Month: June 2025

Learning the Unforced Rhythms of Grace

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In a world that praises hustle and rewards burnout, Jesus offers something profoundly countercultural: rest. Not the kind of rest you squeeze in between meetings or tack onto the end of an overbooked week, but real rest—the kind that restores the soul, quiets the mind, and invites us back into wholeness.

In Matthew 11:28–30 (The Message), Jesus extends an invitation: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me… Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.”

These words, so aptly paraphrased by Eugene Peterson, feel less like a command and more like a gentle hand on the shoulder, drawing us toward something better than exhaustion: grace.

Learning to Rest Is a Strength, Not a Weakness

In her book Invitation to Silence and Solitude, Ruth Haley Barton writes, “Because we do not rest, we lose our way… Poisoned by the hypnotic belief that good things come only through unceasing determination and tireless effort, we can never truly rest.”

It’s easy to assume that if we stop, we’ll fall behind. But Jesus flips the script—he teaches that rest is not an interruption to spiritual formation; it is spiritual formation. It’s how we learn to hear his voice above the noise.

A Gentle Yoke in a Demanding World

Jesus invites us to “take his yoke”—a farming tool once used to link animals for shared work. But his yoke isn’t burdensome. It’s custom-fit, gentle, and shared. We don’t pull alone. We’re yoked with Christ, walking in step with his grace.

Years ago, I met a retired pastor who had served faithfully for five decades. When I asked him his secret to longevity, he said simply, “I finally learned to walk at God’s pace.” That’s what Jesus means by unforced rhythms—it’s grace that moves in time with heaven, not the chaos of the calendar.

Grace for the Weary and Wounded

In times of loss, confusion, or fatigue, grace meets us quietly and consistently. It is:

  • An antidote for anxiety
  • A remedy for restlessness
  • Decompression for depression
  • Antivenom for sin

Grace is what saves us when we can’t save ourselves. It guides when we’re lost, comforts when we’re hurting, and encourages when the odds are stacked against us. It even carries us when we don’t know the way forward.

How Do We Learn These Rhythms?

  • Come to Jesus—not just once, but daily
  • Take his yoke—release the burdens you were never meant to carry alone
  • Learn from him—observe his gentleness, humility, and wisdom
  • Rest in him—receive the peace that only grace can give

This isn’t just self-care. It’s soul care. It’s a way of life Jesus modeled—and a way of life he still invites us to follow.

John Mark Comer reminds us, “Transformation is possible if we are willing to arrange our lives around the practices, rhythms, and truths that Jesus himself did, which will open our lives to God’s power to change.”

So today, let grace interrupt your hurry.
Let grace reframe your expectations.
Let grace teach you how to breathe again.

Because in Christ, we’re not called to hustle harder—we’re called to finish the race at the speed of grace.

(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who now serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)

(This post is a summary of a sermon I shared in 2023.)

“A Sweet Friendship Refreshes the Soul”

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“Just as lotions and fragrance give sensual delight, a sweet friendship refreshes the soul.”
Proverbs 27:9, The Message

There’s nothing quite like a true friend. Not just an acquaintance, not just a name in your contacts list—but someone who lifts your spirits, listens without judgment, and lingers beside you in both celebration and sorrow. According to Proverbs 27:9, that kind of friendship is like a soothing balm—something that restores, heals, and renews the soul.

In a time when loneliness is called a public health crisis, the simple beauty of soul-refreshing friendship becomes even more vital. It’s not flashy. It’s not trending. But it’s life-saving.

C. Raymond Beran described a friend this way: “A friend is someone with whom you dare to be yourself. Your soul can be naked with them. They ask you to put on nothing—only to be what you are.” With them, you can laugh without caution, cry without shame, and speak without filters. You can sit in silence or spill your story. With a true friend, you are not edited, evaluated, or erased. You are simply embraced.

History offers us luminous models of such relationships. When C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien met at Oxford, they bonded over stories, ideas, and faith. Over the years, their friendship sharpened their creativity and deepened their convictions. Lewis once wrote, “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”

We may not all write epic novels, but each of us needs that kind of sweet, soulful companionship.

How does this relate to our faith and our church? A church ought to be the kind of place where friendship blooms. The early Quakers captured this spirit when they called themselves “The Society of Friends.” Churches aren’t meant to be cold institutions, but communities where friendships in Christ sustain us through joy and heartache, growth and grief.

Yes, maintaining good friendships requires effort—patience, forgiveness, and grace. E.C. McKenzie once noted, “Some people make enemies instead of friends because it is less trouble.” But oh, what a loss. Because when you find that friend who refreshes your soul, you’ve found a rare and sacred gift.

Take time today to reflect about the friends who lighten your load and lift your spirit. Call them. Thank them. Pray for them. And if your soul is weary, open your heart to a new friend. You never know—God may use that sweet friendship to refresh your soul in ways you didn’t expect.

Dancing with the Mystery: 5 Reflections on the Trinity

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C.S. Lewis proposed, “In Christianity God is not a static thing … but a dynamic, pulsating activity, a life, almost a kind of drama — almost, if you will not think me irreverent, a kind of dance.”

Every year, the first Sunday after Pentecost invites Christians to linger over the greatest known unknown of the faith: God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In the church of my upbringing, as we affirmed the holiness of God, we sang, “God in three persons, blessed Trinity!”

1. The word Trinity never appears in Scripture, yet the biblical story keeps naming a tri-personal God who creates, redeems, and indwells the world. The pattern of God’s threefold nature emerges from the core of the biblical message:

  • At creation, God speaks the world into being, the Spirit hovers over the waters, and together they bring life (Gen 1:1–2, 26).
  • At Jesus’ baptism, the heavens open, the Father speaks, the Spirit descends, and the Son stands in the water—an unmistakable picture of divine community (Matt 3:16–17).
  • At the Great Commission, Jesus sends his followers out in the name—not names—of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (Matt 28:19).

So while the term came later, the concept of a triune God was there from the beginning.

2. From the beginning, God is introduced as intra-communal in nature. Genesis does more than recount cosmic origins; it unveils a God who is relationship itself. Before mountains were sculpted or stars ignited, Father, Son, and Spirit shared eternal fellowship. Theologian Cornelius Plantinga once put it this way: “The persons within God exalt each other, commune with each other, and defer to one another. Each harbors the others at the center of their being.” In other words, God is a perfect community of mutual love and unity.

3. Metaphors give us a point of reference for the Trinity but are insufficient to fully capture the essence of God’s being. Stories help us speak about the unspeakable, yet every image has limits. Saint Patrick, so legend says, plucked a shamrock to illustrate “three in one” for the Irish clans. It was a winsome start, but the plant cannot convey the depth of divine personhood. Water (steam, liquid, ice) risks modalism; the sun (star, light, heat) flirts with subordinationism. Good metaphors open doors; they are not blueprints of the mystery.

4. The Trinity is best contemplated in the rich diversity of perspectives, not a singularly authoritative definition. Western theology tends to speak of one essence in three persons (think Augustine and the Athanasian Creed); Eastern writers prefer the word perichoresis—an eternal, mutual inter-dwelling. Both vocabularies circle the same fire from different sides.

5. The persons of the Trinity have different roles but one mission. Since the notion of Trinity refers to the intra-communal nature of God, the roles and objectives assumed by the members of the Trinity do not counter of contradict the other. Within the Trinity, the Father creates, the Son redeems, and the Spirit empowers, but they are never in conflict. Every movement of God throughout history flows from one divine source, with each person of the Trinity working in perfect harmony toward the restoration of all things.

In his book, Thinking About God: An Introduction to Christian Theology, Fisher Humphreys concludes his chapter on the Trinity with this summary:

In some wonderful and mysterious way, the one, true, living God is eternally Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. These Three Persons live a life of knowing and being known, of speaking and listening, of trusting and being trusted, of loving and being loved. As astonishing as it may seem, we human beings are called to share in their eternal life. We have already begun to share in the love of the Father, Son, and Spirit, and we will be enfolded in their life and love throughout eternity.

Trinity Sunday is about recognizing that the deepest truths of God are relational, mysterious, and gloriously beyond containment. The Trinity is not a diagram to be drawn, but a mystery to be received.

Let us dance with that mystery, even though we cannot fully comprehend the choreography.

(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who now serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)

Hearing the Elephant and Seeing the Owl: My Memories of Dr. John Killinger

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Respected as one of America’s most gifted preachers and scholars, Dr. Killinger was a pastor, professor, theologian, and prolific author whose voice resonated across denominations and generations. But for me, he was more than a public figure. He was a friend, a mentor, and a kindred spirit.

When I learned of Dr. John Killinger’s passing on June 5, 2025, at the age of 91, I found myself reflecting with deep gratitude on a friendship that spanned over 35 years and strongly influenced my life and ministry.

Although I had read Killinger’s books, 365 Simple Gifts from God and Bread for the Wilderness, Wine for the Journey, I did not meet him until our paths first crossed when John and Anne moved to Birmingham. At the suggestion of my pastor friend, Buddy Nelson, I invited Dr. Killinger to preach at First Baptist Church of Williams near Jacksonville State University, where I was serving at the time. That invitation marked the beginning of a long friendship and a continuing theological conversation. He became a frequent and favorite guest preacher at Williams, and I was continually inspired by the craftsmanship, clarity, and pastoral heart of his sermons.

A few years later, I was honored when Dr. Killinger invited me to write an endorsement for one of his books, and afterward, he asked me to contribute a few thoughts to another of his books on preaching. In 2018, when I published a book about the Call Stories of various pastors, Dr. Killinger submitted a few generous promotional lines for the back cover.

Amanda and I treasured the time we spent with John and Anne, whether hosting them in our country home in north Alabama, enjoying one of our favorite restaurants, or visiting their peaceful residence in Warrenton, Virginia. We stayed in touch across the years with occasional phone calls, regular email correspondence, and the exchange of Christmas letters — and wow, could John write a Christmas letter.

A particularly meaningful chapter unfolded during my Doctor of Ministry work at Columbia Seminary. When Columbia’s preaching professor had to take a leave of absence due to a serious illness, I suggested to the dean that Dr. Killinger might be available to lead our preaching intensive. The dean called him, John agreed to the assignment, and for one semester, Dr. Killinger served as my preaching professor as well as my friend and colleague.

In addition to preaching for us at First Baptist Church of Williams, John preached my installation service at the First Baptist Church of Corbin (KY) in 1996. A few years later John and Anne visited us in Florida where he preached at First Baptist Church of Pensacola, and also led a workshop for local clergy. He had a remarkable way of bridging the academic and the pastoral, and he never lost his love for the Church or for pastors, although he did become increasingly frustrated with church bureaucracy and denominational politics.

I frequently looked to Dr. Killinger for counsel and guidance. At a pivotal moment in my life, as I struggled with “analysis paralysis” about a major decision, John offered some simple but life-changing advice: “Make the best decision you can, and then live into it and make it the right decision.”

I’ve not only tried to apply that guidance to my life but have also shared it with others.

One of Dr. Killinger’s most memorable sermons was titled “Hearing the Elephant and Seeing the Owl.” John built the sermon on the foundation of Job 40-42 and illustrated it with stories from James Michener’s Centennial and Margaret Craven’s I Heard the Owl Call My Name. The message captured so much of what John stood for—wonder, wisdom, hope, and a reverent embrace of mystery.

In Craven’s book, the bishop sends Mark, the central character, to serve in a remote village in British Columbia. One of their legends is that when you hear an owl call your name from the top of the pine trees, you are going to die.

I find it ironic that two of my esteemed mentors died the same day: Walter Brueggemann and John Killinger. As one of my friends said upon hearing this news, “The greats are leaving us.” Yet, someday, each of us will hear the owl call our name.

Killinger concluded his notable sermon about the elephant and the owl with these words:

There is a big difference between being resigned to death and accepting it. Resignation means bowing to the inevitable. Acceptance involves claiming life, loving it, celebrating it. That’s what faith in God is all about. It means, when you see the elephant and hear the owl, you don’t moan and cry and recoil from life. You don’t complain about the way things are, that you got a rotten deal. On the contrary, you look at God the way Job did, and you say, “I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees thee; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” In other words, “I worship thee.”

Last week, Dr. Killinger heard the night bird speak. Throughout his life and ministry, John taught us that preaching was art, pastoring was presence, and faith was more mystery than certainty. I thank God for John Killinger, and I will always remember the grit, grace, scholarship, and creativity with which he shared the good news.

(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who now serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)

Walter Brueggemann Challenged My Assumptions and Deepened My Faith: Reflections from a Former Student

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On June 5, 2025, the world lost one of its most provocative and prophetic theological voices. Walter Brueggemann, Old Testament scholar, preacher, teacher, and esteemed theologian, passed away at the age of 92. His death leaves a significant void in the landscape of biblical scholarship and the life of the Church, but his influence will resonate for generations to come.

My own journey with Brueggemann began in a seminary classroom—not at Columbia Seminary, but at the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary in a course on Preaching from the Psalms taught by Dr. Harold Bryson. One of the textbooks for the course was Israel’s Praise, Brueggemann’s exposition on the theological weight of worship. That course was the first of many times Walter would challenge my assumptions, stir my imagination, and deepen my faith.

A few years later in 1995, I ventured outside of the Baptist world and enrolled in the Doctor of Ministry program at Columbia Theological Seminary for one reason: I wanted to study with Brueggemann. I completed the program in 1998. Several other Baptist minister friends also pursued their postgraduate work at Columbia as well, including John Pierce, Elizabeth Thompson, Greg DeLoach, Ron Wilson, Courtney Krueger, and Don Gordon. Each of us was drawn to this doctoral program by the gravitational pull of Walter’s prophetic intellect.

My first class with Brueggemann was listed on the course description “Old Dangerous Texts for New Dangerous Times.” His lecture notes from this course became the foundation for his book, “Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy.”

Walter had a warm and humorous demeanor outside the classroom. Occasionally after class, my friend Ron Wilson and I, who Brueggemann fondly referred to as his little Baptist friends, would go to a local pub, grab a bite, and watch Braves baseball while unpacking the theological freight of the day’s lectures. Walter could be spotted at a baseball game now and then, and later would share stories and analogies that were conceived at the ballpark.

Years after my graduation, I invited Walter to lead a pastor’s workshop at First Baptist Church of Pensacola, where I was serving at the time. He was gracious and kind, not only in person but in follow-up. After the event, he sent me a brief yet meaningful note: “Thanks for the invitation. It was great to be in your shop.”

When I published my first book—a collection of call stories from a rich variety of pastors—Walter emailed me an endorsement, specifically emphasizing, “The recovery of a notion of call is urgent among us and your book should help that recovery along.” His words gave affirmation to my work and underscored his constant encouragement of emerging voices in ministry.

Walter had a great appreciation for our Baptist heritage. On one occasion in class, he remarked, “It’s good to have the Baptists here with us. None of us would be here if it were not for the Baptists. They were the freedom fighters who contended for religious freedom for all faith groups because they believed ‘if one of us loses our religious freedom, we all lose our religious freedom.’”

Even into his nineties, Walter remained intellectually vibrant, curious, and connected. In our last correspondence on his 91st birthday in 2024, he responded:  “Dear Barry: I am glad to hear from you and thanks for your kind words. I hope all is well for you. It’s good work to be a bridge builder. I just turned 91 and am hanging in and taking stock. With much appreciation, Walter.”

Though deeply academic, his writing was marked by poetic rhythm and prophetic urgency. His sermons and lectures could unsettle the comfortable and comfort the unsettled, sometimes in the same sentence.

Walter loved the scriptures and encouraged his students to “live in the tension of the text.” When addressing various questions about biblical criticism or historicity, he would often quip, “The text is what we have. Deal with it!” Whether he was teaching at Columbia Theological Seminary or speaking to a room full of pastors and leaders, Brueggemann courageously addressed the juxtaposition of scripture and culture head-on.

While I’m grateful for all of Walter’s writing—from his groundbreaking work on the prophets and Psalms to his cultural critique and homiletical insights—I’m especially thankful for his prayers. In Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth and Prayers of a Privileged People, his words become devotional guideposts, grounding us in faith while drawing us into action. One line from his prayer, “No More Sinking Sand,” seems especially fitting as we honor his life and witness:

          God of heavens, Lord of earth,
          hear our resolve, heal our unresolve,
          that we may finish in sure trust and in glad obedience.
          We already know what to do by our careful pondering of you. Amen.

Walter Brueggemann completed his journey in “sure trust” and “glad obedience.” Now it is up to us—those who studied with him, read him, or were influenced by his prophetic voice—to keep pondering, to continue proclaiming, and to work toward the kind of world Brueggemann’s theology dared us to imagine.

(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who now serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)

Preparing for a Fresh Wind of the Spirit: A Reflection for Pentecost

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Reggie McNeal, author of Missional Renaissance, proposes, “The Spirit is a work in the world, and it’s the job of the church to get on the same page as the Spirit, not the job of the Spirit to get on the same page as the church.”

As we navigate the chaos of a changing world, including fluctuating church metrics, shifting cultural norms, and contentious political allegiances, a fresh wind of the Spirit is blowing. Are you willing to risk raising your sails?

My earliest notions of the spirit world weren’t shaped by the Bible but by a mysterious little book titled Thirteen Alabama Ghosts and Jeffrey, a collection of Southern folklore by Kathryn Tucker Windham and Margaret Gillis Figh. Among the eerie tales was the story of Jeffrey, a mischievous spirit who took up residence in the Windham home in 1966. According to legend, Jeffrey would stomp down hallways, rock in empty chairs, startle the family cat, and move heavy furniture when no one was looking.

I was so captivated by the stories that I gave a fourth-grade book report on them in Mrs. Gibson’s class. Even now, when I pass through some of those quiet Alabama towns, I glance toward the courthouse windows, half-expecting to see a face staring back.

Growing up in the Bible Belt, it was only natural for a kid to conflate the “ghost in the courthouse” with the “Holy Ghost in the church house.” Visiting evangelists would shout from revival pulpits: “Have you received the Holy Ghost?” followed quickly by “Beware of quenching the Holy Ghost!”—as if this divine specter might invade your body or condemn your soul depending on your response.

Over the years, I’ve grown—both theologically and spiritually—in my understanding of the Holy Spirit. I still value my “Bapticostal” upbringing, but I’ve had to unlearn a few ghost stories along the way. I now prefer the term “Holy Spirit” over “Holy Ghost.” The former suggests holiness and intimacy. The latter, at least in childhood, sounded more like a spiritual haunting.

When I brush aside those folkloric impressions, I find that Scripture provides much-needed clarity. In John 14, as Jesus prepared for his departure, he told his disciples:

“I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you” (John 14:18).

Though he would no longer be with them in the flesh, Jesus promised that his presence would remain with them in Spirit. He said,

“I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to help you and be with you forever—the Spirit of truth” (John 14:16–17).

I take comfort in knowing that even Jesus’ disciples didn’t fully understand at first. Like them, I’ve wrestled with anxiety over God’s nearness, especially in seasons of uncertainty. Jesus had been their mentor, their Rabbi. He had given them a new way to live—grounded in grace, not legalism. So when he spoke of leaving, their obvious question was: What happens now? Who will lead us?

That’s where the Holy Spirit comes in.

The Spirit is not some distant, disembodied force. The Spirit is God’s very presence among us—our comforter, guide, and encourager. As Paul writes,

“The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children” (Romans 8:16).

I now understand the Spirit not as a showy performer or a supernatural invader, but as the presence of God dwelling within human hearts. The same Spirit that hovered over the waters at creation now inhabits our daily lives, whispering truth, nudging us toward grace, and empowering us to live with simplicity and service.

When I invited Walter Brueggemann—my teacher and friend—to lead a workshop at our church, he once told me that the Spirit doesn’t put on exhibitions. “The Spirit prefers to work quietly,” he said, “always prompting people toward God and the Jesus-kind-of-life.” I’ve found that to be true.

Pentecost reminds us that God’s Spirit is a wind we cannot summon or control—but one we can respond to. As Luke puts it in Acts 2, the Spirit arrived like “a mighty rushing wind.” Living on the coast, I’m familiar with wind: it’s invisible, powerful, and unpredictable. We can’t manufacture it—but we can raise our sails.

And just as we cannot recreate the resurrection or re-enact the ascension, we cannot stage a Pentecost encore. God is not in the business of repeat performances. The Spirit is endlessly creative, constantly innovating, and persistently at work. Perhaps even now, the Spirit is initiating a new story within you.

In his book Thinking About God, Fisher Humphreys wrote:

“The Spirit brings life and vitality into the experience of the Christian and the church. He vivifies us. He makes Christian living dynamic as well as decent.”

Indeed, the Spirit’s work is to foster unity—not division; to inspire creativity—not suppress it; and to re-vision the future—not simply preserve the past.

So this Pentecost, I pray we become more aware of the Spirit’s movement—less haunted by our ghosts, more filled with God’s penchant for creativity, and more responsive to the Spirit prompting us toward unity.

Come, Holy Spirit.
Blow where you will.
Bridge the chasms of division.
Prepare us for a season of adventure.
We’re ready to raise our sails.

(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who now serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)