I keep coming back to a simple conviction: God wants a people who are safe for His heart.
Not impressive. Not flashy. Safe.
This past Sunday, as Chris shared on the “cup of suffering,” I felt that invitation resting over us as a church family here in Colorado Springs. It’s an invitation into deeper union, into ministering to the Lord Himself, and into becoming a community where His emotions, His perspective, and His glory can actually rest.
Before Chris came up, I briefly shared a story many of you have heard: my “crazy cocaine story.” I won’t retell all of it here, but it was my mom—hearing God and calling my younger siblings to pray and fast for a week—who partnered with the Lord for my rescue. While I was buried in addiction, God rolled into that cocaine den and broke the power of darkness over my life.
That moment was not primarily about my desperation. I wasn’t even looking for Him. It was about God partnering with the tears and fasting of a mother who said yes to His heart.
That’s the thread that ran through the whole morning: God wants to partner with us as mothers, fathers, spiritual parents, friends—people who say yes to carrying His heart.
Chris began in 1 Timothy 1, where Paul says he “formerly” was a blasphemer and persecutor—and then, a few lines later, calls himself the “chief of sinners.”
For years, that verse has been used to keep believers locked in a “we’re just sinners saved by grace” mindset. But if you read Paul’s letters, his primary language for the church is not “sinners.” It’s saints. Chosen. Justified. Adopted. Righteous. Seated with Christ.
So why does he say, “of whom I am chief”?
Chris explained that in Greek there are multiple kinds of “present tense.” Here, Paul isn’t placing his identity in being a sinner. He has already said, “I was a blasphemer…” He’s using an emotional, emphatic present: If God’s mercy could reach someone like me, it can reach anyone.
He’s spotlighting the mercy of God, not cementing himself in a sinner identity.
We are saints who sometimes sin, not sinners trying to become saints.
That distinction matters, because it shapes how we understand everything that follows: the call to present our bodies, to walk worthy, to embody Christ.
Chris used a simple three-part frame:
Romans 1–11 and Ephesians 1–3 are packed with indicative:
You are justified.
You are made righteous.
You are reconciled.
You are seated with Christ.
Your old man has died; you are a new creation.
Then come the imperatives:
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice…”
“Walk worthy of the calling to which you have been called…”
If we start with “Stop sinning, do better, try harder” (imperative first), we set people up for failure. You can’t live like a son if you still believe you’re an orphan.
But even the indicative and imperative are not the end. God is after embodiment—where the message isn’t just something we can explain; it’s something we are. This is why prophets in Scripture didn’t just read scripts. They embodied the word.
Jeremiah is a picture of that embodiment.
In Jeremiah 13, the Lord warns of coming darkness and judgment. But immediately after the warning, Jeremiah says:
“If you will not listen,
my soul will weep in secret for your pride;
my eyes will weep bitterly and run down with tears
because the Lord’s flock has been taken captive.”
Jeremiah doesn’t just deliver a hard word and walk away. He feels the pain of God’s heart. He embodies the tension of a God who must judge a people He loves.
That’s the real meaning of wrath: the ache of a Father whose justice must confront the very ones He delights in. It is not God having a bad day. It is love burning against everything that destroys His beloved.
Jeremiah carries that fire in his bones—not as interesting information, but as participation in God’s own emotions.
Chris shared a story of a friend, Sylvia, who was watching a news segment about children of war—kids who had lost their parents and were living in an orphanage. For thirty minutes she sobbed, groaned, ached over what she was seeing.
At the end she turned off the TV and said, “Lord, I should really start praying for these kids.” And the Lord spoke to her clearly:
“Every tear, every sigh, every emotion you’ve felt these last thirty minutes has been intercession. You were feeling what I feel.”
This is different from simply reliving our own trauma or spiraling in our own pain. There is a kind of suffering to be resisted and healed. But the cup of Christ’s sufferings is something else: it is the gift of His emotions, entrusted to us so that we carry His heart with Him.
Chris put it in a series of questions the Lord seems to ask:
God is not needy for survival. He is inviting us to union.
Scripture is full of this language:
Jesus wasn’t saying, “I can’t do this without you.” He was saying, “I want you to feel what I’m feeling, so you can live on the earth with My heart.”
In our Western church culture, we over-value gifting. Visions, dreams, charisma, platforms.
But Chris said it plainly:
What does not qualify us: visions, dreams, calling, gifting.
What does qualify us: humility, faith, love, surrender, union.
The capacity to radiate Christ’s life is shaped not by how anointed our ministry looks, but by how surrendered our hearts are.
Many have remarkable gifts and little glory. Heaven measures something different than we do: how much of Christ has actually been formed within.
Chris shared a fresh dream: an angel holding an arrow, with “covenant” written on one side and “communion” on the other. The arrow was dripping with blood, and the instruction was:
“Pass this out to your covenant friends, but make sure the blood drips on their lips.”
In a world (and church) culture saturated with online attacks, call-outs, and curses spoken in the name of discernment, this image is piercing.
The blood-soaked arrow speaks of a people whose words are touched by the blood of Jesus—words that agree with His self-giving love, not with the accusing spirit of the age.
Chris told a story about John Wimber. For a season, Wimber was seeing hundreds of people healed weekly. Then, for one full week, no one he prayed for received healing. The Lord confronted him: he had spoken a critical word about another leader God was using. When he repented, the flow of healing returned.
We don’t have to agree with every theology or lifestyle choice to honor the grace of God on someone’s life. But when we partner with accusation, slander, or secret criticism, we are literally clogging the well of Christ’s life within us.
James says blessing and cursing shouldn’t come from the same spring. If our mouth is a river, we must decide: Will it carry accusation or glory?
This is part of what will make The Gathering a safe place:
Chris also walked us through the end of Job, not just as a story about human suffering, but as a shadow of Christ.
Job loses his ten children; later, ten are restored. In a New-Testament light, we can see a picture of what is born of Adam passing away, and what is born of resurrection being raised.
Unusually, only the three daughters are named at the end—and they are given an inheritance alongside their brothers. Their names carry meaning:
It’s a picture of the bride: Spirit-filled, fragrant with Christ, radiant in His beauty—and brought into full inheritance.
All of Scripture is ultimately about Christ revealed. As we keep looking, cross-referencing, searching for Him in every passage, the Spirit keeps pulling us deeper into union with the One the whole story is about.
After the message, we did something we’ll likely continue most Sundays: ten minutes of silence to commune with the indwelling Christ.
If you’re newer to this, “beholding” can sound vague. Here’s a simple way to think about it:
Sometimes we hold a specific theme before Him—in this case, the “cup of suffering,” or the names of Job’s daughters: dove-like focus, fragrance, beauty. Sometimes we ask Him:
“Lord, is there anything in me—any words, any judgments, any hidden criticism—that is hindering Your river from flowing?”
This isn’t beholding our sin. It’s beholding Christ, and asking Him to show us anything that blocks His life. It’s the first beatitude in motion:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit…”
— the ones who surrender self-effort, self-protection, and self-righteousness so they can be filled.
I shared Sunday how something shifted for me in our Wednesday night gathering. As we entered into the sufferings of Christ, it felt like we “went right in.” Instead of fighting through distraction for ten minutes, there was immediate access. I could feel how intensely God longs to share His thoughts with us—how ready He is to entrust us with aspects of His heart that we might not hear everywhere else.
I realized I had been pushing off certain “anchor points” of revelation because I wasn’t hearing them widely taught. And I felt the Lord say:
“This is My heart. I’m revealing My heart to you. Stop throwing it off. Carry it with Me.”
Since Wednesday, I’ve been changed. I’m seeing connections in Scripture I’ve never seen before. I’m more aware that He is not just tolerating me; He is entrusting something of Himself to us as a community.
During the silence, one of our moms shared a picture that has stayed with me.
She saw Jesus at a sewing machine, stitching a round quilt from the inside out. Every seam on the inside was perfect, every pattern intentional. Then He flipped the quilt right-side out and wrapped it around her, and she felt the weight of His presence.
It wasn’t just about her. It was about union—with Him and with one another. She connected it to how quilts are passed down through generations as heirlooms in her family. They carry stories. They carry comfort. They say, “This is part of who you are.”
In that vision, the quilt became a picture of our shared life in Christ:
This is the kind of legacy I believe the Lord is stitching at The Gathering.
So what do we do with all of this?
Here are a few simple ways you can respond this week:
You can watch the full teaching from Sunday here:
Message: Drinking the Cup of His Sufferings – Chris Berglund
Link: https://www.youtube.com/live/dlHdofX6bko?si=tvs6VSLmCEGeyf4c
If you’re in or near Colorado Springs and longing for a community that is learning to behold Christ together, to minister to His heart, and to become a safe place for His glory, we’d love for you to join us.
The Gathering
Sundays at 10 a.m.
the-gathering.us
May we be a people who don’t just talk about Jesus, but embody His life—saints who sometimes sin, but who are being formed into a dwelling place for His heart.
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Chris Berglund
Leah Ramirez
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