<![CDATA[LifePath Church - Together for Good]]>

<![CDATA[LifePath Church - Together for Good]]>Tue, 09 Jun 2026 02:51:23 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Ultraprocessed Time]]>Thu, 11 Jun 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/ultraprocessed-time

Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.
-Psalm 90:12

The title of a recent New York Times article caught my eye today. It was a phrase used by Dr. John La Puma, the author of a book titled “Indoor Epidemic.” He uses the term ultraprocessed time to talk about minutes and hours that get sucked up staring at phones or consuming cheap media.

La Puma suggests that ultraprocessed time "does to our attention what ultraprocessed food does to our metabolism." I took an ethics class in seminary where we focused on food production. And let me tell you, ultraprocessed food not only has no nutritional value, but many times it's not even real food.

The same might be able to be said about this idea of ultraprocessed time. Did you ever look up and wonder, where did that last half hour go??? I feel gross.

This past Sunday during the first message in my June sermon series (titled "Neurodivergent Jesus" 🙂), I was reflecting on our approaches to time, and how remarkably interruptible Jesus was. He didn't process time in typical ways. He was always willing to be interrupted, even when he had important places to go. In fact, Jesus' ability to be completely fixated on the person right in front of him, even when that made him late for other responsibilities, led to lives being transformed again and again (if you want, you can listen here).

So today, in addition to seeking to be a little more present and a little more interruptible, I'm also thinking about limiting my consumption of ultraprocessed time.

In our exhaustion and stress and busyness, we look for the easy distraction, but it actually leads us to not experience time well at all. When was the last time you made a list of what it means to have "time well spent" and then prioritized it? I can go entire days without asking myself that question.

Unsurprisingly, I’m really interested in how we understand each minute that we live. The writer of Ecclesiastes, in reflecting on the nature of life, uses the Hebrew word hevel thirty-eight times. It's really the main theme in the book. And it's sometimes translated as "meaningless." But literally, hevel is just the Hebrew word for "vapor." So, was Solomon suggesting that life is meaningless, or that life is a vapor? How we spend our time will reveal our interpretation.

Consider the two options. On one hand, life has very little purpose and what we do with it has no real value. On the other hand, life is brief and should be lived with beautiful purpose, releasing the things that should not be held onto and holding to the things that we don't want to miss out on. Time spent dwelling on what is good and beautiful, and using our minutes to contribute love and care into the world, will make us feel good and healthy and pleased on the other side. I almost never feel that way when I eat my second pack of swedish fish. And I almost never feel that way after an hour of allowing processed algorithms on my phone to determine what I consume.

I'm not interested in guilt, but I am interested in purpose. The older I get, the more valuable time with others becomes, and the more valuable intentional solitude becomes. It's easy to slack on my "time nutrition" and before I know it, I start feeling pretty gross.

It doesn't always have to be high and holy. And I'm also not on an old guy rampage suggesting screens are evil. In fact, one of my disciplines in the coming weeks is to watch a lot of World Cup games with friends and family, enjoying every minute together. It's also to turn my phone off during those games, so that pixelated junk food doesn't ruin my chance to be fully present with others.

As you follow Jesus this summer, what does it look like to enjoy healthy time, knowing that life is a vapor, but that you are incredibly loved, and capable of incredible love? What new and beautiful practice can take root in your life to help you move from ultraprocessed time back to the real thing?

Jesus, help me realize the beautiful gift of each day, so that my time is spent in ways that have lasting value.

Peace,
Keith

]]><![CDATA[A Couple Fish]]>Thu, 04 Jun 2026 12:23:44 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/a-couple-fish

“Bring them here to me,” he said.
-Jesus, Matthew 14:18

Hey, friends. I'm back from my May break, where I had the gift of a few weeks to pause my teaching and writing responsibilities. I'd love to report that this week I'm super ready to go, full throttle, with tons of hope! You know, full of that victory-in-Jesus life!

Yeah, I'd love to report that. But I can't.

The reality is that this week has been hard. I've felt some of the pain in our world and the struggles of people I love. I've felt stuck on issues that seem to have no quick and easy solutions in our society, and then personally I've been left holding some big feelings of my own inadequacy in like all the areas (parenting, pastoring, house needs, strategic thinking, processing some losses).

It crept up on me. I don't know if that happens to you. If you feel fine one day and then, boom, it all just feels like too much and God feels just barely out of reach.

So this afternoon I was thinking about the famous story of Jesus feeding the multitudes, and Jesus told the disciples to work together with him to feed everyone and all they found was this one kid with a bit of bread and two fish.

I love digging into the cultural depths of Bible stories. But sometimes the most obvious reading is actually the best one. The fish get multiplied. The bread loaves never run out. And so what this kid has to offer...is enough. Yes, it's woefully inadequate in his hands. But the miracle that Jesus does to care for everyone didn't really need an "adequate" offering. It just needed the tiniest bit of lopsided partnership. The kid gave what was available, and if it would have been a quarter of a tuna sandwich with stale edges and bite marks, that would have been enough too. It was the open hands that were needed, not the impressive contents that they held.

So anyway, I'm sitting there with my laptop and for absolutely no reason I open Google and type:

"What if all I have is a couple fish"

It's not a valid question to ask Google. Google is not God. Google is not a therapist. Google is not particularly insightful. Google should NEVER direct our life choices on issues of ethics, theology, politics, self-reflection, or Together For Good™ reflections.

But, I confess that sometimes I type existential questions into Google, even if it's against everything I believe. Praying about it would have been a much more appropriate response as a pastor. What can I say? Humans are inconsistent and complicated. Pastors are too. Sorry to disappoint.

Here's what appeared on the top hit from the search engine:
Having just a "couple" of fish is actually a great starting point for aquariums. Smaller groups produce less waste, reducing the risk of ammonia spikes.

That's not at all what I meant. But also, that's good to know and now I sort of want to get an aquarium.

Just a couple of fish is a great starting point.

I don't know where the attitude came from that for us to offer something meaningful to each other and the world, we have to make it all happen ourselves. Our entire faith is founded on what Jesus does in us and in our world, not on our own impressive offering.

So this week, if you're heading into summer and think that you should have your emotional, spiritual, and physical life perfectly in order, I invite you to hear the whisper of Jesus (or even Google): Just a couple of fish is a great starting point.
Even our longing for a world that is loving and just is something we can put into God's hands to work with. Our simple moments of care and love for each other, even when they seem inadequate, are enough for Jesus to bless and multiply. Our attempts to move toward healing and faithfulness and connection, even when we are mostly too overwhelmed to think about any of that... are worth so much in the hands of Jesus.

So whatever you've got today is sufficient if it's entrusted to Jesus. I don't have to fix the world. Neither do you. God forgive us for putting that sort of pressure on ourselves. God give us the grace and courage to just open our hands with the couple of fish that we have. And when we place them in Jesus' hands and ask how we can help, we will experience the beauty of a shared faith and the goodness of a God who multiplies our limited resources.

Jesus, teach me to trust you in the moments when I feel capable and in the moments when I feel like I have almost nothing to contribute. Help me hand it all over either way, knowing that if it lands in your hands, what you do with it will always be enough.

Peace,
Keith

]]><![CDATA[Believe your Beliefs, Doubt your Doubts]]>Thu, 30 Apr 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/believe-your-beliefs-doubt-your-doubts

“Do not be afraid; keep on speaking, do not be silent. For I am with you...”
-Jesus to Paul, Acts 18:9

I was influenced deeply in my faith by the work of the late Dallas Willard. Willard was a scholar and philosophy professor at the University of Southern California for many years, as well as a spiritual formation writer about Christian discipleship. His work on the nature of God and helping people engage with the philosophical questions, "What is the good life?" and "Who are you going to become?" helped an entire generation move toward Jesus.

Late in his life, he was interviewed by a well-known pastor during a series entitled, "Can smart people believe in God?"

He was being asked about the value of doubt, and he spoke at length about the way that doubt actually opens up spaces to receive new answers and ask great questions. But it's what he finished the conversation with that is particularly interesting to me today. He was talking about the temptation to sit in permanent doubt that no longer pushes you toward growth. And he said,

"Now, if you're going to be a doubter, be sure to doubt your doubts as well as your beliefs.... we're taught in our culture to think that a person who doubts is essentially smarter than a person who believes, but you can be as dumb as a cabbage and still say, 'Why....?' See, our culture is set up on that.
Well, maybe not dumb as a cabbage…you’d need lips. But we want to say, 'Believe your beliefs and doubt your doubts as well as doubt your beliefs and believe your doubts.' See, you go the whole round, and you keep that going."

Some of us have asked hard questions over the years. Some of us have deconstructed our faith and we're wondering what's next. Some of us aren't sure what to do with our faith when we see so many holes or don't particularly feel God very much.

In contrast to certain Christian opinions, I actually think these are all healthy and necessary realities in our growth as followers of Jesus.
But with that said....

Is it possible that it might be time for some of us to doubt our doubts and believe our beliefs a bit more? Perhaps God is waiting for us in a new way now that we've done the work. Maybe it's the right time to make the choice to live a day full of faith and pause our cynicism?

This is on my mind because I've been teaching from the book of Acts lately. And although it's known as "The Acts of the Apostles," the truth is that it's really about the Acts of the Holy Spirit. Throughout the entire book the leaders of the early Church are listening for the Holy Spirit, going this way or that because the Spirit says they should or shouldn't. It's amazing. Every day they live in expectation that Jesus will direct them and open the right doors for their message of Good News.

These are not easy messages for me to preach today. It's easier for me to look at things with a that-was-then-and-this-is-now assumption that makes me question if the Spirit is active like that anymore. I admit that many days I doubt it.

But you know what I'm fairly certain of? That if I'm quietly assuming God won't speak or move throughout my day, then I definitely won't notice if the Spirit does show up.
And on the flip side: If I'm living in expectation that God will show up throughout the day to bring encouragement, to strengthen me in hard moments, and to open doors for me to love others in the way of Jesus... well, if I'm looking for the Spirit, then I'm not going to miss her when she comes (or he comes. Or they come.)

Those of us who are doubting people ought to doubt our doubts regularly. It might be what we need again to open us up to a God who is living and active. And when you consider your beliefs — give yourself a chance to actually believe them and see what happens. You might notice in a new way that beyond the often ugly exterior of our Christian history, there is also a through-line of faithful Christians of authentic belief. You might notice that if you live like Jesus was actually serious about all he said, that your world gets deeper internally and wider relationally at the same time, with little glimpses of God's presence and opportunity for love and connection at every corner. You might just start believing that God’s presence can change your life forever.

Anyway, today's thoughts are a bit free-flowing. But beyond all the wordplay, I want to encourage you to live today expecting that Jesus is actively involved in your world: bringing strength, energy, redemption, and compassion to you, for the sake of those around you. So don't be so surprised when it happens.

Be hopeful today, friends. The author of love is with you.

Jesus, give me the gift of living in faith today.

Peace,
Keith

———————————————--
*My amazing congregation at LifePath gives me a “May Break” each year to step back from my teaching and day-to-day responsibilities for 4 Sundays. I’ll be doing a little travel, reading, and planning. So no promises on what the next weeks hold. If I do choose to write, I plan to share very simple creative thoughts. Thanks!

]]><![CDATA[Temporary Art]]>Thu, 23 Apr 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/temporary-art

“My Father is always doing his work. He is working right up to this day. I am working too."
-Jesus, John 5:17-18

This past Sunday after our morning gathering, I traveled across town to participate in the annual "Peace Walk" that our Delaware Interfaith group holds. It's co-hosted by my friends Charanjeet (a Sikh community leader) and Cynthia (a local pastor). Our small coalition of Muslim, Brahman, Hindu, Jewish, Sikh, Christian, and other friends walked down Main Street in the light rain with a banner promoting peace and understanding across faiths and backgrounds.

We waved at people, and we found someone from a different tradition than our own to walk with on the way. We formed new friendships and talked about learning to understand each other and work for a more peaceful community together.

When we arrived at our destination (a church parking lot at the other end of town), we stood outside and listened to several leaders give encouragement from their own faith traditions about living out peace and understanding. Every year, a local artist creates a large chalk mural on the ground in the parking lot for us to arrive at. The design promoted unity and understanding, as a stark contrast to the violent rhetoric and regular "other-ing" that is happening so often these days.

Because of the light rain, the beautiful chalk image was beginning to blur and bleed as we stood there. Even after 15 minutes, one side of the mural had become difficult to read. I stared at it and thought to myself, "what beautiful art! It's a shame it wasn't painted there permanently."

That's when I realized that it must be this way. You cannot paint peace permanently onto the ground. It will always be temporary. It must be recreated year after year. Month after month. Day after day. Moment after moment.

A cease-fire agreement only stands when both governments continue to resist the urge to strike each day. Our gracious attitudes toward those who are different can only counter bigotry when we continue to be in relationship across dividing lines. It is so easy to convince ourselves that when we do the work of the moment, we achieve something permanent. But that is simply not true. Our world is not static, and our work cannot be either.

Our values and our actions are chalk drawings. They can absolutely be beautiful and impactful and real. Yet they must be cared for and recreated and made again each day. Our connection with God, our character formation, our discipleship, our generosity, our love for others, our ability to understand and forgive each other, and our ability to break down barriers of hatred and disconnection that harm our shared humanity... these things must be practiced again each day in order to remain real and noticeable.

This is why the work of salvation is not a momentary experience, but a lifelong journey. This is why peacemaking is never ending. This is why our love and good works of last year do not free us from the work of love this year. This is why life in Christ is not a destination, but an ongoing relationship.

And if I'm honest in my exhaustion? It's frustrating that peace can fade away so easily in a moment, and for the selfishness and racism and greed in our world to wash away what we long to be permanent. But it's just a reminder that our work of moving toward each other and noticing the image of God in each other is a lifestyle, not a one-off task. The art needs to be made again each day.

Jesus modeled for us a life of full commitment to the love of God each minute of his life. The only time that he declared that his work was complete was when he breathed his last faithful, enemy-loving breath.

The ultimate healing work of Jesus is indeed finished. But how we reflect that now in our lives is a daily art project. Thankfully, the creative spark that energizes our temporary art does not come from us alone. It comes from God. The strength to see the race to its end is given as we trust the Holy Spirit. Thank God for giving us the energy of the Spirit, because I know I'd never have the capacity otherwise. It's just too hard to keep drawing each time there's a rainstorm.

So today, what lines have become faint that need to be retraced? What commitments to the love and goodness of Jesus need to be re-affirmed? What beauty is fading from the world that you can help to create once again?

Friends, our labor is not in vain. God is using it to bring about a new creation. One day it will come in fullness. Today, it starts within each of us. Keep being a peacemaker, and keep letting Jesus bring peace in you.

Lord, help my hands and my heart to not grow weary.
Peace,
Keith

]]><![CDATA[Acceptance-with-Joy]]>Tue, 14 Apr 2026 14:33:26 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/acceptance-with-joy

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.
-Romans 15:13

Last week our family spent a few days in the Virginia mountains, which is one of our yearly post-Easter rhythms. One of the most wonderful things about the region is that there are always new places to explore, and new beauty to encounter. On our final day we drove down south to explore a trail we hadn't hiked in the past, that was known for its unique cliff outcroppings.

Near the end of our loop, just as the sun was beginning to set, we made it to the final rocky outlook. And there, hanging right on the ledge, was a brilliant flower: a blue emerald creeping phlox.

All five of us noticed it without anyone needing to point it out. There was something about its brilliance, color, and stark contrast to its barren surroundings that was impossible to ignore.

As I took it in, an image emerged from my favorite allegory of the Christian journey called Hinds' Feet on High Places. It was written by a Christian mystic named Hannah Hurnard.

In the story, the main character named Much Afraid goes on a journey to the High Places with the Great Shepherd, even though she walks with a limp and is terrified that she is unable to make the journey, and unworthy of love.

Her journey takes her through many barren places of doubt and suffering, but each place she travels through shapes her spirit and moves her toward healing. At one point, she is journeying through an desert full of lifeless sand and rock:

In all that great desert, there was not a single green thing growing, neither tree nor flower nor plant save here and there a patch of straggly gray cacti. On the last morning Much-Afraid was walking near the tents and huts of the desert dwellers, when in a lonely corner behind a wall she came upon a little golden-yellow flower, growing all alone.

An old pipe was connected with a water tank. In the pipe was one tiny hole through which came an occasional drop of water. Where the drops fell one by one, there grew the little golden flower, though where the seed had come from, Much-Afraid could not imagine, for there were no birds anywhere and no other growing things.

She stopped over the lonely, lovely little golden face, lifted up so hopefully and so bravely to the feeble drip, and cried out softly, “What is your name, little flower, for I never saw one like you before.”

The tiny plant answered at once in a tone as golden as itself, “Behold me! My name is Acceptance-with-Joy!“

Much Afraid, taken aback at the boldness of this tiny plant, stares at this flower and considers her own journey of suffering and struggle. And the message of the flower begins to fill her with a deep hope: joy is still possible, even in the hardest moments. The Shepherd has brought her this far, and will continue to lead her toward life.

So she too, decides to adopt the posture of the flower as she looks into the face of the Shepherd and as she faces the world in front of her. "Behold me! I am Acceptance-with-Joy."

I've lost track of how many times I've told myself that it's hard to be a human in 2026. It's hard to be a Christian at a time when ugly things are linked to Christianity. It's hard to form meaningful friendships when life moves so fast and people are so guarded and distracted. It's hard to maintain hope when there is suffering and injustice and hatred being promoted daily by world leaders. And so many people I know right now are hurting. I doubt those realities are much different for any of you who are reading this as well. We walk through deserts in this life, without question.

In this season of Easter resurrection, embracing an identity of Acceptance-with-Joy does not mean that we accept injustice or accept that nothing can change and we just have to deal. Nor does it mean God is forcing suffering on us and we just need to, like, get over it already.

I think the Acceptance-with-Joy posture is an invitation for us to accept that, like Jesus said, "in this world you will have trouble," and also remember his amazing conclusion, "but take heart, I have overcome the world."

There is joy in knowing that though the journey is hard, hope is still accessible. God is still good. Love is always available. And the worst thing is never the final thing. Though things feel overwhelming, love will still win out. Though the moment may be confusing, the God of the universe will never stop drawing you back into relationship. So joy is possible, even while accepting that our world is still pretty barren in many ways.

Today is yet another opportunity to consider the flowers that grow on the cliff ledges. They don't have enough soil. The wind rages on them. Rain drains off almost before it can soak in. And yet, the beauty that they are able to display to the world is miraculous. So is yours, with the life-giving energy of the Spirit of Christ.

Happy Easter season, friends.

Jesus, form an identity in me that leads to a brave and honest joy, even when I look around me and see only desert.

Peace,
Keith

*Photo Credit: Judah Miller

]]><![CDATA[Making Preparations]]>Thu, 02 Apr 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/making-preparations

He will show you a large room upstairs, all furnished. Make preparations there.”
-Luke 22:12

I'm a hypocrite. I try not to be, but that doesn't change the fact.

When I get ready for one of my longer trail races over the mountains, you should see my kitchen table the night before. My gear and nutrition are all laid out perfectly. I know what socks I'll be wearing, I fill my vest, and I premix my electrolyte fluids in advance. I think about every detail of the following day and how to have the morning go as smoothly and stress-free as possible, so that I'm fully present and ready when I get to the start line. I'm often getting up at 4 a.m., so I don't want to be scrambling. It certainly requires extra intentionality. But I know how good it feels to be walking into a focused event fully prepared and ready to go. I've already done the training for the months leading up to that point, so I don't want to miss the gift of the moment because I haven't done the little things when it’s time to begin.

For how disorganized I can be sometimes, I can flip the switch completely when I decide it really matters. I know how to prepare.

Why then, is it so hard to prepare my heart and mind for moments of spiritual significance? That can be a completely different matter. That's why I'm a hypocrite.

Today is Holy Thursday, or Maundy Thursday, as it's been known for eight centuries (I wrote a TFG about that last year). Even though Palm Sunday has passed, today is when Holy Week begins to feel real. Tonight my community will take time to remember the meal in the upper room. Then tomorrow, the garden and the cross. Then Sunday, the great hope of resurrection.

I'm intrigued by the fact that all the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) mention the same statement before the Passion weekend begins. As Jesus and his disciples are entering the city, he tells them to go ahead and "make preparations" before the Passover celebration.

Go on ahead, and prepare for what's coming.
It feels like preparation was an important part of the story. It is for us today, too. But it has to go beyond the world of physical planning.

Yes, I prepare services and Easter messages. That's a part of my job and my pastoral calling. And many of you are preparing family plans, food plans, and good celebration plans. But right now I want us to consider what it means to prepare the deep places within our souls, far beyond our schedule. I want to invite us to be ready for the drama of the weekend—the sorrow and hope that we are invited to travel through. Many years I'm afraid that I'm a bit of a hypocrite, acting like I haven't had time to get ready. There's almost always time to prepare if something is important enough.

I invite you then, to take a moment to consider:
How will you make preparations for this weekend?
I'm not speaking of getting the ham out of the freezer or the eggs hidden in the yard. What will prepare your soul to sit deeply in the self-giving and redeeming love of God?
Perhaps it's a choice to turn off a device (actually off) for a few hours. Perhaps it's taking space to go on a walk with God before the busy weekend. I sometimes go into my woods and hand-build a cross to slow down my mind and my body and consider costly love.

I wonder how it could change your Easter if you took 30 minutes today to “make preparations.” Maybe there's a forgiveness in your life that needs to be given. Maybe you need to stop and breathe deeply of God's love. Maybe you need to read the story once more. Maybe you need to let your shoulders relax, and cry a little, letting God hold onto the crippling burdens you're carrying.

Friends, walk up ahead today. Get to the upper room a little early, like the disciples did, so that you can make preparations to receive love and hope once again in your life. I know you're capable of it. I know I am too. We may just find that our experience this weekend will be far richer if we do.

Jesus, don't let me miss the beauty of the story this weekend amidst all of the movement. Slow me down and soften my heart for the good news.

Peace,
Keith

*Next week is a bit of family rest, so TFG will be back in two weeks.

]]><![CDATA[Human Again]]>Thu, 26 Mar 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/human-again

When my spirit had grown weak within me, You knew my path.
-Psalm 142:3

My daughter had her middle school musical performances last weekend. It was a junior high-adapted version of Beauty and the Beast. If you don't know the story, I cannot relate to your childhood.

One of the songs in this version of the musical was called "Human Again." The servants of the Beast who had come under the castle's magical curse had all been turned into objects: a candelabrum, a clock, a feather duster, a teapot, and more.
And they sang a song about their longing. One day, they dreamed, they would be human again. Hmmmmmmm...

I want to be human again too.

I don't often spend time considering what keeps me human or what keeps me from humanness, but I've tasted both.

I know there are days that I am not much of a human being.
So let's start there. Let's slow down and choose rest for a moment. Let's practice confession.

I wonder sometimes if it's possible to be a human being anymore, when so little time is spent being anything. I think I am a human accomplishing most of the time. Ain't nobody got time to be anymore these days.

My taxes need to be done. My car has a red dashboard light that seems to be angry with me. My job has deadlines. Dishes need to be washed. Kids need support. Money needs to be made, then paid, then made, then paid. I also try to stay up on the news all the time because I have a need to be perpetually irritated.

And somewhere along the continuum of doing and scheduling and working and accomplishing and scrolling and checklisting and stressing and raging and caring and even all the good necessary things to keep surviving.....

I realize that I've spent very little time humaning.
And I want to be human again.

A few years ago while hiking in Scotland, I met a new friend and we shared a few miles walking alongside each other. He told me that he was practicing seeing the "grain of life." He meant that he was trying to move slowly enough to remove layers of distraction like a woodworker might sand old wood, revealing a finer grain underneath with more detail and beauty. Only in slowness would the next layer be able to be revealed. The day after that walk I took a train. And as I watched the countryside whizzing by me, everything a blur, I knew that he was onto something. I think he was trying to become human again, and I wanted to be like that too.

I wish I were better at following what I know is true about being human.

When Jesus taught his disciples to consider the flowers that spread across the meadows and the birds that fly above them, he was not only telling people to learn from them. He was inviting them to pause long enough to notice that the world was continuing just fine independently of them. He was inviting them to be present, and to understand that God made people as human beings, not human doings. He was inviting them to live within their limits, and to find worth from their connection and trust in God more than their ability to manage their lives successfully all the time (whatever that means).

One of the central pieces of our humanity is learning to rest in God's simple love.
I've been teaching the scriptures lately with a lot of cultural detail and background study. And I've been talking a lot with people about the theological intricacies of atonement and justice and nonviolence. Those are all important in our faith, and my goodness, they have a place.

But at the same time, I can see the tiredness in people's eyes— the need for rest, and not simply understanding. And today, I'm tired too. And I feel that need for the simple rest that Jesus offers over and over again (especially on a rainy Monday, when I'm writing this.)

So in this moment, I am practicing rest, knowing that I'm allowed to stop doing. And I'm inviting Jesus to make me human again.
Are you present enough at this moment to join me?

God's simple love is big and broad enough to be our hiding place. You're allowed to be worn out by [insert your life reality] and simply lay everything down and be.
Like the Psalmist wrote (Ps 73), our bodies and our minds may wear out, but God's presence is more than enough for us.

I trust you will find that today, knowing that you are known, you are loved, and you are invited to be human again, in all of its beautiful frailty. Jesus is with you.

Jesus, give me grace to recover the beauty of life with you that I have been missing.

Peace,
Keith

]]><![CDATA[Buried Fire]]>Thu, 19 Mar 2026 12:55:18 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/buried-fire

Don’t let the sun set on your anger. Don’t provide an opportunity for the devil.
-Ephesians 4:26b-27

Ok friends, let's reflect today on a foundational concept of discipleship: learning to release the things that poison our spirits and hinder our relationships. Let's talk about the spiritual virus of resentment.

I love making campfires. Every now and then when I'm backcountry camping (legally OF COURSE) I'll make a small fire for comfort and atmosphere. When it's time to pack up, it's really important to put the fire out well. Somewhere along the line I was given the impression that you could put a fire out by burying it with dirt. Do not do this, friends.

Putting some dirt or sand on top of a fire may get rid of the flames and give the appearance of extinguishing it. But in reality, it's not put out at all. In fact, the heat becomes insulated. Rather than the fire being put out, the embers just become hidden. And although there's less oxygen, that allows it to actually burn slower, insulating the coals and allowing them to smolder for hours or days. This can eventually cause roots to start smoldering, working their way up to re-igniting on the surface and doing a ton of damage. Yeah. It's a vivid image, isn't it?

Resentment can settle in the heart and damage everything it touches. When we don't deal with our anger or our frustration, but just try to cover it up and ignore it, it stays alive. It's not often loud and fiery. It's personal, and it can even be hidden. But it continues to smolder. And it infects the very roots of our souls. You either know it because you've seen it, or because you've felt it. Something happens that makes you angry- perhaps legitimately, perhaps not. And you dwell on it over and over. And it sinks deeper. And gradually, there are more and more things that you are negative about. And, without realizing it, you've moved from feeling angry to being a resentful person.

It went underground, and it started burning roots.

Much of our anger these days is well founded. Anger hits us as a result of injustice in the world, the reality of suffering, or the impact of lies in our society. That makes sense. It even aligns with the sort of convictions that Jesus walked in. And when we've been personally harmed or devalued, our anger is certainly valid as well.

But resentment grows when those feelings are not processed in healthy ways. It grows particularly well in the isolated mind, where narratives of despair and frustration play on repeat in our heads. They may be about others, they may be about the world, or they may even be about ourselves.

It went underground, and it started burning roots.

This is why the scriptures invite us to practice confession and forgiveness in the open air of community. And it's why we see the Psalmist shaking his fist at the universe and screaming "what the heck is going on, GOD??" (that's a paraphrase). When we get things out in the open, they won't burn us slowly at the root and destroy us. Instead, we'll be invited to release those feelings to God, and to let the truth of Jesus move us to see through a lens of hope. And when we process our feelings with others, we'll get a glimpse of tangible love in front of us. And that reminds us that our ever-growing story about how horrible the world is... is not the whole story. Because we're the world too, after all.

I'm convinced that the anger and despair in the world right now is too much for us to bear. It must be extinguished by the cool and refreshing water of the Holy Spirit, and poured onto us by the hands of compassionate community. When our anger is plunged underneath the waters of baptism, the burning finally cools.

So today is a chance for a simple check-in, as you consider people and situations that have been making you upset. Are there areas where your anger has sunk deep, and you feel it damaging your roots?
Take a few moments for an examination of your narratives:
Am I repeating a negative story over and over? What might be the reason?
Am I assuming the intentions of others that I don't actually know?
Is there a way I can use my mental/physical energy to practice goodness and healing, rather than endlessly dwelling on all that's wrong?
What good and beautiful things are true today that I've overlooked?
Who do I need to forgive again today?
What do I need to release today?

I've been mentioning Lent every week. Lent is where we admit that we need God's grace in our weakness, and where we receive it. So breathe. And receive God's grace once more.

Beloved, every time we realize how much God loves us, a wonderful thing happens. And the thing that happens is that God starts rubbing off on us, and we start to become more grace-filled to the world around us. Don't believe me? Make a little more space to dwell on your own belovedness, and see if it doesn't slowly start to shape you back into a more loving person to others. Transformation knows no other way.

Your frustration is valid. Your losses are real. And life can be discouraging. But Jesus is eager to offer cool, living water in those moments. Water that refreshes the soul, energizes the body, and cools the coals. That's a better way to deal with fire, any day.

Jesus, reset my nervous system today with reminders of your unending love for the world, of which I am a part.

Peace,
Keith

]]><![CDATA[No time to become the next me]]>Thu, 12 Mar 2026 07:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/no-time-to-become-the-next-me

And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image.
- 2 Corinthians 3:18

Years ago in I participated in a small weekly cohort with other pastors, designed to process our own calling, exhaustion, wounds, and hopes. The goal was to create spaces for honesty and healing as we prepared for our next seasons of ministry. It became a very intimate and holy space for us. In one of our weekly conversations about growth with God, I found myself writing this:

'“I feel like my normal day-to-day work and life require the current ‘me’ so much that there isn't sufficient space to explore the ‘me’ that God is drawing me to become next.

Sit with that a moment. Do you feel that way sometimes? I still do.

The discipleship journey is intended to be one of "becoming." Literally, the word in the Bible for disciple itself means "learner/apprentice." We are lifelong learners, different tomorrow than today.

As scandalous as it sounds, God not only empowers us in that, but also leads by example. One of the most famous theological statements in the Bible, from John the evangelist, is that "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us." God became something new.

So Christian disciples are people who are becoming new—more like Jesus daily (at least, that's the hope). We are constantly changing, all of our lives.

But like, who has time for that?

I can't get my to-do list done most days, and I have things on my schedule for the fall already. Life is set more than I want to admit. I certainly believe in the value of living in the present. But there's a problem when we are so absorbed with our current realities that we lose the ability to notice what's within us.... and therefore, what we're being invited to become next.

This is how we learn to live a life with God that's worth living. I'm realizing more and more how much our society, our pace of life, and our devices are shaping us to be reactive much more than reflective. So we lose room for wonder, room for imagination, and room for God to challenge us slowly.

It requires real discipline to sit and listen to Jesus long enough to perceive what the next version of you could look like.

There's a well-worn concept called "the tyranny of the urgent." Whatever is the loudest and the most pressing is what gets our time. Yet these things are rarely actually the most important. So we spend each day dealing with everything that feels urgent while letting our lives pass by without considering what's most important— like the type of people we're becoming, what Jesus is calling to do, who Jesus is calling us to love, and if we're actually living an abundant, free life.

The lent journey mirrors Jesus' forty days in the wilderness. In those long days Jesus wrestled with temptations about how to use his power and influence (written about vividly in Luke 4). But those forty days must have also had plenty of less dramatic time—where Jesus simply reflected on who he was and who he was becoming.

One of the great gifts of walking with Jesus is gaining the courage to become the next beautiful version of ourselves, by God’s grace. Lent is a chance for that.

Maybe those things are deeply internal for you, like the way you deal with anxiety or disappointment, or how you think about yourself. Maybe they are external, like seeking to love your neighbors in new ways or pursue activities that challenge the static assumptions and habits that keep you from growing. Only Jesus knows.

So I'm going to wrap this up to give myself an extra 30 minutes today for that. No phone, no news, no pressure from Jesus to be perfect, no required outcome. Just an opportunity to listen for the next step in becoming the next version of me in my discipleship journey.

Maybe you've got a few moments to do something similar. It won't feel urgent. But it's important. There's too much swirling around us all the time these days for us to skim across our souls as if they don't hold the depths of the oceans inside.
Consider this your invitation to pause and listen for who you're meant to be, today and tomorrow.

Jesus, still the noise so I can hear your voice.

Peace,
Keith

*artwork by Joby Baker

]]><![CDATA[Unreliable Allies]]>Thu, 05 Mar 2026 08:00:00 GMThttps://www.lifepathchurch.org/togetherforgood/unreliable-allies

Jesus answered, “My Kingdom is not an earthly kingdom..."
-John 18:36

Last week I was in Washington DC when I bumped into an old friend who reminded me of an amazing quote from Karl Barth.

We were both there as a part of Faithful Resistance, a public witness for immigrant justice organized by the Methodist Church and led by thousands of clergy and faith leaders from different traditions. I went with some other local pastors. We worshipped and prayed together, and then we walked down to the Capitol to call publicly for reform in how immigrants—both documented and undocumented— are being treated in our country. It was so incredibly hopeful to see thousands of Christian communities represented, working together in the name of Christ's mercy. There were some politicians there, too.

In fact, after the public witness, a small group of us from Delaware met with our state's congressional offices. We genuinely thanked the ones who had been working to pass laws that supported human rights and due process. We asked them to take it further and resist harm and help shift the very real culture of fear that exists right now. It was a very meaningful day to be a part of.

As I've written before, I have always felt a tension when I'm in environments that can be deemed "political" (though what environment isn't political these days??). Even when I see leaders who support things that Jesus prioritizes, I know that power and money and elections and constituencies are all in the mix. And each of these things can corrupt the moral center that God has given us. So I feel a whisper in my soul to be careful in those environments. Admittedly, that has often kept me away from any civic involvement at all.

In a brief conversation with my old friend, he felt similarly and reminded me of Barth’s statement. Karl Barth was a Swiss theologian whose work on God's self-revelation in Christ made him one of the most significant Protestant voices of the twentieth century. He was a key leader in the Confessing Church, the Christian opposition movement to Hitler and Nazism in Germany.

Barth wrote, “If the Church is to practice the teachings of Christ, it must be ‘an unreliable ally’ to every social, political, and governmental order of this world.”

Wow, did that ever resonate. I realized that yes, that's the line that feels faithful. Not just in the political realities that we may find ourselves in, but in ALL realities. All allegiances. All commitments. Anything that could court us for loyalty.

Our calling to the systems of the world—whether they be countries, political ideologies, political parties, religious traditions, or charismatic leaders— is to be remain intentionally unreliable anytime they stand in opposition to the goodness of God's kingdom.

Jesus came to invite us out of the world's systems, while still living right in them. My kingdom is not of this world, Jesus said in John 18. And yet only a few hours earlier, Jesus had prayed plainly that God would not remove his disciples from the world, but rather that the Father would protect them from evil— evil that pulls at one's identity and tempts one to forsake their integrity. The call isn't to be outside that world, but to function within it in a different sort of way.

Jesus knew that we'd have to navigate the world's systems, and he knew how tempting power and loyalty and tribalism can be. So he prayed that they would be able to live in the world, but never see themselves as fully belonging to it. I think, maybe, that's what it means to be unreliable allies. We would link up and work together for goodness and mercy and justice and forgiveness whenever we can. And we would never become so fully aligned with any system that we lose our ability to name it when it causes harm. Jesus' prayer in John 17 remains powerful for us today.

When we find ourselves leaning toward allegiance to a lesser kingdom that isn't reflecting the character of Christ, our support and cooperation should not be given. We ought to challenge anything that does not care about the poor, the mourning, the meek, the hungry, the beat up, the broken down, and the condemned. We learned this from Jesus.

I'm learning to live in the tension—to be willing to partner with systems wherever there is goodness, mercy, and justice—but never to the point of loyalty to anything but Jesus. I want to be an unreliable ally.

Our country has just begun another war. And lives that are precious to God will be lost, and new enemies will be created. Because that is what war does. It creates the next generation of enemies. War is hell. Please refuse to sanitize it.

I expect that wherever this conflict leads, we who follow the Jesus who weeps for our violent culture (Luke 19:41) will find ourselves in a lonely place. We who follow the Jesus who loves our enemies (Matt 5:44) and died to save them (Rom 5:10) may find no perfect political home. But our God, who takes no pleasure in even the deaths of the wicked (Ez 33:11), will lead us always in a movement of compassion and nonviolent action for all who are suffering. I hope we can link arms with whoever is also advocating for the value of all human life wherever possible.

So, my friends, let's keep being allies wherever we can, working together to impact the social, political, and governmental systems of the world whenever they can help bring the things that make for peace and human flourishing. But stay unreliable when any system demands your allegiance, because Jesus is calling us to build something far more beautiful than any human system can contain.

Jesus, give me discernment, courage, and love today.

Peace,
Keith

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