. He’s stayed home, done everything “right,” and yet he struggles to understand his father’s joy when his brother returns. He’s angry, resentful, and feels overlooked. His struggle isn’t with receiving grace—it’s with extending it.

If you identify with the older son, you might find it hard to celebrate when others receive grace. Maybe you’ve been hurt, feel like you’ve done all the “right things,” or struggle with comparison. The older son’s story challenges us to examine our hearts: Are we willing to extend the same grace we’ve received? Are we ready to join in the celebration when someone else is restored?

Reflection:

• What might be holding you back from extending grace to others?
• How can you move toward a heart of celebration and reconciliation?

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The Father: A Picture of Unconditional Love

At the center of this story is the father, who represents God’s unconditional love. He doesn’t wait for the younger son to grovel or the older son to understand—he simply loves. He runs to meet the younger son and gently reassures the older one. His love is relentless, patient, and all-encompassing.

This is the heart of the gospel: God’s grace is not about what we deserve but about who God is. Whether we’re the younger son, the older son, or somewhere in between, the God’s love is always there, inviting us to come home.

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So, where do you find yourself in this story? Are you the younger son, in need of grace? Or the older son, struggling to extend it? Maybe you’re a bit of both. Whatever your answer, know this: God’s grace is big enough to meet you right where you are.

Take a moment this week to sit with this story. Let it challenge you, comfort you, and remind you of the boundless love of the Father. And as you reflect, ask yourself:

• How can I grow in both receiving and extending grace in my relationships and community?

Grace isn’t always easy to understand, but it’s always worth celebrating. Let’s lean into it together.

Ever felt lost? Wondered if grace could reach you no matter what? 💭

Tonight at 6:30 PM, we’re diving into Luke 15:1-32—the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. These stories are about God’s relentless love, the joy of being found, and the grace that welcomes us home.

📍 Where? The parlour at Nashwaaksis United Church
💻 Or on Zoom! (https://zoom.us/j/99361959655?pwd=uf985qJv3AtErI2cjMaZGUdObCRQBm.1)

Come with your thoughts, questions, and open hearts. Let’s explore what it means to be lost, found, and deeply loved. 💙

There’s a moment in Luke 13 where Jesus pauses to lament over Jerusalem. He speaks with deep sorrow:

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34)

It’s a heart-wrenching image—Jesus longing to gather his people, shelter them, love them, and yet, they resist. They turn away, unwilling or unable to embrace what he offers.

And I wonder—how often do we do the same?

We may not be standing at the gates of Jerusalem, but we resist in other ways. Maybe we resist grace because we feel unworthy. Or because we’re too caught up in self-reliance to accept help. Sometimes, we resist because transformation is uncomfortable—it asks something of us.

Earlier in this passage, Jesus tells the parable of the barren fig tree. The landowner is ready to cut it down—it hasn’t borne fruit, so why let it take up space? But the gardener speaks up: “Let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it.” (Luke 13:8) The gardener pleads for patience, for another chance, promising to tend and nourish the tree so that it might yet bear fruit.

What if we are like that fig tree—struggling to grow, slow to bear fruit? And what if, rather than giving up on us, Christ tends to us like that gardener, patiently working the soil of our hearts, feeding us with grace, urging us toward life?

What holds us back from fully embracing that amazing grace?

Is it fear of change? The weight of our past? The reluctance to trust that God’s love really is as deep as Jesus says it is?

Yet, even in our resistance, Jesus still longs to gather us in. His love remains. His grace is not taken away. The invitation stands. And like the gardener in the parable, Christ does not give up on us.

So this week, I invite you to sit with that question: Where am I resisting grace? And what might it look like to take one step closer to trust?

Join us tonight at 6:30 PM in the parlour or on Zoom as we dive into Luke 13:1-9, 31-35—a passage about repentance, patience, and God’s deep longing to gather us in love. ❤️

🔍 What does it mean to truly grow in faith?
🌱 Where do we see God’s patience at work in our lives?

Let’s wrestle with these questions and more together in a space of reflection and conversation. Whether in person or online, there’s a seat for you!

📅 Tuesday at 6:30 PM
📍 Parlour & Zoom
🔗 Zoom link:: https://zoom.us/j/99361959655?pwd=uf985qJv3AtErI2cjMaZGUdObCRQBm.1

Jesus makes it simple. When asked about the greatest commandment, he responds: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27). Simple? Yes. Easy? Not always.

This week’s reading (Luke 10:25-42) gives us two snapshots of what this love looks like. First, we meet the Good Samaritan—someone who puts love into action, crossing boundaries to care for a stranger in need. Then we see Mary and Martha—one caught up in the busyness of service, the other sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening. Both stories challenge us to ask: What does it really mean to love?

Love in Action

The Samaritan doesn’t just feel compassion—he acts on it. He sees, stops, and serves. Loving our neighbor isn’t about grand gestures; it’s about noticing the needs right in front of us. It’s about choosing kindness over convenience, mercy over apathy. Who around me needs a little more love today? A friend who is struggling? A neighbor who feels alone? A stranger I’d rather ignore?

Love in Presence

Then we have Mary, who simply sits with Jesus. No rushing, no distractions—just presence. Loving God isn’t just about doing things for God; it’s about being with God. It’s about carving out moments of quiet in our busy days, allowing God’s love to shape us so that we can love others well. When was the last time I truly sat in God’s presence? Am I too distracted by my to-do list to hear God’s voice?

Holding Both Together

Loving God and loving our neighbor aren’t separate tasks; they are deeply connected. The more time we spend with God, the more we reflect God’s love in the world. And when we serve others, we encounter God’s presence in unexpected ways. The challenge is balance: not being so busy that we forget to listen, and not being so still that we never act.

So, what does it mean to love God and love my neighbor in my daily life? It means paying attention—to God’s presence and to the people around me. It means acting with compassion and making space for stillness. It means letting love be more than just a word.

What’s one way you can live out love today?

After we’ve filled up on pancakes, let’s nourish our spirits! This Tuesday, March 4th at 6:30 PM, gather in the parlour (or on Zoom) for a conversation on Luke 10:25-42—two powerful stories that challenge us to reflect on love, action, and priorities.

• What does it really mean to “love your neighbour”?
• Are we more like the busy Martha or the attentive Mary?
• Let’s wrestle with these questions together!

Come as you are—whether you’re a seasoned Bible reader or just curious. See you Tuesday night!

Nashwaaksis United Church, Parlour & Zoom
Tuesday, 6:30 PM
🔗 https://zoom.us/j/99361959655?pwd=uf985qJv3AtErI2cjMaZGUdObCRQBm.1

Some moments in life leave us breathless. A sunrise that paints the sky in colours too beautiful to describe. A conversation that feels like holy ground. A time of worship that stirs something deep in our soul.

In Luke 9:28-36, Peter, James, and John experience one of these mountaintop moments. They see Jesus in dazzling glory, standing with Moses and Elijah. It’s a moment of clarity, awe, and divine presence. Peter’s instinct is to stay there—to build shelters, to hold onto this holy experience. But the moment doesn’t last. The cloud fades, the voice is silent, and soon, Jesus is leading them back down the mountain into the messiness of everyday life.

We all have mountaintop moments—times when God feels undeniably close. Maybe it was at a retreat, a powerful worship service, or an unexpected moment of peace in the middle of chaos. But like the disciples, we don’t get to stay there. Faith isn’t just about the mountaintop; it’s also about the valleys, the unanswered questions, and the everyday journey of following Jesus.

So here’s the question:
💭 When have you had a mountaintop moment in your faith, and how did it shape you afterward?

Did it change the way you see God? Did it give you strength for the road ahead? Did you struggle to hold onto it?

The disciples didn’t fully understand what they had witnessed on the mountain until much later. But the experience shaped them. It prepared them for what was to come. Maybe our own mountaintop moments do the same.

This week, take time to remember—when has God felt especially close? And how is that moment still shaping your journey today?