Faith & Community

I began my professional career at sixteen, serving as the IT manager for a university campus in Rio de Janeiro. Surrounded by people far older and more experienced than I was, I quickly learned that leadership was not about control or having all the answers. What mattered most was presence—showing up, listening, learning, and helping others succeed. Long before I could name it, I was discovering that true leadership is less about authority and more about cultivating trust.

Community does not happen by accident. It is not created by proximity or shared space, but by intentional commitment and personal transformation. True community requires a willingness to be changed by one another. Scripture reminds us that fellowship is not optional—it is essential. The early church devoted themselves to life together, sharing meals, prayers, and resources. In community, faith deepens, joy multiplies, burdens are shared, and we are shaped into who God is call

Weddings have a way of gathering people from near and far, reminding us that invitations matter. In Luke 14, Jesus tells of a wedding banquet where the expected guests refuse to come, offering excuses instead. The host responds by opening the doors wide, inviting those who never imagined they belonged. This parable

No tree chooses its soil; it is planted. Scripture begins with this truth: fruitfulness grows from being rooted, not restless motion. Our culture prizes output, but the blessed life begins in stillness—receiving before producing. Grace comes first. Faith is not achievement but participation, an open hand. To be planted by grace is to live knowing our very existence is a gift, and that fruit comes in its season, not ours.

Discipleship is a word we hear often, but it is far more than a slogan or church program. From the earliest days of the Church to the Wesleyan movement, discipleship has meant a way of life—rooted in grace, shaped in community, and lived out in love. To follow Jesus is to grow continually, to do good, avoid harm, and remain connected to God and one another. Discipleship is not a destination, but a lifelong journey of transformation.

The call of Jesus to the first disciples still echoes today. Matthew and Mark offer no backstory—Jesus calls, and they follow. That simplicity amazes us. When we focus too much on why they said yes, we risk missing the one who called them. As Bonhoeffer reminds us, Jesus calls not as a teacher but as Christ, and that call demands obedience. “Come, follow me” remains the invitation—to leave behind what no longer defines us and step toward transformation.

The parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the most well-known stories Jesus ever told. It’s often read as a moving portrait of repentance and forgiveness, a celebration of grace. But hearing it as good news for everyone —especially when we identify more with the older brother than the wayward son—requires a kind of inner transformation. Years ago, while teaching on this text, someone asked a question I’d never considered: “Did the younger brother receive another inheritance a

My father, if nothing else, is an interesting man. Over a lifetime, he carried more callings than seems possible—soldier, architect, musician, theologian, union leader, radio host, and pastor. Yet what made him remarkable was not the titles, but his intentional love. He made space for family and faith, inviting us into his world and teaching us to love God, God’s people, and the Church. Even now, as memory fades, his faith remains—anchored, clear, and unwavering.

Last week, over shared food and stories, a friend asked a simple but profound question: “What’s unique about being a Methodist?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself often, especially in recent years. If I had to name one heartbeat of our identity, it would be grace—not just as a doctrine, but as a journey. Prevenient, justifying, and sanctifying grace remind us that God meets us before we’re aware, reconciles us in Christ, and keeps transforming us in love.