Trailhead Church Blog

A story about seeing: Gospel of John Series

Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:43:34 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

He had sat on the street outside the synagogue for years, asking for a handout.

Asking for help, really.

He had never seriously thought about going inside, because he was outside and it wasn’t easy for him to go to new places.

Besides, he had never been invited inside, and that's how it usually works. You get invited in. Invited into a home, a country, a garden, a debate. You get invited, otherwise you are trespassing.

Since he had not been invited in, he had remained out.

Most people ignored him, he could tell. If they walked by, they stopped talking or spoke in a hushed whisper. Sure, he was blind, had been since before he could remember, but he could hear them. He knew they were there. He knew they were looking at him while trying to look like they weren’t. But he knew.

He was blind, not stupid.

Funny how that correlation was often made. He’s blind; he must be dumb.

He wasn’t. Not even close.

Sometimes his wit did him no favors, like when people spoke in a hush when they walked by, and he would join their conversation. Usually with something snarky.

That got him cursed at more than a few times. And once the dam was broken, people could say some nasty things. About him, about his mom, about anything and everything that they knew nothing about. Stuff just came out.

He knew how this worked because he was the same way. Once they insulted him, or especially when they insulted his family, game on.

He didn’t get many return customers.

But one guy wasn’t scared off.

That guy had been walking in a group, and he could hear their discussion.

He knew they were talking about him, but instead of interjecting, he had listened.

It sounded like some guy had asked about sin. Did this man sin or his parents?

Something like that.

And that had made him snort. His sin? He had been born this way. He had been born blind. He hadn't exactly had a lot of opportunities to sin in the womb.

Or had he? What was sin, exactly? He had never heard it properly defined. It usually came down to doing what people with power and authority said to do, and if you didn’t, sin!

Sinner!

That made him snort out loud.

He got called a sinner a lot, presumably because of his blindness. And that was a hard connection for him to see, but then again, he was blind.

He snorted again at his joke and considered the ten commands Moses had given them. Probably a good place to start when thinking about sin.

No God but Yahweh.

Live in a manner that reflects the character of Yahweh.

Remember the sabbath; keep it holy.

Honor your parents.

No murder.

No adultery.

No stealing.

Lying is out.

And be happy with what you have; your neighbor's spouse and household are theirs to enjoy, and you have your people and things to enjoy.

“Neither he nor his parents sinned,” someone said.

That made him snort again. What was that, like three times? He was becoming a real snorter.

It was kind of the man to say he hadn’t sinned or his parents, but that seemed a bit much.

Sure, he hadn’t looked at his neighbor's wife in a way that would have made Moses grouchy, but that was a failure of his eyes, not his intentions.

He hadn’t broken all the commands, but it wasn’t from a lack of effort.

But if this man wasn’t going to point fingers, then he was ok with that.

The next sound was unmistakable. He was about to get spit on. That happened from time to time, and if he was being honest, he didn’t like it.

The curse was on his lips when he realized that no spit had landed on him. Not even a little spittle on his face. And now he heard someone, someone very close by, playing in the dirt. Or mud. It sounded wet.

“Can I? The voice asked.

Can he what? What was being asked?

“Can I touch your eyes?”

What weird thing was happening?

Why was he asking? Why mud? Why his eyes?

Now would be a nice time to see, to know what was happening.

He must have nodded. It must have looked like a yes, for the mud was being wiped on his eyes. Oh, great.

Was that really spit mud on his face? He gingerly touched it.

Yup, it was.

“Go and wash,” came next.

Yeah, not a bad idea.

So he did. It took a while, but he made his way to the little reservoir nearby. The sides were stepped, and he carefully felt his way down.

Cupping his hands in the cool water, he splashed his face. It felt good. He did it again.

When had he last washed his face?

He stood up straight and cupped more water, and let it slowly run over his head.

He could feel it sliding down his back, dripping from his beard.

He bent over again for more water, but the sparkle stopped him.

He froze. The sparkle froze him.

He felt lightheaded, and he slumped down in the water, landing in somewhat of a sitting position on a step, waist-deep in the pool.

He had seen.

It must have been the water. Or the sun and the water. The sun on the water. Whatever it was, he had seen it.

In an action he rarely ever thought about, he opened his eyes. Just a slit, then a little more.

It was so bright. Light everywhere. Light flooding, pouring into him. He put up his arm as if the light were about to strike him.

Eyes a little more open now. Even more light. And color. Color everywhere. The water. A tree. A woman's scarf.

Ah, so that's what they look like.

And people. So many people. So many people looking at him.

He ran.

Slipping and tripping, he made it out of the pool and ran.

At first, he wanted to get away from all those eyes, all those people.

But as he ran, that changed.

First, running was wonderful. He had tried running as a child, but that had always ended badly. Best case, a stubbed toe. Worst case, the one time he fell into a fire. So running was out.

Until now. Now he ran, and it was glorious. And the people, they were glorious. And their eyes, even more glorious.

He found himself making eye contact with every person he could. So many eyes, so much seeing. So much to see.

At some point, he started crying. He also might have been shouting, or yelling, or laughing. He couldn't remember.

He found his home.

It looked so different from what he had imagined, but exactly like he wanted it to look.

A few days later, everyone knew.

In reality, they all knew that same day, but the story wasn’t clear.

But they wanted to know, so he was escorted to the Pharisees. They'd be able to see what had happened. They’d be able to see through the mud.

“What happened?” they asked in a tone that suggested curiosity and a lack of curiosity.

“Why can you see?”

“He put mud on my eyes, and I washed it off, and now I can see,” he said.

The verdict was swift. The healer was a fraud. A charlatan. A con. A sinner.

It was clear. Clear as day. Nothing muddy about it.

He had done this work, this work of healing, on the sabbath. Case closed.

Someone had the nerve to suggest that such healings seem improbable from a sinner, but that barely complicated matters. The healer was guilty; facts are facts. One does not heal when one should be sabbathing.

Next, his parents were called in for questioning. They had little to say. “Ask him,” was all the Pharisees got. His parents knew the healer was not welcome in the house that taught about Yahweh, and they wanted to be welcomed there. So they said, “Ask him.”

And they did. He was called back. Same questions, less curiosity.

But now, betraying his healer was wrapped up in religious talk.

“Give glory to God by telling the truth,” was their opening. “Condemn your healer with us.”

He had blinked at them a few times, just because he liked the feeling of it. His eyes felt so clean, so energized, so wonderful.

Their eyes looked different. Sad or angry, depending on the moment. Or maybe scared? Definitely tired, maybe even haunted. These powerful men, haunted? That didn’t make sense.

“We know this man is a sinner.”

Oh, yes, the questions. Or statements. He wasn't sure what this was anymore.

So he put it as plainly as he knew how.

“Whether he is a sinner or not, I have no idea.” This drew an angry huff.

“But I do know one thing.”

Every eye was on him. So many eyes. Yes, they were tired eyes, a few bloodshot eyes, but eyes nonetheless. And eyes are beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.

“Yes?” the eyes prodded.

“I do know one thing,” he started again, “I was blind, but now I see!”

A few moments later, he was thrown out of the synagogue.

Strangely, that didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

Because now, he could see.

Jesus then said, “I came into the world to bring everything into the clear light of day, making all the distinctions clear, so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a great pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind.”

John 9:39, The Message

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about acceptance: Gospel of John Series

Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:40:37 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

It was so very awkward.

Worse than awkward. It felt wrong.

The group kept trying to catch each other’s eye to gauge how they were feeling about this. Although they already knew.

Thaddaeus was the first to say something. Which surprised a few of them, for Thaddaeus didn’t say a whole lot. A few times, they even forgot he was there.

But today Thaddaeus had something to say.

“Being here, staying here, is like living in a commode. A commode with excrement everywhere. I feel gross.”

So Thaddaeus did have an opinion after all.

And the few that heard it couldn’t argue with his conclusion.

Peter kept looking off at the horizon, wishing he were far away from this place.

Matthew was holding his cloak near him, afraid that it would brush up against people or furniture.

Simon the Zealot was just angry, and as each hour passed, he hid it less well. Philip seemed the most at ease, but that figured given his Greek name and background. He was always more open to other cultures, and that caused no little suspicion from a few of the others. Especially the Zealot.

But Jesus seemed to be right at home.

John was the first to point this out. “Look at how happy he seems,” John had observed while elbowing James. “He seems more carefree, like his guard has been let down.”

“Maybe it’s because he is finally away from the scornful eyes of the Pharisees,” Bartholomew said.

John and James looked at Bartholomew before looking at each other. John considered this before nodding his head slowly. “Could be,” he offered, wanting to say more about the Pharisees but also unwilling to speak against such a revered group.

James said it for him. “I grew up wanting to be a Pharisee. They seemed so in tune with Yahweh, so sure of their place before Him. So right and righteous. But now, now, they seem so lost. Like they wouldn’t recognize Yahweh if he walked right up to them and introduced Himself.”

Bartholomew considered this before making his second astute observation in so many minutes. “These Samaritans seem to love Jesus.”

Even as he said Samaritan, he had to suppress the urge to spit. But the fact remained that the Samaritans, nearly the whole village, had welcomed Jesus into Sychar and into their homes with open arms. And this hospitality had extended to the disciples, although they responded with less enthusiasm than Jesus.

It didn’t help anyone feel better when Andrew said, “We haven’t been this welcomed in Judea or Galilee.”

That made Peter uneasy, and he told Andrew to shut up.

John looked around to see Jesus still teaching and answering questions while children buzzed around his feet. They were at the house of The Woman. None of the disciples had caught her name, but to be fair, they had not tried.

So they called her “The Woman.”

The Woman had apparently started it all by talking to Jesus while they had been away to find food.

Or had Jesus started the conversation?

No matter.

The result was that while they had been scouring this cursed village trying to buy a little bread, Jesus had stopped at the well and met “The Woman.”

And now they were in her village, talking to her people, and she and her people seemed to find Jesus fascinating.

The disciples couldn’t fathom how this could be going worse.

John looked away from the rapt crowd to see Matthew make a mark discreetly on a small stick he carried.

“What’s that you have there?” John asked, motioning towards the stick.

Matthew hastily drew the stick into his tunic, but John persisted.

“Is that a weapon?” He only half-joked.

“Of course not,” Matthew scoffed. “Just keeping track of how long we have been in this godforsaken village. I’m making a mark for each hour.”

“And?” John prodded.

“Forty-seven.” Matthew confided, as if revealing his deepest secret. “Do you realize how long this little ‘short-cut’ has taken us? Forty. Seven. Hours.”

The last part came out like a hiss.

Just then, Jesus' voice carried over the hubbub of the village. “Come along, friends! We'd best be moving along.”

The crowd moaned at the news, but the disciples jumped to their feet, making no effort to hide their enthusiasm to finally be leaving.

After being gifted more bread than they could eat in a week, Jesus led the procession out of town and north towards Galilee. Jesus seemed content to walk in silence, so the disciples hung back a safe distance, words ready to spill out of them.

“I feel defiled.” Judas started it.

“Same,” echoed a few of the others.

“I like that they liked Jesus, but…” James started, before trailing off.

John only shook his head. “You’ll never guess what I overheard as we were leaving town,” he began.

Peter was walking the closest to John and immediately responded. “What? What did you hear?”

“Several of the villagers had surrounded The Woman and, I’m not making this up,” John clarified, unsure if they would believe him or not, “they said, ‘we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.’”

Peter had been ready to respond with a scoff to whatever John had to report, but instead, it felt like the air had been forced from his lungs.

Thomas was the first to find his voice, but only to make sure he had heard right, “Savior of the world?”

“Yes,” John nodded. “Savior of the world.”

Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers.

They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.”

John 4:39-42

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about the most significant event to ever happen: Gospel of Mark Series

Thu, 12 Mar 2026 17:38:34 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

It wouldn’t be fair to say he was bored.

It wasn’t boredom, but excitement.

But waiting when you are excited is hard to do.

It can feel boring.

So he looked around.

There wasn’t much to see. Not yet, anyway.

The sun had not risen, but the stars were beginning to fade in the east.

The stars, so bright and numerous a moment ago, were being overtaken by a greater light.

He liked that and considered it some more.

Were the stars frustrated that a better light was replacing them, outshining them, making them invisible? Or were they relieved, able to take a breather now that a much more powerful light was approaching?

Ok, maybe he was a little bored.

He looked towards town again.

No movement, although the city was beginning to stir.

He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but the homes and streets were beginning to rouse themselves, readying themselves for the day ahead.

Imperceptible, but happening all the same.

He stooped down to pluck a flower. A lily, he thought.

It was beautiful. The pedals were so dainty and precisely formed.

The yellow stamens contrasted with the impossibly white petals.

All supported and nourished by the stem and roots. And rain and sun and soil. And God.

Yes, of course, God.

He smiled at the thought.

He had heard the story. The story of God standing on a hillside, drawing attention to the blanket of flowers like the one he now held. Gesturing and explaining how the world worked, how relationship works.

It had started with a question from God. “Why do you worry about clothes?”

He hadn’t been there, but he was pretty sure no one answered God. And that was ok. God knew the answer.

“Look at these flowers,” God had continued. Some people probably had guiltily shuffled their feet, hoping God hadn't seen them stepping so carelessly on the object lesson.

“These flowers, so elaborately dressed and carefully presented to us today, put Solomon in all his finery to shame! And these flowers do nothing to be so beautifully attired. All they do is flourish under God’s loving care. That’s it.”

He liked this story.

Another glance towards the city and the trail snaking its way out of town. Still deserted.

But the hillside was getting easier to see. That was nice. He had arrived in the dark.

He leaned back against the stone and sighed. This was exciting.

And what would happen next? He had no idea. He had not been told.

To pass the time, he rehearsed his lines. The message was simple, but it was important. He said it in a slow Galilean drawl, then with voice inflections familiar to the coast. A little smoother, a little more watery. The measured staccato of Aramaic sounded right, but he tried it in Greek and Latin just to see how it felt. Greek felt too measured to him, Latin too refined. This message was earthy, human. Aramaic, the language of the commoner, was the right language for this message. He was about to try it in Hebrew when movement far below caught his eye.

Someone was awake!

But was it his someone?

The figure was moving in his direction. And then he saw a couple more forms emerge from the shadows and join the first. They each carried something, and they moved slowly, taking care where they placed their feet in the semi-darkness.

A few moments later, he was able to make out their faces. Women.

Women's faces, streaked with tears.

Sad eyes, no doubt red from crying. Eyes swollen by grief and pain.

Their walk was labored, beyond what the steep path would suggest.

They clearly carried heavy hearts, in addition to the wrapped bundles in their arms.

Before the women could look up and notice him, he silently moved into the entrance of the tomb. He smelled the stone and the slightly damp smell of soil. He took a seat. And waited.

A few minutes later, he heard their voices. They sounded surprised and worried. He couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but it sounded like they were relieved and concerned that the entrance stone was rolled to the side.

The footsteps slowed further, and now he could hear their breathing.

Fast, shallow breaths. No doubt so from the climb and the discovery.

Then what little light was able to sneak through the entrance was snuffed out as someone stooped low to enter the tomb.

He sat still, not sure how make himself known.

He didn’t have long to think, for a moment later all three women had entered the tomb and as their eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, one of them screamed.

‘Please,” he said gently, holding up his arms in a way that he hoped signalled that he posed no threat, “do not be alarmed.”

Even as he said those words, he knew they were alarmed. So much for his speech.

He continued anyway as the women stood frozen, staring at him, not blinking or breathing. “Was that even possible for them not to breathe?” He considered, before wondering how long they could last without breathing. He’d have to ask about that later.

“You are looking for Jesus, yes? The Nazarene who was crucified?”

He got nothing. Just six unblinking eyes staring at him, three unmoving bodies crouched before him. No matter, he knew the answer.

“He is risen! Look around, he is not here!” That had come out a little louder than he had anticipated, especially considering the acoustics of the tomb. But the loud proclamation seemed to break the trance, and all three women gasped in unison.

“At least they are breathing again,” he thought, before continuing with the message.

“Look,” he made a gesture towards the stone platform, clearly empty in the murky light.

“Go, tell the other disciples, tell Peter, that Jesus is going to Galilee. Remember? There you will see him, just as he told you!”

He stood there staring at them, and they stared at him.

He blinked, and they blinked too.

They were very pale. He wondered if that was normal, too.

The staring continued.

He hadn’t planned for this part. Should he say more? Should he disappear?

He finally settled on pointing towards the entrance and smiling.

That seemed to do the trick, and the women nodded, seemingly understanding that the encounter was over. One by one, they stooped low and exited the tomb.

He could hear their footsteps.

They started slow, but soon they picked up pace. He peered outside; they were now running, fleeing from the tomb.

Stepping outside, he noticed the lily he had dropped.

Stooping to pick it up, he caught a final glance of the women before they disappeared into the scrub growth and rock.

“Do not worry, little ones,” he whispered. “God takes great delight in caring for you.”

With those words, he placed the lily at the entrance of the tomb and turned towards the rising sun. He’d completed his part.

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, “Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?”

But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.’”

Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.

Mark chapter 16

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about everything: Gospel of Mark series

Wed, 18 Feb 2026 17:55:20 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The last few days had been kinda great.

We can forgive the disciples if they were getting a little excited.

First, Jesus enters Zion, the city of David, with all the trappings and fanfare of a king. It appears the people had finally decided: Jesus was the long-hoped-for Anointed One. All that remained was the official crowning, and that surely wouldn’t be long.

This was heady stuff.

With the crowds still exuberant, Jesus made his way through the city and into the temple, but crowds, even or especially adoring crowds, have always had a way of slowing travel down, and so Jesus arrives at the temple late in the day, and there is only time for a quick look around the place.

No matter, a minor setback.

There is always tomorrow.

Tomorrow dawns bright and clear, and Jesus and his disciples are up and on the road, headed back to Jerusalem. But, for all the areas in which the disciples excel, having food on hand was not one of those, and Jesus is hungry.

No matter, a fig tree is just up yonder.

Except it has no figs.

Leaves, yes. Figs, no.

The disciples, no doubt aware that one of them should have foreseen the need for food, stayed back a respectful distance from the hungry Jesus.

But the respectful distance allowed them to hear Jesus quietly address the tree, “No one will ever eat your fruit again.”

Strange, yes, but no matter. Jerusalem awaits!

Without declaring his intentions, the disciples knew Jesus was headed to the Temple. It had to be the Temple. With Rome's conquest of their land, the Temple was all they had, their tether to their history, their hope, their pride, their God.

Yes, the Temple it would be.

And the Temple it was. There was a large crowd gathered, and the people noticed Jesus. A hush fell over the usually noisy temple courts, and everyone jostled this way and that to get a good look at Jesus and to hear what he might say.

Afterwards, the disciples did remember him saying something. Words from the great prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah. Words, heated words. “Is it not written?”

Of course it was written! Written and memorized. Memorized and passed on, generation to generation.

“My house will be called a house of prayer, a place of God fellowship, God connection, for all people, every nation.”

“But!”

“But you have made it something other, something evil, a ‘den of robbers.’”

Heated words, indeed.

The reason the disciples had a hard time initially remembering Jesus' words was because of his actions. They had never seen Jesus like this.

He had removed, no, that’s not the word.

Driven. That’s it.

Jesus had driven people out of the temple courts. People going about their normal temple activities of buying and selling. People jumping through the appropriate hoops to be good with God.

It’s what they did.

But Jesus didn't just drive people out. He also vandalized the place.

Tables overturned, benches tossed aside, special temple coins and special temple doves rolling and fluttering, clinking and squawking. People barred from moving their products through the temple courts. The big business of exploiting people under the guise of worship ground to a halt.

Jesus would have none of it.

The disciples shrank back. Is this what no breakfast looked like? Or was something bigger, much bigger, going on here?

Regardless, the disciples knew enough to know that the chief priests and Torah teachers would not stand this. They couldn’t.

If they allowed Jesus to do this, Jesus had won. They had been dishonored and shamed in their place of business.

People would never follow them or their rules ever again.

And so the same disciples, who yesterday had been excited and proud to be next to Jesus when the crowds yelled “Hosanna!” now hung back.

This could only end one of two ways.

Jesus would be placed in power by the people, or the powers to be would kill Jesus.

So the disciple watched and waited, but Jesus, apparently satisfied with his demonstration, motioned for them to follow him, and they fell into a quiet line behind him.

Out of the city they march, the disciples throwing a furtive glance behind from time to time to see if they were being pursued.

The coast was clear. The silence was heavy. They arrived back at the house.

“What was that?” they wordlessly asked each other, only to receive shrugs and bowed heads in reply.

No matter, a minor setback.

There is always tomorrow.

Tomorrow dawns bright and clear, and Jesus and his disciples are up and on the road, headed back to Jerusalem. The wondering persists, and so does the silence. Peter didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Should he ask the Teacher directly what had happened in the Temple? No. That didn’t feel right. He was learning to hold his tongue.

To occupy his mind, Peter slowly scanned the horizon as they walked.

The city stood before them. Tall, proud, a triumph of King David. Around them were fields of grain, vineyards, and a few trees.

Peter did a double-take. Trees, yes, full and leafy and vibrant. Except one. One tree was withered, sickly, almost dead.

“Teacher! Look!” Peter yelled, causing a few of his companions to jump.

“The tree you cursed is cursed! It's all withered.”

Jesus glanced at his excited friend and stopped walking.

“Yes, of course it withered. I told it to.”

A few of the disciples who had been hanging back picked up their pace to hear what Jesus was saying.

“God is over everything. Everything!”

The disciples shuffled their feet as Jesus looked around at them.

“Look up there at the Temple Mount,” Jesus motioned towards the city. The disciples gladly did. Sometimes it was hard to make eye contact with Jesus.

With every face staring off towards the prominent hill in the city, Jesus continued.

“If you understand that God is over everything, and I mean everything, then you could say to that mountain, ‘hey, go take a dip in the sea!’ and it would.”

The disciples’ heads turned as one to look out over the sea. The water sparkled in the distance. But it was far off.

More than a few imagined the Temple Mount standing up like a creaky old man and shuffling down the slopes towards the sea. A few smiled at the thought, although none would later admit to it.

“If you understand, really understand that God is over everything,” Jesus continued, drawing a few disciples out of their daydreams, “if you grasp how in control God is, then no request of him is too much. He can do it.”

The disciples liked this and smiled approvingly. The temple shenanigans of yesterday felt far off, and the world was feeling right again. Now relaxed, a couple of disciples were again picturing Old Man Temple plopping himself down in the sea as if for a bath. Now that was fun to think about!

“And when you are operating with God in such harmony, such co-creating,” Jesus said before again pausing, allowing his crew to mentally rejoin him, “it is paramount that you are in harmony with everyone. For God is over everything. Everything! Your great acts of co-creating with God must be born out of a place of forgiveness. That is your primary act of creating. Create shalom.”

Then Jesus turned and resumed his journey towards Jerusalem and the Temple.

“Hurry up, you slowpokes,” he called over his shoulder, “we have a big week ahead of us.”

“Have faith in God,” Jesus answered. “Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”

Mark 11:22-25

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about yeast: Gospel of Mark series

Thu, 12 Feb 2026 18:37:11 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

How are you?

We are well here. Although the winter (if we can even call it that) has been strange. Very little snow here in the valley, which means very little sledding with the kiddos. Speaking of sledding, it is entirely possible that I enjoy sledding more than my kids do.

I accept this verdict. Also, if the winter Olympics teach us anything about sledding, it is that sledding isn't only for kids. I am passionate about this matter. Can you tell?

Moving on.

I tried to go snowshoeing once this winter, and I was sorry that I did. It would have been a fine hike, but it was a stretch to invite snowshoes along. And I suspect the entire time the snowshoes were wondering, “What are we even doing here!?”

Did I tell you I was invited by my daughter to go on a field trip with her second-grade class? Well, I was, and it was yesterday, and it was supposed to be snowshoeing along McDonald Creek, but instead, we hiked on ice and mud.

Anyhew. Enough on the weather report.

Have you read any good books recently? I'm currently reading a book called Insane for the Light about how to live our final years so that our death can be a blessing to those we love. I'm only a few chapters in, but these words caught my attention. “To be mature means we have broken the pleasure principle as our fundamental motivation for doing things.” And later, “We are mature when we are more altruistic than selfish.”

That’s good. By that definition, Jesus is our ultimate example of maturity. And, for that matter, how to be a blessing in our death.

I’m also reading a book about the American bison. It is a fascinating book, but I don't have any quotes to share from it.

Speaking of reading, I'm also reading through Mark’s account of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Today I read Mark chapter 8.

The chapter begins with Jesus (again) feeding a small city's worth of people who have inexplicably forgotten to bring food. Before the miracle, Jesus asks his disciples to problem-solve with him. “Feed these people,” I picture Jesus inviting his followers with an exaggerated wink. After all, they were all in on the joke. Jesus had just fed a group in a situation that was uncannily similar to this.

But Jesus tells his followers to feed the crowd, and in what must have been a discouraging moment for Jesus, the disciples are perplexed and indignant that they could somehow feed so many people so far from a Costco.

So Jesus feeds everyone, including spoon-feeding his disciples.

And just a short time later, Jesus and his disciples are in a boat, crossing a lake, only to discover that they are short of food. (Surprised? No, we are not.)

One loaf of bread is found among them.

“We are bad at logistics,” they surmise, because they are.

And then Jesus speaks.

“Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees. And of Herod.”

The disciples knew exactly what he was getting at and concluded, “He said that because we forgot to bring bread.”

Oh dear.

“Watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and that of Herod.”

Interesting. Let’s assume for a moment that Jesus isn’t talking about the disciples' lack of meal planning.

The Pharisees had cracked the code of right living and right understanding of God. They had Yahweh figured out. 1+1=2 and all that. If we do everything exactly so, then God will do his thing. And everything will be alright.

Which is a wonderful way to think and operate if you are determined to be your own savior. Or become a New York Times best-selling author.

But Jesus wasn’t impressed.

Which is a bummer if what you're selling is “Live our way; God will be impressed.”

Every culture has its religious elites. Sometimes they crown themselves thus, sometimes we do. Regardless of who bestows the mantle, the sales pitch is the same.

“We know the way, the truth, the life. We know the way to God.”

It has been said in many ways by many people all over the globe, but only One said those words with authority.

So after Jesus feeds the crowd, the Pharisees find Jesus and demand a sign.

“These are our terms, take them or leave them,” they say.

Jesus leaves them.

“That is not the way to God,” we are left to conclude.

We cannot strong-arm God. Even if it sounds religious.

Which is a bummer because trying to strong-arm God could be a simple way to sum up the human experience.

“Watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and that of Herod.”

And that of Herod.

Herod.

Herod is a fascinating character. Son of Herod the Great, Herod Antipas has several appearances in our story. For one, he gives the order for John the baptizer to join himself and his drunken colleagues at a party. However, it is only John’s head that is invited and is ceremonially presented on a food platter. What great sport.

Herod Antipas came to power in the family business of ruling and reigning after three of his brothers were deemed unsuitable for the C-suite and were murdered by their king and father. That same king also killed his favorite wife because, you know, irreconcilable differences.

Herod Antipas had found John the baptizer a compelling teacher, and he had pondered his words, even if John had an annoying habit of telling Herod that he shouldn’t be sleeping with his brother’s wife.

And that’s the thing about Herod, all herods, they think that power, consolidated in themselves, can solve their problems. And those of us under Herod begin to believe the same thing. We’ve drunk the Kool-Aid, we’ve believed the campaign promises, we’ve gained the whole world and found that it cost us only one thing: our souls.

What a bargain.

“Watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and that of Herod.”

Was Jesus saying to be suspicious of the contaminating effects of the religious and political establishment?

Was he telling his followers that it would be so seductive to try and mix a little of the culturally religious and political mindset in with their understanding of following after Him?

Was Jesus pointing to obvious places that societies and cultures have long clung to for salvation, telling us that we, too, sophisticated as we are, are also susceptible?

Was Jesus insinuating that just a pinch of anything that isn’t of him can affect and infect the whole kit-and-caboodle?

Probably. And more.

Like any great teacher, Jesus doesn’t tell us, I mean them, the answer. So we ponder, pray, and write letters to each other exploring his words. It's slow work, messy and methodical. But it is necessary if we are to become like him.

Btw, I just checked my weather app, and we do have a chance for precipitation in the forecast for later this week, and there is even an icon of a snowflake!

But I’m fairly certain we will not be sledding in my neighborhood any time soon.

My kids will be only mildly disappointed.

Me, on the other hand…

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about a wasteful farmer: Gospel of Mark series

Thu, 05 Feb 2026 18:00:12 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“He’s at it again,” Haman mused to himself.

For the second day in a row, his neighbor, Old Joshua, was out seeding his field.

Nothing curious about that. And if that had been the whole story, Haman would have just minded his own business like every other year when Old Joshua was out seeding his fields.

But this year was different.

Haman had noticed it right away. Maybe Old Joshua had finally passed from old to senile. Maybe it was time for Old Joshua’s family to be alerted as to the erratic behavior of their father.

Old Joshua was plenty strong for a man of his age, and he had no difficulty in walking while throwing the seed. No difficulty at all.

And the evidence was right before Haman. Old Joshua had been out in his fields since sunup. Long, purposeful strides covering an incredible amount of land.

Strong, sidearm throwing motion. Almost elegant. Old Joshua had done this many times. His body knew the rhythm. Seeding was art when Old Joshua did it.

The seed fanned out before hitting the soil.

Art, but not science.

And that was why Haman had paused on his walk into town to discreetly watch his neighbor.

The seed would catch the light of the early morning sun before settling on the earth, blanketing the field’s soil with a covering of seed.

But the rich soil in the middle of the field wasn't the only place the seed was being sown.

Old Joshua was seeding the path with just as much gusto.

And the overgrown areas around the edge of his field.

And even the area of his land that was mostly just rock.

Haman continued to watch.

“Was Old Joshua trying to waste seed?” he considered as more seed settled in a beautifully thrown arc onto the path.

“Did his neighbor have a surplus of seed?” Haman thought before shaking his head.

No, not even extra seed could explain this seemingly deliberate waste.

Another handful of seeds landed in the thorn bushes along the field’s perimeter.

Haman turned in disgust and continued his walk to town.

He had better things to do than watch his neighbor work. Especially when his neighbor was so bad at it.

“Or was he?” Haman decided to be a little more charitable. Maybe the sun had been in Old Joshua’s eyes. Maybe those throws had been less deliberate than they appeared.

Haman had almost convinced himself when a shout caused him to look back over his shoulder.

Old Joshua had caught sight of him and sent a joyful “shalom aleichem, Haman!” ringing his way at the exact same time Old Joshua sent a cascade of seed into the rockiest portion of his land.

Haman mustered a halfway believable “shalom, Joshua” and a halfhearted wave before he resumed his march towards town.

That had been no mistake.

His neighbor had deliberately gotten his attention while throwing away perfectly good seed. Seed that now had no chance of delivering a harvest. Seed that would wither away and die if it even sprouted. Seed that would never feed a family or produce any sort of return.

“What is Old Joshua up to?” Haman said outloud, startling a few birds that had been feasting on the seed Old Joshua had sown on the path.

The village came into sight, and Haman pushed the thoughts of his neighbor out of his mind as he reviewed the mental list of his tasks to accomplish before returning home.

But one thought he could not keep at bay.

And the thought came to him not because of the old man’s actions, but because of his countenance.

Old Joshua had appeared immensely happy. Giddy with delight. Bursting with joy.

As if he had some sort of good news that he couldn't wait to share with someone, with everyone.

Like maybe the seed was so precious, so wonderful, that rather than be stingy by only placing the seed in the soil that would most guarantee a good harvest, he had wanted to bless the parts of his land that would never get such seed sown there. The good soil had received abundant seed, yes, and so had the overlooked, forgotten, despised portions of his land.

Now Haman felt he was becoming the crazy one. What had come over him to think such thoughts?

So Haman went about his day.

And back in the countryside, Old Joshua continued to gleefully fling the kernels of seed indiscriminately all over his land.

Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water’s edge. He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said: “Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.”

Mark 4:1-8

I cannot read this parable and not consider the wastefully generous nature of the Farmer.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about a meal: Gospel of Matthew series

Thu, 29 Jan 2026 17:13:37 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

They were all there at the table.

They were all there to eat, yes, but more than that. They were there to remember.

And the eating was the pathway to remembering. The food was the monument commemorating the event.

What was the event, you ask?

Ah, good question.

The event was Pesakh.

But the story of Pesakh was this.

An entire people group was in bondage.

Evil was personified in the pharaoh, and the pharaoh built his wealth and influence from the pain and heartache of these slaves.

And so they cried out.

“Deliver us.”

Words born of desperation.

“Deliver us!”

How many more years of humiliation must we endure?

How many more broken bodies? Broken families? Broken hearts?

“DELIVER US!”

Many years passed, but God had heard the cry.

God had seen the evil.

God was faithful.

God was acting.

A plague struck the pharaoh's nation.

The nation ignored it. After all, they had gods too.

Another plague.

More ignoring. But the ignoring was harder.

Another plague followed by another. And another.

And the evil only intensified.

Until.

Until death passed over the land.

Firstborn males died. Human, animal, death made no distinction.

But death did make one distinction. Some homes had blood smeared on the doorframes, the entrance of the house.

Blood from a lamb. A lamb without defect. A perfect lamb.

That lamb had been killed, and the blood applied over the entrance to the home.

And death passed over that house, those people.

For the homes that put their trust in God, God protected them.

And while death was killing and while God was protecting, the people were to eat a certain meal.

And that meal became a memorial.

It was called Pesakh. Protected. Passover.

So they were all there at the table.

They were all there to eat, yes, but more than that. They were there to remember.

And the eating was the pathway to remembering. The food was the monument commemorating the event.

Bread. Unleavened.

While they were eating, Jesus took that bread.

The bread. The bread that represented God’s rescue was near. Jesus took the bread, gave thanks for it, broke it, and gave it. The bread that represented God’s rescue was unleavened.

Unleavened bread because God’s rescue was so near that there was no time for yeast to do its thing, no time for bread to rise.

God’s rescue is at the doorstep. It's at the entrance to our homes, our hearts.

It's here.

“Take and eat.” This bread that represents God’s rescue being shockingly near, take it and eat it.

“This is my body, broken for you.”

The rescue looks like a broken body.

The broken body looks like a sacrifice. Like a pure and spotless lamb.

Then Jesus took the cup. The cup filled with wine. Wine made from grapes.

Crushed.

Broken.

Those grapes had become a dark, somber red, filling the cup.

Blood wine. Wine blood.

Jesus took the cup, gave thanks for it, and gave it.

Drink. Drink of my blood. My blood, new covenant blood. Blood poured out for the forgiveness of sins.

The blood of the lamb, protecting from death.

One slaughter, many saved.

So they were all there at the table.

They were all there to eat, yes, but more than that. They were there to remember.

And the eating was the pathway to remembering. The food was the monument commemorating the event.

And how did they respond?

They all deserted him.

That.

Very.

Night.

But the body and blood had been blessed and broken and passed out to all who would receive it.

Even when those who received it do so as poorly as those first disciples.

Because Pesakh wasn’t ever about our fidelity or ability, but God’s fidelity and ability. His love. His concern. His goodness.

His exuberant and abounding joy in rescuing.

He alone can rescue.

And rescue he does.

To all who would receive it.

So they were all there at the table.

They were all there to eat, yes, but more than that. They were there to remember.

And the eating was the pathway to remembering. The food was the monument commemorating the event.

On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Where do you want us to make preparations for you to eat the Passover?”

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is my body.”

Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.

Matthew 26:17, 26-28

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about a generous (and a not so generous) person: Gospel of Matthew series

Thu, 22 Jan 2026 18:14:24 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The anger was beginning to subside.

But just beginning.

The anger was still there.

Omri had gone from disbelief to outrage and back to disbelief cloaked in outrage.

Injustice always did this to him.

How could the vineyard owner have treated him so? He’d barely been able to mask his anger when he had returned home. What was supposed to be a joyful homecoming had turned into anything but.

It had happened yesterday.

Omri was standing in the village center with a few of his cousins and a couple of other men from the town, all desperate to find some work.

Omri had promised his wife that morning that he would come home with food or money, and he was determined to fulfill his promise. His wife, Rebecca, had tried to smile through tears, tears brought about by the desperate state they were in. Their daughter was now 3 years old, a little girl who brought them so much joy, but also heartache. Little Sarah’s lungs had never worked properly, and Rebecca or Omri or a member of their extended family was always with the child, if for no other reason than to be with the child when she struggled to breathe.

In a life that was already tenuous at the best of times, the attention and money needed to care for Sarah had brought Omri and Rebecca to a place of destitution and despair.

And so Omri had kissed Sarah on the head that morning, hugged Rebecca, and, with a stomach cramped from hunger, he waited for work in the marketplace.

A few minutes passed, and the other men looking for work found places to wait in the shade.

But not Omri. Omri stood in the sun, shouting to every passerby, asking if they had need of a laborer.

And his persistence was rewarded.

Before the sun was even hot, Omri found himself walking with one of his cousins to a nearby vineyard. Omri wanted to sing or skip! Rebecca would be so happy when he came home with his wages. A denarius had been promised him, respectable wages for a full day’s worth of work. Omri could envision the weight of the promised coin in his hand already. Seemingly floating along, Omri marvelled at how good the day had become.

Omri got right to work, and the hours flew by. Before he knew it, the foreman of the vineyard called Omri and the other workers to a shaded area for a short break. Gulping water, Omri saw the vineyard owner walking towards them, trailed by several more of the men who had been in the marketplace that morning.

“I’ve got more help for you!” the owner sang out, introducing the new hires to the foreman.

Omri watched with curiosity.

It was strange to him that the owner, a respected elderly man, was making the trip back and forth to the village to hire more workers. Surely the foreman or one of the other servants could fulfill the task. But the owner seemed to derive pleasure from giving men work, and so Omri shook the thought away, replacing it with the thought of receiving his denarius at the end of the day.

Swallowing a bite of fig, Omri stode back into the vineyard, ready to get back to work. The afternoon was hot as usual, but the hired workers had found their rhythm, and the containers awaiting ripe grapes were filling rapidly.

Just before evening, Omri found himself emptying his basket of grapes next to one of the men from his village whom Omri had not seen until now. “Jehu! Where did you come from?” Omri asked with surprise.

“I just got here,” Jehu replied with a grin. “I had about given up hope of work today, and I was trying to figure out how to break the news to my wife and kids that I had come home again empty-handed, when the owner of this place asked if I wanted to work for him. I said yes before he had a chance to change his mind! Even though I won't get much for these few hours of work, it's better than nothing! And I needed something to go our way, just once; these last few months have been hard on us, on me.”

Omri nodded in understanding. He knew the shame of not being able to provide for his family and the desperate thoughts that churned through his mind when that happened.

“I’m so happy for you, Jehu!” Omri congratulated his friend, clapping him on the back. “It’s a good day for us both!”

The sun was low when the foreman gave a shout, and all the workers made their way back to the center of the vineyard. Once the grapes had been carefully stored away, the men lined up in order of when they had arrived.

Omri leaned forward and looked down the line. He was surprised to see so many workers. Apparently, the owner had made quite a few trips into town. From the other end of the line, Jehu caught Omri's eye, and they shared a smile. It was a really good day for their whole village. In his mind's eye, Omri could picture the happy reunions each man had waiting for him at home. Excited family gathering around each worker, joy and laughter filling each home.

The foreman cleared his throat and stepped forward. Omri straightened up, expecting the foreman to make his way to Omri’s end of the line, but the foreman headed towards Jehu and the workers who started last.

“No matter,” Omri told himself. “The owner can do as he pleases, and we’ll all get what we are owed.”

Omri watched as the foreman pulled a few coins from the leather pouch at his belt and handed Jehu and the man next to him their wages.

Omri was starting to look away when his head snapped back. Jehu appeared to be crying. “What's going on?” Omri muttered to the man standing next to him as the foreman made his way down the line, handing out the payments.

Each group of men responded similarly to Jehu. Startled looks of surprise, shouts of joy, wide smiles from every worker as they were handed their wages.

The news traveled down the line faster than the foreman. The latecomers have received a full denarius!

Omri's mind spun. Surely this meant that he would receive more than a denarius, more than a full day’s wages. Surely, that's what this must mean!

Finally, the foreman arrived at Omri and his cousin, who had started early in the morning.

Placing the metal coins in the men's hands, the foreman thanked them. “You worked well today, and my master is grateful for your service,” the foreman said with a smile.

Omri tried to reply, but his eyes had fallen to his hand.

A denarius. Just one. Just as he had been promised.

“But,” Omri sputtered before he could stop himself. “But you paid these other men this same amount! This is unacceptable! It’s unjust!”

“Is it?” the foreman replied evenly. “Is it unacceptable for my master to be generous with what is his? Is it unjust for him to pay you what he said he would pay you? Is it unacceptable to you for him to make many homes ring with joy tonight? Is it unjust for these other men to arrive home, heads high with pride at how they have provided for their families?”

Jesus said to them… “But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. He agreed to pay them a denarius for the day and sent them into his vineyard.

“About nine in the morning he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing. He told them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went.

“He went out again about noon and about three in the afternoon and did the same thing. About five in the afternoon he went out and found still others standing around. He asked them, ‘Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?’

“‘Because no one has hired us,’ they answered.

“He said to them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard.’

“When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’

“The workers who were hired about five in the afternoon came and each received a denarius. So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more. But each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner. ‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’

“But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’

Matthew 19:30-20:15

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about family: the Gospel of Matthew series

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 19:06:46 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Eli was having a hard time hearing. Something about Jonah had been said.

Now, that was an interesting story. A prophet, but not a role model.

A preacher who did not want his message to be heard.

A preacher who definitely did not want his audience to respond.

A preacher whose best sermon was halfhearted, angry, and delivered with an acute scent of fish intestines.

And then the ending. Not good.

Jonah finds a place to observe the destruction of his enemies, but it turns out that Jonah’s enemies were not God’s enemies.

Whereas Jonah has contempt, God has mercy.

Where Jonah looks for vengeance, God grants grace.

To Jonah, this was all too much.

Jonah sits under a curiously fast-growing plant, shielded from the sun, sulking.

He sits and sulks until the curiously fast-growing plant dies and Jonah is crushed. How he longs for the plant to be restored and once again flourish with life and vitality. Jonah loved the plant, and now it is gone, destroyed. Wilted because of a hungry little caterpillar. “Stupid worm, stupid city, stupid everything,” the prophet concluded.

Eli was jostled and came out of his daydream. Another family had arrived, presumably to hear the Teacher. Eli moved over a step, allowing the late arrivals a better view and a better chance at hearing the Teacher.

“Do you know him?” one of the newcomers, a lady, asked Eli.

“Yes, I mean, no, not really,” Eli said almost coherently. “I mean, I’ve been following the Teacher for a few days now, but I don't know him.”

“Could you give him a message?” the lady continued, undeterred by the shaky response from Eli. “Could you tell Jesus that his Mother and brothers are here to speak to him?”

Eli shook his head no, even as his mouth said yes.

Disappointed in himself and nervous to disrupt the Teacher in the middle of his discourse, Eli slowly made his way inside.

Standing this close to the Teacher, hearing his slow, steady speech, caused Eli to pause. The language was clear and precise, but also the language of the streets, of the commoners. And yet his words felt heavy, ripe with purpose and meaning.

Simple language, but words that felt like they had been formed millennia ago and were now, finally, being shared.

This close to the Teacher, this close to his disciples, made Eli reconsider his mission. To interrupt the Teacher felt blasphemous, akin to desecration.

With his mind made up, Eli turned to leave, only to catch the eye of the woman who had commissioned him.

“Tell him,” she mouthed.

Eli slowly turned around and, before what little remained of his courage could fail him, he blurted out, “Teacher, your mother and brothers are outside; they wish to talk to you!”

Eli tried to hide behind the people pressing up against him from all sides, but suddenly, he was alone. Like the Red Sea opening up before Moses, the crowd had parted around Eli, and he stood there with no one between him and the Teacher.

The room was utterly quiet, but Eli couldn’t tell for the sound of blood rushing in his head. His stomach hurt, and his legs felt weak.

The Teacher was seated on a low stool, and he swiveled his body around to face Eli.

Eli gulped and took a step back.

The Teacher slowly stood up and locked eyes with Eli.

And then one of his eyebrows twitched before lifting into a quizzical look. The questioning eyebrow was followed by a grin spreading across the Teacher’s face, but still he did not speak.

“Please, Teacher,” Eli managed through his dry mouth, “your mother and brothers are just outside.”

The grin on the Teacher’s face turned into a full smile.

Eli’s mind spun. Why was the Teacher only smiling and not moving? Yes, he was significantly younger than the Teacher, but still, he knew when his family asked for him, he was quick to respond.

The Teacher finally broke the silence, but kept the smile. “Who is my mother?”

Eli nearly gasped, but he was sure his face betrayed the shock he felt.

Jesus seemed delighted by the response.

“And who are my brothers?” This question seemed directed right at Eli.

Eli’s mind spun faster and faster. What was the Teacher saying? Surely this didn’t fulfill the law of Moses and of Yahweh when all of Israel was commanded to “honor your father and honor your mother.” And what about all the other implications?

Family was everything. Even when Eli disagreed or had an issue with a member of his family, family was everything. Family was the lifeline in a dangerous and unpredictable world. Family was his source of identity, comfort, shelter, income, community, joy, and refuge.

Had the Teacher really just asked who his mother and brothers were, within possible earshot of his mother and brothers?

The hush remained as even the disciples appeared to be uncomfortable with the teacher’s question.

And then Jesus raised his hand and pointed at one disciple and then another, continuing this as he turned in a circle.

“Right here you have my mother.”

The crowd craned their necks and stood on tiptoes to see who Jesus was gesturing towards.

“And here you have my brothers,” the Teacher continued, turning and pointing.

“You see,” the Teacher continued, now pointing at Eli. “Everyone who does the will of my Father is family. Every woman who lives attentive towards God is my mother, and every young girl who is alert to God is my sister, and every man and boy who lives heeding God is my brother. All of us family, all of us looking towards our Father.”

While Jesus was still talking to the crowd, his mother and brothers stood outside, wanting to speak to him. Someone told him, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.”

He replied to him, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” Pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”

(Matthew 12:46-50)

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story about a house: Gospel of Matthew series

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 19:04:43 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“Finally,” Jake sighed as he stepped off the ladder and unclipped his tool belt, letting it sag to the ground.

With the last piece of trim in place, the house was done.

Jake looked around. The house was nice. Very nice. It appeared that no expense had been spared. The best countertops, highest-rated appliances, top-of-the-line fixtures. Brick on the front of the house and on the sides, and on the back.

Jake was proud of how the house and property had turned out, and he knew his neighbors in the small lake community were impressed.

Walking around the side of the house, he almost bumped into Molly.

“It’s done, Honey,” he said while sweeping his hand towards the new home and the fresh landscaping.

“It’s better than I even imagined,” Molly said, her eyes suddenly growing moist.

Wiping away a tear, she hooked an arm around Jake and gazed at their new place.

“Just think of all the memories we will make here,” she murmured. “Kids, maybe even grandkids, will know this house. Birthday parties and holidays and late nights around the fire pit out back. Basketball in the driveway and playing catch in the yard. A glass of wine on the porch at dusk, watching the sun set over the lake.”

And then so quiet that Jake almost missed it, Molly whispered, “I love it.”

“Me, too,” Jake said, pulling her into a tight hug.

A few months later and spring was in full bloom. Molly had planted some daffodils in the flowerbeds, and tulips were blooming in the planters on the porch.

Jake and Molly were fully moved in, with not a box to be seen and new art on the walls. Several housewarming parties had taken place, and Molly was constantly burning candles since they had been gifted at least a dozen at those parties. Fresh flowers also dotted the countertops, and the wine cabinet was full. Their friends had been every bit as excited for the new house as they were.

One evening in early April, as rain beat against the south-facing windows and the lake was impossible to see through the sheets of rain, Jake, sitting in his favorite recliner and watching his hometown Braves lose to the Cubs in the 9th inning, noticed a small crack in the drywall.

Jake had built enough houses to know that drywall oftentimes did crack for various reasons, but this hairline crack was different. Rather than originating from a doorway or window frame, this one ran right down a solid wall.

A chill hit Jake as he jumped to his feet to inspect the crack with his thumbnail. A conversation came involuntarily and unwelcome to his mind.

“There’s a reason no one had built on this beautiful property before,” the oldtimer had said. “The cost of the piers has scared everyone away.”

Jake had wanted the old man to leave at that moment, but since he would be a neighbor before long, Jake also wanted to appear civil.

“We’ll work it out.” Jake had replied as a way to end the conversation.

And the conversation had ended with the old man getting the hint and shuffling off.

But Jake had not worked it out. He had designed the house from the ground up and from the ground down, but he hadn’t gone down very far with the foundation. In fact, he had lied during inspections and had even created fake soil reports to save the expense of sinking deep piers. “After all, sand is rock,” Jake reasoned to himself, “just really small rocks. And rocks make good foundations.”

But Jake knew that his cost-cutting measure had caught up to him much faster than he had anticipated as he looked at the crack grow before his eyes and the rain pounded down even harder.

“Molly!” Jake yelled up the staircase, a hint of panic in his voice. “Molly, pack some clothes! We have to go!”

Thirty minutes later, Jake backed his new heavy-duty work truck down the driveway as he squinted through the rain to see the edges of the concrete.

Molly sat next to him, looking deathly pale even with her newly applied spray tan.

Lightning flashes revealed a murky picture, but it was all too clear: the rain had eroded large, deep patches of their yard, and the new sod seemed to be crawling away from the house.

Before leaving the house, Jake had noticed that the sliver of a crack in the drywall had grown to a quarter of an inch wide and now had a matching crack on the opposite side of the house.

“H-h-how could this happen?” Molly stammered, peering towards her home. She shivered even in the warmth of the truck.

“The house is new,” she continued, shocked at the impossibility of the nightmare playing out before them.

Jake turned the truck around and slowly picked up speed on the winding driveway that partially encircled their home.

The next bolt of lightning was accompanied by an instantaneous explosion of thunder, and as both Jake and Molly jumped, a wing of their dream home slumped away from the rest of the house and slowly crumbled like soggy cardboard.

Molly screamed, and Jake felt sick at the sight.

A quarter mile down the road, he was.

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

- Jesus (Matthew 7:24-27)

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A dark night: Advent, part 3

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 19:02:08 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“It s-sure is d-d-dark,” Amos managed to get out, once again reminded of why he hated to speak.

Micah didn’t do anything to help. “It’s night, dummy. It’s supposed to be d-d-dark!” he taunted Amos’s attempt at conversation and his speech impediment.

Amos withdrew back into his own thoughts, thoughts that were always articulate and where his speech came quick and sure.

The silence grew between the two shepherds as they gazed into the small fire that provided a little warmth and a safety beacon for anyone who wandered a little too far off when they went to relieve themselves or to check on the sheep.

Micah studied his fingernails and used a sharp twig to clean the dirt out from under them.

“H-h-h-hoping to impress a w-w-w-women?” Amos said and immediately regretted it.

“Naw,” Micah said sadly, his voice betraying that maybe he had been thinking about being in town instead of stuck out in the wilderness for another week or two.

A stirring just outside the ring of fire light caused both boys to start and look in the direction of the noise.

Two white eyes appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Micah let out a small screech before the eyes appeared again, only this time the face was visible too.

“Simeon,” Micah muttered, half in relief and half in annoyance. “What are you doing awake already?”

“Can’t sleep,” Simeon stated while rubbing his eyes and stretching. “It’s so dark,” he added, looking at the cloud-covered skies.

Amos threw a smug look towards Micah before slowly getting to his feet and making his way a few feet away to pee.

And that’s when the angel appeared.

Amos screamed.

Light was everywhere.

Micah appeared paralyzed, his body and mind unable to decide on fighting or fleeing, and so he did neither and froze. Simeon had no such issue and could be heard crashing through the scrub brush.

Amos closed his eyes, but the light was there too.

“Don’t be afraid,” the angel said with a hearty laugh and an enormous smile. “My news is good!”

Micah began to move and slowly edged away from the angel, not looking the messenger in the eye.

The light was so strange, as if it was emanating from the ground and sky and the grass and rocks.

“My news is for you and everyone!” the angel continued unfazed. “Just today, a rescuer, The Savior, has been born in David’s town. This baby is the Anointed One, the One who all of Israel has been waiting for! David’s throne will once again be occupied, only this time by the Eternal King!”

The angel had an uncanny ability to smile widely while speaking loudly. He also didn’t blink, Amos thought to himself, and quickly realized that none of this made any sense. Like, how the light was so bright, and yet there were no shadows because it seemed to be coming from every direction.

“Go find this baby,” the angel encouraged, “and you’ll know it's him because he’s wrapped in cloths and sleeping in an animal trough.”

“What?” Why?” Simeon had crept back and had caught the final instructions.

“Why, what?” Amos wanted to counter his friend, but his mind was still too taken with the light. He was pretty sure he could feel the light over his entire body.

Before he could wonder at the light anymore, the entire hillside erupted in angels, angels singing with a deafening exuberance.

“GLORY TO GOD IN THE EXPANSE OF THE HEAVENS!” the hillsides echoed.

“PEACE ON EVERYONE WHO HAS PLACED THEMSELVES BEFORE GOD!”

A cricket chirped.

Amos rocked back on his heels as if he had been leaning into a gust of wind.

The angels were gone as suddenly as they had appeared.

Micah made a choking sound, as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

Simeon dabbed at a trickle of blood running down his leg, the scratches from his mad rush starting to sting.

“W-we should g-g-g-go,” Amos finally said, a grin growing on his face.

Simeon nodded, eyes growing wide. “Heaven just invited us to meet the Messiah. Heaven. Us!” Simeon was usually more articulate than this, but his companions understood.

“Bethlehem!” Micah blurted and took off running, his body finally able to function, and the adrenaline hitting hard.

Amos laughed and took off in pursuit, Simeon right on his heels.

They slowed as they entered the town, eyes peering down every street and alley. Ahead, a man, a stranger, leaned against the wall of a house, breathing deeply.

“Friend,” Simeon began at a decibel much too loud, “we are looking for a baby!”

Amos expected the stranger to recoil at the news that these filthy boys were running around looking for a baby, but instead, he nodded and smiled.

“The baby is right inside.” Joseph said, “Follow me.”

* * * * *

Amos, Micah, and Simeon eventually made it back to their sheep, but not before telling everyone they knew in town (and quite a few they did not know) about the angels and the baby.

As the years passed, Amos kept his ears open for news of the baby. Decades passed with nothing until one day he heard about a rabbi in the north, a rabbi who taught as no one had ever taught before. And the rumor was that this rabbi healed people’s bodies and minds.

“That’s him,” Amos mused with certainty.

And as he often did, he wondered again why God had chosen him and his friends to share the good news with.

And once again, Amos could make no sense of it. No sense, other than to conclude that God had been very good to him.

Very good indeed.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The best laid plans: Advent, part 2

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 19:00:15 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The marriage had been in the works for some time when the news came out; Mary was pregnant. Not everyone knew, but a lot of people knew. More importantly, Joseph, the husband to be, knew.

Joseph’s world was turned upside down. How could this happen to him? How could Mary do this to him?

Joseph was embarrassed and felt like a fool.

And yet.

And yet, Joseph did not hate Mary, nor did he wish to see her punished further. This pregnancy outside of marriage would be plenty for her to deal with. It was almost guaranteed that Mary would never marry now, and she would live with her parents until their death. And then what? Mary’s future was not promising.

So Joseph decided not to humiliate Mary further. The proceedings to nullify the engagement would be private. Joseph would move on with his life. So would Mary, with her baby.

That was the plan anyways. The plan until last night.

You see, last night, an angel invaded Joseph’s sleep with a message.

“Joseph, don’t let Mary’s pregnancy derail your marriage to her. Mary has not been unfaithful to you, but rather she has been faithful to God; the baby is God’s! And when the baby is born, you are to give him this name: the Lord Saves! Yes, his name will be Jesus, because this child will save his people.”

When Joseph woke up, he tried to dismiss the dream, but he could not. It was a dream, but the dream was real. The dream was as real or more real than the world around Joseph, and so he could not ignore it.

Running through Joseph’s mind as his eyes opened that next morning were the words of the revered prophet Isaiah, “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call the child God with Us.”

Time seemed to collapse as Joseph considered the words. Those words, memorized by countless Israelites, words of hope and redemption, were happening right here, right now.

Joseph didn’t know how he felt about that. But he knew he had to find Mary.

And so life went for the next little while. Joseph and Mary kept to themselves to avoid the stares and comments that seemed to follow them anytime they were in public. And they planned to keep this up until their marriage and until the baby was born, but then the ruler of Rome ordered a census.

The census required Joseph, a descendant of David, to go to the City of David to be accounted for. And so Joseph and a very pregnant Mary travelled the 90 miles south from Nazareth to Bethlehem to make the ruler of Rome happy.

Arriving in Bethlehem, the young couple knew the baby would be coming soon. Because of the influx of travellers, Joseph’s relatives had already given away the guest space to other sojourners, leaving Mary and Joseph the common area of the home, a space also occupied by the homeowners' few animals. And so the baby was born there.

The other women in the house cleaned the baby, and Mary wrapped her newborn in strips of cloth, and after feeding him, she placed him in the animals' feed trough.

It would have to do.

Joseph watched the scene unfold and tried to rectify the angel's words with what was unfolding before his eyes. The messenger had said this child was of Almighty God, and here they were, making do in a space reserved for animals.

The words of Isaiah came to Joseph again, words of prophecy about the coming Anointed One. “To us a child is born… a son is given… the government will be on his shoulders.”

Joseph looked down on the sleeping newborn.

“He’ll be called the most Wonderful Counsellor,” Isaiah continued from long ago, “the Mighty God, the Eternal Father, Prince of Shalom.”

The baby yawned and then cried. Joseph looked to Mary before scooping Wonderful Counsellor- Mighty God- Eternal Father- Prince of Shalom into his calloused hands and tenderly placing the boy into Mary’s arms. He kissed Mary and the baby on the forehead and stepped out of the courtyard and into the street.

He needed air.

None of this made sense.

To be continued.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Unexpected pregnancies: Advent, part 1

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 18:39:39 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The people defined by their relationship with God had not heard from him in quite a while.

But they had not forgotten about God, even if it seemed God had forgotten about them.

“How long, Lord? How long will you fail to rescue us?” they prayed through tears.

The reason they needed rescue was clear. The once proud nation of Israel had been reduced to a vassal state.

The Children of God now appeared to be the children of Rome and whoever Rome appointed to rule over them.

The local king was Herod. He was not a good man.

The local king’s king was Caesar Augustus, whom some thought was divine. He might have thought so, too.

At the time of Herod and Augustus, there also lived a man named Zechariah who was married to Elizabeth. Both were old. Zechariah had deep crows' feet around his eyes when we smiled, and Elizabeth had hot flashes at the most inopportune times. They also had no kids, and less we think that was because they were not worthy in some way, that was not the case. Zechariah and Elizabeth loved God, each other, and others.

But the people talked and assumed that God had deemed this couple undeserving of children.

One day, Zechariah, who was a priest because his daddy was a priest and his daddy’s daddy was a priest and, well, you get the point, Zechariah was serving in the temple.

And on that day that Zechariah was serving in the temple, he was chosen to go deeper into the temple, into the part reserved only for God and a carefully prepared priest.

The funny thing about it was that in this most sacred place reserved for God, no one expected to encounter God.

But Zechariah did. Or rather, he encountered a messenger of God, an angel.

Zechariah was doing his duty, burning incense all by himself, when he saw the angel. “Don’t be afraid,” the angel said to Zechariah, but it was too late; Zechariah was afraid. Very afraid. But the angel didn’t spend much time soothing Zechariah. He had news.

“Your prayers have been heard,” the angel said with obvious delight. “Elizabeth will birth a son, and you will call him John! Zechariah, listen carefully; your son will be like the renowned prophet Elijah and lead the hearts of parents towards their children and the hearts of the foolish towards right living, and he will make the people ready to meet the Lord!”

“I haven’t prayed for a baby in a long, long time,” Zechariah thought.

Out loud, he said, “I am old, and my wife is old, and this doesn't seem possible.”

“I am Gabriel,” the angel replied, “and I stand in the presence of God. I have been sent to deliver this good news, and this good news will happen. You will mark my words by having none of your own until the baby is born.”

Zechariah left the temple, unable to speak, and Elizabeth, the woman who could not conceive, conceived.

And what did Elizabeth think about all this?

“The Lord has placed his goodness on me, and I’ve been given a new lease on life,” she mused as morning sickness came and her body began to change.

Six months later, God was at it again.

Gabriel, the messenger of good news to the old and barren, has been given a new message, this time to a young girl.

The young girl was named Mary, and she lived up north, in a small village, well out of the way of anything big or exciting.

And her life appeared to be set for her; Mary was engaged to a decent man named Joseph. Joseph was ordering his life, work, and housing to welcome his bride into his life.

And Mary was waiting for the day when the good news would arrive. “Your husband has come for you! The wedding is today! Come, celebrate your new life!”

Only, while Mary was waiting for Joseph and the wedding party to arrive, Gabriel, the messenger of God, showed up instead.

“Mary! God’s blessing is all over you!”

The exuberant greeting alarmed Mary.

Gabriel noticed. “Don’t be afraid, Mary,” he said, “God is delighted with you!”

If the angel had stopped here, Mary might have calmed down. But Gabriel was only getting started.

“You will conceive a son, and his Father has already named him! Jesus! He will be powerful and called the Son of the Most High, and he will rule forever over all of Israel from David’s throne! His kingdom will never end!”

“A baby, you say?” Mary managed to get out. “Where’s the baby coming from?”

“God’s going to do it,” Gabriel said with conviction. “The Holy Spirit will visit you, and you’ll be enveloped in the power of Almighty God. And that may not make sense, Mary, but know that your cousin Elizabeth, the old one who couldn't have kids, is pregnant and has been for six months. What God says happens.”

Heart still racing, Mary replied, “Let it happen. I am the Lord’s servant.”

Once the angel had left, Mary also left to visit her cousin.

“Shalom, cousin,” Mary said as soon as she saw Elizabeth. “Are you well?”

“Am I well?” Elizabeth grinned, then almost shouted, “Look at you! The lavishness of God is overflowing from you! And it's on me too! My baby is jumping for joy inside of me because of the God-child in you!”

“I’m pregnant,” Mary said, realising too late that Elizabeth obviously already knew.

“What God says happens,” Elizabeth said through tears of joy, alternating between hugging Mary and holding her at arm's length to look at her.

And suddenly, the reality of it all hit Mary. She was pregnant. By God. Her child would be the Son of God. The God who created the cosmos had seen her and chosen her.

“Oh wow,” Mary said.

“Everything in me loves the Lord, and everything in me is full to bursting with joy in God my Rescuer! He has seen me and loved me, and even though my neighbors may look down on me, history will see this for what it is: extravagant generosity from God himself!”

Mary stayed with her cousin for three months before returning home.

And Elizabeth had her baby just as God had said, and it was a boy, just as God had said.

Eight days later, Zechariah, still unable to speak, and Elizabeth, and many of their relatives and neighbors, took their baby to the temple to fulfil the requirements of the law. Part of the proceedings was to name the child, and all those watching made their opinion known; “He will be called Zechariah,” they mused and loved the idea that referring to Zechariah could mean a stooped old man or a newborn baby.

“His name is John,” Elizabeth declared to quiet the people.

“But why?” those gathered challenged, “That’s not a family name.” And to further their case, they asked the mute father what to name the child.

“His name,” Zechariah began to write.

“His name,” those nearest read out loud for those who could not see,

“Is,” they echoed as Zechariah wrote,

“John.”

And as soon as Zechariah wrote “John,” he was able to speak and speak he did!

“God has not forgotten us!” was the essence of Zechariah’s many words.

And all the neighbors and relatives and those living in the area began to wonder at what was happening and just what was in store. God was up to something. Something big.

To be continued.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The Teacher's teaching

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 18:37:05 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The sun was low in the sky as they made their way towards home. The heat from the daytime sun had been absorbed by the rocks and dirt that surrounded them and was now radiating outwards, but the air had a noticeably cool feel, and the breeze was almost chilly.

Jonas pulled his cloak a little tighter as he searched for where to begin.

“So,” he finally said, “that was interesting.”

Miriam glanced his way before turning back to the path they were following through the Judean countryside.

“Yes,” she finally said, “that was interesting. And confusing,” she added with emphasis.

“Confusing?” Jonas queried. “What was confusing for you? I found it all to be clear. Too clear.”

“Well, for starters,” Miriam said slowly as she gazed into the distance, trying to remember what it was that had so startled her about the Teacher’s words.

“For starters,” she began again, “when he said that stuff about the good life. I think it was ‘How good is life for the peacemakers, because they will be called children of God.’ That one really startled me. Because, well, we are Abraham’s descendants. We are the children of Israel, the firstborn of God! So why did the Teacher say that it's the peacemakers who are called children of God?”

Both Mariam and Jonas walked in silence, considering the implications of what they had just heard. Words about who lived the good or blessed life, words about what it meant to live the Law not just externally but internally as well, words about loving one’s enemies, and that was just the Teacher getting warmed up!

The two continued deep in thought, the words they had heard now running through their imaginations. Words that turned their world upside down. Words that made them question reality, and the reality of their faith and God.

If the good life, the life that God was inherently attuned to in his humanity, really did revolve around such things as being poor in spirit, unimportant, hungering and thirsting for right living, right relationships, then where did that leave them?

Jonas, a potter by trade, overlaid the Teacher’s words onto his life. Daily, while his hands made beautiful bowls and dishes, his thoughts ran wild with plans to sabotage and undermine the cursed Roman occupiers. And now the Teacher had said an attribute of God’s children was that they would be peacemakers? That did not make sense to Jonas. Wasn’t God dedicated to loving and protecting his people at the expense of all others? Or was God up to something else, something bigger? Jonas hated this line of thought, and yet he could not shake the certainty by which the Teacher had delivered his words.

Jonas let out a frustrated sigh and turned to Mariam, “If what the Teacher said is true, then this changes everything,” he said with despair. “My purpose in life is to make those who have hurt us pay dearly for the pain and violence they have shown us. And the Teacher says I am to love my enemies? Pray for those who persecute me?!”

Jonas was getting worked up as he spoke, and now his voice trembled.

“And the Teacher said that if we live that way, his way, then we will be true children of God?”

Jonas kicked a small stone, and it skittered down the path.

Miriam glanced his way again, only now to see his shoulders slumped and a tear running down the dust on his cheek.

“What is the Teacher getting at?” Jonas asked. “Is he saying that God doesn't really love us all that much after all?”

The question hung in the cool night air for several minutes before Mariam replied.

“I don’t think the Teacher was saying that we are no longer God’s beloved, but that God has infinitely more love and compassion than we ever expected from him. I think the Teacher was saying that we have always viewed God through our needs and desires, and we had sold him short. I think the Teacher was inviting us to see God as up to much more than blessing or rescuing a few people. I think the teacher was helping us see that God loves people, all people, even the rotten ones.”

Then, after a moment, Mariam added in a whisper, “I think the Teacher was inviting us to partner with God in rescuing and blessing all of humanity.”

Mariam couldn't tell if her words were helping or hurting Jonas, and so she lapsed into silence, only to have more words from the Teacher run through her mind.

“Your Father in heaven causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and he sends his rain on those who live right and those who do not,” the Teacher had said.

These words exposed a discomforting lack of favoritism from God that Mariam struggled to understand.

Mariam let the words and the implications of the words swirl through her mind.

If the Teacher was right, her whole thought process, her whole value system would have to change.

“Let’s just wait and see what happens,” Jonas suddenly blurted out.

“What’s that?” Mariam asked.

“Let’s just wait and see what happens,” Jonas repeated. “Either this Teacher will be exposed as a fraud and we can ignore his words, or he will do something that proves he knew what he was talking about.”

Mariam considered this, and a part of her wished that the Teacher would be exposed as a charlatan and a con man.

But another part of her knew this was not the case. He had spoken with an authority that she could not deny. As much as she dreaded the change that his words required of her, she also sensed something beyond the discomfort and realignment that would be the result of trusting his way.

“Was it hope?” she wondered to herself. Yes, but more.

“Freedom?” Yes again, but still more.

“Life?” Ah, yes, that was it, Mariam thought.

Life.

The Teacher’s words had felt like coming up out of water and blowing out the old, depleted air and breathing in new, vibrant, life-giving air.

Mariam understood why Jonas would want to wait and see what came of the Teacher, but as for her, the Teacher’s radical, challenging, frustrating words had sparked life in her.

Life that she wanted, no matter the cost.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Making a scene

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 18:33:43 GMT

The body content of your post goes here. To edit this text, click on it and delete this default text and start typing your own or paste your own from a different source.

Why bother the teacher anymore?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 03 Jul 2025 14:56:54 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The day was warm and only getting warmer. But near the water, near the cool breeze blowing off the water, it was almost pleasant.

And that was where Jesus was. He had just crossed the lake with his followers, and the whole group was abuzz with what had happened across the water.

The man possessed by something truly terrible was now calm, rational, and sharing the story of Jesus in that region (and with clothes on, no less!)

But Jesus was back amongst his people, near his home, and with that came a decidedly different feeling. A decidedly different feeling, especially from among the religious leaders.

Peter scanned the crowd that was beginning to form. His fingers were tired from pulling an oar, and it felt good to dip his hands into the cool lake water.

“Common folk only, so far,” he observed out loud, as he cupped his hands to wash his face, still kneeling on the rocky shore.

“What was that?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Peter replied, not altogether ready to be in a conversation, and unnerved by John’s uncanny hearing.

But John had picked up enough of Peter’s sentiment to also scan the crowd and come to the same conclusion. Peaceful people, hopeful people. Those who would trap Jesus (whether figuratively or literally) were nowhere to be seen. Yet.

John produced two small barley loaves from somewhere in the folds of his cloak and offered one to Peter.

Peter gladly accepted the food and rocked back from his heels to recline with one elbow propping him up, taking a large bite.

“Thank you,” Peter managed around the mouthful.

“You’re welcome,” John laughed, “but were you raised by Romans? Half of your bite fell out of your mouth as you said that!”

Peter waved John’s comment off at the same moment that Jairus purposefully stepped out of the crowd and moved quickly towards Jesus.

“Uh-oh,” Peter and John said in unison, springing to their feet.

“What does this synagogue leader want with us?” John wondered aloud as they moved towards Jesus and a now-running Jairus.

Peter, John, and Jairus all converged on Jesus at the same time, and Jesus’ eyes grew wide at the sudden appearance of all three men. Even in the hubbub, Peter noted that Jesus was also eating one of John’s barley loaves, and Peter made a mental note to ask John for another as soon as this was all cleared up.

“What is it?” Jesus asked, cutting Peter’s thoughts about food short. Peter was about to reply that he didn’t know what the Sheol was going on, but a loud sob erupted out of Jairus, stopping Peter cold.

The sound seemed to have taken all the strength out of Jairus’s legs, for with the cry, he crumpled at Jesus’ feet and managed to choke out, “It’s my little girl. She is…” But another body-tormenting sob had robbed Jairus of his speech.

At this, Peter and John both visibly relaxed. This was not a confrontation of the religious establishment against Jesus. This was a grieving man, simply grieving.

But while the two disciples had both taken a step back in relief, Jesus had dropped his bread (Peter noted) and knelt next to the heartbroken man.

“What about your daughter?” Jesus asked. “What is the matter?”

“She’s dying.” Jairus managed before a new wave of tears overcame him.

“She is dying,” he tried again, “please come and put your hands on her.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Jesus replied while helping Jairus to his feet. “Take me to your little daughter.”

We know how the story goes, or at least most of how the story goes. While we are left to forever wonder if Peter managed to get another loaf of bread from John (author's note: never write while hungry), we do know with certainty that Jesus and Jairus were met by Jairus’s household servants and told that the girl was now dead. “Why bother the teacher anymore?” they asked Jairus.

What a profound question. Profound, because it reaches into each of us at our most vulnerable place.

“Why bother the teacher?”

Underlying the question of “Why bother the teacher?” is an assumption that we are a bother. Underlying the assumption is that Jesus has better things, more important things to be doing than helping us, healing us, restoring us.

And of course he does. We who are immersed in time management books and TED Talks on prioritization and podcasts galore on efficiency, we of all people know that the Creator has better things to do than attend to the death and illness in me.

“Why bother the teacher?” we rationalize. We can take it from here. We may not know how to pick up the pieces of our lives, but we’ve been faking it for this long, so why not a little longer?

“Why bother the teacher?” and because that is what we feel we are supposed to say, we say it, while our insides scream at us, “YOUR DAUGHTER IS DEAD! YOU NEED THE TEACHER MORE NOW THAN EVER!”

But we don’t act on that; rather, we say the polite thing and give Jesus an easy exit.

“Sorry, Jesus, sorry for bothering you. Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll go now.”

So we stop bothering the teacher.

We dismiss Jesus.

Only to find that Jesus has no interest in leaving to do more important things.

And that is how the story ends. We pick the story of Jairus (and the story of us) up in Mark’s account of Jesus, chapter 5, verse 35:

Some people came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue leader. “Your daughter is dead,” they said. “Why bother the teacher anymore?”

Ignoring what they said, Jesus told him, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.”

He did not let anyone follow him except Peter, James and John the brother of James. When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. He went in and said to them, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him.

After he put them all out, he took the child’s father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”). Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around (she was twelve years old). At this they were completely astonished. He gave strict orders not to let anyone know about this, and told them to give her something to eat.

Each of us must wrestle with the question of whether we are a bother to God or not. And all too often, we (or at least, I) conclude that we are a bother.

We are just so… needy. So helpless. So utterly incapable of rescuing ourselves. This weakness and vulnerability seems like a massive flaw, like an embarrassing defect that we must hide at all costs if God is to take us seriously.

And yet, the story of scripture, the story of God and us, is that God delights in rescuing us. Please, please, please do not miss this!

God. Delights. In. Rescuing. You.

And that is so very good news, but our logical minds are still in effect. Minds telling us that God must surely tire of rescuing us over and over, again and again.

But that is a lie.

“Why bother the teacher anymore?”

Because he delights in you. You are not a bother.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A short story about a host and his party

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 13 Mar 2025 16:41:41 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The party was lively. People milled around, laughter rippled across the lawn, and the band played a familiar tune.

One couple began to dance, and a few more joined in, grinning at the silliness of it all. The song ended and the impromptu dancers bowed as those around them applauded.

The lights strung up overhead twinkled in the dusk, and the guests flowed between the drink table and the tables laden with food before finding a seat next to friends or strangers to enjoy the meal.

The food was simple but delicious, the kind of food you know without knowing that this was someone’s grandmother's recipe.

The band stuck with well-known songs that people hummed along with, and occasionally, during a popular chorus, tables of people would erupt in singing. The crowd's participation made the musicians smile, and they appeared to be performing just for the joy of sparking joy.

A glance around reveals that these are not people of means, and this is not the upper crust of society. Clothing is clean but not fancy, the language is plain, missing any illusions of haughty-ness or self-importance.

But it would be wrong to call this group shabby, as nearly every person is wearing the most opulent of accessories- a smile.

The dinner party is a weekly affair, a ritual of sorts. Laughter is the liturgy, plates filled with food, the eucharist.

Everyone is invited and so many people have shown up on this particular evening that people are taking turns sitting to eat their meal. But this only adds to the jovial nature of the night, and the host doesn’t seem embarrassed, but rather pleased, that so many had responded to his invitation.

The night was reaching its zenith when the host began to tap a knife against his glass. The hush spread in a slow ripple until even the kids paused their chatter. In the silence, the host cleared his throat and said in a loud voice, “I am so glad that you joined me tonight.”

The crowd responded with a whoop, and one bold fellow in the back yelled, “Only a fool would turn down an invitation to such a party!”

The host smiled at this but turned serious. “That has happened more than you know. When I first had the idea of this party, I invited all my closest friends.”

The host paused, seemingly surprised that this little admission had caused him to choke up. He took a sip of his drink, swallowed hard, and continued.

“I invited friends I had known for years, people who I had gone to school with and worked alongside, and to my great surprise, not one of them came to my party.”

“Their loss,” a lady standing close by murmured.

“Indeed,” the host agreed, overhearing. “And when I realized that all those I first invited were making excuses not to join me, I couldn’t bear to let the food and preparations go to waste, so I opened up the invitation to you, to everyone.”

“Thank you!” a child hollered, and the host smiled, joy returning to his face. Another guest, emboldened by the child, said “thank you,” and soon the sound of thank you was echoing across the lawn.

The host looked around at his guests, and those closest to him could detect tears in his eyes. “It is good, he said, his voice wavering with emotion.

“It is good for my house to be full.”

“A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests.” Jesus began. “At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’”

“But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’”

“Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’”

“Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’”

“The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’”

“Sir,” the servant said, “what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.”

“Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The extravagant Farmer

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 27 Feb 2025 17:45:14 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed.” Jesus began his story.

The Teacher had begun on the shore, but the people kept coming, and soon the water was lapping at Jesus’ ankles and soaking the hem of his cloak. Jesus took another step into the water as the people at the back of the throng pushed forward to hear, and those closest to Jesus had no option but to press towards the storyteller.

“This will not work,” a disciple said to his companion as he motioned for help to pull a small boat towards Jesus through the shallows. “Our Master will be swimming if we don’t help him!”

As the boat floated near, Jesus climbed aboard with a grateful nod to his disciples and leaned against the gunwale, letting out a contented sigh and continuing where he had left off.

“A farmer went out to sow his seed.”

Many in the audience looked at each other, small smiles on their lips. They could relate.

“As he was scattering the seed,” Jesus continued, “some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up.”

“Oh, dear. That’s no good,” those with any agricultural experience (which was pretty much the whole audience) thought.

“Seed is valuable! Where are the children to scare away the birds? Where are the family members to spread soil over the new seeds? Why is this farmer so carefless with the seed?”

Jesus must have caught the puzzled looks on the faces turned toward him, but he continued, “Some seed fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root.”

“An avoidable tragedy,” the crowd murmured. “Didn’t the farmer know his land? Didn’t the farmer care? This is malpractice!”

Despite their dismay at the careless farmer in the story, the crowd moved closer to Jesus. What would this reckless farmer do next?

They did not have long to wait.

“Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain.”

Upon hearing this, one farmer dug his elbow into his neighbor's side, “Sounds like the teacher has met you,” he chuckled good-naturedly.

The neighbor snorted, “I wish I could be so wastefully extravagant when I plant! Instead, I labor over where I will spread the seed. I stress over any seed that lands on less than ideal soil, and I curse the birds who, in their gluttony, would starve my family.”

Those eavesdropping nearby nodded in agreement. Sowing seed was no flippant matter for any who had gone to bed with an empty stomach and heard the hungry cries of a child.

“Still other seed fell on good soil.” The attention of the crowd snapped back to the boat and the Teacher. “It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.”

A collective sigh of relief came from the crowd. “The foolish farmer got lucky,” more than a few thought. The story that began with all the makings of a tragedy had unexpectedly ended well.

But the thought of soil and seed and birds and scorching sun prompted a few to turn towards home, towards the never-ending list of work to be done. “After all,” they thought, “I’m not like the farmer in the story. I cannot waste perfectly good seed on the hope that some will produce a crop. I cannot be so generous.”

And that brings us to the present.

Some 2,000 years later, we also struggle to understand the lack of caution in the Farmer, for we also have no category for such reckless generosity.

But we should, for we were made in the Farmer’s image.

Listen to this observation of the Farmer God from Ronald Rolheiser,

“God, as we see in both nature and in scripture, is overgenerous, overlavish, overextravagant, overprodigious, overrich, and overpatient. If nature, scripture, and experience are to be believed, God is the absolute antithesis of everything that is stingy, miserly, frugal, narrowly calculating, or sparing in what it doles out. God is prodigal.”

God is prodigal.

God is “wastefully extravagant and lavishly abundant” (a dictionary definition of prodigal) towards humanity, towards us, towards you, and towards me.

God is prodigal.

How, then, might we live?

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Twenty-eight, not twenty-seven

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 13 Feb 2025 18:24:02 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The day was hot and dry.

Joshua was hot and dry as he peered out from under his hood at the unforgiving land surrounding him. Rock, sand, and cliffs peered back at him.

This was brutal land, land that burned you and froze you, often in the same day.

Land that seemed intent to kill.

But land that also supported life, if you were careful.

It was not uncommon for Joshua, in his wanderings, to come across the carcass of a small animal that had succumbed to the harsh environment. The death could have come from thirst or starvation, or a minor wound that became infected, or from the fangs and claws of a predator. “It’s simply to die out there,” Joshua’s father would remind him as he set out into the arid land.

Joshua knew the reminder was both for him and for the small flock of sheep that were his responsibility.

And these sheep gave Joshua fits at times.

Sheep seemed intent on getting hurt, on getting lost, on refusing water and shade. Sheep, as Joshua had observed so many times, would stand in tight groups in the heat of the day, slowly overheating if he did not intervene, driving them apart, moving them to meager shade, to calm water. Sheep seemed to come with a death wish and Joshua’s job was to see that his sheep lived.

But sheep did die even under the best shepherd’s care. Joshua had lost a sheep just a few days ago. The ewe had wandered away while Joshua was damming up a small trickle of water. In the few minutes it took for Joshua to create a small pool of life-giving water, one curious sheep had left the flock, stepped over a small cliff, lost her footing, and tumbled down into a ravine. The fall was not far but the sharp, broken branch at the bottom had caught the ewe at just the right angle and had ended her life.

Such was the life of a shepherd and Joshua was well versed in the joys and heartache of leading his flock.

Years ago, when Joshua had first been entrusted with the family flock, Joshua’s dad had told him about his namesake, the great leader of the Children of Israel, the shepherd who had led the former slaves into their promised land and into a new identity as a nation, a kingdom, a grounded people with land and a future. “Joshua, your name means ‘God is deliverance.’ Do you understand what that means Joshua?” Joshua’s dad had asked.

“Yes Abba, I understand,” Joshua had answered, not altogether sure if he did.

But Joshua did know that he had a big name to live into and if the stories were to be believed, he had a big God who had delivered his people to this place that he knew as home.

And the years went by. Lambs were born, grew into maturity, and sold or used to meet the family’s needs.

Joshua’s father’s flock became his flock.

But on this hot and dry day, Joshua’s senses were on high alert. Something was out of place. Sheep milled around, looking for the small shoots of greenery that sustained them and Joshua scanned the hillside, alert for predators, for storm clouds, for wandering sheep. He saw nothing to cause alarm, and yet he knew better than to dismiss the feeling. Roused from his rest in the shade of a spindly bush, Joshua determined to count his flock, something that he rarely did before nightfall. But count he did after moving the flock into an open space and using his staff to move and separate sheep.

“One, two, three,” he muttered.

“Four, five, six, seven,” Joshua continued.

"twenty-six, twenty-seven."

One short.

Joshua knew the number of his flock better than he knew his age, and he was one short.

He counted again.

Still one short. Still twenty-seven.

Urgently he scanned the surrounding land, taking in the midday sun, the lack of shadows, the lack of sheep beyond the flock milling around him.

And he counted once again, praying with each sheep numbered that he had made a mistake and that all of his animals were present.

But the count stopped one short again and Joshua tucked his robe into his belt. He knew that today could end in misery. The lost sheep represented his family's security, their insurance against want and need. Joshua's family rarely knew excess and were much more familiar with the miracle of just enough. One sheep, plus or minus, was significant and so Joshua prayed and Joshua prepared his flock for his absence. With water in their bellies and enough plants nearby so the sheep would not be unduly tempted to wander, Joshua set out, calling for his lost sheep.

Scrambling over a nearby hill, Joshua scanned the surrounding land in small increments, keen for the shape, the texture, the color of his lost sheep.

He saw nothing.

And so he continued, calling and looking, calling and praying.

Joshua thought he had spied his sheep, but the distant boulder turned out to be just that, a rock that looked remarkably like a sheep.

Same with a shadow and another rock. And another and another.

Joshua was exhausted, his voice was hoarse, his legs were cut and bleeding and he stumbled more and more as his hope ebbed away. Finally, with the sun dipping dangerously low in the west, Joshua turned towards his flock, admitting defeat.

As he trudged on Joshua rehearsed the new number of his flock.

“Twenty-seven,” he whispered.

It felt foreign, unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Twenty-seven.”

The sound made him weep.

And that is when he heard it. A small, tired bleat. Joshua moved towards the sound, all weariness gone from his mind and body. From a fold in the land, invisible to his trained eye, Joshua saw his lost sheep tangled in a thorn bush, helpless to move and completely spent in her struggles.

Joshua was on his knees beside her, pouring a little water into his hand to give her a drink, petting her face, speaking gentle words to her. As he spoke, Joshua snapped thorns, inch by inch easing wool free, inch by inch the lost sheep was freed.

Joshua didn’t know when he began to say it, but he heard himself chanting “twenty-eight, not twenty-seven” in time to his efforts.

The chant was a prayer of gratitude, a song of hope, a melody of victory.

And with a final snap of a branch, Joshua pulled the sheep free and lifted her to his shoulders where he settled the exhausted sheep for the walk back to the flock.

And that’s when he let out a scream of joy, a howl of laughter.

“Twenty-eight, not twenty-seven!” rang off the surrounding hills, an echo of joy on repeat.

The sheep jerked, startled by the outburst and Joshua settled down, content to sing the words of the shepherd David to calm her even as he jogged along, a ridiculous smile spread across his face.

An hour later, the land now dark but bathed by the light of a waxing moon, Joshua spied home and let out a whoop. The sheep on his shoulders was too exhausted to react this time and the flock meandered indifferently.

But the sound prompted his wife to poke her head out from the doorway.

“Hurry!” Joshua called with a strength that surprised him.

“Invite our friends and let the neighbors know! Tonight we celebrate!”

Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Laughter and good news

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 30 Jan 2025 18:42:35 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I may have a slightly weird sense of humor.

(You do as well, and we all know it, so you might as well embrace it).

I like to think our humor is as unique as our fingerprints. One of my favorite things to learn about someone is what makes them laugh. Not politely laugh, not saying “That’s funny,” but uncontrollably laugh.

To laugh in a way that you are helpless to stop, where tears stream down your face and you cannot catch your breath, is one of the purest moments of living. You feel like you could pass out and you never feel more alive.

To laugh, to experience unbridled joy, not at the expense of others but with others, taps into something ancient, something Garden-like. Or maybe it’s a taste of the future, a scent of the Garden City. Somehow laughter seems like our truest language. Just observe little kids at play, much (most?) of what is verbally expressed is laughter. Laughter crosses language and cultural barriers.

Joyful laughter abides where all is well, all is whole, all is as it should be.

And uncontrolled laughter is also strangely intimate. You feel a little bit exposed, a little naked when this happens.

Isn’t that fascinating?

More Eden flashbacks.

What I also find fascinating is that of all the things Christians are known for, joyful laughter is not high on the list. I would think it would be our tell, the little sign that gives us away.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but I couldn't help but notice your laughter and I was wondering if you are a follower of Jesus?”

We know that the King of Everything has moved heaven and earth to be with us, that in the Incarnation we have received the most elaborate proposal of love and forgiveness the world will ever know, and our response is to live in… glumness? Frustration? Sadness? Despair? Judgement?

I do understand why.

The world is broken, I readily admit that.

We see the brokenness everywhere we look. Orphans from war, victims of greed, abused spouses and kids, hopeless addicts, starvation, failing bodies, natural disasters, another shooting, another family broken apart, another lonely person surrounded by people.

It’s enough to make us weep. And we should.

Humanity is broken- all of us are broken. We mourn with those who mourn.

And yet, there is more.

The evil and sin that is behind all the pain and heartache does not rule unopposed.

The King has come.

The Spirit is moving.

The Church is alive.

Checkmate.

Which reminds me of something.

I once saw a TV show where the leading man delivered bad news with a big smile on his face. It was met with confusion by the character receiving the news and canned laughter from the fake studio audience. It was absurd, a joke. Something to laugh at, because everyone knows bad news is delivered with a serious or sad demeanor.

Furthermore, everyone knows that good news is delivered with a smile, with joy. Maybe even laughter.

A quick reading of the gospel accounts of Jesus reveals that over and over again, he healed disease, cast out impure spirits, and taught something called Good News.

I can only imagine that Jesus was surrounded by joy and laughter from those who recognized their brokenness.

A terminal disease vanished after a touch from Jesus?

Cries of surprise.

A child afflicted by an evil spirit who is now free and whole?

Tears of joy.

A proclamation from the King that forgiveness is being offered, that the wayward can come home?

Immense relief and uncontrolled laughter.

“Blessed are you who weep now,” Jesus said, “for you shall laugh.”

It would seem that for those who recognize their brokenness and failure, weeping is not their destiny.

Laughing is.

Joy unspeakable.

Which reminds me that Good News pairs well with joy and laughter.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Dad, tell me again why we live in a tent?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 23 Jan 2025 18:48:21 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Years ago, in the DINK period of Cassie and my life (Dual Income, No Kids), we had the opportunity to travel to Europe.

It was… stressful.

The history was fascinating, the architecture and natural beauty were spectacular.

But everything was complicated and different.

Mind you, I am not complaining. I’d go back in a heartbeat.

We wandered through Venice, ate dinner next to a canal, rode a highspeed train across Italy, toured the Vatican, walked near the Acropolis, toured Greek Islands.

And we learned firsthand what it means to be a stranger, a foreigner.

And to be a stranger, a foreigner, is to be unsettled. To always be a little uncomfortable, a little on edge, a little out of your element.

It was good for us.

Comfort and the feeling of being in control is a dangerous siren song.

Especially for Jesus followers.

Especially for Jesus followers in our culture, in our time in history.

I can so easily be sucked into the desires and expectations of society. Sucked in so effectively that I forget my primary identity is that of stranger, foreigner, exile.

I find one passing detail in Hebrews chapter 11 fascinating. And helpful.

The author is recounting the story of Abraham in shorthand and he says that Abraham lived in tents. And not only Abraham, but also his heirs, Isaac and Jacob, for they were “heirs with him of the same promise.”

A promise from God that compelled them to live in tents? Not for one generation, but multiple generations?

Not cool God. That’s super un-American.

But it was even weird back then.

Consider Abraham’s conversation with neighbors.

‘Mornin’ Abraham.”

“Mornin’.”

“How did you sleep, Abe? I noticed it got pretty windy last night. I had to get up and close the shutters. But then ya know what? I slept like a baby. Ya know why? Cause I live in a house. Tell me again why you live in a tent, Abraham?”

“Because,” Abraham responds patiently even though he is tired of this conversation, “because I am looking forward to living in an unseen city, which is real by the way, with real foundations, eternal foundations. That's why I live in a tent now, because this land, promised to me by God, is not my real home. Thus the tent.”

Abraham’s neighbor guffaws and walks away satisfied that he once again has plenty of material to entertain his friends at the city gate.

Abraham’s conviction, which incidentally was tangible enough for his son and his son’s son to also adopt his anti-house, pro-tent lifestyle, marked Abraham as a man of a different culture and faith.

And not just a different faith, but a faith that had overflowed its banks and was now interfering with Abraham’s life, lifestyle, and legacy.

“Listen, my child, I am about to die but I give you my… tent.” I imagine Abraham whispering to Isaac.

“But pops,” Isaac replies with a confused expression, “my friend Rocket is set to inherit his dad’s sprawling compound when he dies. 12,000 square feet of glorious Mediterranean-style villa! Tell me again why it is that you chose to live in a tent? It's super drafty, has the poorest insulation and it is impossible to defend against raiders. And you’re about to die, isn’t it time to give up on this dream of a better city?”

Isaac considered saying “better city” with air quotes, but he thought better of it.

“My Son,” Abraham said after a long pause, “do not fall for the lie that what you see is all that there is. This is a cheap imitation of the real thing. Listen! Do not set your hopes on this place, on the joys and comforts of this place, this life.”

Abraham fell silent and fell still. Isaac leaned in, wondering if his dad had just passed away when Abraham’s eyes jerked open and he took a ragged breath, continuing where he had left off.

“Living in a tent is a small concession to keep our affections aligned with God. It, every sacrifice that we make, will be worth it in the end. You’ll see.”

By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God…

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

(From the author of the book written to the Hebrews, chapter 11, verses 8-10 and 13-16).

This world is not our home. And, because our deepest affections lie elsewhere, we live with freedom and joy, not consumed with the agony of getting more and getting better. All that is being taken care of. We have only to carry on, spreading God-flavor and God-light everywhere we go. “Careless in the care of God.”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Kool-Aid and animal crackers

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 16 Jan 2025 18:54:00 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I never knew Eileen West to be young in the classical sense.

Eileen was my Sunday school teacher for several years in the late 80’s.

I was young, maybe 5 or 6 years old, and Eileen was a grandmother and a grandmotherly type.

Eileen taught our rambunctious group the stories of the Bible using her storytelling gift and a flannel graph. She never had help in the classroom that I recall and never seemed to need it (although she may have begged to differ).

If that old church building were still standing, and I were able to revisit it, I am sure I’d be shocked at how small our basement classroom was, but somehow it always had enough room for the stories being told.

The story of Jonah and the fish worked reasonably well, especially since the church basement was known to flood during our rainy spring seasons, but the Israelites marching around the walls of Jericho made us all feel particularly cramped. Noah and the Ark was a stretch, mostly because we couldn’t wrap our young minds around someone building a boat for decades and decades on end, but we kids liked that the result was a floating zoo.

Jesus feeding the 5000 was where our room and imaginations met their match. “How did Jesus do that?” we asked when Eileen explained that Jesus fed more people in this one casual miracle than made up the entire population of our town.

“God can do anything,” she said and we believed her.

I didn’t know much about Eileen other than she lived a few towns over and drove herself 30 minutes to teach us little hoodlums each Sunday.

I do remember raising my hand one Sunday in church, signifying that I wanted to follow Jesus and Eileen was the person who talked to me about it after I had walked forward. (Back in those days, Jesus didn’t meet you in your seat, but only at the front near the altar).

Eileen was one of those comforting presences in my life growing up that you assume will always be there, but eventually, I grew older and so did Eileen. I remember hearing that my parents were driving a meal over to her place because her health was failing and later, in a casual conversation, they mentioned that Eileen had passed away.

Teresa of Avila either said or wrote, “When one reaches the highest degree of human maturity, one has only one question left: How can I be helpful?”

I have no idea if Eileen ever heard of Teresa of Avila, but she was incredibly helpful to a group of tiny humans and I was fortunate enough to be one of them. To this day, I do not doubt that Eileen loved me and somehow, the way I understand and experience Jesus loving me is similar to how Eileen loved me.

(Minus the Dixie cup of Kool-Aid and the animal crackers, I should add).

I began by saying that I never knew Eileen to be young in the classical sense. I stand by that. However, as time has passed, I have begun to wonder if maybe Eileen was younger than I gave her credit for.

You see, week after week, for many years, Eileen taught the kids in her Sunday school class about Jesus and I never detected fatigue or that this was monotonous to her.

And then I came across this passage from G.K. Chesterton and it made me wonder all the more. Take a look at it for yourself:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that he has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

Maybe it was a sense of duty that compelled Eileen to spend time with us kids each week, or maybe, just maybe, she was much closer in age to us than we ever knew because she was like her Father.

Either way, thank you, Eileen.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant.

A message for all the Annas.

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 09 Jan 2025 17:59:42 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Anna was a widow.

We don’t know many of the details but Anna had met her future husband as a young girl and by all accounts, their marriage had been everything she and her husband had hoped it would be. Except that it lasted only seven years before he died.

And that we have no mention of children being born from this union.

It was Anna and her husband, and then it was just Anna.

Anna was young when her husband passed away, but she never remarried.

We don’t know why. Maybe Anna never met another man who could compare to her husband, or maybe all the eligible men simply looked past Anna.

If Anna was believed to be barren, this would have made sense.

For as long as anyone can remember, first-century Israel viewed barrenness as a judgment of God, an indictment of some kind.

People who knew Anna assumed that she had her chance for happily ever after and that her chance had now passed her by.

Thus Anna was a widow. And had been for many decades.

Anna never became bitter, although she did wonder why her life had turned out the way it had. Anna was the rare person who faced her grief, gave it to God, and lived a more full and beautiful life because of it.

With no children to care for and no children to care for her, Anna gave her life wholly to God. In a twist on the story of Hannah and Samuel, Anna gave herself to the service of God in the temple in place of the child she never had.

Thus Anna never left the temple but lived out her years in prayer and fasting, year after year, decade after decade.

We don’t know Anna’s prayers. We can presume that she prayed the psalms (How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?), she prayed the daily prayers of her people (Hear Oh Israel, God is our Lord, God is One.), and she prayed for the redemption of her people through the promised Anointed One, the Messiah.

And one day, all her prayers were answered.

Well, they were kind of answered, in the sense that you know this is the answer to your prayer, but it doesn't quite look how you expected it to.

Answered prayer, an unexpected way.

The day that Anna met the answer to her prayers there was a disturbance across the temple courts and Anna moved with the crowds of curious people towards the commotion.

At the center of the hubbub was an old man named Simeon, a familiar face around the city, holding a very young baby.

Through tears, Simeon was able to choke out,

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,

you may now dismiss your servant in peace.

For my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:

a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

and the glory of your people Israel.

Anna’s breath caught in her throat.

So this was the Anointed One, the One prophesied about from the very beginning, the hope of all humanity.

Right then the baby let out a powerful cry and Simeon handed the child back to his mother.

Anna felt the years fall off her as she straightened up, her eyes wide in amazement. Her feathery voice suddenly felt full, husky, as she gathered the people around her and began, “Let me tell you what just happened, what is happening right now! That baby is everything we have ever hoped for!”

Thirty-some years later, the baby was now a man, a teacher, sitting on a mountainside, with an audience gathered around him. Anna had passed away, never again seeing the baby who had turned-man-turned-teacher.

But the Teacher knew Anna. The Teacher knew Anna well.

The Teacher had known Anna even before she was born, while her body was being formed in her mother’s womb. The Teacher knew Anna on the day she said her first word, took her first step, went to her first day of school. The Teacher knew her as she grew from a baby to a girl to a woman. The Teacher knew Anna on the day she became a wife and he knew her the day she became a widow. The Teacher had known and loved Anna every day of her life.

As the Teacher began to teach from the mountainside, Anna was on his mind. And not just Anna, but all the Annas, all the people who had hopes dashed, who had dreams turn into nightmares, who have been met with the agony of a fallen world, all those who knew this world wasn’t right but that there was One who would make all things right.

From the mountainside, he spoke directly to Anna and to all the Annas.

He said,

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,

for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,

for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

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, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Anna, Annas, you are the salt and light of the earth.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Thank you Joseph

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 02 Jan 2025 17:10:28 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I just met Joseph.

He is 74 years old and on his way to see the cardiologist.

Joseph has more than a passing resemblance to how I imagine Abraham or Moses. Or any of the Old Testament prophets for that matter; short, stocky, bursting with energy, an impressive beard.

I could tell he wanted to talk.

I had work to do and I hid behind my work as long as I could. But then Joseph asked me a question and we were off.

His opening remark was about my gloves and he wondered if they were warm. I said that they were. I commented on his coffee. How a hot cup of coffee is the best way to keep your hands warm.

We were now friends.

We talked about his 94-year-old brother who is in hospice and grew up during the Great Depression and the Second World War and he hoped to see his brother before he passes. We talked about how the uncertainty of life during the Cold War impacted Joseph’s childhood and career. How Joseph served in the Air Force during Vietnam but never went to Vietnam.

Somehow we even talked about the violence found in the Old Testament and how that may not be the clearest portrayal of God.

And then Joseph had to get to his doctor’s appointment and we said goodbye.

Joseph is gone and I am left to wonder what God was up to in that encounter.

My conclusion? Something about salt and light.

Here’s how The Message puts Jesus’ words,

Let me tell you why you are here. You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You’ve lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.

Thank you Joseph for taking the time to show me God-flavors and God-colors today.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Blinded so that we can see

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 26 Dec 2024 17:47:32 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Eons ago when I was about to turn thirty, I decided I wanted to climb a Colorado fourteener for my birthday.

Colorado is blessed with more than 50 mountain peaks reaching over 14,000 feet above sea level and a few of those mountains are accessible to people who lack technical climbing skills. People like me.

Since I had never climbed anything so formidable, I did a lot of research. Armed with blogs and books and maps, Cassie and I traveled to Colorado, fueled up on pizza the night before our climb, got up insanely early, and drove to the trailhead.

That’s when we really started learning about climbing fourteeners. Especially climbing fourteeners in late spring.

The first surprise of the day was how much snow we encountered on our drive to the trailhead. So much snow that it became clear that if we continued to drive up, we might never drive down. So we parked well short of the trailhead and began our climb.

The next surprise was just how high fourteen thousand feet is and how difficult it is to breathe at that altitude. The climb was less than five miles one way, but starting at 11,000 feet meant we were breathing hard the whole time.

But we made it to the top.

And it was spectacular.

Sunny skies reflected off the snow-covered mountains spreading off in every direction. Cassie sang happy birthday to me and we ate our leftover pizza in an oxygen-deprived state of bliss.

And why shouldn’t we be happy?

We were at the top; as everyone knows, going down is easier.

Except it wasn't.

The snow, with a nice crust that supported our weight on the way up in the cold, was now softened by the sun and was no longer willing to hold us up.

For the majority of the trek back down, we sank to our knees or deeper with each step.

We were no longer having fun.

Late that afternoon we made it back to the vehicle, back down the mountain road, and back to civilization.

We were sunburned, dehydrated, sick from the altitude, terribly sore, and grumpy.

We both agreed that there are better ways to celebrate a birthday.

But I was hooked.

Over the next five years, I climbed as many fourteeners as I could, including returning to the original climb a few times to try it with better gear and better conditions.

And each climb had a special moment for me: the first sliver of the sun rising over the horizon, throwing its color and light up and out in every direction.

To avoid the crowded trails I’d typically start my climb several hours before sunrise and the scope of my view for those first miles was whatever my headlamp could illuminate.

But once the eastern sky began to turn from black to gray and from gray to yellowish-orange, I’d get my first view of my surroundings and the mountain I was climbing. The sunrise always necessitated a short break to soak in the view and savor the beauty.

However, a few times, my route had me climbing towards the sun as it rose. And my view, rather than being awe-inspiring and postcard-worthy, was more like looking into, well, the sun. Blinded by the light.

Whereas before the sun rose I was blissfully skipping along (who am I kidding? It was more like slowly putting one foot in front of the other), I was now tripping on rocks and having a hard time decerning where the path even was. All because of the light.

Headlamp no longer needed, I was now pulling my hat bill low, holding an arm high to shield my eyes, squinting to make out just what exactly the light was illuminating.

Which reminds me of that ornery old prophet Isaiah, when he wrote,

“The people walking in darkness

have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

a light has dawned.”

I love that verse. This Light was an answer to prayer. The answer to the prayer.

The Light would be God among us, with us, one of us.

And yet, some six hundred years later, when the Light dawned, I wonder if it wasn’t just a little blinding.

I picture those first-century Israelites doing a lot of pulling their hat brims low, arms held high to shield their eyes, squinting to make out just what exactly the light was illuminating.

A baby who is… God?

A baby who is God who grows up to… die?

A baby who is God who grows up to die… for what?

The people walking in darkness were looking for something else. Something a lot more like… Rome.

Since Rome was the problem, the solution should look like Rome, only more powerful.

But Jesus didn’t come to be a bigger Rome or a better Rome.

Rome already had its gods; the powerful always have more than enough gods.

Jesus came for those who had lost faith in their gods and were humbly looking for something real.

And that's where the blinding part comes in.

I suspect that until we stop fighting the brilliance of the Light, until we stop shielding our eyes and glancing away to protect our vision, we never experience the miracle of the Savior.

The Light is blinding.

But maybe, it blinds us to what is false and fake, and then, only when we are properly blind, do we see what is real.

"When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, 'I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.'"

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Ready or not.

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 19 Dec 2024 15:16:22 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Christmas is almost here.

Maybe you are excited.

Maybe you are not.

Maybe it doesn't feel like Christmas should be almost here because someone or something is missing from this season.

Regardless, Christmas comes.

Or, a better way to say it is, Christ arrives right on time.

The story of humanity is that we have not fully shown up to the moment—any moment. Maybe it was a simple command in a good garden not to eat from a certain tree or maybe it was a solemn covenant made between the Almighty and his people, but the consistent part is that we have consistently not held up our end of the bargain.

Shame on us?

Game over?

Go home, you didn’t make the team?

You’d think, but no.

Rather, it would seem that our limits, our fallibility, has been factored into the story from the very beginning.

Paul, the rangy theologian/missionary/author/former persecutor of all things Jesus, writes to this effect,

“Christ arrives right on time…. He didn’t, and doesn’t, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready. And even if we hadn’t been so weak, we wouldn’t have known what to do anyway.” (Romans 5, MSG)

Christ arrives right on time.

One day, in a tiny village that was bursting to the seams with visitors because a far-off person with power had made a degree, a baby was born.

Born in a room frequented by animals to a young girl, a virgin girl.

By the birthing virgin’s side was a young man who was tasked with caring for the baby and the baby's momma.

The baby was not his.

The circumstances seem less than ideal.

Maybe no one is ever ready for Christmas.

And yet, Christ arrives right on time.

While this miracle of birth was miraculously happening, outside of town a group of shepherds were shepherding.

In contrast to the hustle and bustle of Bethlehem, these shepherds appear to be left out. Whatever is happening in town, they are not necessary nor significant enough to leave their sheep to participate.

But the quiet of the night suddenly broke when a figure appeared to them. Not only did this thing, this being, appear out of nowhere and begin to speak, but something called “the glory of the Lord” shone all around them.

They were terrified.

The shepherds weren’t ready for Christmas.

I remember moments like this as a child when I was minding my own business, playing with Lincoln Logs or Lego blocks or Hot Wheels cars, and suddenly my mom appeared out of nowhere and the glory of her authority shone about her and I was terrified.

Why? I can't say for sure.

But what I am sure about is that anyone who cared to do a little sleuthing could find some dirt on me. Most likely recent dirt, incriminating dirt.

I had siblings after all; I was never innocent.

Some way, somehow, I was guilty and I knew it.

And my mom’s presence must mean that justice would be served.

We know little for certain about the shepherds but we do know this with certainty, they were every bit as guilty as little me.

And yet, my mom, I mean the angel, had a message that caught the shepherds completely by surprise.

The greatest event in the history of great events was taking place and they had been exclusively invited to witness the moment.

This wasn’t about the guilty being held to account, but about the account no longer belonging to the guilty.

But let’s back up to where we began.

The lead-up to the first Christmas was not magical.

The birth of the Savior of the world was not preceded by massive discounts on TVs and Toyotas, it was not anticipated by the lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas Tree and Myriah Carey’s soulful voice singing Christmas classics, nor was it celebrated by elaborate church productions and candlelit services.

Hardly.

The lead-up to The Birth was the worst of times.

And into the despair, the questions, the anxiety, the shortfalls, Christ arrives right on time.

After all, how anticlimactic would it be for a savior to show up to a people and a place that needed no saving?

So rejoice in your weakness, in your unpreparedness, in the tinge of sadness and regret.

Christ, your Savior, arrives right on time.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Formless and void.

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 12 Dec 2024 19:00:00 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Augustus spoke and the people obeyed; he had decided it was high time for a census. Rome needed money to do what Rome did and to get money, Rome needed to know who to tax.

So people streamed from wherever they lived to their ancestral homes to be counted for the pleasure of Augustus, emperor of Rome.

This affected a man named Joseph and his fiancée named Mary. And it affected the near-term baby growing in Mary’s belly.

This baby was not to be born 9 months after the wedding was consummated.

No.

This baby was to be born before the wedding.

Oops.

Babies born before the wedding in this culture were not common. Not common at all. Joseph and Mary’s situation turned more than a few heads, caused more than a few tongues to wag. The gossips and busybodies loved the situation; family and friends were mortified.

This story takes place in that peculiar space that usually follows a few bad decisions. You know, too much to drink, being in a place you should never have been, with people that do not have your best interest in mind, at a time of day when you should have been somewhere else.

Accept, none of that applied to Joseph and Mary and their illicit child.

Why?

Because the child was not a mistake. (As if the miracle of new life could ever be so callously categorized).

Rather, this child’s lineage can be traced back to the beginning.

As in, the beginning of everything.

Here’s how the story goes: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.”

Empty. Dark. Unformed space.

Oh, and the Spirit of God was there too.

Roughly nine months before Joseph and Mary responded to the Emporer's decree and found themselves in the little town of Bethlehem, Mary’s womb had been empty, unformed space.

Until it wasn't.

The story goes like this.

An angel by the name of Gabriel made an unannounced visit to the teenage Mary. The angel Gabriel came excited.

“Rejoice Mary! You are favored! You, Mary, are blessed by God!”

Mary was confused and disturbed. You know, like let out a shriek and drop the clay pot and pee your pants confused and disturbed.

Gabriel realized that he needed to cool it a little.

And he tried, he really did. But the news was just too good.

“Don’t be afraid, Mary,” Gabriel blurted, “for you have found favor with God! You will conceive and give birth to a son and you will name him Jesus and He will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High and The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David and he will reign over Israel forever as his Kingdom will never end!”

After his breathless announcement, Gabriel stood there, chest heaving, grinning at Mary.

But Mary was still just as confused and disturbed. “It’s nice that we have a name picked out for the baby,” Mary surely thought. “But could we back up just a bit and talk about how this baby is getting inside me?”

Out loud, Mary asked the angel, “How can this be? I am a virgin.” She was hoping that the angel would understand that the part of her body that makes a baby was formless and void.

Gabriel did understand what Mary was saying.

Yes, her womb was dark and empty, formless and void.

But the Spirit of God was hovering.

So Gabriel explained how all this would happen.

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will hover over you. The baby to be born will be holy, the Son of God.”

And that is just how it happened.

From an empty womb and the hovering Spirit,

“to us a child is born,

to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The Bread sustains us

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 05 Dec 2024 19:27:01 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

O little town of Bethlehem,

how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

the everlasting light;

the hopes and fears of all the years

are met in thee tonight.

Bethlehem means “house of bread.”

A long time ago, Jacob, his family, and his servants were traveling.

His wife Rachel was pregnant and gave birth to a son. The birth did not go well, and Rachel, in the last moments of her life, named her newborn Ben-Oni, Son of My Trouble.

But Jacob (He Deceives), renamed He Struggles with God (Israel), renamed his newborn child, Son of My Right Hand, or Benjamin.

Apparently, renaming was a lot more common back then.

Rachel was buried at Bethlehem; laid to rest at House of Bread.

For Christ is born of Mary;

and, gathered all above,

while mortals sleep, the angels keep

their watch of wond'ring love.

O morning stars, together

proclaim the holy birth,

and praises sing to God the King,

and peace to men on earth.

In Matthew’s account of the life and death and life again of Jesus, he begins by placing his story into the larger human story and writes this unassuming line, “Boaz the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth, Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David.”

“Obed, whose mother was Ruth.”

The account of Ruth, the foreign woman whose story became woven into the genealogy of Jesus, says this, “In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land. So a man from Bethlehem in Judah, together with his wife and two sons, went to live for a while in the country of Moab.”

There was no bread in the House of Bread, and so this little family set out to find food. But tragedy strikes and the man from Bethlehem, who is seeking to provide for his family, soon dies. But all is not lost. The boys, now men, marry Moabite women and live happily ever after. Happily ever after for about 10 years, that is.

And then Naomi’s two sons both die.

Now we can safely say that all is lost.

“So Naomi returned from Moab accompanied by Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, arriving in Bethlehem as the barley harvest was beginning.” (Ruth 1:22, emphasis added)

Bethlehem, the House of Bread, sustains.

Once again, there is bread, even for a bitter old woman and her foreign daughter-in-law.

How silently, how silently,

the wondrous gift is giv'n!

So God imparts to human hearts

the blessings of His heav'n.

No ear may hear His coming,

but in this world of sin,

where meek souls will receive Him still,

the dear Christ enters in.

Ruth marries Boaz and they have a son, Obed.

Obed has a son named Jesse and Jesse has a son named David.

Well, more accurately, Jesse has many sons, and the runt of the litter was named David.

Poor David.

A few decades back, Israel (the nation) had begun to think they should have a king, you know, like all the other nations. The problem with this request was that Israel did have a king, or rather, they had The King. But Israel insisted that they needed a human king and God answered their prayer.

God instructed Samuel, a prophet and leader in Israel, to anoint for them a human king. Saul was his name and long story short, Saul disqualified himself and his family from the throne.

Enter David, the youngest son of Jesse.

1 Samuel chapter 16 begins this way,

“The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.’”

Jesse of Bethlehem, David of Bethlehem.

Bethlehem, the City of David.

Bethlehem, the House of Bread, sustains.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,

descend to us, we pray;

cast out our sin and enter in;

be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels,

the great glad tidings tell;

O come to us, abide with us,

our Lord Emmanuel!

The prophet Micah shared with humanity some 700 years before Jesus was born,

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,

though you are small among the clans of Judah,

out of you will come for me

one who will be ruler over Israel,

whose origins are from of old,

from ancient times.”

Bethlehem, the House of Bread, would continue to sustain.

And just as Micah prophesied, Jesus was born. In Bethlehem.

The Bread of Life, born in the House of Bread.

Thirty-three years later, Jesus broke bread and passed it to his followers, inviting them, “Take, eat. My body, broken for you.”

The Bread sustains.

Even today.

Especially today.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

His name was Sam.

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Wed, 27 Nov 2024 16:14:43 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

His name was Sam.

(His name was most definitely not Sam, but for our purposes today, his name is Sam).

Sam could not have predicted a year ago the place he now found himself. Just a few months back, Sam had found a mysterious spot on his skin. No matter how he rubbed at the spot, put ointment on the spot, or ignored the spot, the spot was there. While Sam did not know the technical term for his skin disease, the law had plenty to say about how it was to be addressed.

Sam dutifully showed the spot on his skin to a priest and waited the required week. The week was long, lonely, and agonizing. And the skin issue only worsened—significantly worsened, in fact.

After the week in isolation, Sam went before the priest again and heard what he feared most.

It was leprosy, a defiling skin disease.

His life was forever altered.

He was unclean in the eyes of his community and unclean in the eyes of his God.

Sam was considered cursed by God, and Sam felt it to his core.

Following the expectations of the law and his community, Sam tore his clothes, let his hair go unkempt, covered a portion of his face, and moved out of his home. His goodbye to his wife and children felt like what hell must be like. The pain was stifling, crushing.

Now that he was a leper, instead of offering a blessing of Shalom to those he passed by, he was to shout “unclean, unclean.”

Unclean was the opposite of shalom.

Eventually, Sam found a clan of similar people. Some were Israelites, some were Samaritans, but the painful reality of their leprosy brought them together in an unfamiliar truce. Contempt for the other vanished as they all found themselves in a horrible category more profound than nationality, that of the living dead.

This was Sam’s reality.

His days were filled with begging, seeking enough handouts to sustain life.

A life, Sam thought bitterly, that he no longer wanted.

Then one morning, a ripple spread across the community of the unclean. Jesus, the roving teacher, was rumored to be approaching. Curiosity got the best of Sam and soon he found himself moving with his company of lepers to a place near the road.

And there the Teacher was, walking along, young, healthy, full of life, conversing with his traveling companions. Jesus looked so at peace, so whole, so happy that Sam shrank back, aware that his presence could only detract from the moment. Sam knew that his best gift to this rabbi and his friends was to remain invisible. And so he did.

But not all of the lepers were so considerate.

“Mercy! Have mercy on us!” one of them cried out.

Jesus stopped mid-conversation and looked around. His gaze fell on the disfigured company of outcasts.

His gaze fell on Sam.

Shalom had been broken.

And Sam knew what came next. Jesus would shake his head sadly while pointing out to his companions that this is why we must live holy lives, devout lives. For if you didn’t, well, just look. This group of tattered men served as a warning as to the effects of sin, of lawlessness, of disobedience before God.

Sam braced his soul for the words but Jesus said none of that.

“Go,” Jesus said to Sam and those around him, “present yourself to the priest.”

“Why?” Sam thought. “Go to the priest just so he could pity us and confirm what we already know, that we are unclean?”

But the leper to Sam’s left immediately started off, clearly intending to do what Jesus had said. Soon another broke rank and followed the first. Then another and another until nine men were moving away.

Sam suddenly felt very alone. And even though he had no desire to be scrutinized by a priest again, he followed along behind the leperous crew.

They were all he had.

And that is when a most curious thing happened.

The man who had first cried out to Jesus now let out a shriek. Sam looked up immediately, expecting to see kids throwing stones at his friend or Roman soldiers using the butt of their spears to move his friend out of the way.

Instead, the lead leper was pulling at his clothes as if they were suddenly burning hot or filled with biting insects. But the clothes were not what was garnering his attention, rather, it was what was beneath the clothes.

Flesh, glowing, vibrant, healthy flesh.

And then the next man yanked back his tunic and the next and the next. Each in turn reacted to their skin with a start. One man fell to the ground sobbing, one let out a curse, another began to run, another simply touched his skin as if he had never seen skin before.

And then Sam felt something. A tingling sensation, like a blanket that had been hanging near the fire, was now being wrapped around his body. Sam looked at his hands and his breath caught in his throat. Whose hands were those sticking out from his tunic? Surely those hands were not his hands? Where had the angry, open sores gone? How could clear, healthy skin suddenly appear without a hint of scarring or other damage?

How indeed?

A few years later, Sam’s life had almost returned to normal. He had been reunited with his wife and kids, and the joy he felt every time he remembered his homecoming filled him with awe. To hold the hand of his child, share a hug with his wife, or simply offer a blessing to a passing stranger would often cause Sam to tear up or outright sob.

Sam was living again, his life had been rescued that day when Jesus had instructed ten lepers to make their way to the priest.

And a day never went by that Sam failed to remember that moment.

And a day never went by that Sam wished that he had gone back to thank Jesus.

Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”

Luke 17:11-19

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

p.s. Happy Thanksgiving friends; may our lives be marked by gratitude to God and each other!

Meet Larry

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 14 Nov 2024 17:29:11 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Larry Williams was successful.

At least that is how he felt most of the time.

His house was the right distance in and out of town; he lived in a neighborhood that just a few years ago was pasture and the 3-acre lots held modern, stylish, large homes. Larry’s was the largest.

Larry drove a late-model pickup truck with all the bells and whistles. Larry’s wife, Betty, playfully made fun of his truck, saying it was more luxurious than her Mercedes SUV. She wasn’t wrong; his truck was nice.

Larry and Betty were almost empty nesters and were enjoying the rewards of playing the game the way it was meant to be played. Larry and Betty met in college and chose degrees with great financial upside. Through the hectic early years of starting their careers, their marriage, and their family, they never stopped pursuing their goal of financial independence. They weren’t the kind of rich that buy NBA franchises, but they knew the kind of people who did.

Larry had few regrets.

His three kids liked their parents, or at least they liked the perks of being from a well-to-do family and therefore acted like they liked their parents.

And that was good enough for Larry.

Betty was great; Larry had chosen well all those years ago and Betty was the steady voice of reason and calm in the family. Betty kept Larry grounded and Betty kept the family together.

And make no mistake, she enjoyed her status in life.

Living in a midsized town meant that the Williams were small-time celebrities, and they were recognized and envied by almost everyone in town. Of course, occasionally having to cancel a tee time or lunch date with friends because of an impromptu trip to Cabo or London only added to the mystique.

Larry and Betty were both involved in their local church and faith had always played a predominate role in their lives. As was common, Betty shouldered the responsibility of getting the family to church, often chiding Larry that he was more trouble than the kids to get out the door on Sunday mornings. But once at church, Larry was happy to be there and felt like the investment of time once a week was good for him and his family.

Sometimes though, when the preacher wasn't totally on his game, Larry’s mind would wander during the message and he would think back to his younger years.

Back then, 30 years ago, Larry was all about God. Larry had headed up a Bible study at his high school, he had volunteered at every opportunity at church and he had pushed his youth pastor to plan more short-term mission trips. Larry’s friends knew that hanging with Larry meant that, sooner or later, Larry would steer the conversation to something faith-related. It was inevitable.

Larry’s best friend, Scooter (long story but it involved the school’s roof and a scooter) would place bets with other friends over how long a conversation with Larry would take to turn towards God or the Bible.

Those had been good years when Larry felt certain about right and wrong, certain about what God wanted, certain about the purpose of life.

But time and experience have a way of eroding certainty and losing Scooter in a car accident a few days before graduation had been the first of many foundational pieces to be pulled out from under Larry’s faith.

Slowly, imperceptibly, Larry's faith became more and more peripheral. Wealth became a preferred savior, status did more to heal his soul than church or the Bible.

Even after all these years, Larry would shake his head at who he had once been.

But life was good and Larry wasn't complaining.

His only issue was minor but still annoying.

Once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, Larry would have The Dream.

The Dream was innocent enough, The Dream was no nightmare. But its reoccurrence was annoying.

The Dream was always the same. Larry would dream that he was with a few friends playing poker in one of their mansions when he would excuse himself to use the restroom. On the way to the restroom, Larry would walk by huge windows that framed the mountains in the distance. But he never noticed the vista lit up by the setting sun because of the reflection he saw in the window.

There, staring back at himself, was an alarming version of himself. Not hideous in that he was disfigured, but shocking in his poverty. Larry’s immaculately trimmed hair and beard we long and straggly, his manicured fingers sported long and dirty nails and his clear blue eyes looked empty and vacant. The figure looked haunted by nothingness, if that was possible.

But that wasn't everything.

The figure staring back at him was nearly naked. Larry’s muscular frame was replaced with a gaunt, malnourished body that was stooped and sickly. Rather than wearing his usual tailored clothes, Larry wore ragged shorts that were nearly threadbare, barely hanging on. His reflection looked hunted, desperate, scared.

And it was at this point Larry would wake up from The Dream, his heart always pounding, his sheets always sweaty, his mind always racing.

Larry hated The Dream.

The Dream was so stupid, so disconnected from reality that he never shared it with a soul.

And yet, somehow, The Dream didn't feel so disconnected from reality. Larry couldn’t put it into words, but when he looked at the broken, disfigured person staring back at him from the window, he felt that the real him was the fake, the fraud.

And so The Dream continued its unwelcomed visit from time to time for month after month. Larry had given up hope that The Dream would ever not be there. The Dream was as much a part of him as his voice, his heritage, his DNA.

And then, one night, The Dream was different.

The Dream began as it always did, except this time, as Larry stared back at his forlorn reflection, another character approached. The new person was hard to describe as they seemed to come into and out of focus, but their intention was immediately clear. The person wrapped an arm around Larry and lifted a cup of something warm and nourishing to Larry’s lips. The wretched Larry drank and drank and his gaunt features began to swell, to return to health.

But the person wasn't done.

After the long drink, the person produced clothes. Larry was soon fully covered in new, clean clothes.

But the person wasn’t finished yet. The person reached up to Larry’s eyes, eyes that still looked vacant and hurt, and gently wiped some sort of medicine on them.

And that's when Larry woke up, eyes wide open.

No racing heart, no sweaty sheets this time, but only a desire to be back in The Dream.

Back in The Dream so he could spend more time with the person.

Somehow, someway, that person was what this was all about.

About that, Larry was now certain.

Write to Laodicea, to the Angel of the church. God’s Yes, the Faithful and Accurate Witness, the First of God’s creation, says:

“I know you inside and out, and find little to my liking. You’re not cold, you’re not hot—far better to be either cold or hot! You’re stale. You’re stagnant. You make me want to vomit. You brag, ‘I’m rich, I’ve got it made, I need nothing from anyone,’ oblivious that in fact you’re a pitiful, blind beggar, threadbare and homeless.

“Here’s what I want you to do: Buy your gold from me, gold that’s been through the refiner’s fire. Then you’ll be rich. Buy your clothes from me, clothes designed in Heaven. You’ve gone around half-naked long enough. And buy medicine for your eyes from me so you can see, really see.

“The people I love, I call to account—prod and correct and guide so that they’ll live at their best. Up on your feet, then! About face! Run after God!

“Look at me. I stand at the door. I knock. If you hear me call and open the door, I’ll come right in and sit down to supper with you. Conquerors will sit alongside me at the head table, just as I, having conquered, took the place of honor at the side of my Father. That’s my gift to the conquerors!

“Are your ears awake? Listen. Listen to the Wind Words, the Spirit blowing through the churches.”

Revelations 3:14-22, MSG

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Watching people watch birds

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 31 Oct 2024 17:20:57 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

We have a little bird feeder attached to our dining room window.

Our feeder is a small tray with suction cups so that the feeder can be attached to a smooth surface.

This is our second attempt at feeding birds. In attempt number one, we were gifted a beautiful bird feeder from Cassie’s mom. The feeder replicated a barn, was made out of metal, and had a nifty way of keeping the squirrels at bay by way of a platform attached to a spring that would collapse from the weight of anything bigger than a bird.

It worked marvelously at thwarting the squirrels; not so much a black bear.

We awoke one morning to find the bird feeder lying on the ground, very mangled.

It didn't seem like the work of sparrows.

Enter attempt number two, the small plastic feeder.

So far, no bears. Also, not too many birds. The birds love the sunflower seeds in our mix, but once those are consumed, they pretty much ignore our feeder.

Occasionally they will swing back by to make sure they didn't miss a sunflower seed but once their curiosity is sated, they are gone.

This brings us to an often-overlooked invitation from Jesus: “Consider the birds.”

Jesus uttered these words during his famous Sermon on the Mount. He had just dropped such hits as the Beatitudes and the Lord’s Prayer.

And then “Consider the birds.”

I like to imagine that Jesus spoke those words while gazing at a few little birds hopping around looking for a crumb or other morsel of food dropped by the crowd.

I like to think the crowd craned their necks to see what Jesus was looking at, only to quickly shift their focus back to Jesus, ready for his next words. Only Jesus wasn't saying anything.

He was still considering the birds.

A faint smile curled his lips, and the crow's feet near his eyes became more evident as his smile crept to his eyes.

He was delighted with the birds.

I like to think that Jesus considered the birds for a long time. Maybe a minute, maybe 5 minutes. I’m hoping it was 10 or more.

It seems like something Jesus would do.

Long, slow, lazy minutes watching the birds. The birds, sensing the calm, become more bold. Little birds, weighing only ounces, moving between people's feet, occasionally alighting on a hand or shoulder or head, intent on finding food, content in the search.

I like to think that as the minutes of silence dragged on, a few people began to mutter, began to shuffle their feet, began to wander off.

I imagine it was the important people who left first. They had important things to do (that's what makes important people so important).

After a few more minutes, half the crowd was completely distracted by those around them, dinner plans, internal arguments, and the nagging question “Is Jesus a crackpot or just kinda eccentric?”

But the other half of the crowd, made up primarily of the really young and the really old, were entranced by the birds. Fascinated by the jittery movements, the whir of their wings in the silence, the delicate feet and smooth feathers, their soft back-and-forth chatter.

Then Jesus spoke softly, almost in a whisper.

“These little birds do not go about seeking security by sowing or reaping. They don’t place excess food in barns. The result? Hunger? Poverty? You would think so, but no.

Rather, your heavenly Father feeds them.”

Then I like to think that Jesus finally pulled his gaze away from the birds and looked into the eyes of his listeners. Slowing moving from face to face, his smile returning, Jesus concluded, “You have the Father’s attention like these little birds, only so much more.”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

p.s. Below is a prayer that I included in a previous letter that may prove helpful as we navigate internal and external challenges.

Father,

I am thankful that you are in charge.

The events happening now have reminded me of how little I control.

I am thankful that you are in charge, right here, right now.

I am thankful you see tomorrow, and thankful you are in tomorrow.

Help me come to peace in my limitations because you are not limited.

Spirit,

Would you lead and guide me right now?

Would you teach me to look to you first in every circumstance?

I want to walk in step with you and in this way, to live in your love and joy, your peace and patience, your kindness and goodness, your faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Jesus,

My Rescuer and Master, I love you.

I dedicate myself to you all over again,

to be with you, become like you and to do what you did.

I want nothing more than to follow you all the days of my life and I eagerly say with all the saints past and present and future, “Come Lord Jesus!”

Yes! Amen!

Everyone knows you shouldn't talk about religion and politics...

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 24 Oct 2024 16:22:51 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

A pastor recently posted something that caught my attention. He said, “It really is a curious evangelism strategy to despise the people you are trying to bring to Jesus.”

He has a point.

A few years back, the most important event in human history took place in a dusty little village out of sight of the powerful or influential.

In fact, the only people invited to the event were a group of despised people: shepherds.

Who despised the shepherds?

Those with More power, More money, More visibility, More influence, More options.

(The Mores have always been tempted to despise the Less).

Yet God overlooked the Mores and instead told the Less, a few shepherds, about the birth of his son. “Behold, I bring you tidings that will cause great joy for all people!”

A herald represents the one being heralded. God chose shepherds.

This partiality for the Less wasn’t only a thing with the Father or a bunch of exuberant angels.

Jesus often kept company with social outcasts and notorious sinners.

Jesus was despised by those who claimed to know the most about God for keeping company with such people.

(The Mores have always been tempted to despise the Less).

Fast-forward a few years and Paul writes this to the church in Corinth, “dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God.” (2 Corinthians 7:1)

So… the religious leaders had it right? And Jesus had it wrong?

Clearly.

Not.

But how?

We were rescued from our life of death. Death-life. Death-life is the experience that no matter how hard we work on ourselves, the only outcome is death. (No wonder people do not have hope.)

Curious enough, the rescue was not a one-time event. Rather, we are being rescued from our death-life. The risen Jesus is working in us. Right now. Life on life.

And, there is more. We will be rescued!

We were, we are, we will be rescued. Saved. Life on life on life.

Because this elaborate rescue is taking place in us, we are invited to not sabotage the rescue. Cue the purity instructions from Paul (and to an extent, all the biblical writers).

In Paul’s case, it would seem that people had embraced the rescue operation of Jesus but while Jesus was healing them, they were de-healing themselves. Doctor Jesus was cleaning the wound and they were dumping sewer water on the wound.

Paul’s instructions: Stop it!

So do we avoid sin? Yes, sewer water is never good or good for us. More than just avoid sin, we are told to flee it.

So what about those who don't know Jesus and are practicing a lifestyle of sin? Are they to be avoided?

It depends.

If you are early in your healing operation (or you’ve been about it for quite a while but haven’t made much progress) there are certain people not safe to be around.

You are too easily infected. (Depending on your wound, this may always be true of you. Since we are not all equally tempted, there is no one-size-fits-all answer to this question).

A friend shared this analogy with me. As Christians, we often take the approach to the lost that parents take with their children playing in the street.

We tell our kids to stay away from the street. It is not safe, you could be seriously hurt or worse.

All true.

But avoiding the street is not the end goal.

The end goal is to operate safely in the street. Respect the dangers of the street, sure. But a trained, aware person will not avoid the street.

So with the lost. With sinners. Even the notorious ones that Jesus either sought out or attracted.

Jesus seemed to enjoy the company of sinners. (Gasp!)

Jesus knew the dangers of the street and was able to joyfully play there.
Jesus sought time with the lost because they needed his healing, his Good News, and because, no matter how far from God they were, he longed for the relationship to be restored.
Jesus looked past the brokenness and saw lost sons and daughters. (Luke 15)

The street is not to be despised, but it should be avoided if we are ill-equipped and ill-trained to operate in that space.

If you haven’t learned to look both ways before stepping into the street, that is no reason to despise the street, but an invitation to grow up. Mature.

And you shouldn’t be looked down on while you do your growing, just as you shouldn’t look down on those who have already grown.

We are to live in understanding with each other, and we are to live in compassion for those far from God.

My point? (Goodness Grant, we beg of you, please get to your point!)
We are called to be salt and light. Not for our benefit (although we certainly benefit), but to benefit those outside.

God seasoning to bring out the God-flavors in the world.

God light to to bring out the God-colors in the world.

Taste. See. The Lord is good.

Back to where we began, “It really is a curious evangelism strategy to despise the people you are trying to bring to Jesus.” (Rich Villodas)

This quote is not to be disassociated from our current political moment.

People of faith have been known to forget the Way of Jesus, the Truth of Jesus, the Life of Jesus during election seasons.

Maybe you have met one.

Maybe you are one.

There is something very backward about a Christian despising another person.

How can we despise the lost person that Jesus died for?

How can we despise a fellow sister or brother because of a yard sign? A bumper sticker?

Of course, there is more to it than that, but our response as Jesus followers is not changed by the complexity of a situation.

And make no mistake, this is the situation:

“My beloved friends, let us continue to love each other since love comes from God. Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences a relationship with God. The person who refuses to love doesn’t know the first thing about God, because God is love—so you can’t know him if you don’t love. This is how God showed his love for us: God sent his only Son into the world so we might live through him. This is the kind of love we are talking about—not that we once upon a time loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to clear away our sins and the damage they’ve done to our relationship with God.

My dear, dear friends, if God loved us like this, we certainly ought to love each other. No one has seen God, ever. But if we love one another, God dwells deeply within us, and his love becomes complete in us—perfect love!”

(1 Timothy 1:7-12, MSG)

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Halloween candy and grace

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 17 Oct 2024 16:04:00 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Two priests were talking.

One priest was young, confident in his training, convinced of his role.

The other priest was old, his hourglass running low.

The conversation ebbed and flowed, both men curious of the other.

Then the young priest asked the question he was most curious about.

"If you had your priesthood to live over again, would you do anything differently?"

The young man knew the elderly priest had led a good life, conducted himself with integrity and virtue, and so he half expected that his friend would not have much to say to his question.

But his assumption was wrong, his companion did have a regret, a regret that he considered significant.

After a long pause, the old priest cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and said in a papery voice, "If I had my priesthood to do over again, I would be easier on people the next time. I wouldn't be so stingy with God's mercy, with the sacraments, with forgiveness... I fear that I've been too hard on people. They have pain enough without me and the church laying further burdens on them. I should have risked God's mercy more!" (quotes from the old priest recounted by Ronald Rolheiser)

My kids love to dress up.

As you can imagine, there is much anticipation for Halloween.

One child has a costume loosely based on a princess and the other loosely based on a dinosaur.

And then there’s the candy.

We have had many conversations about which neighbors' houses we will visit, and I'm almost positive that I have seen my 4-year-old lick his lips in anticipation of the sugar.

Last Halloween, our final stop was at a friend’s house. The kids chose a piece of candy and then we were invited into the house to pet the dog and a moment later, the kids were offered another piece of candy. Before we left, more candy was shared and gladly accepted by my children.

Our visit to our friend’s home coincided with their decision that they were about done giving out candy and rather than end the evening with candy left over, they decided to give it away.

Where they were tempted to be stingy at the beginning of the night for fear that they would run out of candy, they now realized that they had more than enough and so the instructions to “Take just one” had become, “Would you like another?”

The human condition has always resolved around our suspicion that God is stingy with us. Is he holding out, is he holding back?

Can I trust that what I have been given is enough or do I need to reach out and grasp for more? That was the battle in the Garden and that is the battle in so many of our souls.

“Is there enough (fill in the blank) for me? Is there enough to go around? If I give some away, will I be left without?”

I am afraid that too many of us are hoarding grace.

After being given grace in amounts that we cannot fathom or understand, we grasp what we have, squinting at others, weighing whether they deserve to be given a smidge more or if they’ll just waste it like the last grace they were given.

In this, we do not look like our Father.

As I write this, I am sitting in a coffee shop in Columbia Falls, surrounded by people eating breakfast, talking about the weather and politics, a few wearing camo and a few are most definitely tourists.

And they are all fiercely loved by God.

Every person around me need only take a step toward the Father and they will find themselves caught up in a powerful hug, new clothes covering their shame, the family ring on their finger, and a flurry of preparations going on for the party that will shortly follow.

Grace upon grace.

Unless.

Unless those around me are already near the Father, and their nearness has caused them to lose the plot. Their nearness may have obstructed their view, turned their heart from gratitude to contempt, from graciousness to stinginess. Like our ancestors in the Garden, they may begin to question if the Father is holding out.

The grace is still there, but they have become blind.

In one of Jesus’ stories, as recounted in Luke chapter 15, the younger son meets his father and is shown grace. Grace that he receives (for that is the only requirement).

His life is marked by goodness, riches that he does not deserve but that he enjoys.

The older brother also meets his father. The older brother is also shown grace, invited into the house, into the party.

But the older brother cannot receive the grace.

The older brother suspects that his father has been stingy with him.

The older brother wonders aloud if his father has held back.

The older brother assumes that the only way there will be enough for him is if he and his father are stingy with his brother.

The old priest, upon reflecting on the question, sees reflections of the older brother in him.

And so might you.

I certainly see the reflection of the older brother in me.

But the reality is that the evening is getting late.

And we have no shortage of candy.

So, might we, when the next eager-faced trick-or-treaters come to our door, might we dump all the candy we have in the house into their little jack-o-lantern candy pails?

Might we know the joy of the father as we see their faces register shock and joy, the shock and joy of unexpected, undeserved, overflowing grace?

And no matter how much we give away, we will never give away what is ours, but only what we have been given by our Father.

He is that generous.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Knowing versus knowing about

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 10 Oct 2024 18:11:53 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

A brief thought on knowing versus knowing about.

Cassie and I have been married for 17 years.

I’ve known about Abraham Lincoln for over 30 years.

Random? Yes.

But we are going somewhere.

If I were to describe Cassie, I would say something to the effect of how, from the first moment I met her, she exuded joy and hope. I would say how she has never shied away from a challenge, how she stood with me during some dark and daunting years, how she makes our kids laugh, and how she has a startling sensitivity to the Spirit. I would tell you how she likes her coffee and her views on what makes a well-balanced Mexican restaurant. I could tell you why she chose not to ride the mules in Santorini and why any mention of the movie Pocahontas always comes with a story. More importantly, I know what it means to cry with Cassie, to have prayers answered with a yes and answered with a no, to celebrate dreams come true, and to hold each other when we don’t know where to turn.

I know Cassie.

If I were to describe Abraham Lincoln, I would tell you that he was born on February 12, 1809, in Kentucky and that he served as president of the United States from 1861 until his assassination in 1865. I would tell you of his early failures, of his leadership during the Civil War, of his role in abolishing slavery, and of the deep pain he experienced in his personal life.

I know about Lincoln.

Do you sense the difference?

A few days ago I read a paragraph that made me stop.

The paragraph had to do with the way I know Cassie and the way I know Abraham Lincoln.

Here’s what I read,

“Describe the Christ that you have personally encountered on the grounds of your own self. Describe Him as you would to a friend over coffee.

Describe not the deity you have heard about or been taught to believe exists, but only the Christ you have actually encountered.

And then I invite you to reflect soberly on what your own answer reveals to you.”

(from The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning)

I know a fair bit about Abraham Lincoln.

I know Cassie.

And then there’s Jesus.

To simply know about Jesus or even to be about Jesus, we can miss Jesus.

Because Jesus’ invitation is to himself.

Jesus invites you and me to know him.

Deeply. Richly. Intimately.

Jesus came to a people who knew a whole awful lot about God.

But they didn’t know him.

That made it easy to turn on him and kill him when he didn’t behave as desired.

And how about us?

Honestly, we probably are not that much different from the Israelites a couple of millennia ago. We know a lot about Jesus.

If that is the point, mission accomplished.

But that is not the point.

The point, the aim of everything, is to know Jesus. And be known by him.

And we have been invited. By Jesus himself.

In his letter to the Jesus followers in Philippi, Paul recounts all his spiritual credentials and he concludes that they are worthy of the garbage heap in comparison to knowing Christ.

“What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:5-14)

Knowing about Abraham Lincoln may inspire you to be a better person.

Knowing about Jesus will also inspire you to be a better person.

But knowing Jesus, well, that won't just make you better, rather, it will make you new. A new kind of human.

And that is what our condition requires. That is what we were made for.
That is what all our searching is meant to lead us to.

May we know Jesus.

And if you do not know Jesus that way, he invites you to.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

When reality is better than dreams

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 03 Oct 2024 16:40:56 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Joe and Greg were born a few days apart at the same small hospital in the same small town. And they lived only a few houses apart, on the same small street. As fate would have it, they had the same brown curly hair and similar builds and most people who didn’t know Greg and Joe well assumed they were twins, or at least cousins. The boys were inseparable growing up, from the park and playground as youngsters to playing sports and just hanging out as tweens. If Joe wasn't at home, he was at Greg’s, and if Greg wasn't home, well, you get the idea.

As so often happens, as the years passed and the boys grew, their differences became more pronounced. Greg enjoyed all things tech and could spend hours on his computer, coding, gaming, hacking. Greg’s curiosity and desire to know how things worked served him well and he received a full scholarship to the school of his dreams. After college, Greg moved a few towns over and convinced a local investor to build a manufacturing plant, which Greg ran. And ran well, we might add. A plant that began with just a few machines and a couple thousand square feet soon doubled and then quadrupled in size and the company prospered. Ten employees became 50, then 100, and finally settled around 150 full-time machinists, delivery drivers, sales reps, and supervisors. Life was good for Greg and after 10 years of remarkable growth, he bought out his original investor. The buck stopped with Greg and Greg was ok with that. Even though he had taken out a large loan to buy the business, Greg slept well at night.

And so did Joe. Joe’s path was uniquely Joe. Always artistic, Joe found his niche in high school in an art class and he soon learned he had a passion for landscape painting. As Joe’s room, and then the spare room, began to be filled with his paintings, his parents stepped in and demanded that he find a way to store or get rid of his paintings. As luck or providence would have it, Joe, on a whim, took a couple of paintings to a friend’s booth at a farmers market and they caught the eye of a gallery owner. One thing led to another and soon Joe had dropped out of college (much to his parent’s chagrin) to pursue painting full-time. The gallery owner became a mentor and friend and sold Joe’s paintings as fast as he could produce them. Joe loved his life and he lived in the moment. One brush stroke, one color at a time. But one day Joe awoke to terrible news, his friend, the man who had given him his big break and the owner of the gallery, had passed away. The gallery owner’s widow offered to sell the gallery to Joe and Joe, even though he had no desire to run a business, took out a small loan and bought the gallery. And for many years, Joe made it work. He’d make just enough money to pay his bills but he soon found that the upkeep and maintenance of his old gallery kept him from paying down his debt.

But things were working out for both Joe and Greg and they kept in touch as best they could. Early on, it was a monthly dinner at a sports bar to watch whatever sport was on TV and to catch up, reminisce, and occasionally, still get mistaken as brothers.

As the years passed, the monthly dinners became quarterly, and then yearly. Both Greg and Joe wished that could spend more time together but their work, families, and other responsibilities required most of their attention and so, without either man realizing it, they stopped getting together.

One year passed, then two. Eventually six years came and went without anything more than an occasional text or fond thought of the other.

And Joe and Greg may have continued to drift apart for the rest of their lives if the economy hadn’t tanked.

And tank it did. Manufacturing came to a screeching halt and Greg began laying off a few people, cutting production. And then more layoffs, more cuts. The dream was officially a nightmare and Greg found himself sitting in the waiting room of his local bank, awaiting his 10 am appointment with the bank president. Head bowed, heart pounding, Greg knew this was the bitter end of all he had built over the past few decades. Greg was lost in thought until a deep sigh startled him out of his daze and looking up, he found Joe sitting across the room from him.

Joe didn’t look any better than Greg felt. Disheveled, Joe looked like he hadn’t slept in days. And in fact, he hadn’t. As soon as the whispers of the economy shrinking had become shouts, Joe’s customer base shrank to nothing. Paintings began to pile up as did the unpaid bills until Joe came to the inevitable realization that he could no longer afford to both eat and pay the mortgage on his beloved gallery.

And so this chance meeting at the bank, both friends witnessing the end of their dreams.

Joe was called into the bank president’s office first. Greg wished him luck as the door closed behind his friend.

Greg pulled his beard, nervously fingered his wedding band, absent-mindedly checked his phone. And then Joe emerged from the office after only a few minutes.

To say Joe looked worse or better would be hard to say, but he did look shocked. However, before Greg could ask Joe what happened, he heard his name called and he found himself walking into the president’s office, shaking hands, taking a seat, reminding himself to breathe.

The bank president began without any pleasantries, “Greg, this is no longer working. After reviewing your loan, it is clear that you are in a heap of trouble. After much consideration on my part, I have decided that my only course of action is to forgive your loan.”

Greg blinked. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat that?”

But the bank president only smiled and slid a file across the desk to Greg, a file that showed Greg’s remaining balance to be zero.

Greg coughed. Then laughed. He tried to speak but a sob came out instead. Every time Greg opened his mouth to speak, his cry became louder. Finally, sobbing uncontrollably, Greg stood on shaky legs, hugged the man, feebly tried to wipe his snot off the shoulder of the expensive-looking suit worn by the president, and walked out of the office.

Then Jesus turned to Simon, a man of impeccable religious reputation, and asked, “Which of these two men will love the one who forgave their debt more?”

Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus said.

Then he turned toward the woman, (the woman who had barged into Simon’s house, interrupting the meal with her presence, her reputation, her tears. Crumbled beside Jesus, with her tears falling on Jesus’ feet, the woman dried his feet with her hair, and then filled the house with fragrance as she poured her jar of perfume on Jesus).

Then Jesus turned to that woman.

A stunned silence had settled on the room, everyone in attendance riveted by the spectacle of the woman and Jesus, unwilling to look away and unwilling to make eye contact with each other. Then Jesus cleared his throat (causing a few to jump) and told a story about two men, hopelessly in debt with no way to repay.

After the story, Jesus turned towards the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

(Luke 7:36-50)

Maybe, just maybe, our past sins or righteousness don’t matter as much as how we approach Jesus at this very moment .

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Running away (and other ways to miss the point)

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Tue, 01 Oct 2024 14:25:03 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Once upon a time, a man lived in a far-off country. Let’s call him Man.

His life was comfortable, if not exactly great.

“Not too shabby,” was how Man would reply when his neighbors asked him how it was going. He had food, he had a home. He had inside jokes with a few of the merchants he interacted with daily, he had a cordial relationship with the local baristas and they knew his order by heart. (Nothing too fancy for our mysterious Man, a 16oz Americano with an extra shot). But to say he was liked or revered would be taking it too far.

Man had a matching 401(k), was responsible with his finances, wore sensible outfits and his daily ride was a second-hand car with low miles and a single previous owner. But Man dreamed of more.

Man’s job was ok most of the time. Even though Man’s work wasn’t always up to his boss’s standards, he was given second and third chances to make things right. Somehow, he kept his job even though co-workers surely wondered why he was not let go years ago.

And here’s the thing about Man, he suffered from a common malady- he liked, no, he needed, to be in charge. Man needed to be the captain of his own ship, deciding his own destiny, answering to nothing bigger than himself.

(Even as I write this, I’m not sure if our Man is the protagonist or antagonist of our story.)

And so Man lived. A mildly frustrated young Man on the path to becoming a crotchety, angry old Man.

And then one day Man got his big break. To no credit of his own, his boss chose him for a very important assignment. He was to travel to a remote region and introduce this new market to the work of his firm.

This was a career-defining assignment.

So with his overnight bag packed and his ticket in hand, Man set off.

In the completely opposite direction.

The official account (which omits all the speculation that my imagination fills in) states it this way,

“The Lord gave this message to Jonah son of Amittai: “Get up and go to the great city of Nineveh. Announce my judgment against it because I have seen how wicked its people are.” But Jonah got up and went in the opposite direction to get away from the Lord. He went down to the port of Joppa, where he found a ship leaving for Tarshish. He bought a ticket and went on board, hoping to escape from the Lord by sailing to Tarshish.” (Jonah 1:1-3)

Jonah was a prophet of God who wanted away from God.

But maybe that is not fair.

Jonah was a prophet of God who wanted away from God when God’s plans were different than his own.

It was great being a prophet when no propheting was required.

And this is where I begin to resent Jonah, for in his failure, I can see my own.

It would seem to me, based on reading scripture and spending time in prayer, that following Jesus requires radical self-denial.

I have been prompted, in small ways and big, to “Get up and go to the great city of Nineveh,” and instead I ignored the command.

Why?

Simply because Ninevah requires something of me that I am not willing to give.

And there is always a Tarshish.

Tarshish looks nice from afar. In Tarshish, the hope is that I can be a prophet without the annoying responsibility of prophesying.

In Tarshish, I hope to live happily ever after.

In Tarshish, I can be a prophet beholden only to myself.

But Tarshish is a mirage. A lie. It does not exist.

As the psalmist exclaims (laments?) “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” (Psalm 139)

To follow Jesus means that I am in the presence of God. I chose this; I was not forced. To follow Jesus, to be in the presence of God means that at any moment, God can make demands upon my life. And He will.

Sometimes I joyfully reply “Yes!” and find myself headed to Nineveh, and sometimes I’m standing at a ticket booth in Joppa, furtively looking over my shoulder, longing for Tarshish.

And sometimes, in an angry fit of obedience, I go to Nineveh and do the God thing and I fail just as much as when I’m fleeing to Tarshish.

Eugene Peterson in his powerful little book, Under the Unpredictable Plant, writes “The first movement of the story shows Jonah disobedient; the second shows him obedient. Both times Jonah fails. We never see a successful Jonah. He never gets it right.”

The pagan city repents but the man of God cannot.
Dear God, may that not be true of us.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Fishing (and other hardships)

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Tue, 01 Oct 2024 14:23:05 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Once upon a time, maybe 10 years ago, I went on a fishing trip to the ends of the earth. The particular end of the earth that I went to was the Great Slave Lake region of Northwest Territories, Canada.

The trip was not my idea but I was there because I was part of the organization tasked with getting a group of six men to Yellowknife, the jumping-off point for the excursion.

My co-worker and I did our part in getting this group from Oklahoma across several thousand miles and to the dock where the float plane would take them and their mountain of gear to the other side of the lake where the monster pike were rumored to be lurking.

A few weeks earlier, my co-worker and I were invited to join the fishermen at their camp, doing the fishermen kind of things that they would be doing. Or we could hang out in a hotel room for a week and do our own thing. The choice was ours.

We chose the fish camp.

Once we arrived at the camp, any illusions of luxury were squashed. These were barebones accommodations, existing only to get man near fish and nothing more.

The cabin I was assigned to was primitive and basic, but not in the trendy way.

It was unusually warm for this region in June, necessitating that windows be open to allow some cooling, but the screenless windows also served as an invitation to millions (Billions? Trillions? I do not want to exaggerate but I do want to be accurate) of mosquitoes who feasted on any exposed flesh. I’m pretty sure I even saw a few mosquitoes trying to get blood out of the timbers of my cabin. Suffice it to say, these were ferocious insects. And it never got dark at night. And the bathroom situation was less than desirable. And, well, you get the idea.

This went on for a week. Mosquitoes, heat, lousy food, poor sanitation.

I missed home.

I missed everything that wasn't this place.

I also missed not being in charge, missed not calling the shots.

But I had said yes to the invitation. And now I knew better what that yes meant.

Kinda like Jesus’ disciples.

In Mark’s account of the life and death of Jesus, he recounts the invitation given to Levi.

Jesus was walking along the lake, teaching the crowd that had gathered. The hills on one side, the water on the other, a slight breeze carrying the teacher’s words. And this teacher was really good. His words were intriguing, authoritative, comforting in an uncomfortable way.

And as Jesus walked and talked, he came across Levi the tax farmer who was doing tax farming stuff, sitting at his tax farming booth.

The story goes that Jesus paused his teaching (or was this part of his message?) and looking at Levi, said two words.

“Follow me.”

And wouldn't you know it, Levi got up and followed him.

“Wanna go fishing?” I had been asked.

“Sure,” was my response, not knowing anything that was in store for me.

“So Levi got up and followed him,” not knowing anything that was in store for him.

But we know what was in store.

A few years later, Jesus was condemned to a criminal's death and those who had followed him knew they could be rounded up and given a similar punishment.

So Levi fled with the others, hiding in an unfamiliar city, missing home.

Missing everything that wasn't this place.

He probably missed not being in charge, missed not calling the shots.

And yet, the story was not over.

Over the course of the week, I found my rhythm- we learned how to combat the mosquitoes, we learned how to sleep in the light, we got hungry enough to enjoy the food and we caught some really big fish.

(Oh, you thought we were still talking about Levi? On second thought, let's do that).

Even though Jesus had been cruelly murdered, he still made the rendevous with his followers in Galilee that he had promised.

There, Jesus, who was dead but now not dead, invited his followers to continue doing what he had done and taught them to do.

And by all accounts, they did.

They shared the news far and wide that a new King had come and everyone was invited to participate in this Kingdom. A Kingdom marked by life instead of death, marked by joy instead of despair, marked by love instead of hate, a kingdom marked by radical self-denial, marked by death to self, marked by giving up on all that is marketed to bring us life and joy and love.

For most of these disciples, the invitation to do what Jesus did meant that they even shared in his death.

This kingdom that Levi left his tax booth to join is the opposite of the tax booth. Rather than getting rich from others, in the Kingdom, money is to be given rather than collected. Rather than working for the powerful in order to be powerful, you now answer to your fellow man, especially the most overlooked of your fellow man. Instead of calling the shots, Levi was learning to be a servant to all.

Did Levi know any of this on the beautiful day along the lake when he got up and followed Jesus?

No, there is no way he could have known.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

The journey was so much harder and bigger than he could have known and it required so much more of him than he could have guessed that day.

But.

But, in the end, it did not matter.

I believe Levi would have responded to Jesus the same way over and over again.

Because in that simple “follow me,” Levi found the Life that money, notoriety, and success could never give him.

In hindsight, my fishing trip was special not despite the hardship but because of it (and yes, I agree with you that “hardship” is a bit extreme when talking about a recreational activity. But bear with me).

The hardship encountered with following Jesus is not a bug in his system.

Hardship is a feature.

The only question is, will I keep responding with a yes to his invitation to follow him? Or maybe the better question is, will my yes stay a yes when it gets hard?

At least we know a little bit about what to expect.

“Then [Jesus] called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.’” (Mark 8:34-35)

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Tacos and longing for home

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 05 Sep 2024 14:19:40 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I remember the first time I had tacos.

I was at my friend Jonathan’s house and his parents had invited my family over for dinner (or supper as we called it in the midwest). I was 6 or 7 years old.

Jonathan lived directly across the street from my house, but culinarily speaking, they were nowhere near us. My family understood American food and also had a deep appreciation for the Italian contribution of spaghetti and lasagna and the offspring of Italian/American food, pizza.

But Mexican food in general and tacos in particular were completely foreign to us so my friend’s parents patiently explained how to build and eat a taco.

And the tacos were… ok.

My memory of that night was that this exotic food was adequate but not necessary. Tasty enough, but not an improvement over our normal fair.

And that's where tacos remained for me for many years.

As a college student, I made my first visit to Mexico and I had the opportunity to eat tacos the way they were intended to be. It was there in a small dusty front yard with meat cooking over an open fire that I understood tacos.

They were simple and savory, smoky and just the right amount of spicy.

At Jonathan’s house, tacos had felt strange and foreign, even though I was only a minute from my own doorstep. In Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, sitting on a plastic chair in a dirt yard, the tacos I ate felt like a homecoming.

These were the tacos I had been longing for without knowing it.

(By now, you are either scheming how you can get tacos for lunch or you are looking for the unsubscribe button. Or both. No matter what you decide, let’s give tacos a short break.)

Recently, I have heard people say they no longer feel at home in places that had previously felt safe, welcoming, familiar. Whether that was a geographic region of the country, a church or denomination, a political party or a friend group, they have a growing feeling of being out of place. Because of growing differences, what once was your place has now moved, leaving you displaced.

And this is no small matter. We are all looking for safety, we are all looking for home. You may have grown up in a stable environment and since leaving home, you have been searching for that place again. Or you may have no memories of safety and security, and yet something inside you yearns for the space where you can put your guard down, where peace is prevalent and danger, in whatever form, is at bay.

And this makes sense. We were made for a garden.

Just look at us; we have no fangs, no claws. No natural protection against the elements. We are woefully unprepared for any place not called Eden.

But here we are. Eden is a distant memory. (But Eden is not forgotten. We know this every time beauty stirs us. It may be a sunset over the ocean or an orchestra’s performance of a musical masterpiece or a cup of coffee brewed to perfection or a friend dancing with joyful abandon, whatever it is, Eden still stirs within us.)

And Eden, or rather our exile from Eden, is why we eternally search for home. And the good news is, we can find it. Home exists. But the sobering news is, home is not to be found where we most often seek it.

In a message written down and shared with early Israelite believers, a pastor reminds his congregation of their ancestors, of how they searched for home, but instead of finding home in a region or tribe, they found home in a person, in God.

The pastor writes about their faith mothers and fathers, “All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” (Hebrews 11:13-16)

This city home exists and it exists wherever the Creator exists.

Earlier the same pastor wrote of one family in particular, recounting their story this way, “By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” (Hebrews 11:8-10)

I'm pretty sure it is ok to be disappointed at the way things currently are. Much of what we see and hear is not the Kingdom of God and should cause us heartache.

But.

But we should not lose hope.

If anything, the chaos and dysfunction surrounding us should fuel our hope, fire our imaginations, whet our appetites.

Home is a real place.

Home is real and you shouldn’t feel at home just yet.

John writes of the Home we have all been searching for in his revelation. He describes it this way,

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelations 21:1-4)

Home exists.

And Home exists where God is present.

And while God is preparing a place for us, a place not here, or rather a place not here yet, He has also invited us to prepare a place for Him.

And we prepare a place for him every time we give the hungry something to eat, the thirsty something to drink, the stranger a place to belong, the vulnerable safety, the sick attentive care, and the incarcerated the freedom of friendship. (Matthew 25)

Our awkward attempts at making a place for God, at living into the Kingdom one small action at a time, will not pacify our desire for Home, (if anything, our desire will grow).

However, those Kingdom obediences, no matter how minute or cumbersome they feel, will awaken our senses so that when we meet our real Home, we will recognize it for what it is.

In Nuevo Laredo, a dozen years after I had my first taco, I experienced the taco I had been longing for all that time without fully knowing it. My first taco was just a foretaste.

And one day, we will experience the Home we have been longing for all this time. And each encounter with the Kingdom, each pinprick of grace, is a foretaste of our Home.

But in the meantime, as God prepares for us, may we be joyfully preparing a place for Him.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Bedtime questions

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 29 Aug 2024 20:15:34 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

A few months ago, during the alarmingly complex and immensely rewarding process known as “getting the kids to bed,” my then 5-year-old daughter asked me, “How do you know that God is real?”

If the night was typical, the questions leading up to this question, the question, would have revolved around such things as “Can I sleep in a different room tonight?”

“No. Not tonight.”

“Do I have to brush my teeth?”

“Only the ones you want to keep.”

“Do I have to wear pajamas to bed?”

“That’s up to you but what if there’s a fire?” (Just kidding, I didn’t say anything about the possibility of fire for the very idea of fire can derail bedtime like few other subjects. This has to do mostly with a faulty fire alarm in our house that a while back would randomly go off in the middle of the night. We are still in recovery).

And then the question, “How do you know that God is real?” (Wait, what! Where did that come from?!)

Just so you know, I’m fine with the notion that there are no dumb questions if the question is genuine. But clearly, some questions are better than others. And “How do you know that God is real?” may just be the best question of all. Why? Because depending on how you answer that, everything else is affected. And by everything, I mean, well, everything.

A.W. Tozer famously said, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”

That is a big statement. Big, because of the implications of God.

If God is real, then everything has to be seen, said, heard, tasted, smelled, touched, and lived through that reality.

If God is real, then it only makes sense that we dedicate our lives to understanding and experiencing all that we can of God.

If God is real, then who he is, his character, is the standard.

If God is real, what he wants is the most important thing.

If God is real, what he says about me is the most important thing about me.

And so I wonder, if you were to sit quietly for a moment, and ask yourself, “How do I know that God is real?” I wonder what you would say?

What would you say?

Because if you are convinced that God is real, everything changes.

Or at least it should.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Doubt and worship

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 29 Aug 2024 19:48:33 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

A few years ago I was at a ministry event where we broke into small groups for a discussion and reflection time.

You know the type of thing.
The large group is divided into many smaller groups and you find a corner of the room to meet and you form a shape that loosely resembles a circle with chairs and then someone takes charge and you begin the assigned questions or whatever the purpose of the breakout is.

Now, these spaces can often be extraordinary and beautiful times.

But this particular night I was tired, I had been in a church service environment for several days and was ready to call it a day and go to bed.

Suffice it to say, I had low expectations that anything memorable would come of that night. And wouldn't you know it, I was right.

Well, mostly right.

The format was that each group would answer the same list of questions and then those groups would share their conclusions with the larger group.

And one question stood out to me, not because of the question, but because of the replies.

The question was simple enough, “How would you define discipleship to Jesus?”

A softball question. Slowpitch softball. Maybe even t-ball.

I wrote down my answer as we were asked to do and I felt good about my definition. Then we went around the circle and read our answers out loud.

And each answer was different. Some were mildly different, some were wildly different, but they were all different.

We were all self-proclaimed disciples of Jesus and we couldn’t agree on what that meant.

That is what I found so fascinating about that night.

In Jesus’ final words to his disciples, he leaves them with a vital set of instructions,

“Go and make more of you.” (my paraphrase and abbreviation)

Jesus is about to join the Father but, with the weight of final words and last impressions, he commissions his disciples to disciple.

As a kid, I memorized the Great Commission from Matthew 28, verses 19 and 20, and I suspect most of the people at this ministry event could have recited those verses from memory, and yet we could not agree on what Jesus meant by the term disciple.

Four years ago I was part of a team organizing and launching a church called Trailhead Church and we took the time to come up with a definition of discipleship to Jesus that was accurate, wordy, and completely unmemorable.

(I wish I could remember what it was, but like I said, it was unmemorable).

Then we came across some language from a church called Bridgetown where they defined discipleship to Jesus this way: a disciple (or apprentice) to Jesus organizes their lives around three goals, to

(1) be with Jesus,

(2) become like Jesus, and

(3) do what Jesus did.

And we liked that. The definition was helpful, easy to remember and blessedly short.

It is a succinct reminder of what we are called to be and do. So we repeat these three elements often with the hope that when we speak of discipleship to Jesus, we all are working from a similar definition and expectation.

And why does this matter?

It matters because Jesus really did tell his followers to “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.”

A truly great commission.

A commission that was given to the Eleven and we believe, a commission given to you and a commission given to me.

And I don't know about you, but when I think about it, this charge from Jesus can feel daunting. Overwhelming. Like maybe I’m not up to the task. The original Eleven, sure, they were super disciples. But me? I’m just a guy trying to make sense of faith and sometimes my prayers feel flimsy and my love feels forced and I’d like to share my hope but there doesn't seem to be enough to go around.

So maybe I can sit on the bench and cheer the team on from the sidelines.

(Anyone relate?)

But before we excuse ourselves from Jesus’ commission because we just aren't all that awesome, it might be helpful to look at a bit more of the story. In the preceding two verses before the Great Commission, Matthew writes, “Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.”

The soil that Jesus planted his Great Commission on was worship. And doubt. Not worship and great faith, not worship and exuberant hope, not worship and resolute, fully convinced hearts.

No.
Worship and doubt.

The Eleven spent three years with Jesus, watching, learning, practicing, participating. They came away with worship and doubt.

And Jesus wasn't put off by that.

He saw the worship and he saw the doubt and he still said, “Go and make disciples.”

But that isn't all he said. To those disciples 2,000 years ago and to us disciples today, he had one more thing to say. I like to imagine that Jesus, after telling them to go make disciples of all nations, then leaned in close, slowly, fondly, gazed at each friend, and said his final words.

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

And so today, this week, and for the rest of your life, while you are worshipping and doubting and getting the two tangled together, keep coming back to three simple goals.

Be with Jesus.

Become like Jesus.

And do what he would do if he were me.

Because surely he is with us.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Childhood insults and Zachary's big ears

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 08 Aug 2024 16:03:34 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Being a young child must be wonderful.

Wonderful, because as a child, say a toddler, you enjoy the benefits of having one or two personal assistants dedicated to your well-being, comfort, and care. 24/7. Your work is play, and when you tire of play, your assistant helps you. The only downside I see is your lack of perspective as a toddler; you do not know that this will not last and therefore cannot fully appreciate the beauty of the moment.

However, being a child is painful too.

I do not need to go into detail here or try and convince you that childhood is painful, for we have all been children and we can all remember the wounds that were accumulated in our first few decades.

Maybe you can recall a name you were called or a description given to you on the playground. Words spoken over you years, maybe decades ago and yet, those words or phrases still ring in your ears.

We, as human beings, are susceptible to curses.

And it is also true that we are vulnerable to blessings. (I use the word vulnerable intentionally because people who have done their very best to become emotionally impregnable will break into sobs at a word spoken in kindness. We are that vulnerable to blessing.)

Advances in technology and human understanding have made it possible for human organs to be replaced, thus adding years to lives all but lost, for humans to travel beyond the comfy confines of our planet, for any and all of us to video ourselves dancing and post it for all the world to see in nanoseconds, and yet, we, by and large, have not figured out how to use words as God intended them.

And the problem may have to do with our ears as much as with our mouths.

If evolutionary biology works as some have suggested, I would fully expect our ears to slowly shrink over the coming millennia and our mouths to grow to enormous proportions.

We as a society are quick to speak and slow to listen.

And it would seem that we are only accelerating in this phenomenon.

The author James, in his book written to the twelve tribes scattered among the nations, instructs this way, “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry ( but why James? ) because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.” (James 1:19-21)

Obnoxious, right?

In our enlightened society, we know that to listen is to appear weak. And weakness is bad for business, weakness is to be avoided at all costs.

Even if we did want to listen, we move at such a fast pace that we simply do not have time to listen or to listen well. And when we do pause to listen, it’s often only to those who will say what we want to hear.

If James lived today, he would understand such things.

But, for the sake of argument, let's play James’ advocate for a moment.

James lived in a time and place where his belief in Jesus was not popular. James lived in a time and place where the Church faced unprecedented obstacles and outright persecution. James lived in a time and place where morality was slipping, sexuality had come off the rails, things were going to hell. What was once sacred was no longer so.

(Some of you with vivid imaginations may draw parallels to our time and place and I would not push against such wild conclusions.)

And James knows that something must be done so he takes to his version of social media and sends a message to friends only, the twelve tribes scattered abroad.

And he says things like, “Now is the time to speak up, to stand and fight; the time for playing nice is over, this is war!”

Except he doesn't.

Instead, James implores those who claim to follow Jesus to consider it pure joy when they face trials.

To not show favoritism. To show your faith in God by doing good deeds. To get rid of envy and selfish ambition. To check your motives, submit yourselves to God, to not slander others. If you are well off, do not exploit others. To confess when you fall short, to pray when you are in need.

And to watch what you say.

Be quick to listen.

Be slow to speak.

Be slow to become angry.

Pray for wisdom.

And just so you know what that wisdom will look like,

“The wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.” (James 3:17-18)

James' advice seems naive.

And hauntingly beautiful.

We began this letter by talking about kids (My! That feels like decades ago!)

An easy playground insult is to comment on other’s bodies (note: I’m pretty sure only kids do this) and sometimes youngsters have to get creative if nothing is overtly obvious.

And so it was that I remember Zachary, one of my childhood friends, being called out for his large ears. References to Dumbo the Elephant were made. My friend was hurt and I realized for the first time that he did have startling prodigious ears.

But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Maybe Jesus followers everywhere should be recognized for their above-average ears, their propensity to listen well.

Maybe we should be known as quick listeners.

Maybe a world tired of yelling should find that a whisper is enough with us.

Maybe, just maybe, we will get called Big Ears like Zachary.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

National Parks and Unicorns

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 01 Aug 2024 14:49:00 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I have a special affinity for national parks.

I am not sure when this fascination started but I think it has something to do with growing up in the midwest. Don’t get me wrong, we had our share of natural beauty. Just, our natural beauty was different from the kind where families from Maryland and Dallas would plan a 2-week summer vacation to come and see it. (We also had some of the most impressive summer storms that I have ever seen, but those are hard to plan a vacation around).

So I grew up loving our national parks.

So far I have visited twenty of the 63 national parks and I'll be the first to admit that a few of them are odd. Take Gateway Arch N.P. in Missouri. It is a manmade arch. And as far as manmade structures go, it's pretty cool. But it is manmade. Hot Springs N.P. in Arkansas is mostly made up of bathhouses. Like the arch, it is interesting, but it speaks more to a bygone era of American history than it does to a natural wonder.

And then there is the Grand Canyon. As far as canyons go, it is very grand.

I visited the Grand Canyon as a kid and like a good tourist, I gazed upon the mindbending vastness of the canyon and came away impressed. I loved seeing the canyon, the way the shadows played across the many hues of the rock, and how if you looked in just the right direction and squinted a little, you could see the mighty Colorado River looking like a thin blue thread from our vantage.

Only later did I realize, much to my chagrin, that I did not go into the canyon.

I sensed the vastness of the canyon, but I didn't hike below the rim. I didn’t get splashed by the river as it crashed through the park, nor did I get the perspective of looking up at those distant rims from the bottom. I saw the different layers of strata but I didn't walk through them like some kind of mystical time traveler.

So yes, I have been to the Grand Canyon, but it would also be accurate to say that I haven't been to most of the Grand Canyon.

You know, kinda like the Kingdom of God.

(That was an abrupt pivot and I should have made sure you were buckled in before I performed that maneuver. I hope you're still with me.)

I think how we experience the Kingdom of God has a lot in common with how I took in the Grand Canyon so many years ago.

We gaze at the Kingdom, exclaiming at its beauty and breadth, marveling at its shades and textures, at the power that must have created this phenomenon, and yet, we are all too often satisfied with experiencing it from afar. Close enough to say we’ve been, but not so close that we are forever changed by it.

To experience the Kingdom, you have to get a little uncomfortable, maybe a lot uncomfortable. The Grand Canyon, a few miles away from your car and the a/c, away from the cooler full of food and drink, away from cell reception, and away from the smell of freshly laundered clothes and the smell of tour buses, reveals a truer grandeur.

A grander Grand Canyon.

You need to get a blister or two to know the Grand Canyon.

Same for the Kingdom.

The Kingdom is best experienced up close, with boots on the ground, looking under rocks, peering at small flowers, craning your neck to see the top of trees, watching birds do bird things and clouds do cloud things, with maybe a toe or a foot or your whole body in the water.

There is only so much you can learn about the Grand Canyon from a book, a map, or a nicely produced documentary. Because the Grand Canyon is a place, made up of things, full of life and energy and history and change, you have to experience it in person.

And that is true of the Kingdom, only so much more.

You could spend a lifetime exploring the Grand Canyon and still feel like you had only scratched the surface.

And that is true of the Kingdom, only so much more.

What is truly remarkable about the Kingdom is its availability to everyone.

“Repent and believe (act on) the Good News!” Jesus invites us.

Enter into a space where you become a conduit to God’s rule and reign and you are in the Kingdom. And then take another step in that direction. And another. And another. “Every step an arrival” as Eugene Peterson wrote.

In The Last Battle, the final book in C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia, Lewis depicts the end of Narnia and entering the new Narnia. I find Lewis’s story immensely helpful as we journey in the Kingdom that is here but also not yet. For when we see the Kingdom in its beauty here on earth through a selfless act, a generous word, a profound forgiveness, we get a glimpse as “a reflection as in a mirror.”

But someday we will see so much more clearly.

This is how Lewis portrays this moment.

It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different — deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can’t describe it any better than that: if ever you get there you will know what I mean.

It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then he cried:

“I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it till now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that is sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!”

We are invited into the Kingdom here and now, but never forget, that there is more to come. The Kingdom is here, but it is also coming. And it is beautiful.

Don’t let weariness or fatigue cause you to quit. At the right time, at just the right time, you will reap a bountiful reward. Just don’t quit. (Galatians 6:9)

The cry of the Unicorn bears repeating (I’m sure I have never said that before),

“Come further up, come further in!”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

How to live with normal people

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 18 Jul 2024 15:28:52 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I was working in front of our church facility this past week on a morning that begged to be spent outdoors. You know the kind of morning: sunny, calm, and that perfect balance between warm and cool.

The eastern sky still had color from the sunrise while in the west you could see dark hues where night was reluctantly releasing its grasp on the day.

Birds chirping, long shadows where dew clung to the grass, memories of Eden being awakened somewhere deep inside.

And a man yelling, almost screaming, at a passing car “Slow down you piece of s#%*!”

This advice was followed with a long stare at the car before the man turned and rejoined a woman (presumably his wife) and they continued their morning walk.

The Eden memories are gone, replaced by a glimpse of the wreckage that is the human soul.

The angry outburst came from a salt and peppered-haired man who appeared to be of retirement age, who had the companionship of a spouse and enough health and margin in life to be out walking early in the morning. He looked normal, middle-class. But his normality hid emotions that were just under boiling, barely contained, ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

Maybe that was the most normal thing about him.

As an observer, his anger was shocking.

And yet, it also wasn’t.

From yelling angrily at passing strangers to taking literal shots at politicians, many of us are living in a state of anger, fear, disgust, or contempt that is spilling out at the least prompting.

And we would be wrong to assume that all the angry/fearful/disgusted/contemptuous people are not Jesus followers.

Many of them are.

Many of them may even include you and me.

Not only does morality seem to have slipped away, but now even common courtesy and basic kindness eludes us.

What is going on?

First, let me make a rather obvious point that needs to be made: for those who do not know Jesus and do not subscribe to His teaching or ethics, lashing out in anger or living in fear makes perfect sense. If this life is all about the survival of the fittest and all of us are the product of time and chance, then how life is lived should look very different from that of an apprentice of Jesus. Lying, stealing, cheating, and even murder, could easily be justified.

My point? We need not be surprised by non-Jesus followers acting in non-Jesusy ways.

But we should be surprised when our fellow Jesus followers are behaving and speaking in the same way as those who care nothing for Jesus.

And we should be shocked and mortified when it is you or I acting, speaking, or thinking in the same way as those who care nothing for Jesus.

The result of the Spirit in us and working out of us is not a mystery.

The Spirit effect in us will be that we become people marked by love and joy, peace and patience, kindness and goodness, faithfulness and gentleness. Self-control even. (Galatians 5, 1 Corinthians 13)

Those words should be how people describe us.

Those words should sum up our reputation.

Our reputation with those on the left and right, with those who follow Jesus and those who openly and loudly denounce Him (and us). Our reputation with the young and old, rich and poor, influential and ignored.

We are to be Spirit fruit people.

Therefore, let your light shine, let your Spirit fruit flavor your every interaction, so that people may see the beauty of your faith and glorify your Father in heaven.

I think part of the disconnect for modern Jesus followers is that we look at these characteristics of Spirit life as passive and weak, pathetic even.

“How can we advance the Kingdom of God if we are peaceful and kind?” we may think but never dare say out loud.

(Let me grab my soap box for a moment here and say something to the effect of, we are never asked or commanded to build the Kingdom of God, but rather to join it, align ourselves with it, live into it.

Now, could you give me a hand while I step down?)

We are in a battle and we are all participants. Like it or not.

But rather than take our cues from others (and eye for an eye if we are just, an arm and a leg for an eye if we want to get ahead), we learn how to push back against evil from our Teacher.

When we encounter those who fancy themselves our enemy, who are hell-bent on hurting us, persecuting us, or making our life generally unpleasant, we respond with goodness, with favor, with Spirit fruit. If we find them in a disadvantaged place we are to help them. If they are broken and battered or loud and belligerent, we are to bless. (Matthew 5, Romans 12)

Jesus envisioned his followers as those who bring flavor and light to this bland and dark world.

People bursting with beautiful behavior.

Beautiful behavior not because we have to but because we are loved and delighted in and forgiven and because no matter what happens to us today, we have a really good future.

People don’t have to like our faith or agree with our conclusions, but their lives should be markedly better because they have encountered us (or rather, they have encountered Jesus disguised as us).

Jesus put it this way, “You should be a light for other people. Live so that they will see the good things you do. Live so that they will praise your Father in heaven.”

Live beautifully.
Live bursting with beautiful behavior.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

What if God loves us?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 11 Jul 2024 15:23:54 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Here’s a question for you:

What if God loves us?

I know, I know. The question doesn’t even make us think.

Most of us are so familiar with the concept that we don’t even have to consider it.

Maybe you, like me, grew up in Sunday School singing the lines,

“Jesus loves me this I know,

for the Bible tells me so.”

Which is true. Jesus does love me and the Bible does tell me so.

And yet.

I’ve been married for almost 17 years (yes, our marriage will be old enough to vote next year!), and 17 years ago, Cassie and I wrote our wedding vows. In those vows, we both declared our love for each other.

“Cassie loves me this I know,

for her wedding vow tells me so.”

Which is true. Cassie does love me and her wedding vow does tell me so.

And yet.

And yet, Cassie is a living, breathing person living in close proximity to me. If I only knew of her love through a message she wrote 17 years ago, you could imagine that our love might feel a little stale.

And God is a living, breathing Being who desires to live in close proximity to us. If we only knew of His love through a message written many centuries ago, we might experience His love as a little stale.

So what if God’s love isn’t only revealed through the Bible but what if He is earnestly loving us today?

What if God is actively loving us right now?

What if the sun peaking over the mountains this morning was His way of smiling down on us? Of saying, “Good morning my love?”

What if the birds singing today was His special way of saying “I love you and I see you?”

What if the wind moving against our skin was His loving caress?

What if that unexpected joy, the simple pleasures of life is His version of a surprise bouquet of flowers left at your door?

What if God is relentlessly pursuing you right now? Pursuing just to whisper once again, “I love you?”
What if most of us just haven't learned to hear Him say it?

Ronald Rolheiser writes in Sacred Fire about the importance of hearing God say I love you. And not "I love you" from the Bible, but spoken directly to you. He writes, “These words, addressed to you by God, are the most important words you will ever hear, because before you hear them, nothing is ever completely right with you, but after you hear them, something will be right in your life at a very deep level."

But this is true only if you understand His love to not be transactional. If God’s love is based on performance or not messing up, then I earn His love and I’m likely to lose His love.

Sadly, God’s love has also been used as a carrot on a stick by some as we become afraid that if a person experiences too much of God’s love before they are “cleaned up,” then there will be no motivation for them to stop sinning, to get their life straightened out. (Somewhere there must have been a memo saying the Spirit was on holiday and we are now responsible for people’s sanctification. Don’t get me wrong, we have a role to play, but the Spirit is always working, always moving, and He occasionally invites us into what he has been doing and will continue to do. Hopefully, this removes some of the stress we feel to clean others up and allows us to enjoy people who, like you and me, are very much works in progress).

When our understanding of God’s love is that He bestows it on those who are above-average holy, then we feel it necessary to do the same. And when we do, we have the upside-down kingdom all backward.

Rolheiser addresses this mindset when he writes, “If God loves us equally when we are bad and when we are good, then why be good? This is an interesting question, though not a deep one. Love, understood properly, is never a reward for being good. Goodness, rather, is always a consequence of having been loved. We are not loved because we are good, but hopefully we become good as we experience love.”

Love is the starting point of our faith.

God. Loves. Us.

That is the gospel truth.

That is the Good News.

That is worth sharing.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Unpredictable endings

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 04 Jul 2024 21:41:09 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

First, Happy Independence Day!

Second, a few thoughts about the United States of America and our role as citizens of this nation.

I believe we are all very fortunate and blessed to live in this country.
While consuming the news, it is easy to become cynical, jaded, and angry with people, politicians, and the other party (no matter which party that is to you). But when I spend time with my neighbors, those in my city, and with you, I find this nation to be made up of beautiful people. (And a few stinkers of course). My takeaway: we should spend more time with real people.
In 1 Samuel 8, we read about Israel wanting a king over them so they could be like all the other nations. But the sad reality was, Israel already had a King. As we approach this election, we would do well to consider that we too have a King and while we should pray for our leaders and research our candidates and by all means vote, our hope is not in people. We have a King.

Alright, back to regular programming.

I enjoy a book recommendation.

I probably enjoy them too much because I now have a few dozen books on my “to-read” shelf and many more on a digital wish list.

But I am making progress.

I just finished The Floor of Heaven: A True Tale of the Last Frontier and the Yukon Gold Rush by Howard Blum and I’m about to wrap up As Long As You Need: Permission to Grieve by J.S. Park. Both books are incredibly interesting and incredibly different.

(Feel free to consider those a couple of recommendations from me.)

Anyhew, one of the things I enjoy in a book, is the little tidbits that the author includes, seemingly at random. We suspect these little out-of-place, unnecessary details will later prove significant.

And often that hunch is correct.

Other times, especially with books written decades or longer ago, some details that are meant to arrest the reader, completely escape us.

This may be no truer than with scripture because you and I are several thousand years removed from the culture and practices of the first century. Not to mention the vast differences between our Western way of life and the Middle East.

One such story that includes an easily missed head-scratcher is the account of Jesus’ resurrection, or more specifically, how His resurrection was discovered and shared.

The story goes that two ladies named Mary went to the tomb where Jesus had been laid with the express purpose of preserving his body from decay. On their mind was how they would move the large stone covering the tomb entrance so that they could have access to the body.

The beauty of this morning was wasted on them, in a way that a person experiencing grief and shock feels almost violated by the world going on as normal.

The birds singing as the sun came up and the flowers blooming would have only served to highlight how dark their mood was; the messiah that they had loved and hoped in and traveled with for years had been shamed, humiliated and treated subhuman before being murdered horrifically.

And so they had no spring in their step on this spring day as they made their way to the tomb to one last time touch Jesus. A cold, rigor mortised Jesus.

As Mary and Mary get to the tomb, they discover they are no longer alone. Surrounding the tomb entrance are Roman soldiers. The uniforms provide flashbacks to that dreadful crucifixion night as the Marys relive the moment that men who looked just like these stripped Jesus, nailed him to wooden poles, mocked him and most insulting, acted as if this was all normal and justified. The only redeeming value to having this despicable company is that maybe the soldiers will help with the stone. But more likely, they won’t.

And it is here that the story loses its predictability.

Immediately the soldiers become a non-issue, forgettable extras in the background because BOOM! An angel or something, (what else could this be? He looked like what lightning looks like, except this lightning is shaped like a person and isn’t disappearing like proper lightning is supposed to do), this thing appears and his entrance either feels like an earthquake or an earthquake just happened to happen at the same time as he appeared.

And then this lightning man rolls the stone aside and sits on it.

I told you it gets interesting.

But Lightning Man doesn't just sit, he also speaks.

“Do not be afraid” he said. “A little too late for that,” the Marys surely think.

Undeterred, Lightning Man continues, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”

The women are now witnesses and heralds. “Come and see, go and tell.”

An honor for anyone.

But all is not fine and dandy.

Remember, this does not take place in modern-day America, but first-century Israel.

The women had just been told the most important news that was ever to be given and surely this moment would need to be recorded for posterity in historical accounts (four should do nicely) and someday even turned into movies and television series.

The only problem was that the angel told women.

See the problem?

No?

The problem is that the testimony of a woman, (or even multiple women) was of no value in first-century Jewish culture; completely dismissed in a court or other legal proceedings. If a woman was the only person to witness a crime, then there was no witness.

Fair?

Far from it.

But this was reality.

And yet God, at the most pivotal moment in human history, chose women to be the first witnesses of the resurrection.

I’m sure this puzzled the women. I’m sure this puzzled the disciples.

Maybe this puzzles you today.

And it’s ok to ask ourselves, “What did God accomplish through this two thousand years ago?”

But maybe more importantly, we need to consider, “What is God accomplishing through this today?”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Church is...

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 27 Jun 2024 20:19:42 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

What is church?

Have you ever asked yourself that question?

And if so, what was your answer?

Whether we have consciously asked this question or not, at some level, we have all answered for ourselves what we think the church should be. And not just the church, but what we want our church to be.

So what is church?

To answer that, let’s go back to the beginning of this thing called church.

And by back, I mean roughly 2000 years back. To the original writing of the New Testament in a region and to a people who broadly spoke Greek.

Because before we had the word church or knew what church was, we had a Greek word: ekklesia. R.C. Sproul writes, “This word [ekklesia] is made up of a prefix and a root. The prefix is ek or ex, which means ‘out of ‘ or ‘from.’ The root word is a form of the verb kaleo, which means ‘to call.’ Thus, ekklesia means ‘those who are the called-out ones.’"

Those who are the called-out ones.

Church.

Interesting.

That's hard to reconcile with how many of us would define church.

That’s also hard to reconcile with how many of us have experienced church.

In Mark, we get a peak at Jesus calling out people (in a good way), making them the original “called-out ones”.

It goes like this.

“Jesus went up on a mountainside and called to him those he wanted, and they came to him. He appointed twelve that they might be with him and that he might send them out to preach and to have authority to drive out demons.” (Mark 3:13-15)

The original called-out ones were to be with Him and be sent out by him so that they might share the Kingdom message with others through word and deed.

Interesting.

That sounds a lot more like guerilla warfare and less like robed choirs. (Full disclosure: I have sung in a robed choir and further disclosure, I was not very good at it. The singing part that is- I like to think I rocked the robe. Furthermore, I think choirs are wonderful, I just wanted to make a comparison. Ok, back to the story).

In Acts, we see the ranks of "those who are the called-out ones" swelling into the thousands.

This is the birth of ekklesia. a.k.a. the church.

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.” (Acts 2:42-47)

A summation of that passage could be that the early ekklesia was dedicated to spiritual formation and discipline, radical generosity, joyful community, selfless service.

That abbreviation is helpful and I like it, but it misses something.

Because this ekklesia was pulsing with life and joy. Energy and expectation.

This ekklesia was vibrating with the abundant, overflowing life that Jesus promised.

It’s more celebration, less somber piety.

It’s more about living the resurrection and less about arguing theology.

(In fact, they don’t seem to be arguing much at all.)

So what is church?

First of all, it is alive.

Animated by the living God, animated by the called-out ones of God.

What is church?

It is teaching and it is living the teaching.

It is eating. Eating often. Eating together.

It is showing preference for others and preference for God.

What is church?

Church is an open door, a sincere invitation not to a building or service, but to your life.

It is making much of God and rejoicing in people.

Church is the called-out ones living the calling and inviting others to experience God’s Kingdom. Here. Right now.

What is church?

It is the called-out ones, partnering with the Spirit, creating a new Eden over and over again through everyday actions and everyday encounters.

What is church?

It is a big part of God's answer to what we long for when we sense that all is not as it should be.

Church is the knife edge of our prayer “on earth as it is in heaven.”

What is church?

Church is you and me, us and God.

Bringing hope, sharing joy, pointing to the One who alone can heal.

Church is you, me, God. Partnered together. Sowing Life.

May we not lose sight of the beauty and dignity, the wonder and mystery, that is church.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Famous people and family

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 20 Jun 2024 14:42:04 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

To my knowledge, I have never met a famous person. It's also true that a famous person has never met me. So I guess we’re even.

Anyhew.

If I did ever meet a famous person, I’m not sure that it would make a big impact on either of us. I don’t expect a brief encounter to lead to dinner plans, vacations together, or random Friday night hangouts. We probably wouldn’t even exchange numbers.

And I get it. Famous people deal with crowds regularly and I’m not in the category of close friend or family. No hard feelings on my part.

But I did come across something curious recently. I was reading a short biography that detailed the life of a man from a small town called Nazareth, in the region of Galilee, northern Israel.

And this man, named Jesus, made a couple of audacious claims. Claim one was that he was the long-awaited Messiah or Christ, literally Anointed One, who would reign in the tradition of David and restore the kingdom of the people of God. That was a claim that could get you killed, but Jesus did not stop there. He also claimed to be the Son of God, God in a body. Not so incidentally, this claim could also get you killed.

The surprising part in all of this is not that Jesus made the claims (crazy people had done both before), but that he backed up his claims by demonstrating authority over nature, demons, sickness, and even death. And that just about covers everything of interest to humanity.

But we still haven’t touched on what struck me about Jesus recently.

It was a story.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who had lost everything. Due to a medical condition, she was not welcomed around her friends, family, or even strangers if they knew her secret. She had visited doctors, but not one of them had help her. But they did take all her money. And in a cruel twist, her condition made it impossible for her to have children and because she couldn’t provide a husband with children, no man would marry her. And even if she were married (and thus privy to some financial and social safety), her culture allowed men to divorce barren women.

And so once upon a time, there was a woman who had nothing.

But one day, this woman, who history didn't bother to learn or remember her name, heard about a traveling teacher who somehow, someway, was able to heal people. And this teacher was passing through her village.

Risking shame and embarrassment, she made her way near the teacher, but the crowds made it impossible to get his attention. Besides, getting his attention would also invite the attention of the crowds and that was the last thing she wanted. So she devised a plan: get close to the teacher and touch him. Wait, no! Too bold. Just touch his robe. He’d be ceremonially unclean because she had touched him but with any luck, he’d never know what had taken place.

And the plan worked! Well, it almost worked. She touched the teacher’s robe and she immediately knew that something had changed in her body. But somehow, someway, the teacher knew that someone had touched him needing healing and had been healed.

He looked around and asked, “Who touched me?” His followers found this funny. “Look at this crowd around you! Who hasn’t touched you?!” they hooted with laughter while no doubt poking him.

But the teacher was persistent and finally, the invisible woman made herself known. “I did,” she said, feeling a new kind of shame, bracing for a rebuke, a slap, a jeer. ‘I touched you.”

Not able to stand, she sank to her knees, trembling with fear.

The teacher spoke, but clearly not to her. “Daughter,” he said. Maybe her blunder was now a sermon illustration as he taught the crowds what not to do.

She looked up, bracing for more humiliation.

And it was then that a second healing spread over her. A salvation more powerful than her physical healing.

The invisible woman realized that it was she who had been addressed.

“Daughter” he had called her.

A name that wrapped her up in her first embrace in 12 years.

And that is what is so remarkable about Jesus. He, God, made her family. But not just her. Earlier in his ministry, the teacher had addressed a paralyzed man as “Son,” healing his body but also inviting him into relationship, into family. And Jesus once said, looking around at a small group of friends, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

And that is the Good News of Jesus. It’s not so much “you are no longer guilty, you can go free,” but rather, “you are family, you can stay.” (Thank you to Jason Meyer for this language).

I take back what I said at the beginning; I have met a famous person and a famous person has met me.

Over 30 years ago, I met Jesus.

And He didn’t stop at forgiving my sins; He called me Son.

I am now family.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The Kingdom is near, now what?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 13 Jun 2024 18:23:59 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I work out every day and by every day, I mean maybe four times a week.

Perhaps you can relate.

We all understand that exercising equals a higher quality of life. We know that we feel better after working out. And yet, I (maybe we) still only move at a level that constitutes “working out” a few times a week.

For me, I blame this on my ancestors.

The people I come from worked hard. Not “worked out” hard, but worked hard.

Farmers and meat cutters and the like.

And so I find myself the first generation in my family that needs to work out to be physically strong and reasonably fit.

And that brings us to prayer.

Some of us come from a lineage of people who took prayer seriously. Maybe because of the Great Depression, the Cold War, the lack of technological distractions, or just the overt danger and unpredictability of life not that long ago, prayer became a natural rhythm of life.

But for many of us, we pray every day and by every day, I mean we pray maybe four times a week.

Maybe.

Like exercise, we are convinced that prayer is good for us. It improves our quality of life and we feel better after we pray.

And yet, if that’s all, it is easy to dismiss. I can find those benefits in other ways.

So why pray?

(We’ll get to that, but it’ll seem like we are going in an entirely different direction. Hang on.)

In Mark’s account of the life and ministry of Jesus, he quotes Jesus making this rather disruptive claim, “At last the time has come!” [Jesus] announced. “God’s Kingdom is near! Turn from your sins and act on this glorious news!” (Mark 1:15)

And no one knew what Jesus meant.

“Turn from your sins” is straightforward enough, but “act on this glorious news” about God’s Kingdom? Do we grab a sword? Build a castle? What exactly are we supposed to do?

And to further complicate the matter, what are we supposed to do with this news some 2000 years later?

And that brings us to prayer.

Pastor Eugene Peterson says about prayer, “The task is not to get God to do something I think needs done, but to become aware of what God is doing so that I can participate in it.”

The message of Jesus was that a new kingdom was upon us, a kingdom best described as the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven.

There is life as we have always lived it, but now another kind of life has burst in; a life where God rules and reigns.

And yet, this other life, this other kingdom, is easily missed if we aren’t searching for it. So how do we find and enter the kingdom of God/heaven?

Easy. (Thank you for asking such great questions, btw).

Through prayer, we “become aware of what God is doing [the Kingdom of God] so that I can participate in it.”

The kingdom of God is vibrant and pulsing with life and overflowing with energy.

And the kingdom is near to those looking for it, but we often look in the wrong way.

We look for the Kingdom in politics and the never-ending news cycle, we look for the Kingdom in self-help and the promises of the latest health fads, we look for the Kingdom in a pastor who has all the answers and we look for the Kingdom by building our own kingdoms.

In short, we look for the Kingdom everywhere but where the King is.

The Kingdom of God can only be found in God.

And so we pray.

We pray to the King to know the King and in so doing, we become aware of what He is doing. And when we know the King, are aware of what He is doing and we, echoing the words of Isaiah, say, “Here I am, send me,” we have entered the Kingdom of God.

Prayer moves us towards God and His Kingdom. And they need not be elaborate.

When we pray for healing or relief or reconciliation, we are praying “Your Kingdom come, your will be done.”

When we sit quietly in contemplative prayer, our posture is “Your Kingdom come, your will be done.”

When we rejoice over good things in our life, our blessing is explained by “Your Kingdom come, your will be done.”

And in those dark moments when we sob with regret or when we feel desperately alone in our misery, our anguish pleads “Your Kingdom come, your will be done.”

What humanity needs, what you and I need, is “Your Kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

And so my invitation to you today is to pray. Not every day/4ish times a week, but intentionally pray, multiple times a day.

And if helpful, here is how I’d invite you to do that: pray the Lord's Prayer three times a day. Morning, midday, and evening. Set an alarm or put a reminder on your phone. Pray the prayer Jesus taught his followers and then expand on it.

“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name,”

(How can you live in deep intimacy with God and make His infinite goodness evident to others?)

“your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

(How do you need God’s Kingdom to manifest in your family, vocation, health, or other area?)

“Give us today our daily bread.”

(What do you need today?)

“And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”

(What wrongs have been committed against you and what wrongs have you committed against others?)

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.”

(In what ways are you tempted to ignore God or the Way of God? In what areas are you weak, vulnerable, or overcome?)

Amen.

Let's be people of prayer.

Because God’s Kingdom is near.

And we have been invited in.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The favored child

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 06 Jun 2024 15:59:22 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

If you grew up with one or more siblings, did your parent(s) have a favored child?

I wish I could hear your responses. A few of you would honor tradition and say, “No! My parents loved us all equally.” And if I know you all, there will be one or two who would simply nod, affirming that yes, there was a favored one. And if the nod is accompanied by a smirk, rest assured that they are the favored one.

And before we judge too harshly at the perceived unfairness of a parent favoring one child more than the others, let us consider this: God also plays favorites.

“No!” we all want to gasp. “It cannot be so,” we say before our mind wanders to that certain someone who seems to have been born under a lucky star (whatever that is) and everything not only seems to work out well for them, but it works out 10x well for them.

And now that we are all picturing that certain someone in our mind's eye, let me tell you something: they are not God’s favorite.

Rather, God’s favorite, or better said, the one to whom God is most inclined, is the lost or hurt child. And every parent knows this to be true: when a child is lost or hurt, they become the center of attention. In a sense, they become favored.

One day, Jesus was teaching, and gathered around him were tax farmers and other notorious sinners, all listening to him. Observing this unsavory audience were the Pharisees and teachers of the law, who could not help but mutter, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

This muttering did not go unnoticed by Jesus and in typical Jesus fashion, He told them a story in reply.

“If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them gets lost, what will he do? Won’t he leave the ninety-nine others in the wilderness and go to search for the one that is lost until he finds it? And when he has found it, he will joyfully carry it home on his shoulders. When he arrives, he will call together his friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ In the same way, there is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who are righteous and haven’t strayed away!” (Luke 15)

It's nice to be the cause of rejoicing; it's not so nice to be told that you are not the cause of celebration, but rather the person or people group you most despise is the cause of the wild festivities.

And Jesus didn't just stop there but told a second and a third story.

And in each story, the lost thing is the favored thing.

In Jesus’ final installment of this lost thing trilogy, he uses children, instead of livestock or other valued possessions, to make his point.

“There were two boys,” Jesus said (my paraphrase). “The older son did what was expected of him, caring for the family business and helping it prosper. But the younger son was a different story. The younger son broke all the rules, mocking his family and his culture in the process.”

And here is where I picture the Pharisees and teachers of the law leaning in. This wasn't unprecedented territory, and their law, given by God himself, spoke to such a situation.

By heart, they all knew that, “If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. They shall say to the elders, ‘This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of his town are to stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.” (Deuteronomy 21:18-21)

But Jesus kept on telling his story, forgetting that the father should stone his son. Rather the father gave into the demands of the son and gave him his inheritance, which was promptly squandered in the most lurid of ways in a far-off land.

And how did the father respond? He kept looking, watching, peering into the distance in the direction that his son had fled.

Then one day a speck on the horizon slowly revealed itself to be the stooped and starved form of his youngest son.

And then the father did something not one of Jesus’ listeners would have predicted.

The father ran to his son, wrapped him in a hug, and kissed his face.

Before long a party was in full swing and the older son heard music while he was working in the fields. He interrogated a servant and learned that his worthless, deadbeat brother had come home. And not just home, but home to a celebration. And he was indignant. Seething with anger, the older son refused to go into the house. And so his father, just as he had done for the younger son, left the house to meet his son.

But this conversation was different. The older son confronted his dad and pointed out all that was wrong with this moment and the father’s actions.

But the father said one thing trumps all the wrongs and sins that were committed; your brother has come back.

“This brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

And that is where the story ends. Music and dancing. A feast. A son and brother who had turned his back on everything was now home. And a son and brother who had never considered leaving home now turned his back on home and family because he couldn’t share space with a repentant sibling.

We don’t get the reaction from the Pharisees and the teachers of the law after they heard this story.

Or maybe we do.

How did my heart respond? How did yours?

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Please disagree

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 30 May 2024 18:21:53 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

This is the 39th letter that I've written for (what I hope is) the encouragement and edification of you, the saints.

Occasionally I'll go back and re-read a previous letter.

Sometimes I really like what I have written.

Other times I’m not all that impressed.

I also realize, as I grow as a person and as an apprentice of Jesus, that I will disagree with something I’ve previously written.

Maybe you have already disagreed with something I've said, either because I didn't articulate what I was attempting to communicate well, or because we simply disagree on a topic or belief.

And you know what? That is perfectly fine.

Great actually.

And why would I say that?

Because seeing eye to eye on every topic or belief has never been the prerequisite for us to be together in community.

Furthermore, if I’m to be honest, if we saw eye to eye on every topic and belief, I don’t think I’d find our community very interesting. It certainly wouldn’t challenge us to learn and grow or to embrace curiosity (the essential condition necessary to be a good student).

If we all thought the same, then we would never be invited to imagine the infinite creativity of our God.

Our differences have the potential to make us better. More thoughtful. More contemplative. More patient. More prayerful. More like Jesus.

As followers of Jesus, there just isn’t all that much that we must agree on. I believe the Apostle Paul’s summation of the Good News in 1 Corinthians chapter 15 is a great place for us to rally around. Paul writes,

Now, brothers and sisters, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain.

For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born.

Jesus died, Jesus was raised, and Jesus is alive today.

Does that mean that nothing else is important?

No.

But not everything is of equal importance.

Take the Old Testament for example. A rich library of books, containing something like 548,642 words in the original Hebrew.

And Jesus summed them up in 24 words.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind."

"Love your neighbor as yourself."

How audacious.

And what was Jesus’ justification for such a brief summation?

“All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Somehow, Genesis to Malachi, including the creation account and the serpent, the Exodus and Mt Sinai, David and Goliath and David and Bathsheba, the exile and the return from exile, Solomon’s Temple and the second temple, and so much more, are meant to show us that loving God and loving our neighbor is the point.

If that is true, we can disagree about a whole lot, as long as we do it in a way that actively loves God and each other.

So let’s explore and ponder our faith. I'm confident we’ll never come to the edge of it.

But in the vastness and depth of our faith, never lose sight that Jesus is alive and we are to live out His love in every way and everywhere we go.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Either the dock or the canoe, but not both

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 23 May 2024 14:52:42 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I distinctly remember the nerves and excitement I felt right before my first time in a canoe. I stood on the dock, grasped the gunwale, and placed a foot into the canoe. Unfortunately, this action caused an equal and opposite action and the canoe moved away from the dock. I now had an important decision to make and not much time to make it: Do I commit to the canoe or the dock? I wanted to commit to the canoe and experience the joy of being on the water, but the dock was predictable, familiar, stable.

I ultimately decided on both and was re-baptized. This immersion taught me that I could remain on the dock or I could canoe, but I could not do both simultaneously.

Although I was embarrassed, I've come to see that moment as my part in a long tradition that humans have had with canoes. Somewhere, long ago, our ancestors first attempted to get into their dugout canoe while keeping a foot on the shore, only to clumsily splash into the water. Then they looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

Thus, the tradition was born.

Our faith ancestors have a similar tradition that we also enact to this day.

This tradition has to do with the Law that God gave to the Israelites, this newly emancipated people who needed instructions on how to interact with the God who took notice of them and moved on their behalf.

In the wilderness, God gave instructions and made a covenant with his people. This covenant, based upon faithfulness to the Law, was big and powerful, but not timeless. The covenant could be fulfilled and thus, came with an expiration date.

Enter Jesus. A new human ushering in a new way to be human and a new covenant with humanity.

The dock was still there in the form of the Law, but now we had a canoe, a new covenant through Jesus.
And humanity has been plashing between the two ever since.

Paul, writing to Jesus/Law followers in Galatia writes this, “You who are trying to be justified by the law have been alienated from Christ; you have fallen away from grace.” (Galatians 5:4)

Splash!

The sign of fidelity to the Law was circumcision and Jesus followers in Galatia were feeling a need to combine their new-found life in Christ with adherence to the old covenant.

Jesus and Moses, rather than Jesus as the fulfillment of the Mosaic Covenant.

But Paul would have none of it. The new covenant wasn't a fusion of old and new.

No, Jesus made it clear that He had fulfilled the Law. Why work at paying off a debt that had already been paid off? Only fools or thieves would ask you to do something so absurd.

“For through the Spirit we eagerly await by faith the righteousness for which we hope.” (Galatians 5:5) Our hope is no longer in the Law to bring us righteousness, but faith in the Spirit to “complete the good work.” (Philippians 1:6)

“For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.” (Galatians 5:6)

And then Paul takes off the gloves. “You were running a good race. Who cut in on you to keep you from obeying the truth?... As for those agitators, I wish they would go the whole way and emasculate themselves!” (Galatians 5:7 & 12)

Rather than try and earn true Life by adherence to a covenant that has been completed, leap into the freedom found in Life!

“You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love [agape] your neighbor as yourself.’” (Galatians 5:13-14)

Tim Mackie with The Bible Protect says this about the agape kind of love, “In the New Testament, agape refers to a way of treating people that was defined by Jesus himself: seeking the well-being of others regardless of their response.”

The Law is out, the dock has been abandoned.

We are now wholly in the canoe but we are not adrift (the great fear of those who want Jesus and the Law). Agape love, as demonstrated by Jesus and empowered in our lives by the Spirit, steers us.

Paul goes on to paint us a picture of what this Spirit-empowered, freedom-from-the-law-because-of-Jesus, life will look like. People living in agape will burst with overflowing joy, peace that overcomes, patience that endures, kindness that emanates, goodness that brings flourishing, faithfulness that produces trust, gentleness that confounds power, and self-control that can only be explained by a risen Lord.

Paul had plenty of experience with dock people; people who have to constantly question if God loves them (and others) and if they (and others) have done enough to keep that love.

Paul knew what it was to be a dock person because he had been one. Before Paul met Jesus and gave up on the Law, he was convinced the only way to stay in God’s good graces was to hunt and arrest, to silence and kill, the people who had abandoned the Law.

But when the agape of Jesus ambushed Paul, He knew there would be no straddling the gap between the Jesus way and the Law.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5:1)

That warning is for us too friends. Mixing the Law and Jesus will be advertised as biblical living, as how to live if you are serious about faith. It’ll promise life but will deliver death.

The canoe is waiting; we are invited into a new covenant relationship marked by life stacked upon more life for those loyally in love with Jesus.

But you must let go of the dock.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Our birth and Pentecost

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 16 May 2024 14:52:20 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I could not tell you anything about my great, great, great, great, great grandparents. Nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

I know that they raised at least one child. And I know this little tidbit of information because I exist today.

Pentecost is this Sunday and you, quite possibly, may know nothing about it.

Well, almost nothing.

You know Pentecost happened because we, the Church, exist today.

Pentecost, as recorded in Acts, is our origin story; Pentecost in a sense, is the delivery room where the Church was birthed. And like every birth to date, it wasn't exactly glamorous.

Ronald Rolheiser, in his excellent book Sacred Fire, describes our beginning like this,

“Pentecost did not happen to a solitary man or woman, praying on a mountaintop, in a church, in a desert, or under a tree. It happened to a group of men and women at a church meeting. Moreover, it did not happen at a triumphal church meeting, where men and women were sure of themselves as they praised God in confidence. It happened at a church meeting where men and women, frightened for their future, were huddled in fear, confusion, and uncertainty, but were gathered in faith and fidelity despite their fears. This is how scripture describes it.”

Of course we come from humble beginnings.
God seems to prefer the overlooked, the ignored, the people and places that others have written off as unnecessary or worthless. And this should give us great comfort; the Church was not built on our strength or intellect. We are anything but the hero of this story. Rather, those first church members simply gave God their full attention. And God moved.

Rolheiser goes on to write,

“And, like the original Upper Room in Jerusalem, our venues too are generally humble, church basements and church foyers, with bad chairs, bad lighting, and bad dishes. The Upper Room is not glamorous, not a Leonardo da Vinci painting. It always looks like the meeting room in your local church. But it is there that Pentecost happened and will continue to happen. And so Jesus' advice to today's struggling believer is still the same as it was to a group of uncertain and shaky disciples at the time of his Ascension: return to the city and wait in the Upper Room! Or, as Peter Maurin put it: ‘When you don't know what else to do, keep going to meetings because Pentecost happened at a meeting!’”

Each Sunday when we gather, we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and we also re-enact our genesis: a few shaky disciples, finding a little comfort and encouragement in each other, praying that God would show up and move.

Let’s do it again this Sunday.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

One-anothering one another

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 09 May 2024 16:15:20 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

It’s easy to miss the forest for the trees as we live out our faith in today's culture.

Let me explain.

We protestant, evangelical Christians have perfected the art of dividing over our differences.

We are good at taking a verse or faith topic and upon learning that we interpret it differently than others, we gather those in agreement with us and do our own thing.

And yet, we often flat-out ignore a more important directive when we divide.

Someone might say, “It’s the scriptures we are discussing. It’s all important!”

And I would agree with you that all scripture is important.

So important in fact, that we must submit to the overarching themes found in scripture. These meta themes, (the forest if you will) are such things as the “one another’s” of scripture, the code sprinkled throughout the writings of spirit-inspired authors on how we are to live with each other.

One such “one another” is the oft-repeated expectation that those who follow Jesus will love one another (see John 13:34, 13:35, 15:12, 15:17, Romans 12:10, 13:8, Gal. 5:13, Eph. 4:2, 4:32, 1 Thess. 3:12, 4:9, 1 Peter 3:8, 4:8, 1 John 3:11, 3:23, 4:7, 4:11, 4:12 and 2 John 5 as a starting point. And to love one another isn’t a passive, pretend-everything-is-peachy posture but rather a gritty resolve that you will be present with people and participate in what the Spirit is doing in their life.)

Dividing over practices or concepts that God, in His infinite wisdom, chose not to give us more specific instructions about is not evidence of having a high regard for scripture.

God is clear about what He chose to be clear about and He decided not to be clear about other things. And to faithfully follow God, we cannot ignore that fact.

I’m not surprised (sad, but not surprised) when I learn that someone who doesn't know Jesus wants nothing to do with Him based upon encounters with Christians. Rather than being marked by love and joy, we are often marked by judgementalism and hypocrisy (which, according to Jesus, is doing the right thing with the wrong heart).

We Jesus followers often have a reputation nothing like Jesus’.

We are designed to live a countercultural life that, if people don’t believe in God or even think that He is real, they should wish He was based upon His followers. Such things as love and joy, peace and patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control are quite attractive to all people: progressives and conservatives, boomers and gen alpha, pro-lifers and pro-choicers, vegans and carnivores, second amendment supporters and gun control folks, anti-vaxxers and pro-vaxxers.

The fruit of the Spirit is beautiful and catches people's attention.

Pastor Andy Stanley likes to say, “People nothing like Jesus, liked Jesus.” Think about that for a moment. Who do we know in the public space like that?

Can you think of anyone?

I believe every apprentice of Jesus should be liked by people who are nothing like them. Certainly not everyone will like us, and that is ok. But everyone should see Jesus in us.

The early church had a certain beauty about it. This ragtag group that had no political or social clout, was provocative in its love for others. Love for those they affectionately called “brother” and “sister” and love for those who were decidedly against them (which was the vast majority of the population).

The early church didn’t have much going for it other than an unwavering fidelity to one-anothering one another.

And that was enough.

Please don’t think that the early church was perfect and therefore, they didn’t have to worry about the divisive topics we face today. Rather, the early church, in the midst of its problems, addressed their issues by one-anothering one another.

They practiced the way of Jesus by leaning into one another rather than leaning away.

I write this not to say we should have only a single church in a town or that one should never leave a fellowship. That’s not it at all. Rather, I think our many churches are a beautiful gift from God, showcasing His creativity. And I’ll be the first to say there are valid reasons to leave a congregation.

However, I write this as an invitation to consider our ways. In reality, do we, do I, strive to live like Jesus or are we more influenced by religious dogma or our political tribe? Are we quick to throw stones when a smile, a hug, an invitation to converse over coffee, would be more Jesus-like?

We are a people called to love our enemies, to pray good for those who oppose and persecute us.

When presented with evil, we retaliate with good.

And if that feels too lofty, that's ok. Begin by simply one-anothering one another.

It’s the Jesus way.

And it’s a beautiful way.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Don't be so easily pleased

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 02 May 2024 16:16:10 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Some teachers have a gift of taking a complex subject and making it infinitely more impossible to comprehend.

I had one such instructor at the prestigious School of Missionary Aviation Technology where I earned my airframe and powerplant license. This instructor’s name was Dean and Dean taught and understood electricity in a way that few people could. Dean knew electricity like a person knows their spouse after being married for 60 years.

Unfortunately, Dean understood electricity so thoroughly that he had a hard time explaining it to the unenlightened. And I was one such dim bulb.

I did pass Dean’s class but with the resolve to never make my living in electronics.

And so far, I’ve stuck to that commitment.

While we can all agree that understanding electricity is necessary for anyone working on avionics, our understanding of God and how we are to relate to Him is of eternally more significance.

Consider these words from C.S. Lewis about our experience and expectations of life with God in His Kingdom.

Lewis writes, “Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Or this thought from the Scottish Bible expositor Alexander MacLaren, ‘We may have as much of God as we will. Christ puts the key of the treasure-chamber into our hand, and bids us take all that we want. If a man is admitted into the bullion vault of a bank and told to help himself, and comes out with one cent, whose fault is it that he is poor?”

Whose fault, indeed?

The prophet Jeremiah, speaking for God to the exiles living in Babylon, wrote, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

In other words, I have as much of God as I want.

But often, I find myself a “half-hearted creature, fooling about,” content with mud pies when infinite joy is on offer.

This realization helps me identify with the church in Laodicea about which John writes in his Revelation,

“To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.”

And then this invitation, “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.”

What is it you want? What is it I want?

If it is God, we can be certain that we will have all of Him we want.

And if it is anything other than God, we may very well get all of that thing.

Just please, don’t spend your life settling for mud pies. Don't be so easily pleased.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story for your consideration

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 25 Apr 2024 18:44:59 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Imagine that you are on your way home after a day of work. You are tired, a little irritated, and ready to put the day behind you. You need food and quiet, you need to sit.

You are only a few minutes away from the sanctuary that is your house when you accidentally make eye contact with a soldier and he stops you. (Oh yeah, imagine that you are a Jew in first-century Israel, living under the rule of the Roman Empire).

You mutter a curse and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to hide the contempt you feel for this young soldier, a boy really, who operates with impunity because of the backing of his employer.

Just a few days ago, five soldiers, seemingly on a lark, had beaten a friend of yours, claiming that your friend had threatened them. Your friend is 75 and walks with a cane. Your friend threatens no one.

And yet, because of the uniform the soldiers wear, there will be no justice for your friend.

And when you heard your friend’s retelling of this violent encounter, told through sobs as she relived the trauma, all you could think was that this story wasn’t as bad as some of the others.

Stories of homes and businesses being seized based on trumped-up charges of delinquent taxes, stories of children being pulled from parents, never-to-be-returned, stories of brutal attacks and senseless murders. Stories that made you want to scream in rage and cry in helplessness all at the same time.

And now here you are, standing before this soldier, heart pounding. What will he demand?

“Carry my pack,” he says.

Relief floods over you. It's shameful that you, a respected adult must humbly submit to this boy's demands, and yet, this could be much worse. This soldier is operating under the law. He can demand that any citizen of a conquered region carry his burden for a mile. And today, you are that citizen.

You stoop down, legs bent, wrapping your arms around the bundle, and stiffen to stand. You almost cannot. The bundle feels like it weighs as much as you. Surely the soldier, with his youthful strength bolstered by adequate meals (a rarity to many in this region), would have much less trouble carrying this burden, but you know that to complain is to invite verbal and physical abuse.

And so you walk. One step. Two steps. Three. A minute goes by, then another and another. And slowly your mind wanders from the impossibly heavy sack on your back to the mundane things of life. Random conversations at work, the meal you hoped to be eating, the worry your spouse would be feeling right about now as you fail to walk through the door at the expected time.

And something a rabbi recently said.

The rabbi’s words suddenly fill your mind. Although you have only heard it second-hand, it comes to you with startling clarity, “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles.”

Unfortunately, you remember even more from the rabbi’s message.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.”

“Mind your own business, Jesus,” you mutter to yourself.

“What was that?” the soldier asks with a frown.

“Nothing,” you reply.

You trudge on. “What could Jesus have been getting at?" you wonder. "Why did he say such things to his countrymen, already subject to so much shame and humiliation?”

You wish Jesus had given tips for how to resist these arrogant intruders, not love them.

And then it hits you.

Jesus did just that. The first mile is humiliating, a reminder of how little power you have. But the second mile?

That second mile flips the script. The first mile showcases helplessness, but the second mile illustrates resistance. Resistance in a whole new way. An upside-down sort of way.

Resistance the Jesus way.

With that, it all becomes clear to you. To operate in Jesus' kingdom, you’ll have to learn to love and resist.
And you suspect the temptation will be to separate those elements; to love in one way and resist in another.
But that will not work.

You'll have to learn to wholeheartedly love and powerfully resist, simultaneously, in the same inseparable action.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Mint and dill, justice and mercy

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 18 Apr 2024 19:20:37 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I enjoy baseball. I always have.

I have no clue how this affection for America’s pastime came to be. All I know is that I cannot remember ever considering playing any sport other than baseball.

Note: this was the late 80’s and early 90’s and sports such as soccer and lacrosse had not gained popularity in my small Iowan hometown. A further note: lacrosse never will.

Back to baseball; to fully appreciate baseball, one must appreciate the history of baseball. And in the history of baseball, 1925 was an important moment. Because on May 12, 1925, Lawrence Peter Berra was born.

Lawrence, or Yogi as he was nicknamed (because he would sit in a “yogi” like position waiting for his turn to bat) became one of the best baseball players of his generation and won 10 World Series titles as a player. Beyond his talent on the diamond, Yogi Berra also had a fantastic wit and his seemingly off-the-cuff sayings have become legendary.

One such saying recently struck me as profound.

He said, "We're lost, but we're making good time."

Doesn't that resonate just a little? The thrill of feeling the wind in our hair as we race along can drown out the nagging realization that we are going in the wrong direction.

I’m constantly amazed at society's pace of life, our culture’s pursuit of more, the avalanche of new technology, and the plethora of new and amazing products that guarantee to revolutionize our lives.

But as easy as it is to find fault in our fast-paced, consumeristic culture, Berra’s words also remind me of Jesus’ words to the religious people of His day. And of greater concern, we believe Jesus’ words were also for the religious people of our day.

Namely you and me.

In Matthew chapter 23, Jesus goes off on the best the religious institution of his day had to offer.

These pious, devout followers of religious dogma were “making good time,” but Jesus pointed out how lost they were. They were confidently charging hard and fast, completely clueless as to the destination.

These religious elite had mastered following the letter of the law of God and yet they entirely missed the heart of God.

Jesus makes this clear midway through his incredibly insulting rebuke to the religious leaders when He said, “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.” (Matthew 23:23-24)

They followed the letter of the law and yet missed the law.

How is that possible?

It's possible when we lose the story. The story is that we were made in the image of God and yet we chose to take on the image of the serpent. Everything is a response to that. The law is a response to that. Therefore, the law was never the point. The law was given because we needed a framework to guide us back towards our original design. And for us today, when we tithe or fast or read scripture (to list just a few examples), we must remember these practices are not the point. But they do provide a framework to move us towards our true identity, our original calling and purpose, and away from our false, serpent-like tendencies.

The religious of Jesus’ time missed justice, mercy, and faithfulness because they were focused on mint, dill, and cumin.

I wonder how we might be doing the same?

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

The party is inside

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 11 Apr 2024 15:09:08 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Cassie and I love to camp and Cassie and I lived for many years in Oklahoma. Do you see the problem? If not, allow me to explain.

Camping in Oklahoma is wonderful for a day or two every year. The other 363ish days are either way too hot, too cold, or a tornado warning is in effect. I may be exaggerating just a tad, but this is my story and this is the way I remember it.

But we did love to camp so Cassie and I made an annual pilgrimage to the Emerald Coast of Florida for many years. We had a favorite campground, a favorite breakfast spot, and a favorite coffee shop that we returned to like migratory birds.

What wasn't a favorite was the 13-hour drive to get to our favorite camping spot. To help pass the time, we would borrow CDs from the library. (Oh my! How that last sentence dates us). We had music CDs aplenty but our favorite for passing time was a disc with stories.

And one story stands out to me after all these years.

I've forgotten most of the story, but it was about a father reflecting on his childhood. I remember vividly how the narrator’s dad would throw horse manure on their roof every Christmas Eve night so he and his siblings would see evidence that Santa’s sleigh and reindeer had visited them.

The author said their shingles had manure stains his whole childhood.

I love that story.

But as good as that story is, it has nothing on Jesus’ short stories. And Jesus’ story of the lost son is worth revisiting frequently.

Do you remember the story?

The younger son decides that for whatever reason, he is ready to fly the coop. He asks his dad for his share of the inheritance and in a surprising twist, the dad agrees and gives the boy what must seem like an inexhaustible supply of wealth.

But the high life doesn't last. The money runs out, and the boy hits rock bottom and concocts a second plan. His dad was once generous, maybe he will be generous again and allow him to return home as a common laborer.

However, the plan doesn't go as expected. His dad refuses to accept the wayward son as a servant but instead reinstates him into the family. And the overjoyed father doesn't stop there, but goes so far as to throw an extravagant party to celebrate his son who “was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

But not everyone rejoices.

The older brother, the faithful son, refuses to join in his father’s joy. And the older son’s accusation isn't against his foolish brother, but against his dad. “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!” (See Luke 15:11-32 for the whole story).

The father pleads with the older son but the story ends with this haunting image: the party is in full swing but only one son is home.

Ronald Rolheiser explores this masterfully in his book Sacred Fire. Rolheiser writes, “Someone once quipped that we spend the first half of our lives struggling with the sixth commandment (Thou shalt not commit adultery) and the second half of our lives struggling with the fifth commandment (Thou shalt not kill). That may be a simplification, but it is a fertile image. Indeed the famous parable of the prodigal son and his older brother can serve as a paradigm for this: the prodigal son, illustrating the first half of life, is very much caught up in the fiery energies of youth and is, metaphorically, struggling with the devil; the older brother, illustrating the second half of life, struggling instead with resentment, anger, and jealousy, is, metaphorically and in reality, wrestling with God.”

At some point, if we live long enough, we realize that life isn’t turning out the way we had hoped. Like the older brother, we are tempted to lash out and accuse God, “You didn't even (fill in the blank) while you bent over backward for these other, less faithful people.”

And this will be our struggle: will our anger and disappointment keep us away from Home or drive us inside?

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Are we there yet?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 04 Apr 2024 17:01:02 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“Are we there yet?”

That is the profound question that becomes the soundtrack on most trips with kids.

After Christmas, my family and I took a train from Montana to Minnesota, and a few minutes into our trip, one of our kiddos asked if we were there yet. We were not even remotely there yet; we still had 24 hours on the train and hours in a car.

“Child, we are far from there yet. Let’s enjoy the journey.”

And that applies to most areas of our lives. And that certainly applies to us as a church.

The “there” we are aiming for is to be fully formed apprentices of Jesus. To habitually think and act as Jesus thought and acted because we have become so immersed in communion, in union, with Him. That is our destination.

The way we explain being a fully formed apprentice to Jesus is summed up in our purpose for existing as Trailhead Church. Our mission is to practice the way of Jesus, together in community, for the sake of others.

That is the journey we are on.

“But what are we doing as a church? Where are we going?”

We are on a journey to practice the way of Jesus, together in community, for the sake of others.

What else could a church be about?

But a little explanation might be helpful, I'm sure. So let's take this in three pieces.

First, practice the way of Jesus:

The Oxford Languages Dictionary defines practice as “the actual application or use of an idea, belief, or method, as opposed to theories relating to it.” (A friend pointed this definition out to me and I am most grateful).

We want to organize our lives around the actual application of the Jesus Way, the Jesus Truth, the Jesus Life, as opposed to theories relating to it.

We want to go all in on being with Jesus, becoming like Jesus, and doing what Jesus would do if He were me.

Second, together in community:

In my opinion, one of the most harmful lies we believers believe is that our faith is primarily personal. Jesus’ invitation of “Come, follow me” feels individual because it is. It’s a personal invitation. A personal invitation into a family, that is. It may be more helpful to view the invitation of Jesus as “Come, follow me alongside all these others that I have invited.” Read the Gospels, the New Testament, or scripture through the lens of companionship, and you will see that most apprenticeship and ministry was done together in a community.

Lastly, for the sake of others:

Teresa of Avila is said to have put our journey as Jesus followers like this, “When one reaches the highest degree of human maturity, one has only one question left: How can I be helpful?”

When God came to earth, it should have been so we could serve and honor Him. Yet Jesus came to serve us, asking, “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51)

Jesus came to give His life away for others ("Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies…”) and Jesus invites us to do the same.

So are we there yet?

No, not yet.

But we will dedicate ourselves to practicing the way of Jesus, together in the community, for the sake of others.

And we’ll get there.

Eventually, that is, (and I suspect it will take a lifetime).

So let’s enjoy the journey.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Death and Birth, Good Friday and Easter

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 28 Mar 2024 16:17:48 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.” (Jesus as quoted in John 12:24)

We are in Holy Week, the culmination of the life of Jesus.

And Jesus’ life, miracles, and teachings show us that our assumptions about life and how life is meant to be lived, are inaccurate. Wildly so.

However, Jesus also taught us that our assumptions about death were off.

Jesus told us that death, rather than the end, was a beginning.

That a life modeled on the Jesus way would make death a portal into more life.

But that is a big claim and Jesus knew we would be skeptical.

So Jesus went first.

Jesus likens life to a single grain of wheat, nearly useless in its solitary state. Useless, unless it dies that is.

Because in death and being buried, that seed can birth a plant that will produce many seeds. Repeat this process of death and birth a few times and that solitary seed has produced bushels of wheat.

And this all makes sense when considering seeds.

But Jesus is talking about people, not seeds.

Jesus is surely referring to himself, but it seems he also has you and me on His mind.

Seeds that if not planted, will never birth what was intended.

It has been said that death is our final baptism. Our last submersion before being raised in newness of life.

Like a seed. Like Jesus.

For “unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.”

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

A story of Doris and gum (and how they changed my life)

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 21 Mar 2024 14:11:25 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

I hope you were fortunate enough to know Doris growing up.

Your Doris probably had a different name, but my Doris was named Doris.

Doris was a part of our church (or maybe she was our church, I’m not entirely sure of the specifics).

Regardless, one of my very first memories of that little church was of Doris inviting me into the kid's space and me refusing to leave my parents. But I soon learned that I was missing out.

Missing out because Doris loved kids and Doris had gum.

It didn’t take long for me to find a few friends and so this strange new church became my church. And each Sunday, the little posse of hoodlums I ran with would zero in on Doris and beg for gum. And she always laughed, gave us gum, and made us promise to put the wrappers into the trash can.

Doris, while not having a leading role in my life, made my life better. Doris didn’t just dispense gum and hugs, but love and joy, kindness and goodness.

It wasn't until later that I learned there was a word for what Doris did for us kids; Doris blessed us.

A few thousand years ago, an interesting moment played out. Parents were bringing their children to Jesus but a few Very Important People knew that Jesus’ time and energy would be better stewarded by doing other things, more important things, things with a better return on investment.

But the story goes that Jesus was indignant and told the Very Important People that they were mistaken, that unbeknownst to them, these little children, rather than they, were the model for receiving and belonging to the Kingdom. And so, after putting the Very Important People in their place, Jesus “took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.” (Mark 10:16)

I’m not entirely sure what to make of that story but it leaves me wanting to bless those around me. That story leaves me wanting to be less concerned with the self-appointed Very Important People in my life and more attentive to those who are overlooked, those without power or prestige.

Basically, I want to be more like Jesus.

And Doris.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Eavesdropping and people-watching

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 14 Mar 2024 16:55:03 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

You were probably taught as a youngin' that staring at people and eavesdropping isn't polite.

And while it may not be polite, it is fascinating.

Recently I was sitting at a gate at an airport on the backend of a very busy weekend. At that moment, reading felt like too much work, and listening to a podcast just wasn’t doing it for me.

What to do? What to do indeed.

It wasn't a conscious decision, but I found myself watching the people flow by my gate. Some people were relaxed, smiling, laughing. Some people were stressed, rushing, holding children and bags and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

And I caught snippets of conversation; nothing too profound but real people in the midst of real life. Maybe it was profound after all.

All that to say, I spent a pleasant 90 minutes that day watching people and eavesdropping.

Which brings us to Jesus.

In Luke’s account of the life of Jesus, Luke writes this setup line: “While all the people were listening, Jesus said to his disciples”. (Luke 20:45)

I’m going to assume that Jesus knew He was being overheard. I'm also going to assume that what Jesus said was for the eavesdropping crowd as much as for the disciples. So let’s lean in and eavesdrop too.

Jesus began, “Beware of the teachers of the law. They like to walk around in flowing robes and love to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces and have the most important seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at banquets. They devour widows’ houses and for a show make lengthy prayers. These men will be punished most severely.”

Oh, snap. This feels like that moment as a kid when your older sibling got punished. Holy fear mixed with giddy excitement.

Someone sees what is happening and is addressing it!

But the story isn’t over yet.

Much to my amazement, Jesus begins to people-watch.

Luke continues, “As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. ‘Truly I tell you,’ he said, ‘this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.’” (Luke 21:1-4)

So what do we do with this eavesdropping and people-watching?

We rest or we repent.

We rest in the assurance that God is not fooled by human charades. Someone may appear to be fooling everyone, but God is not fooled.

God knows. God is just.

We repent if we are the one taking advantage of others. We repent if we are keeping score, thinking that our good works are elevating us above others.

God knows. God is just.

I've heard it said that Jesus comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comforted.

Two categories, summing up much of life.
So which one are you? Afflicted or comforted?

If you are like me, you are both.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Musings on WW2 and Eden

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 07 Mar 2024 15:39:56 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

As a teenager, I loved reading war stories.

My favorites were anything to do with World War 2 aviation. Accounts of hundreds of B-17s amassing over England to begin their journey across the channel to Doolittle’s audacious bomber raid from the deck of an aircraft carrier, all fascinated me.

I also loved the personal side of the stories.

To read about a squadron streaming towards occupied lands was all the more interesting if you knew the story of the pilot and navigator, the rear gunner and the radio operator. Knowing that these young boys were from family farms in Kansas or were 3rd-generation commercial fishermen from Maine moved the accounts from general history to individual stories.

What I could never wrap my mind around was the hopelessness of their situation; in 1943, roughly 75% of crewmen never completed their tours, comprised of 25 missions. They had a much better chance of being killed, wounded, or captured than they had of completing their tour.

How did they do it?

I have no idea.

But this would be a rather strange letter if I left it there so I’ll make a guess.

These young men focused their attention on what they could control. Aircraft in operating order, fuel tanks topped off? Check. Flight suit on, oxygen mask working? Check. Mission details committed to memory, maps in order? Check. Crew in place, lucky rabbit foot in my pocket? Check and check.

We as humans have always grasped for control when things feel out of control.

Consider this encounter in the garden as described in Genesis 3, right after the fall.

God to the man, “Where are you?”

The man to God, “Hiding.”

God to the man, “Why?”

The man to God, “Because of this woman you gave me.”

God to the woman, “What have you done?”

The woman to God, “The serpent deceived me.”

Grasping for control of the situation, control of the narrative, control of the blame.

Humanity was called to tend the garden.

Instead, we tried to run the garden. Control the garden. Master the garden.

We still do this. We still grasp for control when things feel out of control.

What does grasping for control look like for you? Do you become angry? Manipulative? Quiet? Do you plan a trip, go into hiding, buy a 24-pack? Do you withdraw or lash out? Do you run over people or run from them or run to them? Do you self-medicate or throw yourself into work or working out?

However you do it, I’m sure you're good at it. I am.

We all have plenty of practice.

But may I offer a suggestion?

The next time you feel the adrenaline beginning to flow, the need to control beginning to control you, I invite you to speak these words, be still.

The command of Jesus to the storm. “Be still.”

The invitation of the psalter to us in Psalm 46:10, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We cannot control everything. In fact, we control surprisingly little.

So be still. Consider God. Tend the garden you have been given and remember that you don’t have to run it.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Dirty feet and other thoughts on marriage

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 29 Feb 2024 15:16:31 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Last Saturday I had the joy of officiating the wedding of my little sister and her new husband. They were married in a little church in a little town in the rolling hills of Wisconsin. The church building was splendid: a simple white building with a cross-topped steeple. It even had a working bell.

(I’ll admit to a certain amount of jealousy over the bell. How amazing would it be to call people to worship by ringing a bell?!)

Anyways, back to the wedding.

Most ceremonies include Ephesians 5 (commonly referred to as the Household Codes). This ceremony was no exception.

The exception is, I believe Ephesians 5 has often been used wrongly.

Some people, in their veal, have somehow removed the beauty from this passage and turned it into a tool to dominate and control.

And domination and control are not characteristics of Jesus or His apprentices.

So let’s read a portion of the New Testament Household Codes, but first, let’s remind ourselves of how Jesus modeled and taught us to function in relationships.

One evening, Jesus was having dinner with his closest friends.
I imagine the conversation was flowing, jokes were told, food was being eaten. And then Jesus “got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him… When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. ‘Do you understand what I have done for you?’ he asked them. ‘You call me “Teacher” and “Lord,” and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.

Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.’” (John 13:4-5 and 12-17)

Don’t rush past this example from Jesus; His example of selflessly serving one another is the context for how we are to be in relationship and therefore, must be at the forefront of our minds as we read the Apostle Paul’s instructions to husbands and wives.

Here is Ephesians chapter 5, verses 21-33, put into “American” (as he put it) by Pastor Eugene Peterson:

"Out of respect for Christ, be courteously reverent to one another.

Wives, understand and support your husbands in ways that show your support for Christ. The husband provides leadership to his wife the way Christ does to his church, not by domineering but by cherishing. So just as the church submits to Christ as he exercises such leadership, wives should likewise submit to their husbands.

Husbands, go all out in your love for your wives, exactly as Christ did for the church—a love marked by giving, not getting. Christ’s love makes the church whole. His words evoke her beauty. Everything he does and says is designed to bring the best out of her, dressing her in dazzling white silk, radiant with holiness. And that is how husbands ought to love their wives.
They’re really doing themselves a favor—since they’re already 'one' in marriage.

No one abuses his own body, does he? No, he feeds and pampers it. That’s how Christ treats us, the church, since we are part of his body. And this is why a man leaves father and mother and cherishes his wife. No longer two, they become 'one flesh.' This is a huge mystery, and I don’t pretend to understand it all. What is clearest to me is the way Christ treats the church. And this provides a good picture of how each husband is to treat his wife, loving himself in loving her, and how each wife is to honor her husband."

Each of us, regardless of marital status, would do well to dwell on this.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

An invitation to repentance and confession

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Wed, 21 Feb 2024 16:38:57 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Often, the subject line of an email is something that’ll catch your attention, cause intrigue, and/or simply promise to make your life better. Usually 10x better.

We know it as clickbait.

You probably didn't find “An invitation to repentance & confession” super compelling. (A sort of anti-clickbait!)

Yet here you are. Thank you for reading past the subject line!

Considering repentance (and repentance’s conjoined twin, confession) may fall in the same mental category for us as going to the dentist for a root canal. Painful drudgery, yet necessary.

But I think we have it wrong. Because what is ugly and painful is sin. Sin is like a root canal.

But repentance? Repentance is about turning away from sin. Confession is about stepping into the light. Repentance and confession is a place of joy and hope. A place of new life, abundant life, overflowing life.

John Mark Comer writes in his book Practicing the Way (which I highly recommend), “confession is our part in dealing with sin. God is the physician; we’re the patient. All we can do is set our sin in his light. His job is to deal with our sin; our job is to confess our secrets. It’s to live in a way that is open, true, and laid bare before God in community.”

If you are halfway normal, repentance and confession are going to sound like death.

But, it just so happens, that we are kingdom subjects in a kingdom where death, rather than being an end, is instead a portal to resurrection.

A kingdom where those who lose their life will then, and only then, find it.

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

p.s. As I mentioned in the letter, I highly recommend the book Practicing the Way by John Mark Comer. I believe you’ll find it helpful and clarifying for your apprenticeship under Jesus.

p.p.s. While I’m mentioning resources, I would also recommend Bible Project . From their podcasts and videos to their seminary-level studies called Classroom, Bible Project has grown my appreciation for scripture and they offer this all for free. Please check them out!

Welcome to Lent!

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 15 Feb 2024 15:39:45 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

Welcome to Lent!

Welcome to a season where we intentionally kick out the crutches we have so carefully constructed and leaned upon for so long that we forget they are not our natural appendages.

Our crutches come in many different forms from media, food, drugs, sports, and friends to careers, alcohol, gambling, going to church and the list goes on as long as human history.

Whatever the form, our crutches are all designed to numb, comfort, and ultimately help us live disconnected from our Savior.

Our crutches are little “s” saviors. Little saviors that’ll get us by until we find the next savior.

But back to Lent.

Because Lent has more in common with surgery than vacation, my tendency (and maybe yours) is to question its necessity.

And to be honest, Lent isn’t required.

You read that right.

Lent is not required.

However.

Lent isn't required in the same sense that you are under no obligation to have the lump you found inspected by a doctor or to dial 911 when your leg is bent at some obscene angle after a bike crash.

You can keep going, pretending nothing is amiss. And if we have mastered anything as the human race, it's self-deception.

However, Lent is an invitation to pause just long enough to allow Jesus to do what He is so good at and what He longs to do - heal people.

Specifically, heal you.

Emerging from Lent doesn't mean we will look and feel better. Rather, we may walk and talk like we have just received life-saving surgery. We may leave Lent feeling more feeble than we entered, but we can trust that the feebleness is the result of surgery, not a beating. The feebleness is our soul having gone under the knife of the Spirit and emerged with a few new scars, an extra prescription, and a new lease on life.

Lent isn’t required, but your soul needs it. I know mine does.

The late pastor Eugene Peterson wrote “All men and women hunger for God. The hunger is masked and misinterpreted in many ways, but it is always there.

Everyone is on the verge of crying out ‘My Lord and my God!’ but the cry is drowned out by doubts or defiance, muffled by the dull ache of their routines, masked by their cozy accommodations with mediocrity.”

Lent clears away the dull ache of our routines and shows our cozy accommodations to be more insidious than we could have imagined.

Would you join me and many others this Lenten season? Join us by setting aside a comfort or pleasure and thereby, creating space to sit with Jesus.

I believe Jesus is inviting you.

“Behold, I’m standing at the door, knocking. If your heart is open to hear my voice and open the door from within, I will come into you and feast with you, and you will feast with me.” (The Revelation of John, chapter 3, verse 20)

Grace and peace be upon you,

Grant

Shag carpet and following Jesus

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 08 Feb 2024 17:19:21 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

“Time in decreases awareness of.” I think I heard Andy Stanley say that.

His point is that the longer we are in an environment, the less we notice the particulars of that space.

Consider a house you were considering buying or renting. Upon first inspection, you just knew you could never live with that shag carpet, the color of the living room walls, or the hideous bathroom tile.

So you move in, fully intending to deal with the offending interior faux pas. But then something curious happened: you begin to not notice. You no longer care. You barely even saw the thing that just a short time ago, you couldn't ignore.

Time in decreases awareness of.

Kinda like following Jesus.

Once upon a time, we met Jesus and we soaked up every word of His.

He said be baptized, so we were.

He said go and tell, and we told our friends and co-workers and the barista that we barely knew.

If we felt it was Jesus’ will for us, we did it.

But time in decreased awareness of.

Slowly, eventually, we built up callouses. Where the words of Jesus once moved us to immediate obedience, we now respond with casual curiosity (“I wonder what that says in the original Greek?”) or hypocritical snobbery (“I wish my friend would be convicted by this!”) to complete indifference (“I’m keeping up with my Bible-in-a-year plan, but I honestly couldn’t tell you anything that I read”).

Where following Jesus was once our only desire, it’s become more of a hobby.

And honestly, we kind of like it this way (it’s way more convenient!) A hobby fits in my spare time. A hobby conforms around the more important things in my life. A hobby is there for when I want and need it, but I can also ignore it. Hobbies are nice like that.

As it happens, Jesus’ apprentices dealt with this too. One day, they got confused about whether following Jesus was a hobby or their entire life.

It went down like this,

From that time on Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.

Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. “Never, Lord!” he said. “This shall never happen to you!”

Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.”

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done. (Matthew 16v21-27)

Wow.

Jesus’ purpose was to do the will of His Father. The will of the Father was that Jesus “must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things… and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”

But humanity knew better.

Never, Lord! Be reasonable. God would not ask that of you! It’s too much!

After all, this is just a hobby.

Grace and peace be with you all,

Grant

Buried treasure

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 01 Feb 2024 15:35:22 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

The lure of buried treasure has caused many a person to become unhinged, completely consumed by the desire for riches.

I was once so taken.

As I recall, a sibling and a neighborhood friend decided that our midwestern backyard very well might contain some sort of buried treasure.

So we dug. The rich Iowa topsoil was no match for our industry and grit and we soon had a hole 3 or 4 feet deep and as many feet wide. And that’s when our industry and grit decided that riding bikes sounded nice.

So the fortune surely buried at 400 E. Lincoln Way remains where it is, waiting for a new generation of mildly bored children to heed the siren call of buried treasure, and with blunt shovels in hand, resume digging.

Jesus once told a similar story.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”

(Matthew 13v44)

Yeah, I expected the story to be longer too.

Regardless of brevity, buried treasure got to the guy in the story big time. We don't know if he was looking for the treasure or just stumbled upon it, but we can imagine the pure ecstasy that the treasure produced in this man. He might have screamed in joy before clamping his fingers over his mouth, eyes wide in realization. He was rich! However, the treasure wasn't his. Apparently, this man wasn't willing to test the ancient statute “finders keepers, losers weepers,” with the owner of the land, so he, in great joy and excitement, hid the treasure again, stealthily marking the spot with an innocuous “x” drawn in the soil (probably) and went and sold all that he had. Flush with cash (or more likely flush with a couple of goats and a bolt of cloth), our hero buys the field and the treasure is his!

And the curtain falls, end of story.

But not for us.

Jesus buried something in His story that he wanted us to unearth. Something of great value. Something that would require time and attention and dedication to find.

So, what do you think Jesus was telling us about His kingdom?

Grace and peace be with you all,

Grant

What Were You Born Into?

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 25 Jan 2024 20:01:01 GMT

Dear Trailhead family,

What were you born into?

It’s an interesting question to ponder because you had no control over what you were born into and yet, it had and continues to have a massive impact on the past you and the current you.

Maybe you were born into a stable home with a mom and a dad who had renovated a room just for you and bought all the latest must-have baby toys to stimulate your little developing brain. Maybe they played Mozart while you were in utero so you’d naturally have a leg up on your peers your entire life.

Maybe that is your story.

And some of you were born to a single mom who had an uphill struggle every day to complete high school while raising a newborn or had the daily torment of saying goodbye to you while dropping you off at a sitter so she could work for 10 hours making minimum wage.

That is not my story but it reminds me that life is never a level playing field.

Now, consider, what you were born again into.

Maybe you grew up hearing the ABCs of salvation like I did (Admit you have sinned, Believe that Jesus died for your sins, Confess your sins and you shall be saved from your sins) and one day it all made sense and you Admitted/Believed/Confessed.

Something deeply significant had taken place and you were now part of a new family with customs and expectations.

Some of those customs and expectations came from Jesus.

Some did not.

And that is where we find ourselves today, asking, “How would Jesus describe this new thing we were born into?”

Mark provides a clue by saying,

“After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. ‘The time has come,’ he said. ‘The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!’” (Mark 1v14-15)

The kingdom of God.

More than simply being born into a new family, we have been transported into a new kingdom. A kingdom oriented around the rule and reign of God.

In a sense, if you can imagine the befuddlement of being physically transported from your life now into a completely different civilization with new traditions and heritage and customs and values, that is akin to what takes place when we become followers of Jesus.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” (2 Corinthians 5v17)

Does this explain what we have been born into with Christ? Yes, but mostly no.

And that is our journey; apprenticing under Jesus, learning what it means to be subjects of His kingdom. Learning how to simultaneously separate ourselves from our old heritage and customs and way of doing life while embracing our new heritage and customs and a new way of doing life.

As faithful followers, we must be constantly alert to what in us and around us belongs to the old kingdom and what is of the new. To help with that, to better wrap our minds around how this new kingdom operates, we benefit greatly from marinating ourselves in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matthew chapters 5, 6, and 7) where He contrasts the kingdom He brings with our old kingdom.

It’s fascinating reading.

Grace and peace be with you all,

Grant

p.s. If you are interested in knowing more about baptism, we are offering a short class this Sunday, January 28th, called What is Baptism? We will begin at 11:15(ish) in the auditorium and cover three topics: What is baptism? Why be baptized? And, What am I being baptized into? This class is perfect for adults and kids alike and I believe it will prove helpful for anyone considering baptism.

p.p.s. This Sunday is Youth Group Night! Youth Group Night takes place the last Sunday of the month from 6 to 8 pm in the church gym for grades 6-12 and the evening includes dinner, games, and a devotional.

Musing on Flowers and Spirituality

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 25 Jan 2024 18:57:30 GMT

D ear Trailhead family,

I have a clematis that I planted in my backyard a few years back that has grown to about four feet high. My clematis has beautiful deep purple flowers and as you probably know, is a climbing plant of the buttercup family. Each spring, my clematis grows new tendrils that can easily reach several feet in length, and yet, the plant never grows over four feet tall. My neighbor has a clematis that I can easily see from my back patio, and his clematis is maybe nine or ten feet tall. I know that a clematis is incapable of mocking, but sometimes, when I don't take every thought captive, it sure feels like that tall clematis is making fun of me. I don't like it.

Unrelated, my clematis’s trellis is four feet tall.

Recently on a podcast, the guest said something to the effect of “habits and disciplines will sustain us when our motivation inevitably fails.”

I was driving when I heard it so I didn't write it down till now, but it felt significant. My guess is that your motivation has let you down more times than you care to share.

Mine too.

And motivation (or the lack thereof) is where most of our journeys in Christlikeness stagnate or grind to a halt.

We start the day with prayer and scripture. For a week, maybe two. Then our motivation fails and we find the news app on our phone more compelling.

We set aside a day for sabbath joy where we halt our normal routine to focus on God's invitation of rest, delight, and worship. And this is wonderful and refreshing and only lasts a short time because, you know, life happens. And by life, I mean all the little and not-so-little things that make up how we spend our life and may have eternal significance. Or may not.

(Please don't read this as condemnation. I’d simply like to point out that this is the human experience if we rely solely on motivation to make us what we are not already).

And so, like my four-foot-tall clematis, we find ourselves reaching higher but never able to grow.

We need a taller trellis.

One of the most effective ways to make your spiritual trellis taller is to develop deep relationships with tall trellis kind of people. It’ll seem like magic how quickly you’ll find your trellis growing when you spend intentional time with tall trellis people. But it's not magic, it's the way God designed us. Remember that even in the garden, pre-fall, it was not good for mankind to be alone.

Don’t fall for the lie that because you have a personal relationship with Jesus, you are all set. (I realize that sounds sacrilegious in our current context, but I stand by it). You need dedicated, focused, unhurried time with Jesus AND you need dedicated, focused, unhurried time with other people who are passionately following Jesus.

Otherwise, when our motivation fails us, we will stop. But friends who care for your soul will be a trellis to hold you when you cannot hold up yourself.

I pray we are a people who habitually surround ourselves with tall trellis friends.

Amen.

Grace and peace be with you all,

Grant

Baptism on Repeat

johannes.palmdal@gmail.com (Johannes Palmdal) — Thu, 25 Jan 2024 18:34:25 GMT

D ear Trailhead family,

Many of us can reflect back on a moment in our lives when a minster stood with us in a pool of water (or a river, lake, ocean, or stock tank) and urged us to plug our noses and said, “I now baptized you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Suddenly you were underwater and before your brain could process how to respond to someone holding you a few inches below the surface, you were back above again, wiping water from your eyes, a smile spreading across your face.

You were now baptized!

So now what?

For a lot of us, “So now what?” was back to life as normal. Not exactly raising heck but also not raising heaven. You know, just raising something in between.

And that has been working pretty well for most of us. We responded to Christ’s invitation to be baptized and now we occasionally pray, read scripture, and even attend church. Check, check, and check to the trinity of modern Christian living. This apparently is the full life that Jesus told His followers to expect in John 10:10.

Except if it is, it’s not all that great. Tedious? Yes. Frustrating? Sure. Full? Expansive? Overflowing? Not so much.

So what gives? What is the missing piece?

The missing piece is death.

In baptism, we are raised with Christ in a new kind of life, but only if the old kind of life dies.

New life only happens if we become so disenchanted with our life that we can willingly disconnect from our identity, our operating system, our own lordship, and allow all that to slowly die. (FYI, I expect it takes about a lifetime for that old self to fully pass away).

With the death of our old life source, we can now connect ourselves to Life itself.

Here is how the apostle Paul describes all that we have been talking about,

“For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his. For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin— because anyone who has died has been set free from sin.”

(Romans 6:5-7)

In our minds, life precedes death.

In the New Kingdom, death gives birth to life.

“In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires. Do not offer any part of yourself to sin as an instrument of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer every part of yourself to him as an instrument of righteousness. For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace.” (Romans 6:11-14)

So here is my invitation to you: consider your baptism as a portal into a life of death. Over and over again, sometimes every minute of every day, we relive our baptism as we put to death the part of us that is begging to be reinstated as lord over our life. On repeat, our baptism continues until our physical death.

Once we are absent from the body and present with our King, our baptism is complete.

“O death, where is your sting?”

Grace and peace be with you all,

Grant