Long before there were temples or thrones, there were shepherds. The stories of faith are full of them — Jacob, his sons, David — ordinary people who learned to tend living things and listen for what the land and the flock were telling them. In the ancient world, multiple flocks would spend the night together in a shared enclosure — and in the morning, each shepherd would call, and each flock would sort itself out by the sound of the one voice it recognized. This week, we stay with that image and let it ask us something honest: Do we know the voice calling us? Join us Sunday at 830, 11:00, or 11:30 am.

They were walking away from Jerusalem — away from the tomb, away from the rumors, away from the hope that hadn't quite taken hold yet. A stranger fell into step beside them, and they didn't recognize him. They talked with him for miles. They invited him in for a meal. And it was only when he reached across the table, took the bread, and broke it — that they saw who had been beside them the whole time. This week, we sit with the events that happened along the road to Emmaus and ask the questions it quietly raises: How often is Christ walking beside us before we realize it? See you in worship on Sunday.

He has carried the label, "Doubting Thomas", for two thousand years. But what if we have been reading him wrong? Thomas was the disciple who once declared he would die alongside Jesus — hardly the portrait of a man without courage or conviction. This week, we take a second look at Thomas — and at the holy, necessary space where honest questions and deep trust learn to live together.

This Easter, we invite you to embody your identity as Resurrection People who recognize new life blooming all around us. As Resurrection People, we're called not only to proclaim the good news but to cultivate resurrection moments for those around us, bearing witness to beauty and new life in both nature and our neighbors.  This Easter, we celebrate that nothing God touches stays dead—and we are called to be agents of that same resurrection hope in our world.  See you Sunday!

As with many traditions, we look back through the lens of nostalgia and celebrations of the past to form our expectations of the future.  This year, however, let's encounter Palm Sunday together with fresh eyes —as if we're hearing the hosannas for the very first time. Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey, not a war-horse, while crowds praise him as King. The expectations of the people and of the disciples in that moment differ greatly from the story that is about to unfold.  Two thousand years later, how often do our own expectations of Jesus the Christ in our lives differ from the outcomes? This Palm Sunday, we're challenged to release our grip on what we think we know and allow God to speak in and through us as the Body of Christ.

When God calls us to harvest for the Kingdom, how do we respond to those who arrive late but receive the same grace? As harvesters in God's field, we participate in the beautiful cycle of faith—adults teach children who grow up to teach the next generation, each bearing fruit in their season. But when we place ourselves alongside other workers, do we fall into the sin of comparison, measuring our faithfulness against theirs and believing we deserve more? This week, we're challenged to remember that we are all equally gifted and beloved children of God, called to celebrate the harvest rather than count the hours.