Death has a way of reminding us just how much we love being alive—and how much we love the people with whom we share our lives. We want more time. More conversations. More ordinary Tuesdays together.

Who gets saved? Who doesn't? And what happens to people who don't believe the same things we do?

These are questions Christians have wrestled with for centuries. On Sunday, we explored how Jesus responds when someone asks him directly, "Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?"

Few questions are as universal—or as difficult—as the question of suffering. If God is good and powerful, why do terrible things happen to people who don't deserve them? And if God hears our prayers, why do some seem to go unanswered?

Few conversations in the church are as personal—or as complicated—as the conversation around the Bible and same-sex relationships. For some Christians, the answer seems straightforward: the Bible prohibits same-sex relationships, and faithfulness means accepting that prohibition. For others, a closer examination of the biblical passages, their ancient context, and the larger movement of Scripture has led them to a different conclusion.

Few books of the Bible have generated more fascination—or more confusion—than Revelation.

Genesis begins with some of the most familiar stories in the Bible—and some of the stories that raise the biggest questions.

The Bible can be beautiful, comforting, challenging—and sometimes deeply troubling. For many of us, the questions we have about Scripture aren’t trivial. What does it mean to say the Bible is inspired? Why does God sometimes seem so different in the Old Testament than in Jesus? What do we do with passages that seem violent, contradictory, or simply wrong?

Sometimes what gets in the way of God isn't God. It's an idea about God. Maybe it's something we inherited. Something somebody told us. Something we pieced together along the way. And sometimes losing faith in that version of God isn't the end of faith. It might actually be where a deeper faith begins.

Church isn't something a few people do while everybody else watches. This is ours. We all have a part to play.

Holy work usually starts with holy disruption.

We tend to imagine that making a difference begins with having a plan, discovering a calling, or finding the perfect place to serve. But sometimes it begins much more simply: we see something we weren't prepared to see.

On Sunday we looked at the story of Jesus healing a man who had been unable to move forward for 38 years.

On Sunday we talked about our complicated relationship with the church.