cracks...

“Sin demands to have a man by himself. It withdraws him from the community. The more isolated a person is, the more destructive the power of sin over him.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

“He that follows me, shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”

Jesus

I just got back from a men’s retreat that was as amazing and tragic as any I have attended.

There was confession, deep friendship, vision to live with integrity, and a resolve to walk with Jesus in the light. I wish everyone could experience a brotherhood like this.

But it was also tragic as story after story unfolded of friends whose lives had seemed to implode. Good men. Talented men. Formerly zealous men. Now undone by hidden compromises, emotional affairs, addictions, isolation, or moral exhaustion.

The more we processed, the more a sobering truth emerged: the things overlooked in our twenties and thirties have the power to destroy us in our forties and fifties.

As I prayed and processed these gut-wrenching stories, my mind kept returning to King David.David was called a man after God’s own heart. A warrior-poet. A military leader. A beloved king. Yet, when most people hear his name, what do they think of? Bathsheba.

CRACKS IN OUR CHARACTER

We are all familiar with the story of Bathsheba. In the time of the year when the kings went to war, David stayed back from battle. He walked on his rooftop and saw Bathsheba bathing. He had a palace full of wives, a house full of concubines, and a heart that loved God. But in that moment, all of it blurred into the background. He coveted another man’s wife, coerced her with his power, got her pregnant, and then murdered her husband to cover it up. Thinking he had gotten away with it, God sent Nathan to confront him about the sin that no earthly king could cover up.

How does something like this happen? How does something like this seemingly come out of nowhere? Turns out it didn’t. It wasn’t a one-off lapse. It was a crack in David's character that had been forming over decades, and it finally gave way when opportunity presented itself.
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We like to think that sin rushes into our lives suddenly. But more often than not, it’s the fruit of years of neglect. This was true for David. David had a thing for women from the very beginning, a trait that is evident throughout the story of his life.

It first appears in the request for the reward with Goliath. He asked multiple times about the reward for killing Goliath, including the promise of a royal wife (read the account for yourself). But he was not content with one wife. He married Michal, then Abigail, then Ahinoam, then Maacah, Haggith, Abital, and Eglah. By the time he got to Jerusalem, he took more wives, more concubines, and more sons. His household and his fatherhood were in a state of disarray.

This wasn’t just bad decision-making. It was a direct violation of God’s law. In Deuteronomy 17:17, God gave clear instructions for the kings:“He must not take many wives, or his heart will be led astray.” These commands weren’t optional or advisory; they were meant to guard the king’s heart from pride, compromise, and idolatry. The accumulation of wives in ancient royal culture was a sign of power, prestige, and political alliance, but God wanted His king to be different—set apart and holy.

David, despite being a man after God's own heart, ignored this. There is no record of confrontation about his polygamy early on. We have no record of his mighty men bringing this up. Maybe this was overlooked because of his military victories. Maybe because of his rich life of worship, or because he was the anointed one and a better king than Saul.

God have mercy on the leader whose success silences others from calling him out.

Yet every wife he added, every boundary he crossed, subtly reshaped his vision of leadership. It turned anointing into entitlement that resulted in disaster. David's story is a case study in how unchecked compromise accumulates over time to devastating effect. What begins as devotion turns into ambition. What starts as gratitude can morph into greed. What God forbids becomes something we justify in the name of success.

A DANGEROUS EQUATION

Here is an equation for failure that starts small but builds towards collapse.

Weakness + Neglect + Opportunity = Failure

David had weaknesses. So do we. That’s not the problem. The problem is when we neglect them, hide them, minimize them, or spiritualize them instead of confronting them. Over time, these neglected cracks create fault lines in our souls. And all it takes is one opportunity: a moment of discouragement alone, a season of stress, a DM at the wrong time, and the dam of accumulated compromise breaks.

FORGIVENESS AND CONSEQUENCES

Psalm 51 is a beautiful cry of repentance; it's worth meditating on slowly. But forgiveness doesn’t remove consequences. David’s family unraveled in violence and betrayal. Amnon assaulted his sister. Absalom murdered Amnon. Absalom slept with David’s concubines on the rooftop. And the baby born from David and Bathsheba’s union died.

As Hosea noted:sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.

David's life is a sobering reminder that you can be anointed and used by God and still lose everything if you refuse to deal with your shadow. What a tragic cost sin exacts when left on its own.

Marriages ending.
Children confused.
Churches wounded.
Legacies lost.

But the greatest tragedy? Most of it could have been prevented if someone had dealt with the cracks earlier.

GOING UPSTREAM ON LEADERSHIP FAILURE

If you’re reading this and feeling that inner jolt of conviction…good. That’s the mercy of God. He loves us too much to let us be controlled by our sin. Don’t listen to the lie that you will deal with secret sin later, or that this won’t affect anyone else, or that you can handle it on your own. Bring it into the light, ask for help, and be honest. Sin on its own won’t destroy your life—God can forgive and redeem—but hiding it and trying to manage it on your own will.

Friends, I am pleading with you.

Confess your cracks
Where are you vulnerable? Where are you hiding? What issues have you minimized for years? Find a brother or a counselor you can talk with. Say it out loud. Let the light in.

Strengthen your soul
Read the Word not just for content, but for power. Fast. Pray. Go to therapy. Get rid of whatever is numbing you.

Set up guardrails with teeth
Don’t wait for the opportunity to arise. Cut it off. Build rhythms of confession into your life. The best way to fight temptation is to avoid it.

Do not delay confession
So often in our competence,education, and skill, we think we can manage our sin behind the scenes. This is only delaying the inevitable.

Remember Proverbs 28:13:

“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.”

FIXING THE FOUNDATION

The world doesn’t need more successful men. It needs more holy men.

Men who are ruthlessly honest.
Men who confess before collapse.
Men who hate what others tolerate and fight towards the light.

David's story doesn't end in failure, but it is marked by regret. My prayer is that we would take his story as a warning and learn from his pain without having to experience it ourselves.

Let’s be the kind of men who confront the cracks before the collapse.

There is mercy waiting for you; take hold of it today.

With you and for you, with a heavy but hopeful heart.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. What is a secret sin you’ve carried, maybe in different forms, maybe buried under busyness or church involvement, that has quietly followed you for years, that you’ve never fully confessed?

2. Where have you convinced yourself that you're in control of a private struggle, when in reality it’s been controlling the tone and direction of your inner life? Would you be willing to confess that now?

3. What subtle cracks in your character (patterns of lust, pride, resentment, escapism, exaggeration, deceit) have you allowed to persist because your gifting, impact leadership, or people skills have seemed to cover them?

4. In what areas of your life have you learned to project light while privately walking in the shadows, hoping no one ever looks too closely?

5. Who have you actually trusted with the unedited version of yourself, and what parts of your heart have you intentionally kept off-limits, even to God’s healing presence?

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the gates of grief

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

C.S. Lewis

“A man of sorrows, acquainted with grief”

Isaiah 53

I am a cup-half-full kind of man.
I am a cup-overflows kind of man.
But there have been a few moments lately where my cup was bone dry.

These were moments of grief.

We don’t talk about grief in men’s spaces that often. We talk about men’s discipleship, men’s ministry, men’s wounds, addictions, porn, ambition, anger, and loneliness, but we often skip over grief.

Maybe it’s worth bringing grief back into the conversation.

The Bible uses over twenty words to describe grief, from loud wailing at death to quiet cries for help. Grief was not a stranger in redemptive history. There was liturgy and ritual, space and place to let the pain of the heart breathe. In modern society, where we have sentimentalized death and have no patience for ongoing pain; we hurriedly demand that grief be quiet and quick.

We're subtly taught to bypass our sorrow, to move efficiently into acceptance without fully acknowledging what we've lost. But this can have catastrophic consequences for the heart. When we neglect grief, we risk numbing our hearts, breeding bitterness, fostering addictions, and even dismantling our faith through disappointment and deconstruction. According to a study from Harvard Medical School in 2020, unprocessed grief can lead to high blood pressure, heart disease, insomnia, and a weakened immune system.

The reason grief hits at a visceral level is because it’s about loss—soul-level loss. Grief, at its core, is love without a home. As Nicholas Wolterstorff notes, “Every lament is a love song.” To mourn openly and honestly is to affirm the depth of our love and the pain of its loss. Or as Stephen Wilson Jr puts it, “Grief is only love that’s got no place to go.” (Grief Is Only Love by Stephen Wilson Jr)

THE GATES OF GRIEF

Part of the pain of grief is that it seems to sabotage our lives and intrude without permission. Knowing where grief gets in can slightly soften its blow. That’s why I was grateful that a friend recommended The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller to me. I listened to it driving home from doing my father-in-law's funeral. It’s a book you must filter through, but one that contains incredible explanatory power for the grief we experience in our lives.

Weller identifies five gates through which grief enters our lives:

Gate 1: Everything we love, we will lose
Inevitable losses, such as family, friends, health, and dreams.

Gate 2: The places within us that haven't known love
Neglect, emotional wounds, and unfulfilled needs.

Gate 3: The sorrows of the world
Grief over injustice, violence, societal brokenness, sin, and alienation.

Gate 4: What we expected but didn't receive
Dreams that didn't materialize, careers, relationships, and achievements.

Gate 5: Generational and collective grief
Pain passed down generations, family trauma, and historical wounds.

I have since spent real time examining these gates of grief. They have helped me understand and categorize much of what I have experienced. If you are facing things you are struggling to name and identify, these could help. Perhaps your grief is hidden behind unfulfilled dreams or family wounds that silently shape your reactions and decisions. Maybe it's a childhood ache that you carry, a burden you bear quietly, isolated from those around you.

Research shows that being able to name and identify the source of our grief (affective labeling) is a step towards healing. In a conversation with my wife recently, where I was angry, this happened for me. She graciously said. “It may not be anger you are feeling, it may be grief. You may want to go on a grief journey with this to see if you are confusing the symptom with the cause.” That naming and framing transformed how I walked through the confusion and pain I was feeling.

GRIEVING WITH HOPE

Christians are not exempt from walking through grief. Even after a personal encounter with Jesus, a trip to heaven, and raising the dead, Paul still wrote, “We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself.”

Jesus wept, even though He knew He would raise Lazareth from the dead. He sweat drops of blood at the cost of the cross, even though He knew He would rise from the dead. To bypass grief, even though we know we will live in a future without “mourning, crying, or pain,” is not helpful. Grief gets us ready for the glory to be revealed.

That’s why Walter Brueggemann’s insights on the Psalms are so helpful. He suggests that the Psalms describe life through three movements.

1) Orientation (when all feels right and stable)
These psalms reflect stability, gratitude, and trust in God’s Word. They’re rooted in creation, Torah, and covenant faithfulness.

“Like a tree planted by streams of water…”(Psalm 1)
“What is man that you are mindful of him?”(Psalm 8)
“The heavens declare the glory of God…”(Psalm 19)
“Bless the Lord, O my soul…” (Psalm 103)

2) Disorientation (when grief and chaos upend our world)
These psalms are honest cries from the pit. They include lament, rage, grief, betrayal, sickness, and loss. Brueggemann argues that these are the most underused and urgently needed psalms in modern faith.

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13)
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22)
“Darkness is my closest friend.” (Psalm 88)
“Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.” (Psalm 69)

3) Reorientation (when we discover new depths of faith and gratitude through God’s restoration)
These psalms emerge after disorientation, not a return to naïveté, but a deeper, tested gratitude. They reflect a hard-won joy, often after deliverance.

“You turned my mourning into dancing.”(Psalm 30)
“He lifted me out of the slimy pit.” (Psalm 40) 
“I love the Lord, for he heard my voice.”(Psalm 116)
“Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.” (Psalm 126)

The Psalms teach us to lament without reserve, to wrestle honestly with God, and to wait patiently for renewal. If we dismiss the disorientation, we end up as shallow, scrambling, self-sufficient men. Paul wrote that the reason we encounter hardship is so that “…we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.”

It is God raising us, not our own self-effort or spiritual bypassing, that lets us grieve with hope.
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DISORIENTING DISCIPLESHIP

We so often talk about orientation and reorientation in the church, The goodness of God and the redemption of God. But if we want to live from whole hearts, and go deep with each other, we must do discipleship in the place of disorientation.

We must meet each other in the grief, pain, and heartache of life. When we “weep with those who weep,” we build a trust and depth, a communitas that can journey through the valley of the shadow of the table of death to a table in the presence of our enemies.

It is there we learn the participation with His sufferings, not just the power of His resurrection. A participation then enables us to genuinely become wounded healers, not just teachers of the Bible but bystanders to the pain of life.

I am learning to grieve well. I may be a slow learner, but I look behind me and see grace and progress in my life. I am learning to mourn loss, embrace disorientation, and trust that God will reorient me in His own time and way.

I pray the same for you. As C.S. Lewis wrote in A Grief Observed, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

May God give us the grace to have the courage to walk forward, even as we grieve along the way.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. C.S. Lewis said grief feels a lot like fear. Can you remember a time you reacted with anger or anxiety but were actually grieving? What were you grieving?

2. Which of the Five Gates of Grief feels closest to your experience right now? What loss or pain does this bring up for you?

3. Life often moves between feeling stable, feeling overwhelmed, and then finding hope again. Which stage are you in right now? Are you honestly facing what you’re feeling?

4. When you experience loss, do you usually slow down to feel it, or do you rush past it to get on with life? How might your life change if you paused and really faced your grief?

5. Jesus is called "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief." How does knowing that Jesus felt deep sadness help you deal with your own grief?

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cheap pizza, La Quinta Inn, and creative redemption

“You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”

Marcus Aurelius

“Making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”

Ephesians 5:16

My daughter graduated from college this past weekend.
It did not go as I had planned.

I had booked the flights months in advance and was working with very little margin to make the weekend work. My wife drove from New York to Chattanooga, my son and daughter-in-law had to fly in from Newark (Newark!!!), and I had to fly in from a Forming Men retreat in Brady, Texas.

What could possibly go wrong?

My flight from Austin was delayed three times. When I arrived in Nashville, it was so late that no one was there to tow us into the gate. Then, when someone did come, there was no one to operate the jet bridge, so we got off the plane. Then, when I got to the rental car desk, there was a line.

Then I had to drive 2.5 hours in less-than-ideal conditions to Cleveland, Tennessee. I arrived at 3.35 am, utterly exhausted and full of frustration.

The next morning, I awoke to an overcast day, a tired family, and frustration in the air.

The graduation itself was wonderful. Haley was amazing, and the sense of accomplishment was tangible, but there was tension, time constraints, and a lack of needed joy.

To make matters worse, every restaurant was booked out after the ceremony, so we had the college celebration lunch at Chick-fil-A. We had all driven in separate cars, and it was so busy that we all ate at separate times. As much as I love Christian chicken, this was not it.

Not after years of Haley's hard work.
Not after 6 figures of tuition and expenses.
Not after years of dreams, vision, and hope.

After dropping Nate and Mai at the airport (where their flight would be delayed for hours), Christy and I returned to the very classy La Quinta Inn to try to sleep it off with a long nap.

Why does life have to be such a stubborn collaborator sometimes?
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I've always been fascinated by how people respond to limitations and frustration, especially artists whose work depends on the right equipment and conditions. The week before the graduation, I had been listening to the Köln Concert album by Keith Jarrett. Jarrett is one of the most accomplished and celebrated Jazz pianists of all time, and the Köln Concert album is his most popular work. If you are not familiar with it, it’s a live recording from the Köln Opera House recorded in 1975. (You can listen here)

Lying on the bed at the hotel, I put my headphones in to listen to this album again and was struck by a reminder of how this remarkable album came to be. Jarrett was scheduled to play at the Köln Opera house on January 24th, 1975, but due to the booking of the promoter (a remarkable 18-year-old woman), she could only get the space at 11:30 pm, after another opera performance.

Due to the time constraints, nothing went to plan. Jarret had requested a grand piano for the performance, but with such a late notice and some confusion, the wrong piano was put on the stage. Rather than the Bösendorfer 290 Imperial concert grand piano, a smaller practice piano was put on the stage. This was a disaster because the sound was shallow in the upper keys, weak in the bass, and had malfunctioning pedals. Jarrett initially refused to play. But due to the pleading of the young concert organizer and the fact that the recording gear for the live album was already set up, he decided to work with what he had.

If you listen to the recording (and I recommend you do), you'll hear something remarkable: a musician who has surrendered to the moment, who is playing not despite the piano's limitations but in response to them. There are moments when you can hear Jarrett vocalizing, humming, almost groaning in delight, as if his whole being is involved in the act of creation. Through frustration, disorganization, and the need to improvise with what he had, he ended up creating one of the most transcendent live albums of all time. It would go on to become the best-selling Jazz album in history and the highest-selling piano album ever.

Beautiful things can happen with redemptive improvisation.

DOMINO’S, LA QUINTA, AND REDEEMING THE DAY

After our nap, we woke up and decided we couldn’t let the weekend end like it had. So, my wife and I invited Haley to join us in our room at the La Quinta Inn, just off I-75. Instead of continuing to mourn what hadn't happened, we began to work with what we could. Haley came over and we talked honestly about our disappointment. We cried a little. We laughed more. We ordered Domino's pizza and ate it sitting on the beds. I put the Köln concert on in the background, and we processed the last few years.

We celebrated with what we had, which didn’t look like much, or what I had envisioned, or what I had commuted across the country for, but it turned out to be exactly what we needed—each other.

Looking at the photos we took that evening, I see no trace of the frustration that preceded them. I see only genuine joy; the kind that comes not from perfect circumstances but redemptive celebration. I see light in my daughter's eyes as she processes her accomplishment. I see the evidence of love that transcends frustration. (Here is a pic that I snapped)

Our graduation weekend may seem trivial compared to the profound sufferings many people face. But considering all Haley had overcome to reach that point and all the sacrifices we made to provide for her education, our improvised celebration felt like a sweet, small redemption. The Domino's pizza and hotel room laughter became not a poor substitute for what we had planned but a genuine expression of what mattered most.

THE 4 CHOICES

The question is not whether disruption will come but how we will respond when it does whether we will respond out of frustration or move toward the more challenging but more life-giving work of redemption.

We really have four choices in moments like this.

Complain. This isn’t what I wanted.
Blame.  It’s your fault this happened.
Withdraw. I’m done trying.
Redeem.  How can I bring something beautiful out of this?

I want to play well with what I have been given, not what I demand. I want creative redemption to become a spiritual discipline. I want to learn to play within the broken boundaries to produce something beautiful anyway. I want to look back and see devotion, not disaster; formation, not failure.

OUR GREATEST WORK

As Jarrett discovered at that broken piano in Köln, sometimes our greatest work emerges not from perfect conditions but faithful engagement with what is actually in front of us.

Jesus entered a world of brokenness, sin, and hell, not the Edenic life of Genesis 1. Yet, He worked with what was in front of Him. He didn’t complain, blame, or withdraw; He creatively improvised in the face of heartache and despair, and gave to us the gift of grace and joy amid the wreckage of sin.

The most beautiful work of redemption came from the horror of the cross. Because of that framing of radical grace, redemption can come in our broken moments, too.

Too often, my instinct is frustration, not redemption. But I am resolved to get better at what God puts in front of me. I am resolved to improvise with creative redemption, even if it begins with cheap pizza and a southern hotel.

I’m here for the work of redemption, not circumstantial perfection.

Hoping to hear stories coming from your lives of creative redemption, too.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. When was the last time life handed you something unplanned, and what did your response reveal about your inner life?

2. What area of your life have you paused, postponed, or withheld from simply because it hasn’t matched your expectations?

3. What would it look like to name the loss, but still lead toward beauty in your marriage, parenting, and calling?

4. In disruption, every man is handed four options:

• Complain: This isn’t what I wanted.

• Blame: It’s your fault this happened.

• Withdraw: I’m done trying.

• Redeem: How can I bring something beautiful out of this?

           Which one are you prone to choose, and what habit or belief would have to
           shift for you to take the fourth path consistently?
       5. What would change if you shifted from controlling the outcome to
           stewarding the moment with creative redemption?

the work of love

“When He saw the crowds, He had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”

Matthew 9:36

“Let us learn to think of tears as liquid prayers.”

Charles Spurgeon

Last week was one of the most complicated and challenging weeks I have had in ministry in a long time.

It wasn’t one thing; it was everything.

Emails unanswered.
Messages piling up.
Pastoral needs pressing in like a rising tide.
A sermon to write.
Behind on curriculum.
Crises to mediate.
Spiritual attacks that don't make the news but shake the soul.
Leadership burdens that don't fit in a calendar app.
Travel that looks glamorous on Instagram but feels hollow when your body is in motion and your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Last night, I stopped mid-stride in my apartment, half-thinking and wondering: Is any of this even making a difference, considering all the needs?

These moments are rare for me, but when they hit, they hurt.

EROSION OF THE SOUL

Men today rarely burn out from one dramatic moment. It’s a slow erosion, barely perceptible, but pernicious in its effect that does the damage.

Brené Brown speaks of a "culture of scarcity" characterized by the mantras "never enough time," "never enough accomplishment," "never enough impact."
I was having a “never enough” kind of week.

The real ache was not so much the amount of work as the kind of work.

A hundred good tasks that buried the critical ones.
A thousand screens that numbed my attention.
A pace of life that honored God in theory but forgot Him in practice.

I felt a spiritual danger creeping in.

The danger of becoming a Christian executive, not a lover of the living God.
The danger of becoming a strategist of revival, not a recipient of love.
The danger to stop standing still and be astonished by grace.

Howard Thurman, mystic and mentor to Dr. King, once wrote: "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

I've been pondering this because what makes us come alive isn't always what fills our calendar. I have never met a single person whose job description and core responsibilities include “doing what makes you come alive.”

THE DANGER OF SPIRITUALLY DEPLETED MEN

Psychologists speak of "cognitive depletion,” the progressive exhaustion of our mental resources that leads to diminished self-control and decision quality. But there's a spiritual depletion, too, that's harder to measure and more hazardous to the soul.

It manifests itself in subtle ways:

• Prayers that feel mechanical

• Scripture that no longer moves the heart

• Ministry that feels like mid-level management

• A heart that's professionally compassionate but personally numb

I don’t want to become a man who is externally composed while internally dissolving.

HITTING THE WALL

Last night at the end of the week, I hit a wall.

I had a list of things to do that were simply impossible based on the time I had available. In the midst of it all, the voice of accusation came in.

You're not doing enough. You're not making a dent. You will let your people down.

I felt powerless and useless, and for reasons I couldn't fully explain (perhaps the Spirit, perhaps desperation), I simply stopped. I walked out of my apartment and into the city.

No more work. No plan. No phone. No agenda.

I simply walked the streets of New York.

I passed the hurried, the jaded, and the weary.
I passed men with too much power and others with none at all.
I passed men picking up trash. 
I passed doormen staring off into space.
I passed women in groups headed to Broadway shows.

And somewhere around 52nd Street, I slowed down, looked up, and I prayed.

PRAYING THE CITY BACK INTO MY HEART

I prayed not because I had the perfect words but because I needed to remember that God loves this city more than I do. I needed to remember that the ache I feel is not a sign of failure but of love.

I stood on Broadway and watched a mother laughing with her son.
I saw a man asleep on a piece of cardboard next to a bakery.
I saw teenagers laughing with headphones on, utterly unaware of the spiritual forces surrounding them.

And my heart broke again. Not in a dramatic, visible way. But in the quiet way that helps you remember who you are and what you're here for.

I reflected on a few lines from Mary Oliver that I have come back to over the years.

“Let me keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still
and learning to be astonished.

My work is loving the world.”

My work is not to fix the world; my work is to love the world, and love is enough.

TO LOVE IS ENOUGH

I walked back up 7th Avenue and saw a man asking for change. I gave him what I had and looked him in the eyes and did my best to bless him.

"Most people just throw things at me and walk off. But you talk to me like I'm an actual person."

That's when I was reminded…

THIS is the ministry.

Not just the engaging sermon. Not the next book. Not the next meeting.

It's presence. It's prayer. It's proximity.

It's the holy ground of standing still and learning to be astonished by the beauty of the imago Dei all around me.

MIND ON WHAT MATTERS

We are so prone to hyperbolic discounting today, our tendency to overvalue immediate rewards and undervalue long-term benefits. Ministry often suffers from this same distortion. We privilege visible, measurable outcomes over the slow, hidden work of spiritual formation. We fall into the trap of thinking that solving the current problems will lead to permanent solutions. But the work of love comes daily and slowly.

That’s why Mary Oliver's words hit me so hard. They reminded me of the true work. These words from her poem won't sell out stadiums, win leadership awards, or go viral. But they just might heal our souls.

Let me keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still

and learning to be astonished.

My work is loving the world.

Brother, if you're feeling overwhelmed and unseen, I get it. I often feel that way, too. But maybe this isn't merely a sign you're failing. Maybe it's an invitation.

An invitation to slow down.
To step outside.
To stand still.
To be astonished.
To pray for your city.
To serve without an agenda or outcome.
To love the world, even when it doesn't love you back.

I am reminded…

The city doesn't need my exhaustion; it needs my wonder.
The city doesn't need my strategic plan; it needs my sanctified presence.
The city doesn't need my perfect execution; it needs my embodied love.

I refuse to let my ministry expand while my interior life contracts.

I am seeking the work of love.

LOSING PACE, GAINING HEART

Jesus isn't asking you to carry the world; He already did that.

He's asking you to love it. Not abstractly, but daily, tangibly, locally. He's asking you to be interrupted, to be healed as you serve, and to remember that awe is still available if you’re still enough to see it.

There's a rhythm to sustainable ministry that flows from the life of Jesus Himself:

• Creation and limitation

• Work and rest

• Effort and surrender

• Speaking and listening

• Action and contemplation

This isn't merely practical wisdom but theological truth. The incarnation itself demonstrates that God values process and embodiment, not just outcomes. Jesus spent thirty years in obscurity before three years of public ministry. This ratio should give us pause.

So, turn off the podcast.
Close the laptop.
Walk outside.

Your soul isn't broken; it's buried. Let wonder dig it back up.

Here for an astonishing life of love.

Hoping to bump into you on the streets of New York City one day.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. In what ways have you experienced the "slow erosion" of your soul rather than dramatic burnout moments in your own life?

2. When do you feel the disconnect between what makes you "come alive" and what fills your calendar right now? What impact is it having on your heart?

3. Where do you see our modern obsession with measurable outcomes undermining the "slow, hidden work of spiritual formation" in your life right now?

4. How might Jesus' example of withdrawing to pray despite pressing crowds help you establish rhythms that sustain rather than deplete your spiritual life?

5. What is one practical thing you can do this week to regain some wonder and joy? What is it, and when will you do it?

enough is enough

"Money flows effortlessly to that which is its god."

Tim Keller

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil."
1 Timothy 6:10

In his book Enough: True Measures of Money, Business, and Life, John C. Bogle shares a story that I return to often.

"At a party on Shelter Island hosted by a billionaire hedge fund manager, author Kurt Vonnegut turned to his friend Joseph Heller, the writer of Catch-22, and said, "Joe, our host made more money yesterday than you’ve earned from your famous book over its entire history."

Heller simply replied,

"Yes, but I have something he will never have… enough."

That line pierces through the fog of comparison, envy, and cultural ambition like a dagger.

ENOUGH.

It’s a word our generation barely knows how to say anymore.
We scroll, swipe, click, and consume. Always more. Always better. Always next.
But if you never define enough, you will never be free.
And if you are never free, you will never be generous.
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C.S. Lewis understood this.

When his literary success began generating substantial income, he and his brother made a deliberate and countercultural decision not to elevate their lifestyle but expand their generosity. They established what became known as The Agape Fund, a private trust through which Lewis quietly directed nearly two-thirds of his royalties toward anonymous charitable giving.

They even infused the fund’s name with theological depth and wit, calling it "The Agapony"—a subtle inversion of the Greek word philargyria, translated in 1 Timothy 6:10 as "the love of money." By replacing philos (affection rooted in self-interest) with agape (self-giving, sacrificial love), Lewis reframed wealth not as a source of corruption but as an opportunity for communion and grace.

Their conviction was simple yet radical:

If the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil,
then perhaps the love of generosity is the root of all kinds of good.

It’s not just a clever wordplay; it’s a prophetic reframing.

Imagine your life being driven by the love of generosity.
Imagine financial decisions shaped not by fear of lack, but by joy in blessing.
Imagine wealth not as status, but stewardship.
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The Apostle Paul exhibited remarkable theological intentionality in how he spoke about financial generosity, particularly in his appeals to support the impoverished believers in Jerusalem. He didn’t reduce giving to a transactional act or an obligatory duty. Instead, he elevated it into a deeply spiritual practice, one that reflected the multifaceted nature of the gospel itself.

Rather than simply instructing the churches to "take up a collection," Paul layered his language with rich theological nuance. In various epistles, he uses five distinct Greek terms to describe this act of giving, each one revealing a different facet of its spiritual significance:

Logeia — a collection (1 Corinthians 16:1–2). This is the most straightforward term, acknowledging the practical reality of gathering financial resources. But even here, it’s not mechanical; it assumes community participation and shared intent.

Eulogia — a blessing (2 Corinthians 9:5). Here, Paul frames giving not as loss, but as a bestowal of grace. The word echoes the Hebrew concept of berakah—a tangible manifestation of divine favor passed from one to another. Financial giving becomes an instrument through which the goodness of God is extended to others.

Leitourgia — a liturgical or priestly act (2 Corinthians 9:12; Romans 15:27). In using this word, Paul situates generosity within the realm of sacred worship. Just as priests in the temple offered sacrifices on behalf of the people, so the giver becomes a participant in spiritual service, offering not incense or animals, but material resources consecrated to the good of the Body.

Koinonia — fellowship or communion (Romans 15:26; 2 Corinthians 8:4; 9:13). Far from being a cold financial exchange, giving becomes an act of solidarity. It creates and reinforces relational bonds, expressing shared identity and mutual responsibility within the family of faith.

Diakonia — ministry or service (2 Corinthians 8:4; 9:1, 12–13). This word, often used for practical acts of care in the early church, underscores the idea that generosity is not peripheral to Christian ministry; it is ministry. The distribution of funds is as much a work of gospel mission as preaching or healing.

Taken together, these words reflect a theology in which generosity is not merely what we do with our money but who we are as the redeemed people of God. Giving becomes a lived expression of worship, communion, service, and blessing rooted not in compulsion but in communion with the One who gave Himself for us.

That’s stunning.

When you give—sacrificially, joyfully, intentionally—you are not simply paying a bill or transferring funds. You are blessing, worshiping, building fellowship, ministering, and offering priestly service to the Lord. You’re engaging in a form of sacred liturgy.

So, let’s say it again:

If the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil,
then maybe the love of generosity is the root of all kinds of good.

Money is not neutral. It flows with instinct and intensity.

As Tim Keller once put it, "Money flows effortlessly to that which is its god."
For many, that god is security. For others, it’s status. For some, it’s the self.
But what if, for us, the god of our money was Yahweh, the generous, self-giving Father?

What if we didn’t have to be prodded or pressured to give, but we loved to give?
What if our budgets looked less like spreadsheets and more like liturgies?

Of course, not all giving is created equal.

Some give out of guilt.
Some give out of pressure.
Some give to control.
But Jesus was never in the business of guilt-based asking.

As one author puts it, "Giving out of guilt cannot sustain generosity. It only makes us ask: ‘How low does my lifestyle need to go to appease my conscience?’ It doesn’t liberate our hearts. It just rearranges our shame."

Jesus never used guilt as a motivator. He used grace. The kind of grace He modelled throughout His whole life. "Though He was rich, for your sake He became poor, so that you through His poverty might become rich." (2 Cor. 8:9)

This is why we give.
Not to appease guilt, but to echo grace.
Not to earn favor, but to extend the favor we’ve already received.

Guilt-based giving is reactive and short-lived.
Grace-based giving is intentional and transformational.
One gives in response to a need.
The other gives in response to a new nature.

We don’t give because we’re pressured.
We give because we’re free.
We give because we have enough.
We give because Jesus gave everything.

So, what would it look like for you to move from guilt to grace? Not just in theory, but in practice.

Here are a few suggestions:

Define "Enough"
Set a clear standard for sufficiency. Everything beyond that line?
Treat it as seed, not surplus.

Pick a Stretch Percentage
Choose a level of giving that stretches your faith, joyfully, not reluctantly.
Don’t wait to feel rich to start living generously.

Practice Secret Giving
Give in hidden ways that bypass applause and direct your reward toward heaven. It purifies the motive and deepens the joy.

Create an Agape Fund
Set aside money exclusively for kingdom generosity. Not for upgrades, just for impact. Start small and scale it up.

Train Your Heart to Love It
Ask God to form in you a joyful instinct to give, not under compulsion, but out of grace.

Imagine a generation of men so free, full, and joyful in Jesus that their generosity breaks cycles of greed, comparison, and fear. Men who look at wealth not with hunger in their eyes, but joy in their hands. Men who say (like Heller),

"I have something the billionaire will never have… enough."

And those who go one step further…

"Because I have enough… I get to give."

The world is aching for a generation of generous men.
Let’s show them it’s not only possible, but it's actually the life that is truly life.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. What does "enough" look like for you, and have you ever taken the time to define it? Where might redefining it free you to live more generously?

2. In what ways has guilt, rather than grace, been driving your giving? How might shifting that motive change your posture toward generosity?

3. Which biblical lens on giving, worship, blessing, ministry, or fellowship most resonates with or challenges you right now? Why do you think that is?

4. If you were to create your own "Agape Fund" this year, what would you want it to support first? What people, causes, or moments are stirring your heart toward generosity?

5. Where might God be inviting you to move from loving money to loving generosity? What first step could you take in response?

will this be the day that complacency kills

“Success breeds complacency. Complacency breeds failure. Only the paranoid survive.”

Andy Grove

"You are all children of the light and children of the day. We do not belong to the night or to the darkness. So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be awake and sober."

1 Thessalonians 5:5-6

I was recently in a prayer meeting with a man known for his deep walk with God. When praying through the Lord’s prayer, “lead us not into temptation” and “deliver us from evil,” he got after it. He rebuked, resisted, declared, and denounced the plans of the evil one with a violent intensity that I have rarely witnessed. After the meeting, I asked him how often he prays with this kind of fervor.

He looked at me kind of incredulously and replied...

“Every day, man. We are in the middle of a war. Pastors and leaders are being taken out left and right. You need radical vigilance in seasons like this.”

Radical vigilance.

You don’t hear men talking about that much these days.

You hear about burnout, anxiety, frustration, and fear, but rarely the need to get upstream and resist these forces that are climbing the walls of our hearts.

I shared my experience with some of our team, and one of the pastors noted that it reminded him of his friend in the Marines. When stationed overseas, they had a sign on the wall that said, “Will this be the day that complacency kills?”

Things that destroy our lives often happen in small moments. We get complacent, and they sneak in.

A pastor I know blew his life up with an affair that caused untold heartache and damage to his family and church. It began when he got an email from a woman he met at a church leaders conference. That day started like any other, but that day ended up being the day that complacency killed.

Satan does not fight fair. He is more like a terrorist than an enemy waging conventional war. Luke’s gospel tells us, "When the devil had ended every temptation, he departed from him until an opportune time.”

Complacency gives the enemy the moment he seeks.

THE DISCIPLINE OF WATCHFULNESS

The Puritans used to talk about watchfulness, the long-forgotten doctrine of diligent attention. We need to recover this discipline. But what exactly is it?

Far from a paranoid anxiety, true watchfulness is the disciplined practice of staying spiritually awake to the reality of God, your own heart, and the subtle forces shaping you every single day. It’s refusing to drift, refusing spiritual numbness, and actively guarding your heart against the quiet assaults of temptation, distraction, and compromise.

You could summarize it in Hebrews 2:1, which says, “We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away.”

Our culture offers a false form of vigilance centered on security, achievement, and control. But Jesus redirects us: "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" (Matthew 26:41). True vigilance isn't about external performance but interior attentiveness and humble dependence.

THE DANGER OF THE COMPLACENT MAN

Military history illustrates the devastating consequences of complacency. Pearl Harbor, the fall of Singapore, Custer's defeat at Little Bighorn, and Stalin's denial before Operation Barbarossa each represent a failure of vigilance with catastrophic results. These mirror the spiritual catastrophes that can result from our own failure to remain alert to the realities that shape our souls.

Scripture maps out the terrain where our vigilance is most needed:

Vigilance in prayer: Jesus says, "Watch and pray," because prayer is not merely a spiritual practice but the fundamental posture of dependence that keeps us awake to God's presence (Matthew 26:41).

Vigilance against evil: Peter warns, "Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour"(1 Peter 5:8). This isn't primitive superstition but recognition of the reality of evil, both personal and systemic, that seeks our destruction.

Vigilance for Christ's return: "Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come" (Mark 13:33). This eschatological vigilance isn't about apocalyptic speculation but about living with the awareness that our choices have eternal significance and Christ may appear at any moment.

Vigilance of heart: "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it" (Proverbs 4:23). In Hebrew anthropology, the heart is the center of our being—the core of our thoughts, feelings, and will. What we allow to take root shapes everything we become.

Vigilance in leadership: God told Ezekiel, "I have made you a watchman for the people of Israel" (Ezekiel 33:7). Those entrusted with the care of others bear a particular responsibility for vigilance on behalf of the community. Woe to us if we fall asleep on the wall.

SHAKING THE HEART AWAKE

One of the best ways to confront complacency and cultivate watchfulness is to probe our hearts. Here are some questions I have been asking myself to stay alert to the dangers around me:

• Where am I saying, “That could never happen to me,” because of pride or overconfidence?

• Where am I currently dropping my guard because I feel exhausted, frustrated, or spiritually worn out?

• What things am I now justifying or allowing into my life that I used to strongly resist? (Particular shows, standards, habits)

• Where am I ignoring clear warnings—from friends, mentors, or God—that I know I should take seriously?

• In what areas am I feeling spiritually numb or indifferent, indicating a loss of vigilance?

• Where is compromise slowly creeping in, disguised as convenience or entitled reward?

• Am I letting any form of resentment or disappointment cause me to lower my spiritual defenses?

• Where am I relying too heavily on past spiritual victories instead of staying alert today?

• Am I hiding struggles from others out of fear, shame, or pride, instead of bringing them into the light for accountability?

To be clear, true vigilance is not about anxious striving or rigid moral perfectionism. It is about living with a contemplative awareness that keeps us present to God, to ourselves, and the world around us. It is about refusing the cultural narcotics that dull our spiritual senses and diminish our capacity for wonder, gratitude, and love.

As Kevin DeYoung puts it, “Being a child of God means confidence, but it never means complacency.”

THE GIFT OF A VIGILANT MAN

Brothers, the world doesn't need more sleepwalking men going through the motions of life and faith. The world needs men who are awake to God, to themselves, to others, and to the beauty and brokenness all around us. Men who haven't anesthetized themselves against pain, wonder, or holy discontent. Men who are vigilant not out of fear but out of love.

In the first of his Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot describes the state of so many men today:

"Over the strained time-ridden faces

Distracted from distraction by distraction

Filled with fancies and empty of meaning

Tumid apathy with no concentration

Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind…"

I refuse to be distracted from distraction by distraction.
I want to wake up.
To watch from the wall.
To fend off the lukewarmness coming for my heart.
To resist the evil one so he has to flee.

Jesus warned us that we would be sent like sheep among wolves. He told us we would need the shrewdness of the serpent and the gentleness of doves.

May God give us all the grace to hold the tension between peaceful trust and radical vigilance, and may He give us the grace to be men wide awake.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. Scripture says, “Let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be awake and sober” (1 Thess. 5:6). Where are you currently numbing yourself through distraction, entertainment, or comfort instead of staying spiritually alert?

2. Spiritual watchfulness involves guarding your heart from subtle forces shaping you. What specific forces, such as frustration, exhaustion, or entitlement, are causing you to drop your guard right now?

3. Complacency is subtle, slow, and often hidden from view. Is there an area in your life where you’re ignoring clear warnings from friends, mentors, or God Himself? What would it take for you to bring this fully into the light and regain vigilance? Are you willing to do that right now?

4. Ezekiel was called a watchman for Israel, responsible for seeing danger and speaking boldly. Where have you stayed silent when you should’ve spoken up, either in your own life or someone else’s?

5. Radical vigilance means holding tension between peaceful trust and fierce watchfulness. Where in your life do you most need God’s grace to awaken you, protect you, or strengthen your resolve right now?

get to the gates

“Serving others breaks you free from the shackles of self and self-absorption that choke out the joy of living.”

James Hunter

“We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us.

If it is to lead, do it diligently.”

Romans 12:6-8

I first came to New York in my early twenties after 9/11 to pray for the city.

Our church in Tennessee was looking to build its prayer ministry, so we came to the Brooklyn Tabernacle for their Tuesday night prayer meeting. I was struck by the power of a praying church and by the power of a faithful pastor building his ministry around prayer. I wanted fresh wind and fresh fire.

This week, almost 25 years later, I had dinner with Jim Cymbala. Seated around the table were many of the Fathers of the body of Christ in New York. Both honored and slightly intimidated, it was a revelation to see these men speak freely about their time leading the city.

There was godly power coming from the table of these Fathers.

Most of the men were in their sixties and seventies, with Pastor Cymbala being 81. In my forties, and having been here for twenty years, I still felt like a freshman in the city. Towards the end of the night, Dr. Marc Rivera, a city statesman, turned to me and said something unexpected:

“This needs to be you at some point. You need to become a city father.”
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One of the great tragedies among men today is the lack of aspiration to lead.

Due to the combination of moral failure, narcissism, and suspicion of institutions, many men have backed away from leadership and lost a vision to serve something beyond their own domain.

So many have calibrated their vision to something smaller and safer, settling for personal success instead of kingdom leadership.

We need a generation of men whose hearts are stirred with holy ambition to lead again.
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There is a lot of debate about the dynamics and qualifications of elders in churches today. Issues like divorce, formal theological education, and gender arise, but one issue is rarely mentioned: the need for ambition.

Paul said to Timothy, “Whoever aspires to be an overseer desires a noble task.”

Aspiration in Greek means “to set one’s heart on, strive for, desire, long for.”

We need men with vision and aspiration, willing to serve and seek the good of their communities. Like in the days of old, when men gathered at the gates to care for the issues of the city, we need godly men to gather at the gates.

LEADERSHIP AT THE GATES

Proverbs 31:23 says, “Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.”

In the Old Testament, one of the greatest honors for a man was to be an elder at the city gates, a role charged with spiritual and social importance. The gate was where divine law and community values met with the practical affairs of daily life. Elders bridged the sacred and the secular, symbolizing leadership aligned with God's vision for justice, mercy, and prosperity.

We need men to bridge these divides again today.

THE KIND OF LEADERSHIP CITY FATHERS BRING TO THE GATES

Someone is going to shape the future of your community. It will either be activists, corporations, secular elites, power-hungry politicians, incompetent snoozers, or you.

But what influence are we called to bring as Elders and Fathers in the community?

Wisdom and Integrity
Elders at the gates were known for upholding God’s justice and walking in integrity. In a time when truth is often twisted and character compromised, we need leaders who reflect God’s moral clarity, make decisions anchored in righteousness, and live in a way that others can trust.

Public Accountability
In the ancient world, decisions made at the gate were visible to all. It was a place of open deliberation, not hidden manipulation. Today’s leaders must embrace that same posture, leading with transparency, inviting scrutiny, and stewarding influence with humility and honesty.

Guardians of Justice and Mercy
The gate was a place where the vulnerable came to plead their cause. Elders were charged with protecting the weak and ensuring fairness. Modern Fathers must step into this same role: confronting injustice, refusing to be silent in the face of oppression, and embodying both courage and compassion.

Promoting Community Flourishing
Elders helped shape the moral and spiritual health of the city. They were not just legal authorities; they were builders of peace and prosperity. Leaders today must ask, “What does it look like to steward power not for personal gain, but for the good of those entrusted to my care?”

Intergenerational Influence
Wisdom at the gate was passed down through example and mentorship. Elders trained the next generation not only through instruction but also through imitation. We, too, must live in a way worth imitating, investing in those coming behind us and multiplying our impact through intentional guidance.

GET TO THE GATES

We need men who want to get to the gate; those who aspire to be leaders of conviction and compassion, who model integrity and wisdom in a world of corruption and foolishness.

Gentlemen, we need to get our act together and we need to get to the gate.

WORTHY OF IMITATION

Mike Tafoya was the first elder ever installed in our church nearly 20 years ago. Once wild and lost, everything changed when he met Jesus. He went on to live with integrity, become a doctor to serve the broken, raise three godly children, and earn deep respect from our community.

I will never forget what he said at his Elder installation service.

“Jesus has brought me a long way. I have come from generational dysfunction, made it through medical school, and accomplished a lot compared to where I have come from. But there was one honor I always hoped that God would grant. That I would live with such faithfulness to Jesus that others would want to be under my influence as a godly man. That this community believes that about me is the greatest honor of my life.”

Men, we should all aspire to honor like this. That we would walk with God in such a way that others would seek to learn from us. That there would be something astonishing about us because we have been with Jesus. That our lives would be worthy of imitation because of how we follow Christ.
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Leadership in the way of Jesus isn’t about leveraging a platform for gain; it’s seeking power for the good of others. We need men to lead like this again.

We need Fathers. We need Elders. We need godly men at the gates.

Robert Bly reminds us, “A boy cannot become a man without the active intervention of older men.” I believe it’s time for such an active intervention right now.

If you have seen the latest Barna research on the rise of faith, one trend stands out to me: the growing faith of men. Faith among Millennial men is up 19 points, and among Gen Z men, it is up 15 points.

Who is going to disciple them?
Who is going to serve them?
Who is going to make sure their energy is shaped for Kingdom good and not secularism or the self?

The answer? We are. We are going to be the Fathers that the moment needs.
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Later that night, as I walked back to my apartment in Midtown Manhattan, I walked past Times Square Church. David Wilkerson, the founding Pastor, was a Father in the body of Christ, but he is gone now.

He has left a legacy, but also a void.

As I crossed the street in the glow of the lights from Times Square, those words from Dr Mark Rivera came back to me.

“You need to be a city Father.”

Not a tyrant, not an influencer, but a servant.
A man with vision that transcends the boundaries of his own concerns.

As I said my evening prayers, I felt something rise in my heart.

Godly aspiration.

A desire to get to the gate. To love, to serve, to fight for, and to care for the people of this city. Jesus wept over Jerusalem. I want to weep for New York.

Praying God gives you tears for your community, and a vision to be a father at the gate.

Cheers.

Jon.
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Discussion Questions:

1. What internal fear, past wound, or cultural narrative has convinced you that you’re not ready, or worthy, to lead with conviction and purpose?

2. If a younger man were quietly watching your life, what would he learn about how a godly man carries responsibility, handles pressure, and honors Christ? Be specific.

3. Where do you feel a persistent pull toward something greater than yourself, and could that stirring be the voice of God awakening holy ambition? How can you discern the difference between worldly ambition and holy ambition?

4. If your current way of living were multiplied into a legacy, what kind of spiritual inheritance would you leave behind for your family, church, and city?

5. Who are the “Fathers” in your community, and where are the modern “gates”? Take a moment to thank a father who has been faithful in your community this week and ask God for a specific picture of what you can do to serve your community.

woe to you when all men speak well of you

“[We] are being persuaded to spend money we don’t have, on things we don’t need, to create impressions that won’t last, on people we don’t care about.”

Tim Jackson

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven."

Jesus

When I first moved to New York in 2005, I met with every Christian leader who would give me time.

I wanted to learn what ministry was like in the city.

I wanted wisdom on how to start a church, reach people far from God, and avoid the traps most people fall into when they move here. I received a lot of wisdom from various sources, but there was one man who gave me advice that has haunted me to this day. It was also the shortest meeting of them all.
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Stan Oakes was the president of The King’s College for many years. He had a wise and gentlemanly demeanor, but you could tell he could throw down if he needed to.

A friend introduced us and set up the meeting, so I started my spiel:

“I’m a young leader with a desire to learn from others in the city who have been here longer than me. I’m asking for any advice you would give me as I start a church in New York.”

He had this big book he had written something in, and he opened the page and read the following words to me from Luke’s Gospel:

“Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you.” — Luke 6:26

“That’s really what you need to know about doing ministry in this city,” he said. “You can’t love the city biblically and need its approval at the same time.”

He offered a few kind words of hospitality, and that was it.

No 10-year strategy. No reading list. No “Let me tell you how we did it back in the day.”

Just a warning, and a holy warning at that.

That was the shortest, most insightful advice I have ever been given.
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We live in a world of reputational management. Maybe it’s because we have a fear of being canceled. Maybe because there’s biblical truth to a good name. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because we want to be liked and need the approval of others more than we’re willing to admit.

Psychologists call this our “social mirror”; we see ourselves not as we are, but as we believe others see us. This deep need to be affirmed, admired, and accepted is hardwired into our nervous system. It touches something primal in us, the longing to belong.

But here’s the problem: if your identity is always up for vote, you will live in chronic anxiety—always adjusting, always performing.

Stan’s advice would ring out in my heart and test me deeply five years later when our church plant was featured in the New York Times on Easter Sunday (you can read the article here).

Being called “The Evangelical Squad” wasn’t exactly a compliment. Something in me bristled at how we were presented. We were caricatured a bit; well-dressed kids with Bibles moving into neighborhoods to do something old in a new way. But then I remembered those nine words.

I wasn’t called to be spoken well of by New York City; I was called to be spoken well of by Jesus.

We did our best to contextualize, preach the truth in love, and genuinely serve our community. But the gospel doesn’t always get applause. It is, as Paul said, “the aroma of life to those being saved, and the aroma of death to those who are perishing.” (2 Corinthians 2:15–16)
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“Woe to you…” These are strong words. Jesus isn’t issuing a casual suggestion here. He’s throwing a warning flare into the sky. When you shape your life around universal approval, you may find you’ve walked off the narrow path. At some point, being faithful to Jesus will put you out of step with culture, critics, and even your own desire to be liked.

This doesn’t mean we chase offense; it means we choose obedience over optics, clarity over comfort, and truth over trends.

Leonard Ravenhill said, “The early Church was married to poverty, prisons and persecutions. Today, the church is married to prosperity, personality, and popularity.”

He goes on to say…

“If we displease God, does it matter whom we please? If we please Him, does it matter whom we displease?

The temptation today is subtle: blend in just enough to gain a following, be edgy but not holy, be spiritual but not surrendered.

I constantly remind myself not to mistake human applause for divine affirmation or to confuse a crowd with a calling.

Sociologists note that living to be universally liked is not only exhausting but also unsustainable. It requires constant self-surveillance, emotional regulation, and social calibration. You have to remember what version of yourself you presented to which group. It’s not just tiring; it fragments the soul.

But Jesus offers something scandalously freeing—you can be fully known and still deeply loved. You no longer need to edit yourself for mass approval when you’re already approved by the One who matters most.

His invitation isn’t “Be impressive”; it’s “Be faithful.”
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There is a deeper kind of success, a hidden kind, that doesn’t show up in headlines or follower counts but echoes in eternity. That’s the kind worth building your life on. Let the world misunderstand you, so long as Christ understands you. Let the city mislabel you, so long as your name is known in heaven.

As much as I love New York and consider it my home, I am only passing through. Even if I am here 40 years, I will still just be an interim pastor. The next generation will lead, I will leave, and the gospel will go forward.

Stan was right.

Woe to you when all men speak well of you.

But the reverse is also true. Blessed are you when Jesus speaks well of you.

Will you join me this week in making that the only voice that truly matters?

Cheers.

Jon.

Discussion Questions:

1. In what hidden place of your life are you quietly shaping your choices more around approval than obedience, and what fear is keeping you from bringing it into the light?

2. When did your love for culture last lead you to compromise your convictions just enough to stay liked, and how did you justify it to yourself?

3. Whose opinion do you fear losing the most, and how is that shaping who you’re becoming when no one’s watching?

4. What relationship or opportunity have you lost, or watered down, because living fully into the gospel felt too costly?

5. If the only reward for faithfulness was being known and approved by Jesus, not seen or celebrated by anyone else, what would you start doing differently today?

start with yourself

“In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.”

John of the Cross

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

Leo Tolstoy

I have a confession: I struggle with a hidden addiction, and it's one that quietly makes life miserable for me and those around me.

I am addicted to judgment.

I can easily become one of the most critical and judgmental people I know.

My personality doesn’t help. On the Myers-Briggs paradigm, I’m an INTJ (for those who care: introverted, intuitive, thinking, and judging). That “J” part can be particularly challenging. According to the framework, my personality type tends to be overly analytical and judgmental, perfectionistic, uncomfortable discussing emotions, and sometimes appearing callous or insensitive.

But personality tests aside, I know this struggle runs deeper than psychology. It speaks to something profoundly spiritual.

We live in a culture that has perfected the art of judgment. Our political discourse, social media feeds, and even our church conversations overflow with critique. We’ve become experts at noticing others’ failures while remaining novices in examining our own hearts.

I keep coming back to this nagging question: Why the constant urge to judge?

Perhaps it’s because categorizing others into neat boxes of approval or disapproval spares us the messy, uncomfortable work of confronting our own contradictions. But the truth is, our world doesn’t hunger for more critique; it desperately craves mercy.

James puts it bluntly: “There will be no mercy for those who have not shown mercy to others. But if you have been merciful, God will be merciful when He judges you.” The kingdom of God runs on mercy, not judgment.

Tolstoy understood this clearly: “Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” It’s always easier to diagnose someone else’s sickness than to submit ourselves to self-examination.

Jesus illustrated this with His unforgettable image in Matthew of logs and specks. A vivid, almost comical picture of someone with a timber protruding from their eye, carefully trying to remove a tiny splinter from someone else’s. “Why do you see the speck in your brother’s eye, but fail to notice the log in your own?” This scene would be hilarious if it weren’t so painfully relatable.

The Pharisees never recognized their pride precisely because they were proud of their humility. That paradox haunts me.

The spiritual life isn’t about gathering knowledge or perfecting our theology; it’s about surrendering to the uncomfortable truth that God is continually renovating us from the inside out. Paul urged the Corinthians to “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves.” A life of self-examination isn’t just good philosophy; it’s essential discipleship.

In the desert tradition, when monks complained to their elders about another’s faults, elders would often respond gently but pointedly, “And what is this to you?” It wasn’t dismissive; it was an invitation—an invitation to explore their own spiritual journey more deeply.

THE THREE LEVELS OF SELF-AWARENESS

What if we saw irritations as invitations? What if each person who annoys us becomes a mirror reflecting something hidden within ourselves, something we’ve been unwilling or unable to confront?

I have been trying to deepen my awareness of being judgmental to invite Christ to form me.

• Level 1: Noticing someone else’s behavior and judging it.

• Level 2: Recognizing our own habit of judgment: “I see that I am being judgmental right now.”

• Level 3: Asking deeper questions: “What does my judgment reveal about me?”

I am learning, slowly and reluctantly, that my strongest reactions to others usually reveal not only something about them but something essential about me. Carl Jung wisely noted, “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”

The people who frustrate me most often carry fragments of my unacknowledged shadow.

Spiritual growth is not about achieving moral perfection; it’s about cultivating compassion—for others, yes, but also for ourselves. It’s about recognizing that our irritations are often invitations in disguise.

James declares, “Mercy triumphs over judgment.” This isn’t sentimental; it’s revolutionary. In a judgment-addicted world, mercy becomes radically counter-cultural. Yet, we cannot extend to others what we haven’t first received ourselves. Mercy must penetrate our own critical hearts before we can genuinely share it.

I’ve discovered, for instance, that my strongest judgments cluster around qualities I struggle with myself. My impatience with others’ inefficiency reveals my discomfort with my own limitations. My irritation at others’ neediness unmasks my hidden hunger for approval. My annoyance at rigidity exposes my own fear of change. This is not about self-condemnation or obsessive introspection. Healthy self-knowledge always leads us back to God and toward others with greater compassion.

Imagine how our homes, churches, and communities might transform if we approached irritations not as opportunities for judgment but as divine invitations to grow. What if our reactions became God’s gentle nudges, pointing us toward areas still needing healing?

John of the Cross captures this beautifully: “In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” Not on being right or expertly diagnosing others’ faults, but on how deeply and authentically we loved. Love begins when judgment turns inward, transforming irritation into a mirror of grace.

The beautiful irony is that as we become less preoccupied with others’ failings and more attentive to our own spiritual growth, we naturally grow more compassionate, recognizing our shared struggles and universal need for grace.

So, what irritates you about yourself? Start there, not with harsh self-criticism, but with honest acknowledgment that opens the door to healing. Those very qualities that frustrate us in others often become our greatest teachers if only we sit with them long enough to hear what they have to say.

What if our judgments aren’t mere reactions but sacred interruptions, revealing not just what’s happening around us but what’s happening within us?

Here’s a simple practice to try:

1. Notice the trigger: When irritation rises, pause.

2. Label your judgment: Identify precisely what you’re judging.

3. Look in the mirror: Ask yourself, “Where does this quality exist in me?”

4. Take one small action: Make one tiny step toward addressing this quality in yourself.

In our divided culture, this practice feels not just spiritually crucial but culturally essential. James reminds us again, “Mercy triumphs over judgment.” In a world drowning in criticism and judgment, mercy gives us a chance to breathe again.

Here’s to becoming a more merciful man.

Cheers.

Jon.

Discussion Questions:

1. Who consistently irritates you, and what specific quality bothers you most about them? How might this quality reflect something about you?

2. When you strongly judge another, what does it reveal about your own insecurities or unresolved issues? Can you think of a recent example?

3. Do you invite trusted friends to identify your blind spots? What would it look like to create humble accountability among your friendships?

4. How does unexamined self-judgment affect your leadership? Share a time when addressing the “log in your own eye” improved how you guided others.

5. Which of your judgment patterns might connect to past hurts? How might recognizing this connection change your approach to others and yourself?

10 words from a modern sage that woke me up this week

"Once you become aware that the main business that you are here for is to know God, most of life's problems fall into place of their own accord."

J.I. Packer

"If you remain in me and my words remain in you,

ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you."

Jesus (John 15:7)

Last week, I got to spend some time with John Eldredge.

It was life-changing.

Not in the hyperbolic way we often use that phrase, but in the quiet, tectonic shifting of priorities that happens when you glimpse something more real than your daily responsibilities and obligations. It was also completely different from what I expected.

God dug a well of joy and insight that I will draw from for many years to come.

This time coincided with my reading of Eldredge's Experience Jesus. Really. A title that might sound simple and obvious until you realize how rarely we do precisely that—experience Jesus, really. Most of us settle for experiencing church programs, theological concepts, religious duties, or spiritual techniques instead of the living Christ.

The greatest takeaway from my time with him was the time spent in prayer together.

It's one thing to read an author’s books but another to get a small glimpse into their life with God.  A startling amount of light came from the crack in the window he opened for me. It made me want to go deeper into my life with God. It created a fresh hunger to keep swimming into the deep end of the pool and away from the wreckage of shallow, modern life.

There is a profound depth to Experience Jesus. Really, and I honestly believe this will become a spiritual classic for generations to come. So, I thought I would share ten words from this book that I believe will shake your sleeping soul and call you back to the ancient path from which too many of us have wandered.

"THE TURNING OF THE HEART" (5 WORDS)

At its core, spirituality is about attention and intention: what we notice and what we choose. The mystic Evelyn Underhill noted that those who experienced God most deeply did so "not because He loved and attended to them more than He does to us, but because they loved and attended to Him more than we do."

The Hebrew Scriptures use the word "return" (shuv) almost a thousand times. This perpetual invitation to reorient ourselves toward God enables daily repentance and awareness of His presence, which becomes a haven in the chaos of modern life. Regardless of what we are facing—sickness, broken relationships, or a cycle of shame—the great invitation speaks into our circumstances that we are welcome to return to God for mercy and grace.

This isn’t primarily a dramatic outward change but an inner orientation of the heart. Like the prodigal son, our physical return is preceded by an interior turn.
You can turn your heart in the middle of a pig pen or the middle of the boardroom. It matters not to God. He is always scanning the horizon of life to welcome our weary hearts home.

It’s worth asking yourself…

Where has your heart wandered?
What preoccupations have displaced God at your center?
What lesser loves have become ultimate concerns?

The spiritual journey always begins with an honest assessment of our current location and then a simple reorientation toward God. All you have to do is turn your heart to Him.

He is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. He is waiting for you even now.

Turn your heart to Him.

THERE IS NO NEUTRAL (4 WORDS)

Our secular culture lives in the spiritual delusion of neutrality.

It tells us that at each end of the cultural spectrum are extremes to avoid and the middle is where the sensible self settles in.

Yet, C.S. Lewis reminds us:

"There is no neutral ground in the universe: every square inch, every split second, is claimed by God and counter-claimed by Satan."

For my Reformed friends, Kuyper echoes this idea in Lectures on Calvinism.

"In every domain of human life, there is a battle between two principles, two starting points, two worldviews: the regenerate and the unregenerate, the children of light and the children of darkness."

This isn't simplistic dualism but spiritual realism. The self that refuses God's kingdom doesn't remain independent; it merely changes allegiance. When Jesus said, "Whoever is not with me is against me," He wasn't being exclusionary but descriptive.

To opt out of the kingdom of God is to opt into the kingdom of darkness, even if we describe it as the kingdom of self. The kingdom of self is merely a small plot of land in the dominion of darkness.

John, the apostle of love, understood this: "We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one."

Colossians 1:15 says, "For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves."

Eldredge notes…

The World as we envision it—society, culture, commerce, the arts—is under the power of the evil one, meaning it is under his jurisdiction, his rule, his sway. Which means this world that we so often perceive as relatively neutral is actually an extension of the kingdom of darkness. This reality is truly disruptive, even for many followers of Jesus.

I don’t think I would need to convince you of this if you were a Jew living in Nazi Germany or a Christian living in an Islamic regime. But many small European countries were hoping to remain neutral in the early stages of World War II, countries like Belgium and Czechoslovakia. Their fragile delusion evaporated when Hitler’s forces rolled in and swallowed them up in a day.

Our Western Christianity has made peace with the myth of neutrality, finding comfortable middle ground between the kingdom of God and the systems of this world. We've convinced ourselves we can serve both God and mammon by keeping them in separate compartments—Sunday faith and Monday pragmatism.

This is a delusion. This is a lie.

A kingdom of darkness. A kingdom of light. These are your choices.
Children of wrath, or children of God. These are your choices.
Heaven or Hell. These are your choices.
Life or death. These are your choices.

Choose today whom you will serve.
Declare allegiance to the kingdom.
Wake up from the delusion of neutrality and recognize that every choice moves us either toward or away from God.

There is no spiritual Switzerland, folks.

IF (1 WORD)

God’s love may be unconditional, but His blessing is not. We love God's promises but often ignore their context. There is one word that determines what we encounter in our relationship with God.

IF.

"If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you." (John 15:7)

Eldredge notes…

That "if" is revelatory. The refuge of God and his Kingdom is only for those who choose to take part in it. This fact is so irritating to human nature. We just want to get on with our life and have God cover us. That’s not quite how things work.

We've been sold a spirituality of entitlement; God's blessings without discipleship's demands. We want Psalm 91's protection without Psalm 91's requirement to "…dwell in the shelter of the Most High." We want John 15's answered prayers without John 15's abiding.

The conditional promises throughout Scripture aren't God being stingy; they're God being relational. Like any genuine relationship, our walk with God involves reciprocity, response, and responsibility.

This means paying attention to the conditions attached to God's promises.
It means declaring war on the lie of neutrality.
It means resolving to respond rather than merely receive.

Our consumer mentality wants benefits without membership, intimacy without fidelity. We're drawn to the promises of answered prayer, divine protection, and spiritual blessing, but we resist the conditions attached to these gifts.

The "if" of scripture invites us into covenant, not transaction. It calls us to resolve, to choose, to participate in our own transformation. It reminds us that while grace is freely given, it must be actively received.

This conditional element of faith doesn't contradict God's unconditional love; it manifests it. Real love always respects freedom and invites response rather than imposing itself. God's "if" statements honor our dignity as meaningful participants in our relationship with Him.

To transform "if" into "I will" means moving from spiritual consumer to committed disciple, tourist to pilgrim, and admirer of Jesus to follower. It means choosing to abide, deciding to dwell, resolving to remain.

In our age of commitment phobia, such decisive spiritual choices may seem countercultural. But the deepest joys have always been found not in keeping our options open but in giving ourselves fully to what matters most.

THE INVITATION

10 words. 3 invitations.

Turn your heart to Him.
Reject the lie of neutrality.
Choose to abide.

May God give you grace this week to transform "if" into "I will."

And may you know the reality of the promise that…

The Lord has made His face shine on you, and His face is turned towards you to give you peace. It’s the love of God shining in the face of Jesus Christ that is waiting for you even now.

May you experience Jesus, really, this week.

Cheers.

Jon.

Discussion Questions:

1. In what specific areas of your life have you unknowingly embraced the myth of spiritual neutrality, and how does that impact your intimacy with God?

2. How might recognizing that there is no spiritual Switzerland challenge your current approach to career, relationships, entertainment, or finances?

3. What subtle preoccupations or lesser loves currently have your attention, causing your heart to wander from wholehearted devotion to God? How can you turn your heart to Him in the midst of this?

4. If God’s promises are often tied to conditions ("if"), how might acknowledging this reshape the way you approach your relationship and expectations of God?

5. Reflecting on Evelyn Underhill’s insight that those who experience God most deeply do so "not because He loved and attended to them more, but because they loved and attended to Him more," what deliberate practices or intentional shifts could help you more deeply love and attend to God in your everyday life this week?

how an attachment therapist changed my life with a single sentence

"Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes."

Carl Jung

"For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."

1 Samuel 16:7

Recently, I was reviewing notes from a men’s event I attended last summer when a single sentence caught my eye. It was from a session led by an attachment therapist on tending to the heart in marriage. The sentence was simple, yet profound:

"What’s happening in your wife’s heart is more important than what’s happening between you."

In my personal experience, and for many men I’ve worked with over the years, this is the opposite of how we usually approach relationships. Most men instinctively focus first on:

• What’s happening around us (calendar, bills, sickness, stress, schedules, work)

• What’s happening between us (connection, intimacy, communication, interactions)

• Then, if there’s any leftover time or energy, we consider what’s happening within us (our longings, fears, pains, frustrations, guilt, grief)

Focusing on things in this order can have profound and lasting effects on a relationship—often negatively.

THE INTERIOR COUNTRY

The Bible uses the wordheartnearly 1,000 times. It refers not merely to emotions but to the core of our being; our thoughts, feelings, will, and desires. When Jesus taught that what defiles a person is not what enters but what comes out of them, He emphasized the same truth—what happens inside shapes everything else.

As a pastor in New York for two decades, I’ve sat with countless couples who’ve lost their way. When we talk, they come armed with grievances about what’s happening between them but rarely with insight into what’s happening within each other. It’s like studying the boundaries of nations without knowing the cultural dynamics within them.

Your wife’s heart is such a landscape; vast, complex, sometimes arid and sometimes flourishing, shaped by forces both ancient and immediate. Entering this territory requires reverence and respect. The ground is holy.

Consider an ordinary Tuesday evening. You come home in a good mood but notice your wife seems withdrawn. She gives short answers at dinner and seems distracted, and your mind immediately constructs a narrative based on what’s happening between you. Perhaps she’s upset about a recent argument, losing interest, or silently punishing you.

But what if the invisible reality is entirely different? What if her withdrawn presence has nothing to do with you at all? Maybe she’s battling internal comparison after seeing a friend’s carefully curated social media post that morning, questioning if her body, career, or life measures up to impossible standards.

Or maybe as you share about your success at work, her subdued response sparks your insecurity. You wonder why she’s not celebrating your achievements. Yet, internally, she may be counting the hidden costs of your success, missed evenings with kids who grow too quickly, disrupted family rhythms, or increased burdens at home.

THE PATIENT WORK OF ATTENTION

With the insane pace of modern life, perhaps our most tragic loss is attention itself. We rarely truly see each other anymore. As a result, we often resort to quick fixes and techniques. But our spouse’s heart isn’t something we can scan like a barcode for immediate answers. Understanding it requires lingering, careful listening, and creating space for revelation.

This echoes the disciples' experience on the Emmaus Road. They walked miles with Jesus, failing to recognize Him until later, exclaiming,"Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked?"The heart perceives truths the mind hasn’t yet processed. Recognition comes slowly, through presence and time.

How can we learn to recognize what’s happening in our wife’s heart?

1)Slow Down- Frederick Buechner wrote that God speaks through our lives, but if we’re moving too quickly, we’ll miss the message. The same applies to marriage. Your wife’s heart speaks softly in whispers, micro expressions, or the spaces between words. Move too quickly and you’ll overlook these subtle revelations.

2)Perspective- Resist the impulse to interpret her actions primarily through the lens of yourself. When she declines physical intimacy, your first thoughts may gravitate toward rejection or relational trouble. But perhaps her heart is caught up elsewhere, processing a harsh comment from a supervisor, wrestling with unrealistic societal images of beauty, or simply carrying exhaustion from always prioritizing everyone else’s needs above her own.

COUNTERCULTURAL ATTENTION

Attending to the heart runs directly counter to cultural values.

• Our culture prizes speed; attending to the heart requires slowness. Your wife’s inner world unfolds through rhythms of trust and revelation, not efficiency metrics.

• Our culture seeks immediate solutions; the heart asks us to dwell in mystery. We want simple steps for better communication or conflict resolution, but hearts resist such formulas. The Psalmist says, "Deep calls to deep." Such depth demands reverence rather than technique.

• Our culture celebrates visible achievements; attending to the heart honors invisible experience. Understanding your wife’s heart won’t earn public recognition. Like most sacred work, it remains hidden and profound.

REVERSING THE ORDER

Recently, I’ve recognized the importance of reversing my usual order. Instead of starting with external tasks and relational dynamics, I’m learning to prioritize the heart; my own and those closest to me. What’s happening within us matters far more than what’s happening around us.

This week, I’ve intentionally focused on the hearts of those I love and not just on surface interactions or logistics. Even in this short period, I’ve felt a noticeable shift.

Dr. John Gottman, a renowned relationship researcher, says,"Every conflict is really an opportunity to understand your partner better."I’ve been trying to live this truth by going beneath the surface, seeking what’s happening in my wife’s heart and my own.

Attachment theory emphasizes that secure relationships aren’t about avoiding every disagreement but about creating emotional safety, where each partner feels seen, valued, and understood. Conflict isn’t the enemy; it’s often a symptom of deeper realities in the heart. I have been trying to prioritize those.

Sociologists similarly differentiate between surface culture (observable behaviors) and deep culture (hidden emotional worlds and values). Many marriages remain stuck because they obsess over surface issues without addressing deeper heart-level realities. I’m focusing on the deep culture of our marriage and not just the surface dynamics.

Men are often socialized to value external solutions, "Fix it. Solve it. Move on." But what if true strength means slowing down and paying attention to emotional currents beneath the surface? Imagine if every conflict became an opportunity for deeper intimacy instead of something to fix or avoid. I am trying to reimagine my relationships through that lens.

TENDING TO THE HEART

How can we practically develop this capacity to see beyond the surface? Here are some intentional steps:

Sabbath space:Create regular times of undistracted presence with your spouse; not to solve problems, but simply to be together. Ask questions inviting her inner thoughts: "What’s on your mind lately?" or "What are you looking forward to or dreading in this season?"

Remember her whole story:Your wife existed before you met, shaped by family history, experiences, cultural messages, and her spiritual journey. When her response seems disproportionate, consider what earlier chapters might be influencing her reaction.

Honor her complexity:Scripture doesn’t shy away from complexity; David was worshipper and adulterer, Peter courageous and cowardly. Similarly, your wife contains multitudes. She can simultaneously love and be irritated by you, feel confident professionally yet insecure socially, committed to your marriage yet sad about roads not taken.

Notice small relational bids:Jesus noticed subtle details revealing hearts such as the widow’s mite, a woman touching His cloak, and the fear in the disciples' faces. Pay attention to subtle cues: tension around her eyes, the silence of disappointment, changes in posture signaling feeling unseen.

Create space for grief:The Psalms model authentic relationship including grief, doubt, and disappointment. Allow your wife to express difficult emotions without rushing her to solutions or corrections.

THE PATH FORWARD

A couple can live together fifty years and yet remain strangers, never knowing what lives inside each other. Many do. It’s a quiet, common, avoidable tragedy. I don’t want to go out like that.

Attending to the heart isn’t just about being a better husband (though you’ll become one). It isn’t just about intimacy or avoiding conflict. It’s about living in truth rather than illusion, knowing another human deeply, and savoring one of life’s greatest privileges.

The therapist was right. What’s happening in your wife’s heart matters more than what’s happening between you. Everything important happens there first.

Imagine approaching your spouse not as a problem to manage but as a beautiful mystery to behold. What if you stopped focusing solely on schedules, logistics, or surface issues and instead simply asked...

"What’s happening in your heart right now?"

In that simple question lies profound wisdom, and perhaps the recovery of wonder.

I’ll be asking that question more and more in the years ahead.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon.

Discussion Questions:

1. When it comes to your closest relationships, what keeps you from paying attention to the deeper issues of the heart, causing you to focus instead on tasks or surface interactions?
   

2. Reflecting on a recent conflict, what hidden emotions or unspoken hurts might the other person have been carrying, and how could seeing that reality have changed your response?
   

3. What uncomfortable truths or difficult emotions might you be avoiding by not slowing down to honestly look into your own heart?
   

4. If God were to fully reveal the current condition of your heart right now, what secret struggles, fears, or desires might come into the light?
   

5. What fears or insecurities arise in you at the thought of asking your spouse or someone important to you, "What’s truly going on in your heart right now?" and why?

refusing to settle

“The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little.”

Thomas Merton

“We now live in a time when consumer Christianity has become the accepted norm, and all-out engagement with and in Jesus’ kingdom among us is regarded as somewhat ‘overdoing it.’”

Dallas Willard

Ronald Rolheiser once observed that when we’re young, we struggle to contain our energy. But in midlife, we struggle to summon it.

That insight struck me this past week as I listened to Luke LeFevre preach at The Altars Conference we host in New York City. Luke preached from Genesis 11, highlighting a sobering truth hidden among a familiar passage: the danger of settling for less than our full inheritance.

We often think of Abraham as the father of our faith. His name is invoked in the “Abrahamic” religions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. But in an often-overlooked passage, it seems the original call to go to Canaan was given to Terah, Abraham’s father, not Abraham himself.

Genesis 11:31-32 records:

One day, Terah took his son Abram, his daughter-in-law Sarai (his son Abram’s wife), and his grandson Lot (his son Haran’s child) and moved away from Ur of the Chaldeans. He was headed for the land of Canaan, but they stopped at Haran and settled there. Terah lived for 205 years and died while still in Haran.

Terah did something remarkable. He left Ur of the Chaldeans, a center of pagan worship, where the moon god Nanna (Sin) was venerated. Joshua 24:2 suggests that Terah himself likely participated in this idolatry before God called him out. His departure wasn’t just geographical; it was a break from a culture of idolatry and a step toward worshiping the one true God.

But here’s the tragedy: he stopped short.

He set out for Canaan, but he settled in Haran instead. He died there, halfway to the promise, halfway to his calling.

This narrative gives us what theologians call the pattern of partial obedience, a pattern that repeats itself in the lives of so many men today.

Terah’s journey was real but incomplete. He heard the call but never finished the course.

THE DANGER OF HARAN

Here’s what unsettles me: We’ve built a Christian culture that often celebrates Haran-level spirituality. We mistake movement for arrival. We applaud partial obedience as if it were full surrender.

Terah’s story is a warning.

Imagine the tragedy if St Augustine stopped his journey from hedonism at Manichaeism or Neo-Platonism instead of Christ. Imagine the tragedy if you trade passionate devotion for going through the motions. Terah moved away from obvious idolatry but failed to reach true worship.

Haran, in a sense, became his halfway house, a place of partial reformation that substituted for full surrender. He exchanged one idolatrous city for another, just with a little more respectability.

That’s the real danger. Haran wasn’t a place of outright failure but of partial success. It was better than Ur, but “better than” isn’t the same as “arrived at.” This is what haunts me when I look at men today. We start strong. We hear a call. We take steps forward. But somewhere along the way, we stop.

Sometimes, pain slows us down, and sometimes, it’s exhaustion. But often, it’s success.

Terah’s story exposes the subtle seduction of comfort—of good enough. We can build impressive lives in Haran while Canaan remains untouched.

THE HARANS WE SETTLE FOR

In our time, Haran looks different, but it functions the same. It’s where we stop short of radical surrender and trade full transformation for a safer, more manageable faith.

In the Dutch Reformed tradition, there’s a concept called “common grace stopping points,” the places where God works to bring partial reformation but which can actually prevent full conversion. These might include:

• Orthodox theology without heart transformation

• Moral reform without gospel dependence

• Religious activity without spiritual intimacy

• Cultural sophistication without biblical fidelity

Haran is where we settle, not for outright rebellion but for a respectable faith that doesn’t cost too much.

We leave our personal Ur, whether that’s addiction, materialism, or selfish ambition, only to settle into a refined, comfortable version of the same thing. We exchange obvious idols for subtle ones: success, reputation, or control. We keep moving, but only far enough to feel like we’ve changed.

DON’T DIE IN HARAN

But here’s the good news: as long as you’re breathing, you can still move forward.

Peter’s story doesn’t end with denial.
John Mark’s doesn’t end with conflict.
Cleopas’ story doesn’t end in the village of Emmaus.

You can resume the journey.

Terah stopped, but Abraham continued. He pressed on where his father quit. Because of that, he became the father of nations, inheriting the promise of God.

Maybe that means…

• Revisiting your original calling—where have you stopped short of the full call God gave you in your early years?

• Identify the idols that have made you comfortable—what success, security, or approval have you settled for?

• Evaluate your current decisions—are they made through the lens of faith and full inheritance or just “good enough” and respectability?

___________________________________

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, “The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.”

That’s what Terah missed. That’s what many of us miss. We fear the struggle, but spiritual growth isn’t about avoiding hardship. It’s about pressing into greater and greater battles, growing stronger with each one, and getting further down the road of redemption to our full inheritance.

WHERE HAVE YOU SETTLED?

Eugene Peterson talked about "the domestication of transcendence,” the tendency to remove the wild, costly call of divine encounter with respectable religion. Dallas Willard warns that if we go all in for Jesus, we will be seen as those who overdo it.

If wholehearted obedience is what it takes to deliver me from Haran, I want to overdo it.

I refuse to stop halfway.
I refuse to mistake respectability for transformation.
I refuse to trade a risky faith for a safe religion.

Haran is a trap. It’s a spiritual graveyard for men who started strong but settled too soon.

Don’t let that be your story.

As Luke LeFevre reminded me…

Don’t die in Haran.

By God's grace, when it's all said and done, you will find my bones in Canaan, and I hope yours will be there, too.

Here for a full inheritance.

Cheers.

Jon.

PS. - If you are looking for a way to keep moving forward in your faith, why not grab a copy of Fighting Shadows, grab a couple of brothers, and keep pushing forward? Jefferson and I address the seven core lies that keep men from becoming fully alive, the same ones that keep so many men out of Canaan today.

dust, sweat, blood, tears, and scars

"To be alive at all is to have scars."

John Steinbeck

“As He spoke, He showed them the wounds in His hands and His side.

They were filled with joy when they saw the Lord!”

John 20:20

On Monday night, I gave the sermon at my father-in-law’s memorial service.

Huddled in the sanctuary of Shady Grove Methodist Church, family and friends gathered to mourn and celebrate the life of Dr. Richard Keep.

Crafting a eulogy is never easy. My father-in-law lived to be 82, a Methodist preacher who delivered thousands of sermons over the years. Yet, I can’t recall much of what he said from the pulpit. His life, however, was a sermon of its own, a message still speaking, even now that he is gone. In many ways, his life was the last, and loudest, sermon he ever preached.

As I reflected on his legacy, I was reminded that our lives are not just a sequence of events—birth, accomplishments, relationships, and death. Our lives are sacred biographies, narratives of grace, redemption, and mercy unfolding in real-time.

The Sermon that is your life.

Like it or not, every man preaches a sermon with his life. More than words, it is the arc and depth of a life that speaks. The Apostle Paul understood this when he told the Corinthians, "You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everyone." (2 Cor. 3:2)

One day, each of us will die. When that day comes, others will sift through the fragments of our lives, gathering moments to honor and remember us by. But our sermon is not just the eulogy spoken over us, it is the daily message we proclaim, whether we realize it or not.

Every man preaches five sermons with his life.
In the end, what we say with our lives comes down to five words:

Dust. Sweat. Blood. Tears. Scars.

DUST

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

This ancient phrase speaks to our first and most foundational sermon—humility.
The Latin word humus refers to the earth—a fertile, life-giving soil, and is the root of the word human. Likewise, humility comes from humilitas, meaning "grounded" or "close to the earth."

Modern culture tells us we are autonomous, masters of our own fate. But our very bodies preach a different sermon. We are dust. Not in a way that diminishes our worth but in a way that places us rightly before God. This isn’t self-deprecation; it’s theological realism.

The Desert Fathers understood this. They knew that embracing our dependence on God was the foundation of all spiritual growth. To deny this is to fall into what Jung called inflation, a spiritual pride that separates us from both God and our own souls.

Our very bodies preach humility. They hunger. They tire. They grow old. They die. A man’s humility, his reverence for the fragility and gift of life, preaches against pride and self-reliance.

SWEAT

The second sermon is Sweat: the dignity and necessity of doing good work.

This is the sermon of showing up, day after day, doing what needs to be done without fanfare or recognition. It’s the father who works two jobs to provide for his family. The volunteer who serves faithfully for decades. The mentor who invests in the next generation.

We live in a world that swings between two extremes: work as a necessary evil and work as self-actualization. But neither view is biblical. Work existed before the Fall. When we labor, even in unseen places, we participate in God’s work of creation and renewal.

Karl Rahner spoke of how our daily work, no matter how mundane, participates in God’s ongoing creation of the world. Whether in a factory, an office, or a classroom, our work is a sermon.

Christ dignified work. He spent most of His earthly life as a carpenter, shaping wood before shaping hearts. Your work, how you labor, and what you create either pushes the world toward redemption or contributes to its brokenness.

As Dorothy Sayers put it, "No crooked table legs or ill-fitting drawers ever came out of the carpenter’s shop in Nazareth. Nor, if they did, could anyone believe they were made by the same hand that made heaven and earth."

Your work is both worship and witness.

BLOOD

The third sermon is Blood: the sermon of sacrifice.

Every man will bleed for something in his lifetime. The question is, for what?
In a culture addicted to comfort and self-fulfillment, sacrifice is seen as an interruption to life. But in reality, sacrifice is the very means by which true life is transmitted.

Every parent knows this. Every faithful spouse understands this. Every leader who carries the weight of responsibility lives this. Sacrifice is not a tragic necessity; it is the currency of love.

This is not the false martyrdom that seeks attention but the quiet, daily pouring out of self for others. It mirrors Christ’s kenosis, His self-emptying love.

A man’s life declares what truly matters by what he chooses to bleed for.

TEARS

The fourth sermon is Tears.

Jesus wept at the death of His friend Lazarus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, and over the city of Jerusalem. Tears are not signs of weakness; they are indicators of what truly matters to us. Albert Camus once said, "Live to the point of tears." In our tears, we find both our humanity and our deepest values.

Tears of pain connect us to our own vulnerability and the suffering of the world. They remind us that we are not immune to the brokenness around us. Tears of joy, on the other hand, connect us to beauty, to moments of grace that break into our daily existence.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus wept tears of anguish, fully embracing the weight of His mission. His tears were a prelude to His ultimate sacrifice, a moment of profound honesty before God.

Our tears, like Christ’s, are sacramental. They wash away pretense, revealing the true state of our hearts. They are the silent prayers that words cannot express and the deep groans that reach the heart of God.

A man preaches what he loves by the tears he weeps.

SCARS

The fifth sermon is Scars.

Scars are proof of both wounding and healing. They tell stories of pain but also of survival, redemption, and resurrection.

Psychologists studying post-traumatic growth confirm what the saints have always known: adversity can deepen compassion, resilience, and wisdom. Scars are not just reminders of past wounds; they are testimonies of healing.

Henri Nouwen called this becoming a wounded healer, allowing our brokenness to become a source of healing for others. This is not about glorifying suffering but recognizing that our scars, like Christ’s, can point to the possibility of transformation.

When Jesus appeared to His disciples after the resurrection, He didn’t erase His scars. He showed them. And in seeing His wounds, His followers were filled with joy.

SACRED BIOGRAPHY

These five sermons, Dust, Sweat, Blood, Tears, and Scars, form the sacred biography of a man’s life.

Together, they preach both our fallenness and our hope for restoration.

Dust reminds us we are creatures, dependent on God.
Sweat calls us to meaningful labor.
Blood speaks of love through sacrifice.
Tears speak of a wholehearted participation in life.
Scars proclaim the hope of redemption.

Christ, the son of God, became man for us, born of dust. He wept and worked and died in our place. He rose again and showed His scars to His friends. And He calls us to be conformed to His sacred biography, to live in His story and not the world’s.

The question is not whether your life is preaching these sermons. It is.
The real question is: Are you preaching this story well?

Is it pointing toward the ultimate sermon? The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus?

What are you saying with the gift that is your life?
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After the service, Christy and I got in the car and drove all night back to New York.
Somewhere along I-81, as the darkness stretched before us, I began to weep.

Grateful for the dust, sweat, blood, tears, and scars I had witnessed that night.

Resolved to live out of a sacred biography rather than a secular story of self.

Hoping this week, you can take some time to reflect on what your sacred biography will be.

Cheers.

Jon.

graceful realism and scanning for the positive

"Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes."

Friedrich Nietzsche

"Having eyes, do you not see?"

Jesus

I keep thinking about a conversation I had with a marriage counselor in a diner in Hells Kitchen. 

"You know what's strange?" he said, leaning forward in his booth. "Most couples come to me thinking they need help solving their problems. What they really need is help seeing each other again."

So many of us have lost the ability to really see. Our culture has trained us to view the world and each other through increasingly critical eyes. 

Here in New York, where everything is rated and reviewed—from the morning flat white to the evening Uber—we've become a society of critics. The same fingers that scroll through social media, dispensing likes and dislikes, have started turning our frustrations toward home, finding flaws in the very people we once prayed God would give us and that we are called to love.
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I don’t want to be a critical man, but it’s hard. It’s like our entire society has learned to reduce people down to their mistakes, idiosyncrasies, and failures. 

Our brains seem to have been rewired to scan for the negative.

The science behind this tendency is fascinating. Dr. Rick Hanson, a psychologist and Senior Fellow at UC Berkeley’s Greater Good Science Center, highlights a profound reality about our brains: negative experiences cling to us like Velcro, while positive ones tend to slip away like Teflon. Without intentional effort to focus on and savor what's good, our neural pathways default to a constant scan for flaws, creating grooves of criticism that deepen with time. This "negativity bias" may have been helpful in other times of history, but it sabotages our relationships today.

I don’t want to scan for the negative.

Jesus never did.

He consistently saw people in ways that confounded those around Him. I'm struck by how often the Gospels mention Jesus "seeing" people—really seeing them. When others saw a corrupt tax collector, Jesus saw Zacchaeus' hunger for connection. When religious leaders saw an adulteress worthy of death, Jesus saw someone worthy of redemption. When convention said to avoid the Samaritan woman, Jesus saw an opportunity for transformation.

His way of seeing changed people. 

Dr. John Gottman discovered this in his research on lasting relationships. After studying thousands of couples, he found that the successful ones maintained a ratio of five positive interactions for every negative one. They learned to scan for the positive. But here's what fascinates me: These couples weren't ignoring problems. They had simply learned to notice and name the good they saw in each other.

Think about your core relationships. What are you scanning for in those you love? 
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I witnessed this kind of vision years ago, watching my father care for my grandfather during his elderly years. My grandfather had been a missionary in India and a pretty absent father. He was from the old school, the generation that sent kids to boarding school and only saw them a couple weeks a year. My grandfather could be intense. He had strong opinions, a loud voice, and was his own man. He could be unpredictable in meetings and dominate conversations.

Yet, I never heard my Dad complain about this. Instead, he had a different filter in those years. He scanned his life for the positive. It wasn’t dramatic, huge pronouncements or declarations, but daily patience and sacrificial love. It was the ratio of empathy to annoyance that stood out. He didn’t go back over his childhood with bitterness and judgment. He scanned for the positive, focusing on the legacy of having a Dad who loved God and laid a foundation of faith.

This isn't toxic positivity or emotional repression that pretends everything is fine. Rather, it's what I'm learning to call "graceful realism." A way of seeing that has the courage to acknowledge both beauty and brokenness, light and shadow, potential and pain. It's the kind of vision that can hold the tension between what is and what could be, between the reality of our struggles and the possibility of transformation.

When I find myself slipping into criticism (a daily war), I try to remember what a friend in recovery once told me. "The problem isn't just what we're looking at," he said. "It's how we've trained ourselves to look." He went on to describe how his AA community practices gratitude, not as a feeling to conjure up but as a way of seeing to be cultivated.

Recent studies in neuroplasticity offer us cynics some hope. Dr. Barbara Fredrickson's research shows that intentionally focusing on positive emotions for just fifteen seconds can begin rewiring our neural pathways. The "broaden-and-build" theory suggests that positive emotions don't just make us feel good; they expand our awareness and build psychological resources for the way we see the future.

I've started to note specific graces I see in the people closest to me: a staff member's integrity in a difficult decision, a congregant's kindness to an unhoused person in our prayer room, my wife's patience with writing these emails late on a Wednesday night :). It's changing how I see, slowly, imperfectly, but surely. 

Graceful realism is becoming the filter of my life. 
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What happens when we train ourselves to scan for the positive? I've observed several shifts: 

Cynicism begins to soften into compassion. 
Irritation makes space for understanding. 
Complaints give way to curiosity.

Graceful realism doesn't dismiss problems or minimize pain. Instead, it provides a broader, deeper context for understanding them. 

I once took a class on capturing portraits in street photography. The key was to "Look for the light in people's eyes." Everyone has it. Sometimes, you have to wait for it, and sometimes, you have to help create it. But it's always there, even in this city where people can seem to be a blur.

Perhaps that's our calling, too. Scan for light, become collectors of grace, and witnesses to the persistent presence of good in each other. The ones who irritate might become the ones we celebrate, not because they've changed, but because you've learned to see them through the eyes of grace.

This week, try keeping your own record of grace. 

Scan for the positive. 
Become a curator of goodness in your relationships. 

Write down five specific things you value about each person close to you. Share what you see. Watch how it changes not just them but you as well. 

After all, isn't that how transformation often works? Not through dramatic revelation but through small shifts in vision that gradually reveal what was there all along: the image of God, waiting to be seen.

Here's to making graceful realism the filter of our lives.

Cheers.

Jon.

the glory of being alone

"In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion."

Albert Camus

"Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself."

John 6:15

Blaise Pascal famously wrote,

"All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone."

One of the hardest things for men to learn to do well is to be alone.

For most men, the very word "alone" conjures up confusion and frustration. 
We don’t know how to sit alone for five minutes without pulling out our phones to distract ourselves from ourselves—checking the headlines, the game, or the market. 

But how is a failure to be alone the source of all of humanity's problems? Isn’t that a bit of an overstatement from Pascal?

Upon reflection, I don’t think so. The outer world is directed by the inner world. 

If we have not given attention to our inner world, rightly ordered our loves, clarified our vision, and calibrated our ambition, we will simply react to the anxiety, fear, greed, and lust all around us.

We won’t live from an integrous center; we will react to the chaos we encounter. Being alone is the place we deal with our hearts and order our lives.

But that is easier said than done. 

We all know the importance of "spending time with God" and the importance of "silence and solitude," but in my experience, although we know we should do these things, we don’t know how to do them well. 

Paul Tillich unpacks the distinction and direction this should take.

"Our language has wisely sensed the two sides of being alone. It has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word solitude to express the glory of being alone."

We need men who will reclaim this glory of being alone.
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There is a fascinating verse in the Gospel of John about Jesus reclaiming the glory of being alone. 

Jesus has fed the 5000, and the people are enamored with the possibility of Him becoming king. If He could feed 5000 people in a day, imagine what would happen if He seized the throne, overthrew the Romans, and established the kingdom. So, they seek to find Jesus and make Him king by force. How does Jesus respond? John 6:15 records it.

"Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make Him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by Himself."

By Himself.

These two words have much to teach us. 

Jesus knew that there was an empowering and orienting source of life that came from being alone. As much as He loved the disciples and wanted to teach them, He needed space to be alone and retreat from them.

When we reflect on the times Jesus withdrew to be alone, we see it begins to take on a staggering importance in His ministry.

Jesus got alone early in the morning and received fresh ministry direction. (Mark 1:35)

Jesus got alone to confront temptation in the wilderness. (Luke 4:1-2)

Jesus got alone when they tried to force a kingdom on Him (John 6:15)

Jesus got alone to seek wisdom all night before He chose His disciples. (Luke 6:12)

Jesus withdrew to process and grieve the death of John the Baptist. (Matt 14:13)

Jesus got alone to lay out His heart before the Father in Gethsemane. (Luke 22:39-44)

Direction, confrontation, orientation, discernment, grieving, and surrender all came from being alone. If we want to raise a generation of men who can live from this kind of deep, rich, and glorious solitude, we are going to have to get good at being alone. 

So, what do we learn from Jesus that can help us learn to recover the glory of being alone? What should we do when we are alone? Here are some observations to start. 

WE HAVE TO BE ALONE WITH OURSELVES

We have to retreat from the world to know who we are. So often, we are coerced, shaped, shamed, obligated, pressured, and pushed by the demands of the crowd, the system, and the structures of our lives. We can end up just reacting to demands without knowing who we are, the calling we have, and the life we are called to live. 

You have to get alone to ask questions like...

• Who am I really? 

• What really matters to me?

• What do I deeply value?

• What do I truly love/hate?

• How am I doing?

• What forces are shaping me?

• Do I have a solid and secure sense of self?

May Sarton wrote, "Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self." You need time alone to strengthen the true self that God has made you to be. 

WE HAVE TO BE ALONE WITH OUR CALLING AND MISSION

We all have a unique call, and no two life missions are identical. Yet, in a world shaped by influencers, celebrities, and experts, we can fall into the trap of idolatry and imitation. We can also compare and compete with our reference groups, growing exhausted from trying to keep up or impress others. 

We need to get alone to ask questions like...

• Where is the Father working in my life, and how is He asking me to respond?

• Who has God called me to love, and am I present to them?

• Where is God at work in my workplace, and how am I available?

• What am I saying 'yes' to that is someone else’s load to carry?

• Where am I acting out of fear, obligation, or selfishness?

One of my mentors recently said to me, "No one will push you to do the priorities and calling of God on your life; they will only ask you to do the priorities of God for their life."

Time alone helps you live your story well.

WE HAVE TO BE ALONE WITH THE FATHER

God alone is our source of life. He is the One who chose us, called us, prepared good works for us, and works in us to will and to do His good pleasure. A vertical connection to Him ensures a horizontal orientation of passion and love. 

We need to get alone to be with the Father to ask things like...

• Is my identity as God's son real and true to me?

• Am I operating out of a spirit of adoption or fear?

• Is the Father's voice the loudest one in my life?

• Do I have a secure sense of attachment to His love or false attachments to other loves?

• What wisdom and direction do I need in this current season?

We so often struggle with mixed motives, addictive behaviors, and intrusive thoughts. But being alone with God gives us a place to process them. 

Martin Buber said, "Solitude is the place of purification." So much of the lack of transformation and sanctification in our lives stems from the fact that we are too busy, distracted, and anxious to let God's work happen within us. 

Time alone forces that loving confrontation.
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Einstein said, "Be a loner. That gives you time to wonder, to search for the truth. Have holy curiosity. Make your life worth living." 

Wonder, truth, curiosity, meaning. That’s the glory that comes from being alone. 

I take time each morning and evening to be alone, and I have a meeting with myself to review my week every Sunday night. The glory of being alone has kept my heart alive these past thirty years. The secret place is my secret source.

Here’s to the glory of being alone this week!

Cheers.

Jon.

P.S. - If you want to challenge yourself this week to experience the glory of being alone, I've created a quick guide to help you get started. Click on the button below to download it.

the top lessons I'm committed to learning this year

"Unhappiness is not knowing what we want and killing ourselves to get it."

Don Herald

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"

1 John 3:1

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In Today’s Newsletter

• A Parable

• Two Quotes

• A Paradigm

• A Prayer

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EMPTYING THE CUP

Part of the danger of being a Christian for thirty years, and being a Pastor for twenty-five years, is that you come to know a lot of content and ideas about God. However, knowledge about God is not the same as intimacy with God. As J.I. Packer noted:

“You can have all the right notions in your head without ever tasting in your heart the realities to which they refer; and a simple Bible reader and sermon hearer who is full of the Holy Spirit will develop a far deeper acquaintance with his God and Savior than a more learned scholar who is content with being theologically correct.”

After being in church for so long, you end up knowing way more than you can live out, and your opinions become stronger than your actions. So, 2025 may be a year of emptying out information and replacing it with revelation. It may be a year of humility and relearning. 

I was reminded of this while reflecting on this classic story of the professor and the master.

A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. 

While the master quietly served tea, the professor talked about Zen.

The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim and then kept pouring. The professor watched the overflowing cup until he could no longer restrain himself. "It's full! No more will go in!" the professor blurted. "This is you," the master replied, "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?

What do you need to empty your cup of this year so you can be filled with new revelation?

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FORMATION, NOT OPINION

As the political transition heads our way, opinions and hot takes will be on full display. This can always be a dangerous time for our witness as we can pontificate about things we can do nothing about instead of becoming the very thing we are passionate about. 

Our world is not starving for opinionated men, but it's aching for transformed men. 

Thomas à Kempis reminds us of the importance of living what matters, not just talking about it.

“Of what use is it to discourse learnedly on the Trinity, if you lack humility and therefore displease the Trinity? Lofty words do not make a man just or holy; but a good life makes him dear to God. I would far rather feel contrition than be able to define it. If you knew the whole Bible by heart, and all the teachings of the philosophers, how would this help you without the grace and love of God?”

Where do you need to focus on formation, not opinion this coming season?

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GETTING AFTER IT

We all know we should pursue the right things and resist the wrong things, but actually pursuing things well can be a kind of mystery. How do we sustain devotion when we run out of emotion? How can we be disciplined when disappointment sets in?

I love how clearly Dallas Willard breaks down the inner journey of pursuit and desire. To really pursue and take hold of something in our life, we must have….

1. Information about the thing. (Research)
2. Longing for it to be so. (Desire)
3. Affirmation that it must be so. (Insistence)
4. Invocation to God to make it so. (Intercession)
5. Appropriation by God's grace that it is so. (Receiving)

What do you really want from the Lord this year? How can the above framework help you get after it?

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WORK, DON’T WAIT

So often, we limit the work God can do through us because we don’t think we are far enough along. We think we are holy, knowledgeable, empowered, or educated enough. In reality, all we need to be is available enough for God to use us. As George Eliot reminded us…

“The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.”

What can you do now, with what you have, where you are?

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A PRAYER OF SURRENDER

A reminder of this beautiful prayer by Tozer.

“I am Thy servant to do Thy will, and that will is sweeter to me than position or riches or fame, and I choose it above all things on Earth or in Heaven. Amen.”

May God give us grace to choose His will above all this year

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Thanks for reading.

Hope to see you in person in 2025 somewhere down the road.

Cheers. 

Jon.

the call to a heartfelt participation in life

"Courage is what love looks like when tested by the simple everyday necessities of being alive."
David Whyte

"Do not be afraid."
Jesus

I'm not much of a "word of the year" guy. I'm more of a "deep metaphor" guy, and I found one that I will be living into for 2025.

I have been reading Luci Shaw's remarkable book Water My Soul, which discusses the need to care for the interior life. It is deep, life-giving, and profound. But it came with a surprise gift: an introduction by Eugene Peterson, complete with the metaphor of the year. 

Eugene Peterson opens by telling a story of John Muir, The famous explorer and conservationist. He writes,

"In the last half of the nineteenth century, John Muir was our most intrepid and worshipful explorer of the western extremities of our North American continent. For decades, he tramped up and down through our God-created wonders from the California Sierras to the Alaskan glaciers, observing, reporting, praising, and experiencing - entering into whatever he found with childlike delight and mature reverence.

At one period during this time (the year was 1874), Muir visited a friend who had a cabin, snug in a valley of one of the tributaries of the Yuba River in the Sierra Mountains—a place from which to venture into the wilderness and then return for a comforting cup of tea.

One December day a storm moved in from the Pacific —a fierce storm that bent the junipers and pines, the madronas and fir trees as if they were so many blades of grass. It was for just such times this cabin had been built: cozy protection from the harsh elements.

We easily imagine Muir and his host safe and secure in his tightly caulked cabin, a fire blazing against the cruel assault of the elements, wrapped in sheepskins, Muir meditatively rendering the wildness into his elegant prose. But our imaginations, not trained to cope with Muir, betray us.

For Muir, instead of retreating to the coziness of the cabin, pulling the door tight, and throwing another stick of wood on the fire, strode out of the cabin into the storm, climbed a high ridge, picked a giant Douglas fir as the best perch for experiencing the kaleidoscope of color and the sound, scent and motion, scrambled his way to the top, and rode out the storm, lashed by the wind, holding on for dear life, relishing Weather: taking it all in—its rich sensuality, its primal energy.

Throughout its many retellings, the story of John Muir, storm-whipped at the top of the Douglas fir in the Yuba River valley, gradually took shape as a kind of icon of Christian spirituality for our family. The icon has been in place ever since as a standing rebuke against becoming a mere spectator to life, preferring creature comforts to Creator confrontations."

REFUSING TO BECOME A SPECTATOR OF LIFE

At my age, firmly walking through my middle years, the temptation can come to prefer creature comforts to Creator confrontations. 

I don't want to avoid the storm and retreat to the cozy parts of life. 
In 2025, I want to climb the tree and face whatever comes. 

I don't want to retreat into the numbing comforts of YouTube binging when things get hard.
I don't want to retreat to a kind of passivity that says things will take care of themselves if I pretend they are not there.
I don't want to retreat to small ambition, small faith, a small God.

I want to climb the tree and courageously face what comes this year with open eyes and a full heart. I want to ride out the storm, lashed by the wind, at the top of the tree.
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In David Whyte's book Consolations, he points out the surprising nature of courage compared to the cultural stereotypes of the idea. 

"Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work; a future. To be courageous is not necessarily to go anywhere or do anything, except to make conscious those things we already feel deeply and then to live through the unending vulnerabilities of those consequences."

It's not about escaping our current life, going somewhere else, or doing something dramatic, as much as it is about facing and leaning into the storms that come, both interior and exterior.

I am leaning into this for 2025: a heartfelt participation in life. Climbing the tree and riding out the terror and wonder of what's within and ahead.
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This is not a mere metaphor; it's an invitation to a cruciform life. Muir climbing a tree is strong, but Christ climbing the tree to face the reality of sin, brokenness, wrath, and isolation is infinitely stronger. 

We are called not to avoid but embrace what comes, shedding the illusion of retreat into safety and comfort, with a heartfelt participation in the work of God in our lives.

Climb the tree.
Face the storm.
Embrace the cross.

Here's to a heartfelt participation in the glory of life in 2025.

Cheers.

Jon.

resetting your standards as a man

“Create a posse of dead people. Create an entourage of heroes.

Put their pictures on your wall, and keep them in your mind.”

David Brooks

“Walk with the wise and become wise…”

Proverbs 13:20

I am writing this from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. 

It's one of my favorite places on earth. It's one of the most scenic places in America at Christmas and is stacked against the now-defunct steel mills of Bethlehem Steel, haunted by the sounds of Springsteen singing about the struggles of the everyday man. 

It's also the Moravian Settlement named by Count Zinzendorf on Christmas Eve, 1741. 

I come here a couple of times a year to remind myself that the decline of the Western Church is neither normal nor inevitable. I come here to remind myself that every now and then, in the middle of redemptive history, a group of disciples read the gospels with fresh eyes, and their radical discipleship wakes the church and awakens the world. I come here because the Moravians came here. 

David Brooks discusses the importance of having a reference point in our minds of the heroes we seek to imitate. Sociologists tell us that the common reference point for most people is their college friends. These are the ones we track with and compare our lives to.

They often determine our sense of worth, whether we are ahead or behind, successful or struggling, and what we need to do to keep up. Most people use their college friends as a reference point because they see life from a narrow perspective, assuming the best people to learn from and measure ourselves by are our peers.

But scripture calls us to expand our vision and measure ourselves not by the people of our age but by the heroes of our faith. Hebrew 13:7 says...

“Remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith.”

One of the most helpful things I have done over the years is shed the sociological comparisons of our age and go back into redemptive history to be mentored by those whose fruit and faithfulness I long to see.

I consider the outcomes of leaders from the past, ask what they saw in the scriptures, what they experienced in the Spirit, and how they stepped out to follow in radical faith. 

Then, I seek to imitate that. 

This can have a radical reorienting effect on our faith.

Instead of asking how I can keep up with the income levels of my peers, I'm drawn to asking how to build a culture of prayer like the Moravians.

Instead of asking how I can live a balanced life, I ask how I can leverage what God has given me as Wesley did.

Instead of asking how to make my life more comfortable, I ask how I can be more courageous like Polycarp, who gave his life as a martyr and played the man.

I think this is incredibly important for men.

The mentors and heroes we choose will shape the lives we live, dreams we envision, and risks we take. 

Your normal will be set by the culture or the kingdom. 

I want biblical norms to shape my life.

That's why places like Bethlehem, leaders like Zinzendorf, and communities like the Moravians matter to me. They fill me with faith, expand my vision of the worthiness of Jesus, and shatter the illusion of the American dream.

The author of Hebrews understood how these shape our vision of life.

"We do not want you to become lazy but to imitate those who, through faith and patience, inherit what has been promised."

Without the right standards, we become lazy. We stop pressing in for the promises and shrink back to mediocrity. Most men get bored and lazy because they are not given a vision to summon their strength or a challenge to call them out of comfort. 

So, why not build a council of wisdom from your heroes from the past and let them stir and inspire you to press into your full inheritance next year?

Create your posse of dead people.
Hang with a new entourage of heroes.
Keep the right reference points in your mind. 

Let your standards be set by scripture and history, not sociology and celebrity. 

This past year, I started reading the 30-plus volumes of Andrew Murray's collected works. Their impact on me has been profound. Through his writing, I have gained more than any other book I read this year and feel like I have been mentored by someone who knows Jesus in a way I have yet to encounter.

This year, I also had William Carey, Howard Thurman, Zinzendorf, and Henri Nouwen mentor me from the past. 

Expand your circle of heroes.
Find the fruit from faithful lives.
Create an invisible council that spurs you on next year.

It can be as simple as writing down five names, reading five quick biographies, and analyzing key lessons from their lives.

You can even take a moment now and jot some down to explore over the holidays.

Who? Why? What fruit or faithfulness can they teach you?

1.____________________________________________
2.____________________________________________
3.____________________________________________
4.____________________________________________
5.____________________________________________

We are not limited to the wisdom of our age; we can walk with the wisdom from redemptive history.

Here's to a year of replacing sociology with redemptive history and being mentored by those who can call us into the life with Jesus we long for.

See you in the circle. 

Cheers.

Jon.

remembering to take your shoes off

"Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder."

E. B. White

"We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away."

Hebrews 2:1

Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living."

As often as we have heard this, we often fail to implement it. 

No man wants to live a worthless life.

So, as we move toward the end of 2024, rather than getting sucked into the vortex of the Christmas season, it’s important to reflect and examine who we have become over the past year.

I was reminded this morning of a few lines from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's classic poem Aurora Leigh:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.

In the world today, we are not in a crisis of experience; we are in a crisis of perception. Life is ablaze, yet we are often blind to the flames.

Jesus was often grieved that the people of His day could not see the wonder and kingdom in their midst. In His frustration, he said, 

‘Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand.’
Matthew 13:13

If Jesus was on social media, that would probably be His only post. 

I want to see the common things ablaze with God.
I want to see the work of God crammed into my daily life.
I want to take off my shoes in holy awe that God is in this place.

So, at this time of year, I begin to go back through my photos and memories and look for the moments that mattered over the past year.

To be honest, it's been a remarkable year for me. I released a new book called Fighting Shadows, a course for dads with daughters called Raising Resilient Daughters, two courses for Art of Teaching, a couple of seasons of Awaken Network Podcast, married off my son, preached in Australia, Iceland, and Scotland, and fell more in love with what God is doing in our church in New York than ever before.

It's also been a challenging year. Friends leaving the city, ministry criticism, the long miles of distance from my family in Australia, and unexpected financial costs—it’s been a year of both rejoicing and weeping, living fully into both sides of my heart.

But after looking through hundreds of events, thousands of photos, and reflecting on the presence of God amidst it all, some moments rose to the surface. 

Some made me take my shoes off in awe.

The Response to Luke LeFevre’s Sermon at Altars
A young man in his twenties preached at our conference on revival, and the response of the public confession of sin, the fear of God, and genuine repentance lasted six hours. It was a glimpse of what is possible in a move of God.

The Fighting Shadows Book Tour
I met two young men whose father had recently died. They asked me to sign their copy of the book (always feels weird) and write a note of encouragement. An hour later, they came back in shock. "You literally wrote the last thing our Dad said to us before he died." They felt seen and known by God. 

The Awe of God at the Hebrides Revival Conference
I had the joy of preaching at the Hebrides Revival Conference in Stornoway, but the highlight was Pastor Donna's prayer on Saturday night. God's presence came with such force; it was a visitation of awe. We literally did not know how to respond. God comes where He’s wanted, and God does what He wants when He gets there.

Marrying My Son to Mai
The final culmination of the Primal Path: launching a new family. What a day of rejoicing. People gathered from three countries—my parents from Australia and people who have known Nate and Mai since birth. They took their vows, and we took over the dance floor. Tears of joy, overflowing hearts, feasting like kings—a taste of heaven on earth. I could not be more proud of my son Nate, and we could not be more thrilled to have Mai in our family.

Going Back to the Old Butcher Shop in Australia
I had the chance, while preaching in Oz, to visit the butcher shop where I worked as a teenager. It was here that I learned to seek God. It was here that I learned to hold my ground. It was here that I pleaded with God to open a door to America. 

As I reflect on how He answered those prayers these 27 years later, I stand in awe at how far He has bought me, how rich His mercy, and how free His grace. I am now praying for open doors for my sixties.
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TAKE OF YOUR SHOES

I know that taking time to reflect can be hard, and how to do this can be overwhelming, so I created an end-of-year reflection PDF for you. Just click the button at the bottom of this email to download it. 

I hope it lets you see how goodness and mercy have been following you this past year. 

And as you move forward…

I pray God gives you eyes to see a life marked by His beauty, faithfulness, and presence. 
I pray you see His fingerprints on the days and months of 2024.
I pray you get a vision to become all flame, all ears, and all eyes next year.

Here, with bare feet and holy awe.

Cheers.

Jon

I was stunned by what happened when my daughter called me this week

"Empathy is a connection; it’s a ladder out of the shame hole."

Brené Brown

"Therefore the LORD longs to be gracious to you; therefore He rises to show you compassion."

Isaiah 30:18

I was sitting in a pastoral meeting this week when my phone rang. It was my daughter. 

When Haley calls, I always pick up the phone.

If you are a girl dad, you know that your heart rate rises just a touch whenever you see that name on the screen.

Even though my daughter is a beautiful, competent, and confident young woman, it’s hard to let those protective instincts go. And the fact that we live in New York and she is in Tennessee makes me feel every mile of distance when the phone rings. 

"G’day Haley, how’s it going?" I asked.
"Dad, I’ve just been in a car accident, and I wanted to call you and let you know."

Dang.

"Is everyone ok?" I asked.
"Yeah, everyone is fine, and the cars aren’t too bad."

And then she started to cry.

Nothing moves my heart like my daughter’s tears. Every man knows that a daughter’s tears are the most potent force in the world. For these, a dad will rise, fight, drop to his knees, or weep. Something primal stirs when my daughter cries.

But what she said next absolutely stunned me.

"I am calling you so I can cry because I have never been in an accident before and am not sure what to do. But after I am done crying and talking to you, I am going to pull myself together, talk with the people in the other car, and handle it like a grown woman. I am crying to you so I can be strong in front of them."

RAISING RESILIENT DAUGHTERS

Earlier this year, I released a course for dads called Raising Resilient Daughters. In it, I lay out a framework for building a deep connection, instilling comfort, and then learning to help your daughter handle the challenges of life. 

But the most important part of the course is what I call the Critical Moment. 

This is the point where your daughter faces something she doesn’t know how to deal with. If you build the connection well, in that critical moment, she will return to you with her issues without fear of judgment, the need to hide, or the presence of shame. She will come to you with her issues, not hide them from you.

This is why my daughter’s call stunned me.

Here she was on the side of the interstate, facing something heavy, hundreds of miles from home, and her first thought was to call me for comfort and courage.

After I talked her through how to handle the insurance and navigate the conversation, she hung up, got out of her car, and worked it through.

But after she hung up, I cried.

This was the kind of call I dreamed about as a dad. That my daughter would see me as a source of comfort in crisis, a man who can give her courage, and one who would help her face the drama on her own and walk back into the world.
__________________________________

I got so many things wrong as a dad along the way, and struggled so many times wondering if my effort was going to make any difference. But this week, with a phone call from the side of the interstate in Tennessee, I realized all the sacrifice was worth it, and that the quote we looked at every day when I was discipling her in high school had moved from her head to her heart.

"Here is the world, beautiful and terrible things will happen, don’t be afraid."

Here was one of those terrible things, but she had the connection she needed to face it without fear.

Dads, the work you put in to love and serve your daughters will be worth it. The seeds of joy and love you are sowing now will reap the kind of fruit in adulthood that will make you weep.

I’m here for the tears, fellas.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Jon