Author: Pastor'sPonderings

Just a guy who asks questions, considers life and tries not to take any of it for granted

One Last Cup

In the tender cradle of this morning,
we sit, you and I,
cupping the warmth of coffee mugs
as though they hold the pulse of the world.

Each sip is a quiet vow, a slow dance of steam curling upward,
weaving itself into the soft threads of dawn.
The sunlight spills, hesitant, through the window,
its golden tendrils catching dust motes in a fragile, glowing suspension—
a moment so delicate, it aches.

I want to gather this stillness,
press it between the pages of my heart like a flower too tender to bloom twice.
Your eyes meet mine, and the clink of our mugs is a language only we speak—
a hymn to the nectar that warms our throats, the divine quiet that wraps us whole.

The house holds its breath, the little monsters still lost in dreams,
their chaos tethered to sleep’s gentle leash.
This pot of coffee, dark and endless, is ours to drain,
each sip a rebellion against time’s relentless march.

But soon—too soon— the world will stir,
and we will don our armor once more,
stepping into the fray of grown-up things,
the weight of days that demand our courage.

Yet for now, my love, let us linger in this sacred pause.
One last cup, one last moment where silence is enough,
where you and I are enough.

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Rooted and Resilient

So, Jeremiah 17:7-8. Let’s just sit with it for a minute, shall we?

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought nor ceases to yield fruit.”

You know, there’s something in us, isn’t there? This innate desire to be, well, unshakeable. To be that person who can weather any storm. To not just survive, but to thrive, even when everything around us feels like it’s drying up.

And here’s Jeremiah, pointing us to it. He’s not talking about some magic formula or a special incantation. He’s talking about trust. Simple, profound trust.

Think about that tree. Not just any tree, but a tree planted by the water. It’s not just getting a sprinkle every now and then; it’s rooted in the source. Its roots, they’re not just scratching the surface; they’re digging deep, reaching out, finding that constant flow.

And because of that deep connection, what happens?

“It does not fear when heat comes.”

That’s a big one, isn’t it? The heat comes for all of us. The pressure, the stress, the unexpected curveballs. The moments where you feel like you’re just wilting. But this tree? It doesn’t fear. Its leaves are always green. Think about that. Even when the world around it is parched, this tree is vibrant. It’s alive.

“It has no worries in a year of drought.”

Drought. We know drought. The times when everything feels scarce, when inspiration dries up, when relationships feel strained, when the bank account looks a little thin. Those long stretches where you just wonder if anything good will ever come again. But this tree? No worries. Because its roots are still doing their thing, silently, consistently, drawing from that underground source.

“Nor ceases to yield fruit.”

This is the kicker, right? Not only does it survive, not only does it stay green, but it continues to produce. Even in the lean times, it’s still giving. It’s still contributing. It’s still being what it was made to be.

So, what does this mean for us?

It’s an invitation, really. An invitation to examine where our roots are going. Are we trying to draw life from superficial things? From approval? From endless striving? From the fleeting highs of immediate gratification? Because those things, they dry up. They just do.

Or are we willing to dig deeper? To send our roots down into something more substantial? Into trust. Into a quiet, consistent confidence in the divine, in the very source of life itself.

It’s not about avoiding the heat or the drought. They’re going to come. But it’s about how we’re rooted in them. It’s about cultivating that deep, unwavering connection that allows us to not just endure, but to flourish. To stay green. To keep yielding fruit, even when the world around us is screaming for us to wilt.

So, where are your roots going today? Just something to ponder. Something to sit with. Maybe even something to dig into.
Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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Liminal Space – A Refilling of Grace.

Hey there, friend.
Let’s talk about liminal spaces. You know, those weird, in-between places where you’re not quite *here* anymore but not fully *there* yet either? Doorways, thresholds, moments where the veil between you and the divine feels so thin it’s like you could reach out and touch it. The Celts called these “thin places,” spots where heaven and earth brush up against each other, where you can almost hear the heartbeat of God. And I’m not just talking about physical places—though those are real too, like a quiet beach at dawn or that one pew in your church that just *feels* holy. I’m talking about those moments in life when you’re caught in transition, suspended, waiting, and something sacred sneaks in. Think about Moses at the burning bush in Exodus 3. He’s just out there, tending sheep, minding his own business, when *bam*—a bush is on fire but not burning up. God says, “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5). That patch of desert wasn’t holy because of the dirt or the shrubbery. It was holy because God showed up in the in-between, in the ordinary, and Moses was paying attention. He stepped into a liminal space, a threshold where the eternal crashed into the everyday.

Or how about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matthew 26:36-46)? He’s in this gut-wrenching moment, not quite at the cross but no longer just teaching and healing. He’s in the middle, sweating blood, wrestling with what’s coming. It’s a thin place, where his humanity and divinity are laid bare, where he’s crying out to God and the air feels electric with the weight of what’s about to happen.

Have you ever been in a moment like that?
Where you’re stuck between what was and what’s next, and God feels so close it’s almost too much? Liminal spaces aren’t always comfortable. They’re often disorienting, like standing in a doorway not sure if you’re coming or going. Think about the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for 40 years (Exodus 16-17). They’d left Egypt, but the Promised Land was still a dream. They were in-between, grumbling, doubting, yet God kept showing up—manna in the morning, water from a rock. Those desert years were a thin place, where they learned to trust, to lean into the mystery of a God who meets you in the messy middle. So here’s a question for you:

Where are the liminal spaces in your life right now?
Are you in a season of waiting—maybe for a job, a relationship, a diagnosis, or just some clarity? What if those in-between moments aren’t just empty gaps but holy ground, places where God is waiting to meet you? I mean, think about it: when you’re stuck in transition, when you don’t have all the answers, don’t you find yourself a little more open, a little more raw, a little more ready to hear that still, small voice? And here’s another thing to chew on: What if liminal spaces aren’t just about you finding God, but God finding you?

In Psalm 139:7-10, David says, “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” There’s no in-between place where God isn’t already waiting. That jobless season, that heartbreak, that moment when you’re staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m.—those are thresholds, thin places where the divine is whispering, “I’m here.” So, what’s it look like to lean into these spaces? Maybe it’s pausing in the middle of your chaos to breathe and say, “God, show me where you are in this.” Maybe it’s noticing the ordinary moments—a sunrise, a conversation, a quiet walk—and asking, “Is this holy ground?” What if you stopped rushing through the in-between to get to the “next thing” and instead let yourself linger, let yourself listen?

Here’s one more question to sit with: What’s keeping you from seeing the thin places in your life?
Is it fear? Distraction? The need to have it all figured out? What if you let go of that for a moment and just stood still, like Moses, sandals off, ready for God to show up? Liminal spaces are everywhere, friend. They’re the thresholds, the waiting rooms, the moments when you feel a little lost but a lot alive. They’re where God loves to show up, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. So, where’s your thin place today? And what might happen if you stepped into it, heart open, ready to meet the One who’s already there?

Keep your eyes open.
Holy ground is closer than you think.

Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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The Risks We Never Take And The Regret We Carry

You ever notice how life has this way of whispering to you, tugging at your soul, daring you to leap? It’s like there’s this quiet voice, this nudge, that says, Go for it. Step out. Try. But then, just as quick, another voice chimes in—louder, safer, more practical: What if you fail? What if it’s a mess? What if you look like a fool? And so, we stay put. We don’t move. We don’t risk. And years later, we’re left wondering: What if I had? This is about the risks we never take and the regret that lingers like a shadow when we refuse to step out in faith. Because here’s the thing: life isn’t meant to be a museum exhibit, preserved behind glass, untouched and unchanging. Life is messy, wild, and alive—it’s meant to be lived, not just survived. And sometimes, living means risking.

The Weight of What Could Have Been

Let’s start with a story. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells this parable about a man who gives his servants talents—bags of gold, essentially (Matthew 25:14-30). Two of them take the money, invest it, risk it, and double what they were given. But the third? He’s scared. He buries his talent in the ground, keeps it safe, and hands it back unchanged. No loss, but no gain either. And the master? He’s not impressed. He calls this servant “wicked” and “lazy.” Harsh, right? But here’s the kicker: the servant’s biggest failure wasn’t losing the money; it was refusing to risk it at all. That’s us sometimes. We’re handed gifts—talents, dreams, opportunities—and we bury them. Why? Because we’re afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of rejection, afraid of the unknown. But what if the real failure is never trying? What if the regret we carry isn’t about the things we did and messed up, but the things we never dared to do? C.S. Lewis once wrote, “You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.”

But dreams require risk.
Goals require movement.
And movement requires faith—faith that the God who made you didn’t make you to play it safe, but to step out into the wild, beautiful unknown.

The Pull of the Safe and the Siren of Regret

Think about it: what’s the risk you’re avoiding right now? That conversation you need to have but keep putting off? That career change you dream about but won’t pursue? That idea, that passion, that calling that keeps you up at night but feels too big, too scary, too out there? We tell ourselves we’re being wise, cautious, responsible. But sometimes, caution is just fear dressed up in a suit. The Bible doesn’t exactly endorse a life of playing it safe. In Hebrews 11, we get this roll call of faith—people like Abraham, who left everything to go to a land he didn’t know (Hebrews 11:8). Or Moses, who stood up to Pharaoh, risking everything for a people who didn’t even appreciate him (Hebrews 11:24-27). These weren’t people who buried their talents. They stepped out, trusting that God was in the risk, that God was in the leap.

And here’s the thing: they didn’t have guarantees. Abraham didn’t have a map. Moses didn’t have a five-year plan.
They had faith.
Faith that the God who called them would show up. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke said, “The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.” The future is calling you, but you’ve got to step toward it.

The Regret That Haunts

Now, let’s talk about regret. Regret is the ghost of risks not taken. It’s the ache of what could have been. Studies show that people don’t regret their failures as much as they regret their inactions. Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse, wrote in her book The Top Five Regrets of the Dying that one of the most common regrets she heard was this: “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.” Yikes! That hits doesn’t it?

Regret is what happens when we let fear win. When we choose safety over faith. When we bury our talents instead of risking them. And the tragedy? We don’t just rob ourselves; we rob the world. Your gifts, your voice, your story—they’re not just for you. They’re for others. For the people who need what only you can give. As Jesus said, “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). But a light that’s buried? It doesn’t shine.

Stepping Out in Faith

So, what do we do? How do we take the risk? How do we step out when our knees are shaking and our palms are sweaty? First, we remember that faith isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the courage to move through it. As Mark Twain put it, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.” Faith is saying, I’m scared, but I’m going anyway.

Second, we trust that God is in the risk. The Psalms tell us, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters” (Psalm 23:1-2). But here’s the part we forget: the shepherd also leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. Faith doesn’t mean we avoid the valley; it means we trust the shepherd to guide us through it.Finally, we start small. You don’t have to quit your job and move to Timbuktu tomorrow. Take a step. Write the first page of that book. Have that hard conversation. Sign up for that class. Risk something. Because the alternative—staying stuck, staying safe—leads to a life half-lived. And you were made for more than that.

The Invitation

So here’s the invitation: don’t let regret write your story.
Don’t let fear bury your talents. Step out. Risk. Trust.
The God who made you is the God who calls you, and He’s not calling you to a life of safety but to a life of faith.
As the great theologian Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” But you’ll never find that place if you don’t take the risk.

What’s the risk you need to take today? What’s the leap your soul is begging you to make? Don’t wait for the perfect moment, because perfect moments don’t come. Step out in faith, and let the future unfold. Because the only thing worse than failing is never trying at all.

So, what’s it gonna be? Will you bury your talent, or will you risk it? The choice is yours, but the world is waiting for your light.

Grace & Peace,
Pastor Scott.

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Rediscovering Thin Spaces In Our Spiritual Journey.

Hey friends, it’s been a minute since I last wrote.
Summer months are often a mass acceleration of busyness and mundane tasks – and yet, they still need to be done.
Can I admit something to you? Well, it’s not really a secret, but it’s more of an identifiable internal struggle. Here it is: I often get restless and unsettled in life. It’s nothing substantial to a point that I can identify why or what’s causing it, but rather it’s root deep in my soul and I have to perform a spiritual workout to uproot it, and get to the bottom of it all.

I think you can relate in some way.
Life is often like that for all of us, from time to time.
One day things are going great, the next something is gnawing at your soul and you’re not sure just what it is.
You awaken in the middle of the night – sleep disrupted and then you commence the wrestling match with your pillow and blanket, all the while subconsciously you’re in a space of disruption, anxiety and emotional chaos.

There’s a verse the comforts me in these times of disruption. It’s found in James 4:8. It says, “Come close to God and He will come close to you. Wash your hands, you sinners. Clean up your hearts, you who want to follow the sinful ways of the world and God at the same time.“

The Thin Spaces
Our world is full of fast-paced, instant gratification. We want responses to our emails, phone calls, text messages NOW, and if a response doesn’t come quickly we get impatient. Could it be that this component of our instant-response culture drives us to transfer this concept onto our relationship with God? Actually, scratch that, it’s not a matter of “could be”, it’s more certain that that – it IS a fact – we expect God to respond as instantly as a text message from a close friend or spouse. But God doesn’t work like that. Yet, despite this unrealistic expectation about God, He shows us in our lives in unexpected ways.

Get this: Thomas Merton once said, “True contemplation is not a psychological trick but a theological grace. It can come to us ONLY as a gift, and not as a result of our own clever use of spiritual techniques.”


God draws near to us in the quiet moments we intentionally create for His presence. That’s what a thin space is all about. When we draw near, with expectation and a heart of worship, God also draws near to us. The problem is you can fake it until you make it with God. No one is that good of an actor. You cannot act the part and expect the same result as one who is approaching the Divine with humility, love, adoration and supplication. It’s not something that can be fabricated or simulated. God knows our hearts, and if we are to commune with Him within these thin spaces, we are to set aside every distraction, every god we have erected (whether knowingly or unknowingly) and come for relationship and nothing else.

“The grace of salvation, the grace of Christian wholeness that flowers in silence, dispels this illusion of separation. For when the mind is brought to stillness, and all our strategies of acquisition have dropped, a deeper truth presents itself: we are and have always been one with God.” –Martin Laird

When we constantly kneel before the altar of our hearts and lay bare with honesty our utter need for God in every aspect of our being, we make that thin space even thinner. This is both done through our supplication and humility as well as this undeserved gift of God’s fellowship that He alone can impart. These thin spaces exist not to glorify our holiness or elevate some over others, but for the weak to be nourished and strengthened.

Friends, do these thin spaces exist in your life right now? What needs to be surrendered and sacrificed so that you can draw near to God? Is it your constant screen time? Unhealthy relationships? Unhealthy boundaries? Whatever it is, surrender it today. Lay it down and dedicate some uninterrupted space and time to draw near to the Almighty.

“As your meditation becomes deeper it will defend you from the perpetual assaults of the outer world. You will hear the busy hum of that world as a distant exterior melody, and know yourself to be in some sort withdrawn from it. You have set a ring of silence between you and it; and behold! within that silence you are free.” –Evelyn Underhill

Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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Peace, Power, and Purpose: A Devotional Thought on John 20:19-23

Hey, friends, let’s jump into something personal and real today.
Picture it with me: the disciples are huddled together, doors locked, hearts pounding. They’re scared out of their minds. Jesus, their leader, their friend, was just crucified. The weight of loss and fear is crushing them. And then—KA-BLAM—Jesus shows up. Right there in the room. John 20:19-23 tells us this moment isn’t just a cool resurrection story; it’s a game-changer for how we live as followers of Jesus.

Let’s unpack it and let the Holy Spirit mess with us a bit.

The Scene: Peace in the Chaos
It’s evening, the first day of the week, and the disciples are hiding. The Jewish leaders are out for blood, and these guys are next on the list. Then Jesus appears—risen, alive, real. His first words? “Peace be with you.” Man, stop and feel that. These guys are freaking out, and Jesus doesn’t lecture them or shame them for their fear. He speaks peace. Twice, actually (v. 19, 21). Why? Because He knows their hearts are a mess, and He’s the only one who can calm the storm inside them. Isn’t that us? We lock ourselves behind doors of fear—fear of failure, fear of what people think, fear of the future. And Jesus steps into our mess with the same words: “Peace be with you.” Not a fluffy, feel-good peace, but a deep, soul-anchoring peace that says, “I’m here, and I’ve overcome death itself.” Are you letting His peace rule your heart, or are you still bolting the door, trying to control the chaos?

The Mission: Sent Like Jesus
Then Jesus drops a bombshell: “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you” (v. 21). Think about that. The Father sent Jesus to live a sinless life, to love the broken, to confront hypocrisy, to die for sinners, and to rise in victory. And now Jesus says, “That’s your mission too.” This isn’t a suggestion. It’s a divine commissioning. You and I are sent into the world with the same purpose Jesus had—to show people the Father’s love and bring them into His kingdom. But let’s get real: are we living like we’re sent? Or are we just cozying up in our Christian bubbles, playing it safe? Jesus didn’t stay safe. He went to the cross. He loved the unlovable. He spoke truth even when it cost Him. What’s holding you back from living sent? Is it comfort? Fear of rejection? Or have you just forgotten the weight of what Jesus is calling you to?

The Power: The Holy Spirit
Jesus doesn’t just send them; He equips them. He breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (v. 22). This is huge. The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead is now given to the disciples—and to us. This isn’t just a nice gift; it’s the power to live out the mission. It’s the Spirit who convicts, transforms, and emb emboldens us to forgive sins and proclaim truth (v. 23). But here’s where it gets uncomfortable. Are we actually relying on the Holy Spirit? Or are we trying to do this Christian life in our own strength? I’ve been there—planning, striving, hustling to make ministry happen, only to realize I’m running on empty because I’ve ignored the Spirit’s power. I have to tell you, that’s really convicting and personal. I tried to be a super pastor – the best or the best. Yet, God operates from our weakness and humility. Why do we constantly get it wrong? Why are do equate performance with success? Probably because that’s the world’s standard, but not God’s. When was the last time you paused and asked the Holy Spirit to fill you, guide you, or give you boldness to share Jesus with someone?

The Challenge: Forgive and Proclaim
Verse 23 is a head-scratcher: “If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.” This isn’t about playing God; it’s about the authority Jesus gives His followers to proclaim forgiveness through the gospel. When we share the good news, we’re offering people the chance to be forgiven and reconciled to God. But if we stay silent, we’re withholding that opportunity. That’s heavy, right? Your words, your life, your witness—they carry eternal weight. So, what are you doing with that authority? Are you proclaiming forgiveness to a world that’s desperate for it? Or are you holding back because you’re afraid of how it’ll land? Who in your life needs to hear about the forgiveness Jesus offers? What’s stopping you from telling them?

Ponder This, Friends
This passage isn’t just a cool story about Jesus showing up. It’s a call to live differently. Jesus steps into our fear with peace, sends us with purpose, empowers us with His Spirit, and entrusts us with the message of forgiveness. But here’s the thing: this isn’t just for the disciples 2,000 years ago.

This is for you. Right now. Today. So, let me ask you a few questions to chew on:
– Where are you locking the door on Jesus, trying to keep fear or control in charge?
– What does it look like for you to live “sent” in your everyday life—at work, at home, in your community?
– Are you relying on the Holy Spirit’s power, or are you running on your own fumes?
– Who in your life needs to hear about the forgiveness Jesus offers, and what’s stopping you from sharing it?

Friends, let’s not just read this passage and move on. Let’s let it wreck us, change us, and push us to live boldly for Jesus. He’s alive. He’s with us. And He’s sending us out with His peace and power. Let’s go.
Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott

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The Texas Flood, What Can We Do? (When we feel so helpless)

Listen, let’s just sit in this for a moment.
The images are seared into our minds: the Guadalupe River, swollen and raging, tearing through the Texas Hill Country like a freight train, leaving behind a trail of devastation. Homes reduced to splinters, cars piled like toys, and the heart-wrenching stories of lives lost—over 100 souls (as last reported), including children at Camp Mystic, swept away in the night.

The grief is heavy, raw, and real. It literally makes me sick to my stomach to think of what those parents are going through right now. It’s the kind of pain that makes you clench your fists, stare at the sky, and ask, *Why?* And I think we should create some safe spaces to ask those hard-no-easily-answered questions.

Question: “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?”

This isn’t a time to gloss over the hurt. The families who lost loved ones—parents, children, grandparents, friends—are carrying a devastating weight that feels unbearable. The stories are gut-wrenching: a mother clinging to a tree as floodwaters roared past, a camp director giving his life to save young girls, entire communities washed away in hours. Kerr County alone mourns at least 84 lives, with 28 of them children. The numbers are staggering, but they’re NOT just numbers—they’re names, faces, stories. This is a tragedy that demands we pause and feel the depth of the loss. To rush past that grief would be to dishonor those who are suffering. And yet, in the middle of these tears welling in my eyes and this ache, there’s a question that keeps surfacing, one that’s as old as humanity itself: *If God is good, why does He allow bad things to happen to good people?*

It’s the kind of question that can keep you up at night, staring into the dark-heart-heavy wondering if faith even makes sense anymore. Let’s not dodge it, as a matter of fact, let’s lean into it. Here’s the thing: the Bible doesn’t give us a neat, tidy answer to that question. It’s not a math equation with a clean solution. Job, a man who lost everything—family, wealth, health—wrestled with this same question, shaking his fist at the heavens, demanding to know why, his supportive wife (insert sarcastic font here) telling him to just curse God and die.

But what was God’s response? Not a formula, but a vision of a universe vast and wild, held together by a Creator whose ways are bigger than our understanding. “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” God asks (Job 38:4). It’s not a dismissal of Job’s pain; it’s an invitation to trust that there’s a story bigger than the one we can see. The truth is, we live in a world that’s broken—beautiful, yes, but fractured. The same rivers that give life can turn deadly. The same skies that bring gentle rain can unleash torrents. And God, in His mysterious love, doesn’t always intervene the way we wish He would (and for most of us, that’s hard to understand).

BUT here’s where the encouragement comes in: God doesn’t abandon us in the flood. He’s there in the rescue boats, in the helicopters, in the hands of first responders pulling people from the water. He’s there in the churches opening their doors, in the neighbors sharing food and clothes, in the tears shed at vigils in San Antonio. The goodness of God doesn’t erase the pain, but it shows up in the people who refuse to let despair have the last word. Think about Jesus on the cross—nailed to a piece of wood, abandoned by His friends, mocked by the crowd. If anyone ever looked at a moment and said, “Where’s the good God now?” it was there. And yet, that moment of ultimate suffering became the doorway to resurrection, to life, to hope. The cross tells us that God doesn’t stand aloof from our pain; He enters it, bears it, and somehow, in ways we can’t always grasp, redeems it.

SO, to those asking the hard question, to those who are angry at God right now: It’s okay to wrestle. It’s okay to cry out. God can handle your doubts, your anger, your grief. He’s not afraid of your questions, I’ve asked many of these questions too during this devastating time. But don’t stop there. Look around. See the stories of hope rising from the wreckage—stories like Coast Guard Swimmer Scott Ruskan who wasn’t supposed to be in the area, and yet, managed to save a 165 children in those sudden flash floods. Stories of strangers becoming family, communities rallying, people giving sacrificially. That’s where God’s goodness shines through, not in erasing the tragedy but in weaving something new through it.

Here’s the challenge, and it’s not a small one: Don’t just pray for the families of the victims—though please, *please* do that. Their pain is unimaginable, and our prayers are a way of holding them up when they can’t stand. But let’s go further. Let’s be the hands and feet of Jesus in this broken world. Get out there and help your neighbor—whether it’s clearing debris, donating to relief efforts, or simply listening to someone’s story of loss. The NFL Foundation, the Dallas Cowboys, and the Houston Texans have pledged $1.5 million to aid victims. Local churches like Hunt Baptist are offering free water, The Salvation Army is on the ground with their Emergency Disaster Teams proving food, water, and clothes. You don’t need to be a millionaire or a megachurch to make a difference—just show up in so many different ways. This is our moment to change the world around us, not with grand gestures but with small, faithful acts of love. When we do that, we’re not just helping our neighbors; we’re joining God in His work of redemption, of bringing light to the darkest places. We’re saying, with our lives, that even in the face of a flood, hope rises. And that hope, that stubborn, defiant hope, is how we glorify God in the midst of the storm.

So, let’s pray. Let’s weep. And then let’s get to work, because the world needs us to show up now more than ever.
Grace & Peace EVEN in the Storms.
-Pastor Scott.

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Dear Pastors: Discipling in a Distracted, Noncommittal World.

Hey there, fellow pastors, I hope you know that you’re beautiful shepherds of souls, and I write this today to encourage you. Whether you’re a full-time pastor, lay leader or small group leader – this is all for you.
Distractions are everywhere. Phones are pinging, Netflix is dropping new seasons, and commitment? Well, commitment feels like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. People are ghosting small groups faster than you can say “fellowship potluck.” But here’s the thing: we’re not out of the game. The Spirit is still moving, and we’ve got a story to tell that’s bigger than any algorithm or attention span. So, for just a few minutes today, let’s dive into how we can disciple people today, right here, right now, with all the noise and the “I’m too busy” vibes. And let’s do it with some hope, because Jesus is the most important source of hope, love and connection that we have. He created the model for us to emulate.

1. Meet People Where They Are (Because Jesus Did)
Okay, so the world’s loud. TikTok’s got their thumbs scrolling, and half the folks in your church are mentally juggling soccer practice, work deadlines, and that new true crime paranormal podcast (okay, maybe that last one is just me). Trying to get them to commit to a weekly Bible study feels like herding cats in a windstorm. But check this out: Jesus didn’t wait for people to have their lives together before he invited them in. Do you remember Zacchaeus? Jesus met Zacchaeus up a tree, the woman at the well in the heat of the day, and Peter right there in his fishing boat. Scripture tells us: “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by her deeds.” (Matthew 11:19, ESV)Jesus went to where people were—messy, broken, distracted, skeptical—and he loved them right there. So, let’s do that. If your people can’t make it to a 6 p.m. study, try a 15-minute devotional podcast they can listen to on their commute. If they’re glued to their phones, send a group text with a verse and a question to spark some discussion. Meet them in the chaos. Start small. Maybe it’s a coffee shop conversation or a quick prayer via Zoom. The point is, don’t wait for them to show up polished and ready—go to their tree, their well, their boat. You’ve got this, because Jesus is already there, and the Holy Spirit has already prepared hearts and the path you should take.

2. Make It Real, Not Religious (I can’t emphasize this enough!)
Here’s a question: when did following Jesus become a to-do list instead of a way of life? Our culture’s allergic to commitment—people bail on dinner plans, let alone church membership. And honestly? A lot of folks see “discipleship” as another box to check, like signing up for a gym membership they’ll never use. But Jesus didn’t call people to a program; he called them to a relationship, to a life that’s alive. John 10:10 says, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” So, let’s make discipleship less about filling out a workbook, following a 5-12 step program, and more about living the story. Share your own struggles—your doubts, be vulnerable, share your moments when you wonder if God’s still paying attention. Let them see you wrestle with faith, because that’s what makes it real. Invite them into practices that breathe life: gratitude journals, serving at a food pantry, or just walking in nature and talking about what God’s stirring in their hearts. Show them that following Jesus isn’t about adding more noise—it’s about finding the quiet where the Spirit speaks. You’re not selling a program, you’re not selling religion; you’re inviting them into a life that’s bigger than the distractions.

3. Build Community That Feels Like Family
Let’s be real: people are lonely. They’re scrolling their social media feeds, liking posts, but they’re starving for connection. We think these things will bring us closer but it actually makes us lonelier as we crave what someone’s highlight reel is displaying. Our culture’s got this weird paradox—hyper-connected online, but ghosting each other in real life. And churches? Sometimes we’re so focused on programs we forget to be people.

But discipleship happens in relationship, in the messy, beautiful, “pass the mashed potatoes” kind of way. John 13:35 says, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Pastors, create spaces where people feel like they belong. Maybe it’s a small group that eats together, laughs together, cries together. Maybe it’s a barbecue where kids are running around and nobody’s pretending to have it all figured out. Encourage your people to share their stories—because when someone says, “Me too,” that’s where the Spirit starts knitting hearts together and we discover true commonality. And don’t be afraid to lean into the awkward. Community isn’t perfect; it’s real – you don’t have to be perfect. Lean into the awkward. It’s the guy who always talks too long, the mom who shows up late, the teenager who’s skeptical but still shows up. That’s where Jesus shows up too. Keep building those tables, and setting places be a pastor who holds the door wide open for everyone. Because in reality people are sacred to be vulnerable and open up.

4. Point to the Bigger Story
Here’s the thing about distractions: they’re loud, but they’re shallow. They promise meaning but leave people empty. And that’s where we’ve got something to offer—because the gospel is the deepest, truest story there is. In a culture that’s noncommittal, chasing the next shiny thing, we get to point people to a story that’s been true forever. The Apostle Paul, in Colossians 3:2 tells us “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” Help your people see how their lives fit into God’s bigger story. Preach it, teach it, live it. When they’re stressed about work, remind them their worth isn’t in their hustle but in being God’s beloved. When they’re distracted by the news cycle, point them to the kingdom that never shakes, and that we’ve been created to be Kingdom people first and foremost.

Use stories—your stories, their stories, Jesus’ stories—to show how God’s weaving something beautiful even in the chaos. Maybe it’s a sermon series on how God meets us in the ordinary. Maybe it’s a testimony night where people share how Jesus showed up in their mess. Keep pointing to the Story that outshines the noise. It’s what they’re hungry for, even if they don’t know it yet.

5. Trust the Spirit (Because You’re Not Alone in This)
Okay, pastor, let’s get honest. Sometimes it feels like you’re shouting into the void. You plan the discipleship program, you pray, you prep, and still, half the group bails because of a kid’s soccer game or a Netflix marathon. It’s easy to feel like you’re failing, like you’re not enough. But here’s the truth: you’re not the one making disciples. The Holy Spirit is.

Acts 1:8 says, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses…” Your job isn’t to fix people or force commitment. Your job is to show up, love them, and trust the Spirit to do the heavy lifting. Plant seeds. Pray like crazy. Be faithful in the small moments. That conversation over coffee or pizza? That’s the Spirit at work. That time you listened to someone’s doubts without judgment? That’s the Spirit moving. Even when it feels like nothing’s happening, God’s doing something. You’re not alone in this, and you don’t have to carry the weight. The Spirit’s got this, and you’re just along for the ride.

So dear Pastor, Youth Pastor, Worship Leader Lay Leader, Small Group Leader here’s a quick word of encouragement for you: Keep Going, You’re Doing Holy Work!

So, here we are, pastoring in a world that’s distracted and noncommittal, where people’s attention is pulled a million ways. But you know what? The gospel’s still true. Jesus is still calling. And you, pastor, are part of the most beautiful story ever told. Meet people where they are. Love them. Make it real. Build community. Point to the bigger story. And trust the Spirit. You’re not just leading a church, or a small group—you’re inviting people into a life that’s more vibrant than any distraction could ever be. Keep going. Keep loving. Keep showing up. The Spirit’s moving, and you’re right in the middle of it. With you in the mess and the beauty,
Grace & Peace
–Pastor Scott.

Ps. What’s one way you’re seeing the Spirit move in your church’s discipleship efforts?
Share it below—I’d love to hear your story.

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Get Off The Fence: There’s No Middle Ground.

Hey there, friends. Have you ever read a verse and it felt like a punch to the gut? That’s Galatians 1:6 for me. Paul’s writing to the church in Galatia, and he’s not mincing words: “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you to live in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel.” Ouch. Paul’s calling them out—they’re drifting, chasing something that’s not the real deal. And then, fast-forward to Revelation 3:14-22, where Jesus drops a truth bomb on the church in Laodicea, calling them lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, just… meh.

So, what’s the thread here? What’s the Spirit whispering to us through these ancient words? Let’s unpack this together and ask some hard questions about what it means to call ourselves Christians when our lives might be telling a different story.

The Galatians Drift

Picture this: Paul’s writing to a group of people who’ve tasted the freedom of the gospel. They’ve heard the good news—that Jesus’ grace is enough, that His love has set them free. But now, they’re wobbling. They’re flirting with a “different gospel,” one that’s more about rules, performance, and checking boxes than the wild, untamed grace of Christ. Paul’s not just annoyed; he’s astonished. Like, “How do you walk away from something this good? How do you trade the real thing for a knockoff?”

Sound familiar? I mean, don’t we do this too? We say we’re all in for Jesus, but then life gets messy. We get distracted. We start chasing things that feel like the gospel but aren’t—maybe it’s the approval of others, the hustle for success, or even a version of faith that’s more about looking good than being transformed. What’s pulling you away from the real gospel today? What’s that thing you’re tempted to add to grace, as if grace alone isn’t enough?

The Lukewarm Life

Now, let’s jump to Revelation. Jesus is speaking to the church in Laodicea, and He doesn’t hold back. He says, “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth” (Revelation 3:15-16). Yikes. That’s not exactly the warm fuzzies we expect from Jesus, right? But here’s the deal: He’s not mad because they’re failing at perfection. He’s grieved because they’re sitting on the fence, half-hearted, playing it safe.

Lukewarm isn’t about being a “bad Christian.” It’s about being comfortable. It’s saying you’re a follower of Jesus while your life looks no different from the world around you. It’s showing up to church, singing the songs, posting the Bible verses, but not letting the radical love of Christ reshape your priorities, your relationships, your choices. It’s the ultimate “meh” faith—neither fully committed nor fully opposed, just coasting.

So, let’s get real for a second. Where are you lukewarm? Where are you saying one thing with your words but living something else entirely? Maybe it’s in how you treat that coworker who gets under your skin. Or how you spend your time, your money, your energy. If someone watched your life for a week, would they see a fire for Jesus or just… tepid vibes?

No Fence-Sitting Allowed

Here’s the thing: both Paul and Jesus are drawing a line in the sand. There’s no middle ground in this faith. It’s not about being perfect—goodness knows we all stumble. It’s about direction. Are you moving toward Christ, or are you drifting toward something else? Are you all in, or are you hedging your bets?

In Galatians, Paul’s begging the church to come back to the real gospel—the one that’s all about Jesus’ grace, not human effort. In Revelation, Jesus is pleading with the Laodiceans to wake up, to choose fire over apathy. He even ends with this beautiful invitation: “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me” (Revelation 3:20). That’s not a threat; that’s a promise. Jesus wants in. He wants all of you—not just the parts that look good on Sunday morning.

So, what does it mean to open the door? What would it look like to live a life that’s unmistakably marked by the gospel? Not just in what you say, but in how you love, how you forgive, how you stand up for what’s right even when it’s costly. What’s stopping you from going all in?

The Challenge of Being All In

Let’s be honest: being all in for Jesus is scary. It’s messy. It means letting go of the “different gospels” we cling to—whether that’s the gospel of comfort, the gospel of control, or the gospel of “I’ll follow Jesus as long as it doesn’t mess with my plans.” It means choosing the heat of passion over the safety of lukewarm. It means living in a way that makes people notice—not because you’re loud or flashy, but because there’s something different about you, something that points to Him.

I wonder, what would happen if we stopped trying to straddle the fence? What if we let go of the need to look like we have it all together and instead leaned into the wild, reckless grace of Jesus? What if we lived in a way that made people ask, “Who is this Jesus you follow?” not because we’re perfect, but because we’re real—broken, redeemed, and fully His?

A Final Pondering

So, here we are, sitting with Galatians 1:6 and Revelation 3:14-22. Two passages, centuries apart, both calling us to the same truth: there’s no such thing as a half-hearted Christian. You’re either moving toward the real gospel or drifting toward something else. You’re either hot, cold, or—God forbid—lukewarm.

What’s it gonna be for you? What’s the “different gospel” you need to let go of? Where are you playing it safe when Jesus is knocking, asking for more? And what would it look like to open the door, to let Him in, to live a life that’s all in—no fence-sitting, no holding back?

Let’s ponder that together. Because the gospel isn’t just a story we tell—it’s a life we live. And Jesus is worth it all.

Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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When Heroes Fall – Michael Tait, Sin, and the Long Road to Redemption.

Hey there, friends. I want to wrestle with some heavy stuff today. I was mulling it over and even deleted a couple of drafts before I settled on this one. You’ve probably seen the news by now—Michael Tait, the voice behind so many anthems that stirred our souls, has stepped into a spotlight none of us wanted to see him under. The former Newsboys frontman, a guy whose music shaped our faith playlists, confessed to a “double life” of substance abuse and sexual misconduct. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s heartbreaking. So, let’s talk about it—about sin, falling from grace, the consequences that linger, and the wild, stubborn hope of forgiveness and redemption. Because, friends, this is where the rubber meets the road in our faith. It’s often messy, I wont sugarcoat it, but I also think we have to talk about stuff like this, because sadly it’s so prevalent today.

The Fall Hurts

So, let’s not sugarcoat it: Michael Tait’s confession hit like a punch to the gut. This is the guy who belted out “God’s Not Dead” and made us feel like we could storm the gates of heaven with a guitar riff. But the allegations—sexual assault, grooming, drug and alcohol abuse—paint a picture of a man caught in a spiral of sin for two decades. Three men have come forward, sharing stories of pain and betrayal, moments where trust was shattered by someone they looked up to. One of them said, “To this day I jump whenever someone touches me unexpectedly… It’s heartbreaking to think someone you look up to could do something like that.” That’s not just a news headline; that’s a wound. It makes me both angry and sick to my stomach. Think of the lives of those who have witnessed this double life and the awful consequences of a seemingly phony testimony. Not only does it impact the victims – for it surely has ruined these men, but also the fans and people who have come to faith because of the ministry of Tait and the Newsboys. Where does that leave them? Disillusioned? Lost? Confused?

And here’s the thing about sin: it’s not just a private fumble, a little oopsie between you and God. Sin ripples. It breaks things. It leaves scars on others. Tait himself said, “I have hurt so many people in so many ways, and I will live with that shameful reality the rest of my life.” He’s not wrong. The Bible doesn’t pull punches on this either. Galatians 6:7 says, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.” When we sow seeds of sin, the harvest comes, and it’s often bitter. Tait’s facing that now—public shame, a tarnished legacy, and the very real pain of those he hurt.

The Weight of Consequences

Let’s pause here, because I think we sometimes want to rush past this part. We want to jump straight to the “forgiveness” part of the story, like it’s a feel-good movie montage. But sin has consequences, and they don’t vanish just because we say sorry. Tait stepped down from Newsboys in January, citing a “monumental and heartfelt decision” after prayer and fasting. But the truth came out later: he’d been living a double life, and the allegations that surfaced in The Roys Report forced him to confront it publicly. His bandmates, blindsided, said their “hearts were shattered” when they learned of his actions.

This is where 1 Timothy 5:20 hits hard: “But those elders who are sinning you are to reprove before everyone, so that the others may take warning.” Tait, as a visible Christian leader, carried a weighty responsibility. His sin wasn’t just personal; it impacted a community, a fanbase, a movement. The consequences? A fractured trust, a band moving on without him, and victims carrying trauma that may take years to heal. Sin costs, friends. It always does. As Tait put it, “Sin is a terrible thing, taking us where we don’t want to go; keeping us longer than we want to stay; and costing us more than we want to pay.”

The Scandal of Grace

But here’s where the story takes a turn—not a cheap turn, not a glossing-over, but a real, gritty, beautiful turn. Tait’s confession, posted on Instagram on June 10, 2025, didn’t dodge the truth. He called his actions what they were: sin. He wrote, “By His grace, I can say that for the past six months, I have lived a singular life—one of utter brokenness and total dependence on a loving and merciful God.” He’s been in treatment, seeking help, and leaning into a circle of counselors and friends who are walking with him. That’s not nothing. That’s the beginning of repentance. Some of you reading this might be skeptical and worry his apology is all scripted or insincere. I would challenge, we do not know the heart of man, but God does. Let’s allow God to do the judging, for the consequences are already playing out for Tait.

And this is where the scandal of grace comes in. Psalm 51, the cry of King David after his own catastrophic fall, echoes here: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.” David, a man after God’s own heart, was also a man who sinned big—adultery, murder, betrayal. Yet he threw himself at the mercy of God, and God didn’t turn him away. Tait referenced this psalm in his confession, and it’s no accident. Grace doesn’t erase consequences, but it offers a path through them. It’s the promise that even in our worst moments, God is still there, ready to meet us in our brokenness.

Redemption’s Long Road

So, what does redemption look like for someone like Michael Tait? It’s not a quick fix, friends. It’s not a press release or a single tearful apology. Redemption is a journey, and it’s messy. Tait’s been clean and sober since his time in a Utah treatment center, but he admits he’s got “lots of hard work ahead.” That’s real talk. Redemption means owning the wreckage, making amends where possible, and walking humbly with God and others. It means accepting that some relationships may never heal, some fans may never listen to his music again, and some wounds may linger.

But here’s the hope: God’s not done with Michael Tait. Or with you. Or with me. Romans 5:8 reminds us, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” That’s the heartbeat of the gospel—God’s love doesn’t wait for us to get it together. It meets us in the mess. Tait’s story isn’t over, and neither is ours. Redemption doesn’t mean the consequences disappear, but it means we don’t walk through them alone.

What Do We Do With This?

So, what do we do with a story like this? Do we cancel Michael Tait? Stop listening to Newsboys or DC Talk? That’s a question a lot of fans are wrestling with. I get it—it’s hard to separate the art from the artist when the betrayal feels so personal. But maybe the better question is: How do we hold space for both justice and grace? How do we pray for healing for the victims, accountability for the sinner, and restoration for all involved?

One X post I saw put it beautifully: “The Church? We’re called to forgive, not cancel. We’ve all sinned. Let’s be people of grace and truth.” That’s the tension we live in, friends. We don’t gloss over the pain or the consequences, but we also don’t shut the door on redemption. We pray for Tait, that he keeps walking this hard road of repentance. We pray for those he hurt, that they find healing from the “Merciful Healer and Hope-Giver,” as Tait called God. And we pray for ourselves, that we’d be honest about our own sin, quick to repent, and relentless in pursuing grace.

The Invitation

Here’s the invitation in all this: Don’t put people on pedestals. Not Michael Tait, not your pastor, not even yourself. We’re all capable of falling, and we all need grace. Tait’s story is a wake-up call, not just for him but for all of us. It’s a reminder that sin is real, consequences are real, but so is God’s mercy. As Jeremiah 3:22 says, “Return, you faithless people; I will cure you of backsliding.” God’s calling us to return, to lean into His mercy, and to walk the long, hard road of redemption together.

So, let’s keep praying, keep loving, and keep holding space for the messy beauty of grace. Because if God can redeem a guy like David, a guy like Tait, a guy like me—well, there’s hope for us all.

Grace and peace,
Pastor Scott

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