Wild Boar Hunt

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm 8

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Beautiful, wonderful, generative, gratuitous and abundant is the life that the Trinity breathes into the world. He is utterly giving and blessing, full of hope for the world and providing for its flourishing. John says through the Spirit the life of the Trinity is given to us. And yet I am reminded of how seldom I live and lead out of this kind of self-giving abundance.

Just got off the phone with a friend who is caught in "church politics," both disappointed by the decisions of his church and responsible to represent them. I am reminded of how often church has been a let-down. We are so addicted to our own piety; we pass blame to others, "spiritualize" situations to alleviate the weight of our responsibility for good leadership, and ignore real needs and issues in order to

The Problem with Diversity

Acts 11:1-18

Psalm 148:1-14

Revelation 21:1-6

John 13:31-35

Over the last decade or so, colleges and universities have been diversifying their student body though affirmative action. My seminary has been doing this as well. In a seminary known for its "Dutch whiteness" I now join in learning with my black and hispanic peers. The psalm for this week celebrates this kind of progress. So does Peter in Acts, embracing his new gentile brothers and sisters.

I've also noticed something else. The introduction of diversity into student bodies has caused an upheaval in administration. They would have preferred that the new influx of diverse students would

He Lost Everything

Acts 9:1-6

Psalm 30

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

I can't get my neighbor's story out of my head. I saw him across our driveway as we pulled in. My daughter was sleeping in the back, safe and sound. Stepping out of the car, I asked him how he was. Six foot four and not less than three hundred pounds, he would be an intimidating presence if it weren't for his jolly countenance. But today his face was dark like a thunderstorm.

"Very bad. Bad, bad bad," he said with his thick Sudanese accent.

English is new for him since coming to the United States sixteen months ago with his wife and two kids. I love seeing the added color in the otherwise homogenous Grand Haven, MI, but for them it must be hard. She is Muslim and has nowhere to pray. With much help they have found employment and a way to get around on their own. The kids have been the stars of the neighborhood. Out of their dark chocolate faces their pearly smiles would welcome us as we drove down the street. They would run to the car to say hello to my daughter and teach her to high-five. But all that was about to change.

On the Uncommon Perception of My Garden

My second year of seminary is over! Only one more to go. For me, one of the worst parts of finishing the school year is the change of pace. My mind is finally given space to be as anxious as it wants to be, thinking of the future, purpose, calling, and nothing to do about it now. Free from homework and anything else to do after dinner until September, I

One

At a friend's house the other night, after a delicious pork roast, the fire was lit as all sunk into couches, chatting. It wasn't long before Tad's enormous chocolate lab brought a slimy blue rubber toy right into the lap of Jonathan, who happily resigned himself from the conversation to play fetch. He threw the toy high up into the air. Up launched the lab with a full six-foot span (and a smile almost as big) as he chomped it out of the air and fell back to the hardwood floor between the Christmas tree and the fireplace. He brought it right back to Jonathan for another go. We all laughed, mesmerized with all the antics.

"I wish I could be so obsessed with one thing," Jonathan reflected out loud as the dog took another leap into the air. "He's so happy, he could do this forever." But I wonder if that lab was thinking the

The Present is King

Having a child is so different than wanting to have a child. As I write this, my first and only daughter is lying on my chest, her warm body melting into mine, her little lungs softly breathing freshly upon my skin. Only a week ago, this same daughter was driving her parents to near insanity, crying out for more food in a language we could not understand. What is wrong with us? We are capable, intelligent, perceptive people who at the seemingly imperceivable cry of an infant are operating at our wits end and no sleep.

When I imagined having a child with my wife, I imagined the stories we would tell of growth and hardship, triumph and strength. I surely didn't realize how scary it would be to have the doctor tell us

Dead Body, Grieving Body

John died thirteen days ago on a Wednesday from Leukemia, a disease he had been battling for the last ten years. He was fifty-five years old with a wife, a son and a daughter. I didn’t know John, but I had prepared music which his family selected as “some of his favorites” for me to sing at his funeral the following Monday. I spent some of the morning rehearsing the unfamiliar music and as I sat occupied in the front pew - reviewing the lyrics in my head, humming to myself to warm up my vocal folds, and glancing at the bulletin to see when my turn would be – it was only slowly, with sporadic awareness, that I noticed where I was, that this was not merely another gig or performance.

Not Like D. Bowie's - It's Different Than That

            A number of years ago at my home church in San Diego, they built an outdoor labyrinth in the back corner of the church property. I walked by it often. I knew it was used for prayer, but I was always suspicious that it was syncretistic, melding some sort of weird spirituality into Christian prayer. Why do we have a labyrinth?

            It was with this same curiosity that I stood on the pebble mat on Monday and breathed deep, holding a question in my mind like a fragile egg, trying to prepare myself for the experience. I took a

Tornadoooooo

It started raining when I walked to worship this morning. It was really nice, actually. Just enough rain to be interesting, to keep me cool, to say that I had walked in the rain.

But it wasn't until after worship, talking with others in the fellowship hall that the pastor announced, "Everyone, there is a tornado watch and all church activities for the day are cancelled!"

What? Tornado? Coming from the West Coast, tornadoes are just plot mechanisms for fairy tales. But no, he was serious. Huh ... wonder what this will be like.

Do Not Hinder Them

The chapel at Western Theological Seminary is a welcoming place. Warm light pours over the bread and the wine on the table in the center of the room. Little puddlets of water sit childlike at the foot of the font, where some had splashed during the vigorous acoustic pouring. The way all the chairs are circled around the table allow me to see the body of Christ (not just in the bread and wine but) in the people sitting across from me.

Things I Touch

I don't remember much about my run yesterday. That is, as I reflect on it, most of what I remember was that I was listening to Robbie Seay and testing out a new App called Strava that tracks my stats live through my new iPhone. Until yesterday, running had been for me a time of silence and breathing, rhythm and pulsing, getting lost, surfacing thoughts, observing the season, and approaching my Maker. It's amazing how two electric earbuds can take all that away.

Removing earbuds is an easy fix (that I shall remedy on my next run). However...

Leading in a Fog

How do I get kids to understand the kingdom of God? How do I shift their conceptions of the Christian life? These are essential questions I have been asking ever since I was hired a few months ago as a youth pastor at First CRC of Grand Haven. I’ve never actually led a youth group, but like most young people in ministry, I make up for it in eagerness, optimism, and consternation. This summer I exercised my brain, wringing it for ideas, vision and strategies. I put together all the scriptures for the whole semester so as to walk the students through the basics of the kingdom of God. I imagined students’ faith light bulbs flashing weekly with fresh revelations.

Liturgy of a Full Life

Day:
Six thirty.
Wake up, get ready, eat.
Drive thirty minutes and listen, watch, think.
Brisk walk
Engage engage engage
Think think think

Good News

[A follow-up to An Unfamiliar, Scary Place]

When I walked onto the grounds of the residential facility, I saw Ethan* far in the distance, in between the trees, swinging a stick back and forth.  The reports I had been getting from his therapist the past two weeks were that he had been failing in school and leaving the building every afternoon, decidedly unwilling to complete any of his assignments.  His therapist also said he has the lowest self esteem of any of the kids she is working with.

I met Ethan’s therapist on the walk into the nearest cottage.  After ten minutes, Chris and Cat* joined us.  We hugged, excited for what the day meant.  We sat down, swapping stories from the afternoon.  I pulled out my folder and took out a single paper, “Intent to Adopt” written at the top. 

Gathered and Sent

“I worship in the church of the open skies,” quipped my friend regarding his religious affiliations. He talked of his surfing and hiking as spiritual experiences of worship as if to say he doesn’t need that stuffy religion in order to “connect to God”. And that’s how we think of worship in the evangelical church, isn’t it? That we are gathering together to connect to God. And so my friend does have a point – why can’t we just connect to God on our own? Why do I need all these “rules” and “sermons” to facilitate an inward connection to my maker? It’s a good question.

Art Prize

Before posting my thoughts, I would love to hear your response to the question:

What is Worship?

Have at it in the comment section.

New Season, New Practices*

As I look over the past ten days, I have experienced a lot of joy and challenge, mostly around beginning classes at WTS. It’s a joy to be fully committed to something, to dive in with my whole heart and give my best. It’s a joy to enter into a community of love and formation in which I feel welcomed and embraced. I feel joy at the end of the day knowing I have worked well toward a good end. I feel joy as I engage in my readings and subject matter and learn so much about a God who loves me way more than I ever thought. It has been a challenge to get less sleep and

Hooked

"Accident prone," the mother said to me as she rolled her eyes.
"Come here, boy, let me see it," said the aunt to her young nephew, still a ways off. The boy stood back, no emotion on his face, just one hand covering his bottom lip. She urged again and he dropped his hand. "O Shit!" exclaimed the aunt.

Ten minutes earlier we had found two young boys standing on the side of a lake. The smaller one was frozen holding his fishing pole as the older one gingerly held the fishing line at his mouth. We jogged over to help. Rachel went looking for his mom way down the beach. I grabbed a slimy knife from their bucket and cut the line as close to the hook as possible, so afraid I would slip and tug it deeper into the soft flesh. It was a big hook and the end of the worm was still on there. I patted him on the back.

Dynamite!

"Hey! Good morning!" I called through my rolled down window as I passed the third driveway on my block on the way to work on Tuesday morning. It wasn't my neighbor, but my neighbor's friend who was walking out to his truck to get something. The two (my neighbor and his friend) are inseparable. They're always in the back yard hanging out, drinking, gardening, pushing kids on the swing, and lighting dynamite (more on this later).

"You got the wrong guy," he muttered. For a cheery guy, he seemed pretty upset.
"Huh?" I knew this person. We threw the frisbee together at the block party.
"You got the wrong guy. You can't come over here all buddy-buddy after calling the cops on us," he grimaced.

Paper Sack Sermon

When the morning service at Salvation Army* finished, all kinds of people greeted one another. Rachel and I were instantly caught up in a number of friendly conversations and encouragements. Out of the corner of my eye, two kids approached me holding three paper sacks filled with something; all I could see were heads of grass waving out the tops like flags. Written on the outside of the sack in red sharpie were two words: God created! "This is for you," the boy gleamed, holding one up to me. "We made them in Sunday school." 

The boy and girl were obviously siblings and also the only ones present today for Sunday school. The teacher? Their mom. The next youngest person in the room was probably Rachel, then me, then their mom, and then all the others, averaging in their late sixties. But they were a warm bunch, visibly stripped of pretense and riches and glad to gather together for Sunday worship.

At the beginning of the service, the leaders led the church in a prayer, "God bless Brendan this