SPEAKER_02: 1:06

Hi, my name is Madison Kane, and today I'm going to be reading Colossians 3 23. Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for human masters. That's the word of the Lord.

SPEAKER_00: 1:18

Thanks be to God. All right, Maddie. Thanks. Maddie just read one small piece of scripture. We're going to go through a bunch of that stuff today. But before I hop into that, uh, just a reminder, we're only two weeks away from our Christmas Eve services that start on Sunday morning. It's not different than the rest of the Christmas Eve services. There's five different services, and they're not different. They're all the same. The only difference is we're trying to uh get rid of some uh walls that might be in the way for different people to experience Christmas at Northgate. And so this is a tool for you to use. And I've actually found myself the last couple of weeks being able to use this tool myself. The nine o'clock service on Sunday morning the 21st, we're gonna offer American Sign Language Translation. Uh, I actually ran into some people in Costco and at Kaiser in the last couple of weeks that have gotten a right in my notes section like, hey, uh I noticed that you're using ASL. And if you're looking for a place to celebrate Christmas Eve and want a little hope, here's the invitation. And I've given that out to a couple people. Uh I never even expected to run into people, but I think once you have an opportunity for something, you start running into people that could use that. At the 11 o'clock service, we're gonna have on the video screens a Spanish translation. Uh, and then our Tuesday night at seven in the evening, we're gonna have Tagalic translation. So those are just some tools for you to use. And I'm telling you, like, I don't know anybody who could use that. You're gonna get an opportunity, I'm telling you, to run into somebody and be like, oh, hey, I want you to know that you can participate in this. And this is a reminder, a kind one. Get your tickets. Uh, we have a massive mailer that's gonna go out in the next 10 days. So make sure you get the tickets for the service that you want to be at. Get as many tickets as you need and then give back what you don't need because they'll sell out. These different services do. And the reason we do, these are free tickets. We uh make these tickets so that way we can fit everyone in the room and we can have space for you. That way you're all not just coming at one time and then we can't fit, and then you're upset, and then you're mad at me. And I was like, get the ticket. So, this is your thing. Get the ticket. Uh, you can do it in the back of your seats, you can do it on the website, you can do it out in the lobby. We should be able to do that. So, five services, all the same. Then on Sunday the 28th, we are not meeting, we are not gathering here. I need a day off. No, I'm joking. Uh actually, it's a gift to our volunteers and just this getting reset. And I'm saying, like, go spin it with your family. So don't show up here. Set a reminder right now, sleep in day, do whatever you want to do with it. Sunday the 28th, reset yourself, spend time with friends or family. Then on the fourth, come back. And on the fourth, we're gonna jump into a new book. That's what we do here. We expositorily teach uh through books of the Bible. We're gonna hop into the gospel of Mark uh and we're gonna do an overview that weekend, and then we're gonna hop into it. So that's kind of a scope of what's coming up over the next um couple of months. So understand? We good? You're gonna get your Christmas ticket? Yeah, all right, good, thank you. Um, I don't know if you guys ever know you ever notice how life has like this sneaky way of running on autopilot, like same alarm, same bed, same coffee cup with yesterday's ring on the rim, same forgot to thaw the chicken moment, uh, the same traffic that you know somehow knows your breaking point, same playlist that you're tired of, but you'll go ahead and play anyway. Uh same office, same faces, same, hey, how was your weekend? When we all know it's basically the same as last weekend, same bills, same group chat, same mental, I should go and work out that we ignore every day. And it's like Groundhog Day, right? With just slightly worse gas prices. Welcome to the rhythm of the same old. And if we're honest, most of life happens there. It's not like in these big Instagram worthy moments, it's in the grocery aisle, the commute, the inbox, the late night dishes. And you start wondering, is this it? Like, is this what life is supposed to feel like? Just this long rerun. And we call it the grind, but I think Jesus called it Tuesday. Because most of life doesn't happen on stage, it happens in the in-between, between like the amen and payday, between God, I'm ready and God, are you still there? And that is where Jesus chose to live. And I think about this whole like coming season where Jesus came from heaven and earth. And if I'm God and thank God that I'm not, I would want like this grand entrance, like skyline fireworks, ocean waves forming my name. If I was coming down from heaven to earth like I've arrived, but Jesus, the word-made flesh, he picked a zip code that no one posted about this small town of Nazareth. No palace, no press release, no blue check. He spent 30 years, think about that, 30 years of his earthly life in complete obscurity. We read like two chapters about his birth, and then a couple verses about his temple visit when he was at age 12, and then silence for decades. You ever wonder why? I think it's because God was making a point that his presence isn't reserved for just the spotlight. It's for the same old ones, too. Uh Philippians chapter 2 says, uh, though he was in very nature God, he did not consider himself equality with God, something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking on the form of a servant, being made in human likeness. Here's what this means: that Jesus didn't skip the ordinary, he sanctified it. He grew up with calluses and chores and neighbors who knew his mama. He knew what it was like to wait for the week to end, what it was like to wait for payday or to hit his thumb with a hammer and breathe out grace instead of cuss words. In Luke chapter 2, verse 52 says, Jesus then grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man. What this means is that he learned, he studied, he asked questions, that the creator of brains had to use one. I mean, like let that sink in. God knows what it feels like to be human on Tuesday. We talk about miracles and we should, but the miracle starts way before water turned into wine. The miracle started when God decided to do ordinary life at all. I think this is something we've missed. I've actually never taught on this, just the obscurity of 30 years, and we fantasize and don't know how to humanize Jesus, and it feels so distanced. But he felt the ache of waiting, the boredom of routine, the rhythm of responsibility. And if God is in the ordinary, then your ordinary friends isn't ordinary anymore. Let's just talk about work for a minute. We love to romanticize Jesus as a baby in a manger, don't we? Kind of like this clip.

SPEAKER_01: 8:25

Dear Lord Baby Jesus, we also thank you for my wife's father, Chip. We hope that you can use your baby Jesus powers to heal him and his horrible leg. And it smells terrible, and the dogs are always bothering with it. Dear tiny infant Jesus.

SPEAKER_03: 8:39

Hey, um, you know, sweetie, Jesus did grow up. You don't always have to call him baby. It's a bit odd and off putting to pray to a baby.

SPEAKER_01: 8:48

Well, look, I like the Christmas Jesus best, and I'm saying grace. When you say grace, you can say it to grown-up Jesus or teenage Jesus or bearded Jesus or whoever you want.

SPEAKER_03: 8:55

You know what I want? I want you to do this grace good so that God will let us win tomorrow.

SPEAKER_01: 9:02

Dear tiny Jesus. Look, I like the baby version the best. Do you hear me?

SPEAKER_00: 9:16

We fantasize this, but we also love cross-bearing Jesus on a hill. But here's the deal: the Jesus who shows up on Monday through Friday, the Jesus who worked a job, that's the one that I think most of us actually need to meet. Uh, in Mark chapter six, verse three, uh, Mark tells the people of Nazareth that they said, Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary? Which means he wasn't rabbi or healer to them. He was literally the guy who built our table. Like, can you imagine Jesus dealing with the customer complaints? Like, hey, Jesus, the table you built me made wobbles, right? He knew what it was like to clock in, to finish a project, to meet deadlines, to feel the ache in his hands in the satisfaction of a job well done. I think that's why Colossians 3.23 hits different when you know how he lived it. It says, Whatever you do, work with all of your heart as working for the Lord, not for human masters. And that would mean that your cubicle, holy ground, classroom, holy ground, your construction site, coffee shop, carpooling is all holy ground when you invite God into it. Here's a line that you can carry with you. If it matters to your Monday, it matters to God. And that's huge because I think that we tend to split up our lives into two boxes: the sacred and then the secular. Like the church stuff goes in one box and then everything else, emails, deadlines, budget meetings goes in the other. But God never drew that line. We did. Jesus shows us that the divine can actually dwell inside the daily, that God's glory isn't just real in worship as in a synagogue, but it's in a workshop as well. The sacred isn't somewhere else, it's right where you clock in. Now, maybe some of you are thinking, like, yeah, but my job's pointless, or at least it feels that way. And I would just say, hold up. Jesus made tables for almost 30 years and only preached for three. Apparently, God doesn't define purpose the way that we do. Those hidden years were not wasted, they were foundation. You might be in a season where nothing feels spiritual, you know, you're changing diapers, balancing budgets, answering the same emails, trying not to lose your sanctification and traffic, just trying to adult. And you think like this can't be holy. But if Jesus made tables to the glory of God, you can write reports, do homework, you can drive an Uber, flip burgers, teach classes, coach kids, design websites, or care for aging parents to the glory of God. He is the God of the grind. Hebrews chapter 4, 15 reminds us that we don't have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness, but one who's actually been tempted in every way, just as we are, yet he did not sin. That means that he understands your fatigue. He understands what it's like to feel the grind and the wear that wears you and I down. He knows the mental weariness that many of us that hits us on Thursday. He knows the the pull of distraction or the temptation to check out mentally or to just go through the motions. He gets it. And maybe you've just been trying to hold it together: the the career, relationships, school, faith. Maybe some of you just feel like you're losing grip. He actually knows what it's like to be stretched thin between people who all want something from you. There's this uh scene in Mark chapter six, verse 31, where the crowds won't leave him alone. And he finally grabs his disciples and says, Come away with me and rest for a while. And some of you guys are like, What's that? Even the Savior scheduled rest. So if you need permission to slow down, there it is. The God who worked six days and rested on one wrote that into the rhythm of creation. Because here's here's I want you to know this rest isn't laziness, it's trust. It says, God, you are still working even when I'm not. And maybe the most spiritual thing you can do this week is take a nap without feeling guilty. Because hustle isn't holy if it costs your heart. Now, there's this line in the Gospel of John, chapter 146, where someone sneers, like, can anything good come out of Nazareth? Essentially, you know, like that place, that town, that neighborhood, that that zip code, that family? No. And maybe some of you have actually heard this about your own story. Can anything good come out of that divorce? Can anything good come out of that addiction? Can anything good come out of that failure? Can anything good come out of that diagnosis? Can anything good come out from you? Jesus is the answer. Because he came from Nazareth to prove that grace can grow in small places and that redemption can bloom in quiet season, and that your story, friends, is not defined by where you start, but who walks with you. God does his best work in places people ignore. Maybe you're tired of the routine. Maybe you feel like you're stuck just in repeat mode. But faithfulness in the familiar is where God actually forms you. The same God who spoke galaxies into existence, spent decades showing up on time to a carpenter shop. He's teaching you the power of showing up. Because when you show up faithfully in small things, what happens is he begins to prepare you for big things. Zachariah 4, 10 says, Who dares despise the day of the small things? God doesn't. He meets you there. He meets you in the Monday morning grind with the same old alarm clock, the in the drive to work, the classroom full of chaos, the quiet cubicle, the diaper change, the late night shift, and the assignment that you don't want to finish. He's not just the God of miracles and mountaintops, he's the God of commutes and coffee breaks. And if you were to actually ask the people of Nazareth what did Jesus do for most of his life, they wouldn't say, like, well, he's the son of God. What they'd say is like, he's the carpenter. He's the guy who built tables and fixed doors. Like we said, Mark 3 says it, chapter 6, verse 3 says it really clearly. Isn't this the carpenter, the son of Mary? What that means is Jesus didn't just live among the people, he worked among people. He probably knew the rhythm of the hammer, the ache of tired arms, the splinter of the palm and the sweat of his brow, where he didn't just like float through life on this divine cloud. He lived it with us, ground level, hands dirty, heart open. He made things. He created beauty from raw material. He worked with imperfection and wood that warped and nails that were bent. And that's wild when you think about this at such a human level, because every time he picked up a piece of wood, it was like he was foreshadowing the cross. The same hands that shaped the wood would one day be nailed to some. The carpenter didn't just build furniture, he built forgiveness. That's literally the gospel in one sentence. That before he carried the cross, he carried planks. Before he was pierced, he learned precision. Before he said it is finished, he practiced finishing. And every moment for him was him being formed for this mission. And friend, I just want to say it's the same for you and I. The hidden seasons aren't wasted. The quiet chapters in your life aren't pointless. They're prep work for grace. Uh Paul says in Romans chapter 8, God did what the law could not do. He sent his own son in the likeness of sinful flesh to be a sin offering. And so he condemned the sin in the flesh. That's theology, literally wrapped in calluses. Jesus wasn't allergic to labor, he turned his work into worship. He showed that your craft, your job or your calling, your effort, all can be sacred when done in love. And I think sometimes the most spiritual thing that you can do is to do your work well, not for applause, not out of gratitude. When Jesus died on the cross, his final words were, It is finished. He didn't say, I'm finished. He said, It, the work, the project, the masterpiece of redemption that began in a carpenter's shop and ended on a hill. And in that moment, the carpenter put down his tools, not in defeat, but in completion. He built a way back home. And that means that resurrection doesn't just happen in tombs, it happens in workshops and cubicles and classrooms and kitchens. It happens in addiction meetings, in hospital rooms, in late-night prayer drives. It happens when you choose hope in the dark. Because when Jesus got up on Sunday, he didn't erase our humanity, he redeemed it. He didn't say, Hey, stop being human and start being holy. He said, No, no, no. Bring your humanity into my holiness. And that means our Monday matters. That your grind has glory in it, that your same old sacred fingerprints are all over it. First Corinthians 10 says, Whatever you do, whether eat or drink, do it all for the glory of God. That means if Jesus could glorify God standing a chair, you can glorify God, coding a website, caring for kids, stocking shelves, delivering packages, running spreadsheets, driving an Uber or a Lyft, making a sandwich. Because He is both the Lord of miracles and the mundane. And this morning we took communion together. And this is just the cross where it proves that God isn't afraid of pain, that he can actually be present in it for himself in the midst of ours. And sometimes our greatest calling is actually found in the place of our greatest suffering. That's why Colossians chapter 1, 20 says, Through him God reconciled everything to himself, making peace through the blood of his cross. Everything. Your story, your job, your family, your fatigue, your failures. That's what love does. It redeems what life broke. And that brings us right here, right now, back to the same Jesus, friends, who is still good with his hands. In this room with you, in your Your life, in your family, he is still building, still restoring what is splintered, still redeeming what is cracked, still shaping what the world discarded. And maybe that's you. You've been holding your life together with like duct tape and caffeine, and God's whispering, like, let me let me build peace in your anxiety. Let me build forgiveness where bitterness has taken root. Let me build rest where you're striving burned, it's burned you out. And he doesn't want to just fix your life. He actually wants to dwell in it. Revelation 21, 3 says, Behold, the dwelling place of God is now with man. And that, friends, is what Christmas is all about. It's what it was all about all along. Love coming down and staying down, where he didn't just visit, he moved in. Love came down to our grind, our grief, and our grocery lists. Love came down to prove nothing is too common to be called holy when God steps into it. Love came down so grace could rise up in us. Love came down to the nurse who wipes one more forehead at 3 a.m. To the teacher who grades papers after the house is quiet. To the single parent stretching leftovers and faith at the same time. Or to the construction worker driving home in silence, wondering if anyone even noticed, or the real estate agent grinding to sell a dream while avoiding everyone else they love just to make it. To the student who feels invisible, scrolling through highlight reels that never show real life, he came down for you. To your tired prayers, your half-finished dreams, your loop of just ordinary days that feel like they're going nowhere. Because love just isn't visit, it moves in. Let's be honest. I think some of you in this room are in the middle of what feels like a Nazareth season where no one claps, no one sees, it just feels like your prayers hit a ceiling. And you're wondering if faithfulness even matters anymore. But it's in Nazareth that God builds character and calling. It's in the obscurity where obedience grows muscles. It's in the everyday that eternity breaks through. And when you show up and choose joy anyway, when you forgive instead of clap back, when you keep serving when it's thankless, that's where heaven starts to sound like a heartbeat. Faithfulness in the familiar is where formation happens. And maybe that's why Jesus loved building things. Because he knew every nail, every plank, every table was a small resurrection story. He wasn't just making furniture, he was teaching us to see resurrection material in raw material. He was showing us that broken wood can still hold divine purpose. He was showing us that we, knotted, splintered, uneven, can still be shaped by the master's hands, that the God who came down still works among us. And he's not done building. He came down to make the ordinary holy. Where he came down to the dirt and the dusk and the dust, the dinner table, the daily grind. He came down to the broken, the burned out, the brushed aside. He came to redeem commutes and classrooms and shops. He came down to pick up what we drop and to fix what we fractured and to rebuild what we broke. He came down to prove that nothing is too common to be called holy when God steps into it. And he came down to be with you, not just in your worship, but in your work. Not just in your dreams, but in your deadlines. Not just in your Sunday best, but in your Sunday mess, and your Monday mess and your Tuesday mess and your Wednesday mess. He came down. Now picture this just for a moment. And in a small shop behind this quiet home, a young man wipes sweat from his brow and studies his hound. They're calloused, strong, human. The same hands that will one day carry across a customer knocks, another job, another same old. And the son of God smiles and says, Come on in. He takes the project, he lays it on the table and begins to build. He hums while he works. He sands down the rough edges and shapes what's broken, and heaven whispers, This is how I redeem the world, one table, one heart, one life at a time. Now, fast forward 10 years, and the same hands are stretched out on wood again, not shaping it, but being nailed to it. And from that cross, he breathes the words that every weary soul longs to hear. It is finished. Friends, that's the sound of grace being built. That's the rhythm of redemption. And so if you feel unfinished today, remember the carpenter is still at work. He is not afraid of your splinters. He knows how to make something beautiful out of broken wood. He takes what the world would call worthless and turns it into worship. He takes what is shattered and says, let's rebuild. Love came down and he is still building. He's still building courage in your fear. He's still building purpose in your pain. He's still building peace in your chaos. He's still building joy in your journey. And he is still turning sawdust moments into sacred spaces. And one day, when you finally see the finished project, you will realize that every nail, every scar, every delay was part of the design. But until then, be full of hope. Keep showing up. Keep building alongside of them. Keep believing that the ordinary can actually be holy because the same Jesus who conquered death still walks into workshops and kitchens and classrooms today, whispering, I'm here and I'm still working. Love came down, friends, and he's not done building.