Dear friends,

I haven’t written anything to post in over a month because, honestly, I felt numb to what’s happening in our world, and my words seemed insignificant compared to the multiple crises unfolding. This week, the world watched as the U.S.-Israeli military campaign against Iran entered its fifth week. President Trump threatened severe damage to Iran’s infrastructure— including power plants, oil wells, and possibly drinking water supplies— if a deal to reopen the Strait of Hormuz isn’t reached. Gas prices in the United States also surpassed an average of $4 a gallon as the conflict affects global markets.

Meanwhile, an estimated 8 million people took to the streets across all 50 U.S. states and more than a dozen countries in protests under the banner “No Kings” — what organizers called the largest single day of protests in U.S. history.

And this week, Holy Week, Israeli police prevented the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem from entering the Church of the Holy Sepulcher on Palm Sunday — the very site many Christians believe contains the tomb of the risen Christ, blocked by armed officials during the most sacred week in the Christian calendar.

We begin Holy Week in a world that, with familiar dread, mirrors the world Jesus entered on a donkey two thousand years ago. He rode into Jerusalem while an empire occupied the land. Pilate was in the city with Roman support—a deliberate show of force at Passover. The atmosphere was heavy with political unrest, economic worries, nationalist rage, and the scent of empire. Sound familiar?

Think of it. The crowds shouted Hosanna — “Save us now!” — not as an act of worship, but as a political demand. They wanted a king who would defeat Rome, reopen the trade routes, and restore their nation's dignity. Instead, they got a king who washed feet, forgave enemies, and died between two criminals.

This gap — between the king the world desires and the King who came — is the ongoing crisis of human history, and it is on full display in real time this week.

When the prophet Isaiah envisioned the Servant of God, he described someone who would not “shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets” (Isaiah 42:2) — and who would bring justice to the nations not through firepower, but through faithfulness even to the point of being broken. The kingdoms of this world advance by threatening to obliterate water supplies. The Kingdom of God advances by offering living water to enemies.

This is not naive pacifism. The prophets — Isaiah, Amos, Micah — were unrelenting in their condemnation of empires that oppressed the poor and fought wars for resources. “Woe to those who make unjust laws,” Isaiah wrote (10:1). The Church has never been silent on issues of war and justice. But our primary allegiance is not to any flag, coalition, or protest movement — but to the cause itself. Our foremost allegiance is to a Kingdom that is not of this world, yet fiercely cares for this world.

The blocked entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher should stop every Christian in their tracks. The tomb that could not be sealed — that burst open despite soldiers standing guard — is being approached again, during this holiest of weeks, by someone told they cannot enter. Note the irony: blocking the way with power to the place where power was defeated.

Empires always believe they can control an empty tomb (see Matthew 27:62-66) and understand what it means to be blessed. They cannot.

Jesus did not come to govern the political world. He came to establish a Kingdom that would last longer than any empire that has ever tried to destroy it. The Kingdom is here and now—through acts of mercy, in the refusal to dehumanize enemies, and in the costly acts of those who choose to bear suffering rather than inflict it. And that Kingdom is coming and will be made complete when every weapon is turned into a plowshare and every tear is wiped away.

We are people who live between Palm Sunday and that final Day. We don’t pretend the violence isn’t real. We don’t baptize bombs, and we don’t despair either. We hold the line of the Kingdom — because we know how the story ends.

One concrete act

This Holy Week, perform one tangible act that embodies God’s Kingdom instead of supporting any empire.

Pray by name for someone on the other side. If you are American, pray for an Iranian family. If you're outraged at a political leader, pray for them to be held to the same moral standards as you are. Intercession is a subversive act — it refuses to let any human become just an abstraction or an enemy. (cf. Matthew 5:43-48)

Then find a way to contribute to life in a conflict zone. Organizations like Doctors Without Borders, Catholic Relief Services, or Islamic Relief can help. Yes, people of the kingdom can support human dignity across faiths by helping those affected by bombs and displacement. Each of these organizations is highly rated for effectiveness in both cost and work. Or give to one you feel comfortable supporting.

Our dollars won’t end a war. But it shows, with your money and not just your feelings, that you believe some lives are worth more than oil prices. We won’t solve the Middle East crisis this week, but we are called to be faithful — to carry the presence of a different Kingdom through every person we meet, every dollar we spend, and into every room we enter. That is enough. That has always been enough.

“He will not falter or be discouraged till he establishes justice on earth.” — Isaiah 42:4

(John writes, while Trudy takes care of the heavy lifting editing.)

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Dear friends,

Just when we are overwhelmed by conflicts in our world and endless debates that only divide us, let’s not forget the leading threat to our existence: the care and productivity of our planet. Without it, we have nothing.

Still, many contest this reality and reject the long-standing scientific conclusion that greenhouse gases endanger our health and welfare, and a variety of poisons afflict animal life, air, soil, and water. Nature itself is threatened. Most governments continue to ignore this and act helplessly, often stripping legislation that, though flawed, was moving in the right direction. One might wonder: Are we attempting to slap God in the face for giving us the high calling of caring for the Earth? Isn’t our primary calling to nurture and protect it?

Let’s consider one scenario. It is one of many and is a satirical, alternate view of our history. Yet I think it drives home the point that our thinking is unreasonable and has become rather insensible.

Come with me and imagine a world where an eager futurist tries to convince a generation of electric-car drivers that the next big innovation is a vehicle powered by thousands of tiny explosions per minute right under the seat. He insists that carrying gallons of highly flammable liquid, stopping regularly at “explosive-fuel stations,” enduring constant noise, vibration, fumes, oil leaks, and routine sludge-draining rituals called oil changes is somehow progress.

He proudly explains that this miracle fuel requires drilling deep into the earth, tearing up landscapes, causing spills, transporting crude sludge across oceans, and refining it in large industrial complexes that release pollution into the air. All of this to produce a substance that is then burned in a machine with over a thousand moving parts, compared to the EV’s few dozen.

The EV driver, who quietly plugs his vehicle in at home, can’t fathom why anyone would trade clean, smooth efficiency for a machine that shakes, shouts, leaks, and demands constant replacements: spark plugs, timing belts, air filters, fuel filters, mufflers, catalytic converters, transmission fluid, engine oil, and more.

The futurist boasts that these new gasoline cars will emit far more greenhouse gases over their lifetime—despite EVs already proving to have lower cradle‑to‑grave emissions in every U.S. county (even accounting for battery production), the pitch somehow becomes even more absurd. He ignores that transportation already contributes nearly a quarter of global energy‑related CO₂ emissions, with internal combustion vehicles a major driver of that burden.

Still, he presses on, praising the “freedom” of gasoline, the inefficiency of liquefied‑dinosaur logistics, and the cultural joys of exhaust fumes and gas‑station coffee, all while sounding increasingly ridiculous.

It's hard to believe that any part of this imaginative, futuristic scenario could be real, but unfortunately, it is. We already live in a world where we choke on our own emissions. We're clearly living in a dystopian era where thorough research is dismissed as fiction, and most people feel powerless to change it.

• How does the abuse of our planet reflect our purpose as bearers and caretakers of creation? (Genesis 1:26-31). It won’t.

• When were we told to stop serving and preserving the earth? (Genesis 2:15). We weren’t.

• Is there a government or nation that can claim the earth as theirs, and how is it to be used? (cf Psalm 24:1-2). I hope not.

• Will we, as God’s people and followers of Christ, lift up our hands and hearts in worship of the One who calls us to the sacred work of ecological praise? (Psalm 104) I pray that we do.

My heart sinks when I think of everything we’ve been given on this planet. How we abuse it to build our own warped prosperity of waste rather than seeing it as a God-given trust to help us flourish.

We welcome your response. Leave a comment. In a future post, we will consider several “calls to action.”

May we restore God’s goodness,

(John writes, but the word magic happens with the editor, Trudy)

• Choking on our own emissions. (EPA link)

• https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/what-repealing-the-endangerment-finding-means-for-public-health/?utm_campaign=sprinklr&utm_medium=social&utm_source=linkedin

• In February 2026, the EPA formally rescinded the 2009 endangerment finding—the agency’s bedrock scientific determination that greenhouse gases warm the planet and pose a threat to human life and well‑being—thereby stripping itself of the authority it had relied on for nearly two decades to regulate climate‑warming emissions from vehicles, power plants, and other major sources. This reversal removes the legal underpinning for federal greenhouse‑gas standards, opens the door to rolling back existing limits on pollution, and marks one of the most sweeping deregulatory actions in U.S. climate policy history. Critics warn that abandoning this scientific finding will accelerate climate risks and expose more people to harm, while EPA leadership frames the move as a reduction of regulatory burdens.

Dear friends,

Are you feeling the weight of the world right now? Heavy news, unstable days, and lingering uncertainties keep us off balance. More than ever, this is the moment to pause and reflect on what God offers us as gifts to cherish: air to fill our lungs, soil that nourishes us with food, water to quench our thirst—just to name a few.

These may seem small and insignificant as we look upon a world full of hurt and suffering. Many have nothing, where hope gives way to desperation. Yes, even your own situation might be proving to be difficult and demanding—draining you of the energy you often took for granted. So many aspects of daily life start weighing you down.

Now is the time to fill your life with the simple ways that are full of God’s grace.

• You have family and friends with whom you can share, serve, and love more fully.

• You have prayers to raise up for those who have lost those closest to them.

• Your new day begins, and a single act of kindness can change a life.

• Thank someone and discover how it affects them and you.

• You have a mind and body - fill it with wonder and work!

There are many different ways that grace alone can anchor our hearts in God’s goodness! Just remember, all of life is wrapped in what God has provided us. This is what we need to hear and share with one another. This isn’t fantasy, but a bold declaration in the face of harsh realities.

Look at our world — there are so many horrors, overtly or subliminally, that we carry with us. Where do we begin? Removing restrictions on CO2 emissions (more on that in another post). The Epstein files. Attitudes by the powerful who act with impunity and care little about how it affects the neglected and forgotten. The callousness and harm toward innocent protesters. This is just a fraction of how we are being torn apart.

Of course, we want diligent and strong law enforcement, but not at the expense of people’s constitutional rights. When that is twisted, those who follow the law are easily tempted to become lawless. And when trust erodes, the very institutions meant to protect us begin to lose their moral authority. In moments like that, we are called to pray for those who serve and to seek justice that restores rather than wounds.

Sometimes I go down memory lane, listening to music that evokes nostalgia for earlier times. Jackson Browne’s “Doctor My Eyes” is one of those songs. For me, it poses a question that echoes into what we face now: what do we do when we’ve witnessed so much pain that we can no longer feel it?

In our current moment, when news of crisis and suffering streams endlessly through our devices, this question feels urgent and personal. The numbness Browne describes isn’t callousness—it’s a soul crying out for help, recognizing that something vital has been lost.

Acknowledging our own desensitization is, in itself, an act of spiritual courage. It means we haven’t given up entirely. It means some part of us still longs to feel, to connect, to care deeply again.

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand
I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can

Doctor, my eyes
Tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

'Cause I have wandered through this world
And as each moment has unfurled
I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams
People go just where there will
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
That it's later than it seems

Doctor, my eyes
Tell me what you see
I hear their cries
Just say if it's too late for me

Doctor, my eyes
Cannot see the sky
Is this the prize for having learned how not to cry

Jackson Brown

We can begin to ask why we are feeling numb and what it is shielding us from. Maybe we’ve taken on more grief than we realized. Maybe we’ve been trying to carry the world’s pain alone, forgetting that we weren't meant to handle such weight by ourselves. Our disillusionment isn’t a character flaw—it’s proof that we’ve been paying attention, that we’ve cared enough to be hurt by what we’ve seen.

The path forward isn’t to force ourselves to feel everything all at once, but to start with small and intentional acts of re-engagement. Pick one cause that stirs something in you, even faintly. Show up for one person who needs your presence. Allow yourself to feel one specific grief rather than the overwhelming weight of all suffering at once. Our hearts can heal and our vision can become clearer, but not through willpower alone—through practice, rest, and the courage to stay tender in a hard world. The question “Doctor, my eyes—have they seen too much?” becomes not only a lament but an invitation: to see again, to feel again, to love this broken world back toward wholeness, one awakened moment at a time.

Are you feeling the weight? That’s good. Let our Lord fill it with His gifts of grace.

(John writes, and Trudy, the editor, makes it worth reading)

“Doctor My Eyes” was the first single from Jackson Browne’s self-titled debut album which had been released in early 1972.

Dear friends,

Some writings by certain authors really stick with you. One of mine is Leslie Newbigin. Two of his works are Foolishness to the Greeks and The Gospel in a Pluralistic Society. The first highlights the cultural challenge we face as Christians, while the second outlines what Newbigin believed should be our response. Both books combine brevity with clarity and continue to influence me today.

Here are two quotes that get to the heart of our calling:

• The gospel does not come as a disembodied message, but as the message of a community which claims to live by it.”

• “A congregation that embodies the gospel is the only hermeneutic of the gospel that makes sense to the world.”

For Newbigin, we are the “hermeneutic”—the interpretive lens—through which the world understands what the gospel means. It doesn’t require better arguments or more convincing individuals, but a community that lives out the story of Jesus in ways that are public, visible, and credible.

However, living out the gospel can lead to misunderstandings, forcing us into one side or the other without our consent. Sometimes we’re dismissed as irrelevant or even a threat to society. Think about how many believed the earliest Christians adhered to deadly superstitions like cannibalism because of their practice of taking the Eucharist, which involved eating and drinking symbolic representations of Christ's body and blood. That’s an extreme example, but when we fear our actions or words might be misused or cause division, we tend to avoid those conversations with others. No one wants to live in a polarized world. Yet, this is the reality we face today.

This post is just a beginning to explore how we can engage others in meaningful conversations, especially with those who may hold a different view than ours. Rarely are they easy, or they may not go as planned. But I must say, they are definitely worth it. Here’s what I’ve found that can help us move toward healing our divisions.

Begin with curiosity rather than judgment.

Approaching a difficult conversation with curiosity shifts the entire emotional landscape. Instead of bracing for conflict or mentally preparing counterarguments, you slow down and wonder what the other person is experiencing. Curiosity sounds like, “Help me understand what led you to feel this way,” rather than, “Why would you think that?” It invites stories instead of defensiveness. Judgment closes doors; curiosity opens them. When you listen for the values, fears, or hopes beneath someone’s words, you create space for connection even when you disagree. This posture doesn’t mean you abandon your own perspective—it simply means you hold it with humility, trusting that understanding another person more fully is never wasted.

Understand the values you both share.

This is one of the most stabilizing moves you can make in a hard conversation. When tensions increase, it’s easy to focus on the surface-level disagreement—what someone said, what they did, or the specific issue at hand. But beneath those differences, most people are motivated by surprisingly similar core values: wanting to be respected, wanting to protect what matters to them, wanting to feel safe, wanting to live with purpose, or wanting to care for the people they love. Even when someone’s approach feels unfamiliar or frustrating, their underlying value may be something you recognize in yourself. You’re not pretending the differences don’t exist; you’re simply grounding the discussion in a deeper layer of mutual understanding. That shared foundation makes it easier to stay curious, listen actively, and move toward understanding rather than escalation.

Use words that clearly express your meaning rather than trying to persuade.

It is not a debate but a sharing of ideas. This creates space for the other person to share without feeling judged or pushed. When both people speak from clarity rather than persuasion, the conversation becomes a mutual exploration—two people laying their thoughts on the table and looking at them together. It’s less about changing minds and more about revealing what’s true for each of you. That shift often leads to deeper insight, more trust, and sometimes even unexpected common ground.

It’s a start, not a finish.

A difficult conversation is rarely the final word—it’s the first step in a longer journey toward understanding. When you treat it as a beginning rather than a finish line, the pressure eases. You don’t have to solve everything in one sitting or tie up every loose end. Instead, you’re taking a few laps around the track, warming up your relational muscles, or going on a brisk walk that gets you moving in the right direction. This mindset keeps the conversation open and spacious. It signals to the other person that you’re committed to an ongoing connection, not a one‑time confrontation. And when both people sense that more conversations will come, they can show up with more honesty, less defensiveness, and a shared willingness to keep growing together.

This is just a small start. Considering the current political and cultural environment, we must engage more in tough conversations to help mend the divisions between us.

Here’s a way to start having those conversations. Use it as a template, guide, or sample. Personalize it with your own words, keeping in mind who you'll be talking with:

“I want to take some time to discuss what has influenced each of our perspectives, the values behind our beliefs, and the hopes we each hold. I’m genuinely interested in how you see certain issues, and I want this to be a space where neither of us feels judged or pressured to defend every detail of our beliefs. My goal is to listen openly, share honestly, and show respect so we can better understand each other, and share common concerns, even if our solutions differ.”

What do you think? Our Simple Path values your input and perspectives. We welcome your comments.

You are a blessing,

(John writes, and Trudy, the editor, makes it worth reading)

Need further help getting started? Here’s a free download:

Conversations In Troubled Times

633KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Or go to Living Room Conversations for more information on conversation guides.

Dear friends,

The events of the past two weeks have left us all feeling anxious and on edge. We are facing a national crisis, chaos is widespread, and, as followers of Jesus, we must remember our calling and how we are to respond.

It reminds me of something from my childhood that’s etched in my memory. When I was five, my mother took my brother and me to a swimming hole near where she grew up. It was on Eagle Creek outside Estacada, Oregon. On warm summer days, I couldn’t think of a better place to cool off and play at the water’s edge.

Suddenly, everything changed when a boy who had been swimming upstream was carried away by the current. Now, twenty to thirty yards downstream, with his choking cries for help faintly audible, my mother jumped into the water. Swimming, she powered through the current, caught up to the boy, and pulled him from the current onto the shore.

Mom demonstrated strength, confidence, and, most of all, courage. She was my hero.

Right now, we, as followers of Jesus, are facing a test. It’s one that will challenge our strength, endurance, and most importantly, our courage. This isn't a test we can assign to our national or world leaders. They have their own agendas, and yes, we should hold them accountable for their decisions. But let’s imagine that overnight we could start anew—with fresh leadership, new structures of power to curb abuse, and governments built on consensus and cooperation. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Now, consider how divisive we are, our tendency to blame and criticize each other, and the harsh judgments we make.

Then, given our fresh start, would we be any different? Would our outrage, anger, and despair change? Would the idols of pride, my-way-or-the-highway thinking, and short-sighted attitudes shift? Perhaps. Yet history shows our idol factory never shuts down. We would still find other ways to breed distrust, insecurity, and blame others for our current problems. Right now, we face serious moral issues like societal polarization, disinformation, economic inequality, inadequate healthcare for millions, and climate disasters, just to name a few. I believe our sickness and illness are much deeper.

It’s time to examine our hearts and open our minds, to be brave, to do what Jesus taught us, and to let the Holy Spirit inspire us with courage to succeed during these difficult times. Let’s stay practical.

First, put an end to the endless, restless discussions in your mind about the actions or inactions of government officials. Take the initiative to write to them and share your frustrations about the direction our society is heading. When appropriate, participate in protests to voice your concerns. Beyond that, avoid obsessing over their decisions. They have their own agendas, and, yes, they are important. But as followers of Jesus, we have ours. Dwelling on the constant chatter and anxiety about the shortcomings of our political leaders and other influencers only leads to frustration without results.

Second, stop doomscrolling. Spending just 15–20 minutes a day on a high-quality briefing — whether a newsletter or podcast — usually covers the main global stories and key updates. Many mental health guidelines recommend limiting news exposure to about 15–30 minutes daily, either in one sitting or two short sessions. This gives you a better-informed understanding than many who endlessly doomscroll headlines or watch brief video clips. It takes discipline and effort, but the reward is a clearer mind and a more focused heart for what I am about to suggest.

Third, confront your troubled feelings and emotions through prayer. God welcomes our honest, unfiltered emotions, whether positive or negative. However, I believe most of us have never taken the time and discipline to express our feelings openly to God. Speak to God exactly as you feel—confused, afraid, angry, or overwhelmed. Do it out loud. You will be amazed at the difference it makes. Be serious about casting “all your anxiety on Him because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7). Our Lord is always near the brokenhearted (cf. Psalm 34:8). So turn toward your burdens and lean into them. Name the emotions you carry and allow God to show up there inside your troubled thoughts.

Finally, and possibly most importantly, find people who agree with you and those who disagree on how to heal our brokenness. Last week, we met with friends over lunch and discussed the seriousness of our nation’s problems. We left feeling heard and gained a better understanding of our friends’ feelings and perspectives. It was, however, like an echo chamber because we all shared similar views on the issues. The hardest part for us will be finding others to talk with who may see things differently. But it’s the only way we, as a nation, can heal — by recognizing the wounds we all carry, the different ways we see them, and their solutions.

In our next post, we will share ways to have those conversations. But for now, jump in and be brave. Tell your leaders you’re worried about the direction our country is heading and what you hope they will do about it. Share with them how our government, the government of Christ’s kingdom, operates on principles we hope they will consider (a good place to understand God’s governing policies is the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 5-7).

Let the news you read or listen to enlighten rather than punish you with the constant noise that everything is going to hell. Quickly gather the headlines. And if you want to go deeper on a subject, help the rest of us by sharing what you have learned.

Pray your heart out with urgency, asking God to answer your prayers. Our eyes may not see His kingdom manifest the way we want it to, but what matters most is how it opens us—our hearts and minds—to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God… (Micah 6:8) Remember, you are a follower of Christ who specializes in “the healing of the nations.” (cf Revelation 22:2) Let the healing begin with you.

All for now.

You are loved,

Wintertime brings its own kind of reading weather. This season, I am reading works that blend biblical thought with contemporary insight. Here are the books I am having quiet conversations with.

St. Basil of Caesarea's "On Social Justice' stands as one of early Christianity's most straightforward critiques of wealth inequality, written with notable clarity. These pages express a strong moral viewpoint. He dismantles comfortable justifications for accumulating wealth and its purpose, asserting that excess possessions should rightfully be given to the poor. A key theme he emphasizes is that hoarding resources while others suffer amounts to theft. He introduces a radical idea that challenges many of our economic beliefs about what we value and own. For Basil, withholding aid from those in need is fundamentally incompatible with our identity as followers of Jesus Christ.

Page-wise, it’s a short read, but long in thought with some provocative ideas.

Over a year ago, my sister-in-law gave me this book, and it sat on a shelf in my man cave until now. I have read other books by David Brooks, yet this one feels especially timely given what we are going through, not just here in the U.S., but globally. It’s a good read on the art of truly seeing others in a disconnected world. Brooks admits he spent much of his life getting this wrong — not paying enough attention to truly understanding others.

So far, what stands out most to me is how he makes understanding a person practical. It’s a skill that can be learned and helps all of us succeed in our relationships. Both Trudy and I are “putting eyes on it” and find it a delightful yet insightful read.

This last one is a PDF and might make you yawn. But think of it this way: if we don’t take care of our home called Earth and reverse the current trends, reading the other two books won’t matter. Caring for the poor and building meaningful relationships will pale in comparison to our survival. Just sayin’.

The report was put together by researchers and scientists on the state and welfare of the planet. I downloaded my copy yesterday and haven’t read it yet, so you’ll have to wait for my review until I slog through its 144 pages. Download your copy here: https://www.planetaryhealthcheck.org/

If reading leads to knowledge and knowledge is power (in a certain way), then knowledge gained from reading can teach us a level of self-mastery. As Seneca the Younger once said: “He is most powerful who has power over himself.”

Enjoy!

Friends,

A new year has arrived, and I no longer make resolutions. Instead, I prepare a forecast. It is full of thoughts about what may be on the horizon, and what I see happening in the world and its future impact on the planet. My forecast embraces uncertainty and encourages flexibility, especially during these unsettling times. It’s about noticing patterns and trends, without attempting to predict what will happen.

I tend to "learn as I go” and imagine Christ coming alongside, giving me confidence in what God may do in any situation. For me, forecasting is about leaning into God’s presence, wondering what the Holy Spirit might do in our world, and discovering what is within my control and what is not. I must say, it is sobering but also exhilarating because it is Spirit-driven rather than me-driven.

Clarity.

To forecast, I need clarity about my direction and purpose. For centuries, followers of Jesus have defined themselves through prayer, meditating on Scripture, seeking wisdom from others, and patiently listening for the Holy Spirit’s guidance. Personally, I often find it through conflict, false starts in a direction I thought was clear but wasn’t, and surrendering my hopes and dreams to God.

Turning to Jesus, I wondered what gave him clarity and purpose. I went back to the beginning of his ministry. That moment came right after his temptation—forty days of testing that I am sure helped shape his role for what was to come.

The Spiritual Foundation

He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

‘The Spirit of the Lord is on me,

because he has anointed me

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners

and recovery of sight for the blind,

to set the oppressed free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. He began by saying to them, ‘Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.’

Luke 4:16-21

Jesus often looked ahead to others' needs. He considered how it would impact his ministry and way of life. For him, foresight and clear purpose went hand in hand. Like a prophet, Jesus understood his calling and let his journey unfold naturally. He was aware of God’s presence and also understood his purpose and mission. And isn’t that what each of us desires: to believe by faith that God is with us while we carry out our work?

For the Coming Year, Think Outside the Box

What if, for the coming year, we thought outside the box? Imagine if, as God’s people, we combined what’s ahead with clarity and stayed grounded in Jesus’ ministry found here in Luke 4. Consider the people and places where you can use your physical presence, financial support, and other talents. Find ways to bring justice to the oppressed and freedom to those in bondage, human trafficking, addictions, or unhealthy and harmful habits.

Don’t be afraid to push yourself outside your comfort zone. Don’t just invest your money in a cause; instead, engage your mind and body by actively and physically working with others. And when you serve somewhere that doesn’t work out? Not to worry. You’ve learned from it, and there’s always something else out there for you to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

Look for deeper connections in serving others that visualize these questions and their answers:

Does this make God smile?
Does it bring joy to others?
Even though it may ask a lot from me, am I energized by it?

Find the intersection of what others need and what gives you life and energy. The writer Frederich Buechner stated it beautifully:

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."

Prayerfully,

For a fuller and more complete commentary on what Jesus prophetically says here in Luke 4, and our response, check out Russell Moore’s article in Christianity Today: Why Christians Ignore What the Bible Says About Immigrants.

Other news:

Hunger Stalks 68 Nations Due to Conflict, Disaster, Climate

“The scale of the current global hunger and malnutrition crisis is enormous,” the World Food Programme says, warning of a food crisis in 68 countries. “A staggering 318 million people face crisis levels of hunger or worse next year – more than double the figure recorded in 2019 – according to WFP’s 2026 Global Outlook.

Gaza Faces Another Catastrophic Winter as Environmental and Humanitarian Devastation Mount

Gazans suffer flooded tents, starvation, pollution, and disease.

Dear friends,

We hope our Advent meditations have inspired you and enriched your walk with God. As the new year approaches, we want to share what’s ahead for us at Our Simple Path. Mostly, we'll focus on various topics, with a primary emphasis on creation care. This will include a variety of ideas, thoughts, and subjects related to self-care, respect for the gift of creation, and other subjects we believe bring us closer to God's heart and align with what He desires for us.

We will continue to rely on the Holy Scriptures as our guide while sharing our own perspectives on current events that require our attention and practical ways to make a positive impact. Some posts will serve as reflections for meditation, while others will be in-depth explorations of topics we care about, including reviews of what we’re reading and external links that provide additional insights.

With everything we write, our goal is to inspire and spark your own thinking. We hope Our Simple Path will nurture your growth in Christ, deepen your relationships with others, and strengthen your connection to this beautiful planet we call home!

Twelve Days of Christmas

Today marks the sixth day of what is traditionally called The Twelve Days of Christmas, which runs from Christmas Day to January 5th. In most Christian traditions, especially in the West, it is no longer widely celebrated. Instead, it feels like a liminal space where we’re unsure what to do with these days other than recover from the Christmas holidays before welcoming the new year!

(Learn more about it by scrolling down the article to see today’s cost of the twelve days.)

Visitation

May you be filled with joy this season! We are passing on a poem written by our friend, Jeff Trautman.

Look for our next post in the New Year!

Credits: John writes, and Trudy edits everything (we mean EVERYTHING)!

Dear friends,

We conclude Advent where we started twenty-five days ago. Our journey is the same as it was then: to watch for our Lord’s presence, to wait for His return, and to stay alert, looking for His reign to unfold in us and in the world!

Eugene Peterson’s introduction to the Thessalonian letters in The Message captures this journey as we conclude the Advent season.

The way we conceive the future sculpts the present, gives contour and tone to nearly every action and thought through the day. If our sense of future is weak, we live listlessly. Much emotional and mental illness and most suicides occur among men and women who feel that they “have no future.”

The Christian faith has always been characterized by a strong and focused sense of future, with belief in the Second Coming of Jesus as the most distinctive detail. From the day Jesus ascended into heaven, his followers lived in expectancy of his return. He told them he was coming back. They believed he was coming back. They continue to believe it. For Christians, it is the most important thing to know and believe about the future.

The practical effect of this belief is to charge each moment of the present with hope. For if the future is dominated by the coming again of Jesus, there is little room left on the screen for projecting our anxieties and fantasies. It takes the clutter out of our lives. We’re far more free to respond spontaneously to the freedom of God.

The broad scope of the Scriptures reminds us that we can respond openly and freely to God's work for a coming kingdom. Then, as Peterson reminds us, we have little room left on the screen..., and it clears the clutter from our lives.

God’s people have always faced the threat that their current circumstances could change. How we see the danger today may differ, but one thing is certain: the Lord will come again, and our mission is clear: to walk as God’s people who speak with the voice of the prophets and to act as Jesus showed us. Perhaps it's best summed up by the prophet Micah.

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:8

Merry Christmas, everyone. Our Lord comes.

Watching and waiting,

The Ancestors of Jesus the Messiah

This is a record of the ancestors of Jesus the Messiah, a descendant of David and of Abraham: Abraham was the father of Isaac. Isaac was the father of Jacob. Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers.

Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah (whose mother was Tamar). Perez was the father of Hezron. Hezron was the father of Ram.

Ram was the father of Amminadab. Amminadab was the father of Nahshon. Nahshon was the father of Salmon.

Salmon was the father of Boaz (whose mother was Rahab). Boaz was the father of Obed (whose mother was Ruth). Obed was the father of Jesse.

Jesse was the father of King David. David was the father of Solomon (whose mother was Bathsheba, the widow of Uriah). Solomon was the father of Rehoboam. Rehoboam was the father of Abijah. Matthew 1:1-7

Dear friends,

As we approach the end of Advent, let’s think about an often overlooked Scripture passage—the genealogy of Jesus from Matthew. I would bet you haven’t heard a sermon, or at least a memorable one, on it. We’re not really fans of genealogies, especially in the Western church. They often seem boring and mechanical without telling a story, so why bother? The 16th-century reformer Ulrich Zwingli believed otherwise. For him, it contained the core of Reformation theology — salvation by grace.

According to Matthew, who is being faithful to the Old Testament’s way of thinking, God does not necessarily select the noblest or most deserving person to carry out his purpose. God selects the Judahs who sell their brothers into slavery (Genesis 37), the Jacobs who cheat their way into first place (Genesis 25-27), the Davids who steal wives and murder rivals (2 Samuel 11), yet compose beautifully written and sung psalms of praise.

Not to mention the five women Matthew includes: Tamar, from the pagan land of Canaan, who disguised herself as a prostitute and seduced her father-in-law Judah to have a son by him. Rahab, another Canaanite in Jericho, who was a prostitute. Ruth, the Moabite, an outsider. Bathsheba, the mother of Solomon, who is only mentioned as the wife of Uriah—whom King David killed so he could marry her himself. And, of course, Mary, the mother of Jesus, who appears in the gospels with a rather unconventional pregnancy. All women used by God, yet each has some rather tawdry scandal attached to her.

And what about the final fourteen generations found in Matthew’s opening chapter? You won’t find their names in the Who’s Who of biblical characters.

Which brings us to us! Whether you are a bit worn around the edges from your sinful past or consider yourself the forgotten and undistinguished, isn’t it likely that God can use you? Even if it may be in strange and unexpected ways, the gospel continues through you.

There is something quite scandalous about the gospel—its profound grace and love, which are so divine and unlike any other. But that’s the point: the gospel is all that and more because we, the scandalous, are used by God to fulfill His purpose for a kingdom to come.

How will God use you today?

Watching and waiting,

Credits: John writes, and Trudy edits everything (we mean EVERYTHING)!

Mary responded,

“Oh, how my soul praises the Lord. How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior! For he took notice of his lowly servant girl, and from now on all generations will call me blessed. For the Mighty One is holy, and he has done great things for me. He shows mercy from generation to generation to all who fear him. His mighty arm has done tremendous things! He has scattered the proud and haughty ones. He has brought down princes from their thrones and exalted the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away with empty hands. He has helped his servant Israel and remembered to be merciful. For he made this promise to our ancestors, to Abraham and his children forever.”

Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home. Luke 1:46-56

Dear friends,

A song becomes prophetic and revolutionary when it sparks something within us that calls for change. Some songs go beyond language and culture to unite people around a shared struggle. They can act as catalysts for growth, influencing not just our thoughts but also our actions.

Mary’s joyful encounter with her cousin Elizabeth concludes with the Magnificat, her powerful song of praise. Her song gave voice to a world turned upside down. It is more than a personal reflection; it is a revolutionary prophecy celebrating God’s great love for the lowly, His power to overturn human injustice, and His faithfulness to His covenant promise.

The Magnificat is an Advent song of hope for the poor and marginalized, affirming that the birth of Christ will radically transform the world.

Today, are you embracing Mary’s revolutionary joy? Where will you recognize God’s power working in your life and around you? Where can you act as an instrument of God’s justice or lift up the lowly? We pray with Mary, making her song our own, rejoicing that God’s steadfast love is active and always near.

Watching and waiting,

Dear friends,

Every Christmas in the forests of Provence, people tell the story of four shepherds who traveled to Bethlehem to visit the baby Jesus. The first shepherd brought eggs, the second brought a baguette and fresh cheese, and the third brought wine. But the fourth shepherd, whose name was L’Enchanté—the Enchanted One—brought nothing at all.

When the first three shepherds arrived at the stable, they presented their gifts and enjoyed friendly conversation with Mary and Joseph. They complimented Mary on how well she looked, commented on how cozy and warm the stable was, and praised the beautiful starlit night above.

After a while, someone realized the fourth shepherd was missing and asked, “Where is L’Enchanté?” They looked for him and finally found him peeking through the blanket hanging at the entrance to block the cold draft. There, kneeling at the manger, was L’Enchanté—completely absorbed, fully present, lost in wonder before the Christ child. Like a flag or a flame swaying with the wind, he had followed the direction of Love itself.

While the other shepherds brought material gifts and exchanged social niceties—both good and proper things—L'Enchanté offered something more valuable: his complete, undivided attention and reverence. What we bring to Jesus is our wonder-filled, eye-opening awe of Him and His Love.

We’re now in the fourth week of Advent, and our focus is love. For these remaining days of Advent, let yourself be captivated by His Love—it's the most genuine form of worship you can offer.

Watching and waiting in awe and wonder,

Advent Scriptures for the Fourth Sunday of Advent:

• Isaiah 7:10-16

• Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19

• Romans 1:1-7

• Matthew 1:18-25

*https://www.nga.gov/terms-and-notices#open-access

“And the ransomed of the LORD shall return and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain gladness and joy,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”
Isaiah 35:10

Dear friends,

Today, we mark the end of the third week of Advent and its theme of joy. We invite you to join us in an ancient prayer practice called Lectio Divina, which means “divine reading.” To learn more about the practice, scroll to the bottom of the page. For now, let’s embrace this contemplative practice in the promise of joy that never ends.

Opening Prayer

Lord Jesus, as this season of joyful expectation approaches its fulfillment, open my heart so I may listen to Your word. Speak to me through this timeless promise of homecoming and eternal joy, and let me experience now what will one day be completely mine. Amen.

Reading

• Read Isaiah 35:10 slowly, preferably aloud. Let each word settle in your mind.

• Read the verse a second time, even more slowly. Now notice what word or phrase catches your attention.

• Read it a third time and allow it to settle deep within you.

Meditation

• Reflect deeply on what has stirred within you.

• Here are some questions that may help, and feel free to create your own:

  • From what captivity has Christ freed me?

  • How does Advent feel like a journey taking me home?

  • What song is rising in my heart as Christmas approaches?

  • Can I experience this everlasting joy now, even in my present circumstances?

  • Am I taking hold of the joy Christ offers, or am I holding back?

Sit or stand quietly with whatever question or image has spoken deeply to you.

Prayer

• Respond to God in prayer with whatever has come up in your heart.

• Alternatively, offer to God what is most true in your heart right now, using your own words.
  

Contemplation

• Rest silently in God’s presence, releasing your words and thoughts.

• Contemplation is to rest in God. Let go of effort. Stop trying.

• Simply be. Simply receive. Simply rest in the promise of God’s everlasting joy!

Close with this prayer offering:

Lord, thank you for your unbreakable promise: that I am on my way home and that eternal joy awaits me. As I prepare to celebrate your birth this Christmas, let this hope of ultimate joy carry me— that lifts me now, that will one day wipe out every sorrow, and that will never end. Come, Lord Jesus. Come and deliver on all your promises. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Watching and waiting with joy,

Lectio Divina dates back to the 3rd and 4th centuries and has nourished Christian spiritual depth for nearly two millennia. The practice developed among early Christian monastics in Egypt and Syria, with figures like Origen of Alexandria writing about contemplative Scripture reading as early as the 3rd century. But it was St. Benedict of Nursia (c. 480-547 AD) who established Lectio Divina and made it a central part of monastic life. He integrated the practice into his Rule of St. Benedict, where it became part of the daily routine in Benedictine monasteries. In the 12th century, a Carthusian monk created a four-stage structure that is often used today.

The ancient practice has reappeared in various Christian traditions, both Protestant and Catholic. It offers a non-rushed approach to engaging with sacred texts in our fast-paced world. Use it with your study of Scripture, allowing the text to speak to you in the present moment.

Here are the four stages:

Lectio (Reading): You slowly read a short Scripture passage multiple times, listening attentively for a word or phrase that stands out or resonates with you.

Meditatio (Meditation): You reflect on that word or phrase, turning it over in your mind like a precious stone, exploring what it means to you personally in this moment.

Oratio (Prayer): You respond to God in conversation about what you’ve discovered, sharing your thoughts, feelings, questions, or insights.

Contemplatio (Contemplation): You rest silently in God’s presence, moving beyond words into simple awareness, openness, and receptivity.

Dear friends,

During past holidays, we made plans, got busy decorating, visited special locations meaningful to both of us, and shared moments with family and friends. We cherish many of those times with fondness and joy.

This year, something changed. Advent is different from all the ones before. We made no plans, left decorations in their boxes, no tree, no nativity scene on display, and waited to see how this season might unfold. And it has. We created a space where we go to meditate, reflect, and pray. It calls us to make room in our hearts for Christ’s arrival: the Advent wreath. Gone is the rush and flurry of activity that, in times past, consumed us; left behind are the expectations of making the season memorable.

We are reimagining Christ’s arrival as the ultimate lesson in simplicity. We reflect on the Advent readings, which speak of His coming, the unfolding of God’s salvation and justice, while learning how to care for the poor and needy.

We ask ourselves: What role do we have in this revelation? Will we join Mary in her wholehearted “yes”—that simple acceptance of God’s work in her life, opening the door to uncluttered joy? What if we realized that by letting go of earthly treasures, our hands are free to receive the kingdom? “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4). That joy isn’t about having more; it’s about wanting less—less distraction, less anxiety, less conformity to a world that can’t truly satisfy. It’s rooted in a devotion focused on a single heart turned toward God and toward our neighbor in need. Stores may suffer from our modest neglect, but we are not.

We also discover that remaining in this simpler space is never easy. Letting go of holiday expectations can leave a void that longs to be filled by other things. We struggle to have a better understanding of the patience involved in waiting. But we also find small glimpses of joy shining through, like light breaking into darkness (Isaiah 9:2). We hear the faint echoes of Scripture announcing “good news of great joy” (Luke 2:10). We wait for God to draw near to us, to be with us — Emmanuel.

May this Advent season clear away clutter, calm worries, and open our hearts to be ready and waiting for the great and simple joy of God’s presence.

Watching and waiting,

Dear friends,

Christmas Eve holds a special place for us. The evening worship service is filled with Scripture lessons, carols, hymns, and candlelighting. The highlight of the evening is when the room goes dark, we light our hand-held candles, and sing Silent Night. Then, the lights are turned on, we extinguish our candles, and sing “Joy To The World.”

Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her king.
Let every heart prepare him room, and heaven and nature sing…!

This entire sequence is the highlight of the evening! Part of it was made possible through the work of Isaac Watts, a pastor and theologian, who wrote "Joy To The World." He was born during a time and in a place marked by persecution and upheaval. Several times, his father was imprisoned for refusing to conform to the Church of England. Watts grew up witnessing nonconformist families like his facing fines, exclusion, and threats of violence. He lived through decades of war with France that kept the nation anxious about invasion and survival.

Yet, from age fifteen, when he committed his life to Christ, Watts developed something remarkable: a deeply personal trust in Him that overflowed not with bitterness but in praise. Even as chronic illness limited Watts and kept him from preaching for long stretches, his inner life was marked by gratitude, serenity, and confident hope. His joy was not naive or escapist—it was joy that understood suffering from within, joy shaped by contemplating the cross, joy rooted in the reign of Christ over all earthly powers.

He found the psalm-singing of his time cold and stifling. He began writing hymns with biblical depth that expressed emotions, helping Christians know their faith through love, wonder, and joy. He paraphrased the Psalms, coupling them to the good news of the New Testament. “Joy to the World” came from that effort. Watts saw the words not as a celebration of escapism, but as a declaration of Christ’s reigning presence and future return. Watts's hymn was full of joyful, kingdom-centered hope, viewing hardships through the eyes of the one who is already Lord and who will come again to renew all things.

This Advent, as we wait for Christ’s coming, Watts invites us to sing with joy. Let’s light our candles and prepare our hearts to nurture joy. The world around us may seem as chaotic as his England was, and our bodies and circumstances may struggle as his did. But the same Christ who supported Watts through imprisonment, revolution, and illness is the Christ we’re waiting for. Our joy comes from the truth that Jesus will reign, that his love has already defeated death, and that every upheaval on earth is in his sovereign power. This Advent, let’s sing with Watts because Christ is King, and that makes all the difference in our world and the world to come.

Watching and waiting,

Today’s readings are Psalm 42; Zechariah 8:1-17; Matthew 8:14-17, 28-34;

Dear friends,

Yesterday, I reflected on that familiar verse in Psalm 42: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.” It captures what we’ve all experienced in our most honest moments—an unshakeable, deep thirst for something more. We are made for God’s presence; anything less leaves us spiritually parched, restless, and longing. However, both Trudy and I must admit, those moments aren’t easy. We wish the thirst would disappear—be satisfied and fulfilled. Yet, this Advent, we are reminded not to dismiss that longing as a sign of weakness or to try to distract ourselves from it.

Your thirst serves as an invitation, pulling you into the shared experience of all who have waited in darkness, longing for divine arrival. Here lies the beautiful paradox: even during the waiting, something profound unfolds. The ache itself becomes a form of prayer, and your reaching transforms into a sacred encounter. You find a connection between longing and divine presence.

Into that waiting, God makes an audacious promise: “I will return and dwell among my people.” Not maybe. Not if we get our act together first. God stakes everything on this commitment—streets filled with old and young together, a vision of life flourishing under His gracious rule (cf Zechariah 8). Then came Jesus, God-with-us in flesh and blood, touching lepers, welcoming children, and sitting at tables with all the “wrong” people (Matthew 8). Interesting how God shows up.

The presence we long for has already arrived; through Christ’s Spirit, He dwells with us now. We live in this beautiful tension—the kingdom has come, and it is still unfolding. The light has broken into our darkness as we wait for Him.

So now, we’re not merely passing the time until heaven. As we long for God’s complete restoration of us, we participate in what He’s already doing here. We have witnessed this in the small town where we live—friends offering healing to broken places, others bringing peace to chaos through their actions. During this season of anticipation, we become living signs of the presence we await—people in whom God dwells, through whom His kingdom is breaking into the world. Both waiting and working are acts of faithful participation. May God bless you and nourish you on this journey.

Watchful and waiting,

Lord God of heaven and earth, we do not hide our longing or wish it away. Instead, we offer this deep desire to You as a prayer, trusting that the ache itself draws us into Your presence. We rejoice knowing You are here, present with us by Your Spirit, even as we wait for the full renewal of the world. Help us to live gracefully in this beautiful tension. Make us living signs of Your coming now—bringing peace to chaos and healing to our families, neighborhoods, and beyond. We dedicate ourselves to the sacred work of waiting and the faithful actions of Your Kingdom. In Christ’s name we pray. Amen.

Psalm 42:1-5

As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God. When can I go and stand before him?

Day and night, I have only tears for food, while my enemies continually taunt me, saying, “Where is this God of yours?”

My heart is breaking as I remember how it used to be: I walked among the crowds of worshipers, leading a great procession to the house of God, singing for joy and giving thanks amid the sound of a grand celebration!

Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God! I will praise him again—my Savior and my God! Psalm 42:1-5

Dear friends,

Today’s reflection is quite lengthy because I, John, have been navigating through some personal stuff and realizing that if I’m not careful, I might be running on empty. So I want to share my thoughts on one of today’s Advent readings, Psalm 42. First of all, the psalmist understands my vacant emptiness well. He describes his soul longing for God like a deer desperately searching for water. That’s not gentle poetry. That’s survival language. When a deer pants for streams, it’s not just thirsty; it’s in serious need. And maybe that’s where you are right now, especially as we observe our world on this December day in 2025. Conflicts rage in Sudan, Ukraine, Myanmar, and the devastation in Gaza, displacing millions. Violence erupts unexpectedly, even during celebrations meant to bring light into darkness. The news scrolls by with reports of natural disasters, political upheaval, and humanitarian crises that leave us feeling overwhelmed and helpless. Maybe you’ve been so busy managing the chaos—processing the headlines, holding your own life together, and feeling numb to the suffering—that you forgot to drink from the Source.

Here’s the spiritual truth we need to accept: this deep hunger isn’t accidental. It’s the human condition after the Fall (Genesis 3). We’re not only affected, but everything is broken. The Hebrew word for “pant” in Psalm 42 conveys the sense of crying out, of longing with your whole being. It illustrates the image of God within us crying out for restoration. We were created to live in perfect communion with our Creator, and every tragic headline, act of violence, and displacement of innocent people reminds us that we’re living for a future kingdom and God’s will to be done. That ache you feel when you see the world’s suffering? That’s your soul’s internal alarm, recognizing we weren’t designed for this. And that thirst for God’s presence? It’s actually a gift—it’s your soul acknowledging what it was created for.

Here’s what it takes, though, and the wisdom of the psalmist shines through: he recounts and remembers. He doesn’t pretend the ache isn’t there but acknowledges real suffering. He then recalls those moments when he walked with the crowd to the house of God, when worship wasn’t performance but a genuine encounter with the Holy One. He’s bringing the past into the present reality. The Israelites built altars and established festivals precisely for this purpose, because human beings forget. In a world where over 14 million people have been displaced in Sudan alone, and millions more flee violence in Ukraine, it’s easy to lose sight of God’s faithfulness. But biblical faith is rooted in memory—remembering the Exodus, remembering the empty tomb, remembering personal encounters with the living God.

The psalmist asks himself, “Why are you cast down, O my soul?”—that question is the practice to remind you to speak biblical truth to your emotions. We need to remember that the same God who parted the Red Sea, who raised Jesus from the dead, and who has sustained His people through exiles, persecutions, and plagues throughout history—that God is still sovereign today. This isn’t naive optimism; it’s resurrection hope grounded in the reality of God’s journey with His people.

The psalmist makes a choice that echoes throughout Scripture, and it’s the choice that changes everything: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” Notice the future tense—”I will yet praise.” This is biblical hope, which isn’t wishful thinking but a confident expectation rooted in God’s character and what He promises us. The psalmist doesn’t wait to feel better or for circumstances to improve. He turns toward God even while still in the midst of darkness. This is what believers throughout church history have done during times of persecution, war, and social collapse. And this is what we’re called to do today, even as we witness suffering on a global scale that feels unprecedented to our generation. Why do we do this? Because we have tasted something the world cannot give and suffering won’t take away—the very presence of God’s Spirit in us and for us.

Tell God you’re thirsty. Tell Him you see the brokenness of our world and it’s crushing you. Tell Him you remember what His presence feels like and you desperately need it again. And then—even if it feels mechanical at first, even if your emotions lag—choose joy. Choose to praise God for who God is. Not because you’re ignoring reality, but because you’re anchoring yourself to the deeper reality of God’s character and His unbreakable promises. Joy in God’s presence isn’t something we stumble upon or manufacture; it’s something we step into deliberately, expectantly, trusting that the One we seek is already running toward us with the full resources of heaven, ready to satisfy every parched soul that comes to Him.

I need to hear that and I hope you do too. Nuff said.

Watching and waiting,

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The Public Reading of the Law of Moses

The Levites—Jeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, and Pelaiah—then instructed the people in the Law while everyone remained in their places. They read from the Book of the Law of God and clearly explained the meaning of what was being read, helping the people understand each passage. Then Nehemiah the governor, Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who were interpreting for the people said to them, “Don’t mourn or weep on such a day as this! For today is a sacred day before the Lord your God.” For the people had all been weeping as they listened to the words of the Law.

And Nehemiah continued, “Go and celebrate with a feast of rich foods and sweet drinks, and share gifts of food with people who have nothing prepared. This is a sacred day before our Lord. Don’t be dejected and sad, for the joy of the Lord is your strength!” And the Levites, too, quieted the people, telling them, “Hush! Don’t weep! For this is a sacred day.” So the people went away to eat and drink at a festive meal, to share gifts of food, and to celebrate with great joy because they had heard God’s words and understood them. Nehemiah 8:7-12

Dear friends,

Today, as we light the Advent candle of joy, remember these words: “Don’t be dejected and sad, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10

The book of Nehemiah openly displays the pain of God’s people. After years of exile and hardship, they gather to hear the reading of the Law. They weep—overwhelmed by their failures, their distance from God’s commands, and the weight of all they’ve lost. But in that moment of sorrow, the Levites move among them with a surprising message: “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” This Advent season, while we wait in hope for Emmanuel, we may also become painfully aware of our own faults, the fractured world, and the gap between what is and what should be. Like the Israelites, we are invited to realize that our strength doesn’t come from our perfection or circumstances—it comes from the deep, lasting joy found in God’s presence and His Word. When we embrace God’s joy, that becomes our strength.

Sure, this Advent season, there’s plenty to discourage us and bring us down. But when you're tired or overwhelmed by everything that’s wrong in the world or in your own heart, remember Nehemiah’s ancient promise: the joy of the Lord is your strength. Not your determination, not your achievements, not your ability to hold it all together—but His joy. It’s the strength we didn’t know we needed and it’s ours!

Yes, God’s heart is broken, sad, and troubled by what’s happening in the world. Just don’t let it have the final word. Biblical joy isn’t celebrating despite others’ suffering while doing nothing about it. It’s having a deep-rooted hope in God’s goodness that energizes us to enter into others’ pain and work for their relief. So spread the joy. Keep showing up, keep serving, and keep hoping on behalf of others. Joy — it’s our light shining in the darkness.

Nothing makes God happier than His joy in us and His creation! Celebrate God’s faithfulness, feast on His Word, and share this blessing with others. When grief threatens to overwhelm you, lift your eyes to the one who entered our darkness with unwavering joy, who endured the cross “for the joy set before him.” Let God’s joy—steady, deep, and eternal—become the strength that sustains you through this season.

Watching and waiting,

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God.

Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.’ Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveller, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. Isaiah 35:1-10

Dear friends,

This entire week of Advent focuses on joy. Whatever actions cause sorrow to God, the joy of the Lord our God remains fundamental to all of Scripture. It is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10), deep and enduring, regardless of our circumstances (2 Corinthians 6:10, James 1:2), and it is the very thing we experience in God’s presence (Psalm 16:11, Galatians 5:22).

For Isaiah, joy transforms all of creation, including us! He envisions a complete restoration where the wilderness becomes a garden and barren lands bloom like crocuses. God doesn’t just fix our brokenness—He heals others and transforms creation itself. Dry and exhausted areas turn into sources of joyful song. As we await Christ’s return, we work alongside God and remember that His salvation extends beyond our individual hearts to encompass all creation, offering renewal for every forsaken place.

As we travel toward the manger, Isaiah’s vision of the Holy Way calls us forward with hope. The redeemed will walk this highway, the ransomed will return with singing, and everlasting joy will crown their heads. This is the promise that sustains us in our waiting—that sorrow and sighing will not have the final word. The Christ child we await is the One who transforms desolate places into pools of living water, who makes highways through our impossibilities, and who brings such complete restoration that even creation itself joins in joyful song.

Let this Advent season inspire a renewed faith within you. With fresh eyes, observe where God wishes to bring healing—both for you and for our world. Where you see wilderness, God envisions a garden ready to bloom. In moments of weakness, God offers strength. And where despair seems to take hold, God is already preparing springs of joy to overflow. Pause for a moment to reflect on where these deserted places might be in your life and in the lives of others. Be an instrument of God’s joy in the world.

Hail to the Lord’s Anointed! Rejoice! He comes.

Watching and waiting,

Hail to the Lord’s Anointed, Great David’s greater Son! Hail, in the time appointed, His reign on earth begun! He comes to break oppression, To set the captive free, To take away transgression, And rule in equity.

He comes with succor speedy To those who suffer wrong, To help the poor and needy, And bid the weak be strong; To give them songs for sighing, Their darkness turn to light, Whose souls, condemned and dying, Were precious in His sight.

He shall come down like showers Upon the fruitful earth, And love, joy, hope, like flowers, Spring in His path to birth. Before Him on the mountains Shall peace, the herald, go; And righteousness in fountains From hill to valley flow.

James Montgomery (1821)

Third Sunday of Advent Readings:

• Isaiah 35:1-10

• Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:46b-55

• James 5:7-10

• Matthew 11:2-11

Dear friends,

Today’s post concludes the Advent week on peace. We’re sharing a guest post originally written by Mike Glenn and reposted by Scot McKnight, an NT scholar and prolific author. It captures the essence of the stance we are called to as followers of Jesus. Throughout the history of God’s people, it has been a significant part of our journey. It’s not passive, and it is worth every moment, just as it was for Simeon.

We hope you enjoy it. After reading, please return to our post and leave a comment. We look forward to learning from your thoughts and insights.

Scot’s Newsletter

The Ultimate Bucket List

By Mike Glenn…

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5 months ago · 33 likes · 3 comments · Scot McKnight

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Watching and waiting,