Legend Community Church

No one is beyond redemption.

In our transition from Halloween to All Saints' Day, we looked at the story of Saul—a man feared by the early church who became Paul through the radical grace of Jesus.

When Ananias chose to trust God instead of his fear, he didn't greet Saul as an enemy. He called him "Brother."

God doesn't define people by their past; He sees their potential. When our identity is rooted in grace, we don't have to fear our mistakes, and we don't have to write anyone off.

What do we turn to when life goes wrong—and what do we panic without?

Continuing Bible Horror Stories, Justin explores the story of Jezebel through Jesus’ warning that no one can serve two masters. Money, comfort, politics, productivity—even good and necessary things—can begin to claim our deepest allegiance. This sermon invites us to examine what actually directs our lives and what it means to follow Jesus, letting his way shape every other commitment.

When was the last time you realized you were wrong about God?

In Judges 11, Jephthah is absolutely convinced he knows what God wants. He’s so committed to doing what he believes is right that he never stops to ask whether he’s actually right. And the consequences are devastating.

This week at Legend, we explored the difference between knowing about God and actually knowing God—and why curiosity, humility, and a willingness to be wrong might be essential to becoming more like Jesus.

What if growing in faith means not having all the answers, but never losing our desire to know God more deeply?

What happens when everyone does what’s right in their own eyes?

In our new series, Bible Horror Stories, Eric explores one of Scripture’s most disturbing passages: the story of the Levite and his concubine in Judges 19. It’s a brutal picture of what happens when selfishness, violence, and indifference take hold—even among people who claim to belong to God.

This story challenges us to examine our own blind spots and confront the suffering around us. But Eric’s invitation is to face the horror without surrendering to despair: seek what is true, beautiful, and good, and practice radical hospitality. At the communion table, we encounter Jesus, who enters the world’s darkness and welcomes us into a different way of living.

How do we hold onto a vision of goodness, healing, and new creation when the powers of the world seem so good at resisting—or even absorbing—every attempt to change it?

In the final sermon of our Between Two Trees series, Jason returns to the closing words of Revelation and discovers something surprising: after giving the church this enormous vision of a world made new, John doesn’t end with a strategy, a program, or a to-do list. He ends with a prayer: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

Maybe the future Revelation imagines isn’t something we can manufacture. Maybe the church doesn’t need more cleverness, better programs, or greater effort as much as we need more of Jesus.

Together, we pray John’s final prayer over ourselves, our relationships, our neighborhoods, our work, our politics, and our church—and then hear Jesus’ invitation in return: “Let the one who is thirsty come.”

The Bible ends not with something for us to accomplish, but with an invitation to trust, receive, and pray: Come, Lord Jesus.

How do we hold onto a vision of goodness, healing, and new creation when the powers of the world seem so good at resisting—or even absorbing—every attempt to change it?

In the final sermon of our Between Two Trees series, Jason returns to the closing words of Revelation and discovers something surprising: after giving the church this enormous vision of a world made new, John doesn’t end with a strategy, a program, or a to-do list. He ends with a prayer: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

Maybe the future Revelation imagines isn’t something we can manufacture. Maybe the church doesn’t need more cleverness, better programs, or greater effort as much as we need more of Jesus.

Together, we pray John’s final prayer over ourselves, our relationships, our neighborhoods, our work, our politics, and our church—and then hear Jesus’ invitation in return: “Let the one who is thirsty come.”

The Bible ends not with something for us to accomplish, but with an invitation to trust, receive, and pray: Come, Lord Jesus.

In Revelation 21, John imagines a city so secure that its gates never need to close. What would it look like to begin living with that kind of security now?

In this week’s message from our Between Two Trees series, Eric explores the story of Maximilian Kolbe, the strange spiritual wisdom of waiting for a cookie, and Jesus’ call to a life of self-giving love. Rather than protecting our comfort and clinging to false substitutes for security, we can learn to live now out of the world God has promised—a world of open gates, resurrection, and restoration.

Even small acts of sacrifice can become “shafts of light” in dark places, giving the world a glimpse of the kingdom that is coming.

John’s vision of the New Jerusalem contains something astonishing: there is no temple, because God’s presence fills the whole city. In this sermon from Revelation 21:2–3 and 22–23, Jason explores how the church becomes a living, imperfect symbol of that promised future—a community marked by welcome, generosity, reconciliation, and care for the vulnerable.