I recently found myself down a Bob Dylan rabbit hole. If you haven't heard his song "Everything is Broken," do yourself a favor and pull it up today. It's from his 1989 album Oh Mercy, and it's basically Dylan cataloguing the wreckage of the world. He sings about broken hands on broken plows, broken treaties and broken vows. Broken pipes, broken tools, people bending broken rules. It goes on like that, verse after verse, and it doesn't really resolve. It just... ends. Broken. It's not a fun song. But it might be one of the most honest ones ever written.

Here's the thing: he's not wrong.

We live in a world that is, in the most fundamental sense, broken. Relationships fracture. Bodies fail. Promises don't hold. We hurt the people closest to us and sometimes we can't explain why. We build things and they fall apart. We try to fix things and make them worse. The news confirms it every morning. Our own hearts confirm it if we're paying attention.

The theological word for this is sin. And I know that word carries baggage. But just admit it, something is deeply, pervasively wrong with the world. Dylan felt it in 1989. You've felt it this week. I've felt it this week. The brokenness is real, and if we're honest, it lives in us too, not just out there.

I want to say something that might sound strange coming from a pastor in the week before Easter: don't rush past this.

The temptation around Easter is to skip straight to the good news. Flowers and full parking lots and "He is risen!" And that's all true and beautiful and worth celebrating. But if you arrive at Easter Sunday without sitting for even a moment in the weight of what's broken, the resurrection becomes just a nice idea rather than the most urgent rescue mission in human history.

Good Friday exists for a reason. The cross means something specific. Jesus didn't come into a world that just needed a little encouragement. He came into a world that Dylan, without knowing it, diagnosed perfectly. Broken. All of it. And the only way through that brokenness was for God Himself to enter it, absorb it, and defeat it.

That's Easter.

Not a holiday that pretends everything is fine. A declaration that everything broken will not have the final word. Jesus conquered sin and death, and that changes everything. It means the brokenness is real, and it is not the end of the story.

We'd love for you to come celebrate that with us.

Join the Hopesters this Easter Sunday. Bring your skeptic friend, your searching neighbor, your family member who hasn't been in a while. Come as you are, brokenness and all. That's exactly who Easter is for.

Easter Sunday, April 5, 9am & 10:45am
Hope Community Church
1831 E. 21st Street

peace,
Nick

A few months ago, my family went to a parade. There were decorated floats, kids running for candy that’s thrown from cars, high school bands marching, somebody waving from the back of a convertible like they just won something. The whole point of a parade is to celebrate someone. The crowd shows up because they know who's coming and they're ready to cheer.

The first Palm Sunday was a parade.

Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey while people spread cloaks on the road, waved palm branches, and shouted "Hosanna!" which essentially means "Save us!" They had expectations. The world felt heavy and hard, and they had been waiting a long time for someone to come and fix it. They wanted a king who would finally make things right. They were expecting a military or political hero.

Instead, they got Jesus on a donkey.

That gap between what the crowd expected and what actually showed up is worth sitting with. Because here's the thing: they weren't wrong that things were broken. Their cry of "Save us!" came from a genuinely desperate place. They needed rescue. They just had the wrong picture of what rescue looked like.

We do the same thing. We come to Jesus with our list. Fix this, change that, make this pain stop. We want a king who conquers on our terms. And Jesus keeps showing up on a donkey. Not because He doesn't care, but because the brokenness goes so much deeper than our circumstances. Sin isn't just a problem out there in the world. It's a human problem. It impacts all of us. And the rescue required for that kind of brokenness isn't the kind the crowd was imagining.

Nobody cheering that day could have imagined where the parade was headed. A cross on a hill outside the city. And then, three days later, an empty tomb.

But you can't get to Sunday without going through Friday. The resurrection means so much more when you understand what it was rescuing us from.

So this week I want to invite you to slow down. Easter is coming but don’t rush into it. Sit for a moment with the crowd and ask yourself what you're actually hoping Jesus will do. Let the weight of the brokenness land. Because Easter is coming, and when it gets here, it will be worth the wait.

Come a little early this Sunday, as our kids will be leading us in a Palm Sunday celebration.

Peace,
Nick

art: by Kristin Miler

There’s a word that’s been getting a lot of airtime lately: empathy. Depending on who you ask, it’s either a great virtue or a dangerous vice.

There’s a version of empathy, a “me-centered” empathy that is shallow, performative, and self-serving. There’s a kind of emotional signaling that asks, “How does this make me feel?” rather than, “How can I love my neighbor well?” There is empathy that wants to be seen, affirmed, applauded. Or there is a form of empathy that remains silent without action. Those kinds of empathy can become a shortcut, feeling deeply without acting faithfully.

However, Biblical empathy is not about self-fulfillment. It is other-centered on purpose. It’s not a tool to achieve something for ourselves, moral superiority, emotional validation, or social acceptance. It’s a posture that costs us something.

Scripture doesn’t shy away from empathy; Empathy is rooted at the very center of the Gospel. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Jesus didn’t wait for us to be reasonable, repentant, or grateful. He entered our brokenness before it was cleaned up, justified, or helpful. Jesus modeled an empathy that moved first, before repentance, and that is the Gospel.

If we’re honest, you could argue that Jesus’ empathy wasn’t “helpful” in the way our culture often defines helpful. It didn’t reward good behavior. It didn’t affirm our instincts. It didn’t protect Him from being misunderstood or His name being misused. Instead, it led Him to a cross. And yet, that is precisely the empathy that saves.

Jesus consistently moved toward people in their mess, not to excuse sin, but to bear it. He wept with those who would later abandon Him. He healed people who never followed Him. He forgave those actively crucifying Him. None of that was strategic for His reputation or safety. It was love, freely given, without leverage.

The danger isn’t empathy itself. The danger is empathy detached from love’s willingness to suffer. The danger is empathy that refuses truth, or truth that refuses love. Jesus never separated the two.

A Gospel-centered empathy doesn’t mean we deny reality or abandon conviction. It means we refuse to make ourselves the center of the story. It means we listen before we label. It means we stay present when walking away would be easier. It means we tell the truth with tears in our eyes instead of stones in our hands.

In a polarized age, empathy will always look suspicious to someone. But if Jesus showed us anything, it’s that love has never been safe, tidy, or efficient. It has always been costly.

peace,
Nick

What's forming you? It's a question worth sitting with because whether we realize it or not, something is always shaping the way we think, the way we feel, and the way we see the world. In this week's video newsletter, Pastor Nick shares about the voices we're giving our attention to, and a simple invitation to something better.

Watch video

Twenty years ago, Liz and I had no idea that a small decision in an airport would turn into a two-decade friendship.

We were standing in line at a checkout counter with some friends when an Iranian man was in front of us trying to check his bag. The worker behind the counter wouldn’t accept his cash, and he had no other way to pay to check his luggage. You could feel the tension rising. He needed to get on that flight.

Liz and I looked at each other and decided to put his bag on our credit card. He handed us the cash, grateful and a little relieved. What could have been a quick transaction turned into something more. We ended up sitting together in the terminal waiting to board. We talked. We laughed. We exchanged phone numbers. Later, we found each other on social media.

That was the beginning of our friendship with Farrokh.

Over the years we’ve kept up. Life updates. Family pictures. The normal rhythms of staying loosely but genuinely connected across continents. He has always been curious about Jesus. Not combative. Not dismissive. Just genuinely curious. He asks thoughtful questions. The kind of questions that matter.

This past week, when Iran was bombed, he was immediately on my mind. I reached out. He wrote back and said he and his family are safe. There was a strange mixture of hope and fear in his message. Hope, because he believes new leadership may come. Fear, because when nations shake, ordinary families feel it first. He doesn’t know what the future will hold. He doesn’t know if his family will be safe long term.

And that’s what war does. It rarely touches only policies and power structures. It touches fathers and mothers. Sons and daughters. It touches dinner tables and neighborhoods. It touches people like Farrokh.

I am not a geopolitical expert. I don’t pretend to know the right strategies for nations. I don’t know what the best outcomes are in complex global conflicts. But I do know this: war impacts innocent lives. And as followers of Jesus, we are called to be people of prayer and people of love.

Scripture tells us, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” (Romans 12:18). We may not be able to influence global decisions, but we can influence how we respond. We can pray. We can care. We can refuse to reduce people to headlines. We can remember that every person we see in the news is made in the image of God.

Would you pray for my friend Farrokh? Pray for his safety. Pray for his family. Pray for peace in his nation. Pray that in the uncertainty, he would encounter the steady, faithful love of Jesus.

And maybe this week, ask the Lord to show you who is in front of you, in line, in your neighborhood, in your workplace, who simply needs someone to see them.

Small kindness. Long faithfulness. A praying people in a shaking world.

peace,
Nick

Last week in this space I shared some thoughts on how to live in the tension of the sin-filled world we find ourselves in. I’d like to expand on that this week with some practices I’ve found helpful in my own life.

I’ve been asking myself a simple question: What does it look like to faithfully follow Jesus in a culture like this?

A helpful resource I’ve come across lately comes from pastor and author Jim Henderson. He talks about three simple practices that have been quietly shaping how I think about people, conversations, and life in these times. They aren’t flashy. They aren’t complicated. But they are deeply formative. Here they are:

#1 “I’ll be unusually interested in others.”

This practice pushes against our instinct to assume we already know. Instead of leading with opinions, it calls us to lead with curiosity. To listen more than we speak. To genuinely want to understand someone’s story, not just their stance. Interest is a form of love, and curiosity has a way of opening doors that arguments never will.

#2 “I’ll stay in the room with difference.”

Difference makes most of us uncomfortable. When beliefs, politics, theology, or life experiences don’t line up with our own, our reflex is often to disengage or distance. This practice invites us to do the opposite. To remain present. To resist the urge to leave relationally when things get tense. Staying doesn’t mean agreeing. It means loving people enough to not walk away.

#3 “I’ll stop comparing my best with your worst.”

This one hits close to home. We are quick to judge others by their weakest moments while giving ourselves grace for our intentions. This practice calls us toward humility. It reminds us that we all need grace, and that Jesus meets each of us in our broken places, not just our polished ones.

What I appreciate most about these practices is that they don’t try to fix everyone else. They begin with me. They shape posture, not performance. They help us stay open-hearted in a closed-off world.

I’ve found these practices to be incredibly helpful for navigating our current cultural moment. Not by avoiding hard conversations, but by entering them with the spirit of Jesus. Gentle and courageous. Full of grace and truth. My prayer is that we would be a people who don’t retreat from difference, but reflect Jesus right in the middle of it.

peace,
Nick

When we slow down and read the Scriptures, one thing becomes clear pretty quickly: Jesus doesn’t fit into our neat boxes. He is high and holy, and at the same time meek and lowly. He speaks truth with clarity, and He overflows with grace. He never lowers God’s standards, and He never turns away broken people.

That tension can be uncomfortable for us.

Most of us naturally lean one direction. Some of us emphasize truth so strongly that we forget what gentleness sounds like. Others emphasize grace so deeply that we struggle to speak clearly and can create confusion. When we camp out on just one side of that tension, something starts to break. We can sound judgmental without realizing it, or unclear without meaning to be. And division has a way of growing quietly in those spaces.

But Jesus never chose one side over the other. He held both together, fully and beautifully.
The problem isn’t tension. The problem is our rush to resolve it. When we simplify what Jesus intentionally held together, we often end up protecting our opinions instead of reflecting His heart. Healing doesn’t come from being louder or more articulate. It comes from becoming more like Him.

So how do we live in the same tension Jesus lived in?

We stay close to Him. We remain humble and teachable. We listen more than we speak. We resist the urge to label quickly or assume the worst. We speak truth when it’s needed, but we do it with compassion, patience, and prayer. We remember that people are not problems to fix but neighbors to love.

The world doesn’t need Christians who have everything figured out. It needs followers of Jesus who are able to live in the tension, gentle in the way we walk with one another, and courageous enough to reflect both grace and truth.

This is slower work. It’s harder work. But it’s holy work. And it’s the way of Jesus.

Peace,
Nick
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image: detail of Radiant Tension by Michael Bertoli

A couple weeks ago, something small but memorable happened on a Sunday morning.

Our new worship pastor, Ben, stepped up to lead. First service went great. Then second service rolled around, and suddenly the electric guitar pedal board stopped working. No warning. No fix. It just… didn’t work. Nothing anyone could have done about it!

That’s a tough spot for anyone, but especially for the new guy. You want things to go smoothly. You want to make a good first impression. And when something breaks that’s completely out of your control, it can feel discouraging fast.

But Ben didn’t panic. He didn’t shrink back. He rallied, adjusted, and led us well. And honestly, it was a gift to witness.

It reminded me how easy worship can be when everything is working. When the sound is dialed in. When life is going well. When prayers feel answered and the path ahead feels clear.

But worship becomes something deeper when things aren’t working. When life feels off. When plans fall apart. When the pedal board doesn’t turn on and there’s nothing you can do to fix it. That kind of worship isn’t about conditions being perfect. It’s about trust. It’s about choosing to lift our eyes anyway. It’s about declaring that God is still worthy even when circumstances are frustrating, confusing, or painful.

Some of you are walking into this week with things that feel broken. Relationships. Health. Finances. Direction. Pedal boards. You’ve tried to fix it, and it’s still not working.

Here’s the good news. The Lord is with you. Not just when things are smooth, but right in the middle of the struggle. And even there, He is still worthy of our worship.

May we be a people who worship not only when everything works, but also when it doesn’t. Because our hope has never been in perfect conditions. Our hope has always been in a faithful God.

Peace,
Nick

If you have raced with men on foot and they have worn you out, how can you compete with horses? If you stumble in safe country, how will you manage in the thickets by the Jordan? Jer. 12:5

These are challenging and difficult days. Not because everything is terrible all the time, but because there’s a constant heaviness in the things of our world. The pace is relentless. The volume is loud. The pressure to react, to keep up, to stay informed, to stay outraged, to stay relevant, it seems to never lets up.

I see many people exhausted. Not just in their physical bodies, but in their souls. They are tired of running, tired of sorting through noise, tired of feeling like faith is something we’re trying to hold onto while the current keeps speeding up. Even good people, doing good things, for good reasons, feel worn down.

The Prophet Jeremiah lived in a moment like that. Political instability. Spiritual confusion. A sense that everything solid was starting to shake. And in that moment, God asked him a piercing question: if running on foot with other men has already left you worn out, what makes you think you’re ready to run with horses? If you’re stumbling when the ground feels relatively safe, how will you stand when things grow tangled, dense, and dangerous?

It’s not a rebuke as much as it is a reality check. God isn’t shaming Jeremiah for being tired. He’s naming the moment. He’s saying, this is training ground. The strain you feel now isn’t meaningless. It’s preparation.

That’s a hard word for us, because we’d much rather God remove the pressure than use it. We pray for relief, for calm, for the noise to quiet down. And sometimes God gives that. But often, He does something deeper. He strengthens our legs. He deepens our roots. He teaches us how to run at a different pace, with a different power source.

The invitation here isn’t to run harder, it’s to run wiser. To stop trying to keep up with every voice, every outrage, every manufactured emergency. To let go of the illusion that we have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. That was never our job.

Following Jesus has never been about frantic striving. It’s about faithful endurance. About learning to walk closely enough with Him that when the terrain changes (and it will), we’re not relying on adrenaline, but on trust and hope. Not on our own strength, but on His.

These are challenging and difficult days. But they are not wasted days. God is at work in the middle of them, forming a people who can stand firm, love deeply, and keep moving forward, even when the path gets thick.

And the good news is this: we do not run alone.

Peace,
Nick

Image: Derek Redmond, 1992 Olympics; by Robert Deutsch, USA TODAY

The quote above is from Pixar’s movie Cars, said by the character Tow Mater, the world’s best backwards driver. Jeff and I saw Cars in the theater while we were dating. More than twice. It’s a little funny to me that two people in their mid 20’s paid to see the same cartoon multiple times!

In the movie, Tow Mater is teaching Lightning McQueen how to drive backwards. In all honesty, I don’t think it's great advice for driving backwards, and I definitely don’t think it's great life advice! But I do think it's important to understand where you've come from as you think about where you're going.

Hope has a long, rich history, and is a community I am proud and so thankful to be part of. Knowing our past deepens my connection to this community.

Sunday, February 1st we'll begin our three-week Hope Connection class. It's a great jumping-off point for getting plugged in here at Hope, but it's also a great way to gain a greater understanding of who we are and what we value. Hope Connection looks back at the values that have guided us to this point, and continue to guide how we will operate in the future. This class starts out by highlighting the most important thing to Hope, the gospel. In my opinion it's the fastest way to see Hope at its core. Different pastors lead each week, so attendees will get to be in small spaces and get to know staff on a more personal level. The first week, Pastor Steve shares Hope history and a simple illustration of the gospel called "The Bridge." Week two, you'll get to walk through core values with Pastor Ben and I. The third week we'll share ways to get plugged in, followed by a lunch where pastor Nick shares his story and answers all your burning questions.

And the best thing about Hope Connection? Anyone can come! So even if you've been at Hope for years, we'd love for you to join us! I promise you'll learn something new that will deepen your connection to Hope. You'll get to see where we have been, catch a vision for where we're going -- and meet a few new people.

Pastor Jolene

Go here to learn more and sign up.

Every once in a while, something small will stop me in my tracks. A song I haven’t heard in years. A picture that pops up unexpectedly. A moment that reminds me of a season of life I’d almost forgotten. Those moments have a way of re-anchoring us. They remind us not just of what happened, but of who carried us through it.

Scripture is filled with moments where God’s people are invited, and sometimes commanded, to remember. Not so they would live in the past, but so they would not forget who God is. Over and over, God reminds His people to look back and recall His faithfulness, His provision, and His presence.

There is something powerful about remembering together.

When we pause to reflect on where we have been, we start to see patterns we might have missed in real time. We see prayers answered. We see growth that did not feel dramatic in the moment. We see how God worked through ordinary faithfulness, quiet generosity, and a community willing to show up again and again.

And remembering does something else too. It gives us confidence to step forward. When we see what God has already done, we are reminded that He is not finished.

This coming Sunday is our Annual Meeting, and I genuinely hope you will make it a priority to be there. I get that people might see this as a Sunday to sleep in and skip, but please understand we work hard to make sure this is not a boring, procedural, sit-through-it kind of gathering. It is one of those Sundays where we celebrate, laugh, learn, and remind ourselves why being part of this church family matters.

We will share stories, highlight what God has been doing in and through Hope, and look ahead with expectation for what is coming next. Most of all, we will take time together to remember God’s goodness.

I believe moments like these help shape who we are as a church. They ground us. They unite us. And they prepare us for what God has in front of us. I would love to see you this Sunday.

peace,
Nick

Did you know on Feb. 13th we are partnering with the Tim Tebow Foundation and will be hosting a Prom night experience for 200+ of our Special Needs friends in our Barn? Just the thought of it makes me smile! We need a bunch of volunteers to pull this off (email ashley@hopecc.net). To learn more please check out this week’s video newsletter!

Also, take some time to read this beautiful prayer/blessing that our Special Needs Coordinator, Shauna Bussard, was recently gifted. (Head to the Special Needs room if you want to see this hanging on the wall.) Our Wings of Hope Special Needs Ministry is a true gift to our church!


Beatitudes of Wings of Hope

Blessed are you who welcome me into God’s house,
for you show me that the body of Christ has a place for everyone.

Blessed are you who see me not as a problem, but as a person,
for you reflect the heart of Jesus.

Blessed are you who greet me with joy and patience,
for you help me feel the love of God in your smile.

Blessed are you who make room for my noises, movements, and differences,
for you teach the church what grace looks like.

Blessed are you who adapt lessons, worship, and activities for me,
for you mirror the Savior who meets each person where they are.

Blessed are you who sit beside me when church is overwhelming,
for your presence brings peace and comfort.

Blessed are you who celebrate my efforts, no matter how small,
for you understand the joy of every step forward.

Blessed are you who pray for me and with me,
for you lift me into the arms of the Father.

Blessed are you who believe that I am fearfully and wonderfully made,
for your belief helps me know the truth of who God created me to be.

WE ARE ALL WONDERFULLY MADE!

I spent some time at the start of the New Year praying and pondering who Jesus is and who He is not. As I prayed and wrote, I became overwhelmed by how radically different Jesus is from any other leader who has ever lived.

Fully God. Fully human. Jesus lived a completely genuine life. While living sin-free, He freely gave up His life for our sake on the cross. And He rose from the dead without seeking revenge.

Jesus did not abuse the vulnerable. He did not lie to survive, cheat to win, or steal to promote Himself. He did not manipulate crowds, coerce loyalty, or terrorize enemies. He did not raise up an army and He did not incite violence. He had no political sponsors and no machinery of earthly power behind Him. He did not court the rich, flatter the influential, or accumulate wealth to protect His future.

Instead, Jesus took the lowest place. He knelt. He washed feet. He touched the unclean. He ate with outcasts. He crossed boundaries others worked hard to defend, religious, ethnic, and social. He honored women. He welcomed children. He demanded the protection of their dignity and their lives.

How radically different!

Many turn to movements and ideologies to tell them who they are, who they must fear, and who they must oppose. Intensity is mistaken for truth and outrage becomes moral currency. People become tools in cultural warfare.

Jesus does not form identity by turning people into enemies. His battle is not against flesh and blood, and His Kingdom is not built by defending tribes but by transforming hearts. Jesus will not be reduced to a symbol, deployed as a slogan, or enrolled into our campaigns.

Jesus is the Way. Jesus is the Truth. Jesus is the Life.

He stands before us not as an idea to agree with, but as a person to follow. Not as an identity to perform, but as a life to receive. To follow Him is to be freed and loved.

I think this is why Jesus still unsettles so many. He cannot be captured by our movements. He will not be weaponized for our causes. He remains stubbornly, mercifully, real and holy.

Jesus captivates me and consumes me. To see Jesus leaves me with only one response: My soul, my life, my all.

Peace,
Nick

art: “Jesus the Liberator,” 1973, by Willis Wheatley

Most meaningful things in life don’t happen all at once. They take time, repetition, and a lot of unseen faithfulness. We live in a world that celebrates the dramatic, the big moment, the instant turnaround, the viral story, but God so often works quietly, patiently, and steadily.

While Scripture has instances of drastic transformation for people, Scripture also repeatedly reminds us that growth in the Kingdom of God rarely looks impressive in the moment. Jesus spoke about faith the size of a mustard seed, something almost unnoticeable in your hand, yet capable of growing into something strong and life-giving. The point wasn’t the size of the faith, but the direction of it. When even small faith is placed in the right hands, mountains begin to move.

That’s often how life with the Lord unfolds. Not through massive spiritual leaps or perfectly executed plans, but through ordinary obedience. A simple prayer offered honestly. Opening Scripture when it would be easier to distract ourselves. Choosing forgiveness, patience, or humility in moments where no one else will ever notice. These small steps may feel insignificant, but they are not wasted.

Paul encourages the church with these words: “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9). There is an assumption in that verse that weariness will come. Faithfulness isn’t always exciting. Growth doesn’t always feel productive. But God promises that perseverance, even in small things, leads somewhere good.

Mountains rarely move overnight. They shift slowly, sometimes imperceptibly, through steady pressure applied over time. In the same way, continued faithfulness toward the Lord shapes us more than any single moment ever could. Prayer forms us. Obedience softens us. Trust deepens us.

So as a New Year is beginning, wherever you find yourself right now, steady or tired, hopeful or unsure, don’t underestimate the power of the next small step toward Jesus. God has always done His best work through people who simply kept walking with Him, one faithful step at a time.

Peace,
Nick

Writing this weekly letter/ blog is a very good thing and challenge all at the same time. It’s good, because it gives the author a chance to communicate things on their heart which God is teaching and hopefully it is also very helpful for those reading to grow in their knowledge and love of Jesus. It’s challenging, because regardless of what is going on in the writer’s life, it comes due every week. During my 29 years as the primary writer, with God’s help, I’d estimate I wrote over 1,000 of these letters. Whew!

Pastor Nick does a very excellent job. Each week after reading what God has put on his heart I generally always send a thank you and very brief note of encouragement. If you think about it, please consider praying for him as he sits down to write. It’s not easy to do so week-after-week hoping to write what is pleasing to God, helpful to the reader, and interesting enough to be read and retained.

Even though it’s always a privilege, I’m grateful I now only write a few of these during the year. Many times, it has been hard to know exactly what I should write. I’ve struggled with this one, but this morning after Sharon and I had coffee as I was asking God for help, this came to mind.

Often when meeting with someone I close our time by praying something like this, “Father, I humbly yet boldly ask, today in a way which makes sense to ________ will You please make Yourself known in a very intimate and special way.” (Please, insert your name.)

Today, this is my desire for each of you who are reading this letter. My hope and joy would be for God our Father through His Holy Spirit by way of your faith in Jesus to make Himself known to you in a deeply personal and meaningful way. I really don’t know what that means for you as each of us presently need and experience God in different ways. But, whatever you need today, would God draw very close in a very unique and loving way.

But, also know, you need to play your part. You need to humble yourself, ask God for ears to hear, eyes to see, and a heart to discern His presence. You need to be intentional and open for what He has to say. It might be a very small whisper or shout. It might come by way of a friend, stranger, sunset, song, smell, or whatever. But please, invite God to speak and listen very prayerfully and carefully. Then, remember to be very grateful and worship. Happy listening.

Peace,
steve
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art: detail of "And She Wrote Color" by Ted Byrne

Have you ever had one of those seasons where you can’t see what God is doing? You’re still showing up, still trying to pray, still trying to trust, but it feels like the lights have gone out.

Isaiah 50:10 says, “Who among you fears the Lord and obeys the word of his servant? Let the one who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the Lord and rely on their God.”

This verse isn’t about people running from God. It’s about people who fear the Lord, people who are walking with Him, and yet find themselves in darkness. Sometimes the darkness isn’t a sign of failure; it’s just part of the journey of faith.

God doesn’t promise that faithful people will always have light. He promises that we can trust Him when we don’t. When your prayers seem unanswered, when your path feels unclear, when you’re doing all the right things but can’t see the results, that’s when faith becomes real.

“Let the one who walks in the dark… trust.” Because when we walk in the dark, the temptation is to panic. To try to light our own torch, fix our own problem, or run toward the nearest glow, anywhere but here. But Isaiah invites us to do something quieter and harder: trust in the name of the Lord and rely on our God.

It’s not passive resignation. It’s active faith. It’s choosing to believe that even when I can’t see His hand, His heart is still good. It’s resting in the truth that God hasn’t gone anywhere, He’s simply teaching me to lean on Him in ways I never would have if everything was clear and bright.

The light will come. It always does. But in the meantime, remember this: The same God who was faithful in the light is still faithful in the dark.

“Even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.” (Psalm 139:12)

peace,
Nick
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art: detail of "Untitled (Black on Grey)" by Mark Rothko, 1969

I love Christmas. I love the lights, the meals, the music, the gift surprises, and the family traditions. These things are gifts to be enjoyed. But Romans 1:25 gives us a gentle caution: “They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator - who is forever praised. Amen.” Christmas traditions are not the problem, the danger comes only when we stop at the traditions, rather than letting them point to the One they’re really about.

Christmas traditions should be like signposts. The Christmas fruit cake should point us to the Bread of Life. The fun gift exchanges should point us to the Gift of grace. The lights on our houses should remind us that Jesus is the Light of the world. The Christmas parties and gatherings should echo the God who gathers His people to Himself.

The point isn’t to push aside these traditions, it’s to allow them to elevate our worship. When we unwrap gifts, we can remember the God who wrapped Himself in humanity. When we sing carols, we can imagine the angels singing over shepherds. When we decorate our homes, we can celebrate that God came to make His home among us.

Instead of rejecting the created joys of Christmas, we can redeem them, reframe them, and redirect them.

So this year, I hope we savor the season. Drink the hot chocolate. Enjoy the laughter. Sit by the fire. Watch the movies. Take in the lights. And through all of it, may our hearts whisper again and again: Thank You, Jesus. You came for us.

Grace and peace this Christmas, may everything we love about this season move us deeper into love for the One we celebrate.

Peace,
Nick

There’s a quiet moment every year, usually sometime right after Thanksgiving, when you can feel life tip forward into a new season. One day the trees are stubbornly holding onto fall, and the next morning they’ve surrendered, branches bare, air colder, lights going up around town. It’s like creation itself takes a deep breath and whispers, “It’s time.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about seasons lately. Not just weather seasons, but the seasons we walk through in our actual lives, the stretches of joy we didn’t see coming, the long valleys we wish would hurry up, the plateaus where everything feels steady, and the transitions where everything feels like it’s changing at once.

And as we enter the Christmas season, that thought keeps circling back: God is with us in it all. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the calm, cozy moments. Not just the Instagrammable pieces of December. All of it.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we're told that one of Jesus’ names is Immanuel, God with us. Not God above us. Not God far from us. Not God waiting for us to get our act together before He draws near. But God with us.

With us in the celebrations. With us in the stress. With us in the quiet drives home when we’re not sure how to fix the thing that feels broken. With us in the laughter with kids or grandkids.
With us in the grief that sneaks up on us this time of year. With us in the busy, ordinary, holy moments we don’t even notice until later.

Seasons change, but God’s nearness does not. Sometimes the shifting seasons around us feel like reminders we didn’t ask for. The darkness comes earlier, the mornings colder, the schedules fuller. But what if instead of seeing those things as interruptions, we saw them as invitations? What if each changing season—weathered or personal—was its own quiet nudge pointing us back to the steady presence of Jesus?

Maybe that’s part of what Christmas does. It slows us down just enough to remember: the God who entered our world that first Christmas, has actually never left it. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

So, as we step into this month together, here’s the simple encouragement on my mind: Whatever season you find yourself in right now, God is with you in it.

And my hope for us as a church family is that we don’t rush past that truth in the busyness of December. I hope this Christmas doesn’t just remind us that Jesus came, but that Jesus stays.

peace,
Nick

art: The Road to Emmaus by Janet Brooks-Gerloff, 1992

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Sometimes we treat Scripture like a podcast on 2x speed. We skim through a passage, check it off our reading plan, and move on to the next thing. But then this little word shows up numerous times in the book of Psalms—Selah.

We don’t fully know what it meant to the original singers, but most agree it was a kind of pause. A holy pause. A moment to breathe, reflect, and give weight to the truth just spoken. It’s like God saying: “Don’t rush past this. Sit in it. Let it work on you.”

Think about how much we need that in our lives today. Everything around us screams hurry. Hustle. Keep scrolling. Keep moving. And yet Selah whispers the opposite. Stop. Breathe. Notice. Reflect.

Psalm 46 is one of my favorites: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way… (Selah).”

Right in the middle of earthquakes, chaos, and uncertainty, God calls us to pause. To remember that He is still our refuge and strength. To let His Word sink deep, shaping not just what we know but how we live.

Maybe that’s what you need today—a Selah moment. Not another sermon, podcast, or headline. Just a pause to breathe in God’s truth. A moment to remember He is with you. A space to let His Word be more than words on a page, but life to your soul.

So here’s my encouragement: don’t rush through Scripture this week. Find a verse, read it slowly, then stop. Let it echo. Carry it with you. That’s the rhythm of Selah. Because sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is stop. Selah.

Prayer:

Lord, help me to pause. In the middle of my hurry, let me stop long enough to hear You, to feel Your presence, and to let Your Word sink deep. Teach me not just to read but to rest. Not just to know but to be shaped by You. Today I choose to breathe, reflect, and remember You are my refuge and strength. Amen.

peace,
Nick

There’s a saying we’ve all heard: “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” I get what it’s trying to say. Sometimes when we’re apart from someone we love, we realize just how much they mean to us. Absence can wake us up to affection we’ve taken for granted.

But when it comes to our relationship with the Lord, I’m not sure that saying holds up.

Because while a little distance might stir a longing, too much distance creates separation—and separation always hurts.

When we drift from God, we don’t just miss Him; we start to lose sight of who we are. The peace we once knew gets replaced with anxiety. The joy that used to come naturally starts feeling forced. The spiritual clarity we once had gets clouded by noise and distraction.

That’s why James writes, “Come near to God and He will come near to you.” (James 4:8) It is a promise that God doesn’t play hard to get. He’s always near, but He invites us to draw near as well. Not because He’s moved away, but because we have.

Psalm 73:28 says, “But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all Your deeds.”

There’s no substitute for proximity. The goodness of God isn’t just something to think about—it’s something to experience when we’re close to Him.

The truth is, distance from God rarely happens all at once. It’s usually subtle—a few skipped prayers here, a distracted heart there. We tell ourselves we’ll get back to Him when life slows down, but life rarely does. Before long, that faint longing for God becomes a deep ache of disconnection.

But here’s the good news: no matter how far you’ve wandered, God’s invitation remains. Like the father in the story of the prodigal son, He’s watching the road, waiting for you to come home.

And when you do, you’ll find what the psalmist found: not guilt, not shame—just the goodness of being near again.

peace,
Nick

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for a while, no doubt you've heard something about Artificial Intelligence – AI. Here's a simple definition, gleaned from online (which no doubt was written by AI): “Artificial intelligence is a field of science concerned with building computers and machines that can reason, learn, and act in such a way that would normally require human intelligence or that involves data whose scale exceeds what humans can analyze.”

AI can be a very valuable tool to humanity in so many ways, such as in the area of medical research, with daily tasks like summarizing business meetings, crunching numbers for scientific endeavors, and helping to modify poorly taken photos. But, as with all things on this out-of-whack planet, it can also be easily weaponized by sinful people. If AI begins to think for itself, it just might conclude that humankind, you and I, are no longer needed. Since technology is involved in all areas of our lives from power grids, to finances, to automobiles, to hospital equipment, to water supplies, to weapon systems… we would be in big trouble!

So, here’s what I’m getting to: In our day-to-day lives, AI is now causing many things to be questioned, making us wonder what's truth, and what's real. It's getting so good that we really can't be sure if a photo, video, song, artwork, interview, article, or anything online was created by or manipulated by AI. This is a problem. How can you be sure what's fact and reality?  

So, here’s specifically what I’m pondering and what my little brain has recently been processing: Could this actually be a very good thing for relationships and the Church? Why? Because, more than ever, face-to-face communication will be one of the most trusted sources of information we can possess. The ancient, proven, and time-lived truths–such as the Bible–just might be perceived by the masses as even more needed, dependable, and trustworthy.

This could mean that our gathering together for worship, Sunday School, small groups, and one-on-one for coffee could become more valuable than ever. After all, we can be sure these times together haven't been artificially filtered or the content manipulated. Listening to the preacher live, accurately teaching from a proven ancient document–God’s Word–will be a much more trusted source of communication. In this post-modern, increasingly AI-infused world, God’s Word and going to church just might be more important than any time in history. Hmmmm… something to ponder. (Hebrews 10:24-25, 2 Timothy 3:16, Hebrews 4:12)

Peace,
steve

PS – Be happy. God is ultimately in control.

I recently returned from my third high school mission trip, and for the third year I returned home completely exhausted. But also completely fulfilled. Our students are truly amazing! As an adult, it's so exciting to see young people wrestling with owning their faith and embracing Jesus. It's one of my favorite weeks each year.

I also got to go to middle school camp this summer as a leader. I've never worked with middle school students, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I'd hoped there would be an adult female who already volunteers in that ministry who could go, but that didn't work out this year. And gosh am I glad! It was so much fun and those middle school students are amazing! They are smart and sincere and it is a gift to get to be a part of their Jesus journey. I’m so glad I didn’t miss that opportunity.

The week before I left for the high school mission trip, I found myself wrestling with the idea that I really didn’t have time to go on the trip. I mean, I was committed, so I was going to go, but what was going to be sacrificed that week I was gone? I knew I'd have to work extra hard when I got home in order to get caught up on all that didn't get done that week.

As followers of Jesus, this is the tension we will always be in. Jesus calls us to a life of sacrifice for the sake of the kingdom. The sacrifice will look different for each individual. For me this past summer, it meant our family was not able to make a trip to Colorado. For others it could mean giving up comforts and preferences. It could mean taking a year off from your Bible study to help shepherd kids in one of our student ministries or driving separately from your spouse on Sunday mornings so that you can serve in our kids hall during the service you are not attending. Serving the kingdom is often not convenient, but it is fulfilling and more importantly, it forms our life to be more like Jesus. In Mark 10:45 Jesus tells his disciples, “For the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Jesus’ life is the ultimate picture of service and sacrifice.

I know not everyone has the luxury of taking two weeks in the middle of the summer to go on student trips. But I do believe we all have some time, comforts and preferences that we can sacrifice to serve the Lord. Serving the kingdom draws us closer to Jesus. It refines us and makes us more like who we are created to be. And, who knows, you might just stumble upon something that is unexpectedly fulfilling.

♥️
Jolene

Interested in serving? Ben and I can help you get connected. jolene@hopecc.net or bgriffis@hopecc.net

Every fall the trees put on a show. Bright oranges, reds, and yellows light up the streets. But eventually, the beauty gives way to barrenness. The branches empty out, the wind whistles through, and the tree looks almost lifeless.

And yet—come spring, those same trees are clothed again. New buds push through, new leaves unfurl, and the cycle of life continues.

That picture isn’t just about nature; it’s about us.

Life with Jesus is not static—it’s transformation and regrowth. There are seasons where things fall away, where parts of us we once thought we needed are stripped down. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s an old habit or a way of thinking that no longer fits the new life God is forming in us. Those “fall” seasons feel exposed and uncomfortable.

But in Jesus, no season of loss is wasted. He is the God of resurrection, the God of new creation. What looks barren is often the soil where His Spirit is preparing something new. Just like the tree, what feels like an ending is actually the setup for fresh growth.

Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 5:17: “If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”

That’s the invitation: to trust that even when it feels like parts of our life are being stripped away, Jesus is faithful to bring renewal. To not cling to dead leaves but to open our hands to the new growth He promises.

So let’s be people who don’t fear the seasons of letting go. Let’s trust the Spirit’s work of transformation. Because the God who regrows the trees every spring is the same God who is making you new, day by day.

peace,
Nick

When we hear the word punishment, most of us flinch. It sounds harsh, final, and crushing. But what if we’ve misunderstood how God works with His children? The question worth asking is: What punishments of God are not gifts?

Hebrews reminds us, “because the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and He chastens everyone He accepts as His son” (Hebrews 12:6). In other words, God’s discipline is not a cruel punishment meant to destroy us. It’s the careful correction of a Father who loves us too much to let us stay on the path of destruction.

Think about it—when a parent disciplines their child, it’s not because they hate them, but because they love them. They want what’s best. They want their child to grow up healthy, wise, and good. A good father doesn’t sit back while his son runs into traffic. He steps in, even if the intervention stings in the moment.

So when God allows consequences, corrections, or even seasons of discomfort in our lives, He isn’t throwing thunderbolts from the sky in anger. He’s shepherding us back toward His goodness. Even His discipline is wrapped in grace. Every “punishment” that comes from His hand is ultimately for our growth, our protection, and our transformation.

This flips our perspective. Instead of asking, Why is God against me? we can ask, What is God giving me through this? Instead of dreading His correction, we can welcome it as evidence that we belong to Him. If He didn’t love us, He wouldn’t bother.

The truth is, there are no punishments from God that aren’t gifts. Every stroke of discipline is aimed at shaping us into who He knows we can become. Every correction is a sign of His relentless love. And even when it hurts, it’s still grace.

So the next time you face hardship, pause before calling it punishment. It might just be a gift.

peace,
Nick