Dear Church Family,
July has flown by, and summer break is already half over! I hope you are all doing well.
My oldest daughter Abigail just returned home from two consecutive summer camps. She came back with a broad tan and a raspy voice—the clear mark of someone who spent every day singing at the top of her lungs and cheering with all her strength!
Recently, our leadership team has been discussing and praying about our youth ministry. Because of a previous “pause”, we currently have very few young people attending our Sunday services.
Thank you to everyone who contributed ideas during our brainstorming session some time ago — your input was so encouraging. We are now searching for solid curriculum, such as Light Bearers (the youth edition of Freedom in Christ), etc. Please join us in praying that the Lord opens doors and prepares the way. If God grants us a core group of just 3 to 4 tightly connected youth who can participate consistently, that will be a wonderful foundation to build upon.
We know that young people today often resist "formalism," but they have a deep hunger for authentic relationships. If our focus is strictly on whether they sit in the pews on Sundays, we risk reducing them to attendance numbers. The heart of a thriving youth group isn't about how flashy the program is—it’s about having caring adults who truly listen and take an interest in their daily lives.
When teenagers drift from church, it often reflects a broader shift in spiritual education at home. We want to partner closely with parents—helping families navigate the unique psychological and emotional needs of this age group, and serving as a bridge between the home and the church.
Rather than waiting for youth to come to us, we hope to meet them where they are. Teens today face very real struggles: academic pressure, peer exclusion, social anxiety, family tension, and identity confusion. Reaching out during the week can be as simple as:
Sometimes, a simple gesture is the best first step toward an invitation. If you can, please join us to reach them.
This coming Sunday, we will continue our sermon series on the Psalms as we sample the different "flavors" of these psalms. I wonder—how did you find the bold "flavor" of Psalm 137 last week?
We turn to Psalm 103 this week. On the surface, it is clearly a psalm of praise. But look closer, and you'll notice something unique: David isn't addressing God directly, nor is he calling on the assembly or creation to sing. He is talking to himself. He is preaching to his own soul.
Have you ever had an experience like this? You’re driving somewhere, and your mind is completely consumed with anxiety about an upcoming meeting, unpaid bills, or an argument you just had with your kids. Then you run a red light, or stop at a green light; after snapping out of it, you think: "Wait a minute—how did I do?"
Our brains are remarkably good at switching into autopilot. But the most dangerous autopilot isn't behind the wheel—it’s when our souls wake up every morning and immediately engage autopilot. The moment your alarm goes off, before your feet even hit the floor, your soul's autopilot starts running its morning playlist:
"The weather is dreary... I'll never finish my workload... That person is against me again... How am I going to get through today?"
In the opening lines of Psalm 103, David effectively slams on the brakes to shut down that automatic reaction. He commands his own heart:
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits." — Psalm 103:2
He forces his soul to wake up from its slumber.
As C.S. Lewis perceptively noted in Reflections on the Psalms:
"The most valuable result of the Psalms is to show, within the Bible itself, that dynamic, dialectic process which we call 'talking to oneself'."
None of us wants to live a life dictated by morning news, social media algorithms, or our immediate circumstances. So this Sunday, let's learn together the spiritual discipline of “how to talk to ourselves.”
May the Lord grant you rich blessings this week! I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.
Warmly in Christ,
Aldo