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Faith Lutheran Church

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Mount Pleasant, MI
Faith Lutheran Church

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Welcome to Faith Lutheran Church. We exist to joyfully proclaim the gospel of free salvation through Christ alone locally and worldwide. Our 10:15 a.m.

Worship Services are Sundays at 8:00 a.m. & 10:00 a.m. services are livestreamed at faithlutheranchurch.sermon.net

10/28/2026

Ecclesiastes 3:1–6 “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,"

A single leaf let go today. I watched it fall—slow, gentle, almost graceful. It had clung to the branch all summer long, catching sunlight, weathering storms, doing exactly what it was created to do. But now, in this season, its purpose had changed. It was time to release. There is something deeply comforting about that simple moment.

Scripture tells us in Ecclesiastes 3:1–6 that “For everything there is a season… a time to keep and a time to throw away.” God weaves our lives with rhythms of holding on and letting go. And just like that leaf, there are things we carry for a time—roles, responsibilities, habits, even dreams—that served a purpose in one season but no longer serve God’s purpose in the next.

Letting go is rarely easy. We often cling because it feels familiar, safe, or meaningful. But the leaf doesn’t fall in fear—it falls in trust. It releases because the season has changed. It lets go because the tree is preparing for what comes next.
Maybe God is inviting you into a season of release. A burden you’ve carried too long. A worry that has worn you down. A regret that keeps resurfacing. A role that has run its course. A fear that has held you back.

Letting go doesn’t mean failure. It means faith. It means trusting that God knows what is no longer needed—and what new thing He is preparing to grow. And here’s the comfort: when the leaf falls, the tree doesn’t lose its identity. It simply enters a new season of becoming. So do we.

10/27/2026

Philippians 4:13 “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

Firing up the log splitter is on my to do list in the next couple weeks. A good friend needs help splitting and stacking his winter supply of firewood, and there’s something deeply satisfying about that kind of work. The weight of each log, the hum of the machine, the rhythm of lifting, splitting, stacking—it’s honest labor. It’s preparation. It’s strength spent today so warmth can be enjoyed tomorrow. It’s a picture of the spiritual life.

Philippians 4:13 says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” We often hear that verse in moments of challenge or crisis, but it applies just as much to the everyday work God calls us to do. Strength for today’s tasks. Grace for today’s responsibilities. Power for today’s obedience.

Splitting firewood reminds us that some of God’s work in us is practical, physical, and grounded in real life. It’s not always lofty or poetic. Sometimes it looks like showing up for a friend. Sometimes it looks like doing the hard work that prepares for a future season. Sometimes it looks like sweat on your brow and sore muscles at the end of the day. But God is always in that work.

He strengthens us not only for spiritual battles but for acts of service, generosity, and friendship. He equips us to carry burdens—both literal and figurative. And He uses these moments to teach us perseverance, humility, and love.

As each log is split and stacked, a future need is being met. A winter night will be warmed. A home will be cared for. And in the same way, the work God does in you today—through Christ’s strength—is preparing you for tomorrow’s challenges, tomorrow’s calling, tomorrow’s opportunities to bless others.

10/26/2026

Matthew 5:14–16 “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”

On a clear autumn night, the moon rises with a brilliance that feels almost otherworldly. They call it the Harvest Moon—the full moon that falls closest to the autumn equinox. Sometimes it’s in September, sometimes in October, but always it shines with a brightness that seems to linger longer and glow deeper than any other moon of the year.

What makes the Harvest Moon so striking is simple: it reflects the sun’s light more directly, more fully, more beautifully. It has no light of its own. It only shines because something greater is shining on it. And that is exactly what Jesus calls us to do.

In Matthew 5:14–16, He says, “You are the light of the world… let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” We are not the source of the light. We are the reflectors. We shine because God shines on us. We glow because His grace touches us. We illuminate because His love fills us.

Standing under the Harvest Moon, you can’t help but notice how it transforms the night. Shadows soften. Fields brighten. The world feels a little less dark. And it all happens because the moon simply receives and reflects. What if that became our posture?

What if, instead of trying to generate our own spiritual brilliance, we simply turned toward God and reflected what He is already doing? His kindness. His patience. His forgiveness. His courage. His hope. His joy. We don’t have to manufacture these things—we just let them shine through us.

The Harvest Moon reminds us that even in seasons of darkness, God provides light. And He invites us to carry that light into the places where people need it most.

10/24/2026

Colossians 3:23 “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men,”

I don’t fold laundry often—certainly not as often as I probably should—but recently I was asked to help. A basket full of clean clothes waited, warm and fragrant from the dryer. Towels, shirts, socks… nothing glamorous, nothing complicated. Just simple, repetitive work. And yet, as I stood there folding, I felt something unexpected: a quiet sense of purpose.

Laundry is one of those tasks that rarely gets applause. No one writes a thank you note for folded socks. Most people never notice who did it. But love often hides in the unnoticed corners of life. It shows up in small acts, quiet service, everyday faithfulness.

Colossians 3:23 says, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord.” Whatever you do. Not just preaching, teaching, leading, or serving in visible ways. Folding laundry counts. Washing dishes counts. Sweeping floors counts. These small acts become holy when they are done with love.

As I folded each piece, I realized I wasn’t just doing a chore, I was caring for someone. Preparing what they would wear. Bringing order to their day. Serving in a way that would never be seen but would still matter. And in that moment, God whispered a gentle reminder: holiness often begins in the humble places.

The Kingdom of God grows in quiet corners—in garages being reshingled, in early morning woods, and yes, even in laundry rooms. When we offer small acts with a willing heart, God uses them to shape us, soften us, and teach us to love like Him.

Maybe today your calling isn’t grand or public. Maybe it looks like a basket of laundry. Do it with love. Do it with joy. Do it for the Lord. And watch how He turns the ordinary into something sacred.

10/23/2026

Hebrews 12:1 “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

Friday nights in the fall have a heartbeat all their own. The stadium lights flicker on, the band warms up, the crowd gathers, and anticipation rises like a tide. I attend as many of my son’s football games as possible—he’s the head coach for Grand Haven High School—and every time I step into those stands, I’m reminded that what happens on that field is more than a game. It’s a living picture of courage, teamwork, and perseverance.

The writer of Hebrews captures this beautifully in Hebrews 12:1: “Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” Under those Friday night lights, perseverance is everywhere. Players push through fatigue. Coaches adjust strategy. Teammates encourage one another. Mistakes are made, but no one quits. The game keeps going.

We face setbacks, challenges, and moments where we feel knocked down. But God calls us to keep running—to stay in the game, to lean on our teammates, to trust the Coach who sees the whole field. Just as players rely on each other, we rely on the body of Christ. Just as a team follows the playbook, we follow God’s Word. Just as a coach calls out encouragement and correction, God guides us with wisdom and love.

There’s something sacred about watching my son lead young men under those lights. I see courage rise in real time. I see character being shaped. I see perseverance becoming more than a word—it becomes a way of life.

And that’s what God desires for us: a faith that doesn’t fold under pressure, a heart that keeps moving forward, and a spirit that shines even when the game is tough. And isn’t that the Christian walk?

10/22/2026

Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

I was out in the woods well before dawn. I wanted to be there before the deer began their quiet trek back from nighttime feeding to their bedding areas. And it was silent—totally silent. Not a rustle. Not a birdcall. Not even the whisper of wind through the branches. Just stillness. Deep, unbroken stillness. There is something special about that kind of quiet.

In Psalm 46:10, God speaks a simple but life altering invitation: “Be still, and know that I am God.” Stillness is not just the absence of noise—it is the presence of awareness. It is the slowing of the soul. It is the space where God’s voice becomes clear again.

Out there in the woods before dawn, the silence wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of anticipation. Full of peace. Full of the sense that God was already present, already speaking, already near. The deer knew it. Creation knew it. And in that moment, my heart knew it too.

We live in a world that rarely gives us quiet. Phones buzz. schedules press. Responsibilities pile up. But God often speaks most clearly in the quiet spaces, the early morning moments, the pauses we choose to make.

The stillness of the woods before dawn reminds us that God is already at work long before we arrive. He is already guiding, already providing, already preparing the way. And when we slow down enough to listen, we begin to notice His presence in ways we miss when life is loud.

Maybe today you need a dawn moment—a pause, a breath, a quiet space where your soul can settle and listen again.

10/21/2026

Isaiah 64:8 “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.”

The sound of hammers echoed across the church grounds—sharp, steady, purposeful. A few volunteers had climbed onto the garage roof to repair and reshingled it. Most people won’t ever know it happened. No announcement. No spotlight. No applause. Just quiet, faithful work done in a place few ever look. But that’s often how God works in us.

Isaiah 64:8 says, “We are the clay, You are the potter; we are all the work of Your hand.” Clay doesn’t shape itself. It doesn’t decide what it will become. And it certainly doesn’t see every movement of the potter’s hands. Much of the shaping happens in places unseen—slow pressure, gentle molding, careful smoothing. The potter works with intention long before the vessel ever looks finished.

When I heard those hammers on the garage roof, I was listening to a picture of God’s quiet craftsmanship. The volunteers weren’t repairing the building for recognition. They were doing what needed to be done so the church garage could stand strong. Their work was hidden, but their impact will be lasting.

In the same way, God is repairing and reshaping parts of our lives that no one else sees. He works on the roof beams of our character, the shingles of our thoughts, the framework of our faith. He strengthens what has weathered storms. He replaces what has worn thin. He restores what has been neglected. And most of this happens quietly—without fanfare, without notice, without anyone else knowing.

You may not feel the transformation immediately. You may not see the progress day by day. But the Potter is at work. The Carpenter is on the roof. The Gardener is tending the soil. God is shaping you in the hidden places so you can stand strong in the visible ones.

10/20/2026

John 15:1–2 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2 He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”

When you drive through the countryside at this time of year, the fields tell a quiet story. The corn is cut down, the beans gathered in, the wheat long stored away. What remains looks empty—just open ground, bare soil, and the remnants of what once stood tall. But any farmer knows this season is not about emptiness. It’s about preparation. Harvest is never the end. It’s the beginning of renewal.

Jesus said in John 15:1–2, “I am the true vine… and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch that bears no fruit, and every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” Pruning and harvesting feel like loss, like subtraction, like something being taken away. But in the hands of the Gardener, these moments are purposeful. They make room for what comes next.

When you drive past those harvested fields, you’re seeing land that is resting, recovering, rebuilding its strength. The soil is breathing again. The nutrients are returning. What looks still is quietly healing. What looks bare is quietly preparing. What looks empty is quietly full of potential.

Maybe your life feels like one of those fields right now. Something has ended. A season has shifted. A role has changed. A dream has been harvested. And from the outside, it may look like loss. But God is not finished with you.

He is preparing the soil of your heart for the next planting. He is restoring what was poured out. He is pruning what has already borne fruit so that the next season will be even richer. The field after harvest is not abandoned. And neither are you.

10/19/2026

2 Corinthians 3:18 “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

The trees look like they changed overnight—one moment green, the next ablaze with gold, red, and orange. But of course, it wasn’t overnight. It was quiet, steady, patient transformation. Day by day, leaf by leaf, the landscape was being prepared for glory long before we noticed it. God often works the same way in us.

We long for sudden change, instant growth, immediate clarity. But the Spirit’s work is usually slow and faithful, unfolding in ways we don’t see until one day we suddenly do. What looked ordinary yesterday becomes radiant today. What felt unchanged now shimmers with evidence of God’s hand.

Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 3:18 that we “are being transformed into his image with ever increasing glory.” Not have been transformed. Not will be transformed. Are being—right now, in real time, often quietly, often imperceptibly.

Like the trees, our transformation is seasonal. Some seasons feel lush and vibrant. Others feel like waiting—long stretches where nothing seems to bud or bloom. But beneath the surface, God is shaping us, strengthening us, pruning us, preparing us.

And then, in His timing, the change becomes visible. A softened heart. A renewed hope. A deeper peace. A fresh desire to love. A courage we didn’t know we had. The landscape of your life may not look transformed yet. You may feel like you’re still in the “green season,” or even the “bare branches” season. But God is already at work. The Spirit is already stirring. And the glory He is growing in you will one day be unmistakable.

Just as autumn arrives in splendor, so will the fruit of God’s patient work in your life.

10/17/2026

Psalm 103:12 “ as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”

It’s the end of the month, and one of my regular routines is feeding a stack of paid bills into the shredder. They contain personal information—details I don’t want tossed casually into the trash. Once those papers pass through the blades, the information is gone. Irretrievable. Unrecoverable. It can’t be pieced back together or used against me. It’s destroyed for good.

As I stood there watching the shredder do its work, I couldn’t help but think of the cross. Because God does something far greater with our sins.

We carry around guilt, regret, and memories of failures we wish we could erase. Sometimes we tuck them away, hoping they’ll fade. Other times we fear they’ll resurface. But when we bring our sins to Christ—truly confessing them, truly trusting Him—He doesn’t file them away. He doesn’t store them for later. He doesn’t keep them in a drawer to revisit. He destroys them.

The cross is God’s shredder. Not in a mechanical sense, but in a miraculous one. The moment Christ took our sins upon Himself; He didn’t just cover them—He removed them. Eliminated them. Rendered them powerless and unrecoverable.

Psalm 103:12 declares, “As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.” Removed—not relocated. Not hidden. Removed.
Just like those shredded papers, our sins—once confessed and forgiven—cannot be pieced back together. The enemy may try to remind us of them. Our own hearts may try to resurrect them. But God does not. He chooses to forget what He has forgiven.

So, the next time you shred old bills, let it remind you of this truth: God doesn’t just forgive your sins—He destroys your guilt. You don’t have to carry what Christ has already carried away.

Walk in that freedom. Live in that grace. Your past has been shredded at the cross, and it will never define you again.

Address

1402 E Preston Road
Mount Pleasant, MI
48858

Opening Hours

Monday	9am - 4pm
Tuesday	9am - 4pm
Wednesday	9am - 4pm
Thursday	9am - 4pm
Friday	9am - 4pm

Telephone

+19897732629

Website

http://www.faithluthwels.com/

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