 The Lord isn’t slow to do what he promised, as some people think. Rather, he is patient for your sake...
-2 Peter 3:9 It’s summertime, and millions of people will find their way to a coastline this month. Have you ever walked along the beach or a riverbank and found an old piece of glass that has been submerged for months or years, tossed about in the currents? “Sea glass” is formed over time from fragments of old bottles, glass litter, and even shipwrecks. And people really go crazy collecting this stuff. It’s an interesting phenomenon: collecting pieces of trash and turning them into jewelry or decorations for their beach-themed bathrooms. It’s weird, but I think I’m a fan. When I saw a picture from a friend with a piece of sea glass recently, it struck me as a holy image. Sea glass is a metaphor for the faith experience of so many people. Each piece of sea glass goes on a distinct journey. At one point, it was shiny and crystal clear—but it was also dangerously sharp. Then, because it was broken, and because it tumbled down and reached the bottom of the surf or riverbed, it began to be transformed. Yes, the perfect clarity may have faded away. But so did the razor-sharp edges. And a slightly new shape emerged. The transformed glass is the same core substance it’s always been, but now there’s an inviting smoothness to it. It may not be as clear on the outside anymore, but it’s become far more valuable to people, and more beautiful. And it certainly is not able to cause the same type of harm that it once could. Over time, brokenness leads to beauty. Every pieces tells a story. The journey toward Jesus is often like sea glass. Things can feel crystal clear early on. When we grow up within Christian faith, or even come to Jesus as adults, things often seem clear and easy. Interpreting the Bible seems straightforward and simple. The way God works is predictable. And our personal views and experiences are what every faithful person should hold! This sort of certainty can also come with really sharp edges. We can become closed off to hearing others’ perspectives (or the whisper of God). We can harm others by insisting they are wrong rather than asking good questions. And in our perfect clarity, we can easily become arrogant and judgmental of those who think differently or do not share the same convictions. But eventually, things start to break down. Our crystal-clear faith gets beaten up a bit. Some things we once had clarity on become less obvious (“Prayer doesn’t work exactly like it was promised to me!?!”). Where we once saw only black and white, we now realize there are many shades (“Multiple people I trust disagree on what this passage means! Is one of them evil??”). And life’s circumstances cause us to release control (“I thought that God would reward me for my good behavior, but then tragedy hit my family.”) It’s a painful process, this tumbling. This is also known as being human. But it's also where we finally encounter the grace of Jesus. And if we don't give up, there is immense beauty on the other side. Rigid certainty will give way to humble love. Perfect understanding of God will become less important than relational connection with God, in Jesus. Shiny exteriors are no longer necessary to keep up. And we realize that trusting God is not ultimately about transaction, but about relationship. And those razor-sharp edges? Jesus has a way of sanding down our arrogance and superiority complexes over time. Instead of being dangerous to those around us, our humble faith can become an invitation for others to experience God's goodness. I recently heard a Christian leader suggest that maybe we need to stop writing books titled "Four Easy Steps to Spiritual Growth" and instead make them a bit more honest, like "How to Become More Like Jesus in 75 Challenging Years." Preeeeeeeach. So don’t fear if you’re in the middle of that journey right now—tumbling and chipped. Do your best to trust that Jesus is in the midst of that process with you as you seek truth, and you may find that what you’re becoming will be much more beautiful than before. Jesus, help me embrace the honest journey of transformation with you. Soften my sharp edges and bring renewed beauty from my life into the world. Peace, Keith
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 God sets the lonely in families...
-Psalm 68:6 I had the privilege of spending a few days with my friend Cherish this week when she was in Delaware to lead a conference we hosted at our church. She's a pastor from Texas. We have a lot of fun joking around about the differences between Texas and Delaware culture, as well as the odd similarities (Americans gonna American in every state, amirite?). But she told me about something this week that I had absolutely never heard of: Gluten-Free Camp. I don't know if it's a regional thing or just something I've never encountered. Did you know that there are camps whose entire thematic focus is making sure that gluten never gets past their gates? I admit, my first ignorant thought was, "That's the strangest summer camp I've ever heard of. Is this a serious thing?" In my curiosity I quickly found out that yeah, it totally is. Cherish's daughter has celiac disease. That means that she can't eat gluten or she'll get very sick. And a reality like that for a kid means that you are often on the outside of social moments. No normal cake at a friend's birthday. No ability to join in the pizza party and grab a slice. It's an invisible, constant barrier, that would be hard for anyone. But especially for a teenager. If that's your story, it's really hard to find places where belonging is easy and effortless. If that was your reality (and I know for some of you it is!) can you imagine how freeing it would be to join in a week with friends that is all about keeping that gluten far away? A week where you don't have to think and analyze what's on the table all the time? Can you imagine a community where no one has to quietly guard themselves, just waiting for the moment where they are going to feel like the odd person out because their reality is complicated? It would be a week with no weird side eyes or subtle annoyances because you have unique needs. A week where no one feels like the oddball. A week where nobody is othered, because everyone understands. That's why gluten-free camp is like the Kingdom of God. I have no interest in figuring out if there will be gluten-free pizza at the great banquet that Jesus spoke about. What I am interested in is a community that is so deeply formed by Jesus, that anyone can enter without fear that they will feel like an outsider because their life realities aren't the same as others. I'm interested in a kingdom of God that receives all our insecurities and unique stories, all our fears and hurts and hopes, and says: we are fully prepared to welcome you into relationship. You are safe here, and you are normal here. You don't have to work to belong. You don't have to be careful around everyone or suspicious of anyone else. You can rest. You can be renewed. You can find joy. You can walk forward inspired to join in all of it. I'm interested in a kingdom where people are at rest with God and others. And because the risk is gone, only relationships of wholeness, forgiveness and justice will emerge. This is what I believe Jesus shows us of his kingdom. It's a reality where somehow, all of our unique experiences and limits and joys and quirks find a place. It's a collection where the oddballs of the world (most of us) meet the oddball-ness of God's subversive values, and everyone thrives. It's a place where because you don't have to change yourself in order to be received, you cannot help but walk away changed forever by Jesus. That's the power of love and belonging. Jesus offers these things to us freely, and in them we are made new in Christ, over and over again. I don't know what your gluten is. But it's whatever the thing is that makes it hard to be at ease. It's the thing that makes you feel like you're sometimes the outsider. Maybe it's your complicated family situation. Maybe you're going through the deconstruction of your faith. Maybe you don't know anything about the Bible and everyone else around you assumes things and it makes you feel stupid. Maybe you're single and your church is full of married people. Maybe it's a hidden struggle. Or maybe as you follow Jesus, your faith keeps changing and the spaces that you used to fit into don't really fit anymore. It's ok. Jesus shows us that his kingdom is always a soft place to land, where you don't have to bear such a heavy burden. God has already gone before you, preparing for all your unique needs and sensitivities. Enter fully into God's love. Enter fully into God's family. You can rest here, and you will be changed forever. Jesus, thank you for the grace-filled invitation to come. Peace, Keith   Be still and know that I am God.
-Psalm 46:10 Years ago I did my first "cactus hike" ever. Have you ever seen a Saguaro? They're only found in one part of the world: the Sonoran Desert in northwest Mexico and the far southwest US. They are breathtaking to behold. Some grow up to 40 feet high, with thick stems and arms that extend like huge pipes. But there is more than meets the eye. Every towering saguaro tells a story. They didn’t start like that. When they took root, you weren’t born yet. After 10 years of growth, a saguaro only reaches an inch in height. A century later, at 90-100 years, it will grow its first arm. Standing in front of a saguaro is amazing. It gives you a strange sense of rootedness. You are looking at something that was alive well before you and will likely be alive after you. And it’s been rooted in place the whole time. Grounded. Consistent. The picture of stillness. We have trouble fathoming something as steady as the Saguaro. We move around a lot. Not just in where we live, though that is certainly true. We move around in our minds. We move in our emotions. We move in our priorities. Not all of this is bad. In fact, many forms of movement are a part of the growing and living experience. But there’s something compelling about the saguaro. There’s something beautiful about slow movement when the rest of the world is constantly spinning out of control. It’s consistent. In Psalm 46, the Psalmist speaks about how scary things have become. Everything is shifting sand. He writes of mountains quaking and falling into the sea. The earth is giving way. Nations are in uproar. It feels like chaos. Sound familiar? But in the midst of his head spinning back and forth, looking at everything going wrong and how scary it all is, he hears the whisper of God’s voice: "Be still and know that I am God.” The whisper is not about ignoring the world. It's about trusting God. And it is also a word of challenge to the frenetic pace of his mind. It’s about living a consistent life, rooted in faith, and walking accordingly. Being still is harder and harder. It’s hard to slow down our bodies enough to be rooted in meaningful tasks. It’s hard to be aware that God is God and we are not. It’s hard to give even a few minutes of time to prayer and move beyond interruption from our phones and surroundings and responsibilities. And it’s really hard to slow down our minds enough to be still and really become aware of what's true, and what's of value. We are in a society that bounces from one stress to another in our own lives. Then we notice the next headlines and see mountains shifting and nations in uproar. We are embedded in a world of outrage and indignation. We walk around so angry and hyped up that we can miss the daily opportunities God gives us to love each person in front of us… which is one of the clearest ways to begin healing the world. If we can’t be still and know that God is God, we will never be able to discern what is ours to do. And we certainly won’t be able to do it consistently over the long haul. It’s in the stillness that we learn to know God and receive the gift of rest and grace. It's where we truly grow arms to do good work. This week, in the moments that you feel mountains quaking in the world around you or in the world within you, take a moment to be still and know that God has given you an unshakeable kingdom of Love. That’s what we live out of, and that’s what we invite others into. That calling doesn't change, no matter what we encounter. Jesus, teach me to be still and know you. Peace, Keith  He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. -Colossians 1:17 Several weeks ago, when I arrived home from my trip to Turkey, I found Jesus. He was everywhere. Literally. My kids had betrayed me and allowed some of our LifePath Church friends (former friends?) to sneak into our house. But instead of taking stuff, they left things. Everywhere. You couldn’t tell at first. It started slowly: a cute little figurine on the windowsill! But they kept coming. As we unpacked, we started to find dozens and dozens of bite-sized Jesuses ("Jesi") in every place you can imagine. A one-inch Jesus was in our mixing bowl. Another was on the bookshelf. Behind the milk in the fridge. In our flower pot. Under the couch. In my coffee maker. Nowhere was safe. Mini-Jesus, everywhere. My daughter finally confessed that she knew more about this, and that there were 100 of them hidden throughout our house. After three weeks, I think we’ve now found 84 of them. Sixteen fugitives remain. I will find you, Jesus.  Actually, the fun and laughter this has caused has been a welcome reprieve from the intensity of our world. I can always use reminders about Jesus being a part of every aspect of my life. This is a pretty basic concept, but it’s crucial. We believe that Jesus is the full embodiment of God and God’s very nature. If we want to know what God is like, we look to Jesus. If we want to understand how to live and engage with our world, we look to Jesus. If we want to know the depths of God’s love, we look to Jesus. There is nothing in our lives that remains untouched by our discipleship to Jesus. No belief, no action, no relationship. If we are people who profess Jesus as Lord, then, as John wrote in his letter, “Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did” (1 Jn 2:6). It’s easy for me to open the fridge and assume that Jesus isn’t there. It’s easy for me to form attitudes about people or policies or wars or money… and keep Jesus out of those spaces too. But a Jesus-centered faith will require us to do new work and ask new questions. If we are seeking to look for Jesus everywhere and walk as Jesus walked, then we will do the deep work. This past weekend, for so many heartbreaking reasons, was a chance to reflect on what Jesus teaches us about violence. Of course, that’s just one example. Looking for Jesus everywhere will lead to more. What’s the posture that I am called to have? What words would Jesus be inviting me to speak? What ways should I trust God? What ways should I act? These are the questions we work through when we believe that Jesus is all around us and wanting to shape every piece of our lives. So lately I’ve been seeking to pause and expect that Jesus could indeed be hiding behind my mixing bowl. Or wanting to be noticed as I form opinions on immigrants in Delaware. Or as I talk to my children. So if I don’t find those final 16 figurines, it’s okay. It’s good to have a hunch that Jesus is probably right here somewhere, inviting me to see life through his eyes. It’s one of the reasons I’m excited that our church is hosting a Jesus Collective Regional Event next weekend on June 27th and 28th. Jesus Collective is a network of Jesus-centered churches and leaders that I’m so thankful to be a part of. This learning opportunity is available for anyone to attend. Since many who receive this weekly reflection aren’t a part of my local church, I wanted to make sure the invitation is extended to you as well. It’s a Friday-through-Saturday conference that seeks to locate Jesus at the heart of crucial topics: What does a Jesus-centered approach to justice look like? What does a Jesus-centered approach to power look like? What does a Jesus-centered approach to disagreement look like? The answers we discover together may be different than what is often seen in our country and our churches. I’ll be one of the presenters on that third topic, telling some of my own ministry stories in dialogue with others. It’s not too late to join us in Delaware! You can learn more and register here. This week, allow yourself to invite Jesus into new places in your own life. It doesn’t need to be scary or guilt-inducing. There is grace as we navigate the way of love and compassion and truth imperfectly. But as we do so, we may be surprised to see all the good that begins to emerge in ourselves and in our relationship with the world around us. Jesus, shape every area of my life. Peace, Keith   The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.
-Isaiah 58:11 It feels this week like we’re in an odd “second spring” in Delaware. We’ve had so much rain and then periods of hot sun that all the growing things are exploding around us. Lawns are impossible to keep up with, gardens are bursting with growth (and weeds!), and all the vines in our back woods are growing two inches a day. A few days ago, I was doing a little weed-whacking on the edge of my property and reached a young pokeweed plant—nature’s version of a water balloon. My face got obliterated with something that resembled a green smoothie. It was a juicy experience. Everywhere you look is green and kind of soggy. This led me to revisit an image I used this past week in my sermon, as we reflected on Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit. I introduced our church to the work of Hildegard of Bingen. She was a 12th-century Benedictine nun in Germany who challenged the status quo in virtually every way after she had a mystical encounter with God. She was a writer, a composer, a pioneer in natural medicine, and a spiritual leader who left a profound mark on Christianity in her region. She lacks the contemporary recognition she deserves. She coined a term called viriditas, which can be loosely translated as “greening power.” She believed that the Holy Spirit was present in all of life, swirling around and within us as the divine creative power of God. Just as God breathed life into the earth and into humanity in the Genesis story, we are intended to be like trees on this earth—and the Holy Spirit is the “living sap” that keeps us green, growing, and juicy. Hildegard taught that when we walk in the Spirit, doing the actions of love, peacemaking, and justice, this is the work of God keeping us green—and we would feel new and alive with God’s life flowing through us. The deepest sin, she said, is drying out. That means moving away from God’s life-giving presence and the ways that we meet God in the world. Drying out is when we stop living in love, devotion, service, and natural wonder. She saw God’s greening power flowing in two directions—one coming from God to us, and another flowing from us into the world. In the midst of weeks where there is destruction all around us, there are places in our lives and in our souls that can easily develop brown spots. We are getting dried out, and we are desperately in need of God’s greening viriditas—healing us over and over again and keeping us soft and humble and compassionate toward each other. When our world gets harder and drier, friends, we must stay soft. We must stay engaged. Last night Bethany and I sat outside in our backyard as the sun went down. We drank tea and talked about things of value. We quietly observed the rotation of the earth and the damp ground and the birdsong and the unruly vines around us, all bursting with the greening power of God. We need moments of natural and relational connection so that we don’t dry out. Staying juicy for Jesus. Some of you really got excited about that phrase and suggested that we start greeting one another on Sundays by saying, “Stay juicy, friend.” Somehow I think that might scare away our visitors, though? So we’ll just say it here. Today, may you find ways to soak in the Word of God, in the presence of God, in the beauty of God, in the creation of God, and in the hope of God… so that you stay well-watered and juicy and rooted and caring, and full of all the fruit that the Spirit brings forth in your life when you stick with Jesus. (You can look them up—there’s a list in Galatians 5:22, and they’re really important.) Jesus, keep us juicy. Amen. Peace, Keith  They admitted that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. (...) They were longing for a better country-- a heavenly one.
-Hebrews 11:13-16 I spent the second half of May traveling through Turkey, exploring locations mentioned in the New Testament and connected to the early church as it grew across Asia Minor in the shadow of the Roman Empire. The trip was fabulous—full of natural beauty; Roman, Christian, and Muslim history; wonderful food; and memorable moments for Bethany and me. I’m still processing my experiences, and I’m sure they will inform my teaching and writing in the future. I knew I’d be tired when we returned. But I don’t think I fully appreciated what the jet lag would do to me. Jet lag is the unnaturally exhausted feeling you get when transitioning between time zones. Maybe it’s just the reality of being a 42-year-old, but getting back into the U.S. and adjusting to the 7-hour time difference has been rough. When a part of me feels like it’s living in one place, but the rest of me has to live in another… it’s been like walking through mud after about 2 p.m. each day. Honestly, I thought I was stronger than this (oh pride, nice to see you again), but it’s been messing with me for nearly a week now. There’s another element, too. Upon entering the U.S. and being confronted again with our ethnocentric way of life, our busyness, and our aggressive and corrupt government, I realized that many American Jesus-followers are experiencing a kind of “spiritual jet lag.” There’s a massive exhaustion in the constant transition between the time zones of God’s kingdom and priorities, and the world we wake up to each day. Even within my own spirit, I find myself oscillating between awareness of God’s unfolding work around me… and just going through the motions of life without much examination at all. It’s tiring to feel like I’m living in this twilight, in-between space that doesn’t have a name. I’m thankful that Jesus himself embodied this tension in such a tangible way. He was fully present in a world that did not understand or accept him. He continued to live faithfully with his eyes on the Father, even when the circumstances around him could have taken all of his focus and led to despair or self-preservation. He was so deeply rooted in God’s love that he remained constant through it all. But there was exhaustion, friends. You can hear it in his voice. You can see it in his actions. Even in his faithfulness, walking in both the Spirit and the physical wore him out. “It is finished,” he finally said. This statement on the cross—full of love and forgiveness—was not just a shout of victory. It was an exhale, as Jesus received the gift of rest after bearing the weight of the world’s pain and offering a new way forward in God’s reconciliation. So if Jesus got tired living between two worlds, we’re allowed to talk about our spiritual jet lag too. Multiple times a day, I find myself moving across time zones. I don’t know what your time zones are. Mine are personal, pastoral, parental, financial, and national. Sometimes I have no idea what time it is—and all I know is that I’m tired and life feels like a blur. And it often leaves me flat. Apparently there are apps and powder mixes and all sorts of activities that are supposed to help you deal with jet lag. Maybe next time I’ll try them. But in our world, when we feel like our inner clock doesn’t match the world around us, there are some things we can do to keep walking in the circadian rhythms of the Spirit:
Jesus, meet me wherever I am today, and help me walk in your kingdom. Peace, Keith   “If you become angry, do not let your anger lead you into sin, and do not stay angry all day.” —Ephesians 4:26 My teenage daughter doesn’t throw things in anger very often. But a little over a year ago, while on a family sabbatical trip to Puerto Rico, there was an incident. It involves a coconut. The traumatic story I am about to tell is shared with her permission. We had so much fun enjoying the island and exploring new places as a family. At one of the beaches, Sariya picked up a coconut that she found in the sand and decided she wanted to take it back to our rental house to open and enjoy. We got back to the house and found that we didn’t really have the right tools to crack open a coconut. But she found one of those bottle/can opener sticks with a blunt triangular end that you should NEVER use to carve into a coconut. Naturally, that became her tool. She tore the outside leather layer with her hands. She scraped and ripped and stabbed this thing for hours and hours and hours. Day turned to night. Night turned to day. Time became meaningless. Every time we hung out at the house, she kept at it—but to no avail. A mighty fortress, that coconut was. The joy was gone, and frustration began to build. We even told her multiple times to just give up and admit defeat. But she would not go gently into that good night. Then, while sitting inside, we heard a yell from the porch. I assumed she had finally lost a finger. But she came running inside, each hand holding a large piece of coconut! “Mom, I threw it in anger and it cracked open!” For the next few days, we enjoyed eating the sweet and smooth shavings of a freshly opened coconut. It was delicious. Anger is fascinating. Sometimes those who access it the most shouldn’t be allowed to have access to it, and the ones who push it down the most are the ones who need to give it a little bit more space to rise up in their lives. In this moment, I think God is wanting to form us in the midst of a collective, growing anger in response to systemic injustice and evil that is deeply harming others. The most vulnerable in our midst right now are being targeted in all sorts of ways. Many people I know who have worked hard all their lives have lost their jobs with the stroke of a pen and no warning. Friends are looked at with fresh suspicion simply because they don’t look like others or because they speak with an accent. And the empire is fanning these flames of hatred. It makes my blood boil. Anger can be many things: a selfish indulgence, a scapegoat, a release valve… We can do so much harm with it. Anger can burn out of control, eliminating the impact that we can have on the world by turning us into people who lack the capacity to love deeply and think clearly. We must never do this. This is sin. But sometimes it can be a warning light… or even an invitation… within our souls. Sometimes, giving voice to anger can break open something in us. And when it does, we find out what is inside, and we discover whether it will benefit others or simply harm them. This is why soul formation is so crucial in the life of a disciple of Jesus. I am afraid of my anger. I have been all my life. But there’s something holy about a certain type of anger that forces us to move and breaks open compassion in us that we couldn’t access before. It breaks open courage to speak boldly and offer our hands and feet to the work of justice when people are deprived of it. For me, I get angry when I see people being mistreated or mocked. When I see someone dismiss someone else’s real suffering just so they can maintain their own sense of comfort. But I often don’t know what to do with that anger, so I just push it down and move on, without acting differently. But then there are rare moments when my anger actually breaks open something in me that causes me to act—to make a move when I wouldn’t otherwise. The move, of course, can never be to harm. It must be to repair, to restore, and to make the world more whole. To call a representative. To open my home for hospitality. To give money away. To pray. To cry. To speak truth to power. To reach out. In order to walk this road, we must be aware of what is happening within us and why. We must learn what is cracking open, and we must always be doing the work to make sure that when the coconut does break, it’s got good fruit inside. Are you willing to be broken open? Are you doing the work in your soul so that when you do, good fruit comes out? Jesus, be with us on the hard journey of faithfulness. Peace, Keith   “As a dog returns to its vomit,
so fools repeat their folly.” -Proverbs 26:11 Two weeks ago, a climber in Japan was airlifted from Mount Fuji after climbing a steep trail, experiencing altitude sickness, and becoming unresponsive. I’m so glad the rescue team was able to get him out. But the story isn’t over. Four days later, there had to be another rescue. Two rescues in one week is big news. Except—guess who the second guy they rescued was? IT WAS THE SAME GUY. He went back to get his phone. Because, you know… the whole life-threatening altitude sickness episode was definitely not going to happen again. Oh wait. Huh. Who would have thought that when you don’t change anything, you get the same result as before? Everyone, buddy. Everyone. Part of me wants to just rail against our insane obsession with material things, and how this man risked his life to go back and grab a replaceable piece of metal. But that makes me sound grumpy. I could rail against addictions to materials and technology. But I don't want to be grumpy. So instead, I’m thinking about how this situation speaks to our lives of faith. We have a formation problem. We’re climbing up the same mountain over and over again, and we’re not learning anything each time. We’re not changing anything in order to live out God’s kingdom more faithfully. Discipleship is the process of being formed in the way of Jesus. But often we simply expect that if we’re Christian long enough, we’ll eventually get different results—even when we don’t actually change any habits or mindsets. And we’re surprised when the same relational problems, fights, internal struggles, and despairs keep showing up over and over again. (This happens on a large scale too- like when Christians believe that giving their allegiance to worldly systems of power will help bring God's kingdom. It hasn't worked for thousands of years. And it's definitely not working now). Back to our lives. Now certainly, struggles are a part of being human. Anxieties creep up throughout our lives, struggles and temptations ebb and flow, and like the Apostle Paul said, there will be times when we do the very thing we don’t want to do. But we can take that too far. We are given wisdom and power to walk with fresh formation as we learn the way of Jesus. The work of the Spirit in us isn’t magic. It doesn’t just happen. It’s a divine partnership with our willingness to humbly and courageously invite Jesus to help us live in step with his character and values. Most of us have seen this in personal experience. We’ve seen how Christians (sometimes ourselves!) can go to church and read the Bible for decades, yet remain just as judgmental or angry as ever. We’ve seen how so many (ourselves included!) continue in the same cycles of broken relationships, defensiveness, or harmful arrogance in relating to others. This is static Christianity, and it is not discipleship. Jesus has something better for us. But it requires a shift after we see that something “hasn’t worked.” The first step is humility—humility to stop thinking that we’re experts at life (and just “got unlucky” the last time we really made a mess of things). The second is courage—but not simply courage to “try again” and hope for a better outcome. Rather, it’s courage to ask Jesus how we can actually do things differently next time, with greater wisdom, love, and maturity. We can’t change others. But we can change ourselves, by God’s grace. What if you paused, trusted Jesus, and tried something different this week:
If our altitude sickness pal had gone back four days later with two friends and an oxygen tank, moving more slowly and checking in with others… now that would have been a humble and courageous step of formation—rather than a costly exercise in arrogance. Without humility and courage, we’ll keep ending up in the same predicaments we’ve always been in—constantly expecting things to turn out differently without actually doing anything new. With God’s help, we can learn. And we can grow. Jesus, help me walk in wisdom and in newness. Peace, Keith  “As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him…
When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him…” —Luke 24:13–16, 30–31 Last week, I had the opportunity to enjoy some beautiful walks with my wife and teenage kids. We were in the Virginia mountains for a few days after Easter. We hiked up rocky ledges filled with boulders, walked along waterfalls (80% of us jumped in!), and ate snacks along rock outcroppings. It was meaningful time; many conversations took place that otherwise wouldn't have. There’s something that happens when you walk alongside others. Devices aren’t central. Tasks and distractions are minimal. And connection opens up in fresh ways. During our brunch church gathering this past Sunday, we read the Emmaus road passage from Luke's gospel, and reflected a bit on why walking together and eating together were foundational in this story. There’s no denying that sharing an experience opens us up to new connections we might not otherwise find. I find it fascinating that Jesus doesn’t meet the Emmaus road disciples in the morning while they’re praying, or when they pause for a short rest and a drink of water. Rather, he joins them on their walk — just “walking along with them.” We don’t do enough walking together and eating together lately. But those are often the places in life where Jesus shows up. A few weeks ago, I was involved in a peace walk sponsored by my interfaith clergy group. For 20 minutes, I walked alongside my new friend Hayat, a dynamic Muslim peacemaker. She leads a community center that brings people from different backgrounds together in service. We had a wonderful conversation about the need for understanding and compassion across cultural and societal divides. On our walk, we spoke of the beauty of telling and listening to each other’s stories, and how sacred moments emerge as we serve, walk, and eat together — especially with people we assume are completely different from us. The disciples in Luke 24 would later say that, while Jesus was walking with them and explaining the good news, their “hearts were burning within them.” That’s often how I feel when meaningful connection happens — on a walk or over a meal. I begin to sense Jesus opening my eyes again. It’s how I feel when I go on a hike with my family or a walk with a friend. It seems like Jesus shows up among us and opens new doors for us to be changed along the way. And these days, I think that especially happens when we find ways to walk alongside others we might not normally find ourselves walking beside. Let’s be unafraid to invite people to go for a walk in this Easter season. Let’s ask for eyes to see Jesus along the way as we do — and be filled with the good news that God is alive and drawing people together in hope and goodness. "Walking" can take many forms for us. It could look like a coffee meeting, a stroll, sitting at a park, or even a playdate with another parent. Perhaps you can go for a walk today. Who can you invite along with you? I wouldn't be surprised if Jesus shows up, too. Lord, keep appearing to me in surprising ways as I share life with others. Peace, Keith  “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another.”
— Jesus, John 13:34–35 Welcome to Thursday of Holy Week. This is where stuff gets real. Jesus’ iconic statement above is frequently quoted, but its location in the Gospels is often forgotten. It comes during what scholars call the “Farewell Discourse” in the Upper Room. Jesus is getting ready to leave his disciples after three years, and he explicitly shares what he wants them to focus on. Jesus doesn’t actually give many commands in the New Testament. He talks about them on numerous occasions, but this one is special. It’s his command, not just a command. But in the Upper Room, with tensions high during that Passover meal, this new command falls on deaf ears. Amazingly, the disciples interrupt Jesus four different times in the coming minutes, focused completely on the fact that he says he’s going away. And each time, Jesus redirects their attention once again toward his command to love. It’s hard to focus on love when everything around you feels like it’s falling apart, isn’t it? Like the disciples, we want answers! We want solutions! And Jesus says, whatever happens, you have my command. That’s why a command as simple as “love one another” has to be repeated over, and over, and over again. We usually change the subject. The tradition of remembering the call to love in the Upper Room on Thursday of Holy Week has been around since the very first Easter celebration. But about 800 years ago, today began to be called “Maundy Thursday.” Maundy is the Latin word for command — where we get our English word “mandate.” Maundy Thursday is a chance to remember that the mandate of Jesus is to love one another — and that love looks like service. Because on that night in the Upper Room, immediately before Jesus gives his command, we are told that he showed his disciples the completeness of his love. He grabbed a basin and towel and went through the ritual of washing their feet, taking on the role of a servant. The mandate is love, and the method is service. Love lays down its life. Love puts another’s needs before its own. Love serves in tangible, physical ways. When tensions are high and big questions linger — like they did on that first Maundy Thursday — the calling from Jesus could never be more clear. In the midst of the questions, in the midst of your fears, your frustrations, and your confusion… love each other. Serve each other. Prioritize the needs of those around you with compassion and humility. Make it tangible. Let the importance of the command sink in. Thankfully, several disciples would eventually see how central this value of Jesus was for God’s people. Years later, the disciple-turned-apostle John would famously write a letter to church leaders and restate Jesus’ command: Let us love one another, for love comes from God. In one chapter (1 John 4), John restates this command six times — almost as if to signify that if Jesus had to repeat it over and over to get through to him, he’ll need to do so even more for others. In one month, I’ll be sitting in the spot where John wrote those words near the end of his life, near Ephesus. I intend to take that space to hear them repeated in my own heart over and over again, until they become rooted even more deeply in me. Tonight, though, I’ll sit on pillows around some low tables and share a communion table, a basin, and a towel with others to remember the humility and service of Jesus. I hope it stirs me to fresh actions of love in all the places around me where love is absent. And I hope that you — in whatever way God is stirring you — can lean into the most significant mandate Jesus ever gave, on this special Thursday. Be empowered by the Holy Spirit this week to practice new love toward people and loving approaches to situations. Don’t change the subject every time Jesus brings it up. Love each other. Jesus, may everyone know that I am your disciple, by my love. Peace, Keith |
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