I was in Tennessee when John Piper gave his famous “Seashells” talk at Passion’s One Day on a cold and rainy spring day in 2000. If you listened to the Rise and Fall of Mars Hill, that message’s significance was explored in episode 6…What I loved (and still love) about what he said that day is that it is a call to live for God and for others, to not waste your life but to spend it well. It’s a chance to consider, as Mary Oliver asked in “The Summer Day,” “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Piper’s critique of the toxic individualism and acquisitiveness bound up within the American Dream was apt.

What I have come to realize, however, is that he missed something significant about embracing rest and appreciating (and tending) creation

This is your invitation to be curious about joy. To take some time to remember how you played as a kid. What did you love to do when you were 5?

I love the story of Mary. I love that she was anything but a weak or passive vessel, simply glad to go along with whatever she was told when Gabriel arrived with shocking news. In the spirit of slowing down, I want to offer a simple practice of reflecting on that moment a bit. Maybe you’ll engage it now as you sip morning coffee or evening tea or maybe you’ll be drawn back to it later today or this week. It’s a practice you can engage alone, with family, or with your book club or community group.

My family’s house burned down thirteen years ago in the month of August. It was Friday the 13th. I know, right?

Whenever that time of year rolls around again, I have learned it is important to stop and remember. The first year, we gathered in what had been our living room and shared communion with friends and family. It was a tangible way to honor the loss and enact our hope and prayer for renewal and restoration.

God is full of lovingkindness and is as gentle as a nursing mother. And God is fierce and even hostile toward those who hurt his little ones, like a mother bear protecting her cubs. And since we’re made in God’s image, we’re also invited to be both gentle and fierce.

Jesus knew what was coming, but he wasn’t flippant or stoic. He didn’t paint on an expression of piety and push through. He didn’t talk brightly about how God is in control or quote his favorite theologian or Bible verse. He was sad and distressed.

Jubilee is important. It can be used to create rhythms of restoration and liberation that are essential for cultivating more shalom.

Too many of us have forgotten how to rest. We need to remember it is our ongoing invitation to receive rest and refreshing even in the midst of all that is hard and beautiful and complicated in the world.

That’s why I’m excited to announce that I’ll be speaking at The Invitation, a First15 Digital Retreat on September 17th to help address the challenges we face in connecting with God in this frenetic cultural moment.

There is an enormous cottonwood tree near my house. I walk past it daily, usually with my dogs. Sometimes I place a hand on the massive trunk and imagine the life to which its branches have born silent witness.

A decade ago, I was content with where I stood in terms of race and ethnicity. I’d been a consistent advocate for diversity in my white and male-dominated ministry contexts. I actively supported those adopting interracially. My bookshelves contained texts about multiracial ministries and families. One of my favorite passages was the portrait of the new earth in which “saints from every tribe and language and people and nation [have been made into] a kingdom and priests serving our God” (Revelation 5:9-10). It still is.

But some things happened that rightly unsettled my ease.

I didn’t grow up following a lectionary. That means that I haven’t typically associated John the Baptist’s fiery presence with Advent. His father in the temple and his pregnant mother with Mary, sure. But not angry, adult John.

I’ve been learning anew that Advent is more than a countdown to Christmas. It’s an aching, honest look at the depth of our lack, the ways we need the Holy to help and restore us. To save us. If there is anything that’s clear after this deeply hellacious year, it’s that things aren’t as they should be. And yet, it is also a reminder of how and why we have hope and what for.

"If you’ve been weary and anxious, I hope you’ll listen for whispers of hope and vitality from One who draws near to empower you to stand firm in the face of real danger, speaking and acting for lovingkindness and flourishing, especially in places of injustice.

Why would anyone want to read about people, especially children, experiencing the horrors of a concentration camp at any time but especially in the midst of a pandemic? Because stories of hardship and loss and struggle remind us that humans are resilient even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. We need to hear stories of overcoming even when things are going well. And we need them, even more, when things are hard or confusing. The Librarian of Auschwitz is such a story.

God walked with the first humans daily and rested on the seventh day of creation. Play is implicit in the idea of the Trinity existing in a state of perichoresis—divine dance.

There’s no denying this is a strange and confusing season. In all this chaos, I’ve found myself thinking of a boat in the middle of a lake on a stormy night.

I think we’re invited to be more aware than ever of the physical and spiritual benefits of breathing deeply and intentionally. As a spiritual director, my favorite way to begin a session is to invite a moment of centering prayer. I usually remind the person I’m meeting with to try and take some of the deepest breaths they’ve taken all day, inviting fresh air to go deep into their bellies as they become present to themselves and the kindness of the Spirit around them in whose good image they’re made.

Lament is more than acknowledging loss. It is letting ourselves experience and express pain, so it does not turn into violence directed at us or others.

I love the way breath prayers can almost bypass the mind to connect with the heart and soul more directly. This makes them especially helpful in complicated and open-ended situations like a pandemic when our nervous systems are on high alert and our ability to think clearly is compromised. And they’re easily incorporated into real life. Breath prayers are great over morning coffee, when you’re reading the news, while meditating. They also work well during a long walk, folding laundry, even in zoom meetings.