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.)

Where Is God When the Bad Stuff Happens?

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Where is God when bad things happen?

Across the ages, this question has perplexed and haunted those weighed down by grief, suffering, and pain. Theologians and philosophers have wrestled with scripture and reason in search of understanding. Pastors and counselors still search for words that offer hope to hearts broken by tragedy.

The Bible doesn’t sugarcoat the harshness of life. In Psalm 13:1–2, the psalmist gives voice to what it feels like to be forsaken in moments of anguish:

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Chaos wears many faces. A hurricane flattens homes and lives. An earthquake strikes without warning. A disease creeps in uninvited. A drunk driver kills an innocent teenager. And every time, the question echoes again: Where is God in this?

Some respond with platitudes. But trite clichés often feel hollow—or even offensive—to those walking through the valley of sorrow. Answering this question too casually can seem dismissive. But ignoring it would leave too many stranded in silence.

So I won’t pretend to offer a one-size-fits-all answer. Instead, I’ll share what I’ve come to believe—hoping that even a flicker of light might help someone see more clearly in a dark place.

1. Life is not fair.

I used to believe that if I prayed, obeyed, and lived faithfully, God would shield me from life’s storms. But life doesn’t follow that formula. God is good, yes—but God never promised that life would be fair. Life is hard. And faith isn’t an escape hatch—it’s an anchor.

As beloved author Frederick Buechner suggested, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.”

Faith helps us face the beautiful and the terrible with courage.

2. Suffering does not discriminate.

No one is immune. Tornadoes don’t skip homes based on church attendance. Illness doesn’t scan for spiritual résumés. We live in a world still scarred by sin, and its consequences touch the just and the unjust alike. Faith doesn’t exempt us—it equips us.

3. God is present in the chaos.

God does not orchestrate suffering as punishment or test. God is not the author of chaos, but the Redeemer within it. The Holy Spirit—God’s presence—lives within us to comfort, convict, and guide. God also shows up through the Church—when we bring love, healing, and hope to others.

Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist Viktor Frankl observed, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

Faith doesn’t always change our circumstances—but it transforms our response.

4. God invites us to walk by faith, not by sight.

Why do bad things happen to good people? Why are some healed and others not? Why did Jesus raise Lazarus, but not everyone? Maybe those moments of healing are glimpses—previews—of what God will one day do fully and finally. Even Lazarus died again. Earthly healing is temporary. Eternal hope is permanent.

I still believe in prayer. I believe in hope, medicine, community, and grace. But there are no formulas—only an invitation to walk by faith with courage and perseverance.

5. God is at work, but not always in ways we can see or evaluate.

Romans 8:28 assures us, “In all things God works for the good of those who love him.”

God doesn’t cause all things—but God works within all things. Often, God works through us. We are Christ’s hands and feet in a hurting world. When we show up with compassion, we reflect the God who never leaves us.

So, where is God when the bad stuff happens?

God is present. Not with easy answers or magical fixes—but with sustaining grace, resilient hope, and a faithful presence that never lets go.

Especially in the seasons when I wrestle with the unknowns, I hold to the promise that God is here. And even the smallest glimpse of God’s presence encourages me to keep pressing on.

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

(This column is taken from a message I shared at FBC Pensacola after the community experienced multiple hurricanes, a catastrophic oil spill, and more than a few unexpected deaths.)

Memorial Day: 5 Reasons Why Remembering Is Important

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Memorial Day is more than a three-day weekend or the unofficial start of summer. It’s a sacred invitation to pause, reflect, and remember. In a culture that moves at the speed of a scrolling screen, practicing the discipline of remembering has become both countercultural and essential.

This day, set aside to honor those who have given their lives in service to our country, invites us into something deeper than nostalgia. It calls us to gratitude and beckons us to learn from the past.

When we fail to remember the sacrifices of those who came before us, we succumb to a convenient amnesia that gradually robs us of the freedoms we cherish. To fail to remember creates a contagious apathy that leads to a neglect of both our responsibility and our citizenship. To fail to remember can produce a false sense of security and an inaccurate perception that we are exempt from dictatorship and autocracy. If for no other reason, we should remember in order to guard against what George Washington called “the impostures of pretended patriotism.”

As we observe Memorial Day, here are five reflections about the importance of remembering:

  • Remembering is a sacred act. Throughout Scripture, God’s people are called to remember. “Remember the wonders He has done,” the psalmist writes (Psalm 105:5). Jesus, at the Last Supper, told his disciples, “Do this in remembrance of me.” Remembering anchors us. It shapes our identity. It gives context to our present and guidance for our future.

  • Remembering reminds us our freedom was not free. The liberties we enjoy come at a cost. Franklin D. Roosevelt cautioned, “Those who have long enjoyed such privileges as we enjoy forget in time that men have died to win them.”  Memorial Day reminds us that peace is preserved by those willing to risk—and sometimes give—their lives. Honoring the fallen should stir in us a sense of responsibility to live in a way that upholds the values they died defending.
  • Remembering evokes both grief and gratitude. For many, Memorial Day carries deep personal loss. It’s not just a day of flags and flowers—it’s a day when grief resurfaces. And yet, gratitude finds space there too. As one veteran said, “We don’t remember them because they died. We remember them because they lived.” Their stories of courage and selflessness inspire us to live with more purpose and compassion.
  • Remembering can shape us for the better. When we take the time to remember, we grow in empathy. We honor courage. We rediscover our shared humanity. And we are reminded that our freedom, our peace, and our way of life are built on the backs of those who stood in harm’s way for the sake of others. We are also inspired to protect and preserve freedom for those who come after us.
  • Remembering prompts us to pass the memories along to the next generation. Ronald Reagan cautioned, “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.” Our children and grandchildren won’t understand the meaning of Memorial Day unless we tell the stories. Visit a veterans’ cemetery, attend a memorial service, or share the history of someone in your family or community who served. Let them see remembrance in action.

This Memorial Day, let us do more than enjoy a day off. Let us pause. Let us give thanks. Let us reflect on the cost of the liberties we enjoy. Let us teach our children the stories of valor and sacrifice. And let us recommit ourselves to building a world worthy of the lives that were given.

John F. Kennedy insisted, “As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.”

Kennedy’s words seem even more relevant today. It’s not enough to say thank you—we must live in a way that honors the gift. Memorial Day challenges us to turn remembrance into action: by serving others, standing up for justice, and living with integrity.

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

Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way: 7 Reasons You Need an Estate Plan

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We often hear the phrase “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” as a rallying cry for perseverance. But when it comes to your estate, that phrase takes on a more literal—and vitally important—meaning. Without a will or estate plan, your family and assets can be left in limbo, regardless of your age, income, or family situation.

A few days ago, my wife and I met with our attorney to update our estate plan. Although we have had a will for many years, now that we have retired, we needed to amend a few provisions, revise some of the contact information, and update our bequests.

Throughout my years serving as pastor, I was shocked at the number of church members who had no will, and many who thought they didn’t need one. I remember one individual who told me, “Our kids will just divvy it up when we’re gone.” That person was naïve about the probate process and unaware of the costs, monetarily and emotionally, of “divvying it up.”

I started planning workshops at the church, facilitated by attorneys and CPAs, to educate the congregation about wills, estate plans, and advance directives. I also began including a brief discussion about wills in my pre-marriage counseling sessions.

Alan Lakein contends, “Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now.”

Estate planning isn’t just for the wealthy or elderly. It’s a gift to your family, a part of the spiritual discipline of stewardship, and a wise decision at any stage of life. Here are seven compelling reasons to begin or update your estate plan:

1. It is good stewardship.

As people of faith and principle, we are called to manage well what has been entrusted to us. Creating an estate plan is a practical way to manage your resources with wisdom and intention, ensuring that your legacy reflects your values and priorities.

2. It provides clarity about your final wishes.

From how your assets should be distributed to your desires for end-of-life care or funeral arrangements, your estate plan provides clear direction. Without it, your family is left to guess—and sometimes disagree—about what you would have wanted.

3. It helps avoid family conflict.

Even the most harmonious families can experience stress and tension when a loved one dies without a will. A well-crafted estate plan can help prevent misunderstandings and disputes by making your wishes unmistakably clear.

4. It protects minor children.

If you have children under the age of 18, your estate plan allows you to name a guardian—someone you trust to care for them if the unthinkable happens. Without a will, the courts make that decision without your input.

5. It facilitates a timely probate process and avoids unnecessary legal entanglements.

Proper planning streamlines the legal process, reduces delays, and minimizes costs associated with probate. An estate plan can help your loved ones navigate a difficult time with less bureaucracy and stress. Shez Christopher wittily points out, “If you do not have a Will or plan for your estate, then the government has one for you.” 

6. It makes you better prepared for unexpected events or catastrophic illness.

Estate plans often include advance directives and powers of attorney, ensuring that someone you trust can make financial or medical decisions on your behalf if you’re ever incapacitated. Richard Cushing advises, “Always plan ahead. It wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark.”

7. It creates a path for your assets to continue to bless others after you are gone.

Whether it’s providing for your family, supporting your church, or giving to a cause you care about, your estate plan becomes a channel for generosity—allowing your life to have a lasting impact.

David Angway, a Wealth Advisor and Trust Estate Planner, summarizes it this way: “Planning your estate ensures that your family’s future is secure and harmonious after you’re gone. Properly organizing the distribution of your property prevents conflicts and misunderstandings, fostering respect and unity among your loved ones.”

Don’t procrastinate! And don’t wait for a crisis to start the conversation. Begin today. Where there’s a will, there’s not just a way forward for your family—but a legacy that honors your life, your faith, and your values.

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

Life Is Short: 7 Reasons to Receive Each Day As a Gift

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The famous evangelist Billy Graham confessed, “The greatest surprise in life to me is the brevity of life.”

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Life is short.” It’s often said in passing—when we lose someone too soon, when a moment takes our breath away, or when we’re reminded how fast the years fly by. But what if we took that phrase to heart? What if we allowed it to shape the way we think, speak, love, serve, and live?

Here are seven reasons to live each day as a sacred and fleeting gift:

1. Time is a non-renewable resource.

Unlike money, time cannot be earned back or saved up. Every sunrise is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Each conversation, each quiet moment, each new opportunity is here now—and may never come again.

2. Today presents opportunities to grow.

Each day brings lessons, challenges, and opportunities for growth. We’re not the same people we were yesterday. Receive today as a gradual and progressive step forward in your becoming—a place where faith can deepen and character can stretch.

3. Lighten the load someone else is carrying.

When we live with compassion and kindness, we become part of someone else’s healing. A smile, a kind gesture, or an encouraging word may seem ordinary to you but can be life-giving to someone else. Phillips Brooks urged, “Be patient and understanding. Life is too short to be vengeful or malicious.”

4. Joy is often hidden in the present moment.

When we stop chasing “someday” and start noticing “today,” we discover beauty in the now. The warmth of coffee, the sound of laughter, the beauty of a landscape, the encouragement of a friend—these are the moments that quietly nourish the soul.

5. Gratitude changes our perspective.

When we live with the mindset that each day is a gift, we begin to see more gifts in our days. Gratitude doesn’t change our circumstances—it transforms our perspective. And that shift is powerful.

6. Regret is too heavy to lug around.

The weight of “I wish I had…” can be heavy. But when we live intentionally—speaking our hearts, showing up for others, and taking courageous steps—we reduce the space for regret and make room for peace.

7. Today is the only day you are promised.

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. All we truly have is today—this moment, this breath, this chance. Don’t wait for all the stars to align in your favor to start living fully. Begin now.

Annie Dillard reminds us, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

Life is short—a sacred breath between dust and eternity. So love deeply, forgive freely, walk humbly, and live each day as a precious gift not to be wasted.

Let’s not just say life is short—let’s embrace today and live life to the fullest.

Come Monday: Finding Community in a Culture of Loneliness

On By barrysnotesLeave a comment

“Come Monday, it’ll be all right/Come Monday, I’ll be holding you tight…” 

Those lyrics from Jimmy Buffett’s wistful ballad echo with a hope many of us carry. The song speaks of longing and loneliness, of waiting for that moment when things feel okay again—when presence replaces absence, and connection returns.

Believe it or not, Scripture echoes similar feelings. In Psalm 25:16, David writes,“Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted.”

The mighty warrior and beloved leader knew what loneliness felt like. And he had the courage to say it out loud.

Mother Teresa insisted, “The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.”

In the spring of 2023, U.S. surgeon general Vivek Murthy placed a spotlight on America’s problem with loneliness when he declared the issue an epidemic.

In a recent Harvard study, 21% of those surveyed indicated they had serious feelings of loneliness.

Loneliness affects all ages. The Harvard study indicated widespread loneliness, especially among younger adults:

  • People between 30-44 years of age were the loneliest group — 29% of people in this age range said they were “frequently” or “always” lonely
  • Among 18–29-year-olds — the rate was 24%
  • For 45–64-year-olds, the rate was 20%
  • Adults aged 65 and older reported the lowest rate: 10% felt lonely

Loneliness Is Real—Even in a Crowded World

We live in a hyper-connected culture. Our phones buzz with messages, notifications, and endless content. But despite the noise, many people quietly struggle with a deep sense of disconnection.

You don’t have to be alone to feel lonely. It’s not about how many people are around you. It’s about whether anyone really sees you, knows you, or understands what you’re going through.

Loneliness can come in many forms: grief, life transitions, emotional exhaustion, or even just the slow drift away from relationships that once felt close. And it’s something that affects all ages, backgrounds, and life stages.

God Meets Us in Our Loneliness

When David cried out to God in Psalm 25, he wasn’t looking for a quick fix—he was seeking a Presence that could hold the weight of his heart.

“Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish.” (v. 17)

In our loneliest moments, God doesn’t pull away. God draws near. The Bible reminds us again and again that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), that God is a refuge for the weary, and that God’s companionship is steady—even when human company isn’t.

And here’s the beautiful irony: naming our loneliness is often the first step toward overcoming it. David didn’t pretend. He openly sought God’s comfort and grace for his troubled spirit and his feelings of aloneness.

We Were Made for Connection

While God is with us in solitude, God also created us for community. From the very beginning, God said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” (Genesis 2:18)

That’s not just about marriage or friendship—it’s about belonging. And that’s what the Church is called to be: a place of welcome, honesty, and presence.

The early church wasn’t built on flashy programs or fancy buildings. It was built on people sharing life—breaking bread, praying, carrying one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). And that’s still the vision today.

So here’s the question: Are we building that kind of community in our churches, small groups, neighborhoods, and homes? Are we noticing the ones who might be quietly hurting?

Sometimes healing starts with a text. A coffee. A simple, “Hey, how are you—really?”

Serve Others. That’s a Great Place to Discover Community.

It might sound counterintuitive, but one of the most powerful ways to overcome loneliness is to look outward. When we serve others—when we step into someone else’s world—we often find healing for our own hearts.

Volunteering. Showing up for someone. Encouraging a neighbor. These small acts become lifelines, not just for them, but for us. They remind us that we’re still part of something bigger than ourselves.

In serving, we move from feeling invisible to feeling useful. We rediscover joy. And we start to experience what David prayed for—freedom from anguish, connection to something real, and hope for the days ahead.

“Come Monday, it’ll be all right,” Buffett sang. David, too, clung to hope in his song:

“My hope, Lord, is in you.” (Psalm 25:21)

Loneliness may visit, but it doesn’t have to stay. Community, companionships, and collegiality are blessings that have to be cultivated and nurtured.

Albert Einstein once said, “Although I am a typical loner in my daily life, my awareness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice has prevented me from feelings of isolation.”

What if we could help others find that same invisible community—and make it visible?

We can’t solve loneliness overnight. But we can foster healthy connections. We can be a friend to others. We can ask for help when needed. We can build a spirit of community. And we can nurture and grow in our relationship with God.

(This is an updated version of a sermon presented at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in 2007 during our spring series “Changes in Latitude.”)

“My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus”

On By barrysnotesLeave a comment

One of Jimmy Buffett’s more unusual song titles has always struck me as confessional:“ My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Really Don’t Love Jesus.”

At first glance, that may feel jarring—even offensive. But sometimes, brutal honesty says what softer words can’t.

Long before moving to the coast of Florida, I loved the music of Jimmy Buffett. Though many of the lyrics are not Sunday morning pulpit material, I think Buffett may have given voice to something that a lot of people quietly feel: life is overwhelming, I’m exhausted, and if this is what religion is, I’m not buying it.

There’s a sobering passage in the Bible that feels strangely modern. It comes from Paul’s second letter to Timothy, chapter 3, verses 1–9 (The Message):

“Don’t be naive. There are difficult times ahead. As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money-hungry, self-promoting, stuck-up, profane, contemptuous of parents, crude, coarse, dog-eat-dog, unbending, slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God. They’ll make a show of religion, but behind the scenes they’re animals. Stay clear of these people… They get exploited every time and never really learn… But nothing will come of these latest impostors. Everyone will see through them…”

Paul paints a picture of a society unraveling—where people are self-absorbed, cynical, addicted to chaos, and allergic to God. He warns of those who put on a show of religion but live like animals behind the curtain.

And then Paul says: “Stay clear of these people.”

Now that’s a hard line. But maybe it’s not about avoiding people in pain. Maybe it’s about being wise enough to walk away from shallow religion so we can offer something real.

Because here’s the truth: people are hurting. And they’re not looking for performance—they’re looking for peace.

When Your Head Hurts: Life Can Be Heavy

We live in an age of anxiety, distraction, and noise. People are overwhelmed—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Church clichés don’t help. Quoting verses out of context doesn’t help. What people long for is honest faith that doesn’t pretend to have all the answers but still clings to hope.

We all know someone (maybe it’s you) who’s tired of the game—tired of pretending everything’s okay. Maybe faith has become foggy. Maybe the pain has been too heavy. And in those moments, the last thing people need is shallow religion.

What they need is a Savior who doesn’t flinch at the truth.

When Your Feet Stink: The journey can be exhausting.

“Feet stink” is just a gritty way of saying: I’m worn out.
Life has been a long journey. Some people are exhausted from walking it alone—or worse, walking it while being judged by those who say they follow Jesus.

But here’s the beauty of the real gospel: Jesus doesn’t keep his distance from the dirty. He kneels. He washes feet. He welcomes the weary. And he still does.

What if the church looked more like a basin and towel, and less like a stage?

“I Really Don’t Love Jesus”: Honest confession is a good place to start.

This may be the most painful line in the song—but also the most honest. Some people don’t feel any affection for Jesus because the version they were shown was twisted, manipulative, or weaponized.

But often, when people say they don’t love Jesus, what they really mean is:
“I’ve never met the real One.”

And that’s where we come in—not to argue or defend, but to embody Christ.
To show them a Jesus who is full of grace and truth. A Jesus who welcomes doubt, heals wounds, confronts injustice, and never stops loving.

Staying Clear and Staying Compassionate

Paul’s warning to “stay clear” wasn’t about cutting off the brokenhearted. It was about stepping away from religious performance—from counterfeit faith that values appearance over authenticity.

Because in a world addicted to the fake, authenticity is the most powerful witness.

Let’s be real. Let’s be honest. Let’s be kind.

So yes—some people’s heads hurt. Some are worn out. And some aren’t sure they love Jesus at all.

But what if they haven’t been rightly introduced? What if their view has been blocked by loud religion and quiet hypocrisy?

Let’s be the ones who live with humble faith.
Let’s create space for hard questions and honest searching.
Let’s love people right where they are.

Because when someone meets the real Jesus—not the bumper-sticker version, not the political mascot, but the crucified and risen Savior—they just might find that their headache eases, their feet find rest, and their heart begins to soften.

And maybe, just maybe, they will grow to genuinely love and follow Jesus.