Thu, 16 Apr 2026 18:37:26 -0500WeeblySat, 04 Apr 2026 13:43:37 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/spring-cleaning-of-the-heartWe are now entering that time when spring teases us. One day, we see it peek around the corner; the next day, it disappears. Still, we know the time is coming, and so we begin to prepare.

You might find yourself sorting through winter clothes, deciding what belongs in the trash or donation pile, what needs a trip to the dry cleaners, and what simply needs a little cleaning or repair before being tucked away. Before long, your attention turns to spring clothes, shaking out the wrinkles and choosing what you want ready for that next bright, warm day. There’s a quiet anticipation in it all, a sense that something new is on its way.

Perhaps this is also a good time to do the same with our lives. With a spirit of honesty and grace, we can look at old habits and patterns and ask what is ready to be let go, what might be set aside for a season, and what simply needs a bit of care to be used again.

We might find that old grudges and lingering bitterness are ready for the trash bin. This may be a time to tend more intentionally to our relationships, to speak with greater care, and even to refresh the ways we show up in everyday spaces, like our conversations or our presence online, with words that are thoughtful and kind. These small acts of care can quietly shape not only our own hearts, but the life of our community.

It doesn’t take much to notice that we are living in a time when conversations can feel strained and patience can wear thin. In seasons like this, it becomes easy to grow defensive or quick to judge. And yet, perhaps this, too, is something we are invited to lay down. What might it look like to “clean up” not only our closets, but our words; to speak with gentleness, to listen with openness, and to choose kindness even when we do not see eye to eye?

For Christians, this kind of reflection is at the heart of the season of Lent: a time to pause, to take stock, and to turn again toward what matters most. It is a season of preparing the heart, making room for the hope and new life that Easter proclaims.

And yet, even beyond the Christian tradition, this time of year seems to carry its own quiet invitation. As the world around us begins to awaken, many feel a pull to begin again, to clear away what feels heavy, to make space for what brings life, and to step forward with renewed intention.
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However we name it, the invitation remains: to live a little lighter, to love a little more freely, and to enter this new season with open hearts and a renewed sense of hope.]]>Sun, 01 Mar 2026 06:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/you-dont-walk-aloneAs winter fades and spring approaches, Christians enter a season called Lent. It is a time to slow down and take an honest look at our lives, to reflect on our choices, our struggles, and our hopes. Lent is serious, but it is not hopeless. It asks us to notice life’s valleys and to consider what sustains us there.

There is an old spiritual often associated with Lent called “Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley.” The first verse is simple:  Jesus walked this lonesome valley; He had to walk it by himself, nobody else could walk it for him.

There is truth in that. As Christians move toward Easter, we remember how isolated Jesus became in His final days. Friends failed Him. Crowds turned on Him. He faced suffering and the cross alone. His valley was truly lonesome.

But then the song goes on to suggest that we must walk our valleys and stand our trial alone, that nobody else can walk it for us.

That’s where I hesitate. We all know what a “lonesome valley” feels like. It may be a loss, a setback, the fear of judgment, or a burden we carry quietly. It’s true that no one else can carry certain responsibilities for us. No one can make our decisions or live our lives in our place. There are moments when the weight feels uniquely ours, and we feel very much alone.

But saying we walk alone describes only part of the story.  Christians believe something remarkable. God came to us in Jesus Christ and stepped fully into our human experience. He understands our story from the inside. God is present, and that presence matters. Support matters. We begin to know we are not alone when someone stands beside us, or when we sense a strength and peace that did not come from ourselves. Even though no one else can carry our responsibilities, we are never abandoned.

The hymn goes on to suggest that we must stand our trial alone. Yet Christians believe that Jesus has already faced the ultimate trial for us, bearing what no one else could and offering forgiveness, so that we do not have to carry our failures alone.

None of this removes hardship or erases loss. But it does change what loneliness means. It allows hope and reminds us that judgment is not the final word.

As Lent begins, this may be something worth considering. In a world where isolation is increasingly common, the promise of presence may be one of our greatest gifts.

Whatever valley you may be walking, may you know this: you do not have to face it entirely alone. The One who walked the darkest valley now walks with us through ours.
 
]]>Thu, 05 Feb 2026 06:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/the-voice-of-god-speaking-in-loveEvery day, we hear a lot of voices. We hear them on the street, on social media, on the news, and on television and radio. Some voices encourage us. Others stir fear, anger, or doubt. And then there are the voices inside our own heads, the ones that remind us of our mistakes and whisper that we’re not quite enough. We are surrounded by voices almost everywhere we go.

But there is one voice that matters more than all the rest. God’s voice is always rooted in love, even when it challenges or guides us.

We hear that voice clearly in the story of Jesus’ baptism. As Jesus comes up from the water, the heavens open and God speaks: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”  (Matthew 3:17)

What matters is when this happens. God speaks these words before Jesus teaches, heals, or does anything remarkable. Before Jesus ever does a thing, God makes sure he knows he is loved.

Anyone who has loved a child understands this kind of language. When we say, “This is my child,” we are expressing love, pride, and joy, simply because they are part of our lives and our hearts, and no matter what else happens, that love doesn’t go away. God’s voice speaks in that same way, with love, pride, and a deep sense of belonging.

But this moment is not just about Jesus. It tells us something about how God speaks to all of God’s children. Long before we get life figured out, before success or failure, before confidence or doubt, God’s love is already there. We are not loved because of what we do, but because love is who God is.

That voice has been speaking this way for a long time. In the Old Testament book of Jeremiah, God speaks to people who have messed up, who have known failure, loss, and uncertainty. Into that moment, God does not begin with demands, criticism, or correction. Instead, God speaks first with love:  “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”  (Jeremiah 31:3)

These words are not spoken after people have proven themselves or gotten everything right. Love comes first—and everything else flows from it.

In a world full of noise and judgment, a voice that speaks love is worth listening for. God’s voice tells us who we already are—loved, claimed, and never alone.
 
]]>Thu, 08 Jan 2026 06:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/clearing-the-wayIn the Gospel of Mark, the Scriptures tell a story many people recognize. A group of parents bring their children to Jesus, hoping he will bless them. As the children approach, the disciples step in and tell them to stop. They probably think they are being helpful by protecting Jesus’ time and maintaining order. But Jesus responds simply: “Let the children come to me.” What the disciples believe is responsible behavior has become a barrier.

Later in the same gospel, a blind man hears that Jesus is nearby and cries out for help. The crowd tries to silence him, telling him to be quiet and not cause trouble. They are likely trying to avoid disruption, but instead they become a stumbling block, deciding for him that his need isn’t worth the interruption. Jesus responds to the blind man and gives him sight.

You may also remember the story of the “wee little man,” Zacchaeus. The crowd surrounding Jesus blocks his view, so he climbs a tree just to see him. The people in the crowd aren’t trying to exclude Zacchaeus - they simply don’t notice that he cannot see. Jesus stops, calls Zacchaeus by name, and goes to his home. That moment changes Zacchaeus’ life.

These stories raise an important question: Are we getting in someone’s way so that they cannot see Jesus?

In a letter to early Christians in Rome, the apostle Paul addresses disagreements over everyday issues like food choices and religious practices. Rather than settling the arguments, Paul urges believers to stop judging one another and to pay attention to how their actions affect others. He recognizes that people grow at different speeds and carry different convictions. When we rush, shame, or pressure others, we become stumbling blocks. Our words, actions, or attitudes may shut down curiosity and trust instead of encouraging growth.

We become stumbling blocks more often than we realize - usually without bad intentions. We do it when we speak more than we listen or assume our personal experience is universal. We get in the way when we dismiss questioning as weakness or prioritize order and tradition over people themselves. We do it when we insist on being right instead of being kind or decide for ourselves who is “ready” or “worthy.”

Most of the people in the gospel stories weren’t trying to be cruel. They thought they were being responsible. But even with good intentions, we can still get in the way, keeping people from recognizing that they matter to God.

Our role is to point to Christ, not replace him. When we insist on our way, our preferences, or our certainty, we risk standing where only Christ should stand. Our task is not to control outcomes, but to keep the path clear so others can encounter Jesus for themselves.

Yes, we hope people will grow in faith. Yes, we hope they will find a path to goodness. But first and always, we are called to not get in the way; to make sure our words, attitudes, and convictions don’t block someone’s view of Christ.

Jesus can and does see around barriers, just as he did with the children, the blind man, and Zacchaeus.  But people often can’t - and love asks us not to build them in the first place.
]]>Thu, 04 Dec 2025 06:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/advent-a-season-of-preparationAs the year winds down and winter settles in, you may have noticed something in the air: twinkling lights, bustling stores, and festive music. Christmas energy is already building around us, but in the Church, another season has quietly begun as well. November 30th marked the start of Advent—a season the Church has observed for more than 1,600 years. It’s a time set apart to prepare for the coming of Christ: remembering His birth in Bethlehem and looking forward with hope to His promised return.

But unlike the frantic kind of preparation that sends us digging through closets for wrapping paper or realizing that we’ve somehow agreed to bring dessert to three different Christmas parties, Advent preparation has a different rhythm. It invites us to slow down, breathe, and make room—not in our schedules, but in our hearts.

In the early centuries of the Church, believers would pray, reflect, and ready themselves to welcome Christ in a fresh way. Those ancient practices have blossomed into familiar traditions: the lighting of Advent wreaths, weekly themes of hope, peace, joy, and love, and Scripture readings that point us toward God’s long-promised redemption.

Today, we prepare for Christmas in both secular and sacred ways. We decorate our homes, send cards, shop for gifts, and gather with friends and family. These are good and joyful preparations. But Advent invites us to something deeper. It asks us to look inward: Where do I need Christ’s peace? Where am I longing for His light? What new beginning might God be offering me?

This blend of outward celebration and inward transformation—is captured beautifully in Scripture. Isaiah 40:3 declares, “A voice cries: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” Preparing the way is both practical and spiritual: clearing obstacles, smoothing rough places, and opening ourselves to God’s renewing work.

Advent isn’t just nostalgia or tradition; it’s an invitation. It reminds us that God has entered this world before—into real struggle, real darkness, real human need— and that God still steps into our world with hope and light. Advent teaches us to leave room for God to work.
You don’t have to walk through Advent alone. Sharing the season with others—in a church community, with friends, or with family—can deepen the experience. When we gather to pray, sing, reflect, or worship, we’re reminded that hope, love, and joy grow when they’re shared.

Christmas may be in the air, but Advent helps us slow down and remember why it matters.
]]>Fri, 07 Nov 2025 06:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/god-isnt-a-facebook-friendIf God were your friend on Facebook, what would you share?  Smiling pictures, family milestones, maybe a few words of thanks? Most of us only share the good things on social media. We want to look okay—even when we’re not.

Sometimes we treat prayer like social media. We come to God with our “best posts”—thank-yous, polite confessions, and carefully worded requests. We pray about the good things, the things we think we should say: gratitude, petitions for others, prayers for peace, justice, courage, or strength to face a personal struggle.

All of these are wonderful ways to communicate with God—and the kinds of prayers we might even feel comfortable sharing on social media. But prayer isn’t about impressing God or managing appearances. It’s about relationship—real, honest, sometimes messy relationship.

And some days you’re just so angry, hurt, frightened or disappointed that you don’t think you can pray. Maybe you haven’t been there yet—but chances are, someday you will be.

Here’s the good news: you can still pray.

Prayer doesn’t have to be neat, polite, or perfectly worded. Some of the most faithful prayers in Scripture are raw, honest, and even desperate – sometimes angry or questioning.  “How long, O Lord?” (Psalm 13) and “Why have you forgotten me?” (Psalm 44) are as much prayers as “The Lord is my shepherd.”

Psalm 44 pours out grief and frustration over suffering and defeat; Psalm 73 wrestles with envy and doubt; Moses, called by God to lead a people who constantly grumbled, cried in frustration “Lord, why have you sent me?”; Job, in the midst of unimaginable loss, questioned God boldly and painfully. And even Christ Himself, as he suffered on the cross, cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”. 

God hears our doubts, our anger, our sorrow, and our fear, just as much as the songs of praise and thanksgiving. Your honesty, no matter how messy or raw, is exactly what God wants in a relationship with you.

So, whatever you need to say to God, say it. God can take it. And the best part? God won’t unfriend you. God knows the photos that have been touched up and those didn’t get posted, the words you didn’t say, the tears you didn’t show. There is no anger or honesty that will drive God away. And there is nothing you can say that will make God stop loving you. You are that deeply and steadfastly loved.

And right there, in the middle of the mess, God listens, and God stays.
]]>Fri, 10 Oct 2025 05:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/whose-side-are-you-onHere’s a story from the Gospel of Mark, chapter 9, that feels like it could have happened just today. John, one of Jesus’ disciples, ran to him with a complaint. Someone was helping others—what people then described as driving out demons—and doing it in Jesus’ name.  The problem was that this person wasn’t part of Jesus’ group, so John and his friends tried to stop them. “They’re not one of us,” they said.

Expecting Jesus to praise them for protecting “the brand”, they were surprised when, instead, Jesus told them to let it go. After all, Jesus said, someone acting in his name couldn’t turn right around and speak against him. Then he said words that have echoed for centuries: “Whoever is not against us is for us.”

This story challenges us today. How do we respond to people who care for others, work for justice, or live out their faith—but do it differently than we do? Do we ignore them, compete with them, or try to stop them? Jesus’ answer is simple but radical: recognize the good in others, even when it comes from outside your circle. 

And we’re not just talking about faith communities. Conflicts in families, neighborhoods, nations, and around the world often start just because we draw strict lines between “us” and “them.” Yet Jesus calls us to focus on what we share rather than what separates us.

The theologian William Barclay once said that true tolerance comes from recognizing that we can never fully know God’s truth. Our perspective is limited; our understanding always incomplete. Accepting our limits frees us to celebrate the good we see in others —­ even when it flows from a different path, a different denomination, or even a different faith.

Barclay’s insight invites us to hold our convictions firmly, but never arrogantly. It reminds us that God’s truth is larger than any one of us can contain. When we realize that, we begin to see allies where we once saw rivals, and partners where we once drew boundaries.

This story reminds us that doing good together matters more than who belongs to which group. It challenges us to act with humility and openness, to see God’s work in unexpected places, and to appreciate the ways people—inside and outside our circles—bring love into the world.
Whose side are you on?  Turns out goodness itself knows no sides.
]]>Fri, 03 Oct 2025 05:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/what-the-bible-really-says-about-hard-timesWhat do you say to someone who’s hurting? Often, we reach for familiar sayings that sound biblical: words we hope will comfort. But many of these sayings don’t actually come from the Bible at all. And while they sound encouraging, they can sometimes miss the heart of the hope God really gives.

One of the most common is: “God never gives you more than you can handle.” It sounds comforting, as if God is carefully measuring out the good and the bad and making sure nothing tips the scale too far. But the truth is, that line isn’t in the Bible. And if we’re honest, most of us know that life sometimes does give us far more than we can handle.

Illness. Grief. Financial stress. Broken relationships. These things can leave us wondering how we’ll ever make it through. Even Paul, one of the most important leaders in the early church, admitted that at one point he was “under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure…so that we despaired of life itself” (2 Corinthians 1:8). In other words, he was overwhelmed. What Paul discovered, though, was that when life is too much for us, we don’t have to face it alone. God is ready to carry us, steady us, and give us strength we can’t find on our own.

Another familiar saying is, “God helps those who help themselves.” But that’s not from the Bible—it’s from Benjamin Franklin. And while hard work has its value, Jesus taught something very different: God helps those who cannot help themselves.

The danger with this saying is that it can make people think God only helps the strong, or that if we’re struggling, it must be because we’re not trying hard enough. But the Bible tells us just the opposite. God’s love and help—God’s grace— isn’t a reward for getting our lives in order—it’s a gift for when we can’t.

God’s grace and presence isn’t always easy to see. We may feel God’s presence in moments of peace or wonder, but in life’s struggles, it can be harder to recognize. Often, it comes through the hands and voices of others—a friend checking in, a neighbor bringing a meal, a stranger offering unexpected kindness. If God helps those who cannot help themselves, we are called to do the same. Your call, your listening ear, or a small act of kindness could be the very way God reminds someone they are not alone—and how grace keeps moving in the world.

So if life feels overwhelming, remember this: you don’t have to carry it alone. God is already with you, offering strength, steadiness, and grace for today. In the end, it’s not the familiar sayings that sustain us—it’s the living reality of God’s grace and presence, meeting us where we are and reminding us that we are never truly alone.
]]>Sun, 07 Sep 2025 01:09:47 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/faith-music-and-a-spirit-of-communityThis past weekend we attended the Lifelight Festival in Sioux Falls. There was music for every taste—country western, pop, rap, even a southern gospel song—carrying messages of hope, encouragement, and the love of God.

We know that Contemporary Christian music sparks strong opinions. Some wonder if festivals like this focus more on teens enjoying the music than embracing its message. Others worry the lyrics simplify the gospel. But at Lifelight, faith, hope, and community shone through—in the songs, the stories, and the people gathered together.

The crowd was strikingly diverse, with people of different skin colors, ages, and backgrounds. Attendees wore everything from cowboy hats to backwards caps. Tattoos and long, scraggly beards stood alongside clean-shaven faces and neatly dressed teenagers. Though different, everyone treated one another with respect and kindness, united in celebration of Christ and community. Most people wore Christian inspired t-shirts, and for an afternoon and evening, God was glorified in Nelson Park—through words of praise, testimonies of redemption, and thousands joining together in song.

Small acts revealed the heart of the community. Kids picked up trash that wasn’t theirs, strangers scooted over so someone else could share the shade or get a closer seat, and a father stood in the rain so his wife and daughter could stay dry. A youth leader gathered her charges under umbrellas as they rode out the brief rain shower. In a world that often feels selfish and divided, these small acts of love spoke as powerfully as the music.

And it wasn’t just the kindness—it was the atmosphere. A man sat with eyes closed, quietly crying as he listened to stories of redemption.  Near the stage, young and old alike sang lyrics they knew by heart—children on their parents’ shoulders, people of all ages jumping and clapping, others quietly joining in. A conga line formed, and friends and strangers alike encouraged one another to join in, creating a joyful, shared celebration of faith. Farther back, a woman swayed gently, eyes shut, softly joining in the chorus. Each expression of joy came from the same place: hearts stirred by faith and music.

The stage offered not just inspirational music, but stories of hope as well. A man who once battled addiction shared how his life was transformed after being invited to church. A young woman, whose first public performance was singing at her brother’s funeral when she was 17, shared her gift with thousands. Another woman bravely told of her experience being trafficked and her gratitude for the group that rescued and restored her. A band told of their bike ride the day before, marveling at God’s creation. Each story and song was different, yet together they told the story of God’s grace.
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As I walked away that night, I thought about how the kindness, joy, and generosity we witnessed at the festival can carry into our daily lives. As Matthew 5:16 reminds us, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” The music may fade, but the acts of love, encouragement, and faith we saw can be reflected in our neighborhoods right here in Brookings, and in our workplaces, schools, churches and hearts every day.]]>Thu, 31 Jul 2025 05:00:00 GMThttp://www.brookingspresbyterian.org/pastor-reflections/integrity-kindness-and-the-commitments-we-keepIn an age where headlines shout about conflict and division, kindness might seem like a weak response.  We may think power means protecting our own interests, but true strength sometimes shows up in unexpected ways—through loyalty, mercy, and compassion.

One such example is King David, a leader remembered for his bravery, poetic soul, failures and heartfelt repentance. But what’s often overlooked is his unwavering commitment to the people he loved, and the promises he made.

Before David became king, he had a deep friendship with Jonathan, son of King Saul. Though Saul viewed David as a threat, Jonathan and David made a covenant to care for one another’s families, no matter what.

After Saul died in battle, the kingdom was divided. While David was accepted as king by the tribe of Judah, Saul’s son Ish-bosheth was made king over the northern tribes. Despite this political rivalry, David did not seek to harm Jonathan’s brother, and when Ish-bosheth was assassinated, David grieved.

David became king over all Israel but never forgot his promise. Instead of eliminating Saul’s descendants as expected, David asked a startling question:
“Is there anyone left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1)

The answer was Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son. Crippled and living in obscurity, Mephibosheth had every reason to fear David. But remembering his promise, David brought Mephibosheth to the palace and gave him a seat at the royal table, treating him like one of his own sons-- grace in action and a promise kept.

In today’s world, David’s story challenges us. What if kindness wasn’t weakness but strength? What if honoring our commitments and caring for others, even when it’s not required or expected, is how real leadership looks?

We may not sit on thrones, but we all have opportunities to keep the promises that bind us to one another. Sometimes that means being gracious in political or ideological disagreements, honoring the social promise of democracy: a commitment to respectful discourse even when we strongly disagree. It can mean forgiving long-standing family disagreements as a way of honoring the deeper promises of family love and loyalty.  Supporting the United Way, Brookings Food Pantry, Feeding Brookings, the Backpack Project, Jack’s Cupboard, Harvest Table, Salvation Army, or Margo’s Place, or others is a way to live out our social commitment to care for the vulnerable in our communities.

As our world wrestles with division and uncertainty, David’s story offers a needed reminder: there is another way. A better way. One that keeps its promises and extends kindness—even when the world forgets how.
Maybe this is a message we need not only to hear but to live and share.
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