The Bible isn't just a story to believe—it's a way to live. After encountering Jesus in the grand narrative of Scripture, the question isn't just "Do you believe?" but "How will you live?" Jesus didn't just come to get us into heaven someday; He came to bring the Kingdom of God to us. This series explores what it means to follow Jesus as apprentices, not just admirers. You'll discover that the Christian life isn't about trying harder to be good—it's about training in the way of Jesus. Through biblical practices like community, Sabbath, prayer, and worship, we learn to arrange our lives around what matters most. Because the story you believe becomes the life you live.

Join us on WEDNESDAY nights as we practice Jesus' ways, in the worship center, 6:30-8:00pm.  Come for a time of teaching, learning, fellowship and practicing the ways of Jesus together as a church family.

Change is happening in all of us, whether we notice it or not. We feel it in our habits, our reactions, our relationships. Yet many of us carry a quiet unease: we’re not convinced that the change we’re experiencing is actually leading us toward life.

We set intentions to grow, to be calmer, freer, more generous, more Christlike—but our lived reality often tells a different story. We know what we want, we know what’s right, and we even believe in Jesus… yet something feels stuck. The gap between belief and becoming can feel frustrating, confusing, and discouraging.

This first week confronts a simple but unsettling truth: we are always being formed. Every day, something is shaping us. The question isn’t if we’re changing—it’s who or what is doing the shaping.

As we begin The Way of Jesus, we turn to a defining moment near the end of Jesus’ ministry where He asks a question that still echoes today—a question that reveals not just who we think Jesus is, but who we are becoming. From there, we begin to discover how Jesus invites us into a different kind of formation altogether.

Transformation doesn’t happen in isolation, and it rarely happens all at once. It happens through proximity—through a shared life with Jesus and with others over time. Peter didn’t become who he was called to be in a moment of inspiration, but through daily life with Jesus: walking roads, sharing meals, failing, learning, and staying. He wasn’t just a follower of Jesus; he was formed by Him within community.

Yet this raises an honest tension for many of us. We believe community matters, but when life gets hard, our instinct is often to retreat. We know how to talk about faith, but we struggle to live it out together in ways that reach beneath the surface. We’ve learned how to stay busy, connected, and even surrounded—while still remaining unknown.

Most of us live comfortably in shallow or mid-level relationships, carefully managing what others see. We share highlights, hide our losses, and say “I’m fine” even when we’re barely holding on. The cost of this kind of guarded living is quiet but heavy: loneliness in the middle of a crowd.

This week confronts the danger of doing life alone. When we hide our pain, we also hide from the very community God intends to use to carry us. Jesus’ way of formation invites us into something braver and deeper—a community where we are known, where we belong before we have it all together, and where God uses shared life to shape us into who we are becoming.

Two weeks ago, we asked the question, “Who are you becoming?” Last week, we saw that resurrection life, while real, still needs community to lead us into freedom.  Today, we’re asking a more personal and pressing question: “How do I really live free?”
Imagine a family about to buy a house. From the outside, everything looks right. Fresh paint. Clean lines. New landscaping. Solid foundation. But before signing, an inspector looks beneath the surface. Walls come down, and mold is discovered. Hidden. Unseen. But spreading.

That’s the thing about mold. It thrives in the dark. As long as it stays concealed, it grows. You can cover it up, paint over it, or ignore it, but the longer it remains hidden, the more damage it does.  That’s true of houses. And it’s true of us.

Many of us look put together on the outside, yet carry hidden places within. Not because we’re trying to deceive anyone, but because we’re afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of judgment. Afraid that being fully known would lead to condemnation instead of healing.
So we hide. We manage the image. We keep things wrapped up. And the result is a familiar pattern. Alive, but not free.

Here’s the tension we’re sitting with today: why are the very things that need light the things we work hardest to keep hidden?
And what if confession isn’t what destroys us?  What if confession is the doorway to freedom?