A Re-Formed Imagination
a journey through Philippians that invites us to let the crucified and risen Jesus reshape how we see God, ourselves, and the world—forming us into a faithful, joyful people who live inside a better story.
In Philippians 2:19–30, we rethought what real maturity looks like. Together, we learned that heaven honors quiet faithfulness and nearness to Jesus — not platform or performance.
In Philippians 2:12–18, we learned that a church formed by grace becomes visible in a cynical world. We shine not by power, but by joyful, faithful obedience.
In Philippians 2:9–11, we were invited to become a church re-formed under the Lord. The crucified Jesus reigns, freeing us from rival thrones and forming us into glad allegiance.
In Philippians 2:5–8, we linger with the story of Jesus’ humble descent and discover how the cross doesn’t just forgive us—it re-forms us together into a people shaped by self-giving love.
In Philippians 2:1–4, we learned how the gospel begins re-forming a church by healing rivalry, reshaping our loves, and calling us into humble, shared life together in Christ.
In A Coherent Gospel, we explored Philippians 1:27–30 and learned how the gospel holds together belief, obedience, unity, and suffering—forming a life that fits Jesus under pressure.
In Philippians 1:19–26, we explore how a cross-shaped imagination reshapes our understanding of life, death, and vocation—freeing us from fear and forming us for faithful love in everyday life.
In this message, we explored how joy in Christ is not the reward at the end of faithfulness, but a defiant posture formed in the midst of suffering. From prison, Paul shows us how the gospel advances—and joy endures—even when the chains stay on.
In the opening week of A Re-Formed Imagination, we explore how Philippians invites us to live inside a better story—one where the gospel doesn’t just inform us, but forms us into a cross-shaped people.
In Philippians 3, Paul invites us to stop assembling a résumé for God and receive the life already given in Christ — the only life truly worth having.