Father, make me believable,
just like your Son, Jesus Christ,
not so much by what I say I as by what I do,
not so much by what I proclaim as by what I demonstrate,
not so much by what I profess as by what I manifest.

I want to be a believable witness
in a world full of unbelievable salesmen.
I want my life be received as truthful testimony of your love,
not as fishy propaganda of a religion.

In every human being. A mark of the Divine One. Something sacred, holy, precious, glorious, and godly. We humans are heaven-earthly creatures, although we don’t often see it—neither in others, nor in our own selves.

Surprisingly to some, in the Bible human beings are referred to as gods—little “g” expressions of something other-worldly, something more-than-earthly. Even Jesus affirmed this perspective.

Can turn to religious aggression on a dime. In ancient times this looked like stoning someone to death, while in modern times it looks like trolling someone on social media, or a churchified version of cancel culture.

This turns many people off to religion. Understandably so. But I think that results from jumping to a conclusion that may or may not be accurate. For me it raises a question: Is the problem with the religion, with the zeal, or with the people?

Because followers are beloved human beings to be stewarded, not human resources to be managed. They are people to be nurtured, not cogs to be systematized. 

Since leadership is a people business, it matters greatly the way in which a leader views people: How is it that they come under one’s purview? What is the nature of that relationship? What is the purpose of that relationship? What are the appropriate means of achieving that purpose? What are the warning signs that things are getting off track or unhealthy?

I’m not averse to the Church learning from the business world. There is much in the Bible and in Christian tradition that doesn’t necessarily equip leaders for the rapidly changing world we live in today. We must constantly learn and adapt.

Following the voice of God is like being a sheep following the voice of a shepherd in a foggy field. The idea is to peacefully graze, following your bliss chomping on whatever bits of grass or weeds happen to strike your fancy in the square foot of earth in front of of you. All the while ambling steadily in the direction of the shepherd as he walks along, mumbling to himself, or perhaps a fellow shepherd, or other sheep, or sometimes even you. Just remaining nearby is all you really need to do. There you are safe. Unlikely to fall off of a cliff. Protected from predators or thieves. Simply able to graze as God intended.

The longer I try to follow the voice of God, the more I think that we over-complicate it. Or place higher expectations on it. As if God has step-by-step instructions for our day that we dare not miss, when really he himself is content for us to simply remain nearby. To steadily wander towards him whenever we happen to catch an echo of his voice in the fog of our busy day.

In college, one of my creative writing professors regularly gave us this advice: Show, don’t tell.

That is, don’t tell the reader that your character is in grief—talk the gray clouds overhead and lines furrowing her brow. Don’t tell your reader that it was a beautiful day—describe what you saw, the way the sunlight felt on your skin, the scents that wafted through the air. Don’t write a poem telling the reader how joyful you felt on your first date—paint a picture of the candle-lit restaurant and the glint in your crush’s eyes.

Images invite the reader into the meaning. The more vividly their imagination is sparked, the more deeply what you are communicating will go.

Is essential to every good story. That dull story that you never retell? People already know what’s going to happen as soon as you begin. That boring novel that you wish you never read? You already knew what was going to happen. It doesn’t have to be a drama; even a good comedy or biography has an element of suspense.

The wonder of what’s coming next is what pulls us to the edge of our seats. The surprise is what makes us feel alive. The unexpected is what we really long for. The mystery is what keeps us coming back for more.

Is often easier than trying to understand it. To call someone “mad” or “crazy” when their point of view is out of alignment with our own. When something doesn’t fit into my paradigm, the common human reflex is to assume the worst. To assume that there is something far more nefarious and dangerous going on. To jump to the darkest conclusion rather than seek to understand what we do not understand.

It’s easy in the West to scoff at cultures who see demons behind every sneeze or headache or seizure. The truth is that they may not be far off. The other truth is that we fail to see the demons behind our every anxiety or angry outburst or fear of “those people.” In our increasingly polarized and vitriolic society, the demons of our age are preventing us from seeing the true humanity in the other, and we are self-congratulatory for our “standing up for what’s right.”

Will not be the same life that you pick up again. Which, I suspect, is something that we all know deep down, which then explains why so few of us actually do it.

No. We hold onto our lives for dear life. Because even in our discomfort we are comfortable. We prefer familiarity over change. The status quo might not be living the dream, but at least it’s a known non-dream.

Is the great Divine project: One flock. One shepherd. One loaf. One cup. One body. One faith. One baptism. One new creation.

Oneness is the great Divine project because it is the very essence of God: One God. One Spirit. One Mediator. One Lord.

What God has joined together, let no one separate. What God is still working to join together, let no one work to divide.