We’re usually the ones sprinting around trying to keep up with everything. Meanwhile, God seems perfectly comfortable moving at a human pace… maybe even a little slower.

Lately, I’ve become convinced that in this cultural moment, revenge and justice are increasingly becoming indistinguishable from each other, which has me worried.

Is it possible the thing that might be best for us is the one thing we don’t have much of an imagination for: the choice to remain.

Last week, while raking, I was hit with something that felt like an epiphany—a way of seeing that felt novel, sudden, and deeply true.

This question can feel awkward and mysterious. The first time I was asked this, I squinted my eyes and asked, “what do you mean?”

I’m uncomfortable talking to other Christians who think differently from me. I find myself making judgments about them and assuming they make judgments about me. I wonder - is there a better way? How do I lean into the uncomfortable instead of avoiding it?

I wonder if one way to think about the summarizing trajectory of the beatitudes is this: when our present pain intersects with the kingdom of God, there is good reason to get our hopes up.

Below are the words I shared before being baptized. I share this in hope that it might continue to open the imagination of my friends and community to the creative possibilities of faith in an age of cynicism.

This summer I embarked on a search to rediscover the joy of running. I entered the space that had become charged with weird energy in search of the simple freedom I felt as a kid.

We’re not here to prove ourselves faithful or acceptable. Rather, we’re here to discover that God is faithful, and we’ve already been accepted.

Real or imagined, I can’t explain it, but I felt in moments, particularly at night, that I was being completely stripped of everything that brought me a sense of security. This gave way to a profoundly spiritual experience, one that I’m still reckoning with.

Jesus pushes back repeatedly against the world’s hierarchy. The economy of the world just doesn’t work for Jesus and his Kingdom.

Is it possible that simply feeling tired and owning it in the moment could be a subversive and redemptive practice for us as people who live under weird expectations to be “high-energy”?

The season of Lent is as good a time as I know to get curious and a little more aware of how we experience the lure to prove ourselves. In following Jesus into the wild, we’re bound to face questions like: Who do you think you are? What have you done? How do you compare with others?

Put bluntly, the mystery is this: by facing death, we receive life. While this pattern is simple, it isn’t easy. Translating our experiences into wisdom takes time and a willingness to welcome harrowing questions and vulnerability.