Tag: #Christianity

Dude, They’re Shouting: Revelation Gets Real

Alright, friends, happy Friday!
Today, I want to tackle an encouraging passage of scripture. But it’s also in the book of Revelation. And sometimes, thanks to deeply unscriptural books like Left Behind and others, Revelation has been wildly taken out of context.
But let’s take a stab at it, here goes:

So, let’s dive into something wild, something truly massive. Do you ever feel like the world’s just… small? Like your problems, your worries, they’re the whole show? Yeah, me too. But then you crack open Revelation, and BOOM!
It’s like someone ripped the roof off of reality and showed you the backstage of the universe, and it’s so much more than you could have imagined.

We’re landing in Revelation 7, verses 9 and 10. John’s having this vision, right? And it’s not some quiet, little prayer meeting. Forget that. It’s like a whole trip. He sees “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb.”  

Think about that for a second. No one could count. That’s a lot of people. Like, a lot, a lot. And the beauty is – they’re not all the same. They’re from everywhere. Every culture, every skin color, every accent you can imagine. It’s like the ultimate potluck, but instead of bringing casseroles, they’re bringing their unique stories; they’re bringing this truly diverse selection of culture; and their unique ways of praising God.  

And what are they doing? They’re shouting, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”  

Now, here’s the thing that gets me. They’re not whispering. They’re not politely raising their hands. They’re shouting. They’re declaring it with everything they’ve got. They aren’t holding back. It’s a full-throated, heart-pounding, soul-shaking declaration.

Why? Because they get it. They understand the sheer, overwhelming, mind-blowing grace of God. They’ve seen the Lamb, Jesus, and they know that salvation isn’t about how good you are, how many rules you follow, or how much you donate to the church. It’s about God’s love, God’s relentless pursuit of us, God’s willingness to make things right.

And that’s incredible news. It’s news that makes you want to shout. It’s news that makes you want to dance. It’s news that makes you leave it all at the altar and live, truly live this transformed life because of His grace.

See, sometimes we get so caught up in the small stuff, the day-to-day grind, our worry about our finances, the fear of losing a job, the anxiety that keeps you up at night…we get so caught up in that small stuff that we forget the big picture.
We forget that God’s plan is bigger than our problems, bigger than our fears, bigger than anything we can imagine.

This vision in Revelation? It’s a reminder that we’re part of something huge. We’re part of a movement that spans the globe, spans time itself, it’s a movement that’s been going on for centuries, a movement that will continue until every knee bows and every tongue confesses that Jesus Christ is Lord.

So, what does this mean for us today? Well, maybe it means taking a moment to step back and remember the bigness of God. Maybe it means finding our voice and joining the chorus, declaring our own “Salvation belongs to our God!” Maybe it means looking around and seeing the beauty of God’s diverse creation, the beauty of all those different faces, all those different stories. Maybe it means we stop taking it all for granted, and say thank you!

Maybe it means realizing that we’re not alone. We’re part of a massive, glorious, unstoppable movement of love and grace. And that, my friends, is something worth shouting about. So take a few minutes, hours, days, and just appreciate this big, beautiful movement of love and give your praise to God.

Don’t just read it. Feel it. Let the sheer scale of God’s love and the diversity of His people soak into your soul.
And then, maybe, just maybe, let out a shout of your own. You’re in good company.

Grace & Peace!
-Pastor Scott.

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Finding Our Way with a Little Bit of Light…(a pondering on Psalm 119).

Hey friends, let’s ponder on Psalm 119 today.
I know, I know, it’s a beast of a Psalm. It’s like, the longest psalm. Ever.
It’s got more lines than a line your neighborhood Chick-Fil-A at lunch time…well, you get the picture.
But stick with me, because there’s something wild in there. Something that’s gonna make you go, “Whoa.”

So, let’s zero in on verses 105-112, shall we?

Here it is (buckle up):

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path. I have taken an oath and confirmed it, that I will follow your righteous laws. I have suffered much; preserve my life, Lord, according to your word. Accept, Lord, the willing praise of my mouth, and teach me your laws. Though I constantly risk my life, I will not forget your law. The wicked have set a snare for me, but I have not strayed from your precepts. Your statutes are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart. My heart is set on keeping your decrees to the very end.“

Okay, first off, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” Done. Simple, right? But think about it.
We’re not talking about a spotlight, blinding you with certainty. We’re talking about a lamp. A little light in the dark.
You know, when you’re stumbling around in the middle of the night, trying to find the bathroom? And there’s that little plug-in night light to light your way and prevent you from stubbing your toe on that nightstand that’s trying to trip you.


That’s what this is. It’s enough light for the next step.
Not the whole staircase, just the next step.

See, we get so caught up in needing to know everything. We want the grand plan, the detailed map, the GPS (with the ETA of how long it’s going to take us to get there) coordinates for our entire lives.

But that’s not how it works, is it?
We get the next step.
And then the next.
And then the next.

And then, verse 107: “I have suffered much.”
Yeah, me too. You too. We all have. Life throws curveballs. It punches you in the gut. It sucker punches you in the nose when you’re not looking. And life tends to leave you wondering, “What just happened?”
But even in the midst of that, the psalmist says, “preserve my life, Lord, according to your word.”

It’s not about escaping the pain. It’s about finding a way through it. It’s about trusting that even when things are messy and confusing, there’s a light guiding you. Not a guarantee of a pain-free life, but a promise of presence. I know in previous postings we’ve talked a lot about this. But isn’t it encouraging to know that 1) you’re not the only one who wonders about stuff like this? And 2) God gets us. He knows us. He desires to journey along right beside us as we find our way through that next dumpster fire of a day.

The next step is lit…not the whole course of the journey just yet.

And then, verse 111: “Your statutes are my heritage forever; they are the joy of my heart.” Joy!
Right there in the middle of suffering, in the face of danger, there’s what?! JOY?
Not the kind of joy that comes from having everything figured out, but the kind of joy that comes from knowing you’re not alone. You’ve never been alone.
It’s the kind of joy that comes from knowing you’re connected to something so much bigger than yourself.

Because here’s the thing: you’re not just some random speck of dust floating through the universe.
You’re part of something incredible. Something beautiful. Something that’s been unfolding for a long, long time.

So, take a deep breath. Let that little lamp light your way. Take the next step. And remember, even in the darkness, there’s joy. There’s light. There’s hope. And you? You’re gonna be okay. Things are going to be alright. God has not left your side.

Grace & Peace.
-Pastor Scott.

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The Upside-Down Kingdom: Finding God in the Pressure Cooker

Friends, have you ever felt like you’re in a pressure cooker? Like life is just too much? The kind of pressure where you feel like you might crack under the weight of it all? The Thessalonians knew a thing or two about that. They were facing some serious heat, real challenges, and Paul, in his second letter to them, doesn’t shy away from it. But he doesn’t just offer a pat on the back and a “hang in there” either. He dives deep, offering a perspective shift that’s as relevant today as it was back then.

He starts, as he often does, with gratitude. “We ought always to thank God for you, brothers and sisters,” he says, “and rightly so, because your faith is growing more and more, and the love all of you have for one another is increasing.” (2 Thess 1:3, NIV). Think about that for a second. Even in the midst of their struggles, something was growing. Their faith. Their love for each other. It’s easy to focus on what’s wrong, what’s broken, what’s not working. But Paul, he flips the script. He highlights the good, the beautiful, the growing.

It’s a reminder for us too.
What’s growing in your life, even now? Even in the midst of the mess?
Maybe it’s a tiny seed of hope. Maybe it’s a flicker of compassion.
Nurture it.
Pay attention to it.
Because growth, even the smallest bit, is a sign of life.  

Then he says something really interesting. He talks about their “persecutions and trials.”
He doesn’t sugarcoat it. Life was hard.
But he connects those very trials to something bigger. He says these trials are “evidence of God’s righteous judgment, so that you may be considered worthy of his kingdom, for which you are suffering.” (2 Thess 1:5, NIV).


Now, this isn’t some cosmic math equation where suffering equals worthiness. That’s not how grace works. Instead, it’s about character. It’s about how we respond to the pressure.
Do we become bitter and resentful? Or do we, somehow, through the struggle, become more like the person Jesus was?
The pressure, the trials, they can actually refine us, shape us, mold us into people of greater resilience, greater compassion, greater love. It’s not that God causes the suffering, but God uses it.
He redeems it. He transforms it.
Like a potter working with clay, the challenges we face can become the very things that make us stronger, more beautiful, more…us.  

This idea of “God’s righteous judgment” isn’t about some distant, angry judge waiting to whack us with a gavel. It’s about the universe having a certain order to it. A rightness. A justice. And in this upside-down kingdom, it’s often through suffering that we learn what that justice truly looks like.
It’s through the cracks that the light gets in, as Leonard Cohen so beautifully put it.

So, where does that leave us? It leaves us with hope. It leaves us with a God who sees us, who knows our struggles, and who is working even in the messiest parts of our lives. It leaves us with the understanding that even the hard things, the painful things, can be a part of our journey towards becoming the people we were created to be. It leaves us with the courage to keep going, to keep loving, to keep believing, even when it feels like the world is falling apart. Because in this upside-down kingdom, the last shall be first, the weak shall be strong, and even suffering can be a pathway to glory.

And that, my friends, is good news.
Grace and Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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The Dangers of Deconstructing Faith

Hey Friends,
Let’s grab the proverbial cup of coffee – strong, mind you, like the kind that’ll keep you up all night wrestling with angels – and let’s talk about this thing called deconstruction. It’s the word that seems to be on everybody’s lips these days, doesn’t it? Like some catch-phrase or a brand new invention – which it’s most certainly not. It’s like getting fixated on a new pretzel shop but instead of enjoying the twist, we’re twistin’ scripture, turnin’ it inside out salt and all, lookin’ at it under a microscope, tryin’ to figure out if it’s really… real.

Now, I understand the impulse. I do. We’ve all got questions. We’ve all got those nights when the darkness seems thicker than molasses and we’re cryin’ out, “Where are you, God?” Life throws us curveballs, and sometimes, the Sunday school answers just don’t cut it anymore. They feel… flimsy. Like a screen door in a hurricane.

So, we start picking at things. This doctrine, that verse, this preacher’s sermon. We start pulling at the threads, trying to see if the whole tapestry of faith will unravel. And sometimes, dear friends, it does. Or at least, it feels like it does.

See, the danger of deconstruction, as I see it, isn’t the questions themselves. Questions are vital. They’re the engine that drives us closer to truth. Even doubt, in a way, can be a form of faith, a wrestling with the divine. Like Jacob at the Jabbok, we grapple with God, trying to pin Him down, to understand Him, to make Him fit into our neat little boxes. It’s funny that even that part of the Jordan river “Jabbok” means to wrestle with…but I digress.

But the big danger lies in what we replace the old with. If we tear down the house of our faith brick by brick, what do we build in its place? Do we leave an empty foundation, swept clean by the winds of cynicism? Or do we try to cobble together something new, something that suits our modern sensibilities, something that feels… comfortable?

Comfort, now, that’s a tricky thing. Jesus didn’t exactly preach comfort, did He? He talked about taking up our cross, about losing our lives to find them. He turned the tables, challenged the status quo, and consorted with the outcasts. Comfort can lull us to sleep, make us complacent. It can blind us to the very things that make our faith vibrant and alive.

Perhaps because there is comfort in our Western concept of Christianity we have created this space for complacency, while the fastest growing Church can be found in places of discomfort like African, South America and Asia…

Deconstruction, without a sincere desire to rebuild, can lead to a kind of spiritual homelessness. We wander in the wilderness, lost and confused, clinging to fragments of belief like driftwood in a storm. 40 more years, wishing we could just start over. We become so focused on what we don’t believe anymore that we forget what we do believe.  Does that make sense?

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t question. Far from it. But let’s be honest with ourselves. Are we genuinely seeking truth, or are we just looking for an excuse to walk away? Are we willing to actually wrestle with scripture, to engage with the great thinkers of the church, to do the hard work, to pray with all our might for understanding? Or are we simply cherry-picking the parts that suit us, discarding the rest like unwanted leftovers…or some kind of fast food ala cart menu?

The Christian faith, at its heart, is a story of redemption. It’s a story of grace, of love, of forgiveness. It’s a story that’s been told and retold for centuries, a story that’s sustained countless souls through trials and tribulations. And while it’s okay to question the way we’ve interpreted that story, or the ways it’s been twisted and misused, let’s be careful not to throw the baby out with the bathwater.  

What do you think about this topic? Please join the conversation and add your comments below, we encourage a healthy dialogue.

Grace and Peace
-Pastor Scott.

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Naked & Afraid – What Are You Waiting For?

Okay Friends, Let’s tackle a pondering that I still struggle with, and perhaps you do too.
This is karate kick to the gut, a mind-blowing challenge…the crane kick from Karate Kid.
(Wax on, wax off..)

This all about exchanging our control for vulnerability. In a world that tells you to never be vulnerable – it’s a sign of weakness, so don’t do it – God comes to us and implores us to be an open book, to lay it all down and allow Him to actually see us – warts and all.

In the journey of faith, there exists this profound invitation—it’s a beckoning to embrace vulnerability before the Divine. This call is not merely a suggestion, rather, it’s a sacred pathway to encountering the depth of God’s grace and presence in our lives.

Vulnerability, in its essence, is the raw courage to lay bare our hearts before God, to strip away the façade of perfection (all the phoniness, all of the masks we put on, all of the personas we pretend to be) -all stripped down, taken off and we allow our true selves to finally be seen. It’s in this very act that we open ourselves to the transformative power of divine love, unfiltered and unconditional. When we finally do (and I’ve been there a time or two, but admittedly, I’ve tried to put the masks back on) – but in those moments, freedom happens, transformation begins, and true strength is realized.

When we approach God with vulnerability, we acknowledge our humanity—the highs and lows, the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and struggles. We cease pretending to have it all together (because we don’t) and instead we surrender to the mystery of God’s embrace, knowing that our weaknesses are met with divine strength.

Boom. Mic Drop.
It’s not simple.
It takes real courage to admit we don’t have it all worked out, or we are lacking.

In Scripture, we find numerous examples of this sacred vulnerability. The psalmists, in their poetic honesty, cry out in anguish, pour out their doubts, and express their deepest longings before God. Job, amidst his suffering, boldly questions and wrestles with God, refusing to hide his pain or confusion. And Jesus himself, in the garden of Gethsemane, bares his soul before the Father, pleading with vulnerability, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.”

These are visceral.
These are real emotions.
These are authentic people, including a very human Jesus – crying out to God.

This vulnerability before God is not a sign of weakness but of profound trust—a recognition that God meets us in our authenticity and brokenness. It is through our vulnerability that we open channels for divine healing, restoration, and transformation to flow into our lives.

God doesn’t want our rote practices of religion.
He doesn’t desire our leftovers.
He can’t stand our fake pretenses and emotional pleas when our hearts aren’t truly in it.
God seeks to know us – and for you and me to get real about our relationship to Him.

Moreover, embracing vulnerability before God fosters deeper intimacy and communion with the Divine. As we actually begin to share our true fears, real doubts, and hopes openly, we invite God into the innermost chambers of our hearts, where true communion is born. It’s in these sacred moments of vulnerability that we discover God’s unconditional love, which knows no bounds and accepts us just as we are.

We don’t come before God as strangers, instead He invites us in as family, as loving children.

In a world that often values strength and self-sufficiency, the act of vulnerability before God stands as a counter-cultural testament—a radical declaration of trust and surrender. It invites us to release our grip on control and instead entrust our lives into the hands of the One who created us, knowing that in our vulnerability, God’s grace is more than sufficient.


I preached this past Sunday on Matthew 5:3, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven” When we come before God in our poverty… When we approach the Creator of the Universe in our limited temporal shells… When we stop playing church and start being the Church – we essentially are opening our hands and declaring, like the prophet Isaiah did, “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.” (Isaiah 6:5).

Vulnerability is hard.
It takes courage.
It’s laying bare all of your ugly blemishes and embarrassing faults.
But consider what happens after.
God transforms.
God’s love and permeate.
He can truly shine in you.
Vulnerability elevates us while our continued self-sufficiency and false pretenses only serve to limit, hold back and diminish us.

So friends, what will it be?
What will it take for us to finally embrace the sacred power of vulnerability before God?
Not as a mere gesture but as a transformative practice that opens the door to divine encounters, deepens our faith, and nurtures our souls.

My prayer for each of us is that we find courage in our weaknesses, strength in our surrender, and the abiding presence of God in our every moment of this journey.

In this sacred dance of vulnerability and grace, may we discover anew the profound truth that in our weakness, God’s power is made perfect – and where true growth can be attained.

Grace and peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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8 Things I’d Tell Myself as a Young Pastor (Reflections of a “Seasoned Pastor” and I mean old)

If I could pull up a chair and have a heart-to-heart with my younger self, the fresh-faced pastor just starting out, I’d have a few things to share. The years in ministry have taught me a lot, some lessons learned the easy way, others etched in through experience. Here’s a glimpse of what I’d whisper across time:

1. It’s Not About You (But It Kind Of Is): Younger me, you’re passionate, driven, and eager to make a difference. That’s fantastic! But remember, this isn’t about building your kingdom, but God’s. Humility is your greatest asset. At the same time, don’t shy away from your gifts and talents. God called you for a reason. Embrace your unique perspective and use it to serve. It’s a delicate balance, but essential.

2. Listen More Than You Speak: Oh, man. This is still hard for me to do. Some times it’s because I have so much I want to say, and I used to almost always fail to stop and actually listen.
Dear younger me – You’ll be tempted to fill every silence with words, to have an answer for everything. Resist that urge. Truly listen to your congregation. Hear their joys, their fears, their unspoken needs. Pastoral care is less about dispensing wisdom and more about being present, offering a listening ear and a compassionate heart. You’ll be amazed at what you learn when you simply listen.

3. Don’t Be Afraid to Ask for Help: Ministry can feel isolating. You might think you have to carry every burden, solve every problem. You don’t. Lean on your fellow pastors, mentors, and spiritual advisors. Don’t be ashamed to admit you’re struggling. Vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s strength. It allows others to support you, and it models authenticity for your congregation.

4. Grace, Grace, and More Grace: You’ll make mistakes. You’ll say the wrong thing, make the wrong decision, and disappoint people (and yourself). Extend grace to others, and most importantly, extend it to yourself. God’s grace is sufficient, and it covers a multitude of sins – including your own. Learn from your mistakes, apologize when necessary, and move forward, clothed in grace.

5. Invest in Your Own Soul Care: This one is crucial, and it’s easy to neglect. You can’t pour from an empty cup. Prioritize your relationship with God. Spend time in prayer, in scripture, and in activities that refresh your spirit. Nurture your own soul so you can effectively nurture others. Don’t let ministry become an idol that consumes you.

6. Embrace the Messiness: Life is messy, and so is ministry. You’ll encounter brokenness, pain, and doubt. Don’t try to sanitize it or pretend it doesn’t exist. Walk alongside people in their struggles. Be present in the messiness. It’s in those difficult moments that God’s love and grace can truly shine.

7. Celebrate the Small Victories: Ministry can be challenging, and it’s easy to get discouraged. Don’t overlook the small wins. A kind word, a changed heart, a strengthened faith – these are the moments that make ministry worthwhile. Celebrate them. They are glimpses of God’s kingdom at work.

8. Love the People: This might seem obvious, but it’s worth repeating. Love the people God has entrusted to your care. Love them unconditionally, even when they’re difficult, even when they disagree with you. Love them as Christ loves them. Everything else is secondary.

Looking back, I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything. The joys and the challenges have shaped me into the pastor I am today. And if I could whisper one final thing to my younger self, it would be this: Trust God, be faithful, and love the people. The rest will fall into place.

Grace and Peace.
-Pastor Scott.

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On The Edge of Something Beautiful – A Discussion on Death, Loss and Resurrection.

Hey friends.

Let’s talk about something we don’t often talk about directly: death. It seems macabre or taboo. It’s one of those things that hangs around the edges of our lives, a constant hum we try to tune out. We get so good at avoiding it, at pushing it away, that when it crashes into our world – the phone call, the diagnosis, the sudden absence – it can feel like a cosmic gut punch.

And in those moments, the questions come flooding in. What now? Where did they go? Is this… is this really it?

It’s okay to ask those questions. It’s okay to wrestle with them. In fact, I think it’s essential. Because honestly, a faith that doesn’t grapple with death, a faith that tries to bypass the very real pain and mystery of it all, isn’t really a faith at all. It’s just a nice idea, a comforting story we tell ourselves.

But Christianity, at its core, is about something much more disruptive, much more real than that. It’s about resurrection.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Resurrection? Scott, come on.” And I get it. It sounds… well, it sounds like a Sunday school answer (where the answer is always “Jesus”). But what if, just what if, it’s not just a tidy theological point? What if it’s the key to understanding everything?

Think about a seed. You plant it in the ground. It dies. It decomposes. It looks like it’s gone. Finished. But then, something incredible happens. A sprout emerges. New life. From what looked like death.

That’s the rhythm of the universe. Death and rebirth. Winter and spring. The ebb and flow of the tide. It’s woven into the fabric of everything. And it’s woven into us.

We’re so afraid of endings. We cling to what we know, to what’s familiar. But what if endings aren’t really endings at all? What if they’re transitions? Gateways? The edge of something beautiful we can’t even imagine? It’s beyond our current vision, beyond our current field of reality.

Jesus talked about this. He talked about losing your life to find it. He talked about a grain of wheat falling to the ground and dying so that it could bring forth much fruit. He wasn’t just talking about himself. He was talking about the fundamental nature of reality.

So, when we face death – our own or the death of someone we love – it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel the pain. It’s okay to rage against the unfairness of it all. Grief is not the absence of faith. It’s the honest expression of love. It’s visceral, it’s raw, it’s the authentic expression of loss.

But even in the midst of that grief, we can hold onto this hope, this wild, audacious hope, that death is not the final word. (Thank God!) That what looks like the end is actually the beginning. That what seems lost is actually found, transformed, made new. We just can’t see it yet. It’s just beyond our reach. Beyond the “veil” – “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:18)

This isn’t about escaping the reality of death. It’s about facing it head-on, with courage and with hope. It’s about trusting that even in the darkest valley, even in the face of the ultimate unknown, there is still light. There is still life. There is still love. This should be encouraging to us all. We don’t have to fear this unknown variable, or be paralyzed by this interruption of life. It’s okay to talk about it. It’s okay to tackle this topic with the assurance that God is still present and His sovereignty has authority over both life and what we call death. New life is resurrection…we are just on the edge of it peering into something we have yet to understand.

And that, my friends, is a story worth believing in.
Grace and Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

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“The Hypocrisy Hangover – In Search of Authentic Faith.”

Hey Friends,
let’s get real for a minute. This isn’t your feel-good Christianese blog article wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. We’re going deeper today. Let’s think critically together for a moment. We’re talking about that uncomfortable space between what we say we believe and how we’re actually living. Does that make sense? It’s that gray area in between, where no one else is looking. The real you. The one that doesn’t put on a mask and isn’t dressing or looking the part that’s phony or inauthentic.

We throw around words like “grace” and “forgiveness” like they’re hashtags. #Blessed #SoGrateful. But are we really living in the overflow of that grace? Or are we just hoarding it, keeping it locked up in our spiritual bank accounts, afraid to spend it on the messy, imperfect people around us? Silently we judge, and we mentally cast the first stone while ignoring the large boulder in our own hearts. (Okay, it’s getting personal today…sorry/not sorry).

Think about it. We’re quick to judge, quick to point fingers. We build these little kingdoms of “right” and “wrong,” drawing lines in the sand, deciding who’s in and who’s out. And then we wonder why the world looks at us and sees hypocrisy, not hope.

Ouch. That stings, right? But truth hurts sometimes. See, I’m not pointing fingers at you. I’m pointing a finger with you. Because I’m in this boat too. We’re all in this boat. We’re all wrestling with the gap between who we want to be and who we actually are. It’s a continual struggle. And, I want to be honest with you – I’m so tired of fake faith and phony Christianity.

But here’s the good news: God’s not surprised by our mess. He’s not shocked by our struggles. He knows we’re imperfect. That’s the whole point of grace! It’s not about pretending we have it all together. (so take off the mask and stop playing church just to look good) It’s about admitting we don’t have it all worked out, and then leaning into the One who does. It’s about authenticity. It’s about being real. It’s about accepting grace in our messy lives.

So, what’s the answer? It’s not another program, another self-help book, another “7 Steps to Spiritual Superstardom.” It’s simpler than that. It’s about love. Radical, messy, inconvenient love. The kind of love that crosses those lines we’ve drawn in the sand. The kind of love that sees the image of God in everyone, even the people who drive us crazy – even those who didn’t vote like us…(more toe smashing – sorry/not sorry).

It’s about getting off our spiritual high horses and getting down in the dirt with people. It’s about listening more than we talk. It’s about serving more than we’re served. It’s about extending grace even when it feels undeserved (because, let’s be honest, it always is).

This isn’t easy, friends. This is hard stuff. This is the kind of stuff that stretches us, that challenges us, that makes us squirm in our seats. It’s gonna get messy. But it’s also the kind of stuff that changes the world.

So, let’s stop playing church and start being the church. Let’s trade our judgment for grace, our apathy for action, our comfortable Christianity for a faith that’s wild, messy, and real. Let’s bridge the gap between what we believe and how we live. Because the world isn’t waiting for perfect Christians. It’s waiting for people who are willing to love like Jesus.

Let’s go be those people. Alright? Let’s go.
Grace and Peace,
-Scott.

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The Weight of Religion Vs. The Lightness of Love…

Okay, let’s talk about religion.

Not the big “R” Religion, with its capital letters and booming pronouncements. I’m talking about the “r”eligion that creeps into our hearts and makes us feel superior, judgmental, and utterly disconnected from the very love we’re supposed to be spreading.

You know the type. The folks who wear their faith like a badge of honor, a shield against the messy, unpredictable reality of human life. They quote scripture like a weapon, wielding it to condemn others while conveniently ignoring the parts about grace, mercy, and radical forgiveness. Their messages divide people rather than unite them. I’m sure we’ve heard them a time or three…

This kind of “religion” is a heavy burden, a suffocating weight that crushes the spirit. It turns faith into a rigid set of rules, a checklist of dos and don’ts, rather than a vibrant, life-giving relationship with the Divine. It’s a performance, a desperate attempt to earn God’s approval, to prove our worthiness.

But here’s the thing: God isn’t impressed by our piety. God isn’t concerned with how many times we kneel or how loudly we sing, or how high our rank is in the church we serve. He’s not impressed.

Instead, God is drawn to the broken, the hurting, the ones who stumble and fall. God is drawn to those who recognize their own need for grace, who extend compassion to others, who see the divine spark in every human being.

Jesus, in his radical love, challenged the religious elite of his day. He called them out from their bully pulpits and political platforms. He dined with sinners, healed the outcast, and overturned tables in the temple, disrupting the comfortable order of things. He called us to a life of radical service, to love our enemies, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked. He called us to embody love, not just talk about it. (far too many people just talk about it but are devoid of any kind of action, because it’s easier and far less labor-intensive.)

True faith isn’t about adhering to a set of rules or checking off boxes on a spiritual to-do list. It’s about living a life of love, a life of compassion, a life of radical selflessness. It’s about letting go of our need to be right, to be seen, to be better than others, to control the narrative.

It’s about recognizing our own brokenness, our own need for grace, and extending that same grace to everyone we encounter. In a world full of turmoil, peace is something that’s precious and yet so difficult to find. It’s also about finding joy in serving others, in lifting them up, in walking alongside them on their journey.

So let’s shed the weight of religion, the suffocating weight of rules and judgments. Let’s burn our bully pulpits and our divisive platforms. Instead, let’s embrace the lightness of love, the freedom that comes from living in harmony with the Divine. Let’s choose to be a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope in a world that desperately needs it.

Let’s live out our faith, not as a performance, but as a dance – a joyful, messy, and unpredictable dance of love.
Grace and Peace.
-Pastorsponderings.

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5 Truths for the Abandoned Leader: Finding Refuge in God’s Presence.

Hey Friends,

I’m going to go off-script today. I apologize in advance. This blog post is for all of my Pastor and Lay leader friends. I write these words to encourage you. So, as Jesus said, “he who has ears to hear…”

I know what it feels like to stand in the pulpit, to shepherd God’s people, and yet, at times, to feel utterly alone. The weight of ministry can press down on us like a heavy burden, leaving us feeling abandoned and isolated. You may feel like no one truly knows what you do. Some assume you just show up on Sundays and you kick back Monday through Saturday, but we both know that is far from the truth. No one knows about the phone calls and the texts and how sometimes you feel like you have to hold all of those tenuous relationship lines and if you don’t it will all come crashing down. People will get hurt and some will leave the church.

You may feel like no one else gets you.

But hear this: you are NOT alone.

In those moments of solitude, when it seems like no one understands the struggles you face, remember that Jesus himself experienced the depths of isolation. In his darkest hour, his closest friends slept while he prayed alone in Gethsemane. He understands the ache in your heart and the weariness of your soul.

I want to encourage you with these 5 truths today:

1. God Is Always Present Even when it feels like everyone else has left, God remains steadfast. He promises never to leave us nor forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6). In your loneliness, draw near to him. Pour out your heart in prayer, knowing that he hears every word.

2. Find Strength in Community Reach out to fellow pastors and leaders who can empathize with your journey. Share your burdens with trusted friends who can pray for you and encourage you. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 reminds us that “two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.” We need each other. Take the time to connect with peers in your community. Establish healthy relationships. I don’t care if you’re an introvert or an extrovert, we all need the strength of the right kind of community behind us. When we have like-minded friends, we have people who will say, “I’ve got your back, I’m here for you!” Additionally, when we take the time to seek out these like-minded folks, we begin to build a new community of support and soon we discover that others are also searching for the same space of commonality and comradery.

3. Embrace Vulnerability It’s okay to admit when you’re struggling. Vulnerability is not a sign of weakness but of authenticity. James 5:16 encourages us to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed.” As I write this section, I also acknowledge that there are some leaders out there who will misinterpret “struggling” as “not capable” and I want to strongly discourage any leader from rushing to that conclusion. Vulnerability is hard, but there is great strength in letting go of the notion that pastors and leaders have to have it all worked out and you have to have some sort of spiritual perfection to lead. Get over it. Pastors and leaders are just as susceptible to sin and temptation as anyone else. Guard your hearts (Prov. 4:23), and also embrace the need for accountability and vulnerability in your ministry. You should not live in a bubble or an island. When we pop the bubble and join reality, we begin to discard some of the feelings of abandonment and loneliness. In some ways, it’s arrogant to think that no one else gets us, or knows what we are going through. So get serious about popping the bubble and establishing a spirit of vulnerability and surround yourself with trustworthy people (refer back to step 2).

4. Rest in God’s Sovereignty Remember that God is in control, even when circumstances seem overwhelming. Romans 8:28 assures us that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” It sounds trite. It’s almost a catchphrase or something you see printed on a cup or an inspirational poster. But, I hope that the words Paul writes in Romans 8:28 strike your heart and are not just utterings for a momentary fix of encouragement. God isn’t sovereign some of the time. He’s not a God of inconsistency. He is constant, and his authority illuminates the darkest corners of our world.

5. Focus on Eternal Impact Ultimately, our labor in the Lord is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58). Keep your eyes fixed on the eternal impact of your ministry. Every soul touched, every life transformed, is a testament to God’s faithfulness through you. The problem is we want to see the impact of our ministry. We desire to see transformed lives and for them to line our pews on Sundays. But I think we get it backward sometimes. Jesus didn’t fill pews in a church, He went to people. He gave them value. It wasn’t about some statistical report. He loved people, showed compassion, and impressed upon them to live a better way.

Perhaps some of our feelings of abandonment stem from living in a world where we worship numbers and not God. Our world is so focused on numerical success and achieving bigger and better things, but Jesus gave us an example that is countercultural to all of that human need for notoriety, and chasing statistical perfection. The true impact of your consistent heart of servant leadership may never be seen by the world but it will be celebrated in God’s Kingdom. So, stop chasing numbers and perfection. Kill the super pastor that you envisioned in your mind. Live humbly. It will drastically reduce the stress that you feel when you seek performance instead of worship.

So friends, in the midst of your feelings of abandonment, please know that God sees you, He loves you, and He is with you. He’s not aloof. He’s not kicking back somewhere “wishing you the best”.

So take comfort in his presence. He is very near to you, right now in whatever situation you find yourself in today. He knows. Find strength in community, and trust in his perfect plan. You are not alone in this journey of ministry. Keep fighting. Keep serving. Don’t let up or quit. You got this, and, most importantly – He believes in you.

Grace and Peace,
-Pastorsponderings.

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