Every spring, in addition to doing a more thorough cleaning of the house, my wife and engage in a “cleaning out” of our closet and personal items. This process involves sorting, discarding, and reorganizing.
The season of Lent arrives each year quietly inviting us to open the closet of our soul and take an inventory. Just as spring cleaning clears away the dust and clutter that accumulates unnoticed, Lent calls us to examine our inner lives and make space for God’s renewing grace. It is not about self-condemnation, but soul-restoration.
Scripture reminds us that God is deeply interested in this interior work. The psalmist prays, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). Lent is that season when we hold our inner self up to the light and ask what needs to be swept out. This may include things like the resentments we’ve nursed, the habits that dull our compassion, and distractions that throw us off track.
Spring cleaning is rarely glamorous. It involves getting into corners we’d rather ignore. Yet it is precisely there that grace does its best work. When we fast, pray, give generously, and practice repentance, we are not earning God’s love. Rather, we are clearing away the debris that keeps us from experiencing it fully.
C.S. Lewis suggested,“Relying on God has to begin all over again every day as if nothing had yet been done.” Lent gently reorients us in this daily reliance. Each act of surrender is like wiping down a dusty shelf. It is a small but intentional practice that is transformative over time.
In the early 16th century, Martin Luther described repentance not as a one-time event but as a lifelong posture. In a world focused on outward religious performance, Luther emphasized the ongoing need for inner renewal. This radical idea reframed faith as a continual turning of the heart toward God. His insight affirms that repentance is not about dwelling on guilt, but about returning to grace again and again.
As we journey through Lent, imagine God walking through the rooms of your soul with you, not as a harsh inspector, but as a loving companion. Some things will be kept, while others will be discarded.
Lent has a way of decluttering the chaos within so that our sense of peace is restored. Many years ago, Billy Graham advised, “Like a spring of pure water, God’s peace in our hearts brings cleansing and refreshment to our minds and bodies.”
This year, when Easter arrives, may it find our hearts lighter, cleaner, and more spacious, and ready to welcome the risen Christ with joy.
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.” -Psalm 51:1
In my growing-up years, I remember the elderly in our community and in my family saying, “Lawsy mercy!” whenever they heard about an accident or an illness or some sort of tragedy. In Southern Appalachia, “Lawsy mercy” was a common expression of concern or sympathy to surprising or troubling news. The saying was a derivative of the biblical phrase, “Lord, have mercy.”
The biblical version, however, packs a more powerful punch. It is one of the most ancient and enduring prayers of the Church and yet also one of the simplest: “Lord, have mercy” is a cry that rises from deep within the human heart, a prayer offered not from a place of strength, but from a place of need. During Lent, we are invited to slow down long enough to hear ourselves praying these words honestly, without defensiveness or disguise.
Historically, the prayer Kyrie eleison (“Lord, have mercy”) was spoken not only in worship but also in moments of desperation. During the Black Death of the 14th century, entire communities processed through the streets chanting this plea, not as a magical formula, but as an act of trust when answers were few and suffering was overwhelming. The prayer acknowledged a hard truth: human effort has limits, but God’s mercy does not.
Lent helps us rediscover that truth. It reminds us that mercy is not something we earn through self-denial or religious effort. Mercy is something we receive when we finally stop pretending we don’t need it. To ask for mercy is not only to confess our shortcomings, but to practice humility. It is to recognize that grace, not perfection, is the foundation of our relationship with God.
The reformer Martin Luther once wrote, Those words were found scribbled on a scrap of paper after his death. They capture the spirit of Lent beautifully. No matter how accomplished, faithful, or disciplined we may be, we remain people in need of daily, ongoing, and undeserved mercy.
Echoing this posture of trust, Thomas Merton proposed, “Mercy is the kindness that makes sense of our failures.” Lent does not deny our brokenness. It places it gently in the hands of a merciful God who knows us fully and loves us completely.
To pray “Lord, have mercy” is a way to open ourselves to transformation. Mercy does not merely forgive the past; it reshapes the future. As we receive mercy, we are invited to extend mercy to ourselves, to our neighbors, and even to those we struggle to love.
This Lent, let that simple prayer rest on your lips and in your heart. Not as a sign of defeat, but as an act of hope. For the God who meets us in mercy is already at work, healing what is wounded and restoring what feels lost.
So today, as we pray for ourselves and for our world, may we begin “Lord, have mercy!”
17 Be good to your servant while I live, that I may obey your word. 18 Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law. 19 I am a stranger on earth; do not hide your commands from me. 20 My soul is consumed with longing for your laws at all times. 21 You rebuke the arrogant, who are accursed, those who stray from your commands. 22 Remove from me their scorn and contempt, for I keep your statutes. 23 Though rulers sit together and slander me, your servant will meditate on your decrees. 24 Your statutes are my delight; they are my counselors. Psalm 119:17-24 (NIV)
When I visited my optometrist for my annual eye exam, he said, “Your vision has changed a little. We need to update your prescription for your glasses.” I knew it would happen one day. I’ve had the same prescription for almost 7 years.
Sight is extremely important. Maybe that is why the psalmist prayed, “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law” (v.18). However, I don’t think the psalmist was referring to the ability to see the smallest letters on the vision test chart.
Just as eyesight gives us the capacity to see the physical world around us, things like hindsight, foresight, and insight give us the capacity to better understand God’s word, to shape our faith perspectives, to formulate our worldview, and to exercise wisdom and discernment in our decision-making.
Helen Keller contended, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”
Lent is an eye-opening season where the Spirit helps us better understand our purpose in life as we revisit the story of Jesus, who fully embodied God’s universal mission.
The psalmist wanted the eyes and minds of worshippers to be wide open as they pursue a deeper understanding of God’s vision for the world. The petitioner prayed, “Cause me to understand the way of your precepts, that I may meditate on your wonderful deeds.”
After the eye exam, my optometrist gave me my new prescription and advised me to upgrade to progressive lenses. For years, I had worn bifocals, mostly for reading. He cautioned that the change from bifocals to progressive lenses would require a period of adjustment. “You need to be especially careful when walking because your depth perception will be a little different.”
I have discovered that every new flicker of insight or morsel of wisdom requires a period of adjustment as I apply it to life. May our understanding of God’s word encourage and equip us to follow God’s ways.
Reflection:
How does God communicate new insights to you? Do you welcome new points of view or are you inclined to resist changes in your understanding? How easily can you move from stale presuppositions and open your mind to fresh insights from God’s word?
Prayer:
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art; Thou my best Thought, by day or by night; Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light. (Eleanor H. Hull, Mary E. Byrne)
Each year, the season of Lent invites us to slow down, pay attention, and tend to the deeper places of our lives. Observed during the forty days leading up to Easter, Lent has long been understood as a season of preparation, a time to tune our hearts, habits, and hopes to the teachings and attitudes of Jesus. Far from being a gloomy or burdensome practice, observing Lent can be deeply enriching, offering clarity, freedom, and renewal for everyday living.
I was not introduced to the disciplines of Lent until I was in college. I had heard about Lent, but I assumed it was something my more liturgical friends dutifully observed by giving up one or two things they enjoyed. However, once I better understood the intent, I discovered a more prayerful and reflective prequel to the resurrection.
Lent is a season to reevaluate, realign, and recalibrate. Here are 7 ways observing Lent can deepen your faith and enrich your life:
Lent teaches us to pause. In a culture that prizes speed and productivity, Lent gives us permission to stop and reflect. It invites us to notice where we are spiritually and where we may be drifting. Andy Stanley observed, “We don’t drift in good directions. We discipline and prioritize ourselves there.” We need to pause introspectively for self-evaluation.
Lent sharpens our self-awareness. Through prayer and honest reflection, Lent helps us recognize both our gifts and our growing edges. We become more attentive to the habits, attitudes, and assumptions that shape our lives, for better or worse. We need to be alert to our vulnerabilities and awakened to our potential.
Lent cultivates humility. Historically, the early church used Lent as a season of catechesis and repentance, reminding believers that faith is not about perfection but transformation. Acknowledging our need for grace softens our hearts and increases our compassion for others.
Lent reorders our priorities. Fasting, whether from food, screens, affinities, or distractions, teaches us that we do not live by bread alone. What we set aside reveals what we have been relying on. In that letting go, we rediscover what truly nourishes us.
Lent strengthens empathy. When we practice restraint, we become more aware of those who live with daily scarcity, struggle, or deprivation. Lent stretches our concern beyond ourselves and invites us into acts of generosity, advocacy, and justice.
Lent clarifies our focus. Cleaning out a cluttered garage can be challenging. However, once the excess is removed, the remaining items become visible and useful again. Often, we discover tools we had forgotten. Lent functions the same way for the soul, clearing shelves, discarding, re-purposing, and reclaiming, so faith has space to grow and flourish.
Lent prepares us for joy. The purpose of Lent is not the denial of pleasure but the restoration of joy. By walking honestly through repentance and reflection, we increase our gratitude for the passion of Christ and strengthen our commitment to the mission of Christ.
Lent creates sacred space for solitude and spiritual reflection. As Henri Nouwen once observed, “Without solitude it is virtually impossible to live a spiritual life.”
Whatever you choose to give up for Lent will be more than outweighed by the blessings and benefits you receive through its faithful observance. When embraced with intention, the ancient practice of Lent becomes a gift that gently reshapes how we live, love, and walk with God each day.
In case you haven’t noticed, there is a universal temptation for human beings to tear one another down rather than to build one another up. It is based on the false notion that to diminish someone else’s character or credibility elevates my own. This is not a new thing. It goes back centuries.
As the apostle Paul closes his second letter to the Corinthians, he continues a theme prevalent in his previous correspondence by urging them to “encourage one another and build each other up” (I Thessalonians 5:11). Eugene Peterson captures Paul’s pastoral intent with refreshing clarity: “Put things in order, keep your spirits up, think in harmony, be agreeable… and the God of love and peace will be with you” (II Corinthians 13:11-14).These are not lofty theological abstractions. They are practical, everyday practices for communities that want to live well together.
Churches then, and now, are made up of imperfect people learning how to follow Christ side by side. Paul’s words offer spiritual guidance that is relevant to churches, communities, businesses, and even nations. Here are five practices drawn from this passage that help us to build each other up:
Put things in order.
Spiritual health begins with honest self-examination. Paul’s call to “put things in order” invites us to take responsibility for our lives and relationships. This is not about perfection, but continually re-tuning or recalibrating our faith, values, and priorities. It’s about asking what needs attention, repair, or repentance.
The early Christian communities practiced regular confession, not to shame believers, but to restore fellowship. A wise teacher observed, “The church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” Healthy communities are willing to name what is broken so healing can begin.
Whether it’s addressing unresolved conflict, clarifying expectations, or setting healthier boundaries, aligning our lives with Jesus’ teachings creates space for growth, maturity, and wise living.
Keep your spirits up.
One translation says, “Be of good cheer.” Paul knows discouragement can drain a community’s life. “Keep your spirits up” is not a denial of difficulty or naivete about the unfairness of life. Keeping a positive spirit involves an intentional choice to nurture hope, especially in the most difficult seasons of life.
During World War II, Londoners famously painted signs in bomb shelters reading, “Keep Calm and Carry On.” The message did not minimize danger, but it did remind people how to endure it. Encouragement works the same way in life. It keeps us steady when circumstances are hard.
As theologian Henri Nouwen wrote, “Encouragement is the ability to see hope in the other person.” A timely word of affirmation, a handwritten note, or a prayer offered at the right moment can sustain a weary soul and strengthen the whole community.
Think in harmony.
Paul’s counsel to “think in harmony” does not require uniform opinions. Harmony is not sameness. Harmony is shared commitment. Like voices in a choir, different parts blend together without losing their distinctiveness.
The early church debated vigorously about Gentiles, food laws, and leadership, but they learned to stay at the table together. Unity was preserved not by avoiding disagreement, but by practicing love within it.
Harmony grows when we listen more than we speak, when we seek understanding before we register our perspective, and when we remember that relationships matter more than winning arguments.
Be agreeable and live in peace.
“Be agreeable” may sound countercultural in an age that rewards outrage. Being agreeable does not mean we agree on everything. It means that we start with the things we agree on, and we work toward solutions on the things we don’t agree on.
Paul reminds us that peacemaking is a spiritual discipline. Abraham Lincoln once said, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.” That posture reflects spiritual maturity. And it is only possible when we choose curiosity over contempt, and we opt for acquaintance rather than accusation.
Peace does not mean avoiding hard conversations. It means entering them with humility and grace. Ask not only, “Am I right?” but also, “Am I loving?” Peace flourishes when people feel heard, respected, and valued.
Practice kindness.
Paul encourages believers to greet one another warmly, which serves as a reminder that faith is embodied. Small gestures carry spiritual weight.
Simple acts of hospitality have a unique way of building others up. When a greeter remembers a name, when we share a meal at a common table, or when we do a quiet check-in with another person during a turbulent week, these actions preach sermons no words can replace.
As Maya Angelou wisely observed, “People will never forget how you made them feel.” Kindness is not peripheral to faith. It’s no wonder that Jesus urged his followers to “be kind,” for kindness it is one of faith’s most powerful expressions.
Paul ends with a benediction that frames daily life: “The amazing grace of the Master, Jesus Christ, the extravagant love of God, and the intimate friendship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” Grace grounds us, love galvanizes us, and the Spirit guides us.
We need a revival of “living well together.” It’s not complicated. And it’s much better for our spiritual health, physical health, and mental health than treating other children of God as our evil adversaries. When communities practice alignment, encouragement, harmony, peace, and kindness, they communicate the love and grace God intends for every person.
And in a fractured world, that witness matters more than ever.
(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 live on Cove Lake in northeast Alabama.)
(This column is based on a sermon I preached at the First Baptist Church of Corbin, Kentucky, in February 2003.)
What contributes to genuine happiness? During my years serving as a pastor, I have tried to observe the values and practices of happy people. I’m not talking about momentary happiness, where someone is happy in the moment because their team won the game or because they received a promotion at work. I’m thinking more about people who live happy lives.
Internationally acclaimed motivational speaker Denis Waitley wisely observes, “Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, or worn. It is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude.” That insight rings true in both life and ministry.
I have never met anyone with perfect circumstances or anyone who lives in a constant state of bliss. Life is demanding, unpredictable, and often heavy. Everyone I know carries burdens, navigates disappointments, and wrestles with uncertainty. Happiness, therefore, cannot be reduced to ideal conditions.
So what really makes a person happy? Is it professional success, the right soulmate, good health, or financial security? While these factors can contribute to well-being, they do not guarantee happiness. Chasing perfect circumstances is like pursuing the proverbial—but nonexistent—pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Through the years, I have known people across the economic and social spectrum—some wealthy, some modest in means—and I have learned that circumstances alone do not determine happiness. Recently, as my wife and I reflected on our friends, I noticed recurring qualities among those who live with a steady sense of joy. Over time, we have observed seven traits that happy people hold in common.
Happy people treasure relationships. They view family, friends, and colleagues as gifts rather than inconveniences. Research supports this observation. As Thomas Oppong notes in an article published by the Stanford School of Medicine, “Good social relationships are the most consistent predictor of a happy life.”
Happy people are generous people. They give cheerfully, not reluctantly. A 2017 University of Zurich study concluded that generosity—even in small measures—actually rewires the brain in ways that increase happiness.
Happy people find joy in serving. They have an affinity for helping others through hospitality, volunteerism, and acts of compassion. A Chinese proverb captures this well: “If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.”
Happy people are resilient. They face adversity without being defined by it. They bounce back, adapt, and refuse to let setbacks become dead ends.
Happy people live with grit, grace, and gratitude. They have a stalwart spirit of determination. They are quick to convey grace rather than pronounce judgment. And they tend to focus on their blessings rather than fixating on life’s unfairness. Gratitude has a way of shifting the soul’s posture from scarcity to abundance.
Happy people are present in the moment. They are not perpetually haunted by the past or consumed by anxiety about the future. They learn to inhabit today with attentiveness and appreciation.
Happy people are rooted in their faith. The happiest people I know possess a humble, simple trust in God that shapes their daily lives. Psalm 144:15 says it simply: “Happy are the people whose God is the Lord.” Their faith is not performative or episodic. Rather, it is life-shaping and life-giving.
While there is no guaranteed formula for happiness, it seems far more connected to attitude, purpose, and faith than to circumstances. Pretense is exhausting, and authenticity is freeing. I am convinced that lasting happiness is discovered, not by chasing it directly, but by following Jesus and practicing his teaching in ways that ground you and guide you through the maze of life’s shifting circumstances.
As Groucho Marx once quipped, “I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.” Once I heard a pastor preach, “God is more interested in your holiness than your happiness.” However, at this stage of life, I have come to understand that happiness and holiness are not competitors after all. Maybe they walk hand in hand, on the same path, as partners on life’s journey.
(This column is a revision of a Wednesday evening devotional message I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola in 2014.)
I grew up in Alabama at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. Like many people of my generation, I knew the name of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., but mostly as a headline in The Anniston Star or a grainy image on the evening news—watched on one of our three channels on a black-and-white television. I knew a good bit about the Civil Rights Movement. I did not know much about the man. That changed in 1982.
During my senior year at Jacksonville State University, I traveled with the Sociology Club on a field trip to Atlanta. Our itinerary included places of cultural and historical significance, including the U.S. Penitentiary, Grady Hospital, the King Center, and Ebenezer Baptist Church. While touring the sanctuary of Ebenezer, another student and I briefly stepped behind the pulpit where Dr. King once preached. A hostess quickly reprimanded us, asking us to step away as she explained that only ministers were permitted behind the sacred desk.
When our professor shared with her that we were both young ministers, her tone shifted. She asked a few questions about our knowledge of Dr. King and then invited us to follow her through a set of double doors into what appeared to be a warehouse or storage area. The area was marked Authorized Personnel Only. What awaited us was an expansive room filled with shelves and boxes—hundreds of them.
She opened several boxes and allowed us to examine Dr. King’s personal sermon notes, correspondence, and speeches that were still being processed for archival preservation. Many of the notes were handwritten on hotel stationery, napkins, envelopes, and scraps of paper. It was immediately obvious that while many speakers labor meticulously over manuscripts, Dr. King possessed a remarkable gift for shaping powerful words from simple notes that served as cues for what he wanted to say.
Only years later did I fully realize what a sacred privilege that moment had been—to literally hold the working thoughts of one of the most influential voices in American history.
Dr. King should first be remembered as a passionate Baptist minister. Following seminary, he pastored Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery before succeeding his father at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta. His faith was not ornamental; it was foundational. His preaching carried theological depth, prophetic courage, and pastoral compassion.
He should also be remembered as a disciplined scholar. After graduating from Morehouse College, he pursued theological studies at Crozer Seminary and earned his doctorate in systematic theology from Boston University. Dr. King’s ability to blend biblical conviction, philosophical reasoning, personal passion, and moral clarity gave his voice uncommon credibility across racial, religious, and political lines.
And of course, Dr. King is remembered as a courageous civil rights leader. He championed nonviolent resistance not as a tactic of weakness, but as a discipline of moral strength. He believed injustice could be confronted without surrendering dignity or humanity. He frequently declared, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
That single sentence explains why his legacy refuses to remain confined to history books. It speaks to every community, every generation, and every season when fairness is tested, and human rights are violated.
In 1964, Dr. King was named Time Magazine’s Man of the Year and later that same year received the Nobel Peace Prize. In spite of his flaws, he was a memorable communicator and a catalyst for cultural transformation. Four years later, he was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. Yet death did not silence his influence. His vision helped reshape laws, expand voting rights, challenge segregation, and awaken the moral conscience of a nation.
More than that, Dr. King helped America wrestle honestly with its own contradictions—the promise of liberty alongside the reality of inequality. His dream pushed the nation closer to its founding ideals, even when doing so was uncomfortable.
Although the Civil Rights Movement encountered numerous setbacks, Dr. King remained convinced that “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Progress is rarely fast or smooth, but history consistently affirms that courageous truth-tellers leave permanent marks.
As a young college student, I could not have known how deeply that quiet moment among dusty boxes would stay with me. After years of pastoral ministry, I understand more clearly that movements are shaped not only by speeches but by the daily practice of spiritual conviction, disciplined thought, and tenacious courage.
Dr. King’s life reminds us that real change begins in the heart, takes shape in the mind, and finds expression in courageous action. He was not merely a dreamer; he was a visionary. He was not just an orator; he was a doer. He was not merely a leader; he was a servant.
As we remember Dr. King this January, may we do more than quote his words. May we carry his commitment to justice, reconciliation, human rights, and unvanquished hope into our neighborhoods, churches, and everyday conversations.
And every time I think back to those brief moments standing behind the pulpit at Ebenezer where Dr. King once stood, I am reminded that it will take all of us working together to ensure that his vision becomes our reality.
(This is a revision of a column first written in 2003.)
Today I turned 66 years old. That number lands differently than others have. Perhaps it’s because this birthday arrives in a season of transition—forty years of marriage, forty-eight years of pastoral ministry, and my first full year retired from full-time church leadership. Milestones have a way of clarifying life. They don’t answer every question, but they do help separate what is essential from what is expendable.
At 66, what matters most is not what I’ve accumulated, but what has shaped me. Here are seven things time has taught me to hold onto.
1. Relationships matter more than results.
For many years, my life was measured by outcomes such as attendance, growth, deadlines met, and goals achieved. Ministry was a privilege, but it also trained me to value results. Yet somehow, for me, relationships are secondary to productivity.
At 66, I’ve learned that results fade, but relationships endure. Programs end, seasons change, and accomplishments are eventually forgotten, but the way we love people leaves a lasting imprint. What matters most now are not the numbers we achieved, but the names we remember.
The relationships that have shaped me—my wife of forty years, family, friends, and the people I’ve been honored to serve—have proven far more significant than any measurable success. Love practiced consistently outweighs results celebrated briefly.
2. Faith is meant to be lived, not just proclaimed.
After decades of sermons, meetings, hospital visits, weddings, and memorial services, I’ve learned to value a quieter faith—one less concerned with having all the answers and more committed to trusting God in the unanswered places.
Faith matters most when it shows up in patience, kindness, humility, and hope. Belief becomes credible when it moves from the pulpit to the kitchen table.
Faith is life-giving, not life-judging.
3. Presence is better than pace.
Younger years are often measured by speed—how much can be done and how quickly. At 66, I’m learning the gift of slowing down. Presence allows me to notice conversations that don’t need fixing, moments that don’t need multitasking, and days that don’t need to be productive to be meaningful.
A full life is not the same as a hurried one. Will Rogers quipped, “The older we get, the fewer things seem worth standing in line for.”
4. Perspective comes with time.
Aging brings clarity that no book or seminar can provide. Studies consistently show that people in their 60s report higher levels of contentment and emotional well-being than many younger adults. That feels true. I worry less about what people think and more about how I treat them.
Not every battle deserves my energy. Not every opinion requires my response. Nont every post requires my feedback. Perspective is one of the quiet gifts of growing older.
We are not wired to resolve every problem or bear the weight of every grief outside our zip code.
5. Calling outlives titles.
Retirement has reminded me that calling does not end when a job does. It simply changes form. Encouraging others still matters. Listening still matters. Showing up still matters.
The difference now is that these things happen without an agenda, a deadline, or a business card, and that may be the truest expression of calling yet.
6. A sense of humor helps you age gracefully.
If you can’t laugh at yourself, aging becomes far more difficult than it needs to be. A good sense of humor keeps perspective intact and pride in check.
Years ago, Henry Ward Beecher suggested, “A person without a sense of humor is like a wagon without springs. It’s jolted by every pebble on the road.”
7. Gratitude is a game-changing life discipline.
If I had to sum up turning 66 in one word, it would be gratitude. Gratitude for years lived, lessons learned, love received, and mercy extended. Gratitude for a God who has been faithful in every season—especially the ones I didn’t understand at the time.
I don’t know how many birthdays remain, but I hope that when my time comes to depart this life, I go in my sleep with a smile on my face and a heart filled with gratitude.
Turning 66 has reminded me that what matters most is surprisingly simple and sufficient: loving well, trusting deeply, and living gratefully, one day at a time.
Whatever we spend our time thinking about, plants seeds in our minds, and those seeds eventually grow into actions. Few passages of Scripture capture this truth more clearly than Philippians 4:8–9. Writing from prison, the Apostle Paul does not begin with complaints or escape plans. Instead, he turns our attention inward, to the overlooked but decisive arena of the mind.
“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things… And the God of peace will be with you.”
Paul understood what modern science continues to confirm, that our thought life either enhances or diminishes our spiritual life. Though the human brain weighs only about three pounds, physicist Michio Kaku once observed that it is “the most complex object in the solar system.” It can store an estimated 2.5 million gigabytes of information—roughly the equivalent of 300 years of television programming. Yet despite its capacity, Henry Ford famously noted, “Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason so few engage in it.”
Thinking is never neutral. Unhealthy thoughts have a way of filling the unclaimed spaces of our minds. Paul does not call believers to empty their minds of everything negative, but to intentionally fill them with what is good. Just as our computers and smart devices are vulnerable to spam, corrupt code, and viruses, so our minds are vulnerable to disinformation, lust, impure motives, and manipulation.
As one pastor aptly put it, “The devil knows that if he can capture our mind, he holds our future.” Paul’s words remind us that mental discipline is not optional for a Jesus follower—it is absolutely essential.
Paul is not naïve. He is not suggesting that positive thinking will eliminate all trouble. Rather, he is proposing that meditating on noble things helps us avoid unnecessary trouble. Eugene Peterson’s rendering in The Message captures Paul’s pastoral wisdom well:
“Fill your minds and meditate on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse.”
Paul urges believers to reflect, meditate, contemplate—or, as my maternal grandfather use to say, cogitate. Earlier in Philippians, Paul had already challenged the church, “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.” Before we can walk as Christ walked and talk as Christ talked, we must first learn to think as Christ thought.
Galileo insisted, “I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.” Faith does not require the abdication or abandonment of thought. Faith teaches us to love God with our minds. This mean that the way we exercise our minds to do problem-solving, conflict resolution, imagining, visioning, strategizing, and discernment are all ways of loving and honoring God.
When we intentionally focus on what is true, right, and admirable, God often synchronizes our thinking—bringing clarity, unity, and spiritual harmony among people of faith.
Paul refuses to separate thinking from living. “Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice.” Thoughts always precede action. When we focus on negative thoughts, we produce negative actions. When we dwell on lustful thoughts, we produce lustful actions. But when we focus on noble thoughts, we produce noble actions. And when we focus on kingdom thoughts, we produce kingdom actions.
Ralph Waldo Emerson captured this progression beautifully: “Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it.” Right thinking bears visible fruit.
Paul concludes with a promise we desperately need: “And the God of peace will be with you.” Peace is not portrayed as the absence of problems but as the presence of God. When disciplined thinking leads to faithful living, God’s peace steadies us, even in uncertain circumstances.
In the 1960s, excavations at one of Herod the Great’s palaces uncovered 2,000-year-old seeds from the Judean date palm, seeds that were long thought extinct. In 2005, scientists successfully germinated one of those ancient seeds. Today, that tree has produced fruit and pollinating offspring. What was buried and dormant for centuries came to life again.
In much the same way, the thoughts we plant—truthful, noble, beautiful thoughts—can bear fruit far beyond what we imagine.
As we continue growing in faith and friendship, we are invited to keep refocusing our minds on what is good, to meditate on what is beautiful, and to pursue excellence in all things. And because thinking shapes direction, many of us go through seasons of rethinking our faith or our church connection.
For those going through a cycle of deconstruction, especially in religious faith or philosophy of life, don’t despair when your assumptions and presuppositions unravel. Keep thinking and processing as you discern which values to embrace and which baggage to discard.
The Bible never discourages us from thinking. It actually mandates that we “think on these things.” The sacred discipline of thinking can help us to more fully become the persons we were created to be.
When I retired and moved to the lake last year, one of my goals was to engage in more golf, more fishing, more travel, more writing, and more reading. I am making slow but steady progress toward each of these goals, but especially in my practice of reading.
The turning of a new year offers a quiet but meaningful invitation to pause, reflect, and look ahead. For me, one of the most helpful ways to do that is by immersing myself in reading. Books have a way of slowing us down, sharpening our thinking, stretching our faith, and reminding us that we are not alone in our questions or our hope.
Fran Lebowitz advised, “Think before you speak. Read before you think.” When I was a young minister, a wiser and older pastor counseled me to pray regularly, study thoroughly, read widely, and think critically. These disciplines helped me grow as a pastor, a preacher, and most importantly, as a person.
This year’s reading list reflects a desire to read both widely and wisely: books that nourish the soul, illuminate the cultural moment, deepen vocational clarity, and engage my mind with well-told stories. Some books will challenge my assumptions. Others will comfort, provoke, or simply entertain. All, I trust, will help to keep my mind sharp and my perspective fresh.
Here are 26 books I hope to read in the coming year, arranged thematically rather than alphabetically:
Faith, Formation, and the Interior Life
What Grows in Weary Lands: On Christian Resilienceby Tish Harrison Warren. A timely reflection on sustaining faith in fragile and exhausting times.
Good News at Rock Bottom: Finding God When the Pain Goes Deep and Hope Seems Lost by Ray Ortlund. A hopeful word of grace for those who find themselves at the end of themselves.
Witness to Belief: Conversations on Faith and Meaning by Russ Levenson Jr. Thoughtful conversations that model gracious, honest engagement with faith written by my former neighboring pastor from Pensacola.
The Body Teaches the Soul: Ten Essential Habits to Form a Healthy and Holy Life by Justin Whitmil Earley. An embodied vision of spiritual formation.
Sacred Attachment: Escaping Spiritual Exhaustion and Trusting Divine Love by Michael John Cusick. A compassionate exploration of spiritual fatigue.
Nervous Systems: Spiritual Practices to Calm Anxiety in Your Body, the Church, and Politicsby Sara Billups. Insightful guidance for minimizing anxiety in the important aspects of life.
Slow Theology: Eight Practices for Resilient Faith in a Turbulent Worldby A. J. Swoboda & Nijay K. Gupta. Speaks into navigating cultural chaos at a healthy pace.
The Speed of Soul: Four Rhythms for Quiet Life in a World of Noiseby Tommy Brown. Four rhythms for cultivating quiet amid constant commotion.
Life Is Hard. God Is Good. Let’s Dance: Experiencing Real Joy in a World Gone Madby Brant Hansen. An honest, hopeful invitation to joy in challenging times..
Winter Grief, Summer Grace: Returning to Life After Loved One Diesby James Miller. A tender companion for those navigating loss and return to life.
Vocation, Ministry, and Leadership
Losership: The Door to a Joyful Life by Bill Shiell. A countercultural vision of leadership rooted in humility and grace.
When Church Hurts by Rose Townsend. Naming pain in the church while holding space for healing.
Some of the Words Are Theirs: The Art of Writing and Living a Sermon by Austin Carty. A beautiful meditation on preaching, writing, and faithful living by my friend and former pastor of the First Baptist Church of Corbin, Kentucky.
You Have a Calling: Finding Your Vocation in the Good, True, and Beautiful by Karen Swallow Prior. A rich exploration of vocation grounded in the positive and virtuous things in life.
The View from the Rocking Chair: Living Intentionally for What Matters Most by Matt McGee. Reflections on living with purpose and significance.
Culture, History, and the Public Square
The American Religious Landscape: Facts, Trends, and the Futureby Ryan Burge. Essential insights into faith metrics shaping contemporary America.
American Struggle: Democracy, Dissent, and the Pursuit of a More Perfect Unionby Jon Meacham, ed. An anthology examining civic responsibility.
The Tears of Things: Prophetic Wisdom for an Age of Outrage by Richard Rohr. Spiritual insights for navigating this season of life.
An Unfinished Love Story: A Personal History of the 1960’s by Doris Kearns Goodwin. A historical reflection on the 1960s and community engagement.
Memoir and Story
Surrender by Bono. A candid memoir exploring faith, music, activism, and humility.
Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. A beautifully written novel about grief, faith, and belonging.
Fiction: The Power of Story
The Proving Ground by Michael Connelly. A legal saga exploring the ethics of artificial intelligence and the consequences of its misuse.
Nash Falls by David Baldacci. An FBI agent’s life is turned upside down when he tries to bring down a global crime network.
The Widow by John Grisham. A legal thriller woven with social tension.
The Boomerang by Robert Bailey. Fast-paced storytelling about politics and mountain culture in northeast Alabama.
Gone Before Goodbye by Harlan Coben and Reese Witherspoon. A suspenseful exploration of secrets, loss, and resilience.
Taken together, this list reflects a desire not merely to read more books, but to listen for wisdom, to stay curious, and to live fully. Mortimer Adler aptly observed, “Reading is a basic tool in the living of a good life.”
Turning the page is more than a literary act; it is a spiritual posture. It is a proactive step toward spiritual, emotional, and intellectual growth.
So, here’s to another year of good books and the insights they offer along the way.
Cove Creek Reflections 