 If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.
Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. Philippians 2:3-4 Kym and Doug are a wonderful couple in our church who raise puppies that become trained to work with The Seeing Eye. The Seeing Eye is a global organization that has been training guide dogs to partner with visually impaired individuals for nearly a century, keeping them safe and enhancing their independence and mobility. So nearly every week we have furry friends in our auditorium in the beginning of a journey that will one day lead to life-changing service to blind and visually impaired folks. I'm fascinated by the way that dogs can be trained. They can learn to stay calm in loud crowds. They can learn to pay particular attention to their handler and notice their needs, their anxieties, or their fear. They can learn to resist moving forward when they sense danger nearby, such as a car approaching. They can learn to steer gently away from barriers, and they pause at steps and curbs to alert their handler of an upcoming transition. A dog who would never otherwise have this capacity can become so well trained that they notice all of these things and more. They become the eyes for another, and they notice what needs to be noticed to provide care. It’s amazing. I think I sometimes fall into the "personality type" ditch of acting as if some people are just naturally more caring for others, and some are less, and that's the way it is. But shouldn’t we believe that humans are capable of being trained in even more profound ways than dogs can be? Following Jesus invites us into a shared life that is very different from the path we might take otherwise. We learn that we belong to each other, and that we have a responsibility to love and care for one another. It's no longer just about us and our needs. We have met a God of grace and love who trains us to see people not from a worldly viewpoint, but from a spiritual one. We see all people as being made in God's image. And as we experience the love of Jesus more and more, our hearts and our minds are shaped more and more to pay attention to the needs around us, and to generously use our time, our energy, and our resources to attend to those needs. Essentially, discipleship is the training process of becoming "Seeing Eye People." And Jesus is our trainer. I long to see God's church become a people who are learning how to be a calm, non-anxious presence in the world. I long to see the Church look around and notice where people have real needs, and center our time on making sure we keep people from harm. A community of disciples trained by Jesus' compassion will have eyes to see the violence and threats being carried out toward immigrants. We will step in to ensure that they could cross the street safely. We will have eyes to notice our political leaders using slurs against trans folks and call it out, speaking the truth of the value and dignity of every human life. We will have eyes to notice that many people around us are struggling financially, and quickly move to share our resources (and advocate for policies that don't just benefit the rich!). A church with eyes to see would be unafraid to speak of the hope we find in Jesus when our friends share of the despair they feel when looking at our world. A Body of Christ with eyes to see would make sure to notice that terrified look in a new friend's eyes when they walk through church doors for the first time, unsure if this place is safe for them or will be quick to judge. With eyes to see, we notice the risk of harm, we put ourselves in that path, and we reassure others that together, we can make it through this complicated life that's full of dangerous obstacles. We become seeing eye people. I'm asking Jesus today to train me to look around just a little bit more. Maybe I’ll notice a face in the crowd that looks a little overwhelmed. Maybe I’ll offer a hand or an encouragement to a friend who is feeling pretty limited lately. Maybe I’ll be more aware of all those folks who are afraid to cross the street right now because they aren’t sure it’s safe. I'd like to be the eyes for someone who has trouble seeing the future with any hope. I'd like to be the hands for someone who is carrying so much already that they have no more capacity. I'd like to be the feet to accompany someone who is afraid to be out on their own. That seems like the way of Jesus to me. And maybe, when more and more of us get trained every day, every week, every month... no one in our world will have to feel alone. Jesus, help me look to the interests of others today. Give me eyes to see. Peace, Keith
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 If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts
Exodus 20:13 You shall not kill. Ok. But what about... That's where our minds go, right? For good reason. Valuing all life.... is complicated. I preached on this commandment on Sunday. Who knew such a short sentence could become such a long message! But that subject itself isn't what I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about how we go about figuring out the endless questions that arise in our lives. So much of what we're given in the scriptures—so much about the complexities of life—so much about worldviews that suggest that there are quick and sufficient answers for everything—make us eventually sit back and ask, "ok, but what about....?!?!" I'm not hopeful that we'll find the answer for every complex question about life, death, global conflict, what authority governments on earth do or don't have to use violence, or the exact right way to respond if we have an intruder in our house (these are classic scenarios brought up by the "but what about" questions related to killing). I'm not even convinced that there is a single right answer for any of these scenarios. But perhaps there is a right way to approach them, and a deeper framework that leads us into robust discussion with Jesus. For example, when we approach the above conversation with the belief that Jesus always honors life and prioritizes forgiveness and reconciliation, it leads us to look at everything from that angle. And now, having considered an attitude with which to approach all of life in light of God's kingdom, we are now equipped to wrestle together with the tough questions without requiring single-answer-certainty. It forms us in a deep way, and we become wise rather than arrogant. I'm becoming convinced that Jesus has as much interest in teaching me how to think as what to think. I'd like to make the case that our faith needs a whole lot more "how" and a little less "what" as we tackle complex issues in our lives. The Jewish faith has a rich practice related to this that's called midrash. It's an approach to interpretation and learning that is founded on questions, questions, and more questions. It leads to rich exploration of topics around the scriptures and around faithful living. The goal is not about finding certainty. The goal is to allow for new possibilities, and to think about things from previously unexplored angles, trusting that this is how God teaches us. Midrash is a tool in helping people learn how to think, not just what to think. This seems to match with Jesus' beautiful way of teaching his disciples. What if when Jesus said, "Consider the lilies of the field, they don't get constantly stressed out," he was not only telling them not to worry, but he was also teaching them to see the earth as one of God's profound teachers? What if he was teaching them how to tackle their deep existential questions, and not just giving them an answer? After all, Jesus asked more questions than anyone else in the Bible. Over 300 of them, to be specific. If open-ended questions aren't a good way to form people, then Jesus certainly wasn't a very good teacher. Hmm. I think this sort of open-ended wrestling and questioning is desperately missing in our world today. I absolutely love a good conversation. I rarely walk away changed from one person's declarative statements. But as soon as two people enter the conversation, my interest level is piqued. When great questions are asked, I have to think critically instead of just hearing a blanket statement and deciding if I'll receive or reject the idea. And when complicated topics are brought up, I've learned that they are an opportunity for exploration rather than a problem to quickly solve. We've learned to practice this in intentional ways within our LifePath Church community. After every message on a Sunday morning, we (literally) throw around a microphone to process and dialogue together as we each think in new ways about how our discipleship is being shaped by Jesus. And once a month we hold an open "theology circle" on any number of topics. What is the purpose of the Church? Does prayer change things? What public roles are appropriate for Christians? Is patriotism okay or problematic for a disciple? Is artificial intelligence evil? We promise no answers on those nights. There's a rotating facilitator, but no teacher. The goal is to ask great questions and learn how to think about life from a Jesus-centered approach. The conversation is completely free-flowing and it could go anywhere. And you know what happens? We laugh, we agree, we disagree, we get a little uncomfortable thinking new thoughts, and we walk away as better disciples together. We learn how to think. We midrash. Richard Rohr cautions that when Christians do this kind of modern day midrash, we must be careful that it leads us to the fruit of the Spirit—where we sense peace and joy, love, gentleness, self-control, etc. If that's the case, we can trust that our insights are coming from the Spirit. However, if we're emerging from these conversations feeling arrogant, superior, feeling a need for victory or the dismissal of others' thoughts, then our egos remain central, and the Spirit is not leading the way for our understandings. Not all conversations are created equal. I'm not convinced that we're going to be able to figure out all the hard questions that following Jesus brings. And even if we think we have, I doubt we'll ever find full agreement with others (certainly including Christians). But if we let Jesus teach us how to think, move us to ask better questions, and practice it all in a loving community, we will be better equipped to live the way of love than any answer sheet could ever make us. Wrestle well, friends. Jesus, shape my heart to shape my mind. Peace, Keith  If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts
Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. -Jesus, Matthew 6:4 (he says it two more times in verse 6 and 18) We're in a family season full of conversations about AP courses and college preparation as our two sons head into their senior year of high school. I find it obnoxious that taking an advanced placement exam for each class costs a lot of money (I mean, I find spending money as a whole to be irritating already). Then I found out that one of the AP classes that my son is taking won't actually lighten his college course load in the future. And I found myself saying out loud to him, "Why would you do that if you're not going to get any credit for it?" Sometimes our own words are what we need to hear. So for a few days I've been thinking about getting credit for the things we do, and how incredibly difficult it is to embrace the way of Jesus—a way that often calls us to do just the opposite of that. A way that invites us to do things that get us no credit. Today I'm considering what it means to have a vibrant "secret life." I know how that sounds. Most of the time it's used to talk about somebody who has a dark past with a fake identity and a second family on the side that no one knows about or something like that. But I'm looking at the other side of it. I'm wondering if we've lost the ability (or the desire?) to do good things that no one knows about? I try not to be one of those people who constantly complain about new technology and cultural realities. And yet, one of the trademarks of this current stage of human history is that everything is public. Underneath GoFundMe campaigns there is a scrolling list: Henry V. gave $25! Instagram stories are full of pictures of someone peacefully sitting in the woods: "Just me and God for a little prayer time! #blessed." Snapchat allows people into every moment of another's day. Facebook gives us the chance to share all the good and exciting things we're up to. And of course, don't forget about the timeless, low-tech temptation to drop comments into our conversations about the good things that we've accomplished lately or how hard we've been working or how we helped someone the other day. It's fine that others see or hear about positive things that we do. It can absolutely be an encouragement to them sometimes, and there is purpose in letting people see the way that our faith motivates us to live. But there’s great value in doing good that no one ever learns about, and it shapes our egos profoundly. In the book of Matthew, Jesus talks to his disciples about giving to those in need. He specifically says "when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets as the hypocrites do...." Interestingly, the charity boxes in the temple were shaped and marked like trumpets and placed in very visible locations, so that everyone would notice when someone gave. So it's no mystery that Jesus is referencing this temple offering and reminding his disciples that the point of generosity—the point of goodness—is the beauty of the action itself, not the praise or admiration one receives for the action. Jesus uses this refrain three times in the Sermon on the Mount: "Then your Father in heaven will see what you've done in secret and reward you." He says it regarding financial generosity, prayer, and fasting (ie, spiritual practices). Each time he suggests that we intentionally have a secret element to how we live out our discipleship, so that there are things that only God knows. And when that happens, it allows us to receive something beautiful and unique from God, that we simply can't get elsewhere. Now, I'm not a big fan of reward motivation. The way of Jesus seems to me to be such a desirable way to live because it is essentially good, with no need of extra incentives. But Jesus does remind us that as we live out the way of love, it will somehow come back to us mysteriously from God. And maybe we need that incentive for this one, because it's just so doggone hard these days to not seek credit for all of our work. Are there areas today where you can develop your secret life a bit more? Are there opportunities for generosity that you can do that no one will ever know about? Maybe it's offering kindness to a stranger. Maybe it's going on a prayer walk without telling anyone that you did something so spiritually impressive today. Maybe it's quietly helping with something at neighbor's house (you should get permission though or you might get arrested) or cleaning up trash at a park... And see how it feels to do all of it just because it's the right and beautiful thing to do, with no one to see it but God. See what happens when you trust Jesus to fill those dopamine needs. And watch how God shapes you in the process. You may just find that there's freedom in it, and that there's an expanding world under the surface of your life that Jesus wants to work with, that no one ever sees. You might just find yourself experiencing God in a whole new way. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. Lord, invite me into secret moments with you today that no one else knows about. Peace, Keith  If you’d rather listen than read, you can find this TFG on Spotify or Apple Podcasts
How varied are your works, Lord! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. -Psalm 104:24 I was recently pointed toward an interview by John Mark Comer with retired author/psychology professor Jerry Sittser. Sittser has been writing books about Christian formation for 25 years. In 1991 he lost his wife, his mother, and his daughter in a car accident with a drunk driver. Even writing that sentence brings me to a point of wordless pause. A moment of such unimaginable pain can ultimately harden a person or open them up. For Dr. Sittser, it was the latter. His life became a journey of learning to experience God's loving hope without big solutions or answers, but with an ever-expanding graciousness. I'm not writing about suffering this morning, but when someone has suffered through what Sittser has, his story is worth including because it changes the weight of his words on a number of subjects. Sittser's writings have invited the church to continue moving toward greater depth and greater relational understanding. In a society and a Christian culture so intoxicated with drawing lines, Dr. Sittser is a voice that encourages people to pursue the center in Jesus with curiosity and compassion. Life is complicated. People are complicated. Following Jesus from each of our own backgrounds can feel complicated. And therefore, we don't help ourselves by thinking that our approach to faith is the only right way or the universally superior way out there. The body of Christ is big and wide and thousands of years old and wildly diverse, and it can be exceedingly beautiful in helping us grow. That's why I was captured during this interview by a line in his book, Water from a Deep Well. He writes, "The tradition to which I am least attracted is the one about which I should be most curious." Fascinating. When was asked why that curiosity matters so much, he shared that we can easily become a prisoner to the things that we like. We become diminished and reduced when we only stay in our own preferences. Sittser shared that the core anchor that we all hold on to is this deep story that culminates in Jesus and the gift of the Holy Spirit for the formation of the Church. From there the church branched out and has explored what that has meant for two thousand years—with plenty of mistakes, but also with some beauty. But many people today simply find the tradition or practices they are most comfortable with and stop exploring altogether. They make their world so much smaller and less beautiful than it could be. And that not only limits their own experience of God, but it makes them highly judgmental of others who are outside of what I'm going to call a prison of preference. Here are the things that I've been told over the years: I'm a mystic, so I don't really read the Bible much. I don't do silence, it's not valuable to me. I don't like pre-written prayers; they feel stale. I don't like free-flowing prayers; they don't have thought put into them. Charismatic worship is just people worshiping their own emotions. Liturgical churches don't have space to follow the Spirit. I have a hundred more examples. For any of us—our traditions, our preferences, and our theology may be really solid. But we're going to have blind spots. And exploring practices and traditions that are not our norm can break us open and force us into spaces that challenge our assumptions. And when we are on the edge of our comfort zones, with open hearts, we often experience God in new ways. I love a lot about my Anabaptist tradition and our practices at LifePath. But every now and then, participating in a really charismatic worship service shakes me up in good ways. And one of the most profound seasons of my spiritual life came in the silence of a Franciscan monastery. And conversations with Quaker theologians have reminded me of my temptation to focus on information over Presence. And books about the saints have challenged my temptation to think that Western contemporary Christianity is more evolved than past generations. And reading missionary stories about wild miracles keeps me humble when I'm tempted to think that God only works in ways that I expect. All of these things help me look around and see the community of Christ—past and present, Anglican and Catholic, Methodist and Evangelical—as opportunities for me to look for Jesus and learn—not only about my arrogance, but about being stretched toward God in ways that are outside of my comfortable norms. What prisons of preference are you living in? When you look at the teachings of Jesus, what have you quietly pushed aside because it's outside the fences you like to live inside? Where is there beauty and adventure and freedom and risk that God wants to grow? It might be the very tradition you are least drawn to that may form you in a new way. Maybe it means starting a prayer journal. Maybe it means reading a book from a different tradition or viewpoint. Maybe it means blasting some gospel worship music. Maybe it means reading a biography about one of the church Desert mothers or fathers. Maybe it's asking a friend for prayer even if you're not sure you believe in that stuff. Maybe there's something good you've missed out on because you've been safely inside your spiritual comfort zone for too long. And maybe those fences have grown into walls between you and others. Yes, division and tribalism are real. Some of our disagreements feel fundamental. Yet even if those things are true, the invitation remains. Don't let your preferences become a prison. The way of Jesus is spacious and gracious. Jesus, open my eyes to see your beauty in practices and traditions that are not my norm. Peace, Keith |
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