Songs of Faith Beyond Church Doors

I love gospel bluegrass music. Rachel and I have been attending the Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, Kansas, for thirty years. Held each September, Winfield brings together some of the finest bluegrass and acoustic folk musicians from across the country and around the world. Yet the performers on the festival stages are only part of what makes Winfield special. The festival is also an annual pilgrimage for pickers, pluckers, singers, and musicians who come to camp and make music together. Throughout the fairgrounds, impromptu jam sessions spring up beneath awnings, around campfires, and along dusty pathways. At almost any hour, you can follow the sound of a fiddle, banjo, mandolin, or upright bass and find yourself welcomed into a circle of music.

Back in the day, on Sunday mornings, the Wilders, a bluegrass band from Kansas City, would host a gospel set filled with old-time songs. Many of those tunes were later released on their album, On the Wings of a Dove. Those Sunday morning sets were where I fell in love with old-time gospel bluegrass. The music was joyful and energetic, but it also carried something deeper. Beneath the soaring harmonies and driving rhythm were songs about grace, struggle, redemption, perseverance, and the promise that God never abandons us.

Bluegrass gospel emerged as a distinct musical tradition in the Appalachian region during the 1940s and 1950s, but its roots reach much farther back. English and Scottish-Irish ballads and hymns mingled with African American blues, spirituals, and other American folk traditions. The Carter Family helped preserve and popularize many sacred and traditional songs. Their simple arrangements and close harmonies carried the music of rural churches, homes, and mountain communities to listeners across the country.

Bill Monroe, often called the father of bluegrass, brought sacred songs such as “Working on a Building” into his performances with the Blue Grass Boys. The Stanley Brothers added their unmistakable high, lonesome harmonies to beloved gospel songs. Together, these musicians helped carry the gospel message beyond church doors and into living rooms, onto front porches, across radio airwaves, and even into saloons.

Perhaps that is part of the enduring power of these songs. They belong to the church, but they refuse to remain contained within church walls. They are meant to be sung wherever people gather. Their rhythms move the body, their harmonies touch the heart, and their words speak of a faith sturdy enough to accompany people through hard work, grief, uncertainty, and joy. Passed from one generation to the next, these songs remind us that faith is not only something we believe. Faith is something we sing together.

See you in church!

Peace, Grace, and Love,
Pastor Kevin

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Celebrating New Beginnings

Each May, we celebrate an important milestone in the lives of many in our congregation as students graduate from high school, college, graduate school, and other programs of study. To all of our graduates: congratulations. We are incredibly proud of you.
Graduation is a moment to pause and celebrate the hard work, perseverance, and dedication that brought you to this day. Behind every diploma is a story of long nights, challenges overcome, lessons learned, and growth that often happened in ways both seen and unseen. We give thanks for your accomplishments, and we are grateful that you are part of our faith family at Grace.

Graduation is also more than a celebration of what has been. It marks the beginning of something new. For many, this season brings significant transitions: a new school, a new job, a move to a new city, or the uncertainty of discerning what comes next.
That kind of transition places us in what many call a liminal space—the in-between place between what was and what will be. These spaces can be filled with excitement and possibility, but they can also bring anxiety, uncertainty, and questions about the future. We may not always know exactly where the road ahead will lead.

Yet scripture reminds us that God often does some of God’s most meaningful work in these in-between spaces. Again and again, we see God guiding people through seasons of transition, opening unexpected doors, and shaping hearts for what comes next. Liminal seasons invite us to trust that even when the path feels unclear, God is still present and at work.
So to all of our graduates: as you step into this new chapter, know that you do not go alone. God goes with you. And so does your church family at Grace.

We are cheering you on, praying for you, and celebrating all that lies ahead. And if you ever need someone to talk with, discern alongside you, or pray with you, my door is always open.
We give thanks for all God has done in your life—and for all God is still doing.

See you in church!

Peace,

Pastor Kevin

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Why is Good Friday Good?

Dear Grace family,

Today the church gathers at the cross. And at first glance, calling this day Good may seem strange. Good Friday tells the story of betrayal, suffering, violence, and death. It invites us to slow down and confront the deep brokenness of the world — and the brokenness within ourselves. It asks us not to rush too quickly to Easter morning.
So why do we call this day good?

The Christian tradition has long understood Good Friday as the moment when Christ’s love is revealed most clearly. On the cross, Jesus bears the weight of human sin and suffering, opening a path for reconciliation between humanity and God. What looks like defeat becomes, mysteriously, the beginning of victory over sin and death. The cross does not have the final word — but neither can resurrection be understood without it.

Historically, the word good in Good Friday did not simply mean pleasant or happy. It meant holy or pious — a day set apart for deep devotion. Some even suggest the phrase may have grown from “God’s Friday,” much like “goodbye” comes from “God be with you.” However the name developed, the meaning remains: this is a day when we draw near to the heart of God’s love revealed in Christ.

Last evening, many of us gathered for a moving Maundy Thursday service. I am deeply grateful for the many people who helped lead us into this sacred time — our choir, Kelly McFall for sharing the message, and the members of our drama team who brought the scripture vividly to life. Through word, music, silence, and story, we were reminded that faith does not avoid the hard realities of life. Instead, it gives us a way to face them honestly, together, in the presence of Christ.

Maundy Thursday and Good Friday matter because they make space for truth. They allow us to acknowledge the suffering of the world, the pain carried in our own lives, and the ways fear and injustice still shape human history. Yet we do not stand in that darkness alone. We stand in the shadow of the cross — and already within the promise that love is stronger than death.
It is good not to hurry past this day. Good not to skip ahead too quickly to the alleluias of Easter. Because when we allow ourselves to walk the road to the cross, Easter hope becomes more than an abstract idea. It becomes a lived reality — a trust that God meets us even in the deepest valleys and is still at work bringing life out of what seems lost.

If you are able, I invite you to join us for Good Friday worship as we continue this journey together. And wherever you find yourself today, may you know that nothing — not even death — can separate us from the love of God in Christ.

See you in church.

Grace and peace,
Pastor Kevin

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Yes!

Yes!

Jeremiah 1:4-10, Luke 1:26-39

Have you ever heard that still, small voice nudging you toward something new? A new job, a project, a study group, a class. A new relationship, a new family rhythm, a new way of living. Maybe it came as a whisper: maybe you could, maybe you should. And just as quickly, a louder voice jumped in with all the reasons it never would.

Most of us have had moments like that. Invitations that do not feel grand or glorious at the time, just risky and personal and disruptive. Moments that, looking back, we recognize as turning points, but in the moment feel like uncertainty, fear, and trembling knees.

I remember one of those moments vividly. It was a cold day, much like today, driving from Emporia back to our home in Strong City after a decidedly mediocre lunch at Applebee’s, but a conversation that was anything but average. I had been serving as pulpit supply in Americus for nearly a year when my pastor and the Executive Presbyter invited me to lunch. Somewhere between the lukewarm fettuccine Alfredo and the check, Pastor Phyl looked at me and said, “You know, you should really go down to Austin Seminary for their Discovery Weekend. I think that’s the place for you.”

I had flirted with seminary when I was young, but I had convinced myself that I was not faithful enough, not smart enough, not spiritually deep enough. I was not even sure God was calling me at all. But I had fallen in love with that little congregation. I had fallen in love with the people. And I had fallen in love with sharing the good news in worship in a way that made me look forward to church on Sunday more than work on Monday.

Driving home through the tallgrass prairie, a voice rose up inside me, gentle and persistent and insistent. Maybe you could. Maybe you should. Follow your heart. This is where you are supposed to go. Of course, the second voice was right there too, loud and practical. How will this work? We cannot leave my job. The kids are rooted here. We have no money for seminary. I already have debt and no college degree. I am too old. This is ridiculous. Fear and possibility collided, and I imagine you know that feeling.

Both of our scriptures today begin exactly there, at the intersection of calling and fear. Jeremiah protests, “I am only a boy.” In other words, you have the wrong person. He is afraid of what God is asking, afraid of who he is not, afraid of what obedience will cost.

Mary, too, hesitates. “How can this be?” She is young, vulnerable, unmarried, living under imperial and patriarchal pressure. Divine pregnancy is not just a spiritual mystery; it is a social and bodily risk. Neither of them feels ready. Neither feels qualified. Neither feels brave.

And in both stories, God does not scold them. God does not say, “Be fearless.” God promises presence. To Jeremiah, God says, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.” To Mary, the angel says, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you. You will be overshadowed.” God’s presence comes before performance. God’s grace comes before greatness. Companionship comes before calling.

In Charlene’s portrayal of Mary, we heard her confess, “I’m really quite ordinary.” “I told the angel, ‘I’m nobody.’ I’m not worthy. I’m too young. This must be a mistake.” And then she says something essential: “Maybe heroes are just ordinary people who have the courage to say yes when God calls.” That trembling statement ties these stories together. Mary does not say yes because she lacks fear. She says yes while she is afraid, because she trusts she will not walk the path alone. Jeremiah offers the same witness, trusting the promise that God goes with him.

Ordinary people. Holy hesitation. A trembling yes. Fear is often the front porch of transformation. It does not disqualify us; it signals that we are standing on the edge of possibility. Our culture imagines courage as loud and bold and bombastic, but biblical courage looks more like this: asking honest questions, how can this be; hesitating, how will this work; needing time, taking one uncertain step at a time; trusting that God walks with us. Jeremiah and Mary are not fearless. They are faithful.

There were many trembling steps on my road to seminary. Making a new home and community in Austin. Going back to school after nearly thirty years. Studying beside classmates half my age. Trusting God with finances, family, and the unknown. Many nights of wondering how it would all work out. But grace showed up in the joy along the way: the joy of watching my family flourish, the joy of friendships and fellowship, the joy of ministry and service, the joy of saying yes.

I have come to believe that joy is rarely the reward for having no fear. It is the companion we discover when we trust God enough to step forward anyway.

This Advent, Mary and Jeremiah invite us to listen. Where is God calling you? What fear are you carrying? What invitation are you resisting because you feel inadequate or unworthy? Where might a trembling yes lead you into new life?

Be attentive this week. Be honest about your fears. Trust deeply that God walks with you every trembling step. May Mary’s words become our own: Yes, Lord. Let it be with me. Even when you are filled with fear, doubt, or anxiety. Even here, in the midst of our hectic lives and chaotic world. Even now, whether we feel that we are too young or too old.

Say yes, trusting that God goes with you with every trembling step. Yes? . . . Yes!

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Come Celebrate Rev. Kevin Ireland’s Installation

We have already been enjoying Pastor Kevin’s leadership in worship and in the life of our church, but the final official step is for members of the Presbytery to install him as our pastor.

This takes place on Sunday, November 9, at 2:00 p.m. in the Sanctuary.  We gather for a special worship celebration featuring pastors from our sister churches in Kansas, followed by a reception.  Please join us for the joyful celebration of Pastor Kevin’s installation.

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