Andy Talks

In this reflection on Ecclesiastes 6, the Teacher continues wrestling with the emptiness of life when meaning is sought in wealth, pleasure, work, or achievement. Though these things are not inherently bad, they cannot bear the full weight of the human soul or provide lasting peace and purpose. The passage serves as a warning against building our identity on temporary earthly things—whether money, politics, sports, approval, or success—because all eventually fail under the weight we place on them. Only Christ can serve as the true “load-bearing wall” for our souls, providing the lasting meaning and identity we were created to find.Join us for our daily reflections with Andy. In 10 short minutes, he'll dig a little deeper into Scripture and help you better understand God's Word.You can read today’s passage here - https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes%206&version=NRSVUEClick here if you'd like to join our GroupMe and receive this each morning at 7:00 a.m. CST. - https://gr

In this Monday reflection on Ecclesiastes 5, the chapter's three movements — reverence, humility, and contentment — are unpacked with practical pastoral honesty. The call to guard your words before God and take your vows seriously is a word about integrity: promises to God and to each other matter, and we shouldn't make them lightly. The observation that oppression and injustice are everywhere is not meant to depress but to inoculate — don't be surprised when the world is broken, because we were never promised otherwise, and being realistic about that keeps us from being crushed by it. And the Teacher's recurring refrain — eat, drink, find enjoyment in your toil, for this is the gift of God — is finally named as a call to contentment and faithful presence in the present moment. We cannot control the future, and the anxiety about it can be paralyzing. But we can be faithful today, with the task in front of us, loving God and loving neighbor — and the reflection closes with a conviction: if

In our message from May 17, 2026, Andy shares with us from Acts 1: 6-11.  Jesus sends us out to the people we know and love, as well as to the people we are tempted to hold with contempt, to be His witnesses, to show all the world His goodness and grace.

In this Friday reflection on Ecclesiastes 4:9–16, we see the Teacher's familiar refrain of vanity gives way to a genuinely hopeful word: two are better than one, and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. The reflection unpacks Wesley's concept of social holiness — often misunderstood as primarily about social action, when Wesley actually meant something more intimate: the communal accountability of the class meeting, where people who deeply loved each other held each other to faithfulness not out of judgment but out of care. Holiness, for Wesley, was never a solo project. And one of the genuinely destructive forces of modern life — even as we're more "connected" than ever — is the loss of that deep, honest, prayer-soaked Christian friendship. The practical challenge is direct: who are your people? Who prays for you? Who do you call when your world falls apart? Who loves you enough to tell you the truth? Find those people, stay close to them, and give them permission to speak into yo

In Ecclesiastes 3:16–4:8, the Teacher reaches perhaps his lowest point — wickedness in the place of justice, the tears of the oppressed with no one to comfort them, and the devastating conclusion that the never-born are better off than the living. The reflection uses this as an entry point into how to read Ecclesiastes responsibly: it is wisdom literature and poetry, not history, and building a theology out of isolated verses here would lead somewhere very dark very fast. But the deeper gift of this passage is that it gives us language for the times we genuinely feel this way — overwhelmed, cynical, unable to will ourselves to feel better. Toxic positivity doesn't help anyone, and Scripture's willingness to name the darkness honestly is one of its great gifts. The caution, though, is that we cannot stay there. Cynicism, left to take root, rots the soul. We cannot only tell the story of Good Friday — we have to tell Easter too. Name the darkness, give it to God, and then keep walking toward what is b

In this Wednesday reflection on Ecclesiastes 3:9–15, one phrase anchors everything: God has put a sense of past and future into their minds. We are wired to look backward and forward simultaneously — to remember, to plan, to worry, to dream — and that tension so often pulls us out of the only moment we actually inhabit: now. The Teacher keeps returning to the same simple refrain throughout his searching: eat, drink, take pleasure in your toil — it is God's gift. The present moment is the gift. Social media has made this harder than it's ever been, training us toward constant comparison and doom scrolling and dissatisfaction with wherever we are. But God meets us here, now, in the ordinary. More than half the church calendar is spent in Ordinary Time — not Advent or Easter, just regular days — because most of life is ordinary, and ordinary time is holy too. The call today is simple: don't let the past or the future steal the gift of the present. Live fully in this moment, because this is where J

In this Tuesday reflection on Ecclesiastes 3:1–8 — the passage made famous by the Byrds' Turn! Turn! Turn! — the full sweep of human experience is named honestly and without pretense: birth and death, planting and uprooting, weeping and laughing, war and peace, love and hate. The wisdom literature, like the Psalms, is a gift precisely because it names what we actually feel and go through, and reminds us that we are never the first to walk through any of it. Read in the context of Ecclesiastes as a whole, the Teacher isn't celebrating these seasons but cataloguing them — life is a steam train that keeps coming whether we're ready or not, and so far nothing he's tried has given it meaning. But the pastoral word is this: no season is permanent. If you're in a time of weeping, a time of laughing is coming. If you're in a time of breaking down, a time of building is coming. God walks with us through all of it. And the meaning we're searching for — which the Teacher hasn't fo

In this Monday reflection on Ecclesiastes 2:12–26, Solomon's existential spiral — the wise and the fools both die and are forgotten, and whoever comes after me might waste everything I built — is met with a gentle diagnosis: delusions of grandeur, and the worrier's tendency to catastrophize. But buried in the despair is a landing worth holding onto: there is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink and find enjoyment in their toil, for this is from the hand of God. The reflection pushes back against the cultural pressure to live a life of spiritual drama and cinematic significance — the cage match with the devil, the extraordinary calling, the remarkable testimony. Most of us are just going through life as moms and dads, coworkers and neighbors, doing the same things in the same patterns week after week. And that is not failure. That is faithfulness. The call isn't to be great — it's to find meaning in the toil of this ordinary moment: a smile, an open door, a word of encouragement

In our Traditional sermon from May 10, 2026, Andy shares with us from John 14: 15-21.  Jesus promises not to leave us orphaned.  With changes in life, church, and the world, we can feel unsettled, like wet cement.  But then we remember that Jesus writes His name up the wet cement of our hearts.

In this Friday reflection on Ecclesiastes 2:1–11 — offered on Mother's Day weekend, with a pastoral acknowledgment that the day lands differently for everyone — the Teacher's second experiment in the search for meaning is examined: pleasure. Having tried wisdom and found it vexing, Solomon goes the other direction entirely, becoming history's most extravagant hedonist — houses, vineyards, gardens, silver, gold, concubines, everything his eyes desired, nothing withheld. And the verdict is the same: vanity, a chasing after wind, nothing to be gained. The reflection connects this to a very contemporary reality: we live in an age of unprecedented access and instant gratification, and we may be among the most meaning-starved generations in history. Having everything you want doesn't fill the hole — it proves the hole is still there. The mind is fallen, and so are our desires. Just because something feels good doesn't mean it satisfies. A life worth living cannot be built on getting what yo

In this Thursday reflection on Ecclesiastes 1:12–18 — appropriately falling on the National Day of Prayer — the Teacher's surprising conclusion that wisdom itself is vanity is unpacked honestly and personally. On the surface it seems to contradict Proverbs and the Psalms, which celebrate wisdom as a gift worth seeking. But Solomon's point isn't that wisdom is bad — it's that wisdom alone, pursued as a source of meaning, leaves you empty and vexed. The reflection gets personal: those of us who lean analytical and distrust emotion can fall into the trap of thinking the mind is somehow exempt from the Fall. It isn't. Both heart and mind are equally in need of Jesus. And in a world drowning in information — where something happens anywhere on earth and we know about it in seconds — there's a real and contemporary application: more knowledge does not equal more peace. What is crooked cannot be made straight by analysis alone. Sometimes the best way out of the quagmire is simply to do

In this Wednesday reflection that opens a new series in Ecclesiastes, the shift from the New Testament epistles to Old Testament wisdom literature is grounded in a simple observation: we are always searching for meaning, and most of the things we search in come up empty. The Teacher — almost certainly Solomon — opens with one of Scripture's most sobering refrains: vanity of vanities, all is vanity. Generations rise and fall, the wind circles, the sea never fills, and most of us will be forgotten within a few generations. Rather than finding that depressing, the reflection finds it liberating: there is nothing new under the sun, which means we are not alone in our struggles. The same search for meaning, the same temptations, the same sense of emptiness in earthly things — people have faced all of it before us. Solomon had everything the world could offer and still found himself asking whether any of it meant anything. The answer Ecclesiastes is building toward, and the answer the reflection points to now,

In this Tuesday reflection that closes out Jude, the letter's final movement is from warning to mercy. Jude tells his readers to remember what the apostles predicted — scoffers will come, driven by their own desires, causing division — but then pivots immediately to the posture of the faithful: build yourselves up in faith, pray in the Spirit, keep yourselves in God's love, and look forward to the mercy of Christ that leads to eternal life. And then, critically, show that mercy to others — the wavering, the wandering, even those caught in sin. The reflection weaves in two personal life verses — Romans 8:28, which doesn't say all things are good but that God brings good from everything, and Romans 2:4, which says it is the kindness of God that leads to repentance — to make the central point: we are not saved by our goodness, but by God's mercy. And since mercy is God's very nature, and we are being made into his image, mercy should increasingly be ours too. The world is full of people

In this Monday reflection on Jude 5–16, the letter's central concern becomes clear: these false teachers are not being led by the Spirit but by their own unchecked desires — almost certainly the Gnostics encountered in Second and Third John, who believed the body was irrelevant and therefore lived however they pleased. Jude's devastating poetic description of them — waterless clouds, twice-dead trees, wild waves, wandering stars — paints the picture of lives completely unmoored. The deeper question Jude raises is one of captivity: we are all captive to something, and the only choice is whether we'll be captive to God and his Spirit or to our own desires. One leads to life; the other to destruction. Make me a captive, Lord — that's the prayer. The reflection also pauses on a fascinating detail: both the story of Michael disputing with Satan over Moses's body and the prophecy of Enoch come not from Scripture but from Jewish legend and extra-biblical texts. Jude quotes them not to canoni

In this Friday reflection on Jude 1–4, Jude's urgent appeal to contend for the faith is set against a backdrop we've seen all week: the problem of wandering teachers. Where Third John commended a church for receiving the right teachers, Jude warns a church that has received the wrong ones — intruders who have twisted grace into a license for anything-goes living and in doing so have denied the lordship of Jesus Christ. Along the way, a brief but helpful explanation of the biblical canon clarifies why missing letters from Jude or Paul, however interesting, wouldn't simply be added to Scripture — every book that passes the fourfold test of apostolic linkage, correct time frame, correct doctrine, and universal church recognition is already there. The practical word for today is discernment: not every voice calling to you is the voice of the Good Shepherd. The tests are simple — does it glorify Jesus? Does it draw you closer to him? And does the person bearing the message show the fruit of the Spir

In this Thursday reflection on Third John, the letter's central cast — faithful Gaius, self-promoting Diotrephes, and well-regarded Demetrius — illuminates a practical question about the early church: how do you know whether to trust a wandering preacher? The answer is apostolic authority and community accountability, which is part of how ordination developed — a traceable chain of trust, so that the community could verify who sent the teacher and what they stood for. Gaius earns John's highest praise for supporting these traveling ministers even as strangers, and John frames that support with a beautiful phrase: we may become co-workers with the truth. The reflection turns that phrase into a direct word for laypeople today — your encouragement, your prayers, your practical support of the ministers in your life genuinely matter, and Scripture says so. The contrast with Diotrephes, who puts himself first and actively undermines apostolic authority, makes the point even sharper. The call is simple: do

In this Wednesday reflection on Second John, the short letter is read in full and unpacked around its central warning: many deceivers have gone out into the world who do not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh. John's call to love one another is clarified — love here is not emotion but obedience, commitment, and self-sacrifice — and his instruction not to welcome false teachers into the house is about guarding sound doctrine, not refusing hospitality to strangers. The heresy John is combating is Gnosticism, the earliest major challenge the church faced, which taught that the physical body was corrupt and irredeemable, and therefore that Jesus didn't really come in the flesh, die, or rise bodily. The reflection pushes back firmly: the post-resurrection accounts are full of physicality — touching wounds, eating meals, walking roads — because Jesus was fully human and fully divine, and both matter. Wrong theology about the body also produces wrong living, since Gnosticism's logical con

In this Tuesday reflection that closes out First John, three threads from the final passage come together. The promise that God grants what we ask according to his will is clarified: it's not that God gives us whatever we want, but that he aligns our desires with his own — so that a heart truly surrendered to him begins to want what he wants. The closing command to keep away from idols gets personal: an idol is anything that fills in the blank after "I believe in God, but..." — whatever we trust more than we trust him. And the theologically rich distinction between mortal and venial sin is unpacked carefully: the key is not conflating the equality of sinfulness (we are all equally fallen and in need of Jesus) with the idea that every individual sin is identical in weight. Scripture doesn't teach that, and neither does the best of Christian tradition. The Eastern Orthodox framing rings truest — any sin is a mortal sin if it is not repented of. What matters ultimately is the posture of the h

In this Monday reflection on 1 John 5:6–12, John's three witnesses — the Spirit, the water, and the blood — are unpacked through the lens of Wesleyan theology to show how each one gives unified testimony to the same truth: eternal life is found in Jesus, and only in Jesus. The Spirit is the agent of prevenient grace, always going before us, calling, convicting, justifying, and sanctifying. The water is baptism — the sign of the new covenant, functioning as circumcision did under the old, marking us as God's covenant people. And the blood is the atoning work of Christ, by which our sins are washed away and through which we feast at the communion table — the sacraments themselves flowing from the wounded side of Jesus. Together, these three testify to the same thing: God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life. It's only ever about Jesus.Join us for our daily reflections with Andy. In 10 short minutes, he'll dig a little deeper into Scripture and help

In our Sunday sermon from April 26, 2026, Andy shares with us from John 10: 1-10.  Jesus doesn't just call us to live, but to abundant life. That abundant life is how we will win the world for Jesus.