Month: October 2025

It is a rhetorical question, of course. Who doesn’t want to be thoroughly alive, enjoying all the good things that life has to offer, to be lifted above the plane of mere existence? To live a large life, a life of spacious activities and with a grand purpose captures our imaginations. This is a life of abounding energy and possesses a deep awareness of the things that bless—both personally and those around us.

The Psalms offer treasured insight for such a life, insight for embracing a spacious life of blessedness, of extracting the secret flavors and essences of things as we live into each day. Very specifically, we are instructed in the wisdom of many who have traveled before us; we are told to exercise wise government over our tongues. Relationships with one another rise to unimaginable heights as the tongue is disciplined and directed to build, edify and, exalt those who hear us. It is as though life receives its nutriments from careful and blessed speech.

Our speech is too often destructive. Poison-soaked speech first poisons the speaker. “Every word we speak recoils upon the speaker’s heart, leaves its influence, either in grace or disfigurement,” writes that wonderful preacher, J.H. Jowett.[1] Where the tongue is untrue the heart is afraid of exposure. Life is diminished. One may also argue that such speech is lazy speech. Where there is no exercise of restraint or government of the tongue; it is free to roam at will. Therefore, urges the Psalms, to keep your tongue from evil and speaking lies. The tongue that is held in severe restriction, the tongue that only shapes words that are good and encouraging to others results in quiet and fruitful happiness.

Undisciplined tongues seem to flourish today. And the world is the poorer for it. Yet, our own lives may move to a higher plane simply by a personal revolt from the disorderly conduct of tongues. The best way to affect a departure from the guile and venom that flows freely around us is to exercise one’s self in active good, of words spoken kindly, with pleasantness and grace. The fragrance of our speech will tickle the hearts of others. It may invite them to share in the same wisdom of the Psalms, an invitation to experience a blessed life, full, safe, and abounding in good things.

Joy,

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[1] Jowett, J.H., Thirsting for the Springs: Twenty-Six Weeknight Meditations, London: H.R. Allension, Limited, 1907, 188.

Thoreau said, “If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams…he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”ⁱ Advancement in a chosen direction is intentional movement, not simply a longing or a dream. One is aspirational; the other is a determined pursuit. One person may aspire to learn the Italian language; another enrolls in language class. Therefore, we need to ask ourselves, “Have I determined a pathway for realizing my dreams? Am I now pursuing that path?” Success, says Thoreau, belongs to those who begin to move in the direction that is right for them. That is when things start to go our way.

In this letter to Timothy, Paul uses an athletic metaphor to describe, “Advancing confidently in the direction of a holy life.” He urges the reader to “Train yourself,” that is, to advance intentionally and confidently in the direction for living as Christ. The Greek word Paul uses for “train” is the word from which we get “gymnasium.” It would be odd for anyone to go to a gym simply to watch others train. Gyms have value, not as “observation posts” for people who dream of better health, but as an “action center” for advancing toward better health. When Paul speaks about training in holy living, he is talking about activities that engage us – activities that make a demand upon us.

It is good for us to reassess our priorities from time to time. Often we speak of our aspirations: an aspiration to learn a musical instrument, an aspiration to travel, or an aspiration to return to school. Yet, without “advancing confidently in the direction of our dreams,” they remain aspirations. Absent is a commitment and plan to advance toward them. Someone once observed that our priorities are transparent for the world to see – they see our priorities in what we do each day. The mature person understands that what is important receives time, energy, and intentionality. If consistently arriving to work on time is important for job security, we arrive to work on time. 

Thomas Long writes that if the holy life is our aim, we go to the theological gym to do curls, crunches, and run laps to train, not to run a marathon but in order to be people of love.ⁱⁱ Naturally, observes Tom Long, it does not take much training to love the lovable. However, when Christ calls us to love those who are difficult to love – or to love our enemies – then, that takes practice. That takes time in the theological gym. “Train yourself for a holy life!” writes Paul. The great Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung said that the supreme goal of men and women is to fulfil themselves – to honor their unique calling in life. The apostle Paul is asking that we now honor our baptismal vows – to become like Christ.

Joy,

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ⁱ Henry David Thoreau, Walden (Norwalk, Connecticut: The Easton Press, 1981), 326.

ii Thomas G. Long, Belief: A Theological Commentary on the Bible, 1 & 2 Timothy and Titus (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2016), 131.

“In the future, your children will ask you, ‘What is the meaning of the laws, the regulations, and the case laws that the Lord our God commanded you?’ tell them: We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt. But the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand.” Deuteronomy 6:20, 21 (Common English Bible)

My daughter, Rachael, was five years old at our move into a new home in Coppell, Texas. Shortly after settling into our new home, Rachael and I went exploring our new community. Near our home was a large, beautiful park and, within the park, a smaller, enclosed playground for children. Naturally, she wanted to meet the other children there in the playground, all engaged in their own play. I saw it as an opportunity to read while Rachael did what she does best—meeting strangers and forging deep and abiding friendships in little time. The playground was enclosed with a gate that had a safety design that only adults could open. Rachael would be safe as I turned my attention to my The New Yorker magazine.

After completing a short article, I thought it wise to have “eyes on” my daughter. I did not see her. I wasn’t concerned because of the safety design of the gate. But I did think it prudent to place my magazine down and find her. What I found was Rachael being Rachael. Seated on the ground in a semi-circle were four other little girls, approximately Rachael’s age, with their focus fixed upon Rachael, who was also seated. Not wanting to disrupt whatever Rachael was saying that held the attention of four strangers, I drew near quietly. What I heard from the heart of a five-year-old was, “I was a slave girl in Egypt and Pharaoh was so mean to me. But my God is bigger than Pharaoh and God came for me one day, beat Pharaoh up, and took me home. I don’t exactly remember it because I think I was asleep in my daddy’s arms.”

Where did Rachael get that story? From her father, who had received the story from his father who received the story from the Bible. It is a story that is captured here in Deuteronomy that occurs at a crucial juncture of Israel’s journey from slavery in Egypt. Just before the people leave their forty-year journey in the wilderness, cross the Jordan River, and take possession of the land promised to them, Moses instructs them how to shape and mold their children into one powerful, corporate story. It is a story that will give meaning, purpose, and understanding of who they are as a people of God. The story will be a response to the children’s inquiry, an inquiry that asks, what is the meaning of the laws God has “commanded you.” In a subtle shift, the children express a certain distance from their parents’ faith—“commanded you.”

Just as subtly, the parents’ answer is to break down the separation suggested by the children and includes them in the remarkable story of God’s deliverance: “We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt,” and “But the Lord brought us out of Egypt.” Questions about rules and laws within the faith community are often answered through stories. Stories are imaginative and embody fascination and richness that simple, direct explanations fail to provide. Stories invite the listener to enter, poke around a little, and find a comfortable place to settle, claiming a unique spot in the larger narrative. The remarkable power of stories was realized one bright, sunny day in a children’s playground area in Coppell, Texas: “I was a slave girl in Egypt,” spoke my daughter to four strangers. In those few words, Rachael entered the story, poked around here and there, and found herself belonging to something so much greater than one small girl. Rachael belonged to a people who had captured the heart of God.

Joy,

“Just like a deer that craves streams of water, my whole being craves you, God.” Psalm 42:1 (Common English Bible)

The philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote that each one of us is born with a God-shaped hole in our hearts.[1] Naturally, Pascal was not speaking of a literal hole such as a square hole. The hole he speaks of is an empty space, a deep longing or hunger. We often attempt to fill this empty space with other things or pursuits. Perhaps we seek a relationship that will satisfy this longing, or acquire some material reward such as a new car or country club membership. Each of these may satisfy for a period. Cracker Jacks at dinnertime will satisfy hunger for a little while. But the satisfaction will be short-lived. After all, if the empty space implanted in our hearts is for God, any substitute will simply leave empty spaces all around it. Our hearts remain empty.

This Scripture from Psalms speaks of deer that crave streams of water. What the original readers of this passage know is that many aqueducts in the Holy Land were built with a mesh-like covering to prevent trash from clogging the water supply. Thirsty deer could hear the streams of water, they could see the streams of water, but they could not drink from those streams. The mesh covering that prevented trash from entering the water also prevented the deer access to the water. So, the longing to quench their thirst remained. What is important for the reader to understand is that before the deer “listened for” and “moved toward” the sound of streams of water, there was first a thirst.

As the deer experienced thirst, often we experience a spiritual thirst, a spiritual yearning for something more. Sometimes that thirst is noticed when we see others living a deeply satisfying relationship with Jesus. There is simply something about their faith that is missing in our own experience. Other times we simply become tired of acquiring more and more and finding that all of it fails to satisfy our deepest hungers. The emptiness remains. And most of us will try almost anything to fill that emptiness only to be disappointed time and time again. That is because they fail to recognize that only the pursuit of a deep relationship with Jesus through regular prayer and study of Jesus’ teachings can ever satisfy that emptiness.

During my sophomore year of college, I had the opportunity to spend the fall semester of study in London. To complete a class assignment, I traveled to Liverpool for a weekend of research. Arriving in the early evening of a Friday—London to Liverpool—by train, I immediately looked for an inexpensive opportunity for dinner. Just as I began to enjoy the fish and chips I had ordered to go, eating while standing along a sidewalk, I realized I had lost my father’s professional Nikon camera he had trusted to my care. I lost my appetite, threw away a largely uneaten meal, and went off searching for the camera. Ultimately my search led me to a homeless man, the Cathedral of Christ the King, and Father Murphy, who had my camera. Returning the camera to me, Father Murphy looked deep into my eyes and asked, “Are you hungry?” At that moment I sensed that the question was intended for something much deeper than my stomach.

Joy,

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[1] Pascal, Pensees, 48.

“You don’t have because you don’t ask” James 4:2c (Common English Bible)

Seven short words, here in the Book of James, speak one of the most powerful truths about prayer in all of scripture: “You don’t have because you don’t ask.” Though they are simple words, there is considerable depth in them. They speak to the power available to transform a life, to experience a mastery over struggle, difficulty, and obstacles that come to every person. Yet, their direct and simple promise suggest a carte blanche promise. They do not. The very next verse establishes reasonable parameters; “You ask and don’t have because you ask with evil intentions, to waste it on your own cravings.”

During two verses the reader moves from divine promise to harsh judgement, “you ask with evil intentions!” If those words were spoken to us by anyone, our likely response would be to walk away. And not in a positive manner. How are we to understand James’ teaching on prayer? Perhaps we can look to Shakespeare for help. In the play, The Tempest, which I saw on the London stage during college, a fierce storm hits in the open sea. The mariners run from one side of the ship to the other in desperation: “All is lost! To prayers! To prayers! All is lost! To prayers!” What becomes evident to the audience is that this call to prayer did not flow organically from a deep relationship with God. This call to prayer was nothing more than a last-ditch effort, a last resort, something turned to in a moment of frantic alarm. The prayer James’ speaks of—the prayer that releases considerable power—is prayer that is released from lives that are in harmony with God.

This teaching on prayer cannot be understood without reading the first chapter of James. It is there that James teaches that the process of maturity in faith, the process of growth in a personal relationship with Jesus, begins with trails and ends in endurance. This endurance completes its work with a faith that is mature, complete, and lacking in nothing. It is a faith of an intimate relationship in which there is understanding of God’s character and what a life that is “in-step” with God looks like. For them, God gives without a second thought (1:5). But for those mariners in Shakespeare’s play, those whose life gives no consideration to God except in moments of desperation, they should never imagine that they will receive anything from the Lord (1:7). Such people have reduced God to a blue genie in the sky who is always prepared to be ignored until a wish is made.

Our desire to interact with God must the one constant in our lives. Prayer is that means where we keep company with God, pay attention to God, and seek God’s wisdom for how we are to live. That relationship informs us what is to be our priorities and our desires as we continually draw near to God. It is then that we realize that God is the primary gift—the primary answer to our deepest longings. The contours of such a relationship are marked with vibrancy and power. Our primary commitment in life entails acting in line with and based on God’s wisdom. Moving in our own chosen direction, seeking our own desires, and then discovering that we face a “tempest” and asking God’s help is identified by James as asking with “evil intentions.” It isn’t God that matters in our life. It is us.

Joy,