Hey folks, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. There’s plenty to be thankful for, even in these peculiar times. I’m not sure if your family does this, but every Thanksgiving my family goes around the table, and everyone names a few things they’re grateful for. Beyond the usual answers, I know one of my own will be you: the Nexus community. I’m truly thankful for you. If you’re around this Sunday, I hope you’ll join us as we continue exploring the art of learning to read the Bible well. This week, we’ll look at two biblical stories that shape how we understand salvation: the Day of Atonement and the Exodus. Reading them together invites us to see more than God as judge. Instead, taken together, these stories open up a richer picture of God as merciful and as the one who leads people toward freedom. We’ll begin with some different theological worlds before launching into the strange and memorable story of The Great Pear Tree Theft.

Friends, for the past few weeks, we have been happily hunkered down in the opening chapters of Genesis. At this pace, we should complete our journey through the Bible sometime around 2050. That isn’t going to work, so it is time to pick up the pace. This Sunday, we are going to take a soaring tour across Scripture (with stops in Isaiah, Ezra, Deuteronomy, Job, Joshua, Exodus, and Jonah). What I hope to help us explore is how the Bible is not a flat text that offers one simple answer to every question. Instead, it is a lively conversation across generations. Time and again, one biblical voice speaks, and then another voice complicates it, widens it, unsettles it, challenges it, even deconstructs it. And so, from questions about who belongs, to inter-religious marriage, to purity and justice, to suffering, violence, and the temperament of God, we will discover a Bible that talks back to itself, and, if we are listening, talks back to us. So, I hope you will join us we explore why the Bible is a wily text, clever enough to disrupt our need for quick, tidy answers, and too rich to stay flat.

Friends, last week we stepped behind the plate to make some calls about the Bible’s strike zone. This Sunday, Genesis gets the umpire’s attention. What kind of pitch is its creation story? (I promise to end the baseball metaphors when the Jays finally end my misery). Anywho, beyond many of the science textbook distractions about the book, I am inclined to think Genesis is addressing a much older, and more urgent, question. What kind of world are we living in? As we explore that, we’ll encounter an ancient Babylonian sea monster, a carefully tended bonsai tree, a French existentialist, a couple of summer blockbusters, and one extraordinarily courageous prisoner at Auschwitz. There will be some lighter moments along the way, but also some headier terrain, and a bit of heaviness as we consider the costly love of a man named Maximilian Kolbe. So, what is really at stake in the opening chapters of Genesis? Perhaps much more than how or when the universe began. These ancient words may be making a daring claim about the deepest nature of reality and about the kind of people we are called to become within it.

Trying to be a person of faith is such a strange assignment, eh? Frederick Buechner once wrote, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen.” He certainly got that right. There is beauty everywhere, but also more than enough of the terrible to keep a person awake at night. How does one believe in a world like that? Well, this season at Nexus we’re exploring The Strange Art of Believing in a Terrible and Beautiful World, because, well, to practise faith these days requires some imagination, a little courage, and the willingness to admit that we’re still figuring it out. This Sunday, we begin with a sermon I am calling The Strike Zone, which is about how we stay in dialogue with that strange old book we call the Bible. We know that anyone can pick up a Bible and make some calls with it. Then again, anyone can pick up a reciprocating saw, and some of us really shouldn’t. How do we learn to handle Scripture well, especially when everyone seems so certain they’re reading it correctly? I want to explore all that and more this week. So, expect a questionable marriage experiment, a crash course in Bible safety, a nineteenth-century Scotsman stepping in as umpire, and a family reunion with a surprising reception. We’ll also consider why getting something wrong about the Bible can feel so frightening to us and why we might have more room to learn than we thought. And given that I'm all in on the Toronto Blue Jays right now, there will also be a whole lot of baseball metaphors, because the first thing to learn about the art of reading this book is how to call The Strike Zone. So, batter up! (yes, it felt as cheesy to write “batter up” as it probably did to read it, but I am going with it folks because of the baseball metaphors). - Brad Watson

Well, friends, just like that, we have arrived at our season finale. For our final Sunday together before the summer, I want to close with a question worth carrying over the next few months. When was the last time you experienced God? Not just thought about God, agreed with an idea about God, or heard someone else speak about God. I mean, sensed God’s nearness in some real way. I think for many of us, the experiential side of faith can feel complicated. We may be open to the Holy Spirit in theory, but many of us are not exactly charismatic in practice. And so, we may not have dramatic stories of wind, fire, prophecy, or tongues, but I imagine many of us still long to know that God is near. So, for this final Sunday, I am working off a hunch, and it is this: the experience of God is more common than we realize, but quieter than we expect. To explore that, I want to showcase five of the quieter windows through which the presence of God may become known to us. And with that, I can’t help but wonder if the invitation for us this summer is simply to open the windows, make room, and pay attention. Because sometimes, when the window is open, the wind comes.

This Sunday we’re doing something a little different: Into the Looking Glass: Anthropology Over the past several months, our Anthropology series has sparked conversations, questions, disagreements, insights, and more than a few stories. It’s been one of those series that seems to have stayed with people. So rather than simply moving on, we’re taking one last look. Join me (Sarah) as I walk us back through the series and revisit some of its biggest ideas: What are human beings really like? Are we limited, conflicted, and self-centred? What happens when anthropology meets relationships, politics, and faith? And what might grace have to do with all of it? The best part: along the way, we'll hear reflections from a number of Nexus folks whose own stories, questions, and experiences were stirred up by the series. Some agreed. Some pushed back. Some found language for things they’d been wrestling with for years. Whether you heard every sermon, missed a few, or are joining us for the first time, we think you'll find something worth reflecting on.

Well folks, the end of our season is fast approaching, and so this Sunday represents a sort of epilogue to our anthropology series. Instead of bringing another teaching or abstract idea, I simply want to tell you a story that forces us to ask one of the oldest and most uncomfortable questions there is: what are human beings, really? I want to tell you the devastating story behind one of J.M.W. Turner’s most haunting paintings. By it, we will look at how easily people can be reduced to labels, categories, or even cargo, and why the Jesus Path claim that every person bears the image of God is far more disruptive than we often realize. This will be a heavier morning, but not a hopeless one. So, as I close my part in this series, we’ll ask what it means to be people who can honestly look in the mirror while still trusting that the first word over humanity is image, and the final word is grace.