Orem Community Church, 130 N 400 E, Orem, UT (2026)

11/24/2024

Pastor Topher's Final sermon:

**Today is my last day serving as your pastor.**

It has been a good job. I got to do what I love best: write sermons and share them with people who care about them. And I got paid for it! That in itself is a miracle.

A job like that doesn’t exist without people like you. The only reason people like me get to do this work is because people like you come to church and give of your finite resources. I don’t think that gets said enough. This situation only works because of the generosity of regular people like you.

Supportive people in the background often get overlooked—even in the Bible. Think about this: Jesus spent all his time traveling from town to town to teach. How did he do that? If we were to organize a speaking tour—even just around Utah—we’d incur a lot of costs. We’d need places to stay, transportation, and food to eat. (Jesus was known for multiplying food, but I’m pretty sure that was a special occasion kind of deal.) How did Jesus afford all this?

Only one of the four canonical gospels answers this basic question. The Gospel of Luke, known for its relatively progressive treatment of women, makes a point to highlight important women. In a couple of verses, Luke introduces a trio of women crucial to Jesus’s mission: Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna. These women supported Jesus’s ministry financially.

That’s surprising to hear. In this time and place, women were considered second-class citizens at best and property at worst. So how did these women come up with the money to support Jesus and his disciples? We can’t know for sure, but there are a few possibilities. Women did sometimes, through unusual circumstances, become financially independent. However, it’s more likely that these women were married to powerful, wealthy men.

One of the few areas in which women had authority was the home. Women managed the household. In a wealthy home, this was a significant responsibility. We get a hint of this with Joanna, described as “the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza.” Herod, the governor of Galilee, would have had a wealthy and important steward. As household manager, Joanna likely paid servants, bought supplies, and oversaw domestic tasks—all within a fixed budget. To support Jesus and his ministry, these women likely made sacrifices to give.

Think about that. It’s not exciting or glamorous. They weren’t in front of any huge crowds. But where would the Messiah be without their support? Jesus’s teaching—the foundation of our New Testament—doesn’t spread outside Nazareth without Mary, Joanna, and Susanna supporting him behind the scenes.

That’s the gift you all have given me for the past two and a half years. My whole adult life, I’ve felt that this is my calling—this strange process of studying ancient scriptures, asking God what they mean today, and sharing that message. When I came back to Utah, it was without much of a plan—just an inkling between me and Amy that this was the next step for us. I was emotionally preparing myself for my preaching days to end or become just a hobby.

I thought I might feed the habit by filling in for churches that needed a pastor temporarily. That’s how I connected with Orem Community Church. I sent a cold email offering my services, and the church—without a pastor at the time—asked if I could preach for the month of February. I was thrilled, and soon we started talking about March, then about every month.

My role here at Orem has always been part-time, but that was okay with me. I was just happy to have a regular place to preach—a place to deliver good news, speak to the hopes and fears of a community, and let my deepest passions meet a need. That’s what you’ve given me, Orem. That is no small gift.

There’s a story about Pablo Picasso that, while likely apocryphal, illustrates a truth. In the story, someone in a bar asks Picasso to create a work of art. He grabs a napkin, scribbles a drawing, and hands it to them. The person complains, “This is worthless! It took you a minute to draw this.” Picasso replies, “No, that took me a lifetime to create.”

The act of drawing took a minute, but the mastery behind it required decades of learning, experimentation, and toil. Similarly, serving here has allowed me to hone my message and craft. This job—delivering a message from God—is a holy privilege. It involves prayer, study, creativity, and combining them in just the right way. It’s more art than science. Thanks to you, I feel closer to doing this work authentically. So thank you.

As I step away from this role, I want to leave you with a challenge and a promise.

The challenge is this: continue being the kind of people who make miracles happen. Being able to serve you was a miracle—a miracle that wouldn’t have happened without all of you. What makes this church great isn’t the pastor, the building, or community prestige. It’s the people. Like Mary, Joanna, and Susanna, your faithfulness keeps the work of God moving forward.

The promise is this: God is not finished with you. The future of this church may be uncertain, but I am certain that the people of this church will continue to be God’s light as long as you choose to shine.

So keep showing up. Keep giving of yourselves. Keep asking, “What is God calling us to do next?” Then, with courage and faith, step into that call.

Thank you for letting me walk alongside you for these two and a half years. May you be blessed, and may you be a blessing.

**God of Community,
Thank you for these people. Thank you for the good work you’ve begun in them. Give them confidence in your call in their lives. In the name of Jesus, who will see their good work to completion, we all say, Amen.**

11/10/2024

Who here has seen the show *Parks and Rec*? For my money, it’s one of the funniest sitcoms of all time. Some of its funniest moments come from scenes of public forums. The Pawnee Parks Department often has to field complaints from the general public, and every time, the citizens of Pawnee prove that they can complain about literally anything. One of my favorites is a woman who stands up and declares, “I found a sandwich in one of your parks, and I want to know why it didn’t have mayonnaise.” It’s a bizarre thing to say, but part of the joke is that people will find anything to complain about.

Complaining is often an annoying and unhelpful practice, but today I want to talk about how it can be an important way to pray. The Bible has a surprisingly large amount of complaining in it. There’s even a whole book called *Lamentations*—a fancy word for “complaints.” And all these complaints are directed at someone who we don’t generally think of as deserving criticism at all: God.

Doesn’t that feel kind of weird? In our culture, we tend to discourage complaining, especially towards authority figures like parents, bosses, and officials. And we especially tend to look down on complaining to God. If anyone expresses disappointment with God—even a mild reproval like, “I don’t know why God is letting this happen”—we tend to shut that down as quickly as possible. God has a plan for you, so shut up! Everything happens for a reason, idiot.

Why do we do this? I know complaining can be annoying, but complaints against God are usually coming from an extremely valid place. If we complained that caramel apples don’t grow on trees or that being in a body that has to breathe all the time is exhausting, that would be annoying. But most complaints toward God come when we’re living through the hardest parts of our lives. Why would we fault each other for that?

I think we like the idea of God being perfect. There’s a sense of security in that. But criticism of God undermines that idea. If a being is perfect, that means they’re above reproach. It’d be the height of hubris to complain to God. Everything God does is by definition the right thing...right?

Except that doesn’t necessarily match our experience, does it? We’ve all been through something so horrible that it makes us wonder if God’s asleep on the job. If you haven’t, you’re a very fortunate person. Also: Just wait. I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist, but all kinds of bad stuff happens to everyone every day.

We see this expressed in a biblical poem (Psalm 22). It begins with the extremely provocative opening line: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Woah. Right off the bat, we’re confronted with this uncomfortable idea that God is AWOL—that God either can’t or won’t take care of the poem’s author. And this poet has problems! Among them are: continuous, 24-hour-a-day crying, mockery, evildoers, starvation, clothing thieves, and various animal attacks, including but not limited to: bulls, lions, oxen, and dogs. Some of those might be metaphors, but regardless—dude has problems. Problems enough to justify their opening line: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I think it’s worth noting that this is in the Bible. All this and more. Throughout the whole biblical canon, believers are lodging their complaints against God. Even Jesus uses the very words of this poem to express his despondency on the cross.

And yet, the same poem often turns extremely optimistic. It feels nearly schizophrenic! One moment it’s violence, starvation, animal attacks, tears all night, and suddenly it switches to: “Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our ancestors trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. To you they cried and were saved; in you they trusted and were not put to shame.”

Well... which is it? Is God AWOL or the best God ever? Is this poet talking out of both sides of their mouth? Or is this all just utter nonsense?

When I was in seminary, studying to become a minister, I had a Hebrew Bible professor who caused me a lot of existential turmoil by pointing out the more objectionable elements of the Bible. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t doing it on purpose—pretty sure. But he was exceedingly gleeful about it. His favorite phrase was “Sign me up for that God” —as in, “So God turns her into a pillar of salt for looking in the wrong direction? Oooh! Sign me up for that God!”

He pointed out so many messed-up parts of the Bible, I started to wonder if the Bible was worth the paper it was printed on. Was I “signing up” for being the public relations agent for a very irresponsible, contradictory deity? But most of all, my professor made me wonder, *Why does this guy teach the Bible?* He seems to think it’s full of holes and contradictions. So why study it as much as he has?

I got my answer while listening to his lecture on one of the prophets (I don’t remember which). He said that one of the things that makes the Hebrew Bible unique is how its authors hold God accountable. They expect God to be better. When bad things happen, they don’t go to, *Well, I guess God isn’t there—or doesn’t care.* They say, *Hold on. A good God wouldn’t allow this. We gotta tell God what’s up.*

Through that lens, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” isn’t saying, “God has forsaken me.” It’s asking *why*. It says, *God, this isn’t you. Why are you allowing this?*

The wild swings toward praise make more sense this way as well. When a poet says that God is wonderful, that God did so much good for their ancestors, that God is strong and will always be there for us, all that is not to convince us of God’s goodness. It’s to remind God of who God is. It’s saying, *God, you’re better than this. Why aren’t you intervening like my faith says you should?*

Like most deep truth, these divine complaints are paradoxical. It’s saying two things that don’t sound like they should fit together: *God is good. God is letting awful stuff happen.* And it’s holding both of those things at the same time. It’s not assuming that God doesn’t care, and it’s not assuming there must be some good reason bad things happen. It’s living in the tension between the promise of God’s goodness and the reality of our lived experience.

It’s a practice of faith. It’s wrestling with the reality that God is good and yet life is full of pain. Faith isn’t having all the answers. It’s asking all the questions.

And faith isn’t finding justifications about why things go bad. Faith is coming to God and saying, “God, you’re supposed to provide. You’re supposed to redeem. You’re supposed to care. How did you let it get this bad? How much longer must we wait for your justice?”

Maybe there is a reason. Chances are God is a great deal smarter than us. And God is good at turning a bad thing into a beautiful thing. But it’s not the role of faith to assume that or be God’s PR agent. Faith doesn’t make excuses for God. Faith is going to the source and asking, *What gives?*

Faith is complaint. And the good news is that God can take it. I think that’s what the authors of the Bible knew and we often forget. God is tough. God can withstand the tomatoes we throw. There’s nothing we could say to God that would cause God to get offended, or to make God stop loving us.

Our relationship with God is like any other relationship—honesty is always better. You can’t hide how you feel from God and even if you could, it would be bad for the relationship. What do we think will happen if we’re totally honest with God? That God will cross their arms and say, *Hmph. I didn’t wanna be your God anyway. I’m gonna take my universe and go home.* God has to be more mature than that. God has to be more resilient than that. God’s love has to be more powerful than that.

So, may you complain to God. May you dig down deep and find the thing you’re most upset about and let God have it. Expressing those feelings to God is the only way to work past them. And God is tough. God can take it. God can take all of it.

*God of Strength, Thank you for our faith tradition, stretching from us, all the way throughout history and the Bible, and on into prehistory that we can’t even remember—a long, long story of your love for us. Give us the courage to let you know when our lives and our world don’t feel like they fit with your divine love. And let that complaint be our prayer to you. In the name of Jesus, who at his lowest point asked you, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” we all say, AMEN.*

11/03/2024

Synopsis: True leadership isn’t about religious displays or political power but about embodying justice, kindness, and humility—values we should also strive to live by daily.

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Well, the day is almost here: Election Day! A celebration of civic responsibility that everyone is looking forward to, and no one feels extremely stressed out over. Oh, is that not how everyone feels? Nope, we’re all pretty stressed out about this Tuesday. Presidential elections are always a little momentous, but this one feels extra potent. We have two very different candidates who are sure to govern in very different ways, and many of us feel strongly about the negative effects of our less preferred candidate winning. To make things even crazier, the results of this election are more uncertain than they’ve been in a long time.

Adding to our national anxiety is the memory of last time. We had some very sore losers who expressed their anger by actually attacking the Capitol while our Senate certified the vote. One can’t help but wonder what will happen once the results come in this year… whenever that will be, since we’ll almost certainly have legal challenges to the official count. Religion and politics are both better when they stay away from each other. It wouldn’t be right for a religious leader such as myself to tell anyone how to vote. But it’s also fair to say that our religion ought to at least contribute to forming the values we use to choose a president. What good is religion if it can’t help us make important decisions?

Politicians know this, which is why they make appeals to religion in their campaigns. It’s why they make appearances at churches and religious conferences. It’s why they associate themselves with the Bible by quoting from it, holding it up, and, yes, apparently even selling it. But these associations are just that—mere associations. Holding a Bible doesn’t automatically make you Christlike. What we’re looking for in a leader is not association with our religion, but evidence of their good character. We want to know the next president will be a good person. Good character is a crucial ingredient for a good leader.

So we may as well ask: What makes a good person? Biblically, that’s a bit of a hard question because the Bible isn’t great at answering straightforward questions. It’s a little bit like…well, me, when you ask a question in Bible study, and I give you eight different answers that all contradict each other. The Bible is predominantly made of stories, not answers. We do get stories about leaders, good and bad. But those are all case studies, specific to the time and place from which they came to life.

However, there is a prophet who very succinctly and poetically summed up what we can expect from someone who has pleased God with their religion. His name is Micah. He was active at a time when Israel’s leaders—even religious leaders—were extremely corrupt. It was a time when the rich and powerful routinely took advantage of the poor and powerless, to make themselves richer and more powerful. And those powerful people often dodged criticism by associating themselves with religion. *How could I be bad? I love God! I read the Bible! All the books—“Two” Corinthians… the rest of them! I go to church every Sunday that the cameras are there!* It was a totally different time, not at all like today.

Instead of going to church and quoting the Bible, these people made themselves seen in the Temple making “burnt offerings”—basically slaughtering and cooking an animal to show devotion to God. Rich people had the advantage of being able to offer more impressive sacrifices—newborn calves, flocks of lambs—all supposedly demonstrating how good they were. So it creates this awful, unsustainable cycle where they’d spend their money on being religious, which would convince the world they were good people, which would allow them to keep scamming poor people, getting more money that would allow them to seem even more religious. Again, nothing like today.

But Micah saw through this. In his written work of the same name, he imagines what these guys would ask about worship if they really cared: “With what shall I come before the Lord and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil?” Then he ramps things up to the near ridiculous: “Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” (Micah 6). This hypothetical person is so invested in pleasing God, they are ready to sacrifice their own child! Sounds unthinkable, but there were people in ancient times so desperate to please their gods that they literally sacrificed their children.

And yet all of this is setup. Micah’s just getting started. God doesn’t want the elaborate, expensive, over-the-top sacrifices. God doesn’t need us to gratuitously demonstrate our religious affiliation. In fact, says Micah, what God really wants is extremely obvious: “[God] has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but…” and then we get this wonderfully simple list: “to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God.”

In other words, there’s no big twist here. Being a good person (and a good leader) means doing the right thing and being kind. It doesn’t matter how many Bibles you have. It doesn’t matter how strongly you appeal to religion. Being a good person is about… being good. The words in this verse are totally straightforward. I know I’ll often get up here and say, “The actual, old-as-dirt word being used here means something totally different,” and sometimes that is the case, and it’s fun to figure out the subtle shades of a text’s meaning.

But in this case, “do justice” means to do the right thing. “Love kindness” means to love being kind. It’s just doing the things we already know are good: sharing, telling the truth, caring about the well-being of others. Kindergarten stuff.

The last item on the list is a little interesting though: “To walk humbly with your God.” This is the only item on the list that even comes close to religion. Any person of any religion can do justice. You don’t need religion to love kindness. But walking humbly with your God does require a toe dipped into the pool of religion (or at least the puddle of theology), because we’re talking about God—”our” God. So maybe this is the part where we can show off our commitment to specifically our religious traditions and mores?

I don’t think so. Because the directive is to walk humbly with God. Even doing justice and loving kindness can be done in an extravagant, showy way. *Look at me giving a million dollars to “charity”—it’s a charity I own, but ignore that. Look at how much I “love” the people of America!* I can talk about it for hours, even though when I actually get power I use it to hurt Americans—but ignore that too! Walking humbly means all the goodness you do is done on the down low, almost covertly, as Jesus will say: *do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing*” (Matthew 6:3).

And, of course, you’re not walking humbly on your own; you’re walking humbly with God. And walking with God is humbling on its own. God who made the land and sea, God who sees you no matter where you go, God who knows how many hairs you have on your head. Just being in the presence of that God is humbling. Just the fact that God is walking the journey with you makes you stop and consider: Why should God bother with a speck like me?

That sort of humility must be really hard to comport with being president. Imagine looking at the job of the most powerful person in the world and thinking, *Yeah, I could do that.* My wife and I often say it’s a shame that the only people who can become president are people who actually want the job. Because none of them are exactly humble—even the best ones.

And that’s a good reminder that we’re not going to find the perfect person to be our president. Guys like Jesus aren’t even running in the first place because seeking power isn’t very Christlike. We’re not looking for a total saint to be president. But we can at least expect the basics: A person who does justice, loves kindness, and walks humbly with their God.

So when you step into the voting booth this Tuesday, remember that the choice is up to you. No one can tell you how to vote—not your partner, not your pastor, no one. That’s the beauty (and, at times, the frustrating part) of our system. But, while you’re in there, let your faith guide your choice. Make sure your choice is a good and decent person.

But maybe you’re like me. Maybe you’ve already filled out your ballot. Maybe you give these things a lot of thought, and, unlike the 4% of voters who are somehow undecided, you’ve known your choice for months, if not a year. We won’t be in the voting booth this Tuesday making our choice. What does Micah’s guide to voting mean for us?

If you’ve already voted for the person you believe will do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly, I invite you to be the type of person who does justice, loves kindness, and walks humbly with God. The enormity of this simple task feels overwhelming. How does one do justice in a world so unjust? How does one love kindness in a world obsessed with selfishness? How does one walk humbly with God in a world where religion is a charade acted out by the worst offenders?

There’s something that’s not in Micah’s list of requirements, and

that’s “fix the world.” Sometimes, to those of us who really care about the world, it feels like that’s implied, but it’s not. Jews, our cousins in faith, have a book called the Mishnah. The Mishnah is an ancient commentary on the Bible. Basically it’s a book to explain the book. The Mishnah has this to say about Micah: *"Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”*

Part of walking humbly with God is realizing that saving the world is God’s job, not ours. No mortal individual—even the president—can fix it on their own. Only God can. And God seems to want us to do it together, one act of goodness at a time.

Do justice. Today.
Love kindness. Today.
Walk humbly with your God. Today.
Let God worry about tomorrow.

God of our journeys, walking humbly next to us through thick and thin, give us justice. Give us a love of kindness. Give us a road to walk in humility with you. In the name of Jesus, who changed the world without ever holding an office, we all say, AMEN.

10/27/2024

I like a good scary movie. I didn’t always. As a kid with a very active imagination, fears inspired by movies plagued me. It didn’t even have to be a particularly scary movie. My favorite movie, *P*e Wee’s Big Adventure,* had a scene where P*e Wee unwittingly rode in a truck driven by a ghost. Looking back, that scene was definitely more silly than scary. At the time though, I would hide behind the couch when that scene was playing.

But these days, I enjoy a scary movie. They still scare me, but it’s not so bad since I discovered (and this is true): monsters are not real. A lot of people still don’t understand why anyone would want to purposely scare themselves. Fear is not a pleasant experience. But I find that I enjoy scary movies as a sort of liminal space between reality and an imaginary world where I can experience terror without actually being in mortal danger. It’s kind of like practicing bravery. I can practice facing imaginary fears so that when life hands me something really scary, I can face it better.

It’s also interesting to think about why something is scary. Sometimes the answer is obvious—that guy escaped from the violent patient ward and he has a chainsaw. But sometimes, in a good scary movie, the monsters represent real life fears and anxieties. We may ask, *Why does this particular monster scare us?* And the answer might tell us something about ourselves or the society we live in.

Jesus had something to say on the subject of what to be afraid of—as well as what not to be afraid of. He says, “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” He’s talking about the many very real dangers that members of the early church faced. Followers of Jesus got kicked out of communities, beaten, and even killed. These are very legitimate fears! Yet here’s Jesus saying, *Don’t be scared of the guy in the hockey mask.* What’s the worst that could happen? You could die? *Psh.*

Jesus doesn’t find a little thing like death to be worth fearing. Why not? It’s just your body. Your soul will survive. And that would be a dodgy argument if it wasn’t for the remarkable fact that Jesus actually lived it out. When it came to practicing what he preached, Jesus allowed himself to be killed and let the world see that violence cannot bring justice—only more pain.

Okay. What should make us scared then? Jesus says, “Rather, fear the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Yikes! That is scary! *Who can do that?*

Sounds like Satan, right? I’ve seen cartoons. I know the devil is in charge of tormenting people in hell. But actually—let me put on my biblical know-it-all voice—actually, Satan as the ruler of hell and the punisher of sin isn’t a biblical idea at all. That idea comes later in Christian thought, mostly with Milton’s *Paradise Lost.* In the Bible, the only one in charge of life, death, and eternity is God.

So the monster in our horror story, the one who can kill both your body and soul in hell, the only one we should fear is... God? That is supremely scary! Who can possibly escape when the killer is the Lord?

By the way, I feel like I have to mention every time the subject of hell comes up: When Jesus refers to hell, the word he uses is *Gehenna,* the name of an actual garbage dump where they burned garbage. So Jesus isn’t necessarily referring to hell as we popularly understand it. But he is talking about God literally disposing of us, so… small comfort.

All of this is really disturbing. They told us in Sunday school that God loves us, not kills us. But the fear of God is actually a pretty consistent theme throughout the Bible. Fear of the Lord seems to be associated with wisdom and understanding who God is. And it makes a sort of “well duh” sense—God is powerful, that makes God potentially dangerous, that makes God scary. Saying God is scary is kind of the same thing as saying God is real.

Strangely, Jesus pivots from God’s scariness to God’s care for and attention to us scared humans. “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted.” For Jesus, there does not seem to be a contradiction between a scary God and a loving God. So what’s going on? Is God scary or loving?

I think the authors of the Bible might say, *“Why can’t God be both?”* There are lots of things that are scary or even dangerous, but aren’t evil—aren’t out to get us. There is a rich tradition in American horror, from *King Kong* to *The Babadook,* of the misunderstood monster—an entity that is terrifying, but ultimately proves to be either good, harmless, or just acting according to its nature. A friend and I were talking about the ocean this week. How terrifying is it to stand on a boat in the middle of the ocean—to be surrounded by water on all sides as far as the eye can see? It’s overwhelming. Fear is natural. Or what about getting married? Or starting your dream job? These are things that people want, that we work toward, rather than run from. But they’re scary too.

Fear makes us want to run away, yes. But it also occupies our thoughts. As a kid, I thought about that spooky scene from *P*e Wee’s Big Adventure* all the time. I hated it, but it lived in my head nonetheless. I would lie awake at night in the dark, hoping against hope that the ghost of Large Marge wouldn’t drive her truck into my bedroom.

So when Jesus is telling us what to fear, he’s also telling us what to have in our heads. Don’t fixate on that; fixate on this. And Jesus’s advice is not to fixate on our very real problems, but to fixate on God. This comports with Jesus’s advice, earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, on worrying: “Which of you by worrying can add a single hour to your span of life?” Your problems are important, but fixating on them doesn’t help solve them.

On the other hand, fixating on God, even fearing God, yields better results. This may be personal to me, and your mileage may vary, but I find thinking about God makes me worry less and feel more grateful. Even if I’m not exactly in the best mood concerning God. At the very least, thinking about God puts me into a universal mindset. It compares my fears to God’s vastness instead of my smallness.

And, of course, the fear of God is tempered by the love of God. Is God scary? Yes. You can’t hold the power of the cosmos in your hand without coming off as a little intimidating. But all that is reversed by the fact that God loves us so much. The net result is that we don’t have to fear anything! Or, as Jesus puts it, “So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.” The power that makes God so scary is for us, not against us.

So, may you be scared of the only truly scary thing—God. And may you become so convinced of God’s love for you that nothing can make you truly afraid.

Fearsome God,
Thank you for being bigger and scarier than anything we could possibly fear.
Give us the conviction of our own self worth, so that we might realize our biggest fear is nothing to fear at all.
In the name of Jesus, our great teacher, we all say AMEN.

Address

130 N 400 E
Orem, UT
84097

Opening Hours

9:45am - 12am

Website

http://oremcommunitychurch.com/

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