“Understanding comes with use.”

“We don’t have to understand a crowbar before we put it to use.
Understanding comes with use.”1

—Eugene Peterson

 

The sentence made me laugh.  At no time in my life—as a seminary student, pastor, or professor—did I ever think about a crowbar as a metaphor for any part of the spiritual life.  A crowbar, as I used it, was for the only construction skill I possess: demolition. I am not a builder, but I can take things apart. My college roommate and I once worked for ManPower on a Saturday morning, disassembling a bakery oven in a local grocery store. We became covered in flour and crumbs from its years of use.  It took us almost all day, but we didn’t use a crowbar.

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Breakfast on the Beach

Living the Resurrection

Resurrection did not begin with a sermon. After the shock of the empty tomb, after fear and disbelief, after locked doors and unfinished conversations, Jesus Christ does something so ordinary it is almost anticlimactic.

He makes breakfast.

Bread.
Fish.
A charcoal fire.
Morning light.
Tired bodies.
Hungry souls.

This is how resurrection announces itself—not as spectacle, but as presence.

“The surprising thing about biblical spirituality is that God is present in the ordinary, daily, common, and concrete realities of life.”1

“God is forming us into a new people. And the place of that formation is in the small moments of today.”2

Resurrection doesn’t pull us out of the world; it restores us to it. And here, on the beach, resurrection smells like smoke and fish and fishing nets. What we are invited into, as were these disciples, is resurrection breakfast—the most dramatic event in human history captured in quiet, small, and ordinary things. Read More

They Stayed

On Good Friday, the gospels ask us to notice who remained. Not the crowds who shouted. Not the disciples who promised loyalty and then scattered into the shadows. The ones who stayed were the women—standing at a distance, close enough to see, close enough to grieve, close enough to be marked forever by what they witnessed.

John’s gospel writes with almost startling simplicity: “Standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother… and Mary Magdalene.” 1 Matthew and Mark quietly confirm it: when the others scattered, these women stayed.2 Good Friday is not only about Jesus’ suffering, but it is also about the courage of presence. It is also about the courage of those who refused to look away.

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The Legend of Judas

I’ve never met someone named Judas. John, Peter, Matthew, Thomas, Levi—these are people whom I know. But never Judas. His story is an enigma, an outright confusing puzzle, not because of what he did, but because Jesus chose to invite him to follow. In Luke’s list of disciples, he names him “Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor” (Luke 6:16).  Not who was a traitor—but who became one. Jesus chose him before the ending was known, before betrayal hardened into history.

 

Jesus didn’t gather admirers or spectators. He called followers: people who would walk with him, walk alongside him, and walk forward into the mission of God. Which raises a troubling question: Why then would Jesus choose one who would “become a traitor?” Perhaps this is the wrong question because we could say of Thomas: “Why would Jesus choose one who would become a doubter?”  Of Peter: Why would Jesus choose one who would become a denier?”  Lent presses us to notice not only those who fail—in truth, almost all the gospel stories show us that all the disciples failed, misunderstood, or fell short one way or another. Read More

Remembering Jim Houston

We have been born into and grown up in a culture that is deeply alienated from God. So as we cross the border into God’s kingdom, with its radically new attitudes and priorities, we will need all the help we can get from a spiritual friend who has made the same perilous journey before.

The way in which friends behave towards us can also help us to have faith in God. If friends really pay attention to me, listening to me and not just to my words, then I am encouraged to believe that God pays attention and listens to me in an even greater way.

James Houston

(1922-2026)

 

I first met Dr. Jim Houston over 30 years ago as a few friends and I sat together with him in a TCBY yogurt near Biola University. Dallas Willard had given us a glowing “scouting report” of Jim Houston. That night, we encountered a wise and faithful 72-year-old man who resonated with a sense of God’s creative and warm presence in the world. Around the table that evening, Dr. Houston asked each of us, “Where are you at?” When it came my turn to answer, a question emerged within me as if it had been floating to the surface for some time, and then, in that particular moment, it broke through the surface.

Over the prior three years of seminary, I had become aware of deep disappointment and despair. I was tired of trying to believe. All the theology that I “knew” seemed distant from my heart. Was it all true? Did God really care? Why did he seem so absent? Why did my life not make sense? Read More

Jesus Sees Peter

We all want to be seen by Jesus, the very Son of God. We often seek a feeling of His presence, a longing to sense Him beside us and with us. The writers of the Psalms often cried out for God to be close, to not turn a deaf ear to them, or for God’s glory to thunder forth, asking God with words like these: “Do not hide your face from me.”[1]

This morning, I started my day by asking God that I might “sense you every hour and make this day a prayer.”

Just hours before he held the bread and cup of the Passover feast, Jesus refocused the eyes of the disciples’ faith to see more than unleavened bread and wine—more even than the memory of the exodus from slavery in Egypt. He looked each of them in the eye, gave them the spiritual food, and said, “I give you this bread, this wine. I ask you to do this often to remember not only our historic covenant, but the covenant fulfilled—the new covenant in my blood.”

When God makes a covenant with people, God is true to God’s word. Of the many terms we might use to describe God, these two are formative: God is covenant-maker, and God is covenant-keeper. Read More

Nicodemus: The Long Way Around Faith

He came at night.

Not because he was wicked.
Not because he was hostile.
But because he was careful.

Nicodemus was a serious man—trained in Torah, disciplined in lifestyle, respected as a teacher of the law.  He knew the scriptures by heart. He had practiced faith through repetition and ritual. He had devoted his life to learning what God had said and guarding what God had given.

And yet, something in Jesus unsettled him.

“Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God…” —John 3:2

Notice the language: we know. Nicodemus spoke for a class of people—teachers, leaders, the spiritually accomplished. His faith was accurate, informed, orthodox. He admired Jesus. He even defended him later in John 7:50–51. And after the crucifixion, he helped care for Jesus’ body (John 19:39).

Nicodemus always seemed to be near Jesus, in proximity to him, whether in the city streets or in a secret room one-to-one, late at night. He always seemed to be near him, but never quite with him. Like many of us, he knew a great deal about him. He had good information and great curiosity, but he lacked trust in Jesus’ words and ways. Read More

Dayenu: A Spiritual Practice of Gratitude

 A devotional reflection on Isaiah 43

Sung or chanted each year around Jewish Passover tables, Dayenu (pronounced die-YAY-noo or DIE-yenu) carries a depth of spiritual wisdom many Christians might miss. It means simply: It would have been enough.

  • If God had only brought us out of Egypt, but not split the sea: Dayenu.
  • If God had only split the sea, but not let us through on dry ground: Dayenu.
  • If God had only let us through, but not sustained us in the wilderness: Dayenu.

This litany, sung with joy, rising rhythm, and often laughter, is more than a historical rehearsal. It is a spiritual declaration. We live not by entitlement, but by grace. And grace is Dayenu, always more than enough. Read More

A shared life or an isolated life? 

I have found over and over again how hard it is to be truly faithful to Jesus
when I am alone. I need my brothers and sisters to pray with me, to speak with me about the spiritual task at hand, and to challenge me to stay pure in mind, heart, and body.

Fr. Henri Nouwen

The Quiet Drift Toward Isolation

Many of us are startled and saddened by the degree of aloneness we experience in adulthood. We didn’t expect it. From the outside, it seems like family and work and church would provide a vital sense of being known. For many, though, the reality of our demanding lives keeps us skimming across the surface of our relationships. Our intentions for faithful living and service are well-meaning, even noble, but our individualistic approaches prove inadequate to the task. We have consciously or unconsciously sought to make it on our own and have found, over time, our lives desperately lacking, our souls wanting. Sadly, the tale of an individual human life is too often told as a sequence of independent and unshared moments.

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