“My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.” (1 John 2:1-2)
Sin is a universal dilemma. As Romans 3:23 says, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Yet, God’s grace is greater than our sin. However, Martin Luther cautioned, “To be convinced in our hearts that we have forgiveness of sins and peace with God by grace alone is the hardest thing.”
Lent is a time of deep self-reflection, a season to acknowledge our shortcomings and seek forgiveness and renewal through Christ. If we are honest, we all have a sin problem. Sin isn’t just about breaking rules—it’s about breaking a relationship, distancing ourselves from the God who loves us. The Apostle John encourages believers to strive for holiness, but he also reassures us that when we fail, we have an advocate—Jesus Christ.
Jesus is both our defense and our atoning sacrifice. He doesn’t just plead our case; He paid the price for our sin with his own life. His righteousness covers our guilt, and his grace gives us a new beginning. But this grace is not an excuse to remain in sin. John reminds us that if we truly know Jesus, we will aim to follow Jesus—guided by his teaching, emulating his example, and loving others as he loved us.
As we deal with the daily allure of sin, Jerry Bridges encourages us to remember, “Our worst days are never so bad that you are beyond the reach of God’s grace. And your best days are never so good that you are beyond the need of God’s grace.”
Lent challenges us to confront our sin honestly, not with despair, but with hope. Jesus has already solved our sin problem on the cross. Our response is to walk in his ways, abide in his love, and reflect his character to the world.
Reflection: Where do you find the strength to deal with temptation? How regularly do you confess your sins to God? How can you apply God’s grace to your own shortcomings? What are some ways you can share the good news of God’s forgiveness with others?
Prayer: Gracious Lord, I confess my sins before You. Thank You for sending Jesus as my advocate and for the grace that covers my failures. Help me to walk in Your ways, to obey Your commands, and to live in a way that reflects Your love. Strengthen me to turn from sin and draw closer to You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
A pastoral transition is one of the most impactful seasons in the life of a church. Whether a pastor retires, resigns, or is called to another ministry, the transition can stir a wide range of emotions—grief, uncertainty, anxiety, excitement, and even division. How church leadership manages this process plays a crucial role in the emotional and spiritual health of the congregation for years to come.
To lead well during this critical time, it’s essential to proactively support the congregation’s emotional needs. Below are ten proven strategies for nurturing a healthy church environment during a pastoral transition.
1. Acknowledge the emotions in the room. Change—even expected change—can feel unsettling. Some church members may feel abandoned, while others may look forward to a new chapter. Create safe spaces for open, honest conversations where members can express their feelings. Validating these emotions helps prevent division and encourages unity.
2. Communicate clearly and consistently. During a pastoral change, transparent communication is vital. Keep the congregation informed about the transition timeline, the pastoral search process, and interim leadership. Regular updates help reduce anxiety and foster trust among members.
3. Honor the departing pastor. If the transition is amicable, take time to celebrate the pastor’s service. Host a farewell service, share personal stories of appreciation, and pray over their next journey. A thoughtful send-off brings closure and lays the groundwork for a smoother transition.
4. Provide strong pastoral care. Pastoral transitions can leave some members feeling spiritually adrift. Church leaders—such as deacons, elders, ministry staff, and interim pastors—should be intentional about providing emotional and spiritual support through encouragement, prayer, and counseling.
5. Reinforce thechurch’s mission and vision. A church’s identity is rooted in Christ, not a single pastor. Remind the congregation that the church’s mission remains unchanged. Keeping ministries aligned with the church’s vision helps maintain focus and stability during change.
6. Maintain a consistent schedule. Avoid making major changes to worship services or programs during the transition. Familiar rhythms provide stability and comfort. Once a new pastor is in place, there will be time for evaluating and adapting structures and schedules as needed.
7. Promote healing and unity. If the transition follows a difficult season—such as internal conflict or leadership failure—intentional healing is essential. Offer opportunities for reconciliation, reflection, and spiritual renewal. A church that takes time to heal will be more receptive to new leadership.
8. Cultivate a spirit of hope and expectation. Encourage members to view this transition not as a crisis, but as a divine opportunity. A hopeful attitude among leadership will positively influence the congregation. As Romans 8:28 reminds us, “God works in all things to bring about good.”
9. Create opportunities for fellowship and relationship-building. Plan social events, meals, and team-building activities to strengthen relationships during the interim. Laughter, shared meals, and meaningful connection help maintain community and morale.
10. Pray the prayer of “holy indifference.” During the pastoral search, invite the congregation to pray as Jesus did in Matthew 26:39: “Not my will, but your will be done.” A church that earnestly seeks God’s guidance will be spiritually prepared to embrace its next chapter with confidence and joy.
Moving Forward with Faith
A pastor’s departure marks the end of one chapter but also the beginning of another. How a church navigates this transition will shape its emotional and spiritual health for years to come. By prioritizing clear communication, pastoral care, unity, and prayer, a congregation can move forward with faith, trusting that God will guide them as they write the next chapter in their church’s story.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor and leadership coach with the Center for Healthy Churches, helping congregations and leaders navigate transitions with clarity and care.)
“Praise be to the Lord, for he has heard my cry for mercy. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him.” -Psalm 28:6-7 (NIV)
What do you do when you feel susceptible and weak?
As we journey through Lent, a season of reflection and repentance, we encounter moments when we feel overwhelmed by vulnerability and insecurity. We are reminded of our need for God’s mercy and strength to sustain us. In Psalm 28, David cries out to God for help, and in verses 6-7, his cry turns to praise as he declares, “The Lord is my strength and my shield.”
Philip Yancey notes, “A God wise enough to create me and the world I live in is wise enough to watch out for me.”
During Lent, we are encouraged to confront our human frailty and dependence on God. It is a time to recognize the sin and brokenness in our lives and to seek God’s mercy. Like David, we can cry out to the Lord, trusting that God hears us. When we feel weak, overwhelmed, or vulnerable, we can take heart in knowing that God is not only the source of our strength but also our shield—protecting us in ways we cannot always see.
This season, may we embrace the truth of Psalm 28:7, allowing it to shape our prayers, our thoughts, and our actions. Let us trust in God’s strength and protection, knowing that even in our struggles, we are secure in His hands. And let our gratitude overflow in praise, as we prepare our hearts for the hope and renewal that Easter brings.
Recently while channel surfing, I came across an old episode of the popular sci-fi TV show, Star Trek. In the brief moment as I was watching, as the Starship Enterprise was about to be attacked by the Romulans, I heard Captain Kirk command, “Mr. Sulu, shield’s up!” This was a trademark command for the lieutenant commander to raise the shields, thus cloaking the ship with an invisible protective hull to defend against the attack from the enemy.
In moments when we deal with extraordinary challenges, when we experience elevated anxiety, when we confront adversarial forces, or when we are physically tired or emotionally spent, we should say to ourselves, “Shield’s up!” as we remind ourselves of the Lord’s strength and protection in all circumstances.
Reflection: How can you trust in God’s strength and shield during this season of Lent? What causes you to feel vulnerable? In what areas of your life are you seeking to grow in grace and mercy? Rest in the truth that God hears you and will help you.
Prayer: Lord, in this season of Lent, help me to trust you more deeply. When I feel weak, remind me that you provide sufficient energy for the challenges of life. When I feel vulnerable, remind me that you are my shield in all seasons. Amen.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who served as a leadership coach and columnist with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
(This was first published as part of Living Lent, a devotional book published by Morningstar Child and Family Services.)
Life brings its share of losses—some expected, others blindsiding. But when hope fades, everything else can unravel. Without hope, even the strongest faith can feel as stagnant as swamp water.
During difficult seasons, hope is the energy source that fuels perseverance and ignites determination. Theologian Emil Brunner captured this truth well: “What oxygen is to the lungs, such is hope to the meaning of life.” Without it, we suffocate in despair.
Micah, a prophet called to speak during one of Israel’s darkest times, refused to let despair take hold. Surrounded by corruption, injustice, and looming disaster, Micah declared:
“But as for me, I watch in hope for the LORD, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.” (Micah 7:7)
More than 2,500 years later, our hope in Christ remains our most reliable source for spiritual strength and courage. No matter how uncertain the circumstances, we work for positive change, we advocate for the underserved and underprivileged, and we lean into the promise that “with God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26)
Hope Is Not Naive
We live in an era saturated with gloom and pessimism. Division and discontent dominate the national conversation. And perhaps most troubling, this sense of despair has seeped into the church—a place meant to be a beacon of hope.
If the church, called to be the light of the world and the salt of the earth (Matthew 5:13), surrenders to hopelessness, we risk rushing toward an apocalyptic future of our own making.
But real hope—the kind we see in Micah—is neither blind nor naive. It does not ignore reality. Instead, true hope compels us to rise above despair, face challenges with faith, and respond with wisdom and action.
The Arrogance of Despair
Years ago, pastor John Claypool had a sobering conversation with an elderly rabbi, a friend and fellow advocate in the civil rights movement. After a particularly frustrating meeting, Claypool sighed, “I think it’s hopeless. The problem is too deep, too complex. There’s simply no way out.”
The rabbi paused and then said something profound:
“Humanly speaking, despair is presumptuous. It assumes we know the future, but we don’t. Think of the times you thought something was hopeless, only to be surprised when unseen forces shifted everything. If God can create something out of nothing, if He can bring life from death, who are we to place limits on what He can do?”
That wisdom still speaks today. We do not have the luxury of declaring a situation hopeless because we are not the authors of the story.
The Rekindling of Hope
In the movie Hope Floats, the main character, Birdee Pruitt, describes hope this way:
“Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad. But it’s the middle that counts the most. Just give hope a chance to float up.”
Even when you think you’ve lost it, hope can emerge after a season of dormancy. Like stirring warm embers to rekindle a fire, real hope can be revived. It is nurtured when we commit to “act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God” (Micah 6:8)—even when the path is difficult, even when we can’t yet see the way forward.
Hope is not an emotion. It’s a decision. And when we choose hope, we align ourselves with the God who makes the impossible possible.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who currently serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
The first time I heard this oft-told story, it was shared by Wayne Grubbs, then pastor at Lakeview Baptist Church in Oxford, Alabama. The story goes something like this:
Near the end of a sermon about heaven, the pastor asked the congregation, “How many of you want to go to heaven?” Every hand in the church shot up—except for one little boy on the front row. Curious, the pastor turned to him and asked, “Son, don’t you want to go to heaven?” The boy quickly responded, “Yes sir! When I die. But I thought you were gettin’ up a trip right now.”
A few of us may feel like we’re getting ready for that final journey sooner rather than later, but most of us live under the illusion that the finish line is far in the distance. Although none of us knows when our journey will be complete, we are inspired by Paul’s words, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith (II Timothy 4:7).
Regardless of our age or stage in life, the truth remains: we must be ready to cross that line—by maximizing our time here and finishing well.
What Do You Need to Do Before You Finish the Race?
I recently celebrated my 65th birthday. During the two weeks following, I had the sacred privilege of delivering the eulogy for 3 dear friends who had crossed the finish line just a few days apart. The strange juxtaposition of these two events—a birthday and a series of funerals—prompted deep reflection:
“What does God want to accomplish in and through my life before I cross the finish line?”
Thomas Jefferson wisely advised, “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.” Yet, so often, we let good intentions replace real action. If you knew your time was short, what would you make a priority? What do you need to do before you finish your race?
1. Go where you need to go. Visit the friend or family member you keep meaning to see. Take that family vacation. Sign up for that mission trip. Step out of your comfort zone and embrace a new experience.
2. Do what needs to be done. Get to know your neighbors and build community. Volunteer for that service project you’ve been considering. Share your faith intentionally and non-judgmentally.
3. Say what needs to be said. Tell your family how much you love them. Plant that tree that will bear fruit and offer shade after you are gone. Pass down the stories that hold your legacy. Offer forgiveness where wounds remain unhealed.
4. Give what needs to be given. Honor God with your financial resources, supporting your local church and kingdom work. Pass along that cherished heirloom to the next generation. Invest in a cause that will continue making a difference long after you’re gone.
5. Plan what needs to be planned. Get your affairs in order: wills, life insurance, power of attorney, and advanced directives. Communicate your memorial wishes with loved ones. Leave behind not just memories, but a roadmap for those who will carry on.
Live Today with Finish Line in Mind
James 4:14 reminds us that “life is a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.” In the grand scheme of eternity, our days are fleeting and unpredictable. The best way to prepare for the end is to live each day with intention—treasuring relationships, embracing opportunities, and deepening our faith.
For me, that means not only trusting Jesus as my Savior but also following Jesus daily in my attitudes and actions—serving, growing, and faithfully running the race set before me.
Mother Teresa reminded us, “At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done. We will be judged by ‘I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in.’”
I sure hope to celebrate several more birthdays, but I also know that one day, sooner or later, someone will stand and share a eulogy for me. Since I don’t know when that day will come, I want to make every moment count.
Like Irma Bombeck avowed, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’”
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
Our minds are never truly silent. At any given moment, we are engaged in an internal dialogue—a constant stream of thoughts, reflections, and self-talk. Not all the voices are friendly. Some voices push us forward with encouragement, while others hold us back with doubt and fear.
Individuals of all ages must learn to navigate the voices within. No one is exempt. Left unchecked, some of these voices can be troubling, taunting, or in some cases traumatizing. Learning to sort through these voices is essential for emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being.
The voices in our internal dialogue can be tenacious and argumentative. How do we know which ones to listen to? Erwin McManus asked, “Who do we become when we stop allowing all the voices in our head to crowd out the one voice we must hear to come to life?”
We all have competing voices in our minds—some shaped by past experiences, some influenced by culture, and others rooted in our deepest anxieties and insecurities. You may hear the voice of self-doubt that whispers, “You’re not good enough.” Some hear the voice of fear that warns, “What if everything goes wrong?” There’s the voice of condemnation that says, “You are not worthy.” Others hear the voice of pride that insists, “You don’t need help.” And then there’s the voice of God, the still, small voice that speaks truth, peace, and direction.
As you discern between the multiple voices in your head, be aware that the loudest is seldom the most trustworthy, the harshest is seldom the most truthful, and the most accusative is seldom the most accurate. It is best to give attention to the still small voice. And though you cannot evict the competing voices, you can turn down the volume.
So how do we amplify the right voice—the one that speaks truth, grace, and wisdom?
Reject the voices of condemnation and accusation. God convicts, but God does not condemn. If a voice is drowning you in shame, it’s not from the Holy One. (Romans 8:1)
Filter your thoughts through the teaching of scripture. The Bible is the north star for discerning truth. If a thought contradicts God’s teaching, it doesn’t deserve a microphone in your mind. (Philippians 4:8)
Spend time in stillness. The world is noisy, but God often speaks in whispers. Make time for quiet reflection and prayer. (1 Kings 19:11-12)
Surround yourself with honest friends. Wise counsel from trusted friends and mentors can help clarify which voices to trust. (Proverbs 11:14)
Speak life-giving words to yourself Words have power, even when spoken internally. Be intentional about reminding yourself of God’s grace and love. (Proverbs 18:21)
Get regular rest. Shelly Miller reminds us, “Rest provides fine-tuning for hearing God’s messages amidst the static of life.” (Psalm 127:2)
Put what you already know into practice. If we want to learn more from God, we must be faithful in what God has already taught us. When we walk in obedience, our spiritual ears become sharper. (Luke 16:10)
Your internal dialogue shapes your perspective, your emotions, and ultimately, your life. Choose which voices you allow to take center stage. When self-doubt, fear, and intimidation threaten to overwhelm you, lean into the voice that speaks life, love, and purpose.
As you navigate the voices in your head, be positive and proactive, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.” (II Timothy 1:7)
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
Last Sunday in church, the choir sang a beautiful rendition of one of my all-time favorite hymns, “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” arranged by Dan Forrest. The choir isn’t huge, but their sound is excellent and inspiring.
As I adjust to a more relaxed Sunday schedule following my recent retirement, my wife and I enjoy visiting our friends at the First Baptist Church in Gadsden for worship on the Sundays when we are not traveling. Nathan Edwards serves as Minister of Music and does a great job leading in worship and directing the choir.
As the choir began the anthem, I was reminded never to underestimate the power of a song, especially a song presented in multi-part harmony by a devoted and spirit-infused church choir. On the very first stanza, I noticed to my right a senior adult widow, who sits on the same row with the same friend each Sunday, as she mouthed the words “There is no shadow of turning with thee; Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not, As thou hast been thou forever will be,” and there seemed to be a tear forming in her eye as though she was being reassured that the God of this universe was not intimidated by the problems in her life.
Just beyond her in the center section I saw a senior couple I assumed were husband and wife. He may have been nearly 90 years old and still had a farmer’s tan. She appeared to be a year or so younger than him yet weathered by the seasons of life. They were both nodding as though in agreement as the choir sang, “Summer and winter and noontime and harvest, Sun moon and stars in their courses above, Join with all nature in manifold witness To thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.”
A couple of rows ahead of us was a dad seated beside his middle school son. Other than standing for the hymns and bowing his head for the prayers, the student had been completely still the entire service, somewhat tuned out, looking as though he was there because he had to be and not because he wanted to be. But during this choral anthem, I noticed that he began lightly tapping his foot and patting his knee, never taking his eyes off the choir as he kept perfect time with the beat of the song. I wonder if somehow the words of this powerful hymn were being planted in his subconscious and would one day sprout like a seed that would help him to become rooted and grounded in his faith.
Prior to the service I had noted a young adult as she was seated a few rows ahead of us in our section on the piano side. She sat alone and looked around as if she was in a new environment which made me think she might be a visitor, so I was glad to see several regulars greet her and sit near her. I don’t know her story but I was glad she was there. She sang the words to the congregational hymns without looking at the hymnal which indicated to me that this wasn’t her first church experience. As the choir sang, I caught her whispering along, “Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside.”
These I’ve mentioned are only a few examples of the lips moving, heads nodding, and spirits being lifted across the congregation as the choir in the loft blended their voices melodiously. For some reason, more than listening to the robed choir, today I found myself looking and listening for the unseen choir. The choir in the loft was infusing the congregation with a song, thereby creating an antiphonal effect with the unseen choir silently singing, nodding, and toe-tapping the anthem in reflexive spiritual response.
Rich Mullins wrote a song popularized by Amy Grant titled “Sing Your Praise to the Lord.” The song was inspired by verse like Psalm 95:1 which says, “Oh come, let us sing to the Lord; Let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!” It is certainly appropriate and biblical to sing to the Lord.
However, Ephesians 5:19 also encourages us to “Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs.” There is something about congregational singing that creates a spiritual bond among people of faith as they sing to one another. Moreso there is something about a church choir singing with a disposition of worship that applies a balm to a wounded heart, that transmits energy to a weary soul, that conveys hope to those steeped in despair, and that plants seeds of faith in fertile minds.
The purpose of a choir is not to impress but to inspire. A church choir is not a show choir to entertain the congregation but rather a “flow” choir who, by immersing themselves in the spirit and message of worship, overflows onto the congregation with God-vibes and good news and contagious song.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer contended, “It is the voice of the Church that is heard in singing together. It is not you that sings, it is the Church singing, and you, as a member of the Church, may share in its song.”
Following the anthem, Pastor Mat Alexander’s well-prepared, well-delivered sermon from Matthew 12:1-21 encouraged us to “Love God, pursue righteousness, and find rest in the Lord.”
After the benediction, as we walked to our car, as the cart driver passed us as he transported a few folks to their cars I heard him humming the tune to “Great Is Thy Faithfulness.”
I wonder if Irving Berlin had the unseen choir in mind when he composed, “The song has ended, but the melody lingers on.”
Yes, it does! I’ve been humming that tune all week long.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
Life has a way of throwing obstacles in our path, even on the golf course.
Last week, as my friends and I were playing a round of golf on the Twin Bridges Course in Gadsden, Alabama, a funny thing happened on hole #12. All three of us had hit our tee shot on this short par 3 when I noticed movement in the greenside bunker. A dark figure was emerging from the bunker which at first looked like a large black bear. Then the one figure separated into two, and we realized that two labs, one black and one chocolate, had been napping and were probably roused by the sound of our golf balls landing on the green. Mike hit on the fringe, I hit in the middle of the green (a rare occurrence), and Bruce hit about 6 ft from the pin.
As we started to walk to our cart, I noticed the dogs sniffing Mike’s ball. Then the chocolate lab picked it up, much like a retriever does a tennis ball, and dropped it in the same location he found it. Both dogs then moved onto the green and sniffed Bruce’s ball. The black lab picked it up and carried it over to the fringe some 30 feet away and dropped it beside Mike’s ball. As we drove our carts toward the green, both dogs bolted before playing havoc with my ball. Of course, we returned Bruce’s ball to its rightful location and all three proceeded to par the hole (also a rare occurrence).
In 1998 at the Player’s Championship at TPC Sawgrass in Ponta Vedra, Florida, a bird picked up Brad Fabel’s ball on the island green and dropped it in the water. What is the recourse for the player? The PGA rule book says, “If a bird picks up your golf ball, according to the rules of golf (Rule 18-1), you must replace the ball at its original spot where it was picked up, and no penalty is incurred. If you are unsure of the exact location, you can approximate it.”
Golf is challenging enough without an unexpected culprit giving you an unfair disadvantage. The same is true in other aspects of life. Except in life, you cannot always rectify, replace, or remove the unfairness.
A few years back, my wife and I played a round of golf with friends in north Georgia. One of our friends hit a long fading drive into the trees down the right side of the fairway. But when his golf ball hit the trees, it ricocheted back into the fairway leaving him a clear shot to the green. He grinned and said, “There was a friendly monkey in those trees.” That is a common idiom among golfers. Where did that phrase originate?
Several years ago, I read the book, Play the Ball Where the Monkey Drops It, by Presbyterian minister Gregory Knox Jones. The setting is a time when India was under British colonial rule. Here is a brief summary of his story:
There were British living in Calcutta that found they really missed the game of golf. So, they built a golf course in Calcutta. But playing golf in Calcutta posed a very unique challenge because of obnoxious monkeys.
When golfers would attempt to play golf, the monkeys were fascinated, and they would take the little white balls and just throw them everywhere. This, of course, irritated the British colonialists and golf enthusiasts to no end.
So, they decided they had to come up with a plan. They were going to build a fence around the entire golf course. This sounded like a great plan…on paper. But while a fence can be very effective in keeping other animals from creating mischief, it’s not very effective with monkeys because monkeys love to climb! So, the monkeys would scamper up one side of the fence and scamper down the other and play with the little white golf balls as they did before.
Next, the British tried to lure the monkeys away from the course. But whatever lure they tried to use, nothing was as appealing as watching the human beings go crazy whenever the monkeys messed with the little white balls.
So, finally, the British in Calcutta developed a novel and unique golf course rule. And the rule was, “You simply play the ball where the monkey drops it.”
As you can imagine, playing golf this way could be exasperating. You might have, for the first time in your life, that perfect drive down the center of the fairway, and then a monkey comes along and throws your ball in the rough. Or, you could have a hook or slice that produces a miserable lie, and then a monkey tosses it back out onto the fairway for you. You simply play the ball where the monkey drops it. (Gregory Knox Jones, Play the Ball Where the Monkey Drops It: Why We Suffer and How We Can Hope, New York: HarperCollins, 2001, pp. 3-4).
What can we learn from these stories from the golf course?
Just in case no one has told you lately, life is not fair. In his book, Disappointment with God, Philip Yancey explains, “We tend to think, Life should be fair because God is fair.’ But God is not life. And if I confuse God with the physical reality of life- by expecting constant good health for example- then I set myself up for crashing disappointment.
Bad things regularly happen to good people. The humorist Grady Nutt insisted, “It rains on the just and the unjust, and not always just on the just.” We like to believe that if we do the right things, life will go smoothly. But the reality is that suffering isn’t always tied to wrongdoing. Illness, loss, and hardship strike the just and unjust alike.
We are called to be our best selves in the circumstances we are given, not the ones we wish we were given. Valerie Plame advises, “Despite the obvious fault in the universe, it cannot be used as an excuse for not trying to be your best self. Instead, use unfairness as a starting point to be sure that your actions are the best you can muster, and find peace in navigating your time here with grace and humor whenever possible.
Our faith does not exempt us from unfairness but rather teaches us to be people of perseverance and endurance. Our faith doesn’t spare us from tough times. Rather, our faith prepares us for tough times. Rather than running from adversity, it is best to call our challenges by name, look them in the eye, and overcome them with strength and determination. Robert Schuller frequently preached, “Tough times never last, but tough people do.”
Faith generates hope, and hope conquers despair. We all experience feelings of despair and that is not a sin. It is, however, a sin to wallow in the muck and mire of despair and dissolve into hopelessness. Lamentations 3:21-22 testifies, “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.”
Life isn’t fair, but we don’t have to let that reality defeat us. Instead, we can choose to live with faith, resilience, and a commitment to doing what’s right. Hardships will come, but they don’t have to define us. The way we respond to life’s unfairness can shape us into stronger, wiser, and more compassionate people.
As you approach your hole #12 and you see dogs in the bunker or hear monkeys rustling in the trees, remember the words of Ben Hogan: “The most important shot in golf is the next one.” The same is true in life.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
Trusted and treasured friendships bring both joy and stability to life’s adventures. Mark Twain humorously quipped, “Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” While not all relationships are deep or lasting, the bonds of true friendship have a way of grounding us, enriching our experiences, and helping us navigate life’s ups and downs.
Some people remain mere acquaintances, while others—often unexpectedly—become dear friends. The ancient wisdom of Proverbs 18:24 (as rendered in The Message) acknowledges this reality: “Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you like family.” Friendship is not just about shared interests or proximity; it’s about commitment, loyalty, and a willingness to walk alongside one another through all seasons of life.
C. Raymond Beran offers a poignant description of friendship:
Friends are people 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. They do not want you to be better or worse. When you are with them, you feel as a prisoner feels who has been declared innocent. You do not have to be on your guard. You can say what you think, as long as it is genuinely you… Friends understand those contradictions in your nature that lead others to misjudge you… You can weep with them, sing with them, laugh with them, pray with them. Through it all—and underneath—they see, know, and love you.
In a world where competition and self-interest often dominate, how do we develop and sustain meaningful friendships? The answer lies in grace, mercy, patience, and perseverance. True friendship requires intentionality—it may be a gift from God, but it must be proactively cultivated and nurtured.
Churches, at their best, are built not just on faith but also on friendship. A congregation is a diverse collection of people from different backgrounds who stand together in tough times, who challenge and inspire one another, and who—despite their differences—unite in a shared faith and mission. Perhaps the Quakers had it right when they named their faith community “The Society of Friends.”
Friendship is durable. It binds our hearts and minds in a way that bridges theological differences, rises above political disagreements, and weathers the hardships of life.
As we move forward, let us cherish the friendships we have and remain open to forming new ones. Robert Louis Stevenson once wrote, “So long as we are loved by others, I would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend.” Indeed, friendship has a way of affirming our worth and purpose.
E.C. McKenzie insightfully noted, “Some people make enemies instead of friends because it is less trouble.” While friendships may require effort, vulnerability, and sometimes even forgiveness, they are undeniably worth it. After all, life is richer when shared with those who remind us of our song—even when we forget the words.
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who serves as a leadership coach and consultant with the Center for Healthy Churches.)
Yesterday, I watched news footage from the Fat Tuesday celebrations in New Orleans—a day when many indulge in gluttonous feasting and revelry. Today is Ash Wednesday, marking the beginning of the season of Lent, a time of intentional preparation for Easter. During this sacred season, believers focus on self-examination, reflection, and repentance.
Traditionally, Christians choose to give up something significant to them during Lent. I have friends who forego their favorite indulgences—chocolate, coffee, sugar, or soft drinks—as a form of spiritual discipline. But since I seem to have a genetic predisposition to worry, I think I’ll try giving that up instead—for at least 40 days.
The Burden of Worry
I don’t actually like to worry. In fact, I know it’s not constructive. Worry is like spam or junk mail—it clutters my mind, taking up valuable space needed for creative thinking, planning, visioning, and problem-solving. I function far better when I’m not weighed down by excessive worry.
And yet, worry is persistent. Each time I try to kick it out the front door of my mind, it sneaks around and slips back in through the back.
Years ago, a friend of mine had a giant poster mounted above his desk that read:
“Don’t tell me worry doesn’t help. Half the things I worry about never happen.”
Erma Bombeck humorously captured the futility of worry when she said, “Worry is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”
An Inherited Habit?
I sometimes wonder if worry can be inherited. I watched the wear and tear of worry in my parents and grandparents and have noticed that many of their offspring—including me—struggle with this same mental distraction.
And I’m not alone. Over coffee, I’ve listened to CEOs, ministers, business owners, attorneys, physicians, and educators share their struggles with worry. It’s no surprise—there’s always something to be anxious about:
Our businesses
Our families
Our investments
Terrorism
The economy
Political turmoil
Wars and rumors of wars
Friends losing their jobs
Health concerns
The future…
The list seems endless.
A Better Way
Perhaps I’m not the only one who should give up worry for Lent. Since this is a season of intentional preparation for Easter, maybe we should all listen again to the words of Jesus:
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?” — Matthew 6:25-27
As we begin our Lenten journey, I’m trying to give up worry for at least 40 days. Maybe—hopefully—even longer.
Would you like to join me?
(Barry Howard is a retired pastor who currently serves as a leadership coach and columnist for the Center for Healthy Churches. He and his wife reside on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)
Cove Creek Reflections 