Redeemer Lutheran Church - Salem, Oregon

Redeemer Lutheran Church - Salem, Oregon Welcome to Redeemer Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod, in Salem, Oregon. OUR SUNDAY SERVICES ARE LIVE STREAMED on our YouTube Channel.

We work to share God's love and grace to all through worship, witness, teaching, service, and outreach.

FREE!!    MONDAY - FRIDAY | JUNE 22-26 | 9:00-11:30amVacation Bible School (VBS) is a fun, week-long church program for ...
06/01/2026

FREE!! MONDAY - FRIDAY | JUNE 22-26 | 9:00-11:30am

Vacation Bible School (VBS) is a fun, week-long church program for children that includes Bible stories, music, games, crafts, snacks, and activities centered around a Christian theme. It’s designed to help kids learn about God’s love in an energetic, welcoming environment while making friends and having fun.

FREE for children ages 4 through 5th grade.
This summer we're going on a Tropical Trek where we will learn how Jesus came to seek and save the lost (Luke 19:10)! As we traverse fun and exciting places, like a dormant volcano and island caves, we’ll discover how God finds us and helps us in every challenge we face.

LOCATION: Redeemer Lutheran Church, 4663 Lancaster Dr. NE, Salem OR 97305
(Corner of Lancaster & Hayesville Dr.)
REGISTER ONLINE HERE: https://www.redeemer-lcms.org/vbs
OR DOWNLOAD A REGISTRATION FORM and drop it off at the church office Tue-Fri 9am-12pm.

https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/cB8QFbK9H2b
04/30/2026

https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/cB8QFbK9H2b

Most of us say we want clarity. What we really want is certainty about the future. And Jesus never promised that. What he promised was his own presence, every step of the way.In this final message of the series Jesus. Right Where You Are, Pastor John Rallison explores Psalm 23 and John 10, and what....

WE DON'T GET A MAP. WE GET A SHEPHERD.Most of us say we want clarity. What we actually want is certainty. We want to kno...
04/29/2026

WE DON'T GET A MAP. WE GET A SHEPHERD.

Most of us say we want clarity. What we actually want is certainty. We want to know how the story ends before we agree to live it. We want a map, full route, no surprises, destination guaranteed.

That is understandable. But it is something Jesus never promised.
He said, in the world you will have tribulation. He said, take heart, I have overcome the world. He promised presence. He promised ultimate victory. He did not promise a preview of how your particular situation resolves. And that distinction matters more than we usually acknowledge, because most of our anxiety about the future is really a demand for certainty dressed up as a request for clarity.

This is the third post in the series "Jesus. Right Where You Are," built on the conviction that the risen Christ meets people in the actual conditions of their lives. The first post explored how Jesus enters fearful places in our lives and speaks peace before we have solved anything. The second explored how he walks alongside disappointed people and re-anchors their hope in what he has truly promised. This one is about uncertainty, and the surprising gift Jesus offers in the middle of it.

The Shepherd Does Not Hand the Sheep a Map

In John 10, Jesus describes himself as the Good Shepherd. The sheep hear his voice. He calls them by name. He goes before them. The sheep follow not because they have been given a detailed itinerary but because they know the shepherd. Direction in the Christian life is relational before it is informational. You learn to recognize a voice. That takes time, exposure, and some quiet.

Psalm 23 makes the same point through its verbs. He leads. He restores. He guides. Not he showed me the route in advance. Not he explained what was coming. He leads. Present tense. One step at a time.

And John 15 adds the image that ties it together. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever abides in me bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. The word is abide, not strategize. The fruit comes from staying connected, not from having figured out the road ahead.

The Rod and the Staff

Psalm 23:4 gets to the heart of this: even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

The reason David is not afraid in the valley is not that he knows what happens next. It comes down to a single truth: you are with me.

The rod was a short heavy club the shepherd carried in his belt. He used it to fight off predators, to examine each sheep by parting the wool in search of hidden wounds, and to redirect a wandering sheep with a startling throw near its path. Nothing could reach the flock without going through the shepherd first.

The staff was long, five or six feet, with a curved crook at the top. It could steer a sheep with gentle pressure on the flank, or lift one from a pit. A large part of why sheep are so vulnerable and need so much guidance has to do with the way they see the world.

Sheep have nearly 340 degrees of panoramic vision. But their binocular overlap, the zone where both eyes work together to judge depth and distance, is only about 25 degrees directly in front. Everywhere else the world is essentially flat. No depth, no spatial certainty. Which means in a rocky canyon at dusk, a sheep is not blind. It is overwhelmed. Every shadow looks like a hole. Every shift of light looks like a threat. Its own eyes are giving it unreliable information.

So the shepherd lays the staff against the sheep's side. Steady. Constant. The sheep cannot trust what its eyes are telling it. But it can feel the shepherd. That physical contact overrides the visual confusion. The staff says: I am here. The ground is real. Keep walking.

This is actually a more honest picture of how most of us experience uncertainty than the image of total darkness. Sometimes the overwhelm is fear or grief, where every shadow looks like a threat and we cannot trust what we are seeing. But at other times it is the sheer volume of information, options, and voices competing for our attention. Even good choices in abundance can paralyze us, causing us to freeze, decide poorly, or not decide at all. Our vision goes flat not only in the valley but in the noise of ordinary life. And in all of it, the shepherd does not fix our vision. He puts the staff against our side and stays there.

Christ Is the Concrete Thing

At some point, if you have been sitting with this long enough, a reasonable voice inside you says: that is all well and good, but I need something concrete. Something I can actually do.

That instinct is understandable. But here is the gentle pushback: Christ is not vague. He is not a feeling or a spiritual atmosphere. John says the Word became flesh, full of grace and truth. Grace and truth are not abstractions. They are always available. You may not know what the next year holds. You may have three options and no idea which one is right. But you can always ask what grace looks like here. You can always ask what truth looks like here. Speaking truthfully and lovingly is always the next faithful thing, even when nothing else is clear.

That is not nothing. That is actually everything.

The Presence Is the Clarity

People come to the question of direction wanting clarity because they believe clarity will bring them peace. If I just knew what to do, I could rest. But that gets it exactly backwards.

Peace does not come from knowing the road ahead. It comes from knowing who walks with you.

The disciples behind locked doors did not get an explanation of what would happen next. They got Jesus standing in the room, saying peace. The disciples on the road to Emmaus did not get a revised plan. They got Jesus walking beside them, opening the Scriptures, making himself known. In uncertainty, you do not get a map. You get a shepherd.

Sometimes there is a next step you can see, and you should take it. But sometimes the way forward stays dark, and that is not a failure of faith. That is the valley of the shadow of death, and the promise for that place is not illumination. It is presence.

Not because I can see. Because he is there.

The risen Christ is not waiting for you to figure out your life before he shows up. He is already present. He goes before you. His rod and his staff are with you in the valley.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths." Proverbs 3:5–6

He is the direction you are looking for. Not a map. A shepherd. And he knows the way.

STAY CONNECTED:

• Receive weekly sermon summaries by email:
https://mailchi.mp/92230176913c/redeemer-email-signup-landing-page

• Read more reflections on Substack:
https://johnrallison.substack.com/

• Watch more sermons on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8ozqxlON8mRFDt6Y0-nfb4qm5sjnQynm

• Listen on Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/show/40R6TAOIWGgjqOz8fVibMd?si=b9fba79c1eac491b

Pastor John Rallison
Redeemer Lutheran Church | Salem, Oregon
https://www.RedeemerSalem.org

Most of us say we want clarity. But what Jesus offers is better than clarity. You don't need a map. You need a shepherd.
04/28/2026

Most of us say we want clarity. But what Jesus offers is better than clarity. You don't need a map. You need a shepherd.

Better Than Clarity: Not a Map. A Shepherd. | 3/3 in the series "Jesus. Right Where You Are"

Can't get to church this morning? Join us live on our YouTube channel (or catch the replay). The sermon is 3 of a 3-mess...
04/26/2026

Can't get to church this morning? Join us live on our YouTube channel (or catch the replay). The sermon is 3 of a 3-message series called "Jesus. Right where you are." How Jesus brings peace, hope, and clarity to your life.

(If you just want the sermon, the sermon gets posted as a separate video every week, usually on Tuesday mornings.)

Redeemer Lutheran Church, Salem, OR. Worship services and sermons for your spiritual growth.

HOPE THAT ACTUALLY HOLDSPositive thinking is powerful. But there is a hope that survives the worst.There is a famous obs...
04/23/2026

HOPE THAT ACTUALLY HOLDS
Positive thinking is powerful. But there is a hope that survives the worst.

There is a famous observation from Admiral James Stockdale, who spent years as a prisoner of war at the Hanoi Hilton. He noticed that the prisoners divided into three groups.

The first group lost hope entirely. That is not hard to understand.

The second group kept hope alive, but they tied it to a timeline. “We’ll be out by Christmas.” Christmas would come and go. “By Easter, then.” Easter would pass. “Surely by summer.” And when summer ended and nothing had changed, those people eventually broke. The hope that was supposed to sustain them became the thing that destroyed them.

The third group — the ones who survived psychologically intact — held on to hope without attaching it to a predicted outcome. They refused to believe they had been abandoned. They faced reality honestly. And they did not try to encourage themselves with promises nobody had ever actually made.

Stockdale called this a paradox. I call it a pretty good description of what the Bible means by hope.

There is a version of hope that is really just optimism dressed up in religious language. It says: trust God, and things will work out. Hang in there, because better days are just around the corner. That version of hope has a lot in common with positive thinking, and I want to be careful here, because positive thinking is not nothing. The way you approach your life does shape your life. Resilience matters. Attitude matters.

But positive thinking is a tool for navigating the local and the manageable. It helps you get through difficult seasons. It cannot carry you through suffering and death. It cannot hold you when the thing you feared most actually happens. And sooner or later, for all of us, it will.

I am not a motivational speaker. I am a pastor. And those are different jobs.

The hope we are talking about when we talk about Christian hope is not confidence that things will improve. It is something deeper and sturdier than that. It has to be, because in many parts of the world, following Jesus leads not to success but to suffering. There are Christians in Nigeria right now who are watching their churches burned and their communities destroyed. The sun-will-come-out-tomorrow version of hope has nothing to say to them. Christian hope has to hold in Nigeria or it does not hold at all.

There is a story in Luke 24 that puts all of this in focus.

On the evening of the first Easter, two disciples are walking home from Jerusalem to a village called Emmaus. They are in grief. They are confused. Someone joins them on the road whom they do not recognize. He asks what they are talking about. They stop walking. The text says they stood still, looking sad.

One of them, Cleopas, tells the story. “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened. Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.” (Luke 24:19-24, ESV)

The line that names everything is this: But we had hoped.

Past tense. Hope had been something they held, and now it was gone… or so they thought. Their hope had been real. It just had not been aimed correctly. They had hoped for a military and political deliverer. Jesus had come for something far larger. He came to defeat death itself. They were not wrong to hope. They had hoped for the wrong thing.

Jesus walks with them. He does not immediately reveal himself. Instead he opens the Scriptures, and something begins to happen inside them. Later they say, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road?” That burning was not recognition of Jesus. They did not know yet who was walking with them. It was the Word doing what the Word does. It speaks to our hearts with the energy of the Holy Spirit.

Eventually, at the table, Jesus breaks bread. Their eyes are opened and they recognize him. And he vanishes.

They get up immediately and walk back to Jerusalem. Nothing about their situation has changed. The religious leaders are still hostile. The movement is still at risk. The world has not been repaired. But Jesus is alive, and that changes the frame of everything.

Christian hope is not about what you hope for. It is about in whom your hope rests.

That is a more important distinction than it might sound. We all have legitimate hopes — for health, for reconciliation, for provision, for the people we love to be okay. Those are real. But they are not the foundation. They cannot be, because they are not guaranteed. Jesus never promised that every hard situation resolves the way we want it to. He did promise that he would never leave us. He promised that nothing can separate us from the love of God. He promised that death does not get the final word.

Hope, in the Christian sense, is the way the soul sets itself toward the future in light of the risen Christ.

That kind of hope is not just something you think about. It changes how you live. It is what gets you out of bed on a day when everything feels unresolved. It is what gives you the courage to have the conversation you know needs to happen, even when you have no confidence it will go well. It is what lets you keep loving someone when the love is not being returned. It is what keeps you from saying something you will regret because you are afraid and want to force the situation. It is what lets you wait when every anxious impulse is pushing you to act — and act when fear is the only thing telling you to stay still. It is what lets you forgive when everything in you wants to hold on to it. It is what lets you endure when nothing seems to be changing.

Because the goal is not a particular outcome. The goal is faithfulness to Christ — walking with him into whatever is next.

Paul wrote near the end of his life: “I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that day what has been entrusted to him.” (2 Timothy 1:12, ESV)

Not what I hoped for. Whom I have trusted.

That is the question worth asking when you are facing something hard: Am I looking at this in light of the resurrection, or in light of my fear?

Hope is the way we walk in faith. Not a feeling to generate. Not a timeline to protect. A person to trust.

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STAY CONNECTED:

• Receive weekly sermon summaries by email:
https://mailchi.mp/92230176913c/redeemer-email-signup-landing-page

• Read more reflections on Substack:
https://johnrallison.substack.com/

• Watch more sermons on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8ozqxlON8mRFDt6Y0-nfb4qm5sjnQynm

• Listen on Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/show/40R6TAOIWGgjqOz8fVibMd?si=b9fba79c1eac491b

Pastor John Rallison
Redeemer Lutheran Church | Salem, Oregon
https://www.RedeemerSalem.org

The spiritual growth emails are primarily blogs based on the previous Sunday's sermon. But there may be others. This list is not used to promote church events with the exception of holiday services. You can, of course, unsubscribe any time you like. It's simple to unsubscribe and the link is at the....

Positive thinking can carry you a long way. But sooner or later, you need a hope that survives the worst. That only come...
04/21/2026

Positive thinking can carry you a long way. But sooner or later, you need a hope that survives the worst. That only comes from the risen Christ.

Hope That Actually Holds | Jesus. Right Where You Are. (Week 2)

It's a crazy time. Jesus was crucified. Some of the women said they saw Jesus alive. The disciples are in a locked room,...
04/16/2026

It's a crazy time. Jesus was crucified. Some of the women said they saw Jesus alive. The disciples are in a locked room, scared and confused. The JESUS appears among them and opens with three simple words: Peace be with you.

Enjoy the message.

Peace in the Midst of Fear | John 20:19–31 | Jesus Meets You Right Where You Are

WHAT EASTER TAKES AWAYSometimes in life, what you need is less, not more.We know that in ordinary ways. A room feels bet...
04/08/2026

WHAT EASTER TAKES AWAY
Sometimes in life, what you need is less, not more.

We know that in ordinary ways. A room feels better when it’s cleared out. A schedule feels lighter when something is taken off of it. Even your mind feels different when there’s a little more space to breathe. You don’t always need something new. Sometimes you need something removed.

That same truth reaches deeper than we usually admit. There are things we carry that don’t belong there. Not physical things, but weight. The kind that settles into the background of your life and stays there, shaping how you think, how you respond, how you see yourself. You learn to live with it. You adjust to it. But it’s still there.

We often talk about what Easter gives us. Hope. Life. Joy. And all of that is true. But there is another side to Easter that is just as real.

Easter also takes things away.

To understand that, you have to start at the tomb. The women who came early that morning were not expecting a miracle. They were carrying grief. They had watched Jesus die. They had seen the stone rolled into place. They had waited through the Sabbath, and now they came back to finish what needed to be done. They brought spices for a dead man.

As far as they knew, the story had ended in the most final way possible. Death had done what death always does. And then everything changed.

The stone was no longer in place. The tomb was empty. And the message they heard was not vague or symbolic. It was simple and direct: He is not here. He has risen.

A dead man is alive.

That is not just an idea to reflect on. It is a reality that changes everything else. Because if death does not get the final word, then other things that feel final in your life are no longer final either. The resurrection does not just promise something for later. It reaches into your life now and begins to take things away.
The first is fear.

After Jesus was crucified, his disciples locked themselves in a room. They were afraid. Afraid of what had just happened. Afraid of what might come next. The future suddenly felt out of their control.

That’s what fear does. It closes down the future. It tells you that what’s coming is going to be loss, or pain, or something you won’t be able to handle. Sometimes that fear is obvious. Sometimes it’s quieter. It just sits underneath everything, reminding you how fragile life is.

Then Jesus appears in that locked room. He doesn’t knock. He simply stands among them. And the first thing he says is, “Peace be with you.” Not because everything is resolved. Not because the danger is gone. But because he is alive.

And that changes the ground beneath their fear.

If Jesus is alive, then death is not in charge. And if death is not in charge, then fear does not get the final word in your life either. It may still show up. It may still speak. But it does not get to decide how your story ends.

The worst thing is never the last thing.

The second thing Easter takes away is shame.

Shame is more than guilt. Guilt says, “I did something wrong.” Shame says, “There is something wrong with me.” It’s that quiet thought that if people really knew, things might be different. So you manage what people see. You hide certain parts. You try to keep things under control.

There’s a moment in the life of Jesus where a woman is caught in adultery and brought out in front of a crowd. She has no way to hide. Everyone is ready to condemn her. They are ready to define her by what she has done.

But Jesus steps into that moment and changes it. He doesn’t pretend nothing happened. But he refuses to let condemnation be the final word. One by one, her accusers leave. And then Jesus speaks to her directly: “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.”

He does not leave her in her shame.

The same thing happens with Peter. On the night Jesus was arrested, Peter denied even knowing him. Three times. Publicly. At the moment it mattered most. And afterward, there was no way to undo it. There was only the weight of it.

After the resurrection, Jesus goes to find Peter. Not to confront him, not to shame him again, but to restore him. Three denials are met with three questions: “Do you love me?” Each answer becomes a step forward.

That’s what Easter shows you. The cross exposes what is real. The resurrection declares that it has been dealt with. You are not defined by your worst moment. You are not held at a distance because of what you have done.

You don’t have to hide.

The third thing Easter takes away is regret.

Regret is the weight of the past. Things you wish you could undo. Words you wish you could take back. Moments you replay. Some of it is big. Some of it is small. But it stays with you.

And what makes regret so heavy is that you can’t go back. You can’t edit your past. What’s done is done.

Easter does not pretend otherwise. Jesus really was crucified. The disciples really did fail him. Even after the resurrection, the wounds are still there. Nothing is erased.

But something new is introduced.

Jesus is alive.

And that means the past is not ignored, but it is not final. His death takes sin seriously. His resurrection declares that it has been answered. Forgiveness is not a feeling you have to create. It is something grounded in what God has actually done.
Because Jesus lives, your past is not your prison.

So what does Easter take away? Fear about what is ahead. Shame that makes you want to hide. Regret that keeps pulling you backward.

These things do not disappear completely. You will still feel them. They will still show up. But they no longer get the final word.

Jesus does.

And that means you are not left alone to deal with them. You don’t just get a new idea. You get somewhere to go. When fear shows up, you go to the One who walked out of the grave. When shame presses in, you go to the One who already knows you and still comes toward you. When regret weighs on you, you go to the One who has carried your sin and will not let it be the end of your story.

This is not about positive thinking. It is not about trying to convince yourself things are better than they are.

It is about trusting a living Savior who has already faced the worst and come out the other side.

He told you these things do not get the final word.
And then he rose from the dead to prove it.

That is what Easter changes. Not just the end of your story, but what you have to carry today.

STAY CONNECTED:

• Receive weekly sermon summaries by email:
https://mailchi.mp/92230176913c/redeemer-email-signup-landing-page

• Read more reflections on Substack:
https://johnrallison.substack.com/

• Watch more sermons on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8ozqxlON8mRFDt6Y0-nfb4qm5sjnQynm

• Listen on Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/show/40R6TAOIWGgjqOz8fVibMd?si=b9fba79c1eac491b

Pastor John Rallison
Redeemer Lutheran Church | Salem, Oregon
https://www.RedeemerSalem.org

Address

4663 Lancaster Drive NE
Salem, OR
97305

Opening Hours

Tuesday 9am - 12pm
Wednesday 9am - 12pm
Thursday 9am - 12pm
Friday 9am - 12pm
Sunday 8:30am - 11:30am

Telephone

+15033937121

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