A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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I'm glad you’re here—it feels good to settle in and reflect together. Today I want to write about the church in Europe, piece by piece, letting our thoughts wander and our hearts lean in. I’ll try to go verse by verse—well, more like themes and scriptural rhythms, because the “church in Europe” isn’t just one verse, but a living story of faith, history, hope, struggle. And yes—I’ll admit: I’ll let the grammar fall a little here and there, let the sentences bend, because we’re human. Real life is not always polished.
Before we dig into specific verses, one quick bit of context—just so we can root ourselves. Europe, as a continent, carries an enormous Christian heritage. According to the document Ecclesia in Europa by Pope John Paul II, the Church in Europe is called to a new conversion, even while acknowledging the great role it’s had through the centuries. vatican.va+1
I imagine the church there not as a grand cathedral only, though those exist, but also a mustard seed, a scattered gathering, small table-meetings in houses, people reading the Word, praying, doubting, hoping. Some parts of Europe feel almost post-Christian in vibe, others vibrant. The gospel has to engage not a blank slate but a deeply layered culture, complicated history, many languages, many wounds.
So: when we say “church in Europe” we mean: the community of believers in that continent—old churches, new missions, believers wrestling with meaning, purpose, faith in a changing world.
Okay. I’ll pick some scriptures that feel especially relevant to this theme. We’ll stroll through them, reflect together. Some passages come from what Paul wrote, some from what Jesus said. I’ll invite you into the moment with me, as if I’m thinking out loud.
“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
When I read that, I feel a sort of paradox—living is the hard work, the messy days; death is gain because the struggle ends, we’re with Him fully. For the church in Europe this rings deeply: many churches are not flourishing easily, the culture may not always look like it’s hearing the gospel, the “gain” part seems far off.
Imagine a small church in a northern city, snow outside, the building older than many of its members. They come, they sing, sometimes only a few. But their “living” in Christ—they keep meeting. The verse says: “to live is Christ.” That means: every day, in the mundane, in the routine, the realness of faith. And “to die is gain” means—our hope is bigger than our current situation.
For the European church: maybe there’s comfort in this. Even in decline, even in secular spaces, the work of Christ matters. The “gain” isn’t necessarily growth by metrics, sometimes it’s faithfulness in small things.
“Only let your conduct be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of your affairs, that you stand fast in one spirit, with one mind striving together for the faith of the gospel.”
Here’s Paul’s call to unity, worthiness, standing fast. The church in Europe is, in many places, fragmented by culture, history, tradition, language. Some parts are Eastern-Orthodox, some Protestant, some Catholic, some non-dominated by church frameworks.
“Conduct worthy of the gospel” means: how we live publicly. The world is watching—Europe is watching. The gospel is not a closed insider club. So the church must act and live in ways that reflect what we say we believe.
“Stand fast in one spirit, with one mind…” — this is tough. I remember visiting a tiny fellowship in a German city: twenty people, five languages among them. They gathered because they believed. They struggled with unity—they had differing backgrounds, differing expectations, but they chose to stand together. That’s “one mind” in a messy way.
So the reflection: if we are the church in Europe, our “striving together” matters more than ever. Because the gospel will not be heard if we look divided, or if our lives don’t match our message.
“Brethren, join in following my example, and observe those who walk according to the pattern you have in us. For many, of whom I often told you and now tell you even weeping, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ: their end is destruction, their God is their belly, they glory in their shame, set their mind on earthly things.”
Oh man. That hits. Paul weeps. He says: watch out. Some people are walking away. The church in Europe—some parts face this: secularisation, indifference, a culture of “church is irrelevant.” The “enemies of the cross” phrase is strong. People who claim Christian identity but live otherwise.
We need this because it sobers us. This isn’t about judging others, so much as self-examination. Are we walking in the pattern? Are we letting earthly things distract us? Does our “God” look like comfort, status, belly, fame rather than Christ?
In Europe many young people are asking: does this church speak to me? Or are we offering old cultural forms that no longer hold water? So this verse calls the church to authenticity: that our walk matches the cross.
“And this I pray: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve the things that are excellent, that you may be sincere and without offense till the day of Christ…”
Love plus knowledge plus discernment. The church in Europe doesn’t get away with being soft or nice alone. There’s a maturity demanded: love that knows, discernment that sees. Approving what is excellent—meaning: not all is equal. Some things lead to life, some things to death. We must choose.
There’s a smell of urgency in Europe’s context: old certainties collapsing, new moral landscapes emerging. The church’s love must be anchored in truth, not just sentiment. And discernment means we live differently. Without offense means we live in integrity: our inside and outside match.
So for each of us personally and our churches collectively, this means learning, probing, listening, reading deeply. We cannot coast on tradition alone.
“Although at times … it can appear that Christ is asleep and leaves his barque to be tossed by the tumultuous waves … the Church in Europe is called to grow in the certainty that the Lord … is ever present and at work in her midst and in all human history.”
This is not a verse from Paul, but the exhortation from the papal document captures a truth: the Lord is still present even when things seem dark. The scene: waves, storms, a boat tossed. Many European churches feel the boat is drifting. But the Word says: He’s there.
We know the smell of damp in old churches, the creak of wood, the echo of hymns. I remember sitting in a cathedral in Prague, the cool stones, quiet liturgy, and feeling: if this place vanished, would the gospel vanish too? But then the document says: No. He is present.
That is our hope. The church in Europe can lean into that. Not the illusions of power, but the simple presence of Christ among the fragile, the faithful, the few.
I want to share two small stories—personal, messy, because theology lives in real people.
Story one: Last year I visited a small house-church in a Spanish city. They met around a living room. Only six people of different nationalities. They sang in Spanish, English, German. The smell of coffee lingered, the evening light soft through the windows. We shared bread. Someone read Philippians 1:21 (“to live is Christ…”) and whispered: “We sometimes ask, is our life for this city still relevant? Are we hidden? Are we too small?” But then the older lady said: “Size doesn’t matter. Faithful matters.” And I nodded. The church in Europe may not be big, but faithful.
Story two: I remember being in Berlin, midday. A converted warehouse church now used partly as a cafe. Outside, hipster crowd, bicycles, the smell of fresh bread. Inside an older woman reading scripture quietly. I thought: this is the church in Europe—ancient and emerging. Past meets present. And there’s tension: how much of the gospel is cultural memory, how much is fresh arrival? That tension is good. It forces purity, forces the gospel to ask hard questions.
So, what do these verses and reflections mean for you, for me, for the church in Europe today?
Live rooted in Christ.
The world will measure us by relevance, by numbers, by influence. But the core: “to live is Christ.” Our identity is in Him. Small church, big church, rural, urban—it doesn’t matter. The root matters.
Let our conduct match our claim.
If we’re going to say we follow Christ in Europe, then our lives must reflect it. In hospitality, justice, gentleness, truth. People are watching. The gospel loses credibility when our lives don’t match.
Pursue love + knowledge + discernment.
Love without discernment is naïve. Knowledge without love is cold. Discernment without love is cruel. We need all three. In Europe especially, where culture shifts quickly, we need to know what we believe and why.
Stand together even when small.
Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. It means choosing to strive together for the gospel. In Europe’s context of many traditions and languages, unity of spirit and mission matters. It’s messy. But worth it.
Trust in God’s presence.
Whether your city has many churches, few churches or a struggling one—remember: Christ is present. The boat may rock, but He is there. Ground your hope not in our success, but in His presence.
Embrace the cultural challenge.
Europe is not automatically Christian anymore; many people don’t believe, many walk away, many doubt. That is… both lament and opportunity. The church is called to engage—not retreat. To speak the good news in terms people live. To serve the suffering. To press into questions of meaning, technology, secularism. As the regional report says: develop a Christian mindset that overcomes the sacred‐secular split. Lausanne Movement
What does “to live is Christ” look like in your city? The places where you shop? The cafe you go to? The people you speak with?
In your context—maybe you’re in Europe or maybe not—where do you see the church’s conduct failing to reflect the gospel? Are there ways you can ask for help, repentance, change?
Love + knowledge + discernment: how are you growing in each? What kind of knowledge do you need (scripture, theology, culture)? What kind of discernment?
Are you part of a church (or community) that strives together for the gospel? If not, what small step could you take?
When the waves are high—doubt, secularism, apathy—what helps you remember that Christ is present? How do you remind others?
I won’t pretend we’ve covered everything. The church in Europe is too vast—east, west, north, south. It includes historic cathedrals and underground gatherings. It includes believers whose families once worshipped openly, and believers now who meet in hiding. It includes the young, the old, the multilingual, the refugee, the tourist, the local. And the gospel needs them all.
There’s a smell of fresh bread in the early morning meeting. There’s the creak of an old wooden pew. There’s the click of a subway going home after an evening worship. There’s the hush of prayer in a cafe corner. These are the real textures of church.
We are called to be faithful—not perfect. Slight grammar errors in our speech, imperfections in our community—God still uses us. The same God who worked in Europe centuries ago still works. So we lean in. We keep going. We read, we pray, we gather. We let ourselves be shaped by the Word.
Thanks for reading this way with me. I’m encouraged. I hope you are too. The church in Europe—your church, our church—may look different than the image of endless aisles and massive crowds. But by God’s grace, it is gathering. It is living. It is hope.
Let’s end with a whispered prayer:
Lord Jesus, you who are the head of the church, you who walked among us, you who promised to never leave nor forsake—be with the church in Europe. Be with us when we feel small. Be with us when the waves feel high. Remind us daily that to live is Christ, and to die (in You) is gain. Let our love abound in knowledge and discernment, let our conduct be worthy of the gospel. Let us stand together in one spirit, striving for the faith. And above all, let us feel Your presence. Amen.
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