Welcomed with Open Arms

The story for the Sunday after Easter Sunday is what we've come to know as "Doubting Thomas". The risen Jesus appears to his disciples, offering them a benediction, a commission, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. But one of their number, Thomas, is missing, and his unbelief prompts another visit from the Lord. We are not told why Thomas is missing.  But we do know that he had trouble accepting what the others told him.  The other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” 

 

His response?  “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

 Thomas is criticized for doubting, but he asks for nothing more than the same experience of the risen Christ the rest of the disciples had. By the grace of God, Jesus returns a second time and offers his body as living proof to Thomas. In the presence of Jesus, Thomas discovers he did not need the proof he demanded.

Thomas’ story is our story. We are not always where we need to be. Sometimes we even find ourselves in places we should not be at all. But Jesus comes to us, seeking us out and giving us the gift of faith. Thomas is not criticized, he is not condemned. Instead Jesus loves Thomas back into a relationship and shows the disciples what the words “Peace be with you” mean when lived out.

This Easter season is an opportunity to proclaim the power of the resurrection and the grace of God, who welcomes Thomas with open arms.

Surrender Death’s Final Word: Live in Resurrection Hope

Easter is God’s joyful, earth-shaking announcement that death—of the body, of dreams, of hope—never has the final say. Throughout Lent we have been giving things up: noise, perfectionism, judgment, control. But what we release prepares us for what God gives in return: a new beginning rooted not in our efforts but in Christ’s victory over death. Resurrection is not a metaphor; it is the center of our faith. It is God’s declaration that nothing is beyond redemption, restoration, or renewal.

In the light of the empty tomb, every “ending” in our lives looks different. The places where we feel stuck? God can bring movement. The relationships that feel fractured? God can bring healing. The fears that whisper “this will never change”? God whispers back, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Easter invites us to surrender our belief that brokenness is permanent and to live instead with resurrection-shaped expectation.

As Easter dawns, let your heart stretch toward hope again. Let the risen Christ breathe courage into weary places. Let joy stand where sorrow once lived. Because Jesus lives, everything else can live again too. This is the gift and promise of our faith: death is defeated, love is alive, and we are people of the Resurrection. 

Let Go of the Messiah You Want: Welcome the Messiah Who Comes

The crowds who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem shouted with joy, waving palms and imagining the kind of Messiah they wanted: a powerful liberator, a triumphant king, someone who would overthrow Rome and make everything right immediately. But Jesus entered in humility, riding a borrowed donkey, heading not toward a throne of power but toward the cross. Palm Sunday reminds us how easy it is to want God to meet our expectations instead of receiving Christ as he truly comes. In our own lives, we often pray with conditions: “Lord, help me—just do it this way.” We want quick fixes, obvious victories, unmistakable signs of strength. But the God revealed in Jesus chooses the way of humility, mercy, and costly love. Jesus doesn’t rise to meet the world’s expectations; he transforms them.   Palm Sunday invites us to examine the expectations we place on God and to loosen our grip on the versions of Christ we prefer. As Holy Week begins, we are invited to welcome Jesus not as we imagine him, but as he truly is: the surprising, self-giving Saviour who brings life through love, not force. Lay down your palm branches—your expectations, demands, and conditions—and receive the Messiah who meets us with compassion, truth, and grace.  In our "return to God with all our hearts", welcome the Messiah who is.

Give Up the Illusion of Control: Trust the God Who Holds You

As we continue our Lenten journey to “return to God with all your heart,” we’ve been reflecting on the things that keep us from drawing close to God. For you, is it busyness and distraction? The need for perfection—or to always be right? Or perhaps it’s the deep desire to stay in control?

Few things are harder to release than our sense of control. We hold tightly to schedules, expectations, and plans because they offer a sense of security. Yet Lent invites us to look honestly at this impulse and recognize that our need for control often grows not from faith but from fear—fear that everything might fall apart, fear of disappointing others, fear that God won’t show up in the way we hope. Throughout Scripture, God continually calls us to trust not in our own strength, but in Him.

Letting go of control does not mean becoming passive. It means shifting our weight. Instead of relying solely on our own understanding, we lean into the God who knows us fully. Instead of tightening our grip, we practice loosening it—through prayer, silence, stillness, or even the simple act of taking a deep breath. When we surrender our anxieties and outcomes to God, we discover a peace rooted not in everything going right, but in God’s unfailing presence with us.

This week, pay attention to where the Spirit may be inviting you to release your hold. A worry? A plan? A “should”? As we surrender the illusion of control, we remember whose hands we rest in—the hands of a God who is endlessly tender, endlessly trustworthy, and endlessly near.

To “return to God with all your heart” requires trust. Trust the God who holds you.

The Weight of Being Right

As we move through Lent and seek to "return to God with all our heart," we often face a stubborn obstacle: our need to be right. In a culture where debate and self-justification are everywhere, we often cling to being right. And in holding tight, we leave little room for grace to reach us.  We focus on the faults of others to avoid facing our own, turning even our own virtues into walls that separate us from God.

This week, consider "fasting" from the need to be right and the urge to judge our neighbours. Returning to God means coming with the humility of the tax collector who could only pray, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" When we stop defending our own goodness, we finally become still enough to hear God.

Practice letting go of criticism and from the quiet instinct to protect your ego. At the foot of the Cross, we all stand on equal ground—where what matters is not our own rightness, but the righteousness and grace Christ freely gives us. 

At the foot of the cross - we are on equal ground.