 If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts!
What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side, made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. -Psalm 104:24 (The Message paraphrase) In one 24-hour period this week, I found myself in prayer spaces led in two different languages, neither of which I understood. During our Sunday gathering, we celebrated a baby dedication, where we blessed a new child whose parents are in our community, and together we committed to being a source of God's love and care as she grows with us. Her grandfather was also in attendance to honor her, and he led us in a prayer in his native language of Portuguese. It was beautiful. And then this morning I had a Zoom meeting with some Indian friends who are working among widows and orphans affected by HIV/AIDS. After catching up, we prayed together, and my friend Esther prayed in Telugu. Free flowing and full of love, I was able to understand about three words that she said over the next few minutes. But it was moving and beautiful. Why was this beautiful? Why wasn't it simply annoying to not be able to understand everything that was said? I think that the answer is that sometimes, we need to be reminded of just how expansive God's family is. We need to realize that the English speaking, American-centric assumptions that we have are not even a faint reflection of what the kingdom of God really is. We've wrongly attempted a cultural captivity of God. I have grown so weary of the "us-vs-everyone" mentality that has become central to American identity in nearly every way. One of the great delights of the past few weeks of World Cup soccer coverage is seeing so many countries converge on US soil. International fans are having fun in our cities, making friends, and trying our food... but also keeping their cultural distinctives (never change, Scotland). Wilmington completely adopted the Ivory Coast last week as they stayed there and played in Philly. People are naming how absurd it is that we are taught to look down on other countries. How healing those images can be, and how heartbreaking that when it's not the World Cup, we rarely practice respect and honor for cultural differences, even within our own country. The post game prayer between the players of Germany and Curaçao was breathtakingly beautiful. These moments can be reminders to all of us that most division and animosity are simply manufactured by those who control the narrative. Those divisions break down when people meet face to face and share a moment. And sometimes that moment can even transcend language. This is true in areas of both faith and community. I've sat in church services in Asia, Africa, South America and the United States where I barely understood what was happening. But what I saw was a Christlike spirit of care, welcome and joy. And it became a reminder to me that God simply doesn't function how we assume. God doesn't speak English anymore or less than God speaks Swahili. God speaks to the human heart and transcends cultures, time zones, languages, and history. And yet at the same time, God enters into those very things through the mystery of the Spirit, bringing us together. To be honest, I've seen this clearly outside of Christian spaces as well. I've been in places here in the US where I had very little in common with others in terms of Christian belief, family background, or culture. But we had come together to show love. To advocate for dignity. To serve the poor. To create spaces for everyone to be welcome. And those spaces felt holy, too. God's Spirit is sometimes present in ways that we don't even have language for. I fear—truly fear—that we are losing the capacity to see beyond our small, comfortable spaces. But if we learn anything from Jesus, it's that he was always crossing the lake to the regions his disciples weren't comfortable in, so that they could be surprised that God was so obviously at work in areas they found unfamiliar. These are just some random musings today. Jesus told us again and again that his community doesn't function like the world does. It is built on cooperation and not competition. It is built on compassion and not comparison. It can be communicated in any language, and it can only be fully realized when it includes every language. Lord, keep us looking for the beauty of your expansive world, and your expansive ways of revealing yourself. Peace, Keith
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  If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.
In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. -Jesus, John 16:33 My wife sometimes reminds me to be careful about sharing stories in my writing that she calls "unrelatable." She's right, of course. But since I see all of life through metaphor, this week I've got to share what I'm noticing through my very odd interests and experiences. And even though my hobbies aren't normal, God uses them to reveal holy things that feel universal. That's my disclaimer. Now back to today's programming: Two weeks ago I ran a 65-mile race over the mountains of northern Pennsylvania. It was a grueling course that climbed (and descended) over 2 1/2 vertical miles all day long. It started in the dark and it ended in the dark. It took me 17 hours to get to the finish line, and it brought me to my literal breaking point several times. There's something about ultramarathons of this magnitude that I'm slowly beginning to learn. And it's one of the reasons I'm drawn to them. It's something that has nothing to do with running ability and nothing to do with trying to beat others. It has to do with compassionately acknowledging the universal experience of suffering. One of the reasons I choose self-imposed suffering in trail races is because it shapes me as a human and as a pastor. Hitting my limits and experiencing weakness in the physical world is a tool that teaches me compassion in the emotional and spiritual world for myself and for others. In an ultramarathon like this, even during the race itself, that compassion gets expressed clearly. My experience two weeks ago was a glimpse of the best of what humanity can be. Once significant fatigue hits, runners begin to realize that their battle is not nearly against others as much as we thought. Instead, the struggle is within ourselves and the path that lies ahead of us. And when you meet someone along that journey of suffering you do not see them as an adversary, but as a fellow partner. You want them to overcome the struggle, and you want to see them succeed. In the final 8 hours of the race, there wasn't one time where I was happy to see a depleted person huddled up in a ball on the side of the trail. I could tell they were hurting, and I wanted them to make it. Why? Because what they were doing was hard. And I was able to acknowledge it because I knew it firsthand. I felt it too. And all the people who passed me in the final miles? They told me, "you're doing great. You'll get through this. Let's get to that line." I was having knee trouble at mile 32 and I almost dropped out of the race until I caught up to a more experienced 100k runner on a climb who completely changed my perspective. He told me not to give up, but to change my mentality about it, be more patient with my pacing and he promised I'd be able to finish. The power of someone else saying that it was ok that I was hurting, and that I was doing just fine shifted my outlook on the day completely. I decided not to give up. And then I hit my crew at mile 38––my amazing friends John and Sarah who had given up their entire weekend to be sleep deprived and support me at checkpoints along the way, helping me change my shoes, get my headlamp, and restock nutrition. John even did the last 26+ miles alongside me to keep me company and make sure I was eating and drinking enough. Words can't express the gratitude I felt to have my friends say, you're doing something hard, but we're with you as you get through it. Everyone was committed to this message. Every runner I met hoped that the others around them succeeded and was happy to see someone doing well rather than struggling. Volunteers got up at 3am to set up their aid stations and serve runners all day long, celebrating for the first place runner every bit as much as the final finisher... and even the ones who didn't make it all the way. Every time we got to an aid station for some food and fluids, the music and the helping hands and the attitudes of every volunteer gave off the same vibe: You are doing something hard, and you deserve to be supported and celebrated. That sort of support did not take away the pain. But it gave me a different sort of strength alongside it. All of a sudden, gratitude and goodness were available, and the pain was not the only truth. I started noticing beauty again. I was hurting, but I remember putting on my headlamp after 15 hours when the sun went down and telling John, "I've always wanted to start running in the dark and keep running until it’s dark again. This is awesome!" That's what happens when others notice that you're doing something hard, but believe you're able to make it. What if each of us walked through life with that attitude about every single beloved human that we encountered? What if we looked at people "and loved them," like we're told Jesus did? What would it look like if we were on each other's side instead of against each other so frequently? What would happen if we said, I see what you're doing, and I acknowledge that it's hard. I'm for you. When we encounter those who are poor and struggling, what if we, as Father Gregory Boyle wrote, learned to "stand in awe at what they have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it?" What you're doing is hard. In our churches, what if we looked at all parents with overwhelming compassion as they navigate the impossible task of raising young people in today's world? What you're doing is hard. In our churches, what if we looked at single folks who keep showing up and offering their gifts, even when programming and language is often so family oriented that it subtly excludes anyone who isn't married? What you're doing is hard. What if we actively acknowledged the courage it requires for so many of our LGBTQ+ friends to simply walk through life with people who are suspicious of them and want to erase or ignore their very existence? What you're doing is hard. What if we looked at someone that we knew absolutely nothing about, and before making any other judgments about their politics, their background, their job, or their life, we simply chose to live with the assumption: You're doing something hard, and you deserve to be supported and celebrated. What if we lived like all that was true? Because it is. I just saw it and felt it and it's extraordinary. I've seen too many feel like they are suffering silently without anyone to acknowledge how hard this all is. We've got the most stressed out society that I've ever lived through. This is our chance to be the body of Christ. This is our chance to embody the Jesus who communicated this message through his words and his actions. He protected the woman who had been condemned. He healed the woman who had been bleeding. He restored Peter when shame had driven him away. He told all who would follow him one day that he knew it would be hard, but that he would be with them. Today, as we follow Jesus, may we have eyes to see that most everyone out there is trying their best, and that alone is deserving of love and compassion. May your kingdom come, Lord, on earth as it is in ultramarathons. 😉 Jesus, strengthen my heart today, even as I strengthen others. Peace, Keith  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  “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 |
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