Our Savior Presbyterian Church

05/26/2026

Aren’t we amazingly created?

05/24/2026

In the spirit of summer reading, I am suggesting four books that have influenced and inspired me. Books will be available to borrow until Labor Day weekend. Check them out!

05/11/2026

Join us and help get the church gardens looking beautiful for summer!

04/27/2026

Pastor Margaret’s installation was Sunday! There was a very good sermon on being the salt in this world! Questions for her and for us the congregation. She had lot of family support too! Let’s go forward being Jesus to this broken world!

04/18/2026

153 very countable reasons to trust Him!

There is this moment after the resurrection where the disciples, understandably a little “what now” about life, go back to fishing. Because when everything feels uncertain, you default to what you know. So here they are, professional fishermen, out all night, doing their job…which in this case means catching absolutely nothing. Zero. Not even a sympathy fish. Then Jesus shows up on the shore, and they do not even realize it is Him at first, and He tells them to cast the net on the other side of the boat. Which, if we are being honest, has the same energy as someone walking into a calf barn and suggesting have you tried feeding them. Same water. Same boat. Same tired crew. But they listen anyway, and suddenly the net is so full it should not work…and when they drag it in, they count them. One hundred and fifty three fish. Not “a lot.” Not “more than usual.” Exactly 153. Because apparently Jesus does not do vague when He is making a point.

And that number has made people pause ever since, because Scripture does not usually throw in oddly specific details just for decoration. Some, like Jerome, pointed out that people in the ancient world believed there were 153 known species of fish, which would make this catch a picture of all nations, all people, gathered in. Others have noticed that 153 is a triangular number, meaning it is the sum of 1 through 17, and if you break that down further, 10 often represents the law and 7 represents completeness, which together paints this picture of something being made whole. And then there are the very practical people who say the disciples counted the fish because they had just gone from catching nothing to suddenly having the best fishing story of their lives, and they were absolutely going to make sure nobody accused them of exaggerating.

But then you get into the language side of things, because in Hebrew and Greek, letters also carry numerical value, so names and phrases can be counted. It is called gematria, and while I am not about to build my entire theology on math, it does make you stop and look twice at a number like 153. The name of Jesus in Greek adds up to 888, which is often associated with new life and new beginnings, and some have pointed out that certain Hebrew phrases tied to God’s people or fullness line up with 153. In other words, whether you are looking at symbolism, math, or language, the number keeps circling back to the same idea of completeness, of something gathered that ultimately belongs to Him.

And here is the part I love. Jesus did not just give them a miracle. He gave them a measurable one. A number they could count, recount, probably argue about later just to make sure they remembered it right. He met them in something ordinary, something they understood, and then filled it beyond expectation in a way they could not explain away. And it came after one simple instruction that did not make much sense at the time. Cast the net on the other side. Same water. Different outcome. Because sometimes the difference is not the situation, it is the obedience.

The same Jesus who knew exactly where those fish were and exactly how many they would pull in is the same One who knows every detail before we ever see the result. Nothing random. Nothing overlooked. Nothing “close enough.” Just precise, intentional, and somehow still personal. Which means if He could take a night of nothing and turn it into 153 very countable reasons to trust Him, He is still more than capable of stepping into our “we already tried that” kind of moments and proving otherwise…even if it starts with something as simple as trying the other side.

04/16/2026

What a great story of what our Father is

Alright, let’s talk about the parable of the prodigal son, because this is one of those stories that sounds soft and sentimental until you actually understand what is happening, and then suddenly it is not soft at all.

You’ll find it in Luke 15, and most of us have heard it enough times that it kind of turns into background noise. Lost son, bad choices, comes home, gets a hug, everyone cries, end scene. Except no. This story starts off offensive.

The younger son walks up to his father and basically says, “I would like my inheritance now.” And we hear that and think, wow, bold move. In that culture, that was not bold, that was brutal. That was essentially saying, “I wish you were dead, but since you are not, can I just have your stuff anyway.” This is not a phase, this is not teenage rebellion, this is a full rejection of his father, his family, and his place in society.

And the father hands it over. Which should already make you stop for a second, because any respectable father in that time had every right to shut that down immediately. Discipline him, cut him off, do something. Instead, he absorbs the insult, divides up his property, and lets his son walk away with it.

So the son takes the money and leaves, and we are told he wastes it. Not made a few questionable investments, not tried his best, he wastes it. Completely. Think less budgeting app and more how quickly can I set my entire future on fire. And then famine hits, because of course it does. Because if you are going to make a series of bad decisions, life tends to follow that up with, oh and by the way, everything is about to get harder.

So now he is broke, alone, and desperate, and he ends up feeding pigs. And I need you to understand how low that is. For a Jewish man, pigs were unclean. Not just undesirable, unclean. You did not touch them, you did not work with them, you did not build your life around them. This is not I picked up a job I do not love, this is rock bottom socially, spiritually, and physically.

And it gets worse. He is so hungry he is looking at what the pigs are eating and thinking that actually looks like an option right now. That is where he is at.

So he decides to go home, and I would love to say this is a beautiful moment of deep emotional realization about everything he has done. It is not. He is starving. And he starts rehearsing a speech. Fully prepared, practiced, probably said it out loud a few times while walking. “I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.” This man is not coming home expecting a hug, he is coming home hoping for a job application.

Because he knows what he deserves.

And here is where everything shifts. Before he even gets there, the father sees him. Which means the father has been looking. Watching. Waiting. This is not a coincidence, this is not oh look who showed up, this is someone who has been scanning the horizon like, is today the day.

And then the father runs. And we read that and think, oh that is sweet. No, that is shocking. Men of that status did not run. Ever. It was undignified. It meant lifting up heavy robes, exposing your legs, which in that culture was embarrassing. You did not do that if you cared at all about your reputation.

And this father does not just jog politely, he runs. Because the son is not the only one who would have seen him coming. The entire village would have seen him too. And a son who had publicly rejected his father, taken his inheritance, and blown it all did not just walk back into town like nothing happened. There was a very real expectation of public shame, rejection, being completely cut off from the community, or actually being killed. A just response, a deserved response.

And the father gets there first. He runs to his son, throws his arms around him, and this is not a polite hug. This is grabbing him, holding him, covering him before anyone else can get to him. The son starts his rehearsed speech, because of course he does, he has been practicing it the entire walk home, “I have sinned against heaven and against you, I am no longer worthy to be called your son,” and the father cuts him off.

He does not even let him finish.

He calls for the robe, the ring, the sandals. And those are not random items. The robe is status, the ring is authority, the sandals mean he is not a servant because servants went barefoot. The father is not easing him back in, he is fully restoring him on the spot. No probation period, no let’s see if you have changed, no you can sleep in the barn and earn your way back. Full restoration, immediately, publicly.

Which also means that if anyone in that village had a problem with it, if anyone wanted to shame him, punish him, remind him of what he had done, they would have had to go through the father first. Because the father is the one standing there, holding him, covering him, taking the weight of it.

The son deserved rejection. The father gave him restoration. The son came back with a plan to earn a place. The father gave him a place he never had to earn back.

And if we are being honest, this is where it gets uncomfortable. Because we love justice. We love the idea that people get what they deserve. We love a good well that is what happens when you make bad choices moment. And this story just completely wrecks that.

Because it is not about what the son deserves. It is about who the father is.

A father who absorbs the insult, waits through the rebellion, runs toward the mess, and covers the one who should have been cast out.

And if we are really honest, we all like to think we are the responsible one in this story. The one who stayed, the one who did it right. But most of us, at some point, are the one coming back with a fully rehearsed apology, hoping we can just be allowed to exist somewhere on the edge…

…only to find a Father already running toward us like dignity can wait and restoration cannot.

04/14/2026

In two weeks on April 26th there will be an important event happening in the life of Pastor Margaret and at Our Savior. There will be a special service at our church with members of our Presbytery present for the installation of Pastor Margaret. This will be a special time of commitment for the life of our church, with her and our Presbytery. But more importantly in Pastor Margaret's life and her calling to God and our church. The service will be at 4pm, followed by a meal afterwards. We will be providing the meat and cheese trays along with the buns and drinks. We are asking for volunteers to provide the rest. We will need 3 potato casseroles, salads and desserts. Please let Dawn or myself know what you are willing to provide. Please plan to attend the service and stay for the meal and time of fellowship. Pass this info along to any others that you think might like to attend.

04/10/2026

Pastor Margaret will be installed April 26th at 4PM!

04/04/2026

A colorful Easter door created by our youth! Come celebrate Easter with us!
Breakfast 8am
Worship service 10Am

04/04/2026

Silent Saturday!

It is Saturday, and nothing is happening, or at least that is what it feels like when you are standing in it. Friday was loud and overwhelming and impossible to ignore, full of movement and decisions and people doing things even when those things were wrong and painful. Saturday is the opposite. Saturday is quiet in a way that makes you uncomfortable, like the world kept moving but something important did not come with it.

The crucifixion of Jesus is over, and now there is this strange stillness that settles in after it, the kind where people speak a little softer because no one knows what to say and no one wants to say the wrong thing. The tomb is sealed and a stone sits in place that looks very final and very unmoving and very much like the end of the story if you are looking at it from the outside. Guards stand nearby as if that somehow makes it more permanent, as if what just happened needed reinforcement.

The people who loved Him are left with a day that does not have a clear purpose. There is nothing to fix, nothing to undo, nothing to change. They cannot go back to yesterday, and they cannot move forward into anything that makes sense, so they sit in it, trying to process something that does not line up with anything they thought was going to happen. They had expectations and plans and a picture of how this story was supposed to go and none of it included a tomb or silence or a day where God feels this quiet.

If we are being honest, this is the day we know best. Not the intensity of Friday, where everything falls apart all at once in a way that is obvious and undeniable, but Saturday, the day after, the day where the worst has already happened and now you are left sitting in it, trying to figure out how to move forward when forward does not look like anything you expected. It is the day where prayers feel like they are hitting the ceiling, and heaven feels quieter than you would prefer, and you start wondering if maybe you misunderstood everything.

Saturday is the day of waiting and no one enjoys waiting, especially not the kind where you do not even know what you are waiting for. We like answers and progress and at least some indication that things are heading somewhere that will make sense eventually. Saturday does not offer that. It just exists, stretching out in front of you with no clear resolution and no immediate sign that anything is changing.

What makes it even heavier is that for them this did not feel like a pause in the story. It felt like the end. They were not sitting there thinking something better was coming. They were sitting there believing it was over, that what they had hoped for was gone, and that whatever God was doing did not look like anything they recognized. The silence felt final because they thought it was.

And yet, while they sat in that silence, while nothing visible was happening, that did not mean nothing was happening. God was not absent, and He was not late, and He was not trying to figure out what to do next. He was already working in ways they could not see, behind the stone, beyond their understanding, moving the story forward even when it looked like it had stopped.

That is why Saturday matters. Because we live here more than we like to admit. We live in the in between, in the space where something has ended and the next thing has not begun yet, where it feels like God is quiet, and we are left trying to decide if that means He is gone or if it means we just cannot see what He is doing yet.

If you are in a Saturday right now, sitting in that space where it feels like the story ended wrong and nothing is moving and heaven feels silent, it is worth remembering that the people who stood in the original Saturday thought it was over too. They went to sleep that night believing the story had ended, not realizing they were standing in the middle of something that was about to change everything.

They were wrong about the ending, and sometimes we are too, because just because it is Saturday does not mean the story is finished. It just means you have not seen what happens next yet.