When grief actually shows up, most of us either hide it or drown in it. Psalm 126 offers a stranger path: go out weeping, and carry the seed with you. What does God do with our tears? He doesn't waste them—he plants them, and has promised the harvest.

We've gotten good at explaining our survival without God—grit, timing, luck. Psalm 124 pulls us back to the truth we keep editing out: we were caught and could not free ourselves, and the God who is for us broke the snare from the inside.

Most of us aren't tired from working — we're tired from watching. Psalm 121 asks the question we are often afraid to ask, and then names the relief we haven't yet allowed ourselves to feel: we were never built to be the keeper.

We begin this summer not with arrival but with exile — because pilgrimage begins when we stop pretending temporary things can carry eternal weight.

In the final sermon of A Re-Formed Imagination, we see that Philippians is forming more than private faith. It is forming a people whose life together displays the beauty and worth of Jesus.

What kind of life produces durable joy in an anxious and exhausted world? In Philippians, we discover that joy grows wherever Christ becomes more central than the self.

The Kingdom of God has a long history of showing up where it isn't supposed to be — even in Caesar's own house. This week we explore what it means to be a saint in the empire.

What we do with money is never merely financial — it's liturgical. Paul's closing words to Philippi press us toward a cruciform generosity that looks less like a budget line and more like a household.

We've been reading Philippians 4:13 all wrong. What if the most famous verse about strength is actually a verse about surrender — and a far better kind of strength?