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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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Stirring Up Love For Those Who Need It.

(Hebrews 10:24-25)

Hey there, friend! It’s Pastor Scott, and I’m just sitting here with a cup of coffee at the airport, thinking about what it means to really show up for each other. I’ve been at a conference this week called “Belonging” and I’ve got to tell you, I felt like I did and as I visited with old friends I felt encouraged and loved.

You know, life can feel like you’re lost in the woods and there’s no one to help you —this life seems to constantly make us feel like we need to be rushing about, all the while life is swirling, pulling us in a hundred directions. And in the middle of all that, we’re called to be people who don’t just float along, but who paddle toward each other with purpose. That’s where Hebrews 10:24-25 comes in, like a beacon, a gentle nudge, a holy (in the translation of my 17 year old son)“Bruh, let’s do this together.”

Here’s the text, straight from the heart of Scripture:
“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” (NIV)

Okay, let’s unpack this, because there’s something so important for us here. The writer of Hebrews is saying, “Hey, let’s think hard about how we can stir each other up.” Not stir up drama or chaos—nah, we’ve got enough of that. Stir up love. Stir up good deeds. It’s like tossing a pebble into a pond and watching the ripples spread. Your words, your presence, your actions—they ripple out, touching lives in ways you might not even see.

But here’s the thing: this isn’t just about showing up to church (though, yeah, that’s part of it). It’s about showing up for each other in the mess of life. It’s about being the kind of people who don’t just coast through relationships but lean into them, and get curious, and ask, “How can I help you shine brighter?” The Greek word for “spur” here is paroxysmos—it’s a word that means to provoke or stir up, almost like a holy agitation. It’s not passive. It’s active, intentional, like poking a fire to make it blaze.

And then there’s that bit about “not giving up meeting together.” Some folks had started bailing on community, maybe because life got hard, or they got hurt, or they just got lazy. Sound familiar? We’ve all been tempted to pull back, to isolate, to think, “I’m fine on my own.” But the writer’s like, “Nope, don’t do it. You need each other. Keep showing up.” Why? Because when we gather—whether it’s in a sanctuary, a coffee shop, or a living room—something holy happens. We remind each other who we are. We encourage each other to keep going, especially as the “Day” (you know, the big one, when Jesus returns) gets closer.

So, what does this look like in real life? How do we spur and encourage each other in a way that’s real, not just slapping a smiley-face sticker on someone’s pain? It starts with paying attention. It’s about seeing the people around you—not just their faces, but their hearts. It’s about asking, “What’s stirring in you? What’s holding you back? How can I help you take that next step toward love and good deeds?”

Here are four questions you can ask yourself as you think about spurring and encouraging others. These aren’t just for you to ponder in your quiet time—they’re for the road, for the conversations, for the moments when you’re face-to-face with someone who needs a spark:

  1. Who in my life needs a nudge to keep going?
    Look around. Who’s weary? Who’s stuck? Maybe it’s your friend who’s been quiet lately, or the coworker who seems overwhelmed. How can you come alongside them with a word, a gesture, a moment of presence that says, “I see you, and you’ve got this”?
  2. What’s one specific way I can inspire love in someone today?
    Love isn’t abstract—it’s concrete. It’s a text that says, “I’m praying for you.” It’s dropping off a meal. It’s listening without fixing. Think of one person and one tangible way you can spark love in their life today.
  3. Am I showing up consistently for my community?
    Be honest. Are you in the habit of gathering, or have you been ghosting your people? Community isn’t perfect—it’s messy, sometimes awkward—but it’s where we grow. What’s one step you can take to lean back in?
  4. How can I celebrate someone’s good deeds without making it weird?
    People are doing beautiful things all around you—small acts of kindness, bold steps of faith. How can you call that out? Maybe it’s a note, a shout-out, or just saying, “I saw what you did, and it’s awesome.” Encouragement doesn’t have to be loud; it just has to be real.

Here’s the deal: spurring and encouraging isn’t about being the loudest voice in the room or having all the answers. It’s about being present, being intentional, and believing that God’s already at work in the people around you. You’re not creating the fire—you’re just fanning the flames. And when you do that, when you stir up love and good deeds, you’re not just changing someone else’s day—you’re changing the world, one ripple at a time. Make sure the people you are reaching out to feel like they belong. Include them. Don’t just let them be spectators, but engage in friendships!

So, go out there and be a holy agitator. Stir something up. Show up. Encourage someone to keep running their race. And don’t be surprised when you find yourself encouraged, too. Because that’s how this works—we’re all in this together, and the Day is coming.

Grace and peace,
Pastor Scott

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Embracing the Disruptive Leadership Model

by Scott Strissel

Hey there, friends! Pastor Scott here, sitting in my favorite coffee shop, sipping on a latte, and pondering something that’s been rattling around in my soul lately: disruptive leadership. Yeah, I know, it sounds like the kind of thing that makes people clutch their pearls and whisper, “Oh my, that sounds dangerous!” But stick with me here, because I think this is the kind of leadership that Jesus modeled, the kind that shakes things up for the sake of love, justice, and transformation. So, let’s dive into this idea of disruptive leadership, unpack what it means, and explore five key characteristics of a successful disruptor. Ready? Let’s go.

What’s This Disruptive Leadership Thing All About?

Picture this: you’re walking through a crowded marketplace, and there’s this guy—let’s call him Jesus—flipping tables in the temple, calling out the status quo, and inviting people to see the world in a whole new way. That’s disruptive leadership. It’s not about being loud or chaotic for the sake of chaos; it’s about challenging systems, ideas, and structures that aren’t serving people anymore. It’s about saying, “Hey, there’s a better way to do this, and I’m not afraid to shake things up to get us there.”

Disruptive leadership isn’t about destruction; it’s about creation. It’s about seeing what could be instead of what is and having the courage to step into that possibility. In the church, in our communities, in our world, we need leaders who aren’t just managing the machine but are willing to reimagine it. Leaders who ask, “What if?” and then actually do something about it. So, what does it take to be a successful disruptor? Let’s break it down with five key characteristics that I think make this kind of leadership sing.

1. Vision That Burns Bright

A disruptive leader sees something others don’t. It’s like they’ve got this fire in their bones, this picture of a world that’s more whole, more just, more alive. Think of Moses staring at a burning bush, hearing God’s call to lead a people out of slavery. That’s vision. It’s not just a vague idea; it’s a vivid, compelling picture of what could be.

Successful disruptors don’t just see the vision—they feel it. It keeps them up at night. It makes them restless. It’s why they can’t just sit still and let things stay the same. They’re not content with “good enough” because they’ve glimpsed something better. As a pastor, I’ve learned that this kind of vision isn’t just about dreaming big; it’s about listening to the Spirit, letting God paint that picture in your heart, and then daring to share it with others.

2. Courage to Break the Mold

Let’s be real: disruption makes people nervous. It’s like showing up to a potluck with a dish nobody’s ever tried before. Some folks will love it, but others will side-eye it like you just brought kale to a fried chicken party. Disruptive leaders have the courage to break the mold, to say, “This isn’t working anymore,” even when it’s uncomfortable.

Think about the Apostle Paul, stirring things up everywhere he went, preaching grace in places where people were clinging to rules. That took guts. Successful disruptors know they’ll face pushback—maybe even a lot of it—but they step into the tension anyway. They’re not reckless, but they’re resolute. They trust that the God who calls them will carry them through the storm.

3. Empathy That Connects

Here’s where it gets beautiful: disruptive leadership isn’t just about shaking things up; it’s about caring deeply for the people caught in the systems you’re trying to change. A successful disruptor doesn’t just see broken systems; they see broken hearts. They listen. They feel the pain of those who are marginalized, overlooked, or stuck.

Jesus was the ultimate at this. He didn’t just challenge the religious leaders; he sat with the outcasts, the sinners, the ones nobody else saw. Empathy is the heartbeat of disruptive leadership. It’s what keeps it from becoming self-righteous or destructive. You’re not just tearing down walls; you’re building bridges to something better, and that starts with loving people right where they are.

4. Creativity That Sparks New Possibilities

Disruptive leaders are artists. They don’t just point out what’s wrong; they imagine new ways of doing things. They’re like kids with a box of crayons, coloring outside the lines and creating something vibrant and unexpected. Think of someone like Esther, who didn’t just lament the fate of her people but came up with a bold, creative plan to save them.

A successful disruptor asks, “What if we tried this?” or “What if we looked at it this way?” They’re not afraid to experiment, to fail, to try again. In the church, this might mean rethinking how we gather, how we serve, or how we talk about faith. It’s about trusting that the Spirit is always doing something new and having the creativity to join in.

5. Resilience to Keep Going

Let’s not sugarcoat it: being a disruptor is exhausting. You’re swimming upstream, challenging norms, and sometimes even your closest friends don’t get it. But successful disruptors have this deep well of resilience. They keep going, not because they’re stubborn, but because they believe in the vision and trust that God is in it.

Look at someone like Martin Luther King Jr. He faced opposition at every turn, but he kept showing up, kept speaking, kept loving. Resilience isn’t about never getting tired; it’s about finding the strength to take one more step, to pray one more prayer, to have one more conversation. It’s about leaning into the One who never runs out of strength.

Why This Matters for Us

So, why am I so fired up about disruptive leadership? Because I believe this is what the church needs right now. We’re living in a world that’s shifting faster than we can keep up with, and the old ways of doing things aren’t always working. We need leaders—pastors, teachers, parents, friends—who are willing to dream big, take risks, love deeply, think creatively, and keep going even when it’s hard.

Disruptive leadership isn’t about being a rebel for the sake of rebellion. It’s about being faithful to the call to make all things new. It’s about joining God in the work of redemption, restoration, and hope. So, my friends, where is God calling you to be a disruptor? Where do you see a system, a habit, a mindset that needs to be shaken up for the sake of love? And what’s stopping you from stepping into that call?

Let’s be people who don’t just accept the way things are but dare to imagine the way things could be. Let’s be disruptors—not for our own glory, but for the glory of the One who’s always turning the world upside down with love.

Grace & Peace,
Pastor Scott

See my other articles on this topic: 3 Warning Signs

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Giving Thanks: A Heart Cracked Open by Gratitude


By Pastor Scott

Hey there friends, let’s pause for a second, shall we? Take a deep breath. Feel the air moving through you, the way your chest rises, the way this moment—this exact moment—is a gift. Isn’t that wild? That you’re here, right now, reading this, alive, held together by a mystery so vast it could make your heart ache if you let it? That’s where I want to start today—right in the middle of that ache, that wonder, that pulse of gratitude that reminds us we’re not just floating through life but swimming in an ocean of divine love.

Gratitude. It’s such a simple word, isn’t it? But it’s like a seed that, when planted, splits the ground open and grows into something wild and untamed. The Bible is bursting with this call to give thanks—Psalm 100 shouting, “Enter His gates with thanksgiving!” or Paul in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 nudging us to “give thanks in all circumstances.” All circumstances? Really? The flat tire, the hospital bill, the argument that left you raw? Yeah, all of it. But here’s the thing: gratitude isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about seeing the deeper current, the one that says God’s love and grace are still flowing, even when life feels like a storm.

So why do we give thanks to the Lord? Because everything—everything—is a gift. The coffee in your mug, the sunrise you barely noticed, the way your dog looks at you like you’re their whole world. These are little love notes from the Creator, whispers of a God who’s extravagantly generous. And yet, let’s be real: we forget this, don’t we? We take it for granted. We walk through life like it’s a grocery list—check this off, get that done—forgetting that every breath is a miracle, every heartbeat a divine conspiracy to keep us here, loved, alive.

I wonder… when’s the last time you stopped and let yourself feel the weight of God’s grace? Like, really feel it? The kind of grace that says, “You don’t have to earn this. You don’t have to hustle for my love. It’s yours. Always has been.” We’re so good at turning grace into a transaction, aren’t we? Like we’ve got to be good enough, holy enough, busy enough to deserve it. But grace doesn’t work that way. It’s like rain—it falls on the just and the unjust, on the put-together and the falling-apart. And yet, we breeze past it, don’t we? We take it for granted, like it’s just another Tuesday, like the God of the universe didn’t just hand us another day to live and love and mess it all up and try again.

So here’s a question: What if we stopped taking God’s love for granted? What if we woke up tomorrow and decided to notice—really notice—the way grace shows up? In the laughter of a kid, in the way a friend texts you just when you need it, in the quiet of a morning before the world gets loud? What if we let gratitude crack us open, let it reshape how we see everything?

And here’s another one: What’s keeping you from giving thanks? Is it the pain you’re carrying? The disappointment that’s settled into your bones? The fear that if you let yourself be grateful, you’re somehow saying the hard stuff doesn’t matter? I get it. Gratitude in the middle of the mess feels like a tightrope walk. But what if giving thanks isn’t about ignoring the pain but about seeing the bigger story? The one where God is still there, still weaving something beautiful, even when you can’t see the whole picture?

The Bible keeps pointing us back to this truth: giving thanks reorients us. It’s not about faking it or slapping a smile on suffering. It’s about remembering who we’re tethered to. Colossians 3:17 says, “Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Whatever you do. The mundane, the glorious, the heartbreaking—it’s all held in the hands of a God who loves you so fiercely it’s almost too much to take in.

But we do take it for granted, don’t we? We forget that the cross was God’s wild, reckless declaration of love. We forget that the resurrection means death doesn’t get the last word. We get so caught up in our to-do lists, our worries, our scrolling, that we miss the miracle of it all. So here’s my invitation: slow down. Look around. Let your heart break open with thanks. For the big stuff—salvation, hope, eternity. For the small stuff—the smell of rain, the sound of your favorite song, the way someone’s smile lights up a room.

What would it look like for you to live with a grateful heart today? Not a perfect heart, not a polished heart, but a real one, raw and open to the love that’s holding you together? What would it look like to stop, right now, and say, “Thank you, God, for this moment, for this life, for your grace that I don’t deserve but get to soak in anyway”?

Let’s not take it for granted anymore. Let’s live like we know how loved we are. Let’s give thanks—not because life is perfect, but because God is present. And that, my friends, is enough.
Grace & Peace,

–Pastor Scott.

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The Fleeting Vapor of Life.

Hey friends, today I am pondering how much vapor our lives contain.
The bible says our life is but vapor (James 4:14) – quick, fleeting, temporary – poof, and it’s gone.

So, I’m sitting here in the quiet, my heart a little heavier than usual today. I lost a friend recently—a mentor, a guide, someone who poured wisdom and laughter into my life like a river that never seemed to run dry. And yet, here we are, standing at the edge of that river, staring into the stillness where their presence used to ripple. Death has a way of doing that, doesn’t it? It stops us in our tracks, takes the breath out of our lungs momentarily, makes us look up from our calendars and coffee cups, and whispers, This life? It’s fragile. It’s fleeting. It’s a vapor.

James, that no-nonsense brother of Jesus, put it like this: “What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:14, NIV). A mist. A puff of breath on a cold morning. Here one moment, gone the next. It’s not morbid to linger on this—it’s honest. It’s the kind of truth that shakes us awake, that begs us to ask:

What are we doing with this one, wild, temporary life?

When I learned yesterday that one of my mentors and friends passed, it felt like the ground shifted beneath me. Maybe you’ve been there too—when someone you love or admire slips beyond the veil, and you’re left holding questions bigger than your heart can carry. Why so soon? What comes next? And what does it all mean for the days we’ve got left? I want to lean into those questions together for just a few moments, because I think, in some way, they’re holy.
They’re the kind of questions that pull us closer to the mystery of God, to the heartbeat of eternity.

The Fragility of Now

Let’s start here: life is breakable. It’s delicate, like a clay jar holding something sacred. Paul, that wild-eyed apostle, called us “jars of clay” to show that the treasure inside us—God’s light, God’s love—is carried in something that can crack, chip, shatter (2 Corinthians 4:7). My friend’s death reminds me of that today. One moment, they were here—laughing, teaching, encouraging, challenging me to be better. Next, they were gone, and I’m left holding the pieces, wondering how something so vibrant could be so temporary.

But isn’t that the beauty of it? The fragility is what makes it precious. Every hug, every shared story, every quiet moment of prayer—it’s all a gift because it won’t last forever. The writer of Ecclesiastes gets it: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2, NIV). This life is a season, a chapter, a melody that rises and falls. And when someone we love steps out of this song, it doesn’t mean the music stops—it just changes key.

The Afterlife: A Door, Not a Wall

So what happens when the mist fades? When the jar breaks? When the melody shifts? That’s where the questions about the afterlife come in, and oh, they’re big questions. But here’s the thing: death isn’t a wall. It’s a door. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die” (John 11:25, NIV). That’s not just a comforting platitude; it’s a promise that whatever lies beyond this life, it’s held in the hands of a God who loves us fiercely.

What’s on the other side? The Bible gives us glimpses, not blueprints. Streets of gold, a new heaven and new earth, a place where “God will wipe every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 21:4, NIV). But it’s less about the details and more about the One who’s waiting there. My friend, my mentor, my Grandparents, my Aunt Joy —they’re not gone, not really. They’ve stepped through the door into a reality more real than this one, where the love and laughter we shared here are just a shadow of what’s to come. It’s not some fairytale story, but rather a hope, a reality, an eternal promise.

The afterlife isn’t about escaping this world; it’s about this world being caught up in something bigger, something eternal. It’s about God saying, “I’m not done with you yet.” When I think of my friend and others who have recently made that transition, I imagine them laughing in a place where the colors are brighter, the joy is deeper, and the love is unending.
And that gives me hope.

Living the Temporary with Eternity in Mind

But what about us, the ones still here, breathing in this fleeting vapor? How do we live in a world where jars break and mists vanish? We live awake. We live open. We live like every moment is a chance to love, to forgive, to create something beautiful. Jesus told us to “seek first his kingdom and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33, NIV), which isn’t about ignoring this life but about infusing it with eternal weight. Every act of kindness, every prayer whispered in the dark, every time we choose love over fear—it’s all building something that outlasts the mist.

My friend’s life was like that. He didn’t just exist; he poured himself out. He listened well and pointed me (and others) toward a Jesus in a way that made me want to run toward Him. His sudden death doesn’t erase that—it amplifies it. It reminds me to live in a way that echoes into eternity, to hold loosely to the things that fade and cling tightly to the things that last.

So here’s my invitation to you, friends: let’s live like we’re made of mist.
Let’s love like we’re made of eternity. Let’s hold the people we love a little closer, forgive a little quicker, and chase the God who holds both this life and the next. Because this vapor? It’s fleeting.
But the One who breathes it into being?
He’s forever.

“The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us” (1 John 1:2, NIV).

Let’s proclaim it with our lives, every fragile, beautiful moment of them.

With you in the journey,
Pastor Scott

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The Journey (a song)


Where the light calls, I will follow,
Through the shadows, I’ll remain.
With hope and passion as my compass,
My heart and soul will guide my aim.

Verse 2
Where Jesus leads, though rough the journey,
Through trials fierce, I’ll still endure.
No fear shall bind this heart within me,
For faith will keep my story sure.

Verse 3
When my journey draws to closing,
And I stand before my Lord,
I’ll lift my voice in endless worship,
Proclaiming peace with one accord.

SS 5/29/25

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Don’t Cast Pearls Before Swine (whaaa??)

By Pastor Scott

Hey friends,
I want to ponder something that Jesus dropped in Matthew 7:6, something that’s got a raw and gritty edge to it: “Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces.” Whoa. Jesus, pulling no punches. But what’s he getting at here? What does this mean? What’s going on with this pearl? And, who’s the swine? And what does this mean for us, right now, in our sometimes messy lives?

Let’s go back first.
Picture it: Jesus, on a hillside, teaching a crowd that’s hanging on his every word. He’s in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount, laying out this insanely radical vision for what it means to live in God’s kingdom. He tells them to love their enemies. Turn the other cheek. Don’t worry about tomorrow. And then, mic drop, he hits them with this: don’t cast your pearls before swine. It’s vivid, it’s jarring, and it’s meant to make you stop and think. I can almost imagine some of the crowd scratching their heads and saying, “huh?!”

In that first-century world, pearls were treasures—rare, precious, the kind of thing you’d guard with your life. Pigs, on the other hand? They were unclean animals in Jewish culture, not exactly known for their discernment. A pig doesn’t know a pearl from a pebble. It’ll trample anything in its path, looking for slop. And dogs? In that context, they weren’t your cuddly golden retriever. They were scavengers, wild, ready to snap at whatever you tossed their way.

Jesus is painting a picture here, and it’s not subtle.

So, what’s the pearl?
Maybe it’s the sacred, the holy—the deep truths of God’s kingdom, the gospel itself, your heart’s deepest convictions. And the swine or dogs? They could be people or situations that can’t receive what you’re offering, that might even turn it against you. Back then, Jesus might’ve been warning his followers not to waste their energy trying to force the good news on those who were openly hostile to it—like certain religious leaders or Roman oppressors who’d mock or destroy what was sacred. It’s not about giving up on people; it’s about wisdom, about knowing when to share and when to hold back.

But let’s make this relevant for us today:
What does this mean for us, today, in 2025, as we navigate a world of social media shouting matches, polarized families, politics, and a culture that sometimes feels like it’s allergic to nuance? What are the pearls in your life? Your faith? Your hope? Your vulnerability? That dream God’s planted in your heart? And where are you casting them? Are you pouring your soul into spaces that honor it, or are you scattering it in places that trample it—scrolling through endless comment threads, arguing with that one uncle who’s never going to hear you, or chasing approval from people who don’t get your worth?

  • Here’s a question to chew on: What if the swine aren’t always people, but systems, habits, or mindsets?
    Think about it. Maybe it’s that toxic workplace that chews up your creativity. Or the endless hustle that leaves no room for Sabbath. Or the inner voice that tells you you’re not enough, trampling the truth of who God says you are. Are you casting your pearls there, hoping for something different, only to end up torn apart?
  • And here’s another one: What if we’re sometimes the swine? Ouch!! That stings. Have you ever been in a place where someone offered you something beautiful—a kind word, a hard truth, a moment of grace—and you weren’t ready to receive it? Maybe you brushed it off, or worse, lashed out. Jesus’ words invite us to look at both sides: how we share, and how we receive.

>>This teaching isn’t about building walls or writing people off. Jesus isn’t saying, “Give up on the world.” He’s the guy who ate with tax collectors and sinners, after all. This is about discernment, about stewarding what’s sacred with care. It’s about knowing when to speak, when to listen, and when to walk away. It’s about trusting that God’s truth doesn’t need to be forced—it’s powerful enough to find its way in the right time, in the right hearts.

So, today, what’s one pearl you’re holding? Maybe it’s a story you’re afraid to tell, a conviction you’re scared to share, or a piece of yourself you’ve been giving to places that don’t see its value. And what would it look like to guard that pearl, to share it wisely, to offer it where it might take root and grow?

  • And here’s a final question: What if the act of not casting your pearls before swine is an act of love—for yourself, for others, for the God who gave you those pearls in the first place?

    Because love doesn’t waste what’s precious. Love knows when to hold, when to release, and when to trust that God’s got it.

So, dear friends, get out there today. Hold your pearls with care. Share them with courage. And trust that the One who made the pearl, and you, knows exactly where they’re meant to shine.

Grace &Peace,
Pastor Scott

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