If 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.

Here’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.

What 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.

This 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.

In 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.

(written on behalf of the Brookings Ministerial Association)

In a time when so many people are looking for hope, connection, and meaning, the churches in our community have an opportunity—and a responsibility—to show up together. One way we do that in Brookings is through the Brookings Ministerial Association (BMA).

The BMA brings together pastors and church leaders from all kinds of faith traditions. It’s not just for certain denominations or theological viewpoints. It’s for anyone who cares about supporting the spiritual life and well-being of this community. If your church or faith group wants to be part of encouraging and caring for people in Brookings, there’s a place for you.

We truly are better when we work together. Through the BMA, we can do things no single church could do on its own—things like the annual Worship in the Park during the Summer Arts Festival, or the Voucher Program that helps people in crisis get a night in a hotel or money for gas or food. We also plan joint services during Lent and Holy Week, and a special Community Thanksgiving Service. And through ongoing partnerships with local agencies, we’re able to connect people to resources and respond more effectively when someone is in need.

Being part of the BMA also gives pastors and church leaders a chance to support each other. Ministry can feel lonely at times, but this group reminds us that we’re not in it alone. We pray together, encourage one another, and share ideas.

We also share in public witness. BMA members take turns writing a weekly article—like this one—for the Brookings Register Church Page. It’s one more way we lift up faith, hope, and community across Brookings.

Maybe your faith community isn’t part of the BMA yet—but we hope you’ll consider it. Encourage your pastor or church leader to come to a meeting, reach out to someone already involved, or attend an upcoming event. You’d be welcome.

When communities of faith come together, we send a powerful message—that God’s love isn’t limited to one building or group, but is wide enough to hold us all, and strong enough to help us serve our neighbors together. 
For more information, contact: [email protected]
Submitted by Donna Flint, Chairperson of the Brookings Ministerial Association

There's a thread of history in the Bible that's easy to miss unless you're looking for it. It begins with a young man named Joseph, the favorite son of Jacob. His jealous brothers threw him into a well and sold him into slavery in Egypt. But God was at work in Joseph's life. After years of hardship, Joseph rose to power, becoming second only to Pharaoh himself. When famine hit the land, it was Joseph who saved not only Egypt but also his own family—the very brothers who had betrayed him.

That's how Jacob's family, the Israelites, ended up in Egypt. And over generations, they grew from a small family to a large population. But then, Scripture says, "a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8). The people who had once been honored guests became enslaved. The impact of Joseph's leadership and faithfulness was forgotten.

It's a cautionary tale. Even the greatest stories of faith and service can fade from memory if they are not lived out in the present. It raises a tough question for today's churches and for all of us who seek to do good: What have we done lately?

Churches often take pride in their history. And rightly so. Many have deep roots of service, worship, and outreach. But if we're not careful, we can spend so much time looking back that we forget to look around. Are we still feeding the hungry? Are we still speaking up for justice? Are we still showing love to the outsider?

And to those who’ve drifted away from church—or perhaps never felt connected in the first place—this story may still speak. Maybe you haven’t seen the church at work lately, and wondered, What difference does it make anymore?  That’s a valid question. But maybe—just maybe--you are part of the answer.  What lives might be changed if you found a faith community and joined your efforts with theirs?

The Israelites weren’t forgotten forever. God called Moses—a reluctant leader with a checkered past—and used him to bring the Israelites to freedom. But it started when someone showed up. Someone listened. Someone said yes.  Maybe today, that person is you.

Whether you're a longtime church member or someone searching for meaning, you don’t have to have all the answers. But your compassion, your voice, your willingness to serve—those might be exactly what’s missing right now. You could be the one who reminds the world what the church can be.

Because no matter how powerful the story of the past may be, the real question is always: What are we doing now?
 

Driving home from Mitchell last week, I was reminded of one of those humorous South Dakota truths: we really only have two seasons—winter and construction. We are well into construction season now and though we may mutter under our breath in frustration as we bounce down a recently torn up road or follow a long line of traffic merging into a single lane, we all know that this is an important season. Without a careful plan of maintenance and repair, our roads would become unusable.

So as I waited, not so patiently, in that long line on highway 81, my mind began to wander and it struck me: construction season is actually a pretty good metaphor for life. We are all under construction, and just like roadwork, our own personal growth involves disruption, delays, and detours.  But the good news is that God has a plan, even when we can’t see the next step.  God sees the whole map and knows where every detour leads.  We are reminded of this in Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

As you live through your own construction zones—those times when you feel like everything is being torn up or rearranged, unexpected challenges come up, or things just seem to be in the way, remember that you are not alone.  The truth is, we’re all a work in progress. Sometimes, that progress is slow and messy. But that doesn’t mean God has stopped working.

And one of the gifts God gives us during our construction season is community. A church family can be like a good road crew—helping to steady us when the path is rough, walking with us through detours, and reminding us to trust the plan. We support one another, pray for one another, and sometimes hold up a sign that says, “caution” or “slow.”

Construction zones are inconvenient and often things get worse before they become better. But they have a purpose.  In the same way, the struggles we go through can shape us, stretch us, and strengthen us. Romans 5 says, “Suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” I don’t know about you, but that gives me comfort. God isn’t just patching up potholes—He’s building something lasting in us.

So the next time you’re stuck behind a line of traffic or rerouted by a road crew, maybe say a little prayer—not just for safe roads, but for a patient and willing spirit. Because in the end, we’re all under construction and with God in charge of the project, it will be worth the wait.

There is one incredible Bible story that many people know well. It has made its way into cartoons, kids’ movies, literature, and even everyday sayings. It’s the story of a man named Jonah and his encounter with a big fish.

It’s an exciting, adventurous tale that captures children’s attention and teaches simple lessons about listening to God. But it’s also a story filled with complicated emotions and deeper truths - lessons that speak just as powerfully to adults. And it’s one of those “grown-up” lessons that we consider today.

The story begins with God calling Jonah to go to the city of Nineveh and warn the people that their wickedness has not gone unnoticed. But Jonah doesn’t want the job. He knows the reputation of the Ninevites. They are lawless. They are enemies. He wants nothing to do with them. So he runs.
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Soon we find Jonah on a ship headed in the opposite direction. A storm comes. Jonah is tossed overboard and swallowed by a giant fish. There, in the belly of the beast, Jonah prays in desperation. He asks God for forgiveness. God hears him and offers grace. Jonah is spit out onto dry land, and this time, he obeys.

Jonah enters Nineveh with a short message: “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown.” No long sermon. No dramatic plea. Just a warning. nd then, something amazing happens. The people actually listen. They fast. They repent. They change. And God, seeing their sincerity, forgives them.

Jonah should be overjoyed. But he’s furious. “This is why I didn’t want to come,” he says. “I knew you’d forgive them. I knew you were gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.”

Let that sink in. Jonah had just, days before, received that same love and mercy. He was rescued and forgiven after running away. But now, when others receive grace, he can’t stand it.

That’s the part of the story we don’t always remember. Jonah liked God’s mercy when it was for him. He struggled when it was for them.

It’s easy to do the same today. We welcome second chances for ourselves or for people we love. But what about people who have hurt us? People who’ve made mistakes in the public eye? People whose values or lifestyles clash with ours? Can we accept that God’s mercy might be for them, too?

At the end of the story, God asks Jonah, “Should I not be concerned about Nineveh?” It’s a question that still matters. Because God’s mercy isn’t just for the deserving or the familiar. It’s for everyone. And thank goodness it is, because all of us, at one point or another, have been in need of a second chance.
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If you’ve ever needed one—or struggled to accept that others might need one too—you’re not alone. People just like you gather each week in communities of faith to be reminded of grace, to wrestle with life’s hard questions, and to grow in compassion together. You’re always welcome to join us.

This time of year, I like to plant seeds in my house. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching small pots, seemingly filled with nothing but dirt, slowly come to life. At first, there’s no visible change. But then, tiny green shoots push through the soil, stretch toward the light, and grow into strong plants ready for the garden.

As I planted seeds last week and dreamed of eventually harvesting a tomato, pepper, or squash, I was reminded about faith and how it, too, begins small and requires the right conditions to flourish.

When we first come to faith, no matter our age, we are like newly planted seeds. We need nourishment—prayer, scripture, and the encouragement of others—to take root and grow. At first, our understanding of God may be simple, much like a seedling’s first leaves. We see His presence in the beauty of nature: in the warmth of the sun, the glow of the stars, and the rhythm of the seasons.

Psalm 8 captures this early wonder:
"Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?"

But faith, like a plant, is meant to grow. And just as a plant needs rich soil and careful tending, we need a nurturing community to support us in faith. The love and prayers of others help us stand strong, especially when the storms of life come.

Psalm 29 reminds us that God is present in both beauty and power:
"The voice of the LORD is powerful;
The voice of the LORD strikes with flashes of lightning.
The voice of the LORD shakes the desert."

Life brings its share of storms—unexpected hardships, disappointments, moments of uncertainty. But just as storms bring the rain that strengthens plants, trials strengthen our faith. We learn to rely on God not only in peaceful moments but also when the winds rage around us. And in those moments, the presence of a loving faith community can make all the difference.

Yet, the same God who commands the storm also speaks peace. After the thunder, He calms the skies. After the struggle, He gives us rest.

Spring reminds us of this truth. We see God’s handiwork in the tulips and budding trees, but we also find Him in the spring storms. The same God who formed the universe walks beside us, guiding us through every season.

So in this time of new growth, may we open our hearts to God’s presence. May we stand in awe of His power yet rest in His peace. The God of the storm is also the God of stillness, calling us to trust, to hope, and to grow together in the fullness of His love.