Group: Adult

When we give our lives to Christ, we are giving Him everything. We recognize that all is from Him and all is for Him—every victory and every failure. We don’t have to be perfect because Christ was perfect for us. If we allow Him to— or sometimes even when we don’t because we can’t stop his work— He will take our mistakes and use them to teach and strengthen us and/or others. He will take our victories and use them to grow our faith and build his Kingdom.

I think that’s why the early church was so bold and courageous in the midst of persecution. They knew that if or when the worst happened, they were ultimately in Christ’s hands. They trusted His perfect plan for their lives. In Philippians 1:21, Paul states, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” He knew his purpose was to spread the gospel of Christ, and that if he died, as a believer, he would immediately be with Christ himself.

This type of trust and obedience both humbles and challenges me. It can feels scary, yet also fills me with exhilaration and a deep sense of freedom. I long to speak those same words from Philippians with honesty and sincerity.

Just as Simon the sorcerer couldn’t buy spiritual anointing, we cannot earn or pay for this freedom that Paul and the early church had. As His children, we already have it. So let’s live in that freedom, giving Him every tear and every crown, knowing He holds us in His righteous right hand.

I can see God’s pursuit of this eunuch so clearly. It’s so interesting how this man was just in Jerusalem. I have so many questions. If he didn’t yet know the Gospel, who was he worshiping? Eunuchs were not seen as fully human in that culture, so I can’t help but wonder how he was treated in Jerusalem. Who gave him the book of Isaiah? And what kind of seeds had already been planted in his heart before he met Philip?

These aren’t questions I’ll try to answer here, but I think they’re worth pondering if we want to understand this man’s story more deeply. What we do know is that, rather than meeting the eunuch in Jerusalem, God directed Philip to meet him at this appointed moment on the road.

As Philip jogs alongside the chariot, he begins with a simple question of curiosity: “Do you understand what you are reading?” The eunuch could have responded in one of two ways— with pride, claiming he understood because his value was rooted in how others saw him, or with humility, admitting his lack of understanding. I imagine this man’s life had already been humbling, and that this long journey from Ethiopia had left him weary and searching. Perhaps he had never had much to be prideful about, or perhaps he had learned that pride in oneself is sinking sand. Whatever the reason, this eunuch’s heart was ready to hear Philip’s message.

He was ready to hear that Christ came to die for him — a gift he was eager to receive. He was so eager, in fact, that as soon as he saw water, he wanted to be baptized. He came out of the water rejoicing, and Scripture says the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away. His work with the eunuch was complete, so the Lord placed him elsewhere immediately, and Philip continued his assignment of preaching the good news.

Philip heard directly from God and was so fully surrendered that the Spirit could instantly move him from one place to another. Then there’s the eunuch — an empty vessel, ready for God to fill him to the point of overflow.

Are you fully surrendered to the Lord, willing to accept whatever assignment He places before you? Are you an empty vessel, ready to receive from Him until you overflow? How is your heart postured toward the Lord in this season that he has you in?

On Sunday, Shawn taught about hearing God’s voice—a topic that stirs deep curiosity in me and, I’m sure, in many others. Hearing the voice of our Creator must be the most beautiful sound imaginable. It brings peace, direction, and perfect affirmation to our lives.

One thing Shawn said really stayed with me: If you haven’t heard God’s voice in a while, go back and obey the last thing He told you to do.

Sometimes we forget that God has already spoken—through His Word. Even when we aren’t certain we’ve heard Him speak directly, we can open Scripture and know that every word is for us.

“If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”

— Romans 10:9

Have you accepted Christ’s gift of salvation?

“Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord.”

— Acts 3:19

Is there something you need to repent of?

“Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

— Acts 2:38

Is baptism your next step?

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

— Proverbs 3:5–6

Are you trusting Him fully? If not, what is keeping you from doing so?

These are just a few of the Scriptures that continue to speak deeply to me—especially in seasons when I don’t feel clear direction from the Holy Spirit. Even in those moments, I’m reminded that God is always near. He is pursuing you and me through His Word and through the people He’s placed in our lives.

May we keep listening, obeying, and trusting that His voice still speaks today.

As I read about Simon the sorcerer, I feel as though I can understand his heart. Earlier in this chapter, we see that he found his worth and identity in his magic and in the title the people gave him—“The Great One—the Power of God.”

I can relate to that. I’ve fallen into the same trap of finding my value in my abilities, in how wise others think I am, or in how well I perform. So it doesn’t surprise me that when Simon saw attention shift to the apostles and their miraculous works, he longed to be part of it. He wanted to return to the center of admiration—to be “the great one” again.

He may not have even recognized those motives, just as I have often been blind to my own pride and selfishness. Yet what’s beautiful is that even when we stumble into these ugly patterns, God’s grace still covers us. Peter rebuked Simon sharply, but that correction was an act of mercy—an invitation to repentance. Scripture doesn’t tell us what happened next with Simon, but I know that when I’m called out, the Spirit gently humbles me and leads me back to the cross.

During worship on Sunday, something in this passage connected deeply with me while we sang “Gratitude.” The lyrics go:

All my words fall short

I’ve got nothing new

How could I express all my gratitude?

I could sing these songs

As I often do

But every song must end

And You never do.

So I’ll throw up my hands

And praise You again and again.

’Cause all that I have is a hallelujah—

And I know it’s not much,

But I’ve nothing else fit for a King.

All that I have is a hallelujah.

Those words reminded me: we cannot buy God’s love, His gifts, or His wisdom. Our worth doesn’t come from what we own, how much we know, or what we can do—it comes from being His children.

Our salvation is free for us, but it cost Jesus everything. He paid with His life on the cross. So we praise—not to earn anything, but out of gratitude, knowing we could never repay Him. And in that place of humble worship, everything else we need is added according to His good and perfect will.

As I read this passage, I can almost feel the energy of the early church leaping from the pages. The Spirit was powerfully on the move within them! What the enemy intended for evil, God transformed for good.

The believers had just witnessed Stephen’s brutal stoning, knowing that they could be next. Yet, even in their fear, they understood they were not alone. God used that moment of suffering to strengthen their faith and deepen their courage. When Stephen forgave his persecutors with his final breath, it powerfully echoed Christ’s own words of forgiveness spoken from the cross.

Stephen’s reflection of Christ must have breathed new life into those early believers, showing them that following Jesus meant more than belief—it meant embodying His love, forgiveness, and eternal hope. Stephen lived with a deep conviction that life on this Earth was not the ultimate prize, and that realization inspired others to live and share their faith with boldness. As they scattered, they continued to proclaim the good news, and God performed many miracles through them. Lives were changed, and great joy filled the cities where they went.

Last Sunday, we heard from the Ubank family, who shared a powerful testimony about how they chose to respond to their enemies—with forgiveness and the love of Christ. Amid grief and loss, they extend God’s peace and comfort to those who have hurt them.

Romans 5:8 reminds us: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

He died for us, for them, and for everyone.

So, who might God be calling you to forgive today—just as He has already forgiven you through the sacrifice of His Son?

I’m sure we can all remember a season when things felt uncertain—when what once seemed steady started to shake and we couldn’t see how it would all work out. Maybe it was a job loss, a broken relationship, or a stretch where God felt distant. Those moments test more than our patience; they test our faith. James reminds us that trials aren’t random—they’re opportunities for God to shape something deeper in us.

Faith isn’t strengthened in comfort; it’s refined in difficulty. Perseverance doesn’t grow when life goes as planned—it grows when we keep trusting God even when it doesn’t. The testing of our faith isn’t meant to break us but to build endurance that carries us further than ease ever could. Over time, that endurance matures us into people who are steady, grounded, and confident in God’s goodness.

We may not find joy in the pain itself, but we can find joy in knowing that God is working through it. Every challenge becomes a classroom where we learn to depend on Him more fully. When perseverance finishes its work, we come out not just surviving the trial, but changed by it—stronger, wiser, and more convinced that God truly is faithful from beginning to end.

Paul wasn’t minimizing pain when he called it “light and momentary.” He knew suffering well—beatings, imprisonment, rejection, and constant hardship. Yet he could still speak with hope because he had learned to see beyond what was in front of him. Paul measured everything in light of eternity, and when we do the same, our perspective starts to change too.

The troubles we face are real, but they’re not the full story. What we see today—stress, disappointment, loss—is temporary. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter; it just means it doesn’t last. When our eyes stay fixed on what’s unseen, we remember that God is working in ways we can’t always trace. He’s shaping our character, deepening our faith, and preparing a glory that will one day make sense of every tear.

Fixing our eyes on the unseen isn’t pretending everything is fine. It’s choosing to believe that God is still faithful when nothing looks like it. Hope grows in that space—where we stop trying to control outcomes and start trusting that the eternal outweighs the temporary. The more we look to what lasts forever, the more peace and endurance we find for what we face today.

Jesus’ teaching here cuts straight against our instincts. Everything in us wants to protect ourselves from people who hurt us or make life difficult. Yet Jesus calls us to love them—and not just in words, but through prayer and compassion. He’s not asking us to feel warm emotions toward those who wrong us, but to actively seek their good, just as the Father does.

Loving enemies doesn’t come naturally. It challenges our pride and exposes how much we depend on God’s Spirit to live like Him. But this is what sets followers of Jesus apart. The world expects retaliation or silence, but love chooses a different way. When we respond to hostility with grace, we show that our hope isn’t in getting even—it’s in reflecting the mercy we’ve already received.

Each act of forgiveness becomes a small reflection of the cross. Jesus prayed for those who crucified Him, and now He calls us to carry that same posture into our relationships. Loving when it’s hard doesn’t excuse what’s wrong—it simply trusts God to handle what we can’t. And in doing so, it softens hearts, including our own.

Jesus’ words here turn our natural reactions upside down. No one enjoys being misunderstood, criticized, or rejected—especially for doing what’s right. Yet Jesus calls those moments blessed. He isn’t saying the pain disappears or that we should seek out suffering. Instead, He’s showing us that faithfulness to Him carries a deeper joy than the approval of others ever could.

When we live by God’s truth in a world that often resists it, tension will come. Standing for what’s right may cost us comfort, reputation, or even relationships. But those who endure for the sake of Christ share in something far greater—the peace of belonging fully to His kingdom. Our reward isn’t found in everyone liking us; it’s found in knowing we’re walking closely with Him.

Every insult or false accusation that comes because of your faith becomes a reminder that you’re following the same path Jesus walked. The same opposition He faced, His followers will face too—and the same victory He won will one day be ours. So rather than shrinking back, we can hold steady with quiet confidence, trusting that the Lord sees, remembers, and will one day make all things right.

The believers in Jerusalem faced something they never would’ve chosen. Persecution forced them out of their homes, their community, and their familiar rhythms of worship. What looked like chaos was actually part of God’s plan. Through their scattering, the good news of Jesus began to reach new regions and new people. What seemed like loss became a turning point in how the gospel spread. God used what the enemy meant for harm to bring about His greater purpose.

Sometimes following Jesus means walking through seasons we wouldn’t have picked. A closed door, a hard conversation, or a major change can feel like loss. But Acts 8 reminds us that God’s purposes aren’t stopped when our comfort is disrupted. In fact, He often works most clearly when our plans fall apart. When things feel out of control, He is still writing a story that’s bigger than what we can see.

The church didn’t stop being the church just because they were scattered—they carried the message and presence of Jesus wherever they went. The same is true for us. Whether we’re in a new workplace, a different community, or an unexpected situation, we can trust that God has placed us there with purpose. When life feels uncertain or unfamiliar, we can remember that God is never out of control. He takes what feels scattered and uses it to plant something new.