By Ashley Hendrickson

For about 2 years, I lived and worked among Syrian and Afghan refugees who were fleeing violence in their home countries. Almost always, these families and individuals were in transition. Many were just passing through, on their way to somewhere that they hoped would be more welcoming. Others stayed for a few years but never truly settled, as legal status, fair work, healthcare, and schools for their children were nearly impossible to secure. On multiple occasions, women I had built relationships with would leave without a word—their friends reporting back that a smuggler had finally found a window to send them out over the sea.
 
Ministry in this environment was not straightforward. We lived in our city to help refugees walk in the fullness of life found in the gospel—including forgiveness of sin, knowledge of God, relationship with Jesus Christ, physical wholeness, freedom, dignity, thriving community, and hope for the future. We approached all of these things with a long-term, developmental perspective, yet we often didn’t get to see what happened to the seeds we
planted.
 
Los Angeles is a very different environment, but I’ve noticed some of the same dynamics. Many move to LA for school, a new job, or a certain dream, only to move again after a little while. I often hear friends at Cornerstone say that we feel like a new church every handful of years! For those that stay, it can seem tiring to keep starting new relationships, difficult to build depth long-term, and discouraging to not always see fruit where we have planted. If we let these feelings lead us, we can be tempted to only welcome people conditionally (based on their plans to stay), refrain from deep relationships with newcomers, or fall victim to unloving thoughts or emotions when people leave.

To joyfully, generously, and restfully live on mission in communities where people are transient, we need a truly eternal perspective. Over time, God has given me a few practical anchors that have helped with this:

1. Celebrating God’s purpose and heart for people. Scripture tells us that the central theme of history is God’s plan to bring all things together in Christ (Eph. 1:7-10). This purpose is redemptive, universal, and lavish! Remembering and celebrating God’s purpose motivates me with joy and provides an eternal, global vision that strengthens me in places and relationships that would otherwise feel small or temporary from my limited perspective.

2. Reminding myself that God has empowered me to welcome others. Especially when my personality or mood is less inclined toward welcoming others, I should return to the truth that God welcomed me into his own family and therefore I am called to welcome others. As Peter writes, “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). This God-given power and conviction helps me overcome the fears, passivity, or discomforts I might feel when welcoming others.

3. Recognizing how God ministers to me through other believers. God has called me to serve, but he has also called me to receive from the people he has placed around me. This motivates me to invite even the freshest faces close, because when I welcome others into my life, I welcome God’s ministry to me through them. Paul writes, “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Cor. 12:7). And Peter exhorts us, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace” (1 Pet. 4:10). I don’t want to miss out on how God might use someone else to build me up!

4. Counting on God’s unchanging, faithful character and his ongoing commitment to grace. When God proclaimed who he was to Moses, he declared himself to be, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exod. 34:6). Because of this unchanging character, God has promised that his purpose of grace will go forward in history (Rom. 9:16). While he has invited me to participate in his desire for all people to come to know him (1 Tim. 2:3–6; 2 Pet. 3:9), he is ultimately the one who will complete this work (1 Cor 3:6). These truths allow me to entrust the effort, outcomes, and timing of my relationships (especially ministry focused relationships) to the Lord.

This summer, I was really encouraged to see our discipleship community live out this kind of empowering, unconditional welcome. We had three new people join us who we knew weren’t going to be around for very long. But everyone made an effort to welcome them into our church family as fully as possible—inviting them to events, including them in conversations, and allowing themselves to know them and be known by them. The fruit of this was amazing. Our group got to receive from the giftings of others and witness God’s heart of invitation and fellowship together in our community. One girl expressed that because of Cornerstone’s welcome, she got to see more of Jesus this summer. And all three new friends brought others (including non-believers) to church, extending the welcome they had received!

As we enter our fall season of welcome as a church family, I hope something from these words can serve as an encouragement to others. Because of the gracious, redemptive heart of our God, welcoming others—even in transient places—is a joyful, beautiful, and restful endeavor!

By Sarah Shiang

We typically think sharing the gospel has to be big, like preaching from a stage with the perfect words or hosting a large gathering at our homes. But often it starts small: through a casual conversation, a thoughtful question, or a simple invitation to join you at church.

This summer, I served as a counselor at Royal Family Kids Camp (RFKC), a weeklong sleepaway camp with foster youth. I told one of my campers that our lives are like the friendship bracelets we were making out of thread. Each knot is a memory, and each thread is a person or moment God weaves into our story. Every story points back to Him: our Rock through the storms, the Shepherd who looks for every lost sheep, and the loving God who pursues us with plans “to give you a future and a hope” (Jeremiah 29:11).

God delights to redeem even hidden, tangled parts of our lives, using them to make something beautiful, working them for His good purposes, just as Romans 8:28 promises. If God cares for the sparrows and clothes the lilies in splendor, how much more does He care for us? While each heart carries its own sorrow and joy that no one else can fully share (Proverbs 14:10), God knows our inner thoughts, the people He’s placed in our lives, and the number of hairs on our heads (Luke 12:6–7, 27).  

When I got home, I shared about Royal Family Kids Camp with my coworkers, and with a childhood friend who had just moved back to California. To my surprise, my friend—whom I hadn’t seen since leaving for college—agreed to come to church with me the very next day. Pastor Matt’s sermon on the Two Debtors (Luke 7:36–50) sparked good conversations about community, love, and meaning. My friend had only ever been to a Catholic mass, and had not realized that Christianity isn’t about earning God’s approval by good works. Rather, it’s about grace, freely given.
 
Sharing the gospel often starts small, like with my friend. When people notice the joy and peace you have in your life that doesn’t seem to make sense in the midst of difficulty, it sparks curiosity. Our thoughts, words, and actions reflect the God who made us. He wants us to experience freedom from chasing the fleeting, empty promises of this world and instead abide in the freedom of His steady, abundant love. When people see that in our own lives, small conversations, questions, and invitations can make a big difference.

Only God can open hearts, but we can show up, be open, listen well, and invite others in. We can share honestly and point to a love like no other: unconditional, not earned. It’s too good to keep to ourselves.

Don’t wait for the “perfect” moment to share your faith. Just love people where they are. Pray for courage to push past the fear of not knowing exactly what to say, whether you’re in a coffee shop line, catching up with a coworker, grieving with a friend, or sitting down to share a meal with your family. As Pastor Matt wrote in an email to my childhood friend, Scripture promises that those who seek will find (Matthew 7:7). Just ask:
“My church is having a service this Sunday. Would you like to join me?”

By Ara Torosian

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

In these painful and uncertain days, our Farsi-speaking community at Cornerstone Church in Los Angeles is in deep shock. After enduring weeks of immigration struggles, our hearts have now been struck again—this time by the devastating news of war in our homeland, Iran.

This past week, many of us have found ourselves glued to the news and social media, waiting—hour by hour—for updates, wondering how much more serious the danger will become. It has become our new reality. Fear. Waiting. Praying. We are constantly worried about our loved ones. There are people currently in Iran who were baptized in this very church and still listen to our sermons regularly. We are far from them, yet deeply connected.

As Iranian immigrants and refugees, we’ve always carried a prayer in our hearts: that Iran would be free. Free to hear the gospel. Free to live in truth and peace. My personal prayer has long been that Cornerstone churches would rise up in every city in my homeland rooted in what God is doing here among us.

But today… I struggle to rejoice. I struggle even to imagine a hopeful future.

We Farsi-speaking believers are living minute by minute with heavy hearts. We’re asking: Are our loved ones safe? Are they alive? What is happening to them? Internet is cut off. Phone lines don’t work. Bread and gasoline are rationed. Banks are closed. Explosions echo through neighborhoods. Fear is everywhere.

Today, I cannot take a side. I don’t know politics. But I do know pain. And like the man with leprosy in Luke 5, I say: “Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.” (Luke 5:12)
Lord, if You are willing, You can heal our land. You can wipe away our tears. You can change our future.

I do not place my trust in governments or armies. Today, we lean only on “the Lord of heaven and earth,” the One who sees our suffering, the One who holds our tears in a bottle. (Psalm 56:8)

To our Cornerstone family—we ask for your prayers. You are our strength and encouragement. Because of the work of Jesus Christ, who has united us as one body, we know we are not alone. We have you.

“When one part suffers, every part suffers with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:26)
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

Please continue to stand with us, pray for us, and weep with us. And most of all, pray for peace and freedom in Iran—so that one day, every knee in our nation will bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. (Philippians 2:10–11)

With love,

Your brother in Christ,

Ara

by Laurie Miller

Hello, Cornerstone family. My name is Laurie Miller. Some of you may know me from the toddler room as one of the teachers. I have been coming to Cornerstone for seven years and have been a member since 2020. I currently work as a Medical Social Worker at a children’s hospital here in Los Angeles. I recently had the amazing opportunity to travel to Uganda for a short-term trip with a team of 19 other members from Cornerstone. Prior to going, I prayed that my heart space would be one of humility and openness, both to what God wanted to show me, and to what he wanted me to learn while I was there. On a short-term trip to a ministry partner, it is all too easy to want to go and “fix” something or to have a “spiritual experience.” But while traveling to Africa did end up being a life changing experience, God had so much more that he wanted to show me. My experience was not a big “shout out” from God about why I was there or my purpose for going. Rather, what I found in Africa was so much deeper. I got to see that, yes, God sometimes shows us things in a “Moses and the burning bush” kind of way. But he also meets us in the quiet spaces. God not only grew my heart in Africa, but also met me in the still, quiet spaces, and I want to share some of what I learned there.

From the moment we arrived in Africa, our team was met with such welcome and kindness by some of the staff from Africa Renewal University (AfRU) who had come to the airport to greet us. Three planes, 22 hours of flying, and one o’ clock in the morning, with hugs and handshakes, I could already see the beauty of being part of the family of God. Here I was, nine thousand miles from home, and God was there with me. As we made our way by bus to where we were lodging, with weary bodies and bleary eyes, there was laughter and joy and the presence of the Holy Spirit.
 
The next day we met more of the staff from the university and split up into the teams we would be serving with for the next eight days. Our teams included the medical team, the film team, and the finance team. I was part of the group serving with the medical team.
 
To say that God worked in miraculous ways would be an understatement. I think of the blessings with the medical team. When we arrived at the airport in Kampala, half of the medical supplies for the eye clinic were confiscated during the customs process. After much prayer and advocating from AfRU medical staff as well as members of our team, all the supplies were returned. I think of the film team and the new relationships built with a media center in the community. While those were such evident, beautiful blessings from God, I am also reminded of the less obvious ways that Christ works in our hearts and in relationship.  I think of my conversation with Nelson, who was the head of the medical center. He also goes by “Prince Nelly Worshipper,” because he writes and sings worship songs. He shared his praise music with me, and we talked about our love for Christ and our faith. I think of the children I met on our visit to the schools out in the community. I was so inspired by how the Holy Spirit was working in their little hearts as we sang songs together. I think of the students I met in the Social Work Department who shared their heart and love for Social Work and serving others. I think of my conversation with a woman named Kristine, who works at the University, as we both shared our testimonies with one another, and how God was working in our lives.

Finally, I want to share an experience I had while serving in the medical center. It was the day when the eye clinic was open to those in the surrounding communities, and I was there to serve as part of the psychosocial support to staff and patients. Many of the patients being seen spoke a different language than me, making communication a little challenging. Regardless of the language barrier, I saw how God was working. Through hand gestures and eye contact, we were able to communicate with one another in a way that expressed God’s love. What struck me in that moment was that here we both were, having little understanding of what the other was saying, yet the love of Christ transcended language, culture, or continents. I thought of Isaiah 66: 18, “And I, because of their actions and their imaginations, am about to come and gather all nations and tongues, and they will come and see my glory.” I share these experiences as examples of how God faithfully meets us in the simple, quiet moments. Those intimate spaces with others become profound opportunities to share, and bear witness to the love of Christ. I thank God for this experience and for growing my heart and my faith in ways I could have never foreseen. I thank God for the still, small, quiet spaces where he is moving and remains faithful and sovereign.

by Joon Kang

If you’ve even visited Cornerstone recently, you probably have noticed that the entire middle section of the right side of our sanctuary is pretty much bubbling over with people who look like adults, but you’re not quite sure if they actually are adults. Those would be our wonderful college students.

Now, being the college ministry guy at this church, I (obviously) have a lot of conversations with college students. And I love these conversations. Sometimes, they’re theological. Other times, they’re more like informal counseling sessions.

But, regardless of where we might end up, in almost every conversation, we talk about home. We talk about where we’re from, about our hometowns, about where we grew up. We reminisce about goofy things we did in high school, or how we long to eat at our favorite childhood restaurants. We talk about our rooms, our toys, our siblings, and our friends from elementary, middle, and high school. Some students struggle with homesickness, while others relish in their freedom.

Home is the reason we’ve structured our college ministry to be familial rather than formal (especially with our adopt-a-student program). It’s the reason we make every effort to find rides for students on Sundays. It’s the reason why we don’t want them annexed only to their campuses, but for them to be a vibrant, active part of our church, both on Sundays and throughout the week, so that we can see them, and know them, and love them.

If you’ve talked to me about college ministry at all, you’ve probably heard me say the phrase “home away from home.” I promise it’s not just because I need a catchy slogan, but because I think this represents what the church is—a home away from our forever home.

Because this is the reality for the Christian—we’re citizens of a new, eternal kingdom (Heb 13:14), but we’re many, many miles away from this home, as we’re sent off to earth as ambassadors for our King (2 Cor 5:20), where we long for a “home away from home” (Phil 1:23) —a place where we can find a glimpse of where we’re going, where we can find a taste of where we’re from, where we can find a place to rest before going back to work. And we find that in the church (Acts 2, 4).

The really unique thing about college students—and why I tend to sympathize with their circumstances—is that they are a reflection of this reality. Most of the students I’ve met at UCLA are not from Los Angeles at all, and many of them are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles away from where they grew up. They’re citizens of Sacramento, or Minneapolis, or Kalamazoo, or Seoul; but they’re all sent off as ambassadors of each of these unique cities and towns to their college campuses, where they long for a home away from home. They long for a place where they can get a glimpse of where they came from, a place where they know they can belong.

If you’re not from Los Angeles, you know this feeling, don’t you? I know this feeling. I remember longing for home when I left for college. I remember longing for home when I graduated from college.

But that’s where this church—this old church—entered my life.

For the last decade, Cornerstone has been my home away from home. It’s the place where I know I belong. It’s the place where I’m free to bring all my stuff—both my physical belongings (as a former tenant of the church house during my time in seminary, I’m still storing my Christmas decorations in the attic!) and my spiritual burdens. Church is the place where I am known, cared for, and loved. It’s where I feel the safest, and it’s where I want to be.

This church is where I got married, where my wife got baptized, where my kids learned to walk. This church is where I go if my daughter wants to practice roller skating, or if I want to practice my golf swing. This church is the view I wake up to every morning, as I draw back our curtains to see the first rays of sunlight silhouetting the belltower. This church is the place I talk about with pride to my neighbors as they ask about what I do for work.

See, this church—this old church—is my home away from home. And it’s through both the people and the bricks that make up this old church, that I am able to see even just a sliver, even just a glimpse, of my forever home in heaven with Christ on his throne.

To the wonderful group of college students that I see every Sunday filling up our pews on Sunday mornings: I want Cornerstone to be your home away from home—a place where you can enjoy a home cooked meal, a place where you can play with my kids, a place where you can study, or play basketball, or hang out. I want to give you access to both our people and our building, so that even though you may be far from home, you can get a taste of it here, and we can venture toward our forever home together.

by Mariana Da Silva

My name is Mariana, and I’ve been a member of Cornerstone for about five years. I'm originally from Brazil and grew up as both a missionary and pastor’s kid. I've always had a heart for mission work—something God instilled in me through my upbringing and now through Cornerstone’s vision for local and global missions. This summer, I had the amazing opportunity to be part of the Guatemala team, and I’d like to share my experience with you.

We arrived on a Saturday and spent Sunday with Iglesia Missional, a small church located in the backyard of Pastor Eddy and Carla’s house. It wasn’t what I expected a church to look like—there’s a partial roof, a stage, restrooms, and chairs and tables that are set up as needed and then put away. All this is surrounded by construction equipment. Pastor Eddy later told us they improve the church when they can, but their focus is on the community. When we arrived, we were surrounded by children, who we later found out are members of the church and make up the majority of this 20-ish member congregation. Gladis, one of the church leaders, told us they run children’s programs that attract these kids to church, though most of their parents do not attend.

We had lunch with them when we arrived, and I got to know some of the kids: Zoe, Neymar, Jefferson, Jimmy, and Jade. We drew with them, played cards with them, and when it was time for church, we all helped put away the tables and set up the chairs. The service was structured similarly to ours, except they included children in the worship and in leading the service. After a wonderful message from Pastor José, we ended the service with tea and bread. It was amazing to get to know some of the women and the kids.

Part of ENLACE’s model for these trips is to bring along some of their staff and pastors. In our group was Kimberly, our translator and logistics queen; Cecia, who had just joined ENLACE after graduating with an English degree and was shadowing and learning to lead teams in the future; Pastors Bairon and Emerson; and our driver, Mario. Cecia and I are the same age, and I got to spend several bus trips getting to know her and building that relationship. She is super cool and loved sharing about her home country, El Salvador, while I shared about LA and Brazil as we compared foods and cultures. I attribute most of my Spanish practice to her!

Our second day in Guatemala was another day with Iglesia Missional, but this time it was a service day. Pastor Eddy took us to the farm they are renting as a church. The agreement with the owner is that they would cultivate the land and use the crops and space for the church and the community. We helped construct the greenhouse that will house fruit trees until they are big enough to be replanted outside and then eventually provided to low-income households, who can sell the fruits as a source of income.

After a few hours of hard work, Pastor Eddy took us on a beautiful hike around the whole farm. He talked to us about trees, bark, mushrooms, natural springs, crops, and more. He showed us the space he envisions for prayer and worship services, as well as a recreational space for families to have picnics. His passion for God’s creation and His people was very evident.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday were spent visiting different churches that are adopting the ENLACE model, which in summary, trains church pastors and leaders to be more outward-focused and to build trust and relationships with community leaders. Together with the community, they identify needs, help fundraise, and implement community projects. Each church is deeply invested in their different communities. They took us around to houses of people suffering from disabilities, shantytowns, to those dealing with government pressure of displacement and gang violence. It was humbling to see people dealing with far more difficulties than I have ever experienced and still with incredible faith. We also met non-Christians who welcomed us into their homes, shared their stories and vulnerabilities, and let us pray for them. There were many moments of holding back tears, just listening, giving them a loving handshake, and saying “Dios te bendiga (God bless you).”

These were moments filled with conflicting feelings for me—seeing Christ being modeled by the church and our team, but also witnessing a lot of suffering and asking, “Why?” The thing that stood out to me most during these visits was the presence of the pastors and church leaders. The whole community knows them and greets them. They are known and know their community, which I found incredibly beautiful and something I hope we can learn from at Cornerstone.

The not-so-fun part of the trip was getting sick. I’ll spare you the ugly details, but on Wednesday, I got very sick. I was initially very discouraged because I didn’t want to miss out on anything, and I had come to Guatemala with the naive pride of thinking I never get sick and so I wouldn’t on this trip. I had been praying for a humble heart leading up to the trip, as we learned from Pastor José that we should do, and God answered that prayer in a painful but edifying way. The rest of my trip involved a lot of prayer for strength and energy to get through the day, which God also provided. It is interesting to look back and remember that He gave me just enough, requiring me to pray repeatedly, at each moment, allowing me to rely on Him at every turn. I still get emotional writing this as I think back. God showed me what it was like to not have control or the power to change my circumstances but to rely solely on Him, and that produced a lot of growth in me.

One of the joys during this trip was getting to know and build relationships with our team. We had many deep conversations over dinner, on the bus, and just an amazing time together as a church family. I was taken care of by Kristen and Jen. I had many laughs with Jeff, great conversations with Daniel, and was ministered to so much by Pastor José and Steph. We were protected by Anthony and learned from Linus. I had sweet conversations with Jubilee, and we were all loved in various moments and in their own ways by Chris and Laurie. I especially loved one dinner conversation Jen and I had with Pastors Bairon and Emerson, where we got to know how they met their wives, about their kids, and how they became Christians. I feel in a very tangible and real way that we are brothers and sisters in Christ with the ENLACE staff who accompanied us and the church families we visited. It's crazy how deep relationships can get in just a short week when Christ is at the center.

There are many more moments I could share, but these are the things that stand out most to me. I hope you get to experience local and/or global missions at Cornerstone. When you momentarily step away from our day-to-day lives and allow time to see God work around you and through you, I guarantee you will not be the same person you were. God transforms, grows, and brings revival to our hearts. We increase in love for Him, His image-bearers, and the rest of creation. Coming back from the trip, I hope to apply what I learned and continue to pray for ENLACE, the churches we visited, and Guatemala. I also plan to continue my involvement with the Global and Local Missions Team. I hope you might take some time to pray and ask God in what ways He might be calling you—there’s no more fulfilling and life-giving work than His kingdom work.

by Alex Funk

– Jen Wilkin, Women of the Word

I struggled a lot with how to write this post. I was concerned that maybe the above quote overstated the issue. Perhaps it made the situation sound too dire. But, if our God has revealed Himself in His Word, then where else are we to go if we want to know Him as He desires to be known? In all honesty, I believe wholeheartedly in the vast importance of biblical literacy, and this is precisely why I am excited to read Women of the Word with my brothers and sisters at Cornerstone and to discuss it at our upcoming book discussion on Sunday, June 30th.

There is so much I could say about this book and about the profound impact Jen Wilkin’s ministry has had on me. Wilkin very clearly lays out a case for the importance of biblical literacy. Biblical literacy isn’t coming to a point of final achievement in knowing the Bible inside and out, but it is about a steady movement toward greater knowledge and understanding of the text. Wilkin believes this is a goal and a blessing to which we all can attain. Biblical literacy is not just for university professors and pastors. We all have the amazing blessing of having the Word of God in our own language—and often in our own pocket—at all times. We can progress toward beholding God more and more in his Word, and we can do it together!

The whole title of the book needs to be said, although it is a mouthful: Women of the Word: How to Study the Bible with Both Our Hearts and Our Minds. Jen Wilkin does have a particular eye toward elevating women to study the Bible with rigor, utilizing their minds when they can sometimes be only asked about how they feel and not what they think. However, her focus on the importance of studying the Bible with “both our hearts and our minds” is necessary for all in the church to hear. In the very first chapter, I resonated with Wilkin as she spoke about having a fragmented knowledge of the Bible.  I knew the Gospel, had memorized a handful of verses, and knew all the stories that could fit on a felt board. What I didn’t know was how they all fit together into one grand story about God. The strategies and outlines she gives for sound Bible study are universal and utterly helpful. I really hope that my brothers at Cornerstone can get past the use of “she” and “her” pronouns (and the anecdote about ruffled tights) to hear the profound truth, encouragement, and exhortation that Wilkin has to share throughout the book.

In the introduction to the book, Wilkin compares her early Biblical understanding and the bad habits of Bible study that came with it to a mountain of dirt that hindered her complete view of God. She includes a saying: “How do you move a mountain? One spoonful of dirt at a time.” Her desire is to put spoons into the hands of as many of her readers as she can.  I am so blessed by the spoon I got from her, and I really want to see more members of our church take up their own spoons. We all have mountains of Biblical ignorance that stand between us and a proper vision of God “high and lifted up.” I will sign off with her quote at the end of her introduction: “This is a book for those who are ready to face squarely the mountain of their fragmented understanding of scripture and, brandishing a spoon, command it to move.”

by Nicole Austin

“There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors.” – Preface, The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis

I first read C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters during the summer before my senior year in college, about six months before God finally captured my heart and forever altered the trajectory of my soul. I was interning at Simon & Schuster, and the publisher had recently reissued a set of C. S. Lewis’ classic books of apologetics in paperback form. At my office, there was a free shelf with extra copies of books that anyone could take, and I found myself in possession of an entire set of Lewis’ works, which I took home to my East Village sublet and began to devour.

The Screwtape Letters was unlike any book I’d ever read, a collection of fictional letters between two devils named Screwtape and Wormwood. In these letters, Screwtape, the older and more experienced devil, explains to his nephew Wormwood the best ways to lead a human astray, to cause them to ignore, minimize, or misunderstand God, and to seek their own pleasure and power apart from him. It was fascinating, brilliant… and painfully familiar.

I am excited to revisit this book more than twenty years later with other Cornerstone men and women. Considering that the book felt remarkably contemporary to me in 1998, despite having been written in 1941, I am intrigued to see how it reads in 2024. I can only imagine the ways in which we will be able to see new applications and techniques that have cropped up in the ensuing years. What would Screwtape have had to say to Wormwood about the Internet or cell phones? About social media and texting? He could have written an entire letter about Instagram influencers alone. In what ways does our current political climate show the fingerprints of demonic persuasion? What new tactics would Screwtape suggest to keep us divided and distracted?

If you find any of these questions intriguing, I hope you will join us to discuss The Screwtape Letters on Sunday, March 3rd. Registration is now open!

by Meredith Storrs

The Israelite matriarch Rachel is renowned for her beauty. She was the younger daughter of a man named Laban, and the woman Jacob hustled for seven years to marry—only to double down for another seven years after Laban tricked him into wedding Rachel’s sister Leah instead. It’s a wild story. But when we first meet Rachel in the book of Genesis, before we learn about her beauty, we read about her vocation. Rachel was a shepherdess.

The work of shepherding has a very long history going back at least 5,000 years. In Rachel’s day, extended families lived together in tribal communities, where everyone contributed their labors for the flourishing of the entire group. Sometimes, a family would have a small flock of sheep to use for wool, milk, and occasionally meat. Younger, unmarried members of the family tended to the animals while the rest of the clan worked in the fields, vineyard, or workshop to provide trade and income. However, in Rachel’s case, shepherding was the family business. Laban’s flocks provided significant profit, especially once Jacob started multiplying them so fruitfully. The work of caring for that many sheep required as many hands as possible. Any available sisters and aunts, which included Rachel in the years before she had children, joined the work of shepherding.

As a longtime city-dweller myself, perhaps the best vision I can offer for the life and work of a shepherd comes from a National Geographic series my children enjoyed when they were younger — Dr. Oakley, Yukon Vet. This reality show followed the work of Dr. Michelle Oakley, who, as the title suggests, cares for animals in the Yukon Territory of Canada. Dr. Oakley reset broken bones, resolved indigestion issues, birthed babies, cleaned infections, dressed wounds, and more. Her work sometimes required a gentle touch and sometimes wild, backwoods strength. She was willing to put her hands in places that would make your grandma blush, if it meant that she could save or heal her patients. And because the area Dr. Oakley served was so remote, she often had to apply her expertise in less-than-ideal circumstances, working with whatever materials and extra hands she had available. Caregiving was her ultimate goal, but Dr. Oakley’s job was not what we would usually consider domestic.

Tending to sheep in the Ancient Near East would have required a similar ingenuity. Yes, some days might have passed peacefully as the sheep grazed along the hillside and dutifully returned to the safety of their pen at night. But there were certainly other days that required the kind of medical care we would expect from a modern veterinarian. Rachel’s family was fortunate to have so many hands to help. Maybe a couple of the strongest uncles would chase off opportunistic wolves. A gentle young cousin might be the go-to for wrapping wounds. The exacting, detail-oriented brother took charge of brushing brambles out of the sheep’s wool. And maybe one of the sisters was a little like Dr. Oakley, the only one with the guts to castrate a diseased ram they didn’t want to continue breeding.

Sheep herding was an important part of Rachel’s life. For many years after her complicated marriage, she probably woke each day and dressed for her work out in the fields. She watched longingly as her sister conceived again and again, nursing precious babies at home. Just like us, she may have loved her work on some days and resented it on others. Eventually, when Rachel experienced a season of joyful motherhood, she had to shift away from certain work tasks to make space for the new work of raising her first son, Joseph.

Through it all, Rachel’s work pointed to something bigger than herself. You see, shepherding is also an important theme that develops throughout the Old Testament. Rachel joins a number of Biblical figures who tend sheep, the most famous of whom was King David himself. Jesus calls to mind one of David’s most famous psalms when he names himself our Good Shepherd. Jesus offers abundant life, calling his people by name and leading them safely to pasture. His rich and beautiful analogy elaborates upon David’s poem and, in doing so, also asserts Jesus’ deity. David sang about the Lord’s provision and comfort, how God makes it possible for him to lay down in green pastures and find peace. Jesus came to firmly establish that peace by laying down his own life for the sheep.

In a recent sermon on Psalm 23, Pastor Reggie drew our attention to three ways that the Lord is our Shepherd: he pastors, protects, and provides. As I listened to him describe the nuances of these three actions, I could not help but think of Rachel. These verbs often surface in our conversations about masculinity in the church, but they can also describe the ways both men and women express their created differences for the sake of others. When used as an adjective, not a title, pastoral work is essentially soul-care. It’s the assignment given to all Christians to mentor, encourage, and teach our children and younger brothers and sisters in the faith. And protection certainly requires more than brute strength, just as provision requires more than money. Our church needs men and women who protect the flock against the ideals of our culture and warn us when sin’s temptation draws near. We need spiritual fathers and mothers who provide for social and emotional needs just as much as the physical and financial ones. To pastor, protect, and provide well—that is, to reflect Christ through our work—we need to harness the skills of a multiplicity of men and women in collaboration, just like a family in Biblical times would have.

On the hillsides of ancient Israel, families relied on the gifts and skills of both male and female shepherds to get the job done. In the church family today, the same is true. As workers in all kinds of vocations, we join the trade given to God’s first image bearers, Adam and Eve, to cultivate what God created. We join Rachel, who went out into the pastures to tend sheep with her family all those years ago. We are shepherds under the Great Shepherd tending the flock together. Each day we wake and dress for work, now in a whole new set of fields, but our goal has not changed. We are to invest in the people around us and produce beauty from the gardens we tend.

Rachel’s life ended tragically. She died giving birth to her second son, whom she named Ben-oni with her dying breath, “Son of my Sorrow.” She was buried on the road to Bethlehem. Generations later, another band of shepherds encountered a host of angels on those very same fields. This awestruck group likely counted women in their numbers, some of whom were perhaps descended daughters of Rachel herself.

During the third week of Advent, we light the Shepherd’s candle and meditate on the joy of Jesus’s birth — not a son of sorrow, but the beloved Son of God. This was the beginning of the great reversal. Into the world’s brokenness and pain came a reason to celebrate. The shepherds experienced joy at the angels’ good news because they understood, at least in part, the richness of what it meant. They had been waiting for the promised heir to the throne of David for hundreds of years. They had been following the prophecies about the coming Messiah and longed to see God’s kingdom established on earth. And now he was here! The joy of Christmas comes from the reality of Christ’s birth, the very child that the shepherds saw in flesh and blood. It’s more than a vague hope that “it will get better” or that “good will triumph in the end.” It’s God himself, pleased to dwell with us. A Savior who pays the penalty of our sin and restores our relationship with God. The Prince of Peace who welcomes us as fellow heirs into the family. And of all things, a Good Shepherd, greater than Rachel or King David, who is able to offer us green pastures, still waters, and peace on earth to all who labor below.

by Ashley Ross

Despite the lack of snow, Los Angeles never ceases to amaze me when it comes to her transformation around the Christmas season. Empty lots on street corners, normally overgrown with weeds, are trimmed bare and become evergreen forests overnight. Streetlights are laden with garlands and bulbs, and dwelling places from sprawling mansions to the smallest shared apartments are adorned with lights, bows, and cheer. Call me overzealous, but sometimes I can even detect a trace scent of pine and cinnamon in our hazy air. It’s as if with every detail the city is proclaiming: Christmas is here, and that’s special.

And I have to wonder, what is it about the Christmas season that inspires people everywhere to decorate? Is the hoopla inherent to the holiday, or do we just really like things that sparkle?

Sparkle affinities aside, I believe the answer lies in the mind-bending reality of the Incarnation. When the Word became flesh, it wasn’t a simple change of clothing as when (spoiler alert) the guy at the mall puts on a Santa suit. In the Incarnation, the God of the universe, the King of all creation, voluntarily descended from the throne where he was rightly worshiped, and crossed an unfathomable chasm to get to us. He ripped open the boundaries of space and time so that he could enter into them. He confined himself to finitude and flesh in order that those made in the flesh could be redeemed and reconciled to him. Essentially, the Creator donned what he had created, and creation would never be the same because of it. As the introduction of a new character fundamentally changes a story, so the entire paradigm of existence was changed when God stepped into it. The life, death, and resurrection of Christ completely altered the trajectory of mankind – and it all began with Christmas.

With this profound truth in mind, we can look at Christmas decorations in a different light (pun intended). Quite simply, we intentionally change our space during this season because the world changed when Jesus entered it. When you put up a wreath, Christmas tree, Nativity scene, Advent calendar, or any variation of Christmas decor, you’re not just putting out seasonal adornments. You’re testifying that the world is fundamentally different because the Messiah has come. And by the way, the decor need not be inherently religious in nature to testify to this. Simply placing something in your home because it is beautiful and brings you joy is still a reflection of this truth, because Jesus himself is beautiful and the bringer of deep joy. We can intentionally create an atmosphere of beauty and joy because Jesus provides beauty and joy for us.

I’d encourage you this Christmas season to decorate with intention and allow the things you display to remind you of the One who changed the world with His Advent.

We will be doing this very thing as a church family on Saturday, December 2nd, between 3-7pm. All are welcome to come help decorate our gathering spaces, enjoy Christmas treats and hot cocoa, listen to Christmas music, and fellowship together as we deck the Cornerstone halls and take a moment before the season begins to welcome the Christmas season together.

by Alina Sato

This post is Part 3 in a series entitled Blessed are Those With and Without a Cancer Diagnosis. Part 1 and 2 can be found here and here.

You’ve walked courageously with me through some painfully honest processing of what it’s like to get a cancer diagnosis. Sometimes our prayers for optimal outcomes are not answered the way we want. He allows us to experience the ache of His ‘no’ for reasons that may always be at least somewhat shrouded in mystery for us. Even for faithful believers who trust that God is good, loving, and open to our pleas, He carries us through seasons of suffering and grief, and we all face physical decline and death one day. As we face the reality that even the sweetest gifts from His hand are only temporary, we discover the even greater reality that He, and only He remains, as the sufficient giver and sustainer of true life when all else fades.

So what now?

Life remains beautiful and hard, blessed and uncertain. Navigating the ups and downs is possible not just because we receive from Christ’s strength, but also from His vulnerability. From there, we can also support and walk with each other in both our strengths and vulnerabilities as well.

At different points in my journey, I have been tempted to shake my fist at the sky and ask, “Why didn’t You prevent my suffering? You had all the power to do so, and I know You love me, so why take me and my family down this painful road?” My sufferings and the mysteries surrounding the reasons for them may threaten to present a gap between me and the apparent presence of a good God. It is only when I see how the gap is filled by the story of our suffering Savior, that my sharp questions of “Why?” transform into softer whispers of, “You too, God. You’ve known deep suffering too.”

He could have used His power to take the easy road in building Himself a kingdom (Matthew 4:1-11). He could have avoided suffering, and He understands the desire to bypass painful experiences (Matthew 26:36-39). But He knew that only by walking the whole road to the cross could He free us from the sins that ruin our lives, and liberate us from the death that threatens our eternity. He knew that in order to give us the hope, comfort, and salvation we need, He would have to become vulnerable in unimaginable ways on every level. He knows the fellowship of suffering. This is where I find Him always near. His own suffering is what allows Him to give us the Balm of Himself in our suffering.

From diagnosis to lumpectomy, to a post-op complication and through radiation, I regularly updated a group of friends via email about how I and my family were doing. As radiation finished up and I looked ahead to long-term hormone therapy, I struggled more than expected with the transition from the acute phase of treatment to the long-term phase. I realized that the recurrence of cancer would always be a lingering possibility that I’d have to come to terms with, and I was entering into a long-term therapy that had its own potential for significantly uncomfortable side effects. Even still, it was time for my regular email updates to drop off. I didn’t need to fixate all my thoughts – and my friends’ thoughts – around this condition on an ongoing basis. I simply needed to go on living.

We all have drawn-out struggles we’re learning to live with. Chronic illness, strained relationships, loved ones who can’t seem to find their footing, loneliness in a longer-than-anticipated season, complicated situations we cannot easily walk away from. I write this with particularly tremendous respect for those whose experience is one in which a chronic disease has in fact taken over the bulk of their existence, and they feel imprisoned by it. I recognize the privilege and freedoms with which I can walk forward with my good prognosis.
 
Perhaps all the more, then, in light of those with significantly more limitations than the ones I face, my exhortation in all our ups and downs, is not simply that we must go on living – but that we must go on living together (Galatians 6:2).

I may not need the same frequency or intensity of support as I did when I was in the thick of treatment, but I still need the same grace and acceptance of my weaknesses from my community. I still need their trusted companionship and help. Following the example of Christ’s vulnerability, we can put down our shows of power, our need to perform, and come together as our most honest selves to the foot of the cross, where we are comforted by His love for all of us.

Toward the end of radiation treatment, I remember realizing I’d gotten so used to my suffering over the months that I couldn’t remember what it was like to truly feel healthy and pain-free. I just tried to find and hold onto as much joy as I could each day, despite the ongoing pain and sadness in the background.

Oh beloved, isn’t this a picture of our current life here on earth, even on our best days? We’ve gotten so used to the things that make life in this world difficult, we can’t even really imagine what real wholeness is going to look and feel like. We’re tempted to resign ourselves that maybe this is all there will ever be. But when we are finally released from this earthly shadow, finally free from all the pains and sorrows we have learned to tolerate, we will transition through our last breath on earth into the deepest intake of awe, wondering how we had ever lived at all before we got to Heaven. When we stand before Him, we will see how unencumbered and fully loved we get to be forever.

For all of us who know and trust Christ, we still feel our afflictions, weep with grief, tremble at our frailty when crisis hits. And yet, we remain secure in His love both now and into eternity that no disease can ever steal away.

Blessed are you without a cancer diagnosis. May you delight in all the good gifts God has given you, and may you be free from any false guilt if you are not currently struggling. What He gives us in seasons of good health, what He gives me now in my current state of remission, is a blessing to be used for His glory. Consider how you might hold loosely your things of earth so that you might share in practical ways the love of Christ with those in need.  Receive with gratitude the sweet seasons the Lord gives you here on earth, and live for eternal purposes. Blessed are you as you serve God and others in your times of wellness.

And yes, blessed are you with a cancer diagnosis, or some affliction that feels deeply painful and disruptive. Know that whatever your ailment or challenge, this is not the end of your life. It is not the end of a beautiful story for you. Enjoy the gifts of loved ones and daily delights as much as you are able. Set your mind on things above and press in deeply to the life He gives that goes far beyond this diagnosis. Cultivate vulnerability and openness with others, not just because they have much to offer you, but because you also have so much to offer them in your journey. Blessed are you and I who have a hard diagnosis to work through. He has already brought us from death to life, and we have a great hope, a great salvation.

Life remains beautiful and hard, blessed and uncertain. But even in the face of our suffering on this side of heaven, let us hold fast to our life’s foundation in Him, and go on living this wild life together.

by Alina Sato

This post is Part 2 in a series entitled Blessed are Those With and Without a Cancer Diagnosis. Part 1 can be found here, and Part 3 will be published next week.

In the first post of this series, I shared the story about how I received a breast cancer diagnosis just a few minutes before my friend Susan announced her benign results from her own recent biopsy. I confronted the reality that sometimes, God says no to our prayers for things to go well, even extremely tender and important things like our health. From that painfully honest space, we have to reckon with how a woman in her mid-40s with a husband and young children, with dreams and ministries and a still-blossoming career, must think about the truest substance of her life, and also the truest substance of her death. This is not only my reckoning; it is all of ours, if we dare dig deep enough, speak honestly and bravely enough. The beautiful truth is this—at the end of the reckoning, we can still find solid hope. We can find salvation.

I have to start by saying, having Jesus does not invalidate the grief of suffering and painful losses in this world. Getting a cancer diagnosis for anyone, Christian or not, is difficult and scary, and going through treatment for it is incredibly disruptive and painful.

It’s too simplistic to say, “I know Jesus is with me, so I’m all good.” To say that we need hope is to acknowledge that we live day-to-day in a world where real despair exists. To say that we need peace is to acknowledge that a plethora of external and internal voices feed our anxieties and insecurities. To say that we need salvation is to acknowledge that we live in a world where fear of death can threaten to sink our souls. In other words, hope matters because despair is real. Peace matters because reasons for insecurity in this world abound. Salvation matters because death is devastating if it really has the final word.

To voice hope in Christ is not to deny that cancer threatened significant components of my existence. I grieved the possibility that cancer might take me down a harsh road of suffering and ultimately rip me away from my family before any of us felt ready. My cancer diagnosis shed light on how much it means to enjoy quality time with loved ones, a life free of pain, and simple pleasures we take for granted. But it also shed light on how all of these things, as precious as they are, can also be wiped away in a day, a month, a year. A cancer diagnosis is intensely bittersweet in the way it simultaneously highlights both the beauty and the shockingly temporary nature of the most precious gifts in our lives. We love these gifts for so many good and right reasons; when we lose them, our suffering and grief are real. He knows our hearts, and He is compassionate towards us in our lamentations (John 11:17-36).

Before I got the call about my cancer, I was busy with my life, coordinating my family’s schedule, preparing for upcoming speaking engagements, and starting to think about the usual summer plans.

I remember holding onto a chair in my living room as I took in the nurse’s words, “I’m so sorry, but it’s invasive ductal carcinoma.” I immediately felt my world come to a screeching halt. As a nurse myself, I’d grown accustomed to being the strong caregiver for so many patients over the last twelve years. Now I was the patient, trying to wrap my head around what it meant that I had a very serious disease. I remember waking every night at 2:30am the first week following my diagnosis, terrified by the uncertainty of what was happening with these cells insidiously looking to take over my body without my permission or my control.

As I lost a sense of normalcy and physical wellness for a few months with surgery, radiation, and the initiation of hormone therapy, I got a taste of how the decline of our bodies can feel scary, sad, and hard. What if I got more bad news through the course of treatment and my health trajectory didn’t improve? What if I couldn’t enjoy time with my young daughters much longer? Was cancer my turning point from life to death? When we are confronted with the sobering finitude of even the most beautiful gifts in our lives, we have to ask what really holds us up.

The real good news in my bad news of a cancer diagnosis is not simply that I have a good prognosis. At the end of the day, a good prognosis still isn’t a guarantee of a meaningful life now or eternal life to come. When this world shows itself to be unfulfilling, when I acknowledge my own inability to be the ideal version of myself, and when physical death really comes for me one day, one good health prognosis alone is not enough to save me.

The real good news is that Jesus has already brought my once-dead soul to life by freeing me from my slavery to sin and the oppressive ways of this world (Colossians 2:13-14). He has given me a whole new identity, a whole new purpose and way of living in His kingdom, so that my days and pursuits are not in vain (Colossians 3:1-4). He has given me a life that has nothing to do with the presence or absence of rogue cells in my body, but rather has everything to do with being intimately known and loved forever by the Maker of the Universe (Romans 8:31-39).

Before this starts to sound too lofty, I have to state that it is unfair and dishonest to anyone who suffers from serious illness to suggest that the decline of our bodies is negligible. It’s not. Thoughts of physical death are still full of sobering mystery. But how much more brightly, then, does the absolute promise of an unshakable life in Christ shine, in its ability to hold up through storms of suffering and the impending vale of death. Because of Christ, cancer will never really be my turning point from life to death. I am already, and forever will be, alive in Him. What a hope, what a relief, what a salvation.

As I write this, I am presumed to be cancer-free. The surgeon said the tissue surrounding the tumor he removed had clean margins, and there was no spread of cancer to my lymph nodes. I completed my four weeks of radiation. I have started long-term hormone therapy to lower the levels of estrogen and progesterone in my body as much as possible, since my tumor type fed off of those hormones. Any lingering microscopic cancer cells in me should have very little to feast upon if they want to grow. I have returned to work, and for the most part am able to enjoy and contribute to my family as before.

To be where I am with my cancer journey is an indescribable gift of mercy. I have a deeply renewed appreciation for physical and circumstantial wellness, but I have no guarantee or entitlement that I’ll remain cancer-free forever. It could return, despite me following all the doctor’s orders. And just like every other human, I’ll still physically die someday.

But God has already raised me from death to eternal life. Even as I suffered in the first half of the year, He met me with His nearness, comfort, and greater clarity on the true source of my wellspring of hope. As I have recovered for now, I enjoy my loved ones and I enjoy daily simple pleasures anew, but I enjoy Him even more. Cancer may one day return and overtake my body, but it will never kill my soul. In the final fade of my life here on earth, my spirit will go on to the greatest, unencumbered encounter of being fully alive in the presence of my Maker, my Rescuer, my Greatest Eternal Love.

by Alina Sato

This post is Part 1 in a series entitled Blessed are Those With and Without a Cancer Diagnosis. Parts 2 and 3 will be published in the weeks to come.

My friend Susan and I both had biopsies to investigate ‘suspicious findings’ on our mammograms and ultrasounds within a week of each other. As a result, we and our concerned circle of friends were awaiting news on the results at the same time. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but we’re praying for you. Let us know once you hear!” This was how all the texts read, because as realistic as we honestly try to be, we never really expect the unexpected. Susan and I were both eager to have good news to share, because of course it would all be nothing.
 
Then I received the fateful call from the doctor’s office that it wasn’t nothing; it was something, and it was serious. I reeled.

Even still, I made the stubborn decision to walk around the corner to my hairstylist’s home to get the haircut I already had on the calendar for that morning. I prepared her with a text before I arrived, that I was dealing with bad news and would likely be incapable of coherent conversation. Bless her for the bravery I forced upon her. She graciously allowed me to share what I felt comfortable sharing, and patiently let me drift off mid-sentence over and over again, as my overwhelmed mind struggled to process my new reality.
 
As I left her home, a text came in from Susan to our group. “Just got my biopsy results – a benign fibroadenoma! Alina, hope you get good news soon too!”
 
The other friends in the group promptly and rightfully replied, “Praise God!! He is so good!”
 
I took a deep breath, and then I sent my reply.
 
“So thankful for you, Susan!
Unfortunately I got my news too, but it’s not good.
Still, we praise Him in both the good and the bad.”
 
I could imagine the way my friends’ hearts sank a bit, not just at my news in and of itself, but at the painfully ironic context in which I ended up sharing it. We had all prayed for benign results for both Susan and me. Susan got good news, and I got the complete opposite, all in the same morning. Dare I say, God said yes to her, but no to me?

Well, yes and no. God did not deny my request for a benign diagnosis to single me out or slight me. At the end of the day, my suffering is not a problem unique to me. Everyone suffers at different times in all sorts of ways, and everyone eventually must confront bodily decline (Psalm 90:10). This moment in time is just part of my unique story.

Even still, we are faced with uncomfortable realities when we assess my situation. I am my community’s sobering reminder that we are all vulnerable and mortal at any stage of life. What’s more, this wild up and down text exchange brings to the surface the struggles we all have with why life can feel unfair and God can feel capricious.

The question, ‘Did God say yes to Susan, but no to me?’ arose in me at least partly from the initial feeling that my diagnosis was somehow unfair. I felt almost as ‘faithful’ a person as Susan on the surface, and certainly not too much less, so shouldn’t I also get a pass on the cancer card? This line of thinking buys into the prosperity gospel, which tells us God always wants material wealth and physical well-being for His most faithful people. It believes the lie that some kind of checklist is what determines who should be first in line to get cancer, and who should be last. But my career as a pediatric ICU nurse has taught me that being human in a fallen world is the primary, unavoidable risk factor for getting sick. We can die at any point on the age and morality continuum.

I am not exempt from being human, which means I am never exempt from suffering and death. This isn’t about God being unfair so much as it is about life in a terribly fallen world being hard all around. The prosperity gospel tells me to perform enough faith to convince God to say yes to a proffered invincibility to suffering. What an exhausting way to pursue an illusion. If we fall for the prosperity gospel, we miss the real Gospel, which speaks into the real world where markets crash, people disappoint, cancer strikes, and death befalls. The God of the real Gospel speaks an entirely different dimension of life, hope, and security into the hearts of those who feel the honest frailty of their body, their faith, and the world we live in.

Finding peace with the question, ‘Did You say yes to her, but no to me?’ is about finding peace as we’re really asking other underlying questions:

'Was a life of ease really my guarantee of an inner sense of wholeness?'
'Will suffering and death ultimately wipe out all my joy and life?'
'Do You provide a way to endure with solid hope in the midst of tremendous struggles?'
'Does affliction from cancer mark the end of God's goodness to me?'
'Are You for me or against me?'

In other words, “Can I trust that my life with cancer is still safe with You, in the exact same way that Susan’s life without cancer is safe with You?”

As I’ve wept and wrestled and reflected, I’ve found the answer to be yes. I am safe in His love because the way God answers my prayers is less about the particularities of my suffering from cancer (though He has met me in so many of the details), and more about how He has given His very self to me as an everlasting Refuge of Love. When I had plenty of worldly achievements and yet was sinking in inadequacy and exhaustion, He was my Refuge of Love. When my body was healthy but my heart was sick with shame from the sins no one knew of but Him, He was my Refuge of Love. When I passed through previous seasons of extreme heartache and uncertainty, He was my Refuge of Love. When I look at Jesus intercepting the spear of death on my behalf and rising again in glory, I see that He is my Refuge of Love both now in my life with cancer and beyond the grave.

I cannot explain why God allowed cancer to enter at this point in my story. I also cannot explain why He has loved me with His very life. Both are real, but only His love has the best and final word on me.

Oh friend, don’t miss the comfort of this truth.

Even as I continue to work through hard uncertainties about my health and their implications for me and my family, I can stand secure in knowing He will give us grace and hope for the otherwise impossible days. He will provide a depth to life that goes far beyond the hollow, fleeting pursuit of a ‘best life now’ (Ephesians 3:16-19). He will give me the joyful freedom to rightly celebrate the good gift of health in Susan’s life without resentment or insecurity. He gives me Himself, Lord of eternity, lover of my soul.

When you, my dearest ones, are faced with your own bewildering ‘no’s,’ He gives me this word of comfort to share, to help us remember His greatest Yes in Jesus: He is for you, not against you, in the mysteries and loneliness of your suffering. Your suffering may well hide His face, but it hides Him in the way an ominous dark cloud obscures an enduring mountain for only a season. Your suffering is not the end of your joy or your life, for He will carry you through the depths of it and He promises to carry us all the way Home.

by Alina Sato

I knew early- to mid-September 2022 was going to be hairy for me. The kids would be in full swing with school and extracurricular activities. Work stressors continued to sit at an unrelentingly high level. I had a big trip to Dallas on the calendar at the end of the month to give a couple of presentations at a large nursing conference, and I was feeling both excited and very anxious. I also knew that my monthly hormonal cycle was going to intensify my emotions and stress smack dab in the middle of that time. I tried to use wisdom and discernment regarding capacity and healthy rhythms in planning my and my family’s schedule, but I was already bracing myself by the end of August.
 
Despite my attempts to anticipate and wisely prepare myself spiritually, mentally, and socially for this stressful season, I hit some low points in mid-September that sent me spiraling in ways I’d never quite experienced before. I was feeling hugely inadequate in both my personal and professional roles, feeling certain that everyone was disappointed in me, and found myself battling thoughts and emotions that blared, “YOU SHOULD QUIT ALL OF IT.” If I’m honest, I’d say I was just a few steps away from calling it legitimate suicidal ideation. I felt ashamed and isolated by my inability to climb out of dark mental and emotional pits. I questioned God’s faithfulness. “Why aren’t You helping me feel better? Where is Your Spirit?” Even though I knew all the “right things” to do to try to set my mind on Him, such as reading Scripture, praying, and listening to worship music rather than the daily news, I still felt hugely oppressed and increasingly discouraged.
 
I suppose the term for this could be a “mental health struggle.” I can’t pinpoint what made it particularly acute. It was a perfect storm of circumstantial stressors, my own sin and pride in wanting to please everyone perfectly, hormone imbalances, a real spiritual enemy who comes hard after our souls, and trudging through a world that is not kind to us with its relentless demands – especially in this strange season after COVID quarantines with heightened pressures to perform and to regain what we feel we have lost.  
 
What really didn’t help was the isolation. Looking back, I see how I over-individualized what it meant to declare that “Christ is sufficient” in my struggles. I thought it would just be me and God working this out in the quiet privacy of my own mental and spiritual battleground. But I was too mired in my misperceptions of God, others, and myself. I was too ensnared in my idolatry of self, performance, and over-productivity. My vision was too blurred by exhaustion and wonky hormones. God’s liberating truths of unconditional love and acceptance, and His gracious invitation to rest my ambitious soul in Him, had never wavered. But I was too deep in the pit to hoist myself back up into the light by just trying to think about Him more.
 
No one around me knew how deep I had sunk. I had put on a brave face in public, but internally, I was increasingly unwell. The week before my Dallas trip, I finally had to reach out to people with intention and vulnerability because I knew I was hitting my breaking point. I woke my husband one night at 2AM to help me with my unrelenting self-accusatory thoughts. I texted Pastor Scott for an hour of emergency counseling even though I knew he had a full schedule himself. I talked with my sisters in Christ, in tears and trembling, about my frailties.
 
This beautiful community listened, counseled, and extended unconditional acceptance. They gently spoke truth into the lies from the world and the enemy about my worth. They readjusted my misguided beliefs about where I would find peace and hope. This community was the living theology I needed – the counsel and comfort of God actively dialoguing with my confusion and chaos, leading me to quiet waters, restoring my soul.  
 
To say Christ is sufficient does not mean we are to live in isolation from a safe, trusted spiritual community. God used His people and their ministry of embodiment to rescue me from my pit. This is why He gives so many “one another” commands. “With all humility and gentleness, with patience, [bear] with one another in love.” (Eph. 4:2) “Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.” (Jas. 5:16) “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Gal. 6:2) “Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.” (1 Thess. 5:11)
 
It was an act of faith to ask God to help me by asking His people to help me. The Lord revealed His love, compassion, and liberating truth as my community cared for me with the “one anothers.” Each person applied balms to different wounds, as they each knew me from unique angles and had their own gifts and strengths to help restore me. In this way, Christ gives us more than enough to help one another through our darkest moments.
 
The struggles of this past year feed my deep yearning for the consolation of Christ in this Advent season. Sometimes, we are this frail, even as deeply sincere believers. Sometimes, my prayers are a befuddled mix of belief and unbelief. “I believe You have been faithful and good. I believe You are One who saves. But I can’t see you, and life is getting hard, and I’m trembling now.” This is where God’s people found themselves after centuries of seeming silence and hiddenness from Yahweh. God, you were there with Moses, Abraham and the prophets. You are here on paper in these sacred texts. But still, I need more than this head knowledge of You from the past and these papers. I need You, Person of God. And so He came in Christ, in the flesh. He came embodied. And He continues to be here with us now, His living Spirit manifest in the beautiful Body of Christ. We groan together, and we tenderly guide one another through the darkness to find His living light.

by Scott Mehl

The chorus of public figures and social media voices “pleading” with pastors to not cancel their church services on Christmas Sunday has predictably begun to swell. But if we’ve learned anything over the last three years, shouldn’t it be to not overstate our personal convictions and needlessly put fellow pastors in the position of having to defend their localized decisions to their people against a backdrop of national and online pundits? We have developed the amazing ability to turn matters of wisdom and conscience into battle lines that divide the church. Christmas morning doesn’t need to be another one of them.

Six years ago Kevin DeYoung wrote an article “pleading” for churches to not cancel their Christmas morning services. Back then I wrote the following to pastors in response, and I find that it’s even more needed in our current moment today.

Dear brother pastor,

I hope that you don’t feel guilty if you’ve canceled your Christmas Day services. We’ve canceled ours too.

There are many good reasons to hold a church service on Christmas morning when it falls on a Sunday. There are also many good reasons to not hold a church service on Christmas morning when it falls on a Sunday. But it is a gross overstatement to “plead” with pastors that they do one or the other.

We should plead with pastors to preach the Word. We should plead with pastors to shepherd their flocks lovingly and graciously. We should plead with pastors to be theologians. We should plead with pastors to love Christ above all else. It cheapens our pleading to plead with pastors to do something as biblically debatable as not canceling services on Christmas morning.

Because this gray area was stated as such a stark black and white by Kevin, let me give you a few thoughts on his points and why we (as a 400-person, urban church) will not be holding services on Christmas day.

• Christmas Eve will facilitate a church-family gathering for our people who are in town, Christmas morning would not. In a transient, urban setting the majority of people in our church will be traveling out of the area (even if just to the suburbs) for Christmas. Christmas Eve provides the best logistical opportunity for as many of them as possible to gather together. Repeating that gathering 12 hours later only demotivates their attendance even more, when many would just pick one or the other to attend.

• Visitors in our city will not be looking for a place to worship. Of all of my non-Christian and nominally Christian friends, I do not know of one of them who will be looking for somewhere to worship on Christmas morning. Those that will be looking for somewhere to worship will be looking for it on Christmas Eve. The vast majority of them wouldn’t attend a Christmas morning service even if I invited them. However, they would definitely accept an invitation to come over to my house and celebrate instead. Visitors won’t be looking for a place of worship on Christmas morning, they will be looking for a place for community.

• Church services are a gift, not a god. This is why we will be taking our family to gather together with the church on Christmas Eve and enjoying our family and friends on Christmas Day. Gathering together in the form of a formal worship service every week is important!  So is gathering together and teaching your kids how to redeem the culture’s Christmas traditions in light of the coming of the humble Savior. We rearrange our family schedule for corporate worship. And that is exactly what we will be doing on Christmas Eve. It doesn’t prove anything to do so again 12 hours later, and may actually miss an opportunity to redeem Christmas traditions with your kids in a way that is not hurried or needlessly hectic.

• It’s Christmas for crying out loud! As Kevin wrote, “It’s the day we celebrate the incarnation, the birth of the Messiah, the entrance into our world of the second Person of Trinity.” Don’t we want to make that the center of our celebrations and our homes? Why try to make things busier and more hectic when the focus ought to be on whatever draws our attention to the glory and person of Christ? I’m not sure how to do that best for every church family in every town/city, but I do know that there’s no “one size fits all” answer.

• We should worship in all of our contexts. Repeating a service 12 hours apart may communicate to our congregation that the primary place for worship is the church building. We all know this is not true. Worship as the gathered community is important (as I’ve said), which is why it would be a travesty to cancel your weekend services all together. However, whether you hold them on Saturday night or Sunday morning (or both) is far less consequential. And giving our people space and the tools to facilitate worship in their homes is an important discipleship opportunity.

Probably the most discouraging line I read from Kevin was when he wrote: “let’s not kid ourselves to think that we can encourage everyone to have a meaningful, thoughtfully prepared do-it-yourself service at home.” I would imagine that this doesn’t accurately reflect his opinion of the people in his church family. I know it doesn’t in mine. We should have enough faith in the impact of our teaching, shepherding, and discipling throughout the year (as well as the power of the Holy Spirit) to trust that we don’t need to manage their celebration and worship both Saturday night and Sunday morning. We should also realize, for those in our church whose hearts break for their non-Christian family and friends that the most missionally-minded context for at least one of those celebrations will probably be their homes.

Of course, all of this is assuming that what we’re doing Saturday night is having an actual worship service, and not just a Christmas pageant or sing-along carol session.  I agree with Kevin that corporate worship is important and that skipping a weekend dishonors our glorious Savior.  I’m just not sure it’s “plead worthy” that we make sure that happens Sunday morning in addition to Saturday night.  

And, pastor, whatever you decide to do this Christmas, I hope that you don’t feel guilty because of what others have decided to do. My prayer is that you would make a decision that would facilitate your church and your family celebrating and glorifying Christ the best.

by Brian Colmery

We often think of Jesus’ ascension as a strange epilogue to his life story. In our last post, we saw that the ascension is actually the culmination of his life and ministry. Because of the ascension, at this moment Jesus speaks, intercedes, and rules from heaven as our perfect Prophet, Priest, and King.

Still, there is a natural tendency to ask, “So what?” We might not be so direct about it, but it’s entirely appropriate to wonder how Jesus’ ministry in heaven intersects with our life here on earth.

In one sense, a slow reading over the passages in our last post makes this question feel crass. The ascension means that the Alpha and the Omega stands installed as sovereign in heaven over all of creation, at this very moment while I push buttons on a keyboard and you move your eyes over pixels on a screen. It matters because he is the only thing that really matters. Everything else matters only because his overflowing life and love and reality spill over into the glory of creation and human beings made in his image.

So the ascension calls our eyes up. But it also meets us in our need. Prayer is one example. Often we come to prayer thinking it is our job to start the conversation, and hope that God will respond. (This, of course, is assuming we have dragged ourselves out of bed or found a moment of peace during the day in which to do it.) We try to generate something by the way we pray, or the way we feel when we pray, or the way we think about how we feel when we pray, etc. Whatever the particulars, we are the ones who pull the cord on the lawnmower and try to get the engine of our prayer time to turn over.

But the ascension tells us that, before you ever came to prayer—before, in fact, it even occurred to you to pray—the risen Lord was already interceding for you in heaven. Times of prayer are times of entering into what Jesus is already doing for you. You cannot get up earlier than Jesus. You cannot beat him to prayer. He will always be interceding for you well before you open your mouth to speak. And so prayer is speaking to the Lord who is already speaking on our behalf, seeing both the needs we know of and those we don't, already sympathizing with our weaknesses and advocating for us to the Father.

There is more here. Whenever you open the Bible, you read words on a page that God spoke to people a long time ago. But Christ the ascended Prophet continues to speak through those words. The words of Scripture are spoken to you by his Spirit now. Of course it is not as simple as going to meet Jesus at a coffee shop for a chat. We need to listen carefully to the unique ways in which God speaks through inspired but ancient documents. (We have foundation classes at Cornerstone for just that purpose, and I highly encourage you to take them.) But when you open your Bible, you do not just read what the Lord said, you also read what he is saying.

Finally: wherever you go, Jesus is already there, ruling and reigning as King. There is no situation so mundane or so intimidating that Jesus was not already there before you arrived, extending his rule across the powers and principalities in that place. Folding laundry is a sacred activity not because we want to give some superficial encouragement to people doing menial labor or because we have sentimentalized working with our hands in a technological age. Folding laundry is sacred because it is done in the very presence of the installed King of kings by one of his own subjects, living out their calling under his rule. Going into a performance review or having a difficult conversation or dealing with loneliness all happen in the presence of the living and ruling King, who loves you and guides all things for your good. He was there before, he is there during, and he will be there after. There is nowhere we can go where his rule does not extend.

It's tempting to think of all this as the spiritual version of dressing up a pig. It can feel sentimental and saccharine to say folding laundry, performance reviews, and dry devotional times are super spiritual moments. Why not just call things what they really are? We can and should be honest about the brokenness in our world. To say that laundry is sacred is not to say it’s glorious or even enjoyable. And yet, Christ is ascended. If Christ is in heaven, then his speaking, praying, and ruling are underneath everything we do as his people. That is calling things what they really are.

And so the ascension is not something to gloss over or be embarrassed about. It's not an epilogue or afterword to the really important stuff. It shows us that Christ, our Lord, is right where he should be, and right where we need him most.

by Brian Colmery

The story of Jesus' ascension can sound like someone recounting a strange dream: "We were just there talking, and then my friend started floating into the sky!" It can feel superficial, like a mythical story added into the history of Jesus to pad his stats as God in the flesh. It dares you to skim past it and move on to things that feel more respectable and easier on the intellect (even if those things include tongues of fire from heaven). Most of all, it feels removed. How does Jesus floating into the sky mean anything to us who are still on the ground?

And yet there it is in Acts, written by Luke the doctor, who insists that he did thorough research and was sticking to the story as it happened (Acts 1:1-2, cf. Luke 1:1-4). It is the climax of the first recorded Christian sermon (Acts 4:33-34). And it has a home right in the middle of the Apostles' Creed, one of the earliest summaries of Jesus' life. The gospel writers, the apostles, and the early church saw the ascension as a central part of the life and ministry of Christ. How can we see it like they did?

Acts 1:9 says that Jesus commissioned the disciples and then he "was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight." The disciples were left "gazing into heaven as he went," to the point that a couple of angels had to tell them to stop (Acts 1:10-11). We are left with the image of Jesus floating up into the sky, the disciples tracking his progress until a cloud blocked their view.

So where exactly did Jesus go? The passage emphasizes that Jesus isn't just ascending into the air but into heaven. (The angels themselves make this connection in verse 11: Jesus was "taken up from you into heaven.") This helps relieve some of our mild embarrassment over a passage like this. Luke is not suggesting that Jesus is hanging out in Earth's upper atmosphere because heaven is actually a few thousand feet north of Jerusalem. Instead, Jesus’ ascension is the visible element of his movement into heaven, where he is seated at the right hand of God. The mechanics of this shouldn't trouble us. If quantum physics has shown us anything, it's that space and matter are more complicated than they look. And if the resurrection has shown us anything about physical bodies, it's that we shouldn't assume we know what God can and can't do with them.

The rest of the New Testament emphasizes Jesus' movement into heaven. Peter declares in his sermon at Pentecost that Jesus ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father in heaven (Acts 4:34-35). Paul cites an early Christian hymn that culminates with Jesus being "taken up in glory" to heaven (1 Tim 3:16). God's own power is at work when the Father raised Christ from the dead "and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places" (Eph 1:20). And the book of Hebrews only makes sense in light of the ascension: Jesus has passed through the heavens (Hebrews 4:14) as our high priest. He has entered "heaven itself...to appear in the presence of God on our behalf" (9:24). As the ultimate high priest offering a final sacrifice for sins, he "sat down at the right hand of God" (Hebrews 10:12). Clearly the ascension is more than a miraculous sideshow. It is Jesus' movement from earth into heaven after accomplishing redemption for us.

Some books finish with an epilogue or an afterword, a bit more to say after the action is all done. Jesus' ascension can feel like that. The big things—his life, death, resurrection—are all done, but here's a bit more at the end. The New Testament shows us that the ascension is not an afterthought but a culmination: after dying and rising from the dead, having conquered Satan, sin, and death, the ascension is Jesus' installation as king.

Patrick Schreiner, in a very helpful little book on the ascension, demonstrates that Jesus ascends into heaven to be installed as our ultimate prophet, priest, and king. Those things which he began on earth are completed and consummated in heaven. For example, on earth Christ was our ultimate priest: he was a mediator between us and God, he prayed for his people, and he sacrificed himself as a perfect sin-offering to bring us forgiveness. But Hebrews shows us that this culminates in his ascension into heaven. Having passed through the heavens, Christ our high priest can help us in our time of need. We have a perfect mediator in heaven who understands our weaknesses (Heb 4:14-16). It is in heaven that our great high priest, having "offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins...sat down at the right hand of God," showing that our forgiveness is achieved and the work of redemption is completed (Heb 10:11-12). And it is in heaven that Christ "always lives to make intercession for us," praying for his people in heaven itself (Heb 7:25).
The same is true for Christ's prophetic ministry and his kingly ministry. As the Word of God in the flesh, Christ spoke the words of God on earth, filled with the Holy Spirit. In heaven, Christ sends the Spirit to inspire and illuminate scripture and to fill the church across the world (John 17:7-15, Acts 1:8). On earth, Christ truly was the King of kings who called people to himself while conquering the darkness of Satan, sin, and death. But in heaven Christ is installed as King where he reigns "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion" (Eph 1:20-21). From heaven Christ calls people from every tongue, tribe, and nation to be his people.

All that Christ was and did on earth, the ascension magnifies and increases. Christ ascending to heaven is not a strange epilogue, but the culmination of his life and ministry. Our Prophet, Priest, and King speaks, intercedes, and rules from heaven.

This might still feel a bit removed, and our next post will explore how Jesus’ ascension relates to our daily lives. But for now, we can see and savor that the same Jesus who walked on earth is now in heaven speaking, praying, and reigning for us, his people.

by Scott Mehl

Why do bad things happen? It’s a question my daughter has been asking in her first philosophy class. It’s a question I’ve been asking in the wake of my bike accident. In fact, it’s a question I’ve heard almost everyone around me ask at one time or another. Now, people don’t necessarily ask this question out loud. It’s too deep for polite or casual conversation. But underneath so many of our efforts to comfort one another lingers this biting question: Why does this happen?

If you’re looking for a simple answer from me, I think you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not prepared to provide a theodicy. What I want to do instead is identify one of the most common ways we incorrectly seek to answer this question: over-spiritualization. Probably the most common reaction I received to breaking my ankle was the observation that God must want me to slow down. While this accident did reveal what those around me think needs to change in my life, I’m not sure it provided much clarity on what God thinks needs to change.

In our grappling with the big question of why bad things happen we tend to look for simple solutions. We want answers that explain the complex world to us in ways we don’t have to think too hard about. And in over-spiritualizing our suffering, I’m afraid we actually undersell the incredible, glorious, complex, and mysterious spiritual work God is actually doing.

First, it’s a misconception that all suffering is an act of God’s discipline. While it’s true that God does, at times, discipline us as his children (Heb 12:5-7), this is not the way we are to interpret all (or even most) suffering. God does allow us to experience the negative consequences of our actions, and he lovingly directs us back to himself through those negative consequences. But that does not mean every instance of suffering is an act of God’s discipline. A loving father doesn’t indiscriminately discipline his child, leaving the child to wonder what the discipline is for. When the connection between suffering and sin isn’t clearly obvious, we shouldn’t interpret it as discipline.

Second, it’s a misconception that God desires that we suffer so that we might gain wisdom. God loves us. He doesn’t desire our suffering. While one of the ways God redeems our suffering is to use it for our good (Rom 8:28) and the building of our character (Rom 5:3), that’s very different from God choosing to enact suffering in our lives so that we might learn something. Again, think of a perfect loving father. Suffering is an unfortunate opportunity through which we are often transformed and gain wisdom. It’s not the tool of choice in the hands of a sadistic master.

Third, it’s a misconception that the most common insights from suffering come in the form of one simple “lesson.” When tough things happen, we all want to glean some kind of clear takeaway. If we learn a lesson, we assume that must be “the one.” If we haven’t learned anything, we try frantically to learn something, assuming the suffering isn’t going to stop until we do. And when the suffering doesn’t let up, we tend to assume we haven’t gotten the right message yet. This is not how God operates. He teaches us numerous different things at the same time. He forms us in a number of different ways. The “lessons” are myriad and some of the most profound ones will take years to comprehend.

And, in the end, God isn’t primarily after us learning “lessons” at all. He’s after us coming to know him. Which is how over-spiritualization gets in the way of what God is actually doing. When we look for one simple lesson or message God is trying to convey through our suffering or try to justify the pain by identifying a simple purpose, we miss all the different ways God is redeeming our suffering. Slowly but surely, he’s using it as an occasion to expose our selfishness, demonstrate our love, strengthen our trust, and produce the fruit of the Spirit.

Why did I break my ankle? In one sense, I don’t exactly know. But in another sense, I’ve got a pretty good idea. I’m confident it wasn’t God’s discipline for my sinful choices. I don’t think God was trying to teach me a lesson—even if I could benefit from slowing down a bit. As far as I can tell, I broke my ankle because I was going fast around a corner where there was gravel on the path. The bike slipped and my bones snapped.  God didn’t put the gravel there to get to me. My loving father didn’t “zap” me and make me go down. I hit a patch of gravel. And sometimes a patch of gravel is just a patch of gravel. But, whatever the cause of our suffering, one thing we can be sure of is that God will always use it to grow us, for our good and for his glory.

by Nicole Austin and Stephanie Moss

Nicole: Did you know that we have a former sous chef on our staff? That the people who work at Cornerstone come from places as far away as South Korea and Guatemala? And that one of our newest hires dabbles in stunt sword fighting in her spare time? If you didn't, now is a great time to check out our new Staff page on the Cornerstone website, complete with updated photos, bios, and contact information.

One of the blessings of working at the church is seeing the ways that God brings the exact right people at the exact right time, with the abilities, personalities, and training to contribute to our church body. We wanted to take a second to share a bit more about each staff member beyond their official bio, and to highlight some of the ways we see God using them to benefit our community.

I’ll leave most of the fun to Stephanie Moss, our Director of Staff and Partnerships. But before I turn the rest of the blog over to her, I wanted to share with you a bit about the blessing she’s been to us!

Steph has been a part of Cornerstone for over 15 years, and has been on staff since October 2019. With her background in social work and her passion for community development, Steph was an obvious candidate to work with our ministry partners. Perhaps less obviously, her eye toward operations and organization has contributed in crucial ways to the improvement of our staff structure and coordination. This has been a particular blessing over the last couple of years when so much has been in flux. Steph leads the staff with enthusiasm, compassion and wisdom, and sets the tone for both hard work and fun. We’re so fortunate to have her!

Stephanie: Thanks for that lovely intro, Nicole! I love what I do, and am especially excited to be able to share with Cornerstone a bit more about all of the wonderful folks who make up our team.

Our first group of staff members are those in our Administration & Communications department. Nancy John is our newest hire, and comes to us from our ministry partner Claris Health. She serves two roles. The first formalizes what has been her ministry for many years, bringing her on as the Director of Counseling. The second takes over pieces of two other roles previously held by others, consolidating those responsibilities. As the Office Manager, Nancy will be our chief contact going forward for our office and for scheduling use of our campus. Nancy is a natural encourager with a calm and helpful spirit and a ton of experience, and we are thrilled to have her join our team.

Sandy King is our Director of Finance, and directs the financial processes for Cornerstone through arranging timely bill pay, refunds, giving statements and reporting. Sandy is incredibly reliable and faithful, and you can see how she honors the Lord through the work he has entrusted to her. She has helped move many of our internal processes to more efficient and effective platforms, which both lightens our workload and brings about more clarity overall.

Amy Carbo wears several hats at Cornerstone. As our Pastoral Assistant, she coordinates the administrative needs of our elders, providing organization and support in a way that frees them up to focus on the people of the church. She has a gift for sorting through competing priorities and bringing order where needed. In addition, Amy serves as our in-house Graphic Designer, creating graphics for our services, programs, and other materials as needed. Her creative eye combined with her diligent attention to detail is a great asset to our team.

Nicole Austin came on board as our Communications Coordinator late last year, and has already made significant contributions in helping to streamline our communication channels and best practices. Nicole coordinates the details and assets and establishes the timelines and platforms for what needs to be communicated to the congregation, and cares deeply about people getting connected into the life of the church. She is intentional and thoughtful, and actively works to bring together the many people and programs to ensure our communication is more effective and comprehensive.

The next department I’d like to highlight is our Sunday Services department, which is responsible for all of the things that go into making our Sunday services possible. First up is Andy Wilson, our Director of Worship. Andy directs the Sunday musical worship experience through the arrangement of bands and music selection, guiding the congregation through the service liturgy. Andy is an incredibly talented and knowledgeable musician who is passionate about how people encounter God and fellowship together through worship. His thoughtfulness and intentionality about the worship experience continues to be deeply felt on Sundays and beyond.

Adam Vaughn is our Service Coordinator and Media Producer, and coordinates all of the technical logistics for Sunday services and special events, from equipping volunteer teams, to setting up systems for audio, video, and other visuals like slides, as well as editing media content. Adam’s role is critical to our team, but his contribution extends far beyond his weekly tasks. Reliable and generous, he serves with a steadfast attitude and quiet strength, and is always willing to share his expertise and knowledge with humility and good humor.

Joon Kang is our Pathways Coordinator, and facilitates all of the ways we welcome people to Cornerstone, both on a Sunday morning and beyond. Joon coordinates the path people take from their initial visit, to classes, community groups, and membership (hence “pathways”). Joon genuinely cares about people and has a servant’s heart, and is always willing to step up to serve where needed. His friendly and welcoming demeanor make him a perfect fit as the first face many people see when they attend Cornerstone for the first time.

The third department I want to feature is one that is essential to our church family, as anyone who has been around Cornerstone for any length of time knows: our Kids Ministries. While most of those involved in our kids ministries are volunteers, we have two individuals who do a tremendous amount of work in organizing, planning, and strategically thinking about how we serve our kids at Cornerstone.

Jeremy Neiditch is our Director of Kids Ministries, and directs the teaching and discipleship of Cornerstone kids through prayer and the shaping and implementation of curriculum, teaching, small groups, and events. Jeremy deeply cares about the hearts of the children who attend Cornerstone, whether it's on a Sunday morning or across our other ministries, and his desire to come alongside them on their walk of faith is beautiful to watch. It can be all too easy for kids ministries to become more about entertainment than about ushering them into the truth about God. But Jeremy is always focused on providing a firm foundation for our children, and it is a true blessing.

Working alongside Jeremy, Allison Kang is our Kids Ministries Coordinator. Allison helps to implement the operational processes for kids classes, events, volunteers, and training, working closely with our volunteers and tackling the complex logistics of multiple services and age groups. Allison is resourceful and wise, and approaches even the most challenging problems with a positive attitude and a kind heart. She is sensitive to the needs of those around her, and is excellent at multitasking, a skill that is essential for the work she does.

Our fourth and final department is our Facilities department. We have been incredibly blessed with a multi-use campus that includes a sanctuary, chapel, administration and community building, an outdoor space, a missions house, and a parking lot. A facility this large and complex requires significant management, and we are so fortunate to have Becky González as our Director of Facilities. Becky directs the contracts and schedules for all maintenance and construction needs, and brings a tremendous amount of institutional knowledge to the role, which is a huge benefit when ensuring that vendors, contractors, and all other services are aligned for addressing campus maintenance. In addition, Becky also works alongside Pastor José to coordinate the details for Sunday services for Cornerstone Español. Becky’s patience and diligence allows her to tackle her roles with thoughtful care and attention.

The final staff member I want to highlight is Edwin Recinos, who serves as our Custodian. Edwin is our daytime janitor, and spends most of his time focused on cleaning and minor repairs. Edwin is both strong and gentle, and works with pride to support Cornerstone through the upkeep of the facilities.

As a staff, we are so grateful to our Cornerstone members and regular attendees, many of whom serve alongside us as volunteers in various capacities. While the people mentioned above are employed either part- or full-time at Cornerstone, we are well aware that much of the work that we accomplish would not be possible without the help of countless individuals who contribute their time and resources to support our church family. Ultimately, our hope is that our shared work would give our congregation the tools, resources, and support needed to pursue their love of God and others, so that we might all continue to grow in Christlikeness together.

by Brian Colmery

Books are the GOAT (aka Greatest of All Time) of media. Portable, reproducible, with a sterling record of relevance and proven longevity. Books put thoughts to paper so you can enjoy them, analyze them, internalize them, and respond to them.

For centuries, books have been the focal point of conversations in classrooms, coffee shops, and living rooms. Books start conversations on important ideas, help us think through them, and move those ideas from the paper in front of us to the heart inside of us. In a way, you haven't fully read a good book until you've discussed it. It doesn’t become a part of you until you meditate on it with others.

Christians are people of the Book and people of many books. We meditate on, discuss, and internalize what God says in Scripture. The Spirit works as we look together at God through his word. And as we look at God through his word, we write words about what we see. Other books don't replace Scripture, but they hold the truths of Scripture in front of us in different ways. The best books show us the truth of God's word in ways we might not have seen, connecting them in ways we might not have grasped. Our many books are ways we get to know the Book better.

This is why Christians don't just read books but also talk about books. We read with curiosity and questions, with an eye to see more of God and his world. And we let the ideas inside good books lead us to new ideas, fresh connections, and answers to questions we didn't know we had.

You might not consider yourself a "reader," but we all care about God, the world he's made, and how we fit into it. Reading becomes interesting once you see books as one way to think more about the things you care about. When you read that way, you’ll want to discuss what you read more than ever. That's why at Cornerstone we are holding two book discussion groups this summer. You can pick one, come to both, or even read the books on your own and have impromptu discussions with others in the church:

July 24th at 1:00 PM
What God Has To Say About Our Bodies by Sam Allberry

Sam looks closely at how Scripture talks about our bodies, covering identity, gender, sexuality, aging, illness, and resurrection. In a short amount of space, he hits on topics we see all around us, at church and in broader culture.

August 14th at 1:00 PM
You Are Not Your Own by O. Alan Noble

Alan shows us how the fundamental assumption of modern life is that we are our own and belong to ourselves—and how that seems empowering but only leads to burnout, anxiety, and loneliness. If you've wanted to understand why life feels the way it does in the modern world, this book is a big step in that direction.

We hope you come and enjoy the blessing of books in community with us this summer!

by Meredith Storrs

My car speakers are on a regular loop this week that includes “Jesus is our Guide,” “He is The Light,” and “I’m Trusting You,” a song that opens with a growling lion and monumental drumbeat. While 20-something me would have rolled her eyes in musical elitist disdain, I could not be happier to learn the dance moves and sing along with my children about how God makes a way in the wilderness.

I added this year’s Cornerstone Kids Camp songs to a Spotify playlist I created after VBS 2019—enhanced of course with some Newsboys, 90s worship jams, and half the DC Talk Jesus Freak album because, well, necessary. The line between music quality and the rosy glasses of nostalgia has completely blurred for me, and I have no shame.

I was raised in the Bible Belt, although to be fair, I did not actually grow up on an exclusive diet of CCM. In fact, I only recently learned that this is an insider acronym for “Contemporary Christian Music” thanks to Twitter. My parents are both musicians, and my dad produced music for several country artists, so most of my CD collection was Shania Twain, Dixie Chicks, Garth Brooks, and all their other friends in low places. I did, however, attend Christian summer camp and youth conferences, where we sang “Friends are Friends Forever” and “I Can Only Imagine” until our eyes were all red and our hearts full. I was the banner youth group kid in a town where we spent more time discussing which kind of Christian you were than whether or not you had heard about Jesus. Still, I prided myself on being “in the world” because I hung out with a handful of non-Christian theater friends. I had no idea how much I was being shaped by safely floating among the majority culture. I was a hot mess of self-righteous arrogance and wild-eyed insecurity, but a seed planted nonetheless, hoping to grow into spiritual fruitfulness amid various thorns and thistles of church-life at the turn of the last century. I was hungry, and God was so, so gracious.

While my childhood was saturated in Christian culture, my kids are having the opposite experience. They attend a school where they don’t know anyone else who goes to church every Sunday. Sometimes they are mocked. Often they feel a bit lonely. And every year my husband and I weigh our circumstances, family ministry opportunities, and their educational needs to see if this all still makes sense. We know God has called us to love the city of Los Angeles, and this is how it looks right now. They ended up as missionary kids right here in America.

The reality is that no city, neighborhood, or school option comes without both costs and opportunities. We each weigh these carefully and prayerfully to make choices in our families. For those of us parenting at Cornerstone, any school choice means regularly interacting with a Los Angeles culture that at best glorifies other gods and at worst, actively fights against ours. As my kids grow increasingly aware of their difference, moments to gather with the church family are more and more precious. Church is a place to exhale, a community who knows their lingo and joins them in song.

And so thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to all of you who invested time in Cornerstone Kids Camp this year. You made space for a bunch of little Angelenos to experience God—some maybe for the first time. You seeded memories that will one day be part of their testimony, a story of God’s work in this next generation that I cannot wait to watch unfold. For these kids, life will get crazy, wild and amazing, but thanks to all the mothers, fathers, and big brothers and sisters, over 80 of our kids are singing about how He is good.

by Nicole Austin

As an only child, I never wished for a sibling. I watched my friends wrestle with their brothers and sisters, passionately fighting over shared space and belongings, and I counted myself lucky. As I grew older, I adopted my own quasi-siblings, gravitating toward those who felt familial and known. Sarie and I were nearly sisters, with birthdays just a day apart, and Josh and I lived on the same floor of the same apartment building. In college, I found another handful of siblings, most notably in a group of strangers who became roommates who became friends who became sisters. Then I met Jesus, and my mind and heart were blown wide open as I learned about a new kind of family, based not on biology or even preference, but by a shared invitation as brothers and sisters, co-heirs together with Christ.

Shortly after I moved to New York as a new believer, I started attending church and became a part of my first fellowship group. Jen, Joanne, Ethan, Michael, Alice, and Jesica… these were some of the first people I came to know as Christian brothers and sisters. Together we experienced our early 20s in NYC, figuring out how to live as young professionals, citizens of that magnificent city with all its delights and challenges. We navigated our circumstances, relationships, and various callings together. We met weekly in a friend’s apartment to study the Bible, to pray and to worship. But we also grabbed brunch after service on Sunday, met for dinner or a drink during the week, and talked late into the night about faith, love, and life. We inhabited the spirit of the early church, “devoting [ourselves] to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42). These were my brothers and sisters in a whole new way, bound together by our shared faith and the way it bled into all areas of our lives. I learned new ways to be a sister, to love sacrificially, to share not just my resources but my heart with the men and women God had brought into my life. We challenged one another often, iron sharpening iron, and our collective faith grew as God used us as instruments of change in one another’s lives.

Years passed, and many of us left the city, got married, and started having children. I took on new roles, as a wife, and then a mother. As I continued to develop in my faith, I began to take on mentoring roles in the church as well—leading Bible studies, encouraging new moms struggling to adjust to their new reality, hosting a community group. I juggled career and family, church and secular friendships, and the demands of managing a household that eventually included three kids. But somewhere along the line, I lost the thread of what it meant to truly fellowship with my brothers and sisters. Gatherings became noisier and more chaotic, with children to manage and conversations increasingly becoming surface-level. Nowadays, when I think about Christian community, it often involves the logistics of childcare and food as much as, if not more than, the minds and hearts of those around me, to the detriment of us all.

My brothers, especially, have seemed to become less accessible to me the more time I’ve spent in Christian circles. From talking to friends outside a Christian context, I know this happens there as well: the women meeting for coffee or a drink, the men gathering for a movie or whiskey night, the genders neatly dividing at a barbeque like middle school kids in the cafeteria. When church ministries create gender-specific opportunities, there is so much to be gained. But if these events happen exclusively, or men and women feel a subtle pressure to maintain the divide, there is something lost, something crucial and vital and life-giving. And I want it back. In the last session of the Manhood/Womanhood conference last month, Scott said something that stopped me dead in my tracks. He posited, “What if you grew up in a family with multiple sons and multiple daughters, but the sons and daughters didn’t really interact? They kept separate. It would be so weird in your house. And I think it should be equally weird in the church.”

Being a part of the family of God means being sisters and brothers, not just mothers and fathers. Both Christian and secular culture have ways of making us wary of the opposite sex, for different reasons and in different ways. But Jesus treated women as sisters throughout his ministry. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus give us an example of both biological and spiritual siblings, as they served God together. The early church has numerous examples of women who were deeply woven into the fabric of the community, serving and discipling alongside men. Do we think that Lydia offered up her home and resources to Paul and Silas, only to relegate herself to a back room when they showed up? We know that both Priscilla and Aquila traveled with Paul, and that together they discipled Apollos. Aquila didn’t say to his wife, “Listen, Priscilla. Apollos and I are going to have some guy time to discuss the Gospel. You’re not needed.” That’s not how it happened, and the reality sets a beautiful example for us of the ways in which men and women can and should engage together, deeply and about things that really matter.

All of that said, I’m still figuring out what this means for me. I can’t just erase two decades of life, turning back the clock to a time before husband or children when I had more time and space in my life to fellowship more freely. And I don’t want to. There are tremendous blessings to be had within the context of my traditional nuclear family, and my calling as a Christian now includes them as well. But I also want to find ways to deepen and broaden the relationships across my larger spiritual family, especially with my brothers. For me, this means intentionally creating space for conversation at times where I’m not in mom mode. It means setting up a coffee date with a dear Christian brother who I barely see since he and his wife moved to a different neighborhood; it means crossing the backyard during that barbeque to chat with the guys. It means being intentional about being a sister, stepping out of the regular rhythms and comforts of life and pursuing all the members of my family, not just some of them. Ultimately, this kind of shift is not a solo effort. It requires the entire church, recognizing the need to draw closer across all categories, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, individual members knit together as one body.

I said earlier that, as an only child, I never wanted a sibling, and it’s true. But when I met my husband and saw the bond he had with his sisters, I began to appreciate that there might be something more to this sibling thing than I’d previously understood. Now that I have my own children, I have a whole new appreciation for the complicated, messy beauty that comes with being a brother or a sister. It isn’t easy. It’s full of conflict, misunderstandings, and having to bear with one another. But it’s also precious. And it’s what God wants for us as brothers and sisters in Christ, a fundamental and crucial piece of being a part of the family of God. In many ways, we’ve lost the thread, and it is long past time to take it back. Only then can we truly be an active part in weaving the tapestry we were intended to create together.

by Meredith Storrs

Between the SBC report and Robb Elementary this week, it feels surreal to be safely sitting on my couch watching Beauty and the Beast with my nine-year-old daughter. She’s home sick with a cold, not Covid. Not Covid, a caveat I find myself offering now, which is both a praise and a nod to the suffering of this present age. She shields her eyes from the fright of Belle’s father discovered intruding by the Beast, and all I can think about is how innocent she still seems. She’s not been on Twitter this week. She hasn’t read any of the news reports. I marvel that my tiny child has made it so many years hearing nothing of sexual abuse nor elementary school shootings. By the time I was her age, I had already experienced evils that she doesn’t even know exist.

Where do we take our grief when it runs this deep? I am usually a woman of so many words. I am finding so very few today. Instead, I flipped through the pages of the Psalms, hunting for songs of lament that might capture the anguish just right. How long, Lord? Will you forget [us] forever? I joined in the mourning of King David, his words hanging about my fragile frame like ill-fitted clothes. If I wanted words, the internet had plenty. But what I really wanted was presence not poetry.

Sometimes we take our grief to the Psalms or to the recorded prayers of faithful Christians past, reciting their wise words over our heavy hearts until the truth melts in. Today I found solace in the family. I thought about the man who built his house on a rock and how the waves sounded as they crashed against his walls. I listened for the wailing of mothers whose baby boys were thrown into the Nile and those whose innocents were slaughtered years later in Bethlehem. I remembered the abused woman in Judges and Tamar and Bathsheba. I wondered what Joseph thought when his brothers left him beaten at the bottom of the pit and how their faces might have looked, set against him, as the slave traders carted Joseph away. I wondered which images of his playing children impressed upon Job’s eyelids as he closed them to sleep on the night when tragedy struck. And I thought about Jerusalem, and why wouldn’t she allow Jesus to gather her under his wing like a mother hen? Are we, too, not willing?

Grief is scattered on page after page of our Bibles, yet we rarely read it that way. We summarize and rush to the end where God brings down fire or raises dead to new life. We scour the pages of these tragedies looking for hints of Messiah. In Moses’s delivery, we remember Jesus delivering us from the slavery of death. Joseph’s provision for his family looks like God’s provision in miniature. Ruth the bride of Boaz foreshadows a church redeemed by Christ. David’s failures make us long for a true and better King. Because we know that the Bible is a redemption story, we prefer to skim the hard parts and settle deep into cozy armchairs with a steaming cup of coffee to bask in forgiveness, faith, and triumph over sin. Yes, it is good to delight in the glory of the Lord. But on our darkest days, we should remember that joy comes in the morning only after weeping in the night.

Mr. Rogers famously encouraged us to “look for the helpers” in a time of crisis. His words remind me of the one called Helper in Scripture—the Holy Spirit who comes to our aid in battle. Where we see helpers, we should recognize glimpses of God’s common grace and the evidence of fruit in Spirit-filled believers who lay down their life—their time, rights, money, desires, and more—for the sake of others.

So where do we take our grief? Where do we go when tragedy is scattered on page after page of our newsfeed? Sometimes we need words for dry mouths, but sometimes it’s better to sit in a story. The Bible gives us both and more. God’s story invites us to lament and wail with the ancients in deep tragedies that often mirror our own. And just like them, to continue waiting expectantly for Jesus to show up.

This morning I sat in a circle of elementary school teachers as they processed their grief and discussed how to support one another and their students. This conversation among my colleagues shouldn’t be necessary, and yet it connects us all the way back to the Garden of Eden and forward until Heaven comes down. We are not alone in our mourning but surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Our laments find their echoes all over Scripture, and there they also find rest.

by Brian Colmery

Ask Christians in the West about Christian holidays, and they typically come up with two: Christmas and Easter. Now these are rather big ones. The birth of Christ and the resurrection of Christ are extraordinarily important, and worth massive celebration. But there is a tradition, going back thousands of years, that sees those holidays as part of something larger, something like the two tallest mountains in a whole range. That tradition revolves around the "Church calendar," a way of marking time not by a school schedule or even by the change of the seasons, but by the birth, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus.

The Church calendar introduces all sorts of seasons we aren't familiar with. There is Advent, as we prepare for the birth of Christ. There are the twelve days of Christmas (a Christmas season that starts on December 25). Epiphany remembers the spread of Christ's glory. Lent focuses us on our sin and need in anticipation of Christ's death for our sins. And Easter explodes with hope and life as Christ is raised from the dead, ascends into heaven, and sends the Holy Spirit (each of which gets their own days in the calendar). Of course, the Bible doesn't have a calendar in the appendix that we are supposed to follow. But if you mark time this way, you begin to relate your life to Jesus’ life, instead of when the semester begins or when spring break is. The whole year becomes a kind of holiday, each season with its own high points of reflection and celebration.

This brings us to Holy Week, the last week of Lent. The gospel accounts carefully mark time as Jesus approaches his death. He enters Jerusalem for the passover on Palm Sunday. He eats his last meal with his disciples after washing their feet on Maundy Thursday. He is betrayed, condemned, and crucified on Good Friday. He descends to the dead on Holy Saturday. And he rises again, defeating Satan, sin, and death on Easter Sunday.

Christians traditionally have set aside this week, praying and worshiping day by day in line with what Christ and his disciples did. We enter into Holy Week on Palm Sunday, but it begins in earnest on Maundy Thursday. We hold an evening service reflecting on the last gathering of Jesus with his disciples in preparation for his death. We see him wash their feet in anticipation of how he would wash away their sins by his sacrifice. We hear his commandment that they love one another (Maundy is from the Latin maundatum, meaning commandment). We join with them as Jesus breaks bread and pours wine to proclaim his coming death. We sing, and we pray. We leave knowing what the next day and night will bring.

Good Friday we gather again to sing, and pray, and hear the story of Jesus’ betrayal, and his unjust trial, and his brutal death in our place. Lent comes to a climax as we see what our sins meant for Jesus—someone so pure, someone so holy and loving, the only one of us who didn't deserve to face judgment. It is a dark night that connects our lives to his in that moment when he took our place for our forgiveness and restoration. We leave in silence. We know that Easter is coming, but Easter is only bright because of the darkness we sit in now.

Holy Saturday there is no service. We put ourselves in the place of the disciples, letting Christ’s death settle into our souls. It's a day of reflection, of somber processing. We reckon with the fact that Christ was dead, truly and—as far as they expected—finally. We imagine a world in which the hope of Christ really did perish, even while we remember the love and holiness of his life.

You can imagine what observing Holy Week this way does to Easter Sunday. When I was younger, most Easters involved me waking up, remembering (a) that it was Sunday and then (b) that it was Easter, and going to a church service where almost everyone else had done the same. We'd sing songs that were a bit more upbeat, hear a sermon about the resurrection, and call it a day. Easter was a normal Sunday with some extra shine.

But after walking with Jesus through the last week of his earthly life, you don't need to remember that it's Easter. You long for Easter. Sunrise services begin to make sense to you. You want to be with people who long for it too, who cannot wait to sing and praise and shout "He is risen!" and proclaim back "He is risen indeed!" You probably tear up, if you are that kind of person, because Easter says that the impossible is possible, he's not gone, he's come back to us, he's come back for us, and nothing will be the same. And your emotions and thoughts and prayers all run together as we see him say Mary's name and show her that it's really him, and as we hear him forgive Peter for his denial, and as we see him let Thomas touch his scars and wounds, healed but present to witness that he really is alive. We want to hear his word preached, our Jesus who is the first, and the last, and the living one (Rev. 1:17-18). We want to keep marking time this way for what comes next: his ascension to heaven, sending the Spirit, commissioning us to be his witnesses because he will be with us always, even to the end of the age (Matt 28:20).

This is why we observe Holy Week, matching up our week in 2022 A.D. with his week in 33 A.D. We hope you'll join us.

by Alina Sato

We are swimming in furious waters. As today’s world seems to relentlessly present reasons to be angry, I’ve struggled with the fury rising up within me. Sometimes it feels like the appropriate response to over 950,000 COVID deaths in the U.S. and the horrific loss of life from an oppressive war on the other side of the world. As much as I wish I possessed only good things from within to contribute to a dark world, I have to confess that my own inner world can be dark as well. Sometimes I notice my own unjustified anger seeping out toward the people around me, out of proportion, borne from my own sin, selfishness, and pride. At times I have been more edgy with my family, more judgmental toward my neighbor for petty reasons, more tempted to confront people on the specks in their eyes while ignoring the plank in my own. Discerning and managing my fury appropriately has felt incredibly challenging when the anger we swim in feels easier and easier to justify. Life has felt disappointing. And sometimes, depending on our expectations, so has God.

If you’re like me, you find yourself quietly asking hard questions of God in the thick of furious times. “Are you here? Do you see what’s happening? Can I really trust you in these circumstances?” When our anger is borne out of a core disappointment, not with life in general but with God in particular, we can lash out harshly toward others. Because if God himself isn’t really going to address our needs, then why should I be gentle with my neighbor? If we’re on our own to deal with our problems, self-preservation takes priority over honoring community and caring about other peoples’ hurt feelings.

At the time of Jesus’s birth, the Israelites were asking a lot of similar questions under harsh Roman oppression. God, you said we are your people, so where are you? If this baby is the promised Messiah, who will he be to us? Will he establish his throne, flex his strong arm of authority, and fix our circumstances as the means of quieting our furious hearts? If not, should we arm ourselves to fight?

In preparing for his transition into public ministry as a grown man, Jesus spent 40 days wandering and fasting in the desert. He undoubtedly knew there was a lot of passion—fury, if you will—behind the expectations people had for him. What did the Messiah of the Ages think about in these 40 days before going public? How would he respond to the furious questions of his times?  

Satan enters into this particular moment of Jesus’s life with temptations that he surely crafted to appeal to mankind’s propensity toward quick, external fixes. In Matthew 4:1-11, he offers to alleviate Jesus’s physical discomfort: “If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread.” He tempts Jesus to demonstrate power over personal calamity: “Throw yourself down [from this pinnacle]. For it is written: ‘He shall give His angels charge over you.’” Finally, he tempts Jesus to take a painless path to personal glory without any agonizing circumstances that might force him to press into trusting a Father with a hidden face. Satan offers this with one specific price tag attached—forsake faithfulness to his Father and worship Satan. “All [these kingdoms of the world and their glory] I will give you if you will fall down and worship me.”

The more I experience life’s hardships and pressures, the more I understand the enticing pull of what Satan is presenting here. On the longest days when my eyes are only set on myself and what I can see in the moment, it seems easiest not to make efforts toward the cultivation of real faith that presses deep into the Word of God and the heart of my Father. I just want bread, a better day, and some extra praise and appreciation from people. If I live for these things and don’t get them, I am tempted to rage. “I’m hangry! It’s been a hard day, so cut me some slack! No one sees what I do for them, so why should I bother!” Even when I do get those things, however, I’m still ultimately left with bread crumbs that decay, ideal circumstances that are mist in a fallen world, and a false god who never really wanted what was best for my soul. Ultimately, I’m still left with unquelled fury.

“Are you here? Do you see what’s happening? Who will you be to us in these circumstances?”

In Jesus’s exchange with Satan in the desert and his following three years of public ministry, we see his response to both Satan’s temptations and the furious questions of all our hearts. He doesn’t establish a worldly kingdom of health and wealth. He doesn’t immediately overturn all worldly oppression among mankind. While he was deeply compassionate toward the sick and suffering, and cared for many immediate needs in miraculous ways, his greatest passions were aimed at addressing the heart issues of sin and pride that keep us from loving our Father, loving one another, and resting eternally secure in our Father’s love. His pathway in addressing those heart issues was the long, lonely road to a cross, His cross.

Where God could have met us in his own wrath for all our sin, rebellion and idolatry, Jesus instead extends the most unexpected gentleness toward us. In unfathomable mercy, he shelters us from the Father’s wrath as he takes our punishment and death upon his own self. In doing so, he opens the blinders over our eyes to see how God has in fact met our greatest need in this deeply broken world—our need to be reconciled to him so that we might be renewed in his likeness and enjoy him forever. Once reconciled to him, we find that we can never be separated from him, and we go forth in his Spirit and love to minister to a hurting world.

This season of Lent, reflecting Jesus’s 40 days in the desert, allows us to consider who he is and what exactly he came to do. He may not meet our expectations on the surface, even for immediate needs that feel very, very real. But he meets our deepest needs for forgiveness and freedom from sin, and reconciliation with our Father God. From this place of spiritual healing, we can possess full assurance that he will one day right all the wrongs and redeem all that has been broken in this world. Because of Jesus, our fury can still burn against sin and Satan’s work, for the ways they hurt us and keep us from loving God and one another. But our transformed hearts can become gentle toward people as we extend the healing balm of God’s overflowing love and mercy.