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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A Lenten Rule of Life

Practices for Paying Attention to God

Through The Journey and A Way of Life processes, many have experienced what it’s like to be given a template for our energy toward God to wrap itself around—a shared rhythm of weekly gatherings, Scripture, prayer, reflection, and honest conversation. Over time, these practices become a kind of scaffolding for our longings: a way to channel our desire to know God, live attentively, and participate more faithfully in what God is already doing in our lives and communities.

As Dallas Willard once described it, this kind of formation becomes a curriculum for Christlikeness—not something rigid, but a simple structure that supports who we are becoming.

Spiritual director Adele Ahlberg Calhoun reminds us that a rule of life is “a simple statement of the regular rhythms we choose in order to present our bodies to God as our ‘spiritual act of worship.’” These rhythms aren’t burdensome checklists. They’re realistic, life-giving practices that keep our lives from drifting into unintended chaos and help us partner with God in the transformation only He can bring.

With Lent inviting us again to slow down and pay attention, Keith Anderson offers a thoughtful reflection on crafting a Lenten rule of life—one shaped not by striving, but by fasting, prayer, and generosity as gentle ways of becoming more present to God. Read More

Ashes to Go

Seeing with Fresh Eyes

It was an early Wednesday morning, and I was hurrying—almost running—to catch the ferry from Bainbridge Island to Seattle. The terminal felt especially busy that day, crowded with people moving at practiced speed, the way overachievers do, intent on finding their preferred seat or joining their familiar cluster of friends for the thirty-five-minute crossing over the eight miles of Puget Sound.

 

I wasn’t paying attention to anyone. I was distracted—preoccupied in the way a graduate school president often is—lost in my own thoughts, unaware that this was not just any Wednesday. This was a holy day in the life of the Church. 

 

As I reached the edge of the terminal building, I saw him.

 

There stood my pastor—our vicar, Father Dennis—vested as he would later be that afternoon in the sanctuary of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church. I had never seen him on the ferry commute before. Then I noticed the sign placed deliberately at his small station near the flow of foot traffic: “Ashes to go.”

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Prophet, peacemaker, or partisan?

Your emotional reaction to the title for today’s blog is already an indicator of your readiness for curiosity. It’s not a direct statement from Scripture, but I want to raise the question of the kingdom anticipated in the Bible for Jesus’ reign.

 

Isaiah 11:1ff puts us in mind of what God’s intentions were (and are): I ask you to read verses 1-9 to make sense of today’s blog.

 

Did you notice?  Jesus was “the shoot from the stump of Jesse.” If you’re an apprentice of Jesus, this is the mandate to which we bow: “His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.”  Not to be afraid of the Lord, but to honor, respect, follow, and obey the Lord. This oracle forecasts a new king coming out of the line of Jesse, not out of any political party, but from a long past of faithfulness to Yahweh. What is the nature of this new kingdom? Read More

“It happened again.”

“It happened again,” were the words with which Richard started his story that day. 

 

He told me how he and his wife had a dinner date over the weekend with another couple from church—“All in all, a less than satisfying dinner conversation.” 

 

Richard elaborated on how he and his wife felt they had asked all the questions, showing interest in their friends, drawing them out, and learning more about the couple’s experiences and perspectives on various topics. Yet their curiosity was never reciprocated; no questions were asked of Richard or his wife, and very little interest in them was expressed by this other couple. 

 

“It all felt like a one-way street of interest,” Richard paused and then continued, “A disappointing but not unfamiliar experience.”

 

These sorts of conversations were sadly all too common, according to Richard. “This same experience is frequent enough,” Richard shared with me,  “that my wife and I have developed a shorthand descriptor for it. When we get back in the car after the meal or when one of us returns from a coffee conversation, either my wife or I say—It happened again.” 

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The Sacrament of Welcome: Holy Hospitality

Some of the people I know and love are alcoholics. They struggle, yes—but they also know a truth that many of us forget: we cannot make it ahead on our own. Alcoholics Anonymous becomes for them more than a time or place; it is a circle of honesty, accountability, and grace. 

You know the rhythm: a dimly lit room, coffee in a styrofoam cup, someone begins, “Hi, my name is Keith, I’m an alcoholic.” And the room responds, “Hi, Keith.” 

Then comes the story—the ache and the hope, spoken aloud and received by others who carry their own wounds. 

One recovering addict once said, “The hardest part is coming back the second time.”  Read More

Living the Questions: Field Notes on Mentoring

When I first began the work of mentoring, I looked for manuals, methods, and models—anything that would give me a clear path forward. Over time, though, I learned that mentoring isn’t a formula; it’s a way of being present. What follows are my own “field notes,” drawn from the wisdom of Margaret Guenther, one of my early teachers and companions in this vocation.  Read More