Welcome! We're a small church doing BIG things with the help of God!
We believe that God loves, values and embraces each person as a beloved child. Therefore, we welcome people of every age, size, color, culture, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, marital status, ability and challenge. We welcome people from all faith traditions, those with doubts, and those with no sense of faith at all. We also commit ourselves to the pursuit of environmental, economic, social and racial justice.
Our mission is to meet God, practice community, serve Christ and live generously!
Through candlelight, scripture, quiet reflection, and simple sung prayer, we pause at day’s end to rest in God’s presence. This contemplative service offers a peaceful space to breathe, listen, and be renewed in the midst of a busy week. All are welcome — come as you are.
Our service opens with the Blessing of the Palms and a child’s reading of Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem—a moment of celebration as we wave palms and sing “Hosanna.”
Then, the tone shifts.
In place of a sermon, we will hear the full story of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, trial, and crucifixion as told in the Gospel according to Matthew. Together, we walk the path from praise to the cross.
Holy Communion will be celebrated.
On this night, we hear Jesus’ command to love and serve one another as he has served us. Together, we will remember the Last Supper and the gift of his presence among us.
This service will include:
Holy Communion
Individual Absolution with the Laying on of Hands
Scripture, prayer, and quiet reflection
Come and receive grace. Come and be renewed for the journey to the cross.
We will gather in silence and hear again the account of Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion. The sanctuary will be stripped bare, lit only by candlelight, as we mark the depth of his suffering and love.
This is a contemplative service—quiet, unhurried, and reflective.
On this night, we are invited to keep watch with Christ…
to listen, to pray, and to remain present at the cross.
Saved From the Grave
What do you do when God feels late?
In John 11, Mary and Martha send for Jesus as their brother Lazarus lies dying. They believe he will come. They believe he will heal.
But he doesn’t.
By the time Jesus arrives, Lazarus has been in the grave four days—beyond hope, beyond help, beyond anything they imagined God might still do.
We know this place.
The place where prayers didn’t turn out the way we hoped.
The place where something we loved has come to an end.
The place where we have sealed the stone and tried to move on.
And yet, Jesus stands at the edge of the tomb and says, “Take away the stone.”
This episode explores what it means to trust God in the waiting, to face what we’ve buried, and to hear Jesus still calling us—by name—out of fear, despair, and everything that has held us bound.
Because the fourth day is not the end.
The grave does not get the last word.
Jesus does.
Come out… and live.
The world feels tense right now. There is a lot of collective anxiety in the air. Nations thirst for security. People thirst for certainty.
And thirst is a powerful thing. When human beings are thirsty enough, we will cross great distances for water. We will dig deep wells. We will build entire civilizations around rivers and springs.
But the truth is—we are not only thirsty for water.
We are thirsty for safety. For belonging. For a place where we don’t have to live in fear of the people on the other side of the line.
That’s the world Jesus walked into. A world full of lines—between Jews and Samaritans, men and women, clean and unclean, insiders and outsiders. And yet John’s Gospel says something surprising about Jesus’ journey that day.
It says, “He had to go through Samaria.”
Not because of geography. Because of mission.
So Jesus walks straight into the place his own people avoided. He sits beside a well. And there, in the heat of the day, he begins a conversation that will change everything—about thirst, about grace, and about the living water God still offers the world.
“The Spirit is like the wind. It blows where it will. You hear its sound, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it goes.” Faith, Jesus is saying, doesn’t always begin with certainty. Sometimes it begins the way wind begins — quietly, mysteriously, moving through places we didn’t expect.
I once knew someone who wandered into church almost by accident. She didn’t know the stories. She didn’t know the language of faith. She mostly stayed in the nursery and kept to herself. But slowly something began to happen. People listened to her. They welcomed her questions. They loved her without demanding that she prove anything first. And one day she said something remarkable. She said, “Somehow I’ve come to believe that God exists… and that God loves me.” Not because someone forced her. Not because she solved every theological question. But because she encountered grace. And that’s what Jesus is trying to tell Nicodemus.
God doesn’t wait for us to understand everything before loving us. God simply loves the world — the whole messy, complicated, questioning world. And when love like that finds us, something new begins.
