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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?

Imagine walking into a room where you feel completely out of place. Maybe you don’t look the part. Maybe you don’t know the right people. Maybe you carry a past that others won’t let you forget.

Now, imagine Jesus sitting at the center of that room. He sees you – not just as you are, but as you could be. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t whisper behind your back. Instead, he makes room at the table and welcomes you in.

In this week’s reading from Luke’s Gospel, a woman with a reputation – one that everyone seems to know – enters a Pharisee’s house and kneels at Jesus’ feet. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t defend herself. She simply weeps, washes his feet with her tears, and anoints them with costly perfume. And while the others at the table see her as a sinner, Jesus sees her as someone worthy of love, grace, and belonging.

This passage invites us to wrestle with a hard question: Who do we struggle to welcome at our tables?

Do we make room for the ones whose pasts make us uncomfortable?
Do we hesitate to extend grace to those we think should have “known better”?
Do we see ourselves as more deserving than others?

Jesus flips the script. He reminds us that God’s table isn’t about worthiness – it’s about grace. It’s not about social status, reputation, or rules – it’s about love that sees beyond all of that.

So this week, reflect on this:
Who in your life might need a seat at your table?
Where might Jesus be calling you to extend grace instead of judgment?
And how can we, as a community, reflect Christ’s radical welcome?

Because in the kingdom of God, the table is bigger than we imagine – and there’s always room for one more.

The snow may be coming later today, but for now, the roads are clear, and in-person worship is ON this morning! ⛪✨

Join us as we gather in faith, warmth, and community. Let’s lift our hearts in worship before the snowflakes start to fall. See you at 10:30 AM at Nashwaaksis United Church! ❄️🙏

Jesus turns to the crowd and asks them a pointed question:

“What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?” (Luke 7:24-25).

The people had gone to see John the Baptist. But what were they expecting? A leader who would bend to public opinion like a reed in the wind? A prophet dressed in luxury and power? Someone who fit their vision of what a messenger of God should be?

Jesus’ words challenge them—and us—to examine our expectations.

It’s human nature to look for God in ways that make sense to us. We hope for a sign that affirms what we already believe. We look for a Savior who fits our idea of strength, a faith that offers certainty, a God who acts on our terms. But time and again, Jesus defies expectations.

John prepared the way for the Messiah, but even he, sitting in prison, wondered: Was this really it? The kingdom Jesus proclaimed didn’t look like a military victory or a political revolution. Instead, it was blind eyes opened, the poor receiving good news, the unclean restored, the forgotten brought close. It was mercy over judgment, humility over power, love over control.

And still, Jesus asks us: What did you come to see?

Did we come expecting faith to be simple? Did we come hoping God would confirm our assumptions? Did we come looking for a kingdom that looks like the world’s power and success? Or are we ready to be surprised, challenged, and changed by the Christ who meets us in ways we do not expect?

This week, take some time to reflect:
🔹 What are you searching for in your faith right now?
🔹 Have you ever missed God’s presence because it didn’t look like you expected?
🔹 Where might Jesus be showing up in your life in an unexpected way?

May we have the courage to let go of our assumptions, the humility to receive God’s kingdom as it truly is, and the faith to follow where Christ leads—wherever and however he appears.

Jesus had a way of seeing the people no one else noticed.

In Luke 7:1-17, two stories unfold—one about a Roman centurion, an outsider to Israel, and the other about a grieving widow with no one to care for her. On the surface, they couldn’t be more different. The centurion was powerful, respected, and well-connected. The widow was vulnerable, unseen, and without security. But in both moments, Jesus stops. He sees them. He responds.

The centurion needed healing, not for himself, but for a servant—someone society might have deemed expendable. The widow, on the other hand, doesn’t even have the chance to ask for help. She is walking in a funeral procession for her only son, carrying not only her grief but the weight of a future with no protection, no status, no support. And yet, Jesus sees her suffering and is moved with compassion. Without being asked, he steps in and restores life.

Both stories reveal something about the heart of Christ: he notices those we so often forget.

Which brings us to a question we may not always want to ask: Who are we forgetting?

It’s easy to name the people society pushes aside—the unhoused, the lonely, the sick, the ones who fall through the cracks. But if we’re honest, there are others we forget too. The ones we struggle to love. The ones we avoid because their pain makes us uncomfortable. The ones we dismiss because they challenge our way of thinking.

Jesus calls us to see them all, to love and pray for them all; to remember that each person carries a story; to step beyond what’s easy or familiar and choose compassion.

So this week, let’s sit with this question: Who are we forgetting? And once we have our answer, let’s ask another: How might Christ be calling us to see them?

This Sunday at Nashwaaksis United Church (10:30 AM), we’ll journey through Jesus’ encounters with the religious leaders—where healing happened 🤲 and grain was gathered 🌾—but the deeper question remained: Have we lost sight of the “why” behind our faith?

Join us as we reflect on the heart of our traditions, the purpose behind our practices, and the renewal of our faith. Come and be nourished! 🕊️

This Sunday’s reading from Luke 6:1-16 paints a vivid picture of Jesus in tension with the Pharisees. It’s a story of traditions being questioned and a deeper truth revealed. As Jesus’ disciples pluck grain on the Sabbath and He heals a man with a withered hand, the Pharisees watch, quick to criticize. But Jesus challenges them with a simple, profound question: “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath, to save life or to destroy it?”

This story calls us to wrestle with the sacredness of our own traditions. Traditions shape our faith, anchor us in community, and offer a sense of identity. But what happens when those traditions seem to clash with compassion? How do we discern what is truly sacred?

Perhaps Jesus’ actions give us a starting point. His ministry wasn’t about discarding tradition but about fulfilling it—bringing it back to its heart. The Sabbath was meant to be life-giving, a time for renewal and connection with God. But when that intention was buried beneath rigid rules, Jesus showed us that compassion is the higher law.

In our own lives, we may find moments when following tradition feels at odds with the needs of the people around us. Maybe it’s choosing to skip a formal obligation to sit with someone in their pain. Or it could be reimagining how we worship to create space for those who feel left out.

The sacred isn’t found in upholding rules for their own sake but in aligning our actions with the God who calls us to love. Tradition becomes sacred when it leads us closer to the heart of God and one another.

So, as you reflect this week, consider these questions:

• What traditions or practices in your life feel life-giving, and which might need reexamining?
• How can you open yourself to the kind of discernment that puts compassion at the center?

Jesus invites us to go deeper—not to abandon the structures that shape us but to seek the spirit behind them. In doing so, we find that true holiness isn’t a matter of rules but of love in action.

Let us pray:

Gracious God, as we ponder the ways your Spirit moves in and through us, help us to embrace the challenges that stretch our faith. May we reach for the nourishment you offer, and may our lives reflect your boundless grace and love. Guide us as we step forward, trusting in your wisdom and walking in your peace. Amen.

Luke 5:1-11 invites us into a moment that changes everything. Picture the scene: Simon Peter and his companions, weary from a long night of fruitless fishing, are cleaning their nets when Jesus steps into their boat. What starts as a simple request to push out a little from shore ends with a miraculous catch of fish so abundant it nearly sinks their boats.

But that’s not the real miracle. What happens next changes lives.

Jesus looks at Simon Peter and says, “Do not be afraid; from now on, you will be catching people.” And in response, they leave everything—boats, nets, and the life they’ve known—to follow him.

This passage challenges us to ask: What nets are we holding onto?

For Peter, his nets represented security, identity, and the daily grind of making a living. They were familiar, safe, and predictable. For us, the “nets” we cling to might look different—habits, fears, comforts, or even relationships that keep us tethered to the shore instead of venturing into the deep waters of faith.

Jesus’ invitation to Peter is the same invitation he extends to us: to trust him enough to let go of the things we think we need, so we can follow him into something greater.

But letting go is hard, isn’t it? Sometimes we hold on to our nets because they’re comfortable, even if they’re no longer serving us. Or we grip them tightly because we’re afraid of what might happen if we let go. What if we drop our nets and find that following Jesus doesn’t look the way we thought it would?

This story reassures us: when we trust in Christ, even when it feels risky or counter-intuitive, the result is abundance—not necessarily in material terms, but in a life that is fuller, richer, and more aligned with God’s purpose.

So this week, let’s ask ourselves: What nets might I need to leave behind to follow Jesus more fully?

• Is it a fear of failure or unworthiness?
• A need for control or certainty?
• A comfort zone that keeps us from stepping into something new?

And as we reflect, let’s remember Peter’s story. He didn’t have it all figured out when he said yes to Jesus. But he took the first step, leaving his nets behind and trusting that Jesus would guide him.

What first step might Jesus be calling you to take today?

Let us pray:

Gracious God, you call us to leave behind the nets that weigh us down and to trust you as we step into deeper waters. Give us courage to let go, faith to follow where you lead, and hearts open to your abundance. May we find freedom in your call and joy in your purpose. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.

In Luke 4:14-30, we find Jesus stepping into the synagogue in His hometown of Nazareth. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation. The hometown crowd gathers to hear the carpenter’s son, now rumored to be a prophet, as He reads from Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.” The people listen, their hearts stirred by the beauty and hope of the words. They nod in approval, thinking, “Could this really be Joseph’s boy?”

But then, the tone shifts.

Jesus begins to speak of outsiders—of God’s blessings on a widow in Zarephath and a Syrian leper named Naaman. He points out how God’s grace extended far beyond the boundaries of Israel, beyond the boundaries they were comfortable with. Suddenly, the hometown pride turns to fury. The crowd that moments ago was marveling at Jesus now wants to drive Him out of town.

This moment invites us to wrestle with a challenging question: How do we respond when Christ’s message disrupts our expectations?

It’s easy to embrace the comforting parts of Jesus’ teaching—the promises of healing, freedom, and restoration. But what happens when the message challenges our assumptions, asks us to rethink our priorities, or calls us to extend grace to those we’d rather exclude? How do we react when Jesus’ words push us outside of our comfort zones?

The people of Nazareth struggled to accept a Messiah who didn’t fit their expectations. They wanted a hometown hero who would elevate their status, not a prophet who reminded them that God’s love knows no borders. Their resistance is a mirror, reflecting our own struggles with the disruptive nature of Christ’s call.

Christ’s message often disrupts because it demands transformation. It asks us to let go of our preconceived notions, our tightly held opinions, and our fears of the “other.” It invites us to participate in a kingdom where the poor, the outsider, and the broken are lifted up. This is good news, but it’s not always easy news.

So, how do we respond? Do we, like the crowd in Nazareth, resist and reject? Or do we lean in, allowing Christ’s words to challenge and change us? Can we trust that God’s disruption is an act of love, calling us to deeper faith and greater compassion?

Take a moment this week to sit with this question. Think about a time when God’s word disrupted your expectations or invited you to see things differently. How did you respond? And how might Christ’s message still be calling you to grow today?

Let us have ears to hear—even when the message is hard, and hearts to follow—even when the path is unexpected.

Let us pray:

Gracious and loving God, your words bring comfort and challenge, calling us to a deeper understanding of Your kingdom. When Christ’s message disrupts our expectations, grant us the courage to listen with open hearts and to follow with willing spirits. Break down the barriers of fear, pride, and complacency within us, so that we might embrace Your call to love, to serve, and to welcome all. Transform us from within, that we may be instruments of Your grace in a world longing for hope. In the name of Jesus, who leads us on unexpected paths, we pray. Amen.

As we prepare for this Sunday’s reading from Luke 3:1-22, I invite you to reflect on a question that sits at the very heart of this passage: What does it mean to be beloved of God?

This reading takes us into the wilderness, where John the Baptist calls people to repentance, urging them to prepare their hearts for the One who is to come. At its climax, we see Jesus stepping into the waters of the Jordan River, identifying not only with humanity but also with the profound act of surrender that baptism represents. And then something extraordinary happens. As Jesus rises from the water, the heavens open, and a voice proclaims, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you, I am well pleased.“

It is a moment filled with wonder and grace—a declaration of identity, love, and approval. And it prompts us to ask: what does it mean to be beloved of God?

To be beloved is not to earn favor through perfection or good works. Jesus’ baptism happens before his public ministry begins, before the miracles, teachings, or acts of healing. This suggests that being beloved is rooted in something deeper—God’s unconditional love and acceptance. It is a gift freely given, not a reward to be achieved.

When we consider ourselves as beloved of God, it shifts how we view ourselves and others. It reminds us that our worth is not tied to what we accomplish or how we measure up. Instead, our worth is anchored in the steadfast love of the One who created us, calls us by name, and claims us as God’s own.

But this isn’t just a personal truth; it’s a communal one. To be beloved of God means we are called to see others as God’s beloved too. It challenges us to love without condition, to extend grace to the hurting, and to stand in solidarity with those who feel unseen or unloved.

So, as you reflect on this question—What does it mean to be beloved of God?—I invite you to consider how this truth shapes your life. How does it feel to imagine God speaking those words to you? How might it change the way you approach your relationships, your work, or even your struggles? And how can we, as a community of faith, embody what it means to live as God’s beloved together?

May this question draw us deeper into the waters of God’s grace, reminding us that we are held, cherished, and called to live out this belovedness in the world.

Let us pray:

Amazing God, You call us Your beloved. Help us to live into this truth, embracing Your grace and sharing Your love with others. May we see ourselves and all people through Your eyes, as precious, as cherished, as worthy. Amen.