#spiritualformation — Public Fediverse posts

Paul’s call to put on the armor is about putting on the characteristics and virtues that are ours through our union with Jesus Christ. It is an active, conscious, and daily appropriation of spiritual resources. The nearer we draw to Jesus, the more we are clothed with His armor. #Leadership #SpiritualFormation #DailyWalk
https://keelancook.com/spiritual-readiness-in-wartime

#SpiritualWarfare #leadership #theology #missiology #leadership

Online education doesn't have to sacrifice #spiritualformation. https://www.jdavidstark.com/how-to-think-about-spiritual-formation-and-online-education/ @ignatiuspress @GregoryMcKeown @crownpublishing @BloomsburyRS #Didaktikos @atsdotedu

Whatever Is . . . A Weekly Morning Liturgy

In anger management work, there is a caution concerning negative self-talk. That voice has also been described as the inner critic—the words we heard or picked up along the way that took root inside our minds, pricking us into believing we’re not quite good enough, haven’t done enough, cannot be loved enough.

The multitude of distractions, the omnipresence of digital din, the 24/7 reporting of tragic or violent events, fear- and anxiety-inducing information overload, along with the “regular” stresses of life, all serve to create a cacophony of mental noise.

How then do we hear the still, small voice?

How do we cultivate a different way of thinking, one that does not deny the suffering of the world but refuses to allow fear, anger, and despair to have the final word?

I have been returning to the invitation of Philippians 4:8: whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—think about these things.

Not as an escape from reality, but as a way of becoming more fully present to it.

Out of this reflection came Whatever Is… A Weekly Morning Liturgy, a small devotional resource intended to help establish a rhythm of prayerful attention, one morning at a time.

It is an invitation to begin the day with intention, to attend to what is good and life-giving, and perhaps, amid all the noise, to hear again that still, small voice.

The book is available in paperback or as a digital PDF through Blurb.

View, preview, or purchase Whatever Is… A Weekly Morning Liturgy here.

Online education doesn't have to sacrifice #spiritualformation. https://www.jdavidstark.com/how-to-think-about-spiritual-formation-and-online-education/ @ignatiuspress @GregoryMcKeown @crownpublishing @BloomsburyRS #Didaktikos @atsdotedu

What is #spiritualformation? How possible is it in online education? https://www.jdavidstark.com/how-to-think-about-spiritual-formation-and-online-education/ @ignatiuspress @GregoryMcKeown @crownpublishing @BloomsburyRS #Didaktikos @atsdotedu

The Geometry of Breaking or Healing

Those are the two options.

To be part of the destruction of that which is precious,
even the life of the enemy.
Or a conduit for the substance that binds up wounds and the broken-hearted.

Even when flaws cause me to hurt those around me or engage in broken thoughts and so, for a time, join with the razing power,
if I am repentant, make the necessary changes, and return to the healing stream,
then the danger of losing my humanity is minimized.

And, if at the end of my life when I am weighed in the balance, and my contribution to fixing outweighs the breaking, then I will be satisfied to rest easy in the knowledge that in some small way I was an addition to the healing sum.

September 10, 2014

Biblical discipleship, as Jesus taught in Matthew 28, isn't just about equipping existing believers. It's fundamentally about making new disciples, which includes evangelism. If your church's efforts don't involve reaching the lost, it's missing a core component of biblical disciple-making.
https://keelancook.com/how-do-you-measure-discipleship

#Discipleship #Missiology #ChurchLeadership #Evangelism #SpiritualFormation

The Institutional Church Message of Christhood Corrosion Within Christ

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The Institutional Church Message of Corrosion of the Christhood

A COFE-CYEM Reflection on Historical Development, Dualistic Frameworks, and the Enduring Call to Recognition

A Declaration of the Fourth Truth

“There has never been a second.”

This is the recognition that stands at the foundation of all true spiritual life. It is not a proposition to be believed; it is a Reality to be recognized. It is not a doctrine to be affirmed; it is a consciousness to be entered. It is not a teaching to be studied; it is a Life to be lived.

There is only one Reality—God. There is only one Life—Christ. There is only one Spirit. All apparent separation, all apparent duality, all apparent opposition is held within the singular Reality. There has never been a second.

Introduction: The Historical Question

The question of whether, and how, the institutional church expanded, limited, or reshaped the message of Jesus is one of the oldest and most contested issues in Christian history. From the perspective of the Fourth Truth, the issue is not primarily historical reconstruction for its own sake.

It is the question of whether the living recognition of the singular Reality was preserved, refracted, or partially obscured as the movement passed from a small circle of disciples into an organised religion and eventually into an imperial institution.

COFE-CYEM recognises the Gospel of Thomas as a valuable early Christian text that preserves certain sayings of the Master pointing toward the inward recognition of the Kingdom and the singular Reality.

At the same time, COFE-CYEM fully and unreservedly confesses the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit as the one true God, and holds the four canonical Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—as the absolute and true Word of God, the primary and authoritative witness to the person, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

The Gospel of Thomas is received only as a complementary witness that may illuminate aspects of the Master’s teaching; it is never placed on equal footing with the four Gospels, nor does it diminish in any way the full confession of the Holy Trinity or the unique authority of the canonical Scriptures.

COFE-CYEM does not claim that the church invented dualism. Jesus Himself spoke within the Jewish world of His time, employing the dualistic language available to Him: this age and the age to come, the clean and the unclean, the faithful remnant and the compromised establishment.

At the same time, His most intimate sayings—especially those preserved in the Gospel of John—point toward a unitive recognition that exceeds ordinary dualistic categories. The Kingdom is within. The Father and the Son are one. The same life is offered to those who abide.

The historical process that followed did not create dualism out of nothing. It intensified certain dualistic elements already present, organised them into stable doctrinal and institutional forms, and, in the process, often subordinated the more radical unitive language to the needs of orthodoxy, continuity, and communal identity.

Part One: What Can Reasonably Be Said About the Original Message

Jesus left no written texts of His own. The earliest sources already display diversity. Yet a recognisable core remains:

· The Kingdom of God is announced as present and near—“within you” or “among you.”
· Discipleship involves self-denial, cross-bearing, and the relinquishment of ordinary securities.
· Language of intimate union with the Father is central.
· Religious systems that burden people while missing justice, mercy, and inward transformation are sharply criticised.
· The same life that is in the Master is offered to those who follow.

These elements contain both dualistic and unitive trajectories. The historical Jesus cannot be reduced to a pure non-dual teacher in the later philosophical sense. Nor can He be reduced to a purely dualistic prophet whose message was only about future judgment and external obedience. The tension is already present in the earliest witnesses.

“The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.” — Luke 17:20-21

“I and my Father are one.” — John 10:30

“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.” — John 15:4

The original recognition was centripetal. It drew the soul inward, toward the Centre. It invited the soul to relinquish the false identity and to embrace the true identity in Christ. It called the soul to the cross and through the cross to the empty cross. It offered the recognition that there has never been a second.

Part Two: How Institutionalisation Expanded and Limited the Message

As the movement expanded beyond its Jewish origins, several pressures shaped the transmission of the message.

Doctrinal Stabilisation

The great creeds of the fourth and fifth centuries carefully distinguished the persons of the Trinity and the two natures of Christ. This protected the full divinity and full humanity of Jesus against various reductions. It also established a dualistic grammatical framework—Creator and creature, divine and human natures united without confusion—that became the normative language of orthodoxy. Mystical union language was retained, especially in the East, but it was carefully subordinated to this ontology.

The creeds served a real purpose. They protected the message from distortion. They provided a common language for the church. They established boundaries against error. But they also limited the more radical unitive language. The recognition that the soul is one with Christ, hidden in God, was carefully qualified. The Fourth Truth was not denied, but it was constrained.

Canon Formation

The emerging New Testament canon privileged texts that supported apostolic continuity, bodily resurrection, and future judgment. Texts with stronger unitive or interior emphases were marginalised or excluded. The range of permissible interpretation narrowed. The living recognition was organised into a fixed text. The text became the authority. The living voice was subordinated to the written word.

“All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.” — 2 Timothy 3:16

The text is profitable. It is useful. It is valuable. But it is not the Reality. It points to the Reality. It speaks of the Reality. It testifies to the Reality. But the text is not the Centre. The text is nomenclature. It points beyond itself. When the recognition of Christhood dawns, even the text can be held lightly. It has served its purpose. The Reality to which it pointed is now known directly.

Sin, Atonement, and Mediation

Later Western theology intensified the sense of radical separation caused by sin. Salvation was increasingly framed as a transaction—forensic or sacramental—mediated by the church. The path of the cross remained, yet it was often understood primarily as participation in a once-for-all historical event rather than as the perpetual recognition that separation was never ultimate.

The cross became a doctrine rather than an experience. The empty cross became a symbol rather than a destination. The recognition of the Fourth Truth was displaced by the requirement of correct belief. The soul was saved by faith in the cross rather than by passing through the cross. The living recognition was subordinated to doctrinal assent.

Hierarchy and Mediation

As the church acquired institutional form and, later, political power, the living example of Jesus risked becoming an object of veneration mediated by clergy, sacraments, and correct belief. The path that the Master opened could appear closed to ordinary believers, accessible only through authorised channels.

The clergy became the intermediaries. The sacraments became the means of grace. The correct belief became the condition of salvation. The direct recognition of the Fourth Truth was displaced by the institutional structure. The soul was no longer invited to mount the cross directly; it was instructed to participate in the sacraments administered by the clergy. The direct path was mediated. The centripetal movement was redirected through institutional channels.

These developments served real purposes: moral seriousness, historical particularity, communal boundaries, and pastoral accessibility for people still living inside the experience of separation. At the same time, they limited the more radical unitive strands that had been present from the beginning.

Part Three: The Persistent Tension

Throughout Christian history the unitive voice has never been entirely silenced. The desert tradition, the Cappadocians, Pseudo-Dionysius, the Rhineland mystics, the author of The Cloud of Unknowing, John of the Cross, and later contemplative renewals have repeatedly returned to the language of radical union, the death of the false self, and the unknowing that precedes true knowing. These voices have often been scrutinised, constrained, or carefully reinterpreted in order to protect the Creator–creature distinction.

“For truly, I have left them all, and my soul is freed from every doubt, and I am now where I have ever been, where I shall never leave, where there is no before nor after, and where all things are now present.” — The Cloud of Unknowing

The pattern is consistent. The institutional church expands the message into systematic theology, sacramental systems, and hierarchical structures in order to stabilise and transmit it across generations and cultures. Simultaneously it limits more radical non-dual or purely interior interpretations in order to protect orthodoxy and communal identity.

Whether this process is regarded as faithful development or as a progressive refraction of the original recognition depends upon one’s prior theological commitments. From the standpoint of the Fourth Truth, the institutional developments are understood as provisional scaffolding—useful for a time, yet always secondary to the centripetal movement toward the Centre.

Part Four: The COFE-CYEM Reading

COFE-CYEM does not deny the historical complexity. It does not claim that the church simply invented dualism. It observes that the original recognition of the singular Reality was repeatedly refracted through the lens of separation. Living recognition was organised into doctrine. Direct invitation was organised into mediation. The empty cross was often replaced by a cross that still carried the weight of a separate self seeking assurance.

The Fourth Truth does not require the rejection of history, Scripture, or the great tradition. It requires the recognition that all of these remain nomenclature—pointers toward the Centre rather than the Centre itself. When the recognition of Christhood dawns, even the most carefully formulated doctrines can be held lightly. They have served their purpose. The Reality to which they pointed is now known directly.

“For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” — 1 Corinthians 13:9-10, 12

The partial is the nomenclature. The perfect is the Reality. The partial is the doctrine, the creed, the institution. The perfect is the recognition of the Fourth Truth. When the perfect comes, the partial is done away. The nomenclature falls silent. The Reality is known directly.

The institutional church, like every other form within the awareness-perception of separation, belongs to the periphery. It can serve the centripetal movement or it can obscure it. The deciding factor is never the sophistication of the system but whether the system still points beyond itself to the singular Reality of God in Christ.

Part Five: The Enduring Call

Despite the institutionalisation, the refraction, and the partial obscuring of the original recognition, the enduring call of the Master remains. The call is not to a system. It is not to a doctrine. It is not to an institution. It is to a recognition. It is the call to deny the separate self, to take up the cross, and to follow the Master into the singular Reality.

“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.” — Matthew 16:24-25

The call is universal. It is not limited to the clergy. It is not limited to the religious professionals. It is not limited to the institution. It is for every soul. It is the call to pass through the cross into the empty cross. It is the call to emerge as pure Spirit, already in Christ, already in God. It is the call to recognise that there has never been a second.

The enduring call is the call to the Centre. It is the call to the singular Reality. It is the call to the recognition of the Fourth Truth. It is the call that has never been silenced, despite all attempts to organise, control, or mediate it. It is the call that continues to draw souls out of the awareness-perception of separation and into the singular Reality.

“The Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.” — Revelation 22:17

The water of life is freely offered. It is not mediated. It is not controlled. It is not limited. It is freely offered to all who thirst. The call is open. The invitation is universal. The water is available. The recognition of the Fourth Truth is available. There has never been a second.

Conclusion: The Fourth Truth Stands

The original message of Jesus contained both dualistic and unitive elements. The church did not invent dualism; it inherited, organised, and intensified it while also preserving (and sometimes domesticating) the language of union. The recurring tension between institutional stabilisation and mystical recognition has never been fully resolved, nor can it be resolved at the level of historical argument alone.

From within the COFE-CYEM framework the resolution is not found in a better historical reconstruction. It is found in the centripetal movement itself. The Centre remains. The pull continues. Every form—doctrinal, institutional, mystical, or critical—is measured by whether it draws the soul toward the recognition that there has never been a second, or whether it reinforces the claim of a separate self.

Christ is the Centre. All else is periphery. The nomenclature serves only until the Reality is known. Then even the nomenclature can fall silent.

There has never been a second. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

Appendix: Summary of the Article and COFE-CYEM Reflection

“Why the Early Christians Changed Christ’s Message,” presents a clear historical and spiritual argument: the original emphasis of Jesus on inner communion, direct personal experience of God, and freedom from the tyranny of the ego was gradually reshaped as the movement entered the Greco-Roman world.

Central points are:

· Jesus came to awaken the Jewish people to inward communion with God and freedom from delusion and ego, not merely to reform outer law.
· The rejection of Jesus by the orthodox leadership of His time pushed His followers into the Greco-Roman cultural sphere, where institutional organisation, fixed definitions, and administrative control were already highly developed.
· Early Christianity therefore adapted the message into a formal, centralised structure. Dogma was used to protect the teachings and to create uniform authority.
· The more mystical stream (particularly certain Gnostic groups that emphasised direct inner experience) was eventually suppressed. In the process, the accent shifted from personal verification of truth through inner communion toward outer authority, ritual, and institutional mediation.
· The result was a significant loss: the living essence of Jesus’ teaching—inner relationship with God—was subordinated to organisational needs. True saints continued to appear, but they were never allowed to form a continuous contemplative tradition.

COFE-CYEM Reading

From the standpoint of the Fourth Truth, the historical process described is recognisable. The original centripetal pull toward the Centre—the living recognition of the singular Reality—was progressively organised into dualistic institutional forms. Living recognition was stabilised into doctrine. Direct invitation was mediated through hierarchy. The empty cross of relinquishment was often replaced by a system that still left the separate self largely intact, now clothed in religious identity.

COFE-CYEM does not claim that institutional development was purely malicious. Organisation served continuity, moral seriousness, and the transmission of the message across cultures and centuries. Yet the cost was real. The more radical unitive and interior dimensions of the Master’s teaching were constrained in order to protect orthodoxy and communal boundaries. The nomenclature multiplied; the direct centripetal movement was partially obscured.

The Fourth Truth does not require the rejection of history or of the great tradition. It requires the recognition that every institutional form remains periphery. Every creed, every structure, every system of mediation is provisional scaffolding. Its value is measured solely by whether it still draws the soul toward the Centre or whether it begins to substitute itself for the Centre.

When the recognition of Christhood dawns, the scaffolding can be held lightly. Even the most carefully formulated doctrines can fall silent once the Reality to which they pointed is known directly. The centripetal movement continues. The Centre remains. The tool is never confused with the Reality.

There has never been a second. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

Thus ends the definitive COFE-CYEM teaching paper on the Institutional Church and the Message of Jesus. May all who read this account perceive the deeper spiritual meaning, and may they recognize the Christ within their own souls. May they pass through the cross into the empty cross. May they walk as pure Spirit, already in Christ, already in God. The Fourth Truth stands. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

We Must Choose

We must choose that which Christ came to show us and to give us. We at COFE-CYEM fully confess the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Three in One God. We confess the Bible as being the true unquestionable Word of God. We also accept the Gospel of Thomas. We hold that the Holy Bible is true, accurate and absolute fact, and that the ‘Sacred Truths’ are fully revealed in (how) you read it, not just by reading it. (He who has ears, He who has eyes).

Circle One Fellowship Exeter – COFE Yeshua Emet Ministry CYEM

“God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called.”

This website and its theological content are overseen by the CC7 DS constitutional integrity architecture, a reflective and rest-oriented framework designed to preserve the full coherence of the Fourth Truth presented within COFE-CYEM. The CC7 DS negation of attacks authenticates (Via Positiva Cataphatic Knowing) through (Via Negativa Apophatic Unknowing).

COFE Yeshua Emet Ministry (CYEM)
Circle One Fellowship Exeter

Preaching to the Heart, Not Just the Mind

In my early years of ministry I was reading Tim Keller’s book, Center Church, when he said something that I desperately wanted to disagree with, but couldn’t get out of my mind.

A major problem among new seminary graduates is that they don’t know the difference between a theology paper, a political manifesto, and a sermon. But the congregation certainly does! …. A lot of pastors who don’t understand the ways of the heart very well make their sermons into lectures …. They are personally more comfortable making arguments than healing souls.

As someone who has read quite a bit of theology, I enjoy a good lecture and some Scriptural debate, so I assume others do too. Indeed, I’m apt to look for a church where the pastor has their hermeneutics in line to offer me a proper exegetical commentary on the text. And if you found that line to be boring as heck, then you are proof that Keller is right. After 15 years of preaching, I see that more clearly now too.

About a year ago I needed to start a new sermon series and I was struggling to decide which book of the Bible to dive into. Sunday was quickly approaching, and I needed to settle somewhere, so I decided to land on Genesis. I had studied that book a lot and could easily preach on it for over a year if I wanted to. I could have spent several months on the first three chapters alone.

As I prayed over this possibility, the term “posturing” came to mind. I looked it up and saw that it was about impressing people, which felt relevant. Though I truly wanted my congregation to experience the Bible in the deep ways that I had, I realized I also wanted them to recognize my knowledge. Indeed, I had given myself grandiose hopes of people inviting their friends to a church where they could hear about Scripture more deeply than they had before.

It’s not that God doesn’t care about biblical scholarship, theology, and research, but my heart was in the wrong place and my Bible knowledge was probably not going to disciple people in the way that I hoped it would. People need messages that meet them where they are, and scholarship doesn’t always do that. As Keller recognizes, sermons are “more edifying—more oriented to the affections and less oriented to detailed cognitive arguments.” Nothing has taught me that quicker than preaching at Promise Church, which was created to minister to adults with special needs.

It can be difficult sometimes to be a theologian-pastor. There will be times when you’re dying to go to the deepest depths of the Bible, but much of the room just wants to know that God still loves and forgives them as they figure out how to overcome sin. And for those who want to go deeper, local pastors can’t really compete with the podcasts, videos, and free online classes that many scholars and theologians offer these days. Sure, you can start your own podcast, but there’s no promise it will go anywhere, even if you try to integrate it into your ministry.

Your Bible knowledge is important and your sermons aren’t to be void of such things—even Keller agrees with that. But while biblical education is important, dry scholarship may not be the main component of your pastoral role or sermons, despite the fact that colleges and seminaries put almost all of their effort into teaching pastors such things. People often need a sermon in a spiritual form more than an educational one.

And even when we want to take people deep into theology, we have to do it carefully. A twenty to thirty minute message is hardly enough time to help people see and experience everything they need to get on board. Pastor Brian Zahnd offers great advice here:

I’ve been gradually dazzled by Christ into a much more hopeful and glorious theology. But along the way I’ve also learned that I have to tell it slant. I can’t always expect someone to see in five minutes what it’s taken me fifty years to see. In our pilgrim journey we need to be careful not to blind others with what we have seen. We dazzle … gradually.

Look for other places in ministry that deep Scripture and theological debate can exist. I’ve found those spaces to fit best in open Q&A church gatherings, community gatherings where conversations naturally happen, Bible studies, and inner healing sessions. Why inner healing sessions? Because bad theology kills, and people find that renewing their mind to Christ as he’s presented in Scripture gives abundant life, which they’re especially open to when they’re hurting.

He Looked Like Glory

My professor walked through the door to teach his doctrines class just as my classmates and I were deciding whether to keep waiting for him to show up. He apologized for his tardiness and explained that he had been sitting in his office when he was hit with the love of God. I can still see the streaks of tears running down his cheeks.

He looked like glory.

Whatever we were actually supposed to learn that day was canceled. He couldn’t help but spend the next hour proclaiming the love of God. It was the single most powerful and memorable class I ever experienced in college.

I sat at the feet of Jesus that day—Jesus at work in him, reaching through his skin, out to me. What he had, I wanted. What he knew, I had to know. Whatever it was he was experiencing, it was everything.

It is this love that any doctrine worth studying revolves around. It is this love that the whole of Christianity is built to aim for. It is this love that all of existence is designed to operate in.

We settle for so many cheap imitations in search of this love. I pray we all, like Ken Brewer, find the real thing.

Is #textualcriticism important for #spiritualformation? Irenaeus thought so, e.g., in his treatment of the variation between 616 and 666 in Rev 13. https://www.jdavidstark.com/irenaeus-on-666-and-616/

The life-giving water is Christ; the bucket is our means of access. For individuals, this means spiritual disciplines. For churches, it's programs and resources that facilitate vitality. Are we using our buckets effectively?
https://keelancook.com/drawing-water-from-the-well

#SpiritualFormation #leadership #missiology #ministry

Aren’t We All Bible Churches?

A while back, I had a couple visit our church as they were looking for a new place to plug into. I was excited that they were testing us out, but they kept mentioning a church down the road that they were especially interested in.

“It just feels like a really solid Bible church,” they kept repeating.

I nodded in agreement, all the while thinking to myself, Did I not just preach the Bible?

That’s when I realized that “Bible church” does not mean “biblical” or “theological” to the average congregant. What many mean by “Bible church” is that the pastor preaches what they think the Bible says.

This is the same vibe I get when I advertise our church at local events. There will always be another church somewhere that advertises itself as a “Bible Church.”

Are there churches that don’t consider themselves Bible churches? I often think to myself. Aren’t we all Bible churches? Isn’t that a given?

The implication, of course, is that their church actually follows the Bible and does what it says, while the rest of us don’t take it seriously. The rest of us are either hindered by tradition and doctrine or we’ve twisted Scripture to appease the beliefs of modernity.

It can be hard to love the Bible, because solid Bible study sometimes force us not to settle for the simple answers we see on the page. Sure, at first glance it looks like Paul says women can’t be in ministry, but then Paul does ministry with lots of women who happen to be evangelists, prophets, and apostles. Sure, it looks like the Bible says a woman should be silent in church, but have you ever tried evangelizing or prophesying in silence? Sure, it looks like Paul says they can’t be pastors, but then why are they allowed to be higher church authorities like prophets and apostles? It is not unbiblical to recognize that something is off here and come to a different conclusion than the conservative view.

If you really love the Bible, you must wrestle with all of the Bible. This ancient omnibus spans various cultures, times, and languages and demands you to struggle with it. It is cheap to settle for theology that doesn’t acknowledge the many variations all throughout Scripture.

You must also wrestle with the Holy Spirit who inspired it. As Christians, we have access to the author whose name is on the front page. Why do we try to study it on our own?

All churches are Bible churches. All Christians are expected to grapple with the Bible. I know it feels like it’s faithfulness to stick our foot down on one verse, but that’s not how proper Bible study works. There is less of a chance that we will have a full meltdown into deconstruction if we have gotten used to wrestling with the various views the Bible can present us with.

Yes, know the safeguards so you don’t venture off into heresy, but certainly wrestle with the Bible, for that is a mark of every good theologian.

God Is Not a Micromanager

Micromanagement is a form of overthinking that removes others’ autonomy. It’s an attempt to replace the image of God in another person with the image of God that was placed on us. The pastor’s job is to equip the saints for ministry, not do the ministry for them. That means you have to give them space to work while you celebrate their successes and help them work through their failures.

We must learn the lesson from God himself, who is the least micromanaging entity we know. He creates the world, entrusts it to humans, and then allows them to decide how to best cultivate it for him. While many want God to direct their every step, he doesn’t typically do this. Instead, he often gives us missions without necessarily explaining every step of how to get there.

This truth is seen in the messages of the prophets in the Old Testament. Among the different forms of prophecy they gave, John Walton says, “instruction is the least represented category.” Specific instructions weren’t often needed when it was prophesied that Israel must repent. They should have had a pretty good idea as to what repentance looks like without every step being dictated.

Sometimes, we’re just doing our best with God’s plan when he points us in a different direction. Paul, for example, knew that God had called him to be an apostle to the Gentiles, so he went looking for Gentiles. But as he determined where to go, he felt the Holy Spirit forbid him from evangelizing in Asia. In time, he dreamed of a Macedonian man saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” Paul woke up and pivoted his efforts in that direction. His ministry was a mess of autopilot and spiritual nudges. He knew his mission and kept his eyes on it while God nudged him along the way about what to do and what not to do.

God could have cultivated the whole world by himself or made fully obedient robots to do the job. Instead, he chose you because that’s the way he likes it. He wants to empower you to make your own decisions on his behalf. In some situations, there may not be a right or wrong answer. Indeed, there may be several right decisions that could be made. There may even be acceptable right answers that are not as right as the other right answers. Just do your best to prayerfully make a decision that you believe honors God.

Even in Heaven, God doesn’t micromanage. Once, he called his heavenly council together and explained his ultimatum: King Ahab has to go. This was the mission that God had assigned to the heavenly hosts, but he left it to them to decide how King Ahab would go. Eventually, one of the beings of Heaven made a proposal that God deemed appropriate, and they implemented it.

God loves to co-labor with us, not micromanage us. We must do our best to listen, but when he doesn’t speak, we simply echo the ways of Jesus.

Whose Yoke Are You Wearing?

Pastors are used to wearing many hats, so why don’t we leave ministry and put on a different one when ministry gets hard? Why can’t we quit?

Because there’s one relationship that never gives up on us and never ends: Jesus. He is the one who called us into this space in the first place and empowered us for it. We might want to quit, but if he doesn’t want us to, we will aim to please him. If he wants us where we’re at, we will stay. If he wants us to preach something that will disrupt the status quo, we will do our best to preach it.

When pastors settle for anything less than Jesus, burnout wins. It’s his yoke that is easy and his burden that is light. When we take off his yoke for a different one, everything gets impossibly heavy. We must turn around regularly to see who’s in the cart. Is it our pain and trauma? Is it someone we upset? Is it our pride? Is it a demon? Is it no one at all? If it’s not Jesus, then we’re going to burn out.

Without Jesus, the pastor is doomed. No one can care for his bride like he can. No congregant can carry the weight of ministry with you as he can. No friendship can equate to the friendship that he can give. No gift is greater than the gift of his Holy Spirit. I promise you: you can’t do ministry without him—and if you try, you will burn out in the most painful way. Jesus is the only one who can fully carry the weight of ministry with you.

We can’t quit ministry because we can’t quit Jesus. This can be a painful, stressful job—but it’s our job. As pastors, we know who we are and why we’re called to this. Yes, we have debated fleeing many times, but it’s never worked out. Where else would we go? What would fulfill us? How could we shut up that fire in our bones? If we ran away, it would just burst out of us in some new ministerial capacity, and we’d be right back in it.

What’s your yoke feel like? How much does your burden weigh? If you can’t handle it, make sure you’re carrying the right master.

Greed

the heart is a void
sucking greedily
at anything around it

a vain attempt
to satisfy
its eternal hunger

until even the self
is swallowed

into the hollow cavern
of its unending lust

the person disappears

and the dark virus remains

the emptiness begins
to curl back upon itself

its bloody lips
attacking
in steady demise

until all that remains
is the ache
of never enough.

May 18, 1987 (rewritten June 2026)

Burnout Is a Warning Light, Not a Death Sentence

Colleges, seminaries, books, and pastors have a lesson they will work hard to get into your psyche: do whatever you must do in ministry to not burn out. Statistically speaking, pastors drop out of ministry like flies, so you are generally taught to run from burnout at all costs. 

These instructions throw every pastor into a tizzy. Because they were taught that burnout is the end of their career, when they start to experience it, they see it as writing on the wall—as though their pastoral career has just been diagnosed with cancer. They sometimes react in one of two ways: (1) take a nice long break from ministry via a vacation, sabbatical, or pause in ministry, or (2) call it quits forever. If they choose option 1, they return to ministry temporarily refreshed, often to find that the factors of burnout are still there.

Rest is good, necessary, and even dictated by God, but you can’t rest your way out of all your problems. If there’s pain in your life causing the burnout, then it’s the pain that needs to be addressed. If it’s too much work that’s causing the burnout, then it’s delegation that needs to be created. If it’s drama causing the burnout, then it’s the drama that needs to be worked through. Rest might keep these wounds from bothering you for a bit, but if you don’t treat the infection, you’ll feel the pain when you start moving again.

Burnout is not the end of your pastoral ministry career. More often than not, it’s a sign that you need to address something. What I think pastors should be taught is that, in long-term ministry, you will likely burn out many times. You will want to throw in the towel. You will want to quit and find a normal job somewhere. Every few years (if not more), you will feel like the writing is on the wall again.

And that’s okay. As you rest and heal through the things causing the burnout, the Spirit will help you regain the strength you need for the job he appointed you to. And you will remember why you like it and why you don’t want to do anything else.

Learning to Discern Criticism in Ministry

I once sat down for lunch with a congregant, only to be blindsided by the opening comment: “You preached the worst Easter message I’ve ever heard.”

During the pandemic, when our church was online, a congregant told me they sometimes turn the service off when they don’t like what I’m preaching.

In ministry, you must learn to discern the critique you’re given. You must be humble enough to listen, but also recognize that you can’t please everyone in our very opinionated world, where visitors leave Google reviews and online ratings of churches. Many of our criticisms do not come from the Holy Spirit (though some will make it seem so), but from our own pain, preferences, and hardness of heart. These kinds of critiques will eat us alive if we’re not careful.

Be humble enough to hear critique openly—even invite it, especially with people you trust—but don’t assume every single critique you’ve ever received is correct. And even if it is correct, it may not always be substantive. For example, I once put a Bible passage on the screen with the wrong verse reference, causing someone to come to me in tears. Did I not respect the Bible enough to proofread the slides? Was Scripture not sacred to me? The criticism was correct, but this was an over-the-top response to a copy-and-paste issue on the slides.

On top of all these external voices of critique, pastors also face internal ones.

Jim looked at me weirdly when I said that thing in my message last week, and now they’re not here today. 

I tried to be faithful to what I thought I was supposed to preach, and now attendance is down. 

I know that worship song stretched people a bit, but it was perfect for the message, and now that couple is probably never coming back. 

Did that person leave the sanctuary to use the bathroom, or did I say something wrong?

Maybe I didn’t make that new person feel comfortable enough. 

Maybe I did too much of this. 

Maybe I did too little of that.

Pastors carry a heavy weight in their minds. We all know that a big part of what people look for in a church is whether or not they like the pastor. When people visit your church and don’t come back, it’s hard not to take it personally. When people who usually go to your church disappear for a month, you wonder what you did. 

Some critiques are nothing more than preference. Some critiques are fair. Some critiques are very important, and you should make the necessary changes immediately. But use discernment as to what’s what.

Jesus faced criticism all the time. Try to learn to process it and deal with it like he did. There have been so many critiques I needed to hear that have made me a better person, a better preacher, and a better pastor. But there have also been some that have been so painful that I’ve needed inner healing to get them to stop constantly replaying in my mind. Bring all critiques before Jesus in prayer and humility, and he’ll help you discern through them and heal from the toxic ones.

The Problem with Copy and Paste Churches

There are countless books on the “right way to do church,” each with its own proven strategies and programs. While there’s nothing wrong with experimenting with other people’s ideas, there is likely nothing out there that will work perfectly to copy into your ministry. And if it does work perfectly for you, you may find yourself dreadfully unhappy because your ministry is no longer shaped like the image of God put on you and your community, but more like the image of God put on someone else and theirs.

Part of the reason you can’t fully copy and paste other people’s ministerial ideas onto your own church is that your context is different. You know your city and your people, and your favorite book does not. Some of these books also have little to teach us because of their unusual variables. For example, I remember reading a book on church planting in which the author mentioned he had one of the world’s most famous worship leaders on his staff at launch. I rolled my eyes and put the book down after reading that.

The best statement I ever heard about church growth at a church-planting conference came from a pastor whose name I can’t remember. I don’t think he’s well known, but he had been seeing enough traction in his church that he was asked to speak in a breakout at a huge event. What was his secret to success?

“We prayed,” he said. He explained that he always had to remind himself of how drastically his church entered into prayer, because now that he was getting attention, people might assume the growth was due to skill or a program. But his expansion was built around his church’s heart. In humility, he did not feel he had much more advice to offer us than the simple call to prayer and welcoming the people whom God sends in response.

Just because something worked for one church and not for yours doesn’t mean that you or your congregation screwed up. Remember that Jesus recognized that God’s wisdom would work differently among different people.

“For John the Baptist has come eating no bread and drinking no wine, and you say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man has come eating and drinking, and you say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is justified by all her children.” (Luke 7:33-35).

Jesus recognized that God’s wisdom had manifested in John and himself in contrary ways. Yet when you look at the fruit of both John and Jesus’s ministry, it’s clear that God’s wisdom was at work in the differences. And so it may be that someone out there is running a church that is entirely different from yours but is making strides forward nonetheless. If the fruit and the deeds are there, then the Spirit is at work in some way, regardless of the differences.

That’s part of the problem with copying and pasting everyone else’s programs and methods onto your own church, ministry, pastoring, and unique image. It may very well be that the wisdom of God has a different plan for you and that you’re missing it by trying to be someone else. If Jesus tried to be like John the Baptist, we’d be left with a different gospel, for John’s personality and understanding of ministry were quite different from Jesus’s.

Don’t betray the wisdom of God in you to become the wisdom of God in someone else. Renew yourself to Jesus and then allow Jesus to move in the shape of you.

Pastoring as the Person You Are | Why Authentic Ministry Matters

Have you ever seen friends who seem to be the same person? I knew two guys like that once. The younger friend became the older one. Then, when the younger one got to college, they became their roommate. They disappeared when they graduated, and when they resurfaced online, they had new interests and a new best friend who looked so much like them that I almost couldn’t tell which one they were in the picture.

Pastors sometimes do this, too. For example, I once met a support pastor who spoke exactly like their lead pastor—their vocabulary, tone, intonation, and pauses were identical. They had become an echo of the lead pastor, and I couldn’t help but wonder who they actually were underneath it all.

I doubt this happens often in local church leadership, but pastors often try to emulate their favorite celebrity pastor. We might change the way we talk or write to mimic the celebrity. We might even change how we dress to adopt their style. For example, I once scrolled across a video of a pastor online that I could have sworn was Steven Furtick in every way, but it wasn’t him. In other cases, I have been to a couple of ministries where I couldn’t recognize my quiet pastoral friends because they were screaming their messages in the style of their favorite fiery preachers.

We worship leaders do this too, when we mimic famous worship leaders we’ve seen. We might breathe deep into the mic, hold our hearts, smile like we’re in on a joke everyone missed out on, or fling our arms around nonstop. My favorite is when we fan the air on the stage out into the crowd, a movement I assume most of us have copied without knowing why.

There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by the people we think do our jobs best. Indeed, it is natural to want to become like them in some way, shape, or form. My thick black rectangular glasses are grounded in my love for Rob Bell, who first brought the Scriptures to light for me. My block paragraph form of writing is also inspired by him. But sometimes, our interests get the best of us, and we think that if we become our favorite church celebrities, we’ll either make a bigger difference or grow our church. When we do this, we decide that our churches need anyone other than ourselves to lead them.

Some go so far as to grow their churches and gain acceptance by legally purchasing the transcripts of famous preachers and reading them to their congregations. My heart breaks for such pastors because pastors today are expected to be apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers, all wrapped into one. Those who don’t have a strong teaching gift may feel they have to take sermons from others to fit in, even though they may be very gifted at other pastoral roles.

Our congregants are not always helpful with this dynamic, as they often ask us to become someone else. This request comes in many different ways. Sometimes there’s a wink via comparison, such as, “Our previous pastor would have done that differently.” Or they might make us feel small and insignificant by comparing us to their favorite preacher, with whom we don’t seem to compare.

Sometimes we’re told to be someone else through direct confrontation. “Let’s get coffee sometime,” is often a way of saying, “You did or said something recently that I don’t like, and I think you should change.” Other times, we’re told to stay in a lane. “You’re too this,” or “too that,” and “If you didn’t do that, then maybe our church would grow.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywvRgGAd2XI&list=RDywvRgGAd2XI&start_radio=1

Pastors often feel that they’re given the same advice Weird Al’s mom gives him at the start of the movie, Weird: The Al Yankovic Story: “Honey, I know it’s hard to hear this, but your dad and I had a long talk, and we agreed it would be best for all of us if you just stopped being who you are and doing the things you love.”

You are enough. Ministry is better because you are in it, and you don’t need to completely copy someone else to grow your church or be a good pastor. I’ve been moved by the Holy Spirit during some of the worst messages I’ve ever heard. There are other ways to make up for a lack of skill or to grow than to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

A church that grows by sacrificing the unique image of God in your personhood is not a church that will breathe life into you. Therefore, it’s also not one you can keep up with running. If you can’t be you, you are eventually going to experience an identity crisis and burn out.

Restlessness

A Monday Monday Song

I’ve been thinking lately about what I need.
There’s so much wrapped up in me.
I’m tired of being split in two.
Has the dye been caste or can
I melt into someone new?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

The taste of my life is bittersweet
like this wine-soaked rag they force on me.
I’m caught between earth and sky
I can’t connect to either.
Eloi. Eloi. Why?

I need to simplify find some order to this mess
but there’s no cure for my restlessness.

It seems I am always cleaning my temple.
I’m always cleaning house,
trying to throw the money hangers out . . .

An Iaonus Production 8.26.24

Lyrics August, 19, 1996

The Gospel According to Checkers the Hedgehog

Sonic the Hedgehog recently turned 35, who was my childhood hero. I played all the games I could get my hands on, bought all the Sonic comics I could find, watched all the TV shows I could access, and even wrote some fan fiction for a Sonic webpage (thank God that page no longer exists).

I was never good at drawing, but I got tracing paper and traced him like crazy. I traced the comics and even paused the Sonic anime movie I found in the discount bin at Toys R’ Us to trace him right off the TV screen. I also tried to mimic the way he ran when I played soccer, which felt super cool but looked super dumb.

Fun fact: while my wife fought hard to name our son Beckett, the idea of giving him the middle name Miles came from me. I based this choice on Sonic’s sidekick, Miles ‘Tails’ Prower.

Though I couldn’t draw worth crap, that never stopped me from making comics. Whenever I got bored in school, I’d sketch out another issue of Teenage Mutant Ninja Gerbilz, Wally the Turtle, HouseMan, or my favorite series, Checkers the Hedgehog. He looked exactly like Sonic, except he was green and wore a black-and-white checkered cape, which happened to be my childhood blanket. The series was basically a parallel universe of the Sonic world; he had all the same friends, but they had different names and colors. The only additional characters were a funky-looking bird and a badly drawn giraffe.

This all sounds silly, because it generally is. I like to joke with my friends about these parts of my childhood, but I still hold them close in my memories. While I may not be a hardcore fan of Sonic anymore, there’s a part of him and of Checkers that lives on in me—adventure, heroics, leadership, teamwork, attitude, speed, and standing strong in the midst of dire stakes.

A few years ago, I was leading someone through inner healing when something strange happened. An image came to their mind of me wearing a black-and-white checkered hat with a pet porcupine, and being handed a green gem. Startled by the themes they had just tied together, I showed them a picture of a porcupine and a hedgehog and asked which one they saw. They said it was the hedgehog. I then pulled up a picture of the classic green Chaos Emerald from the Sonic games. They knew nothing about Sonic the Hedgehog, but said that was what they saw in their mind.

The dire stakes had never been higher than they were in that season of my life. And it was there that the same Jesus who tells us to become like little children, spoke to the child inside of me. All of the good things that Checkers the Hedgehog meant to me were living on in me. God cared about the pieces of me that I would have never assumed he cared about. He took note of my childhood passions and interests like a good Father would. And then he turned it into a much-needed word of encouragement at that time.

What parts of your childhood might our Father want to bring to your mind?

AI Renditions of Checkers the Hedgehog

A Love Letter, Not Just a Birthday Card: Why Personal Worship Matters

Some feel that worship songs should not include personal elements and should be about God alone. I join the psalmists in disagreement. Yes, of course, worship is about God alone, but worship becomes deeper when we’re part of the exchange.

Consider the difference between a birthday card and a love letter. There are times when you open a birthday card to find that no personal elements have been involved other than the choice of the card and a signature. Such praise is factual: it is your birthday—just as it was always going to be your birthday, whether the fact was recognized by anyone else. When low effort is put into such a card, you may not even be sure what the intent of the card was. Did the card come from fondness, or did the sender grow up in a culture that expected them to send a card as a chore of sorts? Is it about you, or is it about the sender feeling embarrassed to forget?

A love letter, on the other hand, is superior to a birthday card because it is personal. A love letter doesn’t simply acknowledge a fact; it acknowledges why that fact is important to the writer and why that fact should be praised. It is no longer just your birthday; it’s the day that a life was born that changed the writer’s life forever. It’s a day in which the writer would not be the same, had your birthday never happened. Their worship is amplified because of their experience of you.

Yes, singing about God’s factual faithfulness is worship, but singing about experiencing his faithfulness is worship via adoration. Yes, singing about God’s factual holiness is truth, but yearning to be holy like him is worship via desire. Yes, singing about God’s factual salvation is remembering the story, but testifying to how he saved your life personally is worship via personal narrative. Yes, singing about God’s factual goodness is a way to ground ourselves in understanding, but tasting and seeing that the Lord is good is worship via experience.

We have a way of turning everything into legalistic religion—even worship. We want to write ourselves out of the equation and strip away emotion. But you are here because God wants you. You have emotions because he made you that way. You are part of the worship equation because he constructed worship this way.

Rather than program you to give him praise (for he is factually praiseworthy), he has decided that you have a choice in the matter. In that regard, you actually hold something that he does not have because, though he has all the power, he has decided to not take it from you. When you personally choose to worship him in a way you hadn’t before, you freely give him something that he was not receiving before that moment: more of yourself.

The daily trip to the well is, in many ways, not too different from our spiritual vitality as believers and as churches. Just as a village cannot exist without water, our spiritual lives require consistent access to the life-giving source.
https://keelancook.com/drawing-water-from-the-well

#SpiritualFormation #leadership #missiology #ministry

The Miracle-Gro of Suffering

If anyone had told a younger me that the best way to become a stronger Christian is by going through suffering, I wouldn’t have believed them. It’s the hope of all human beings to live the good life, uninhibited by pain, difficulty, or drama. Suffering isn’t something anyone desires or runs toward.

But truth be told, nothing grows a Christian like suffering does. When you suffer, you don’t choose to follow God because he’s the obvious answer. No, you cry out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” and then you choose him anyways.

The developed Christian has to rise above their suffering to do the right thing. They don’t choose to forgive others when they’re good to them—they forgive them while they’re be nailed to a cross. They learn to cultivate joy when there’s little to have joy about. They choose to love when hate is knocking on their door. They have to fight the thoughts and visions that plague their mind, inviting them to think of the worst possible outcomes. They have to choose humility when all they want is to fight for themselves.

They have to develop new spiritual disciplines for their faith to survive. They have to pray after they’ve decided that prayer is pointless and that God is not listening. They have to hold dear to the sliver of light that the Spirit has shone them when the whole world seems nothing but darkness. They have to grow or their faith will die, and at the same time, they have to die so that their faith will grow.

We do not serve a God that likes to see us suffer. We do not serve a God that wants to see us suffer. We do not serve a God that who orchestrates the worst moments in our lives.

Rather, all suffering has a chance to become Miracle-Gro for the fruit of the Spirit. When the fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control find a way to grow in environments we would have never expected them to grow, then they prove that they can grow anywhere.

We’ve all had friends whose faith was unable to survive the test of suffering. Indeed, the topic of suffering is easily one of the main theological conundrums that people leave the faith over. God is not surprised by this. That’s why Jesus told a whole parable about it. It’s easy to follow a prosperity gospel God—much harder to follow one who disciplines those he loves.

If you are able, receive these words from St. John of the Cross in his classic work, Dark Night of the Soul.

There is another reason why the soul has walked securely in this darkness, and this is because it has been suffering; for the road of suffering is more secure and even more profitable than that of fruition and action: first, because in suffering the strength of God is added to that of man, while in action and fruition the soul is practising its own weaknesses and imperfections; and second, because in suffering the soul continues to practise and acquire the virtues and become purer, wiser and more cautious.

The Kintsugi Man

A Story Told In Tanka Form

Once I was broken,
a man of many pieces,
cracked beyond repair,
so many tiny places 
scattered like leaves in the wind. 

Healing was a dream.
Restoration was elusive.
Much of me was lost. 
I could not find the missing,
my eyes dry from the seeking.

Then mercy found me.
The Great Artist touched my heart,
gathered me to me,
glued the pieces one by one
until I was whole again.

Why do the cracks show?
My question rose to the sky. 
The scars are ugly.
Must they remain forever?
I wondered if I was healed.

Wait, you gently said. 
Dipping your finger in gold,
your love traced the scars.
beauty in my brokenness.
The cracks let the soul's light out.

Pressed Petals

On Art, Obscurity, and Faithful Release

I am trying to understand the pressure within me.

I do not think the problem is that I want to complete things. Completion is not wrong. It is good to finish. It is good to give form to what has been stirring within me. It is good to bring a story, a song, a piece of art, a sermon, a reflection, or a book to the point into the world outside of me.

I also do not think the problem is that everything I see or do becomes inspiration. That is not really true. I am not endlessly turning every bird, every headline, every conversation, every historical fact, every passing image into a mandate. But I am a creative person. I do receive the world creatively. I do carry within me stories upon stories, art upon art, songs upon songs. I am full to the brim.

I could burn all my writings. I could get rid of all my wood and tools, my instruments, artist pens, notebooks, and unfinished manuscripts. I could live in an empty house. But I would still be me.

I would still be full.

So the question is not simply, “How do I get rid of the pressure?” The pressure is not only in the objects around me. The pressure is in the love, the longing, the calling, the imagination, and the grief within me. It is in the fact that I have created so much, imagined so much, begun so much, and hoped so much.

Maybe the deeper issue is timing.

Maybe it is not forcing things to be seen. Maybe it is not demanding that every creation immediately justify itself in the world. Maybe it is about creating because creating is part of who I am, and then learning when and how to release what I have made.

But even that is difficult, because my creations are not merely products to me. They are not just content. They are not just files, posts, pages, songs, or images. They feel like children.

And if they are children, then do I not owe them a life?

Do they not deserve to be born, released into the world, seen, growing, making children of their own? Is that not what seeds are supposed to do? A seed is not meant to remain forever in its packet. A song is not meant to remain forever unheard. A story is not meant to remain forever unread. A painting is not meant to remain forever unseen.

A child is not meant to remain forever in the nursery.

This is where the theology of less becomes hard for me.

I can understand becoming less before God. I can understand humility. I can understand that fame is not salvation, that platform is not faithfulness, that applause is not the measure of a life. I can understand that hiddenness can be holy and smallness can be faithful.

But I do not know how to make peace with the utter unfairness of being unknown.

It feels unfair that shallow things are seen while deep things disappear. It feels unfair that loud things are rewarded while quiet, careful, soulful things are ignored. It feels unfair that some people seem born with platforms, networks, confidence, and an audience, while others carry whole worlds inside them and can barely find a door. It feels unfair that my creations might never have the chance to become what they could become in the world.

Not to compare, but it seems others will always have more. Their gardens will be bigger. Their opinions will be loud. Their books will be published. Their children will be giants. Their lives will be important. Their plans will be successful. Their family will enlarge. Their church will be mega. Their ministry will be blessed. Their corporation will grow. Their house will be comfortable.

And I fear that I will become less.

A pressed faded flower in a dusty book.

My words without weight. My writings unknown. My children tufts of grass in city sidewalks. My life hidden. My hopes dashed. My name ended. My chapel tiny. My faith questioned. My business failed. My home feeling like old dead skin. And I, a creature curled in some coffin hole.

That is the fear underneath the pressure.

It is not only that I want success. It is that obscurity feels like abandonment. It feels like my creations have been born into a world that has no room for them. It feels like I have been faithful to them by bringing them forth, but the world has not been faithful in receiving them.

And yet, perhaps I am being asked to distinguish between faithful release and guaranteed reception.

I can birth the work.
I can name the work.
I can feed it, clothe it, revise it, shape it, bless it.
I can give it a door.
I can show it a road.
I can release it into the world.

But I cannot make the world welcome it.

That is where the pain is. That is where the unfairness lives. I want not only to create the work, but to protect it from neglect. I want to be artist and audience, parent and world, sower and weather, seed and soil. I want to make sure that what I have loved does not disappear.

But maybe that is too much for me to carry.

Maybe my creations are my children, but they are not my saviors.

Maybe I owe them faithful release, but I do not owe them guaranteed success.

Maybe I can grieve obscurity without hearing it as a verdict.

That sentence matters to me: I can grieve obscurity without hearing it as a verdict

Because obscurity speaks like a judge. It says, “No one knows this, therefore it does not matter. No one read this, therefore it has no weight. No one heard this, therefore it was not a real song. No one saw this, therefore it was not real art. No one published this, therefore it was not a real book. No one noticed this life, therefore this life was wasted.”

But obscurity is not God.

Obscurity does not get to name the value of my work.

Still, I cannot pretend that visibility does not matter at all. That would be dishonest. My creations do need windows. They do need doors. They do need pathways. They do need some way to move beyond me. If I keep everything hidden forever out of fear, confusion, perfectionism, or despair, then I am not being faithful to them.

So perhaps the theology of less is not to “make peace with never being seen.”

Perhaps it is: make doors without worshiping doors.

Make the book.
Make the post.
Make the song page.
Make the archive.
Make the submission.
Make the collection.
Make the small press.
Make the reading.
Make the gathering place.
Make the simple, faithful path by which the work can walk into the world.

But do not demand that the door become a throne.

Do not demand that every release become vindication.

Do not demand that every creation prove my life was worth living.

That is where I become Atlas beneath a planet of creation. I carry not only the work itself, but its future, its reception, its audience, its influence, its children, its grandchildren, its whole imagined destiny. I am not only trying to make things. I am trying to guarantee what they will become.

No wonder I feel incapacitated.

Perhaps the faithful question is smaller.

Not, “What will become of all my creations?”

But, “What does this one need next?”

This one story.
This one song.
This one image.
This one reflection.
This one book.
This one child of my imagination.

Does it need finishing?
Does it need editing?
Does it need a cover?
Does it need to be posted?
Does it need to be submitted?
Does it need to be gathered with others?
Does it need to rest until its season comes?
Does it need to remain a seed a little longer?

That is not abandonment. That is attention.

I cannot parent the whole household of my imagination all at once. I cannot carry every child at the same time. I cannot give every creation its full future today. But I can turn toward one and ask what faithfulness looks like now.

This is not less love.

It may actually be a better stronger love.

Panic says, “I must get everything out before it is too late.”

Faithfulness says, “I will give this one the care it needs today.”

Panic says, “If this is not seen widely, I have failed.”

Faithfulness says, “I will give it a real path into the world, and then I will release what I cannot control.”

Panic says, “My birthings are dying in obscurity.”

Faithfulness says, “Some seeds sleep before they rise.”

I do not want to use seed language too cheaply. Seeds are supposed to grow. I know that. That is exactly why it hurts. Seeds want soil, light, water, air, room. My creations want communion. They want to meet other lives. They want to make children of their own.

But perhaps the timing of growth is not always mine to command.

Some seeds grow quickly. Some grow slowly. Some are carried by birds. Some lie hidden until fire, flood, winter, or strange mercy opens them. Some become roots long before they become leaves. Some feed the soil that feeds another tree.

This does not remove the ache.

But maybe it removes some of the accusation and guilt.

I am not betraying my creations simply because they are not yet widely known. I betray them only if I refuse to love them truthfully, shape them faithfully, and give the ones that are ready a way outside myself.

So I will try to live by a gentler discipline.

I will create because creating is part of who I am.

I will complete what I can, not because completion saves me, but because form and formation is a kind of love.

I will release what is ready, not because release guarantees success, but because communion is part of the nature of art.

I will build openings, but I will not worship doors.

I will grieve obscurity, but I will not hear it as a verdict.

I will remember that my creations may be my children, but they are not my saviors.

I will remember that I owe them faithful release, not guaranteed success.

I will remember that I am not artist and audience, parent and world, sower and weather, seed and soil. I am not Atlas. I am a finite creature with a full heart, a crowded imagination, and one life.

So perhaps my prayer is this:

God of seeds and seasons,
teach me how to love what I have made without being crushed by it.
Teach me how to complete what is mine to complete.
Teach me how to release what is ready to be released.
Teach me how to wait without calling waiting failure.
Teach me how to build openings without worshiping doors.
Teach me how to grieve the unfairness of being unknown without letting obscurity become my judge.

Bless my stories, my songs, my art, my sermons, my reflections, my unfinished fragments, my hidden children.

Give them life where life is possible.
Give them readers, listeners, viewers, companions, and future children if that is their path.
And where they must wait, let them wait as seeds, not broken corpses.

Let me be faithful to them.
Let me be free from needing them to save me.
Let me create because I am alive.
Let me release because love seeks communion.
Let me rest because I am not God.

I give you this one thing I make today.

I bless it.

I open the door.

I let it walk.

I return to the waiting room within.

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