"All I Want for Christmas is You" is the best-selling Christmas song of all time. At its heart is a vulnerability that's essential to the Christmas season. Hope requires risk, an admission that where we are is not where we want to be. How can we choose to be vulnerable as we approach Christmas?

Have you noticed Christmas decorations seem to be going up earlier and earlier? First it was Thanksgiving... now Halloween is in danger of getting swallowed up by Kris Kringle! But with a world so full of war, plague and division, is it any wonder we want to throw up Christmas Cheer like a shield? Can you blame us for wanting a garland-strewn respite? But is it possible that, by closing ourselves off from the pain in the world, we miss the truly liberating power of Christmas?

During the Christmas season, we celebrate God coming to earth. In a world marked by violence, division and bigotry, God's arrival means a big shake up. Are we sure we're ready for God's arrival? If not, how can we prepare?

Christians aren't known for being curious. Why would we be, when we have a monopoly on truth? But that attitude is at odds with the God who created our universe and invited us to explore. It's at odds with the God who calls us to welcome the stranger and go into the whole world. What does a church that cultivates curiosity look like? How does prioritizing curiosity shape our mission and engagement with the world around us?

Nobody likes change, but it's inevitable. And for people of faith, change is good. We're called to embrace change so radical the only word for it is resurrection. So how can we take change seriously - in our own lives, in our congregation and in our world?

Even though diversity has become a buzz word, it's hard to find any organization that takes it seriously - especially churches. What does it look like to take diversity seriously? The radical truth is that none of us is free until all of us is free. So how can we chase that together as a church?

We're in the midst of a loneliness epidemic, and far too often, churches are part of the problem. How can that be, when Jesus insists that he made us his friends? What does it mean for a church to take friendship seriously, particularly in the midst of a culture dying to connect?

There's no way around it: change is traumatic. That the change is good doesn't alter the reality that it's really hard. Paul's paradigm-shifting transformation on the road to Damascus illustrates the pain and joy of following God's radical call to something new. How does faith enable us to follow God faithfully into the unknown?

Sometimes, it's God's old thing that keeps us from participating in God's new thing. What do we do when faithfulness gets in the way of being faithful? Jesus warned his followers that the days of God's temple were numbered because God was up to something new. How can we hold the past lightly so we can lean into God's new thing?

We live in a professionalized culture - we're more likely to leave every job to the paid expert than we are to do them ourselves. But when it comes to building God's new thing, this isn't something we can leave to professionals. Nehemiah shows us that we all have a part to play in God's work. How can we discern what our part is? Where do we weigh in?

What do we do when life doesn't go the way we thought? People of faith try our best to follow God's will, but that's not a guarantee life is going to go our way. Joseph shows us what faithfulness looks like when Plan A goes off the rails.

Nobody loves change, but change doesn't ask our permission to happen. So when change comes, how can we engage it faithfully? It all begins by being willing to leave what's been and trust that God is leading us into the future. Do we have the courage to take that first, longest step?

Social media promises to connect us, but we've seen throughout this series how technology can harm as easily as heal. How do we discern what wise use of these technologies look like? How can we be sure technology is serving our faith journey, and not the other way around?

In the wake of #metoo, everyone is afraid of Cancel Culture. No one is immune, from celebrities to pastors. While some see this as justice, others see a dangerous mob, accountable to no one. How should people of faith engage cancel culture? What does redemption look like for those who have wronged others? How can we offer grace without compromising truth?

What's the harm in scrolling through social media, reading or watching whatever comes across our screens? We know in the abstract that tech companies use algorithms to determine what we see, but how often do we ask what those algorithms - and the companies who write them - want? How do these algorithms shape our spirituality? And how can we take responsibility for our feeds?

It's easy to vilify the latest technology, but how do we really know if the latest gadget, app or trend is holy or not? What could the Bible possibly have to say about technologies two millennia younger than its writings? How do we learn to think theologically about smartphones, laptops, social media and everything else?

There's no bigger box-office draw than a superhero movie. Why do we love these stories so much? What does that say about us? Is there a limit to the good superhero movies can do? And what does any of that have to do with our calling as a people of God?

In a perfect world, our call to love God would never conflict with our call to love our neighbors. But our world is complex, and too often, we find ourselves torn between a desire to be holy and a desire to love. How do we untangle this tension that leaves us in knots? What do we do when these two forces collide?

What does it mean to be 'holy'? In the ancient world, that meant 'set apart' or 'special'. God calls those who follow God to be a 'holy people'. So how are we set apart? Much of the ancient imagery is wrapped up in blood sacrifice, demigods and... dietary restrictions? What does all that mean for us today? How can we be holy as God calls us to be?

If someone dies without knowing Jesus, they go to Hell. Hell is a punishment for sin. Many churches describe Hell as "eternal conscious torment". How is that just? How can eternal torment be a fair punishment for even a lifetime of sin? Could it be that we've gotten Hell wrong? Could there be hope even in the depths of Hell?