​Read: Psalm 8 & 2 Corinthians 13:11-13    
 
          Since the start of the year, we have built an "Unshakable" foundation, traveled the "Wilderness Road," and experienced the powerful change of Pentecost. We have seen that the Resurrection is not only a past event but a living reality that sends us out in mission. Now, with the Spirit among us, we begin a new chapter. This week, we start our new sermon series: "The Fruit of the Spirit: Living an Intentional Faith." In the coming weeks, we will focus on the real, practical signs of a life led by the Spirit. We begin by looking at the source of that fruit: the mystery of the Trinity. Our theme is "The God of Three-in-One," and through Psalm 8 and 2 Corinthians 13:11-13, we see that faith is not just about following rules, but about joining in the relationship God offers.
 
          It makes sense to start this series by looking closely at who God is, because our understanding of the "Fruit of the Spirit" depends on who we believe is at work in us. In Psalm 8, the writer looks up at the sky, sees the moon and stars, and feels humbled. He asks, "What are humans that you are mindful of them?" This question helps us ground our faith in the right place. When we think about how great God is, our pride and self-reliance fade away. We are made "a little lower than God" and "crowned with glory and honor," but this honor is not something we earn. It is a reflection of the One who created the stars and still knows each of us by name.
 
          The greatness of our Creator-God is the first part of our faith. He is the Father who holds the universe and calls it good. But our faith is not just about a distant God. In 2 Corinthians 13, Paul brings this greatness into our daily lives and relationships. He ends his letter with practical advice: "Be restored; listen to my appeal; agree with one another; live in peace." These are the first signs of the "Fruit of the Spirit" we will explore: restoration, unity, and peace. Paul says these are not just good manners; they naturally come from living with the "God of love and peace." If we want to see if our faith is intentional, we should look at our relationships. Do we bring peace? Do we listen? Do we help restore others?
 
          The heart of this passage, and of our whole series, is the blessing in verse 13: "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you." Here, the "Three-in-One" is not just a difficult concept to understand but the real source of strength in our daily lives. We have the Grace of Jesus, which meets us when we are weak and forgives us when we fail—a grace we felt when we walked the road to Emmaus and saw Jesus in the breaking of bread. We have the Love of God, the deep care of the Creator who made the heavens and gave us honor. And we have the Communion of the Holy Spirit, the power that came like a wind at Pentecost to fill us and send us out.
 
          Living with 'Intentional Faith' means shaping your daily life around the reality of the Trinity. It's about staying connected to the Spirit and remembering that your choices, words, and acts of service are never done alone. You do them with God, who is a community in Himself. The Trinity shows us that God's very nature is love, not just because He loves us, but because He exists as a perfect, loving, and giving relationship. When you show the fruit of the Spirit, you join in that relationship: you give grace because you've received it, you love because you are loved, and you help build unity because the Spirit brings us together. This is an invitation to step into the relationship of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
 
          When life feels heavy this week, remember the greatness of God in Psalm 8, who cares for you more than the stars in the sky. If you find it hard to love someone or settle a conflict, turn to the grace of Jesus and the peace the Spirit gives. In the end, intentional faith is about making space for God in the ordinary parts of your week, knowing you are not just working for God, but working with Him.
 
          This week, focus on noticing what is happening around you. As you spend time with your family, coworkers, and neighbors, look for signs of the Trinity at work. Where can you show grace? Where can you bring peace? Where can you help build stronger connections? The God of Three-in-One is already working in your life, inviting you to a deeper way of loving. Let us start this new series with open hearts, ready to see how the Spirit will grow His fruit in us—not for our own praise, but for the glory of the God whose name is great in all the earth.

​​Read: Acts 2:1-21    
 
          We have arrived at the summit. Since the first Sunday of January, we have been on a singular, arduous, and beautiful journey. We began by cementing an "Unshakable" foundation for our faith, and throughout the long, dusty months of February and March, we walked "The Wilderness Road." We learned to rend our hearts, drop the weight of our idols, and gaze upon the Resurrection with eyes finally opened to the light. Over the last six weeks, as we lived out the "Echoes of the Empty Tomb," we touched the wounds of Thomas, walked the dusty road to Emmaus, heard the Shepherd's voice, abided in the Vine, practiced the Command of Love, and accepted our commission to be sent into the world. Now, the quiet Eastertide waiting comes to a thunderous end. Our final theme is "The Rushing Wind," based on Acts 2:1-21, the arrival of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
 
            When the day of Pentecost arrived, the disciples were "all together in one place." It is a scene of profound unity that stands in stark contrast to the fear and scattering they experienced in the days after the crucifixion. This was the result of their obedience—a testament to what happens when a community stops trying to manufacture its own "crowns" and simply waits for God's promise. And then, it happened: "Suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind." The Holy Spirit did not arrive as a gentle suggestion; He arrived as a force of nature. This is the "Rushing Wind" that clears out the cobwebs of our hesitation and the stagnant air of our traditions. It is the breath of God returning to the lungs of the church, filling the entire house and, by extension, the entire world.
 
            The imagery that follows is equally striking: "Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them." Fire, in the language of our journey, has been a constant companion—from the "Refiner's Fire" of our Lenten repentance to the "Fire on the Road" at Emmaus. But here, the fire is no longer a tool of judgment; it is a seal of commission. It rests on each of them, not just the leaders, not just the gifted, but every person who has been following Jesus. This is the moment the church stopped being a group of frightened observers and became a body of empowered participants. The "Echoes of the Empty Tomb" were no longer just stories they repeated to one another; they were a power that propelled them out into the streets to speak the "deeds of power" in languages they had never learned.
 
          The crowd gathered in Jerusalem was "bewildered" and "astonished," and for good reason. They heard the common, Galilean believers speaking to Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and Arabs in their own native tongues. This is the ultimate reversal of the confusion of Babel. At Babel, humanity's pride led to the fragmentation of languages; at Pentecost, the Spirit's presence led to the reconciliation of cultures. The Resurrection life is not a private, comfortable experience; it is a radical, cross-cultural, and world-shifting reality. It demands that we step out of our silos and engage with the diversity of God's creation. As we conclude this series, we must realize that the growth of the early church wasn't powered by strategic planning or human genius; it was driven by the Rushing Wind that refused to keep the Gospel contained within the walls of a single house or a single language.
 
            Yet, even in the midst of this miracle, there were those who "sneered and said, 'They are filled with new wine.'" This is a constant reality for the people of God. When we are truly filled with the Spirit—when our lives are characterized by a joy and a boldness that defy the logic of the world—the world will often label us as "drunk" or "out of our minds." Peter's response is one of the most powerful pivots in Scripture. He stands up with the eleven and calls the world to look at what God is doing. He quotes the prophet Joel, declaring that the "last days" have arrived—the days where God pours out His Spirit on all flesh. No longer is prophecy reserved for the elite or the few; now, sons and daughters, young and old, men and women, even the lowest servants, are empowered to see visions and dream dreams.
 
            This is the great, climactic truth of our five-month journey: the wilderness was never the end, and the tomb was never the final word. The purpose of every lesson we've learned, every weight we've dropped, and every scar we've named is to prepare us to be vessels for the Spirit. The "Unshakable" foundation was meant to support the weight of the fire; the "Wilderness Road" was meant to strip away the clutter so we could hear the wind; and the "Empty Tomb" was the opening of the door that allowed the Spirit to flood into our world. We are no longer wanderers; we are witnesses. We are no longer servants; we are friends. We are no longer branches trying to survive; we are a Vineyard that has finally been set ablaze.
 
            As we move forward beyond this series, do not let the fire go out. Do not let the rushing wind of the Spirit become a stagnant memory of a Sunday morning service. The promise of Pentecost is that the Spirit stays. He is with you as you go back to your "Emmaus" roads, as you return to your work, and as you navigate the complexities of a world that still needs to hear the deeds of power in its own native language. May you be a person of visions and dreams. May you be a person who speaks the truth with the fire of love. May you be a person who invites everyone who calls on the name of the Lord to find salvation. The journey we started in January has led us here, to the breath of God. Breathe it in, carry it out, and let the echoes ring until the whole world knows that the Lord is risen indeed.

Read: John 17:13-19    

We have reached the sixth week of our journey into the "Echoes of the Empty Tomb," and the momentum of this Eastertide season is shifting in a profound and challenging way. Since the very first Sunday of January, we have been building an "Unshakable" foundation for our faith, preparing our hearts for the long, dusty miles of "The Wilderness Road" that stretched across February and March. Together, we have learned what it means to drop our heavy weights, face our deepest temptations, and trust that God can turn our absolute dead ends into doorways of new life. In the weeks following Easter morning, we have sat with the raw reality of our own wounds, felt our hearts burn along the road to Emmaus, listened closely for the Shepherd's voice, and practiced the quiet discipline of abiding in the Vine so that we might live out the radical Command of Love. Now, as the calendar marches steadily toward the horizon of Pentecost, the spiritual sap that has been feeding us in the vineyard is pushing us outward. Our theme for this week is "Sent to Serve," based on Jesus' beautiful High Priestly Prayer in John 17:13-19, and it represents the exact moment where our internal reorientation becomes an external mission.
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          The passage begins with Jesus praying to the Father in the shadow of His impending departure, yet His primary concern is the emotional and spiritual climate of the disciples He is leaving behind. He says, "But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves." We spent last week discovering that complete joy is the natural byproduct of loving one another as friends of God, but here, Jesus anchors that joy within a remarkably gritty context. He notes that the world has hated the disciples because they do not belong to the world. Throughout our wilderness series, we practiced fasting from the false idols of cultural validation, anxious striving, and self-sufficiency. Jesus is reminding us that when we are truly reoriented by the Resurrection, we will look and live differently from the surrounding culture. Our joy is complete not because our circumstances are perfect, but because we are no longer tethered to the shifting sands of a world that is passing away.

          This deep sense of distinctiveness often brings with it a very specific spiritual temptation: the urge toward holy isolation. After surviving the wilderness and finding the safety of the Shepherd's fold, our human instinct is often to pull back from a broken, cynical world, lock the doors, and build a fortress of faith where we can safely abide with our own community. Yet Jesus completely shatters this survivalist mindset with a staggering petition: "I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one." The Resurrection life is fundamentally not an extraction plan. Jesus did not conquer the grave simply to transport us into a comfortable spiritual bubble. He intentionally leaves us right where the pain, the doubt, and the brokenness are, promising us His divine protection rather than an easy insulation from reality. The unshakable foundation we built at the start of the year was never meant to be a bunker; it was always meant to be a launching pad.

          To endure this call to stay engaged with a hurting world, Jesus prays for a deep work of inner transformation, asking the Father to "Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth." To be sanctified simply means to be set apart, consecrated, or intentionally repurposed for a holy function. Think back to the grittiness of our wilderness journey—how Jesus used common mud to heal a blind man, or how He took ordinary bread on the Emmaus road and transformed it into a vehicle of divine recognition. When God sanctifies us, He takes our ordinary, everyday lives and sets them apart to be instruments of His glory. We are sanctified by the truth of His Word—the very Word that set our hearts ablaze on the road. This sanctification isn't about moral superiority or pretending we have our lives perfectly together; it is about being so deeply rooted in our identity as God's beloved children that the chaotic currents of the world cannot sweep us away.

          The absolute core of this week's message lands with immense weight in verse 18: "As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world." This is our commissioning order as the church. Notice the precise pattern of this sending: as the Father sent Jesus, so He sends us. Jesus was not sent into the world to dominate, to condemn, or to demand an earthly crown of political power. He was sent to move toward the marginalized, to touch the untouchable, to feed the hungry, and to ultimately lay down His life for His friends. Therefore, to be "Sent to Serve" means that our daily mission must look exactly like His method. We are dispatched into our workplaces, our schools, our grocery stores, and our neighborhoods not to point fingers of judgment, but to carry the same basin and towel that our Master carried.

          This missional pivot can easily feel intimidating, especially as we look ahead and realize that the fire of Pentecost is only a few weeks away. We might feel a lot like the disciples, wondering if our small, ordinary lives can truly carry the massive weight of the Resurrection into a skeptical world. But Jesus closes this portion of His prayer by saying, "And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth." Our sending is completely covered, sustained, and guaranteed by His own holiness and sacrifice. We do not go out to serve on our own authority, nor do we rely on our own limited emotional reserves. The very same Resurrection life that unbound Lazarus and emptied the garden tomb is the power that goes before us and dwells within us as we step out into the world.

          As we live out the reality of Eastertide this week, let us fully embrace our identity as a sent people. The Wilderness Road was our training ground, the vineyard was our fueling station, and the world is now our parish. Look for the practical, quiet opportunities to serve over the next seven days—not out of religious obligation or guilt, but as the joyful overflow of a heart that knows it is deeply loved by the King. Wash the dishes for a tired spouse, extend patience to an difficult coworker, speak words of truth in spaces of deception, and offer your everyday presence as a living echo of the empty tomb. The grave is empty, the Shepherd has spoken, the Gate is open, and the world is waiting. Let us go out together, secure in His truth, protected by His grace, and ready to serve.

Read: John 15:9-17
 
As we keep moving through our series, "Echoes of the Empty Tomb," it feels like the fruit in our spiritual vineyard is almost ready to be picked. Since January, we’ve been building our "Unshakable" foundation. In February and March, we walked "The Wilderness Road," learning to open our hearts, let go of our secrets, and listen for the Shepherd’s voice even when things felt dry. We’ve stood with Thomas, walked the Emmaus road, and last week, we practiced quietly "Abiding in the Vine." Now, in this fifth week of Eastertide, the vine is no longer just a symbol of connection—it’s a call to action. Our theme, "The Command of Love" from John 15:9-17, marks the moment when the life of the Resurrection shows itself as a gift for others.
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Jesus starts this passage by reminding us, "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love." This is the first and most important step. Before we can follow the "Command of Love," we need to know that we are loved just as deeply as the Father loves the Son. This love isn’t something we earn by doing well on the wilderness road; it’s simply who we are. To abide in His love means to settle into the truth that we are chosen. Throughout our series, we’ve seen that the Resurrection is not only about Jesus coming back to life, but about bringing us back to the Father’s heart. When we live in this love, our obedience comes naturally, not from trying to prove ourselves.

But Jesus doesn’t just ask us to sit and reflect. He gives us the "Command of Love," saying, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you." This is what the empty tomb means for our everyday lives in 2026. After weeks of looking inward—repenting, seeing, and learning to stay close to him—we are now called to act. The love Jesus asks for isn’t just a feeling; it’s a choice to give of ourselves. It’s such love that "lays down its life for its friends." Most of us won’t be asked to die for others, but we are all called to set aside our pride, our plans, and our need to be right. This is the kind of love that lasts—the love that changed the disciples and started the early church.

This week’s scripture shows a significant change: Jesus calls us friends rather than servants. He says, "I do not call you servants any longer... but I have called you friends." This changes how we see ourselves. A servant obeys out of duty or fear, but a friend acts out of closeness and common purpose. In our "Unshakable" series, we saw God as our refuge, but now we see Him as our companion. This friendship helped the early church through hard times, and it helps us too. We are not just workers; we are trusted friends of the King. He has shared His heart with us, and that brings us real joy.

Jesus also explains why he gives these commands: "I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete." This is the heart of the "Echo of the Empty Tomb." Earlier, we were just trying to survive, looking for hope and light. Now, during Eastertide, we are invited to experience real joy. This joy comes from living out the command to love. It’s a deep satisfaction that comes when Christ’s love flows through us to others. When we love each other, we’re not just following a rule—we’re sharing in God’s own happiness.

As we look ahead to Pentecost, we remember that we didn’t choose this journey—He chose us. "You did not choose me, but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit." This is our solid foundation. We don’t need to worry about being "loving enough" or "productive enough" on our own. Jesus chose us to carry His love, even when we were lost or afraid. He calls us to bear "fruit that will last," which means that every modest act of love—like a kind word, a generous gesture, or simply listening—matters forever. These are the echoes that last long after we’re gone.

This week, I encourage you to live as God’s friend. Bring the "Command of Love" into your daily life—at home, at work, and in your neighborhood. If you stay connected to the Vine, you don’t have to force love; just let it flow. Find ways to give up a little comfort to help someone else. Remember, you were chosen for this time. The wilderness prepared us, but now our mission is to love. As Pentecost approaches, let your love show that the resurrection is more than a story—it’s the life we share.

I hope that as you share love, you find your own joy growing. May you hear Jesus call you "friend" in the still moments of your day. Let your life show lasting fruit for the One who loved us enough to give His life and strong enough to rise again. Our journey goes on, but we walk it together as friends, connected by the greatest love there is.