Driving to the church this week, I had my usual route planned—turns I’ve taken a hundred times before. But just a few miles out on Route 32, I was met with an unexpected bright orange “Road Closed – Detour” sign. I had to stop, re-route, and trust that the unfamiliar roads ahead would still get me to where I was going. Isn’t that so much like life? We map out our plans, our dreams, our goals—and then suddenly, we hit a detour. A job ends. A diagnosis comes. A relationship shifts. A path we thought was certain suddenly closes, and we’re left wondering where God is in it all. This is where unexpected faith comes in. Faith not based on what we can see or control—but on the One who sees the whole journey. Think of Joseph, whose dreams were delayed by betrayal. Ruth, whose faith led her to a new land and unexpected love. Or the disciples, called from fishing nets into world-changing ministry. Their lives didn’t follow a straight path—but God was present in every twist and turn. Maybe you’re on a detour right now. If so, you’re not alone. And you're not off course—you're on a different route where God is still at work.

This week, we’re answering the call to live in the deep, soul-freeing liberty that only Jesus offers. In a world that often feels heavy with burdens and expectations, Jesus invites us into a freedom that transforms us from the inside out. And just like fireworks on a summer night, our faith isn’t meant to be tucked away—it was made to shine. Join us as we explore how living boldly in Christ’s freedom can light up the darkness and point others to the God who loves without limits.

This week in worship, we’re returning to one of the most well-known and powerful stories of faith and fire: Moses and the burning bush (Exodus 3). Out in the wilderness, Moses saw a bush that burned but wasn’t consumed—and from that flame, God spoke. Moses was called by name, drawn near, and given purpose. It’s a story that still speaks to us today. Because the truth is: the bush is still burning. The Divine still shows up, still calls us close, and still invites us to listen and respond. Maybe not through literal flames, but through moments that stir our souls—unexpected nudges, quiet whispers, sacred reminders that we are not alone and we are not forgotten.