Luke

Luke 3:1-6
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate
was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother
Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of
Abilene,  2  during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of
God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.  3  He went into all the
region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the
forgiveness of sins,  4  as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet
Isaiah, ‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
    make his paths straight.
5  Every valley shall be filled,
    and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
    and the rough ways made smooth;
6  and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”’

Long before there was a Methodist Church, there was just a movement — a group of people trying to live out their faith with passion and purpose. Jesus sent his followers out two by two, telling them to share the good news and bring God's kingdom near wherever they went. That same spirit shaped the early Methodists, who believed every person, not just the clergy, has a role to play in God's work. This week, we're digging into the history that shaped who we are, including a name you've probably heard before but maybe didn't know the story behind. Join us this Sunday as we trace our roots and discover where we came from.

Jesus told a story about a man who threw a big banquet and invited all his friends. One by one, they made excuses and didn't show up. So the host sent his servants out into the streets to invite anyone they could find — and the table still had room for more. This week, we're asking why that story matters for how we live as Methodists today. What does it mean to follow a faith that always makes room for one more person? Join us this Sunday as we explore what it means to have an Open Table.

We have prayed it a hundred times, maybe a thousand — but do we know what we are really saying? The Lord's Prayer began not as a script handed down from on high, but as a response to disciples who were hungry enough for genuine connection with God that they stopped and asked Jesus to show them how. This week, we trace the prayer back to its roots, sit with the question that started it all, and ask ourselves: are we praying at God, or are we truly talking to him?

Scripture is full of upward gestures toward the divine: smoke from the altar curling heavenward, Moses climbing Sinai, Elijah swept into the sky in fire and wind. Each one reaching toward God. But the Ascension of Christ is something different — not a reaching up, but a going ahead. This week, we consider what it means that Jesus did not simply leave, but ascended as our advocate, carrying our humanity with him into the presence of the Father. And we sit with the question his disciples faced at the foot of that hill: now that he is gone, what are we supposed to do with everything he showed us on the way down? See you Sunday for Worship.

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.

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