Mentoring like Jesus reminds us that he not only preached, taught, and explained—he sometimes resisted the instinct to explain. I know the feeling too well.
My urge is to speak, to fill the silence, to provide my answer to their “problem,” to tell them how it worked for me. As a rabbi, Jesus’ goal was seldom informational. More often, it was formative and especially transformational.
A Pastoral Reflection on Violence in Our Society
By Keith Anderson
Every time another shooting erupts—in schools, in sanctuaries, on neighborhood streets—we ask the same anguished question: “Is this the new normal?”
It happened again. Families are grieving loved ones whose lives were cut short. Children are left shaken, carrying fears that no child should carry. Parents drop their kids off at school, wondering if they will be safe, and too many of us have begun rehearsing worst-case scenarios when we enter public spaces. Some buy weapons. Others send children with bulletproof backpacks. Schools practice lockdown drills. Many quietly avoid large gatherings. We are learning to live with fear, to anticipate trauma, to prepare for violence.
Mentoring is a risk. Being mentored can be costly. Being a mentor can require paying a price.
These are probably not words you want to hear if you are:
Mentoring requires one essential posture: hospitality. We create an open and free space for another person. As mentors, we open ourselves to the work of the Spirit in another. As mentees, we open our inner soul space. There is an emerging and (hopefully) growing transparency. Read More
Growing up, I became convinced I knew how to read the Bible: as content to ‘master.’ Its purpose seemed to be information, instruction, and data. I took an Old Testament class in college. Our exams primarily focused on recitation of the chronology of kings and prophets as if the primary purpose was to memorize a historical timeline.
Two people messed with that view and gave me a different understanding of the interaction between the Bible and faith: Jesus and Grandma McJunkin. Read More
Mentors ask great questions. We don’t always know the impact our questions will have until they are heard by the mentee. Often, these great questions emerge from a pool of mentors, perhaps as starters or simply as something to introduce at the right moment.
These questions can also serve you well as you journal—simply writing thoughts, prayers, experiences, questions, memories, in a carefully kept notebook for you to read again. Journaling is a spiritual practice that takes you deep into your inner landscape. Many find it a valuable way to explore fears, dreams, aspirations, and convictions through regular writing.
We’d love for you to keep these questions for spiritual friendship close at hand. That’s why we’ve created a printable PDF of spiritual mentoring questions—a free resource that includes all 25 questions and the first practice prompt. Print it, tuck it into your journal, or bring it to your next mentoring conversation. Read More
When I read or hear someone tell me there are five steps or three steps to prayer, spiritual formation, or knowing God, I become skeptical. I once took a 10-booklet course on steps to Christian maturity. I filled in all the blanks, read, and prayed, but two months later, I still wasn’t mature. Did I miss a step, or did it just not take? Was it the course—or was it the student?
When I read Psalm 5 the other day, the image of a blueprint came to mind. I wrote in my journal: “Psalm 5 is a blueprint for prayer.” Or even better—what if it invites us to imagine what might be in the mind of an architect who draws up such a blueprint? It’s a visual representation of the architect’s craft, artistry, and imagination. Read More
I was a young pastor in a university town, newly baptized into the fierce faith of campus ministry. Soon after, a group of Christian students—bold, bright-eyed, unashamed—welcomed me into their company. They carried the gospel like wildfire, unafraid to bring the name of Jesus into the thick of frat house bravado.
“Will you join us,” they asked, “as we go into the fraternity houses to speak the name of Jesus?”
I said yes. Braver in word than in spirit, I nodded—though inside, I trembled.
Three old friends. Once college roommates. Now, silver-haired sages with weathered faces and tender hearts. We gathered with spouses on a Zoom call, decades of life behind us, some days heavy with loss. Yet even in the ache of aging and memory, there was a quiet sense that we are still living under the blessing. What do old friends talk about?
We reminisce about life “back in the day” Read More
It was the late ’80s. A guest was coming to Chapel—an international musician, a name known across the Christian world, and more importantly, my daughter Keri’s favorite: Michael W. Smith. She skipped school that day, rode with me to the airport, and sat behind us with quiet anticipation. Only later did I discover she had tucked a tape recorder under the seat, capturing every word, as if to hold onto a memory of a fleeting morning. She knew something special was unfolding. Years later, one of his songs—simple, pulsing like a heartbeat—brought me back. “This is how I fight my battles.” A repeated phrase, a cry, a creed. Not through sword or shield, but through praise. Through presence. Through faith. It summoned in me the vision of Isaiah 61—an epic chapter of beauty and protest, lament and renewal.
Jesus was a carpenter, but as an artisan, not simply a builder. My “office” table was built by the Boos company and was intended to be a cutting board in a kitchen. It sits in the corner of what I sentimentally call my “cabin,” a room with knotty pine walls and ceilings, a space of intimacy, warmth, and windows. Twelve windows in all that let me see the sun coming from the east in the morning and the shadows as they move to the west in the evening. It’s sturdy, as cutting boards should be. It’s the perfect height to give me a view of the horizon—with its sunlight, trees, clouds, and the morning marine layer of fog. After all, I live on an island in the Pacific Northwest.
This table has become, for me, my altar in the world; it is more than just furniture.
"Practical. Insightful. In my 50 years as a pastor, I’ve read many of these. This is THE best. I ordered 12 to give as gifts.”
