Saying goodbye is testing the timbre of my soul.
These mountains assure me of constancy, and the blue porcelain sky covers me with grace.
Decades of memories swirl like white butterflies and remind me of joy. But can you hear the thud, thud, thud of my heart?
The drive home is familiar. The pronghorn stand vigil beyond the barbwire.
She brushes the sleeve of my shirt from the back seat. I reach back and little fingers grip my crepe skinned hand.
And I feel the smile of God.
The Restoration
John 21:1-19
(The Last Sermon)
How many of you have ever eaten a bowl of Wheaties? The legend behind this famous cereal’s creation began with bran gruel, which a clumsy dietician at the Washburn Crosby Company was preparing in 1922 when he spilled some on a hot stovetop.
The gruel drops sizzled and crackled into flakes. Once he tasted a flake, the cook realized his accident had created something that tasted way better than the gruel. He got the head honchos at Washburn on board, and they tried 36 different varieties of the creation before developing the perfect flake that wouldn’t crumble in the box.
Even the name could have gone another way. The cereal was released as Washburn’s Gold Medal Whole Wheat Flakes. Doesn’t exactly roll off your tongue. The company decided to hold a contest and asked employees to create better names. The finalists were Nukeys and Gold Medal Wheat Flakes. They finally settled on Wheaties.
As part of the rollout ad campaign, they put a picture of Lou Gehrig on the front of the box along with the byline, ‘The Breakfast of Champions.’ As a kid, I ate my fair share to be a champion.
Clearly, there is something wrong with the cereal.
Who would have known 93 years ago that so many gold-medal winners would eventually don the box of that glorified gruel?
Psychologists and sociologists have studied why Wheaties enjoy such a long shelf life. They concluded that it taps into a deep-seated propensity in American culture to be connected with a champion, a winner.
Wheaties are what we like to eat because they are what we want to be.
In the story before us, we see Jesus preparing a breakfast for His disciples, not as the champions they wished they were, but for the failures that they turned out to be. And as we sit with this old story, I imagine that, if we were honest, we would have to admit that Jesus could easily have prepared that breakfast beside that sea for each of us in our failures, too.
So, I want to invite you to stand with me on the shores of the Sea of Galilee as we watch Jesus prepare a breakfast for failures.
What do you do when you’ve failed a friend? After you’ve cried till you’re numb. After you’ve replayed the failure over and over in your mind. After you’ve run yourself down and can’t think of any more names to call yourself. What do you do then?
You find some way to hold back the pain?
“I’m going fishing.”
That’s Peter’s way of dealing with the pain. He’s tired of thinking. He’s tired of the incriminating conversations he’s had with himself. He wants a mindless diversion, an escape.
By any standard of measurement, these followers have failed. They didn’t stand with Jesus in his darkest hour. They ran away like insects scurrying to hide when the light was turned on in the middle of the night.
And because Peter promised to do something heroic but ended up doing something worse, he has been designated a failure of failures.
They are returning to what they do best. They’ve given up on being apprentices of Jesus. Their lives have come unraveled, and they are going home.
And it is in the nadir of their failure that Jesus comes to them. Jesus does the same for us. He comes to us when we are flailing and failing, when we’ve thrown our hands in the air in exasperation, when we have given up hope.
Wet and shivering, Peter reaches the shore. His eyes look down at the warm charcoal fire. He had seen that fire before. A similar fire had warmed him on the night of his denial. Just a few weeks earlier, they had shared the warmth of that fire under different circumstances.
After Jesus had been arrested two chapters earlier and dragged from one kangaroo court to another, Peter followed in the shadows to see what would happen. At one point, he is chilled by the cold morning air and…
John 18:18 says, Now the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing around it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself.
And as the riff raff and hangers-on jostle in the courtyard of the trial, those standing close said to Peter, “Didn’t I see you with Jesus?” And three times, with escalating fear, rage, and vehemence, Peter denied that he knew Jesus at all. Peter denies Jesus around a fire. That was the last time their eyes met.
And yet here, a few weeks later, they are together again around a small charcoal fire. His approach is suddenly tentative and uncertain. He agonizes over that night as he presses his palms toward the heat. He yearns to talk, but his chattering teeth bite his words short.
Maybe Peter remembers that a similar fishing miracle occurred once before, close to this very spot on the Sea of Galilee.
This story is found in Luke 5, where Jesus had just finished using Peter’s boat as a pulpit. After his sermon, he tells Peter and the others to push off from shore and try again to catch some fish. They had tried all night and had come up empty, but they did what the teaching carpenter from Nazareth commanded.
And suddenly they have more fish than they can handle. Peter has to call out to the other boats to help with the catch of a lifetime. And as their arms burn with fatigue and hands chaff with the fish-full nets, Peter comes face-to-face with the realization that the carpenter from Nazareth is unlike any other preacher he had ever heard.
Luke 5:8 says, Peter fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!”
But this time, after Peter witnesses this miraculous catch, instead of running away from Jesus, he runs towards Jesus as fast as he can, despite his horrible failure of denial. Despite the guilt and the shame of letting his best friend down, Peter runs to Jesus.
Why the change? What happened between those two catches of fish on this lake?
The cross and the resurrection happened.
At the empty tomb that first easter morning, an angel told Mary Magdalene, Go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you. Mark 16:7
At the cross, God dealt once and for all with Peter’s failures and ALL our failures. And because of the empty tomb of Jesus, where God opened a hole in the fabric of heaven to let hope flood into this dark world, to douse unsuspecting losers like Peter, and like you and me, with grace and mercy.
Peter runs TO Jesus in his failure instead of running AWAY FROM Jesus in his failure.
He can make the journey towards healing and restoration instead of running away. And so can you because of the cross and the empty tomb of Jesus.
This story invites us to move towards God in our failures. I know from personal experience that it is a hard pill to swallow.
Now, I’d like to invite my wife to share with you how she experienced the restorative power of Jesus’ presence.
Lynette’s Story
Until 1999, I had an uneventful life. I was married to a pastor with three rambunctious boys. I lived in Denver, where I grew up, with my immediate family nearby. Life was pretty sweet.
However, in the fall of 1999, because of my husband’s sinful choices, my marriage was in crisis, and he resigned from his church.
Heartbroken and confused, I asked God what I should do. I asked, “Lord, should I forgive him? Should we stay married?” My heart was filled with such mixed emotions! I wanted to work on our marriage, but at the same time, I was so hurt that I didn’t want to be with him.
At that time, I experienced the verse in Psalms that says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
I heard God tell me, “Whether you leave him or forgive him, I will be with you and bless you.” I contemplated my choices, but I decided against bitterness and chose instead to forgive and work toward restoration.
We moved to Washington in November of that year. My brother-in-law’s little church in Sumner, WA, opened its arms and hearts to us. They used the money they raised to build a new building and covered the costs of our move and counseling for a year. They raised more money to pay for our oldest son to attend a Christian high school. They gave Joe a job tearing down a condemned house next door to the church for $10.00 an hour.
They loved us back to life as a couple and family. It was a tough year, yet God was faithful in restoring our marriage and mending our family.
When our three sons turned thirteen, Joe shared his story with them and asked them to forgive him. They each responded in their unique ways, all very forgiving. I want to share with you how one of our sons responded.
Joe took our youngest son, Caleb, backpacking and told him his story of failure and repentance in the wilderness.
When they returned, I was getting ready for them when I heard them drive up and enter the front door. Caleb came into the bathroom, where I was curling my hair, and said, “Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay,” I said. Continuing to curl my hair.
“Mom put the curling iron down and look at me,” Caleb insisted.
I put the curling iron down and turned to him.
“Mom, I just wanted to say thank you for forgiving Dad and saving our family.”
I felt the presence of God in that moment. God was with me.
And Caleb, too.
Our lives from that point were never the same. God gave me a husband and a relationship that was unlike anything we had in the 20 years prior. This December, we will celebrate 44 years together. Our oldest son married the girl he met in that little church in Sumner when he was just 14, and now we have four beautiful red-headed grandchildren who are all with us today. Caleb and his wife, Mindy, have a little girl, Cora Lee, who is now 5 years old, and the delight of our lives.
After seven years away from ministry, God allowed Joe to return to serving the Church. God led us to a small church plant in Mukilteo, Washington, as executive pastor.
Little did we know that within a year, the lead pastor would resign and move on to another church, and this church would ask my husband to be its next pastor. We had a wonderful ministry in Washington, and then God called us to make another move—this time back to our home state of Colorado and our wonderful congregation at Mountain Heights.
Throughout our journey, I have come to understand that God is a God of restoration, faithfulness, and grace.
Like Peter, I’ve learned the best place to be when you are hurt, confused, and scared is as close to Jesus as possible.
I know that he can use what we mess up for his good.
I want to express my gratitude for being an extension of the restoration work in our lives and for enabling us to do the ministry we have through our Sacred Journey Soul Care Retreats. You have supported us in many ways, from praying for us to delivering meals and desserts to providing housing for our participants.
You have loved us well over the last 10 years. Joe has said on numerous occasions that serving Mountain Heights has been the best years of his ministry.
So, thank you for giving us the privilege of loving you and serving here.
I love you all very much.
****
Here is a question: Is God beautiful or terrifying to you in your failures?
How you answer that question will reveal how deeply you understand the Gospel of grace. God wants to meet us in our failures—that is his specialty.
Jesus shows us a God who will meet us where we are and fix our failures. As the sun dawns on that sea and the disciples warm themselves by the fire, Jesus probes a recent wound in Peter’s heart.
Verse 15 says, So when they had eaten breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon, do you love Me more than these?”
Can you imagine being Simon? Your failure is known by everyone sitting around that fire. You didn’t blow it once, but three times. They all know that. They might have forsaken him, but they never denied him.
Then He calls your name, singles you out, and asks you a comparative question: “Simon, do you love Me more than these?”
What Jesus says is remarkable. But what he doesn’t say is even more remarkable.
He doesn’t say:
• Some friend you turned out to be.
• I’m disappointed in you.
• You let me down.
• You’re all talk.
• You are a coward.
• Boy, was I ever wrong about you!
• And you call yourself a disciple?”
Instead, he asks, “Do you love me?” He asks three times, once for each denial. Not to rub it in, but to allow Peter to confess his love openly. Something Peter desperately needs to verbalize. By the third time Jesus asks him, Peter connects the dots, and a flame leaps from that smoldering memory.
And it burns.
However, Jesus is not there to inflict pain but to relieve it. Jesus had seen his bitter tears when the rooster crowed. That was all he needed to see. That was repentance enough. Peter looks up, longing for the faintest glimmer of forgiveness. And by the smile in Jesus’ eyes and the tone of His voice, Peter knows all is forgiven.
“Jesus said to him, ‘Feed My sheep.”
This was Jesus saying, “I still believe in you. You are my beloved. I think you’re the right man for the job.”
That is when Peter received the restoration of the Lord. The ministry of restoration has been around for a long time.
• Moses would have been a shepherd for the rest of his life without restoration.
• Elijah would still be pouting under a broom tree without restoration.
• David would never have written some of his best Psalms without restoration.
• Jonah would have been fish poop on the bottom of the Sea without restoration.
• And Peter would have finished his days fishing for fish without restoration.
The ministry of restoration is why we are still here on earth. Our call is to bring ‘up there down here’ until nothing is broken and nothing is missing.
This intimate moment proved to be a turning point in Peter’s life. Within seven weeks, he would preach the boldest sermon of his life. It would be in Jerusalem, the bastion of hatred against Jesus. Three thousand would be saved. They would form the nucleus of the church he would establish there.
Later, he would stand before Caiaphas himself and the entire ruling council that had conspired against Christ. He would confront them in a bold confession of his Savior. And he would preach about his crucified Lord, shaking the foundations of the temple and sending a tremor to rock even the mighty pillars of the Roman Empire.
Finally, as Jesus said, he would be crucified. Eusebius tells us that when they were putting Peter on the cross, he asked to be crucified upside down, for he didn’t feel worthy to die in the same manner as his Lord had.
What kind of friend inspires devotion like that?
A friend like no other.
A friend who prayed for him when he was weak.
A friend who picked him up when he was down.
A friend who forgave him when he failed.
A friend who pursued Peter, the failure of failures.
A friend who healed a painful memory.
A friend who loved him.
A friend who believed in him.
A friend who sticks closer than a brother.
A friend like Jesus.
A friend who died for him.
An old hymn we used to sing in the church I grew up in,
What a friend we have in Jesus,
all our sins and griefs to bear!
And so, Mountain Heights, may you ever share the good news about a Savior who wants to prepare breakfast for failures until no one is broken, and no one is missing.
The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. Isaiah 40:8
It’s an interesting truth about us that we don’t like to think much about death, but we spend a lot of money when it happens.
I did some research this week on the funeral industry. I read a market analysis by an MBA in the coffin business. He is very optimistic because of the increased number of people who will die in the United States over the next thirty-five years. He said the “growth in the deceased” forecast continues each decade, peaking at 18.1% between 2030 and 2040.
Because “Boomers” want to go out in style, one of the growing trends is the “Designer Casket.” These can cost up to $20,000.
There are “University Caskets” that can be made in the colors of your Alma Mater, and you can get your school logo on it. These were sold at Ohio State University at a Homecoming Game.
When they say “Homecoming” at Ohio State, they really mean homecoming!
Does anyone recognize the name “Mel Blanc?” He was the voice behind all of the cartoon characters in Looney Tunes. At the end of every movie, you would see Porky Pig come on the screen, and he would always say the same thing: “That’s all, folks!”
A few years ago, Mel Blanc died. Do you know what his family put on his tombstone? “That’s all, folks.”
Which is true? He is risen indeed, OR That’s all, folks?
Does death mean that the show is over, or is it possible that somewhere the real show is just starting?
Today, I want to talk to everybody who needs to know about the show that starts after death. In other words, I want to talk about hope.
For some of you, life may be going great this Easter, and everything is up. I hope that’s true, but I know many folks for whom that isn’t true.
I think about a couple who have been married for twenty years, and their marriage is melting like an ice cube on a hot summer day.
I think about a man I know who is suffering incredible pain in his body and has no end to that pain in his future.
I think about a young person I know who is not at all sure there is a God or there is a hope.
I want to talk especially today to some of you who might have thought, “I’m not sure I want to go to church on Easter.”
If that is you this morning, I want to remind you that the first Easter did not come to happy, well-dressed people for whom life was going well. It came to people who had just lost their leader and their hope. They were frightened, confused, afraid, and disappointed.
We need a hope that is not glib, that is not superficial, and that is not just human. If it were just about our circumstances, we wouldn’t need Easter if we could engineer hope.
The Truth
Life is brief. Isaiah and his people, Israel, lived in really dark times politically and economically. They were suffering. The ancient superpower, Babylon, oppressed them. Things were really bad, and Isaiah wanted to tell them words of comfort and of hope, but he was given this odd message.
A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All people are grass… Vs. 6
It’s an odd message to give folks in a dark place, but it’s true. Whether you believe in the Bible or not, it’s just true. We live in a culture that doesn’t talk much about death or really serious matters. We kind of live in denial of it. But the death rate among humans is hovering right around 100%.
I don’t know that there’s ever been a culture that has spent more money on death and less time and attention to what comes after death.
But that hasn’t always been true of us. For many generations, when parents would tuck their children in at night, they would have them say a little prayer. Many of you know this prayer:
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
That’s not a very cheery way to send kids off to bed. There’s a second verse:
Our days begin with trouble here, our life is but a span.
And cruel death is always near, so frail a thing is man.
Night, night, honey—pleasant dreams.
People used to teach their kids to pray this because people wanted their children to know that death is real, but it’s not the end.
Isaiah says, “Don’t put your ultimate hope in human sufficiency, ingenuity, or strength!” When he said this, these people were living in the shadow of Babylon’s wealth, splendor, power, and ambition—the best the earth offers. People in Babylon believed that Babylon’s glory would last forever.
Did it? Do we have any Babylonians here with us this morning? Notice it didn’t last as long as they thought it would. Of course, America is different. Aren’t we much smarter than the Babylonians were? We have technology, the glory of America. The Bible says all flesh is as the grass.
You don’t have to believe the Bible. Just look around.
All flesh is as grass. This is important because we live in a culture that denies this.
The Ache
All flesh is grass;
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers; the flower fades. Vs. 6b-7a
Grass is here today and gone tomorrow. We’re that way, but here’s how we differ from grass.
The Preacher says,
[God] has made everything beautiful in its time…He has put eternity in [our] hearts… Ecclesiastes 3:11
The grass doesn’t know it’s here today and gone tomorrow. No other creature carries this glory and this burden.
There is a cave in New Zealand filled with thousands of phosphorescent glowworms, which light up the inside of the cave. These worms spend most of their lives as larvae. Amazingly, they have no mouths when they finally hatch and get their wings. They have no way to feed. They only live for one single day. They get one day to fly. They get one day to attract a mate, get married, have children, and then they die. One day.
The grass is here today and gone tomorrow. We’re different. We have a radar for eternity.
God has placed eternity in the human heart.
Back in 2013, I met many fascinating people on the Oregon section of the PCT through the Cascade Mountains of central Oregon. They were from different professions, socio-economic stations, and foreign countries like Switzerland, Finland, Australia, Ireland, and Texas.
I met a young woman named Megan. She had long brown hair with strands of gray streaking through her braids. One afternoon, I saw her sitting in the shade, trying to cool down in the 93-degree heat and reading a Steinbeck novel. We chatted briefly about Mr. Steinbeck, and then I moved on.
We kept meeting and having clips of conversations about life on the trail for about 60 miles. Once, a few of us were stopped at a stream, and she mentioned her father dropped her off at the trailhead in northern California. I asked a typical male/father question—“What does your father think of you hiking the trail all alone?” She looked defiantly at me and asked, “What does your father think of you hiking the trail all alone?” I might have offended her, so I said, “He’d be jealous.” She said, “Yeah, my dad is jealous too.”
Another time I asked what she did away from the trail. She said she was a Sustainable Transportation Planner and Program Developer for a small college in Monterrey, California.
“Huh?”
She repeated herself, but this time slower. “I’m a small college Sustainable Transportation Planner and Program Developer.”
I smiled like I knew what she was talking about and said, “Tell me more.”
“I advocate a vision of a transportation system that reduces greenhouse gas emissions, moves the most people in the least space with the least energy, and promotes public health through exercise.
“Oh,” I said.
I kept affirming her work of stewarding the environment, and the more I affirmed her, the more she talked.
Finally, she sighed and said, “I want this earth to be alive and well long after I’m gone, and I’ve dedicated my life to make that happen.”
“How long do you think this Earth will last?”
“Not very long if we don’t do our part.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Megan. But the law of entropy is clearly at work. As you know, it states that anything left to itself will become more disorganized and more random, like my garage. If I don’t clean it out and put everything away, it becomes cluttered and chaotic after a while. The universe acts in the same way.
“The Earth is not sustainable because the universe is not sustainable. But we want it to be. I certainly want it to be. But the best minds this world has ever produced have said it will one day end. Our sun will one day go supernova and burn out. It will all one day end. I believe in doing everything we can to care for it, but ultimately, it is fading away. There is an old Jewish proverb that says, ‘The grass withers, the flower fades, and surely the people are grass.’”
She stared at me and said, “So, are you saying I should not be trying to save the planet?”
“No! Keep doing it! Please do your best to sustain this good earth. I’m just saying that ultimately it is winding down. But you aren’t. You will live forever.”
“What do you mean?” she asked
“Just as thirst proves that there is water and hunger proves that there is food, your passion for a sustainable earth demonstrates that you have eternity in your heart. You long for significance, you long for sustainability. It is in your DNA. Taste the huckleberries at your feet, look at Mount Jefferson, and listen to that woodpecker rapping away on that tree…you are similar yet very different. You have sustainability in your soul.
She blinked and asked, “Who are you?”
I smiled and said, “I’m a Soul Sustainability Transportation Consultant and Program Developer for a small group of faith pilgrims in Washington State.”
She just stared at me.
“I’m just teasing you, Megan. I’m a pastor. And I work hard to awaken the sustainable. I hope you will continue to do your good work and listen to what your soul is trying to tell your head.”
“Okay,” she said. “Do you have any extra coffee?”
That was her signal that she was ready to change the topic.
God put eternity into your heart, and every one of us has those moments, those quiet moments, those still moments when we hear an eternal echo,
I love the way Dallas Willard describes this dynamic,
“You are an unceasing spiritual being with an eternal destiny in God’s great universe.”
This is just true…but I’m also like grass. I’m going to die. You’re going to die. God didn’t plant death in the human heart. It’s very interesting in the text. It says God planted eternity in the heart. Death is not the way we were supposed to be. Death came because of sin, and that includes my sin, and I’m going to have to face a holy God on a day of reckoning, and I have not lived up to the standard of his holiness. Not by a million light-years.
Human self-sufficiency is not going to get me out of this one. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, as well as all the creativity, innovation, and pride of America, are not going to innovate us out of this one.
If you do not have a hope bigger than death, you don’t have any hope at all; that is why God made a way.
The Hope
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand forever. Isaiah 40:8
That last phrase is a signpost if you are over fifty; if you are under fifty, think of it as a hyperlink. When we click on it, we see that Isaiah is pointing to something.
In the gospel of John,
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…And the Word became flesh and lived among us. (John 1:1,14)
Just like my words this morning express who I am, Jesus is the expression of God, the incarnation of God. The eternal Word became flesh.
But I thought Isaiah said that all flesh is like grass. Temporary. Disposable. It dies.
Yes, and that’s the point.
You understand that in this man, Jesus, the Word became flesh. They whipped him until he bled, put him on a cross, and hung him until he died. They laid him in a tomb, and they sealed it with a stone.
All flesh is as the grass. It’s always been that way. Then they said, “That’s all, folks!”
But on the third day, Jesus said, “I want my life back.” The stone rolled away, and the tomb was empty.
Eternity invaded history, and death was defeated.
There’s a great story about Churchill when he was a relatively young man. He was at a dinner party, and there was a woman, Lady Violet Ashworth, who had become a lifelong friend. It was the first time she had met him, and she said that for a long time, he just ignored her. Then finally…Churchill, a very colorful character and very ambitious… turned to her, and his first question was, “How old are you?”
She thought that was odd, but she told him. Churchill said, “I’m 29 already. Older than anyone else who counts, though.”
Then he started talking about all he wanted to do and just went on this diatribe.
“Curse our mortality. Curse ruthless time. How cruelly short is the allotted span for all we must cram into it? We are worms. All men are worms. We are all just worms, but I believe I am a glowworm.”
But even the glowworm has a day—just a day—to light up the darkness. All flesh is as the grass. Eventually, Churchill died on January 24, 1965, and they held his funeral, the end of maybe the most remarkable life of the twentieth century.
They finished the ceremony. Everybody thought it was all done, but after they thought it was done, to their surprise, there was a bugler up in the dome of Saint Paul’s. The bugler began to play. Just one single bugle playing “Taps.” That song in the army that says, “Day is done…” Darkness has fallen. It’s time for sleep.
The last note died out, and they thought, “Now it’s all over,” but on the other side of the dome, another bugler got up and played “Reveille,” the song of the morning,
“It’s time to get up. It’s time to get up. It’s time to get up!
And so, Mountain Heights, always remember that God has placed eternity in your heart, and because of the open and empty tomb, that even though all flesh is grass, that’s NOT all, folks!
Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity. – Simone Weil
After hearing me preach for the first time, Ellsworth looked down at my feet and said, “A man who isn’t afraid to wear cowboy boots in the pulpit is a man I will give a listen.” I glanced at my feet and then at his. His boots were black. He was a deacon in my first pastorate. He taught me about being a pastor, which had nothing to do with footwear.
I remember sitting with him and drinking coffee in silence. I counted the clock’s ticks on the wall, thirty metrical ticks between sentences. Ellsworth slurped his Folgers and stared out the window. We never talked much, but this is where I learned the most important lesson in being a pastor. He never complimented a sermon, he never challenged my theology, he never asked me for counsel, and he never encouraged me. The closest he ever came was after church one Sunday, he said, “Preacher, God rarely gets in a hurry.”
I learned that the unrushed presence of Jesus is the greatest gift a pastor can give to anyone.
After three and a half years, I moved to a different state and changed shoes.
Aside from the obvious list that you might learn in seminary, like holding confidences, being faithful to the creeds, being prepared to preach, staying away from finances, not exaggerating too much in sermons, and keeping your lust at a discreet level—there is another way to measure trust. It is deeper. It goes unseen but is not unknown.
Congregants can smell an anxious pastor like polar bears smell seal pups. They may not be able to articulate the feeling they get from the aroma of a pastor on the move, but they know not to put their full weight on him. And anxiety begets anxiety.
A couple of thoughts for pastors:
A couple of thoughts for congregations:
I Heard the Owl Call My Name is a best-selling 1967 novel by Margaret Craven. I’ve given away dozens of copies of the book to young pastors. The book tells the story of a young Anglican priest named Mark Brian who, unbeknownst to him, has not long to live. He learns about the meaning of life and how a group of people can teach him how to be their pastor when he is sent to a First Nations community in British Columbia. He learns to be at home in his own skin and to be himself and present to the people, who then become present to him.
When pastors find their place in the belovedness of the divine Groom, their anxiety diminishes, and the Bride of Christ responds by walking through her community with the soft sound of sandaled feet.
And that is the best footwear ever.
There is a dark and desolate place in the life of everyone who follows the Man from Galilee. It is a place of confusion, unanswered prayers, sorrow, and despair. It goes by many names: crisis of belief, spiritual depression, desolation, wilderness wanderings, the wall, and dark night of the soul.
It can be a place of catastrophic destruction due to a self-inflicted wound like a moral failure. Or you are the victim of someone else’s selfish and sinful choice. It can be a health scare. It can be a hidden addiction that has wormed its way to the surface of your life and no longer stays hidden. It can be a professional or relational failure. It can be a growing disillusionment that the life you have built is not fulfilling the deepest longings of your soul.
Sometimes, through no fault of your own, life kicks you in the teeth, and darkness becomes your boon companion.
No one is exempt from this midnight at high noon. Moses went through this place, Elijah did, and King David did. Jeremiah lived in the desert of desolation all his life. John the Baptizer knew this dark place, and so did his cousin from Nazareth when he found himself in a garden called Gethsemane.
Perhaps an analogy will help.
I live in the valley of the Arkansas River’s headwaters. Every late spring and early summer, when the snow melts, the river swells to a point where it is a thrilling opportunity for recreational raft trips. Many rafting companies in our valley provide guided rafting trips down the river. These guides know the classifications of the rapids. The most advanced rapids are class 5.
Rivers in the Class 5 group contain incredibly long, obstructed, or violent rapids, exposing a paddler to added risk. Drops may contain large, unavoidable waves and holes or steep, congested chutes with complex, demanding routes. Rapids may continue for long distances between pools, requiring a high fitness level. Several of these factors may be combined at the high end of the scale. Advanced scouting is recommended but may be challenging to accomplish. Swims are dangerous, and rescue is often difficult, even for experts. Proper equipment, extensive experience, and practiced rescue skills are essential to attempt rapids in this classification.
Spiritually, class five rapids is a stage in our spiritual development when a person undergoes a difficult and significant transition to a deeper perception of life and their place in it. This enhanced awareness is accompanied by a painful shedding of previous conceptual frameworks such as an identity, relationship, career, habit or belief system that previously allowed us to construct meaning in our life.
The rapids are a deeply holy place on the faith journey. It is always individual, mysterious, God-shaped, and infused with Spirit—inviting us to transformation. The rapids are one of the most difficult parts of the faith journey and it asks more surrender of us than we may think we are capable of.
A guide is recommended through this stage of your sacred journey. A guide who knows this section of the river of faith.
No one wants to go through the rapids. It is a season of pain, uncertainty, and disorientation. But we all have whitewater rapids in our lives. Even Jesus had class five rapids—the crucifixion. A frequent question asked is what do we do when we encounter our class five rapids? Often that means what do I need to do to stop this pain, uncertainty, and confusion. We can get a glimpse of how to position ourselves during the whitewater phase by following Jesus’ pattern of prayer.
Allow Jesus to accompany you down the river with these prayers.
“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me…” Matthew 26:39
Jesus prays his way into and through his rapids—death on the cross. In the praying, death acquires an unguessed dimension: no longer a dead end but a passageway to resurrection, no longer a terminus, but a beginning.
When we pray, we willingly participate in what God is doing, without knowing precisely what God is doing, how God is doing it, or when we will know what is going on—if ever.
Like Jesus, this is a time to pray what we want, not what we ought to want.
What do you want from God?
What are your deepest feelings right now?
What are you sensing in the stillness?
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Mark 15:34
Whitewater rapids cut us off from our moorings. Other than death, rapids are the ultimate incomprehensibility. I no longer belong. I no longer fit. And I am not given an explanation.
Jesus’ way of dealing with his rapids is to move into the midst of it an let the rapids do their deeper work on his soul. The writer of Hebrews reminds us, Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. (Heb. 5:8)
It is not easy. Nobody said it would be easy. It wasn’t for Jesus. Praying this fragment prayer reveals the worst that comes to us in a life of belief in God: the experience of absolute abandonment by God.
What does your heart feel as you go down these rapids?
Acknowledge the sorrow of desolation.
Lift your heart towards your deepest longings.
What do you sense during this time of silence?
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:34
Often, when we go through our rapids, those around us will be just as confused by the darkness and uncertainty as we are. Some will want us to snap out of it and be happy. Others will try to fix us with encouraging words and platitudes. Or by giving us unsolicited advice.
Here a posture of grace and mercy is needed. Hessed, lovingkindness, will be needed in large doses. For “Job’s friends” can be relentlessly brutal.
Ask for a double portion of steadfast love and mercy for family and friends.
Listen to the Holy Spirit as you listen to those who don’t understand.
Live with an open heart and hand towards others.
“I thirst.” John 19:28
This is a one-word prayer in Greek: dipso. Think about what Jesus prayed on the cross—sense the abandonment, forgiveness, and relinquishment. And now—pain: the body shutting down, lungs failing, heart failing, kidney’s failing. In Jesus’ class five rapids, this leave-taking of his body was experienced as excruciating thirst.
We can never underestimate the impact of the rapids or dark night of the soul on our physical state. Pay attention to what your body is saying to you. It is not unreasonable to ask God for relief from the pain we go through as we pass through rapids.
Where do you feel tension in your body through this experience?
Ask God to help you notice specific physical pain or discomfort.
Listen to what your body is telling you about how this experience is affecting you physically.
Let God speak to you through your physical experience.
“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Luke 23:46
This is a prayer of trust. When we pray this prayer, we don’t know what might happen next, but we are releasing ourselves into the care and control of the one who calls us “beloved”.
Jesus prayed this trusting prayer in circumstances that were anything but secure and safe. When you pray this prayer through your rapids, picture being in the company of Jesus as he utters it from the cross.
Remember: Jesus was not giving up; he was entering in—entering into the work of salvation. And when we pray this prayer as we go through our rapids; we are entering into the work—deep work—of what the rapids can accomplish in our souls.
What does it feel like to pray this prayer?
In what ways are you deceiving yourself?
Let your grasp of control be released to the Father.
What will the evidence be of you leaving the outcomes with God?
What we can’t know in the midst of the rapids is that there is life on the other side that is unspeakable and full of glory. There is resurrection morn. There is exaltation, if not in this life, in the life to come. It is our outcome, it is our destination, it is our birthright as the beloved of God.
As I heard an old preacher say one time, “Never doubt in the dark what God revealed to you in the light.”
In the meantime, pray, paddle, and trust God to remember you.
Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord. Isaih 1:18 (KJV)
Not too long ago, something in the national news troubled me greatly. It was confrontation that I felt was crude, rude, and demeaning. Two men with all the power in the world shamed another leader in public. I was gut-punched by the bullying that was going on in front of the entire world.
I commented on the behavior of the powerful leaders in social media. My quote was, “There was ONE adult in the Oval Office today. And English is his second language.”
The amount of criticism I received from a segment of my social media connections was pretty impressive.
The apologists for the bullies were quick to point out that there was much more to the story than the news media was portraying. They also accused me of not being fair. “Did you post critical comment about the other guy when he was in office?”
This taught me that in our current cultural moment, when someone criticizes your favorite politician, it is the same as attacking you. This tells me that for many people, their identity and sense of self have wrapped themselves around the axle of the person or party I voted for.
This social media firestorm that my post created raises a critical question for me as a pastor of a group of lovely people who mostly voted for and supported the bullies: When does a pastor speak out against a leader’s ungodly behavior?
Why can’t a leader of a local faith gathering call out the abusive behavior of those in power? My experience has taught me that he or she can, if it is against the opposition. I am concerned that, as a pastor, I can’t speak against the behavior of a public leader or influencer unless my criticism is aimed at the right enemy—your enemy.
Historically, pastors have been faithful in calling attention to the bad behavior of leaders in the public square. I did when President Clinton was in office back in the nineties concerning his inappropriate relationship with an intern. I spoke out against Hillary Clinton calling Trump supporters the “deplorables.” I did it when it came out that the Bush administration lied about weapons of mass destruction being in Iraq. I did it when then President Joe Biden called Trump supporters “garbage.”
The lack of spiritual discernment in politics is stunning. People I love and respect can’t discern the difference between criticizing a particular policy and criticizing unethical behavior.
I constantly feel tension in two areas. I am a pastor, which means I love and care for the souls of many people. When you have been ordained since 1984, you are even the pastor of people outside your local church. I want them to love and trust me, and I have great compassion for them. On the other hand, I have a trait, tendency, predisposition deep in my bones to speak prophetically when an injustice has occurred.
Honestly, I wish one of those thorns would go away. I wish I could love everyone and turn a blind eye to the world’s injustices. OR when I speak out against the injustices and end up angering people I love, I wish it would roll off of me like water off a duck’s back.
So far, I have to live with both realities in my heart.
As I lost relationships this last week because of my criticism of bullying behavior, I felt alone and in need of some comfort. I prayed. I journaled. I sat in silence. I did some serious soul searching. I kept asking myself, “Where can I find a roadmap through this hostile landscape? Who can I talk to? What can I read? Who has gone through this before?”
Because of my life station (read old age), I am finding more and more pastors looking to me for guidance. But where do I go for my roadmap?
I have been reading Psalms every day for many years. However, because of my self-inflicted wound on social media, I have felt a need to find hope and solidarity with the ancient people of God who found themselves in difficult times—times of oppression, exile, and attack.
That has led me to supplement my reading of the ancient Jewish prayer book with readings from the major prophets. I remembered that those pastors/poets spoke out during very volatile times—sometimes during enemy occupations, other times during corrupt kings, and still others when exiled in a foreign land.
At one point, the prophet wrote down what God promised, and it encouraged my soul.
“Reassure the righteous
that their good living will pay off. Isaiah 3:10 (MSG)
I’ve been reading through Isaiah the last few days. I am inviting you to join me on this pilgrimage. Let’s read the prophets together. I will warn you that it is not an easy and uplifting read. There are deep divides between our times and cultures and those of the ancient people of God. You will often have to slog through sections that seem disconnected from our times.
Let’s stay on course, keep reading even when we don’t understand how this passage is relevant, and trust the Holy Spirit to plant a shoot of God’s truth in our hearts. This kind of reading and then living will pay off. I promise.
My strategy is to read on the day corresponding to the current day of the month. For instance, as I write this blog, it is March 10, 2025. I will read Day 10 of Month One on the reading plan. You certainly don’t have to do it this way; it’s just my way.
P.S. I am not interested in commenting again on whether I should have spoken out against the behavior in the Oval Office. I stand by my post and position.
I entered a relationship with Jesus I was aware of when I was seven. I can still see my tears falling into the green gold shag carpet in my preacher father’s study where I said, “The sinner’s prayer.” And I think I can still hear my little brother’s tone when he learned that I had been saved, “I hope it takes.”
Two years later, my family moved from Texas to Colorado, and I went to a youth camp at Ponderosa Camp just outside of Colorado Springs. I spent a week learning about Jesus, the proper handling of a .22, and making lanyards for our moms.
Every night, we gathered in an open pavilion for a chapel service with an altar call. I listened to the preacher on the last night of the week but heard from God. I heard him in my heart. I never heard words. It was more like a whisper—but it wasn’t a whisper of words. You might say it was a “calling.” It was very vague, almost ethereal, and I was troubled by it.
When I got home from camp, my mom and dad took me out on the back porch of the house we were staying in. My dad asked me about camp and what I had learned. I didn’t want to say anything, but I cleared my throat and finally muttered, “I believe God has called me to preach.”
I’ll never forget what he said next. He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath, looked at my mom, and said, “I was afraid that would happen.”
I eventually became a preacher. It was the natural progression in my family. My dad was a preacher. My grandfather had been a preacher. Folks at church would always ask me, “Are you going to be a preacher like your dad?” I don’t remember what I said, but I remember what I felt, “I hope not.” I didn’t want to be a preacher.
But that night at the camp, God whispered to me. He wanted me to pastor his people. I was called to my first church in 1984. I was twenty-six years old. I had no clue what to do. I knew how to preach but didn’t know how to be a pastor. That was over forty years ago. I have a clue now. And the reason is because God’s grace grew me into who he wanted me to be.
But ever since 1978, all I have wanted to do has been to pastor God’s church.
About ten years ago, at this time of year, Jerry Thornhill called to inquire if I would be interested in interviewing to be the pastor of Mountain Heights. I said yes. Then, in May 2015, you flew Lynette and me out here to meet you. I preached for you, and you voted to have me be your next pastor. That was ten years ago.
The highest honor of my life has been to be your pastor. But it is time for me to retire from pastoring.
Lynette and I are not moving. We love living here in Buena Vista and will continue to host soul care retreats for pastors in our home. I suppose you could say I will devote my time to pastoring pastors now because every pastor needs a pastor.
With your permission, I would like to continue as your pastor until May and help the Leadership Council find a suitable interim pastor to present to you for you to vote on.
I teach young pastors not to let what they do for a living get wrapped around the axle of their identity. I say, “You are, first and foremost, the beloved of God. Period. God has called you to be a shepherd of his people.”
I teach the younger pastors that, spiritually speaking, each of them has a last name and a first name. Their last name is God’s family name. In other words, their last name is “Beloved.”
But you also have a first name. It has to do with your calling and vocation.
My given name is Joseph, which means “one who adds.” I used to wonder, “Adds what?” Perhaps a story would help make this clear.
About 22 years ago, my dad and I took my oldest sons backpacking in the Sangre de Cristos. As we climbed the 13,200-foot pass to drop into the Deadman basin, I saw Dad slowing down. His knee had been giving him plenty of trouble. It was before his knee replacement, and he was climbing with bone on bone in his right knee. Understandably, he was the last up to the top of the pass. As we sat in that high alpine saddle above Timberline waiting for him, one of my sons said, “Dad, Grandpa is tough. Are you going to be able to climb up here like he is doing when you are 65?”
“Shut up, kid.”
No. I said, “Yeah, he is setting the bar pretty high for me.”
After a week of catching the best cutthroat trout in the state, we started planning our trek out. Dad’s knee never recovered as he had hoped, and the thought of climbing out the same way we came in was out of the question. The trouble was that we had never come out of Deadman any other way. We got the topographical maps out, and he and I began looking at other possible routes.
We settled on one good route and headed out on the sixth day of our trip. It was a longer trek but much easier on my dad’s knee. He was still slow but making good progress.
The final pitch down to Lower Sand Lakes and the relatively easier trail back to the truck was blocked by a cliff band that was dangerous to descend. I had everyone set their packs down and wait as I probed the cliffs to find a way down that was safe for my teenage sons and my injured father.
Eventually, I found a steep cut in the cliff’s rocks filled with remnants of last winter’s snow. I decided to kick-step down and drop my pack, then go back up and carry each of my sons’ packs down myself. I then carefully “spot them” from below, placing each of their feet in the large and boot-packed snow steps I had created on my initial descent.
I ferried them down the 75-foot snow chute one by one. It was slow going, and the boys were more than a little nervous about the descent. Dad watched me take each of them down and never said a word.
Finally, the only one left was Dad. I climbed back seventy-five feet to where he and his pack rested above the snow chute. I sat down beside him.
After a long silence, he said, “You are really good with those boys.”
“Thanks.”
The boys were burning off residual adrenaline with a snowball fight at the bottom. Dad and I just sat and watched them. Then, we would look out at the green floor of the Wet Mountain Valley.
We sat silently together.
Finally, I asked him, “How’s your knee?”
Probably a little more sternly than he meant, he said, “It hurts!”
I nodded.
We sat in silence a little more.
“How do you want to do this,” I said.
“I want to carry my pack down!”
I nodded.
“But you better carry it,” he said.
“Okay.”
We got up, and I put his pack on my back and went to the snow chute. I went first to spot him and make sure his feet were deep in the pocket of the steps we had created. As I stepped onto the snow with his pack on my back, he grabbed my shoulder, turned me to face him, and said, “You helped those boys feel safe in a dangerous situation. You have a gift of bringing calm and hope when people need it most. And You make me feel safe, too.”
Those words touched a place inside me that ached for affirmation and assurance that I had what it took to be a man. I’m not going to lie: Tears filled my eyes, making it difficult to shove his feet into those boot-packed steps down the snow chute—one foot after another.
My last name is Beloved. My first name is the one who adds hope.
I’ve told you this story to remind you that I love each of you and want to assure you that if I know anything, there is a better tomorrow for this church. Her best days are not behind her. Her best days are out in the many tomorrows that lie before you. I promise to help you get to that better tomorrow and your new pastor.
Now, please receive a blessing from God’s word from your pastor:
“The Lord bless you and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.” ’
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Resentment is the poison we swallow while we hope the other person dies. – Unknown
To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. – Lewis Smedes
Who is hard for you to love?
In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells a chilling story about the importance of mercy and forgiveness. It presents a parable where a king forgives a servant’s enormous debt, but the servant fails to extend the same mercy to a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller amount. The king’s anger at the servant’s lack of compassion highlights the expectation that those who receive forgiveness should also practice forgiveness towards others.
“Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’ In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.
“This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” (Matthew 18:32-35)
Why would this servant sit in judgment over a fellow servant? Because he was sitting in the wrong chair. Servants are not supposed to take the place of kings. The only thing that will change a servant from acting like a king is getting a view of the amazing love of the King who became a Servant.
To withhold mercy and forgiveness is a sign that you are sitting in the wrong chair.
We are the ones who should be on trial for our cosmic rebellion, but we put ourselves in the judgment seat. And yet the Lord, on the judgment seat, came down, put himself on trial, and went to the cross. The Judge of all the earth was judged. He was punished for us. He took the punishment we deserve for all the ways we harm each other.
The whole point of the gospel is to destroy your self-righteousness and the idea that you’re better than others.
That is why Christian Nationalism is so evil. Nationalism is a huge threat to the Gospel witness of the Church. And it is antithetical to the Gospel.
Patriotism is simple affection for your country.
Nationalism is the notion that your dirt is better than anyone else’s dirt. Your culture is superior to anyone else’s culture. Your people are better than anyone else’s people. God loves your country more than he loves any other country or tribe or language or people. That is anti-Gospel. (see Revelation 7:9-10)
The Gospel tells you you’re a sinner saved by grace. If you stay angry at somebody, you are amplifying your heart’s self-righteousness. Turning you into a self-centered, self-pitying, self-absorbed person capable of more cruelty. The evil is winning.
I was splitting wood a few years ago, and a piece flew back and hit me in the shin. It didn’t tear my jeans but broke the skin underneath. No big deal. I’ve had tons of worse wounds in my life. But a month later, an infection began to swell up in my leg. Cellulitis. Nasty wound. I went to the doctor, and they prescribed antibiotics. I had evil cellulitis in my leg. But the antibiotic pills were supposed to rid me of the infection. What might happen if I had stopped taking the antibiotics before the recommended time? The evil cellulitis would have won.
We need to take our Gospel pill and keep taking it until we see ourselves and others the way God sees them.
The gospel humbles you. You can’t stay angry at somebody unless you feel superior to them. A proper view of the gospel of grace humbles you out of bitterness and contempt for others. Only then can you forgive others.
When Jesus was dying on the cross and he was being executed, he said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:24)
He says, “Father, what they’re doing is wrong. They need to be forgiven. They are guilty, and I’m dying for their guilt.” Instead of screaming at his enemies, what does he say? “Father, they really don’t understand the magnitude of what they’re doing.” Jesus has something good to say about his executioners.
If he treats his executioners like that, how dare you and I withhold mercy and forgiveness to those who harm us? Jesus wouldn’t even talk like that at the very end.
And so, dear friend, may the Lord give us grace and patience that can grow only from a great view of His dying and saving mercy.
Maybe then we will get out of God’s chair.
In 1985, Huey Lewis and The News released a hit single called The Power of Love. The song put them on the map of pop culture of the eighties. I’m not a huge fan of the song, but I looked up the lyrics to see if there was anything of substance there. Here’s the first verse of the song,
The power of love is a curious thing
Make a one man weep, make another man sing
Change a hawk to a little white dove
More than a feeling, that’s the power of love
Okay, those words won’t go down in history as the most profound description of love ever penned. But, perhaps, the following are,
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
The greatest force for change you will ever experience is the love of the God of the universe. It will change you. You will begin to pick up the values, mannerisms, and politics of the One you love.
Paul has a particular person in mind when he personifies love like this.
When Paul wrote, “Love is patient,” how could he not have been thinking about the One who said, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” There is infinite suffering out of love.
When he says love does not keep a record of wrongs, how could he not be thinking about the One who said, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing”?
When he says, “Love always protects, always hopes,” how could he not be thinking about the One who, when he saw His mother and the disciple named John, said to His mother, “Woman, behold your son!” Then He said to the disciple, “Behold your mother!”
Or when he said to the thief being crucified beside him, “… today you will be with me in paradise”?
According to Leif Peterson, when his father, Eugene Peterson, would say prayers with his kids as they were growing up, he would lean down and whisper in their ears these words,
He’s on your side.
He’s coming after you.
He’s relentless.
Paul describes a being that is coming for you. And as I read that description, there is nothing to fear in the pursuer.
Have you ever seen a couple who had been married for decades who seemed to look a lot alike? This is actually a thing. It’s called “empathetic mimicry,” where two people unconsciously mirror each other’s facial expressions and emotions over time, leading to similar muscle patterns and wrinkle formations on their faces, making them appear more alike.
Love is a power, and love is a person. We will be changed to the degree you and I connect with Jesus.
I learned about a practice that originated with Saint Ignatius. After I read a Gospel passage (this morning, I read John 14 aloud), I invite the Holy Spirit to guide me, and I practice meeting Jesus in the way Ignatius taught.
Meeting Jesus
1. Close your eyes and imagine yourself walking. You choose the place and time.
2. In the distance, you see a person walking toward you. As you get closer, you realize it is Jesus. He greets you by name.
3. He says something about the weather to start the conversation.
4. Then wait with your imagination for what he says next.
5. Then you can say whatever you’d like to Jesus and wait for a response.
6. When you are ready, you can say goodbye in whatever way you would like.
7. Reflect: Notice not only what was said but what tone of voice and body language were used. What stood out to you most about Jesus?
My late mother lived in Colorado and Washington state for over sixty of her eighty-three years. But she was born in Texas and raised in southeast Colorado—close to Texas. Her parents were from West Texas. My grandmother and grandfather spoke with heavy Texas accents, but for the most part, my mother lost her Texas accent.
However, when her sister visited, they might talk in the next room, and their voices would start to blend. My mother would begin to talk in her Texas accent. Both my aunt and my mother sounded the same.
In fact, my mother would sound like a Texan for quite some time after my aunt would leave and go home. They sounded alike because they spent time together.
And so, friend, may you spend so much time with Jesus of Galilee that you begin to know down in your bones that,
God loves you.
He’s on your side.
He’s coming after you.
He’s relentless.
In time, others will say that we speak with a Galilean accent.
As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. John 15:9
God is madly in love with you, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You are His beloved.
Do you believe that? Lots of people will say that they know God loves them but are unsure if he likes them. But how do you love someone or something that you don’t like? If I like someone, I want to spend time with them. God always wants to spend time with you and me. That’s why Jesus invites us to abide in his love.
But what if I keep failing? What if I can’t seem to get on the right side of my sin problem? God loves you even if you never get better. Our relationship status with God has nothing to do with our behavior. If it did, we would have a performance-based relationship with him. And we don’t.
Scriptures say that Jesus was the Lamb of God who had come to take away the sins of the world to give us the approval we long for and could never find ourselves. Perhaps it would be healing for you to sit with the following verse from Saint Paul,
Praise…the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved. Eph. 1:6
Let’s say someone is mean to you and criticizes you. When you abide in God’s love, you can step back and say, along with author Tim Keller, “I have the smile of God; all other frowns are inconsequential.”
It’s an ability to continually say, “I am a son of the King. I am a daughter of the King. My Father loves me with great love, and I already have the only riches that count, the only love that lasts, the only family that matters.”
That’s abiding in his love. That’s remaining in his love. That’s telling yourself the Gospel!
When my oldest son, Cole, was thirteen, he went on his first backpacking trip with a wilderness program I led. Being the preacher’s kid and an eager 13-year-old with older boys made for a painful week for Cole. Because he was eager and awkward, they teased him more than normal. He kept feeling rejected by the cool kids.
He was in a tent with the older boys, trying to fit in, and they kept teasing him so much that he finally left that tent and came to mine.
He said, “Dad, they are so mean to me! It’s like they don’t care.”
I said, “I know, son.”
He kept looking out of the tent toward the group of boys. Then his head would drop, and he would stare at his hands. Whenever laughter erupted from the older boys’ tent, he would look out of the tent door. He wanted to fit in and be there with those boys.
I remember watching him and thinking, “You are so loved, son. Can’t you feel my love? If you relax in my love, it will mark your life. There will come a day when you will forget those boys’ names, but you will never forget my name. Let my love fill you up right now.”
The power of my love to change my son’s life is significantly limited, but the power of the Heavenly Father’s love to change our lives is unlimited.
I squeezed his shoulder, patted him, and said, “I love you, son.”
He looked out the tent door towards the laughing boys, sighed heavily, and said, “I know. Let’s play some cards, Dad.”
I love what poet and writer the late Macrina Wiederkeher prayed in her book Season of Your Heart,
O God
help me to believe
the truth about myself–
no matter how beautiful it is!
You are the beloved of God. Believe it. Trust it. Abide in it.
Some of you need to stop looking out of the tent at your inner and outer critics and look up to the Father—you are loved with everlasting love, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.
Reflections by Sheri Dursin
The Beautiful Due
Christianity, ethics and social systems
I saw a new heaven and a new earth. -- Revelation 21.1
An accurate description of what you are about to read!
Pondering my way through God's beloved world
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Reflections of a Rural Pastor
Invest in Your Pastor's Joy for the Good of the Church
The best ideas are common property
Reflections from the Shore
A collection of musings from a curious cleric
poetry by Jay Chambers
We have some ideas about things
Author, Editor, Contemplative
Articles, books, sermons, and Bible study notes by Tim MacBride
Refractions on Life and Leadership
Nurturing spiritual health in the lives of pastors and spiritual leaders
Field Notes On The Jesus Way 
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