Why Do We Call Today Good?

I was talking with my son Ethan yesterday and told him Good Friday was coming. He got excited and said, “Oh good. Does that mean we get to buy stuff?”

“No, buddy,” I replied. “That’s Black Friday. Good Friday was the day when Jesus was killed on a cross.”

His look said it all. “Oh, so that’s what you consider good, huh? How Medieval of you.”

It seems ironic that we would call the day that our Lord and Savior was condemned, beaten, mocked, spat upon and ultimately murdered “Good.” And yet, in the grand scheme of things, when it comes to our standing with God, the argument could be made that what we celebrate on this day is actually more important than what we celebrate on Sunday. Sunday is simply the proof that what Jesus did on Friday actually meant something – that he accomplished what He’d come to do.

Good Friday is like the wedding ceremony;
Easter Sunday is the reception.

On Good Friday, we remember the greatest act of love in history – the day when Jesus willingly paid the penalty of our sins and rescued us from eternal separation from our Creator. Because Jesus was willing to walk into the jaws of death and use his own body to steal the venom from it, we have the hope that the pain of this broken world (and this current crisis) won’t get the last word. That’s why we call today Good, even though it was incredibly painful for him.

I’ll be honest, it’s painful for me as well. I don’t know about you, but when I read the gospel narratives and I get to Jesus’ crucifixion, I tend to read through it rather quickly; it’s like I’m subconsciously rushing through his suffering on Friday so that I can get to his resurrection on Sunday. However, from an eternal perspective, this is the climax of the entire Bible. From Genesis 3 on, everything has been building to this monumental moment when Jesus would do for us what we couldn’t do for ourselves. And everything that follows throughout scripture, from Acts through Revelation, is viewed in light of what happened on Golgotha that first Good Friday.

So don’t rush past this day. I suspect we need to sit in the discomfort of it more than ever given what we’re currently walking through. Here are a couple ways you could journey through Good Friday with Jesus:

·  Slowly read Mark’s account of Good Friday, imagining yourself there: Mark 15:1-19

·  Meditate on Psalm 22, which is profoundly prophetic regarding what Jesus endured on the cross. Keep in mind that when David wrote this psalm of lament, crucifixion hadn’t even been invented yet.

·  Join me online at 4PM tonight for Lighthouse’s Good Friday communion service. Just go to lighthousecommunity.com to join us. This is a BYOC communion service, so make sure to gather your communion elements beforehand (a piece of bread and a cup of juice or wine).

Finding New Life in the Valley of Despair

The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need... 

He leads me along the right paths for His name’s sake.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil for you are with me. 

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

(Psalm 23:1, 3-4) 

This is a difficult, painful time, there’s no doubt about it. In fact, on Sunday, the Surgeon General of the United States stated that “this is going to be the hardest and the saddest week of most Americans’ lives.” How’s that for a Palm Sunday message?!

That’s why we’ve spent this week slowly walking through verse 4 of Psalm 23: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” It does no good to deny the painfulness of this place we find ourselves in, but it’s important to remember that we don’t walk alone, and that our Shepherd has a reason for leading us through this treacherous terrain.

We tend to focus on the cost of walking through this dark valley: the scarcity, the fear of the unknown, the feeling of helplessness to get out of it, the boredom of sitting in our homes day after day. And yet, we’ve also experienced some unexpectedly sweet fruit along the way.

One of the ironies of the dark valleys is that they are often the most fruitful places. After all, it’s where the rain water flows through after a storm, so it provides rich foraging for the sheep. And in the same way, I cannot help but acknowledge that I’ve experienced some beautiful things come out of this painful path we’ve been walking.

• I’ve spent more quality time with my family in the last two weeks than I have in months. We’ve pulled out board games and baseball gloves for the first time in years.

•  I’ve been able to take an active role in my children’s education. This has been incredibly challenging, and yet it’s also taught me so much about my sons’ personalities and work ethics. It’s also given me a newfound respect for homeschoolers who choose to do this every school year.

• I’ve seen some beautiful acts of generosity as neighbors get creative in loving one another from a safe distance. One woman in my church woke up to find a package of toilet paper and a one of paper towels on her doorstep. One of my neighbors keeps painting rocks and leaving them along the sidewalks with short messages on them like, “Smile,” “Just Breathe,” and “Be Kind.”

• Certain members of my household have learned to use less toilet paper. This may not seem like such a big deal, but it’s been a point of contention in my home for years.

•  It’s forced me to rethink what it means to be a pastor. After all, before the coronavirus, the last time I’d blogged was 2017.

• This season of scarcity has given me a greater appreciation for things I’ve always taken for granted, like having plenty of toilet paper, or the ability to walk into a grocery store at any time of the day or night to get whatever I want.

• It has provided a daily reminder of my dependence upon God’s provision.

What sort of unexpected fruit have you experienced as you’ve walked through this dark valley? I’d love to know. Please leave a comment below or on my Facebook page,

I will close with a poem that I wrote a decade ago, when I was trudging through another dark valley marred by the shadow of despair. Like now, it was a season that I couldn’t wait to get out of, and yet God used it to cultivate some beautiful fruit along the way.

Things I Left in the Valley of Despair 

I walk along a painful path I never hoped to see,
A trail of tears and sorrow, paved with insecurity.

I long to run ahead, to leave this valley that I’m in,
To find a greener pasture and forget where I have been.

The place where I have come from is so very far away,
And I can’t see the end in sight, so in the valley I must stay.

Yet I suspect this wasteland is right where I need to be,
And all this pain is healing something deep-seated in me.

For as I turn and survey the broken path which I have trod,
I see a trail of cast-off armor strewn along the dusty sod.

Over there are the boots of busyness, now worn thin from overuse,
And the breastplate of indifference that helped me stay emotionally aloof.

There’s the shield of self-sufficiency, which I always hid behind,
And the helmet plumed with puffed-up pride, which always seemed to make me blind.

A part of me wants to double back, to collect the things I’ve left below,
Those vestiges of self-reliance that I forged so long ago;

Perhaps I thought they’d make me look like the man I hoped to be,
Or protect my heart from wounds that relationships inflict so naturally.

But all they did was weigh me down with loads of anxiousness,
Not to mention fear and shame, anger and distress.

It’s true that I’m more vulnerable without my armored shell,
And I’m tempted to collect the pieces from the places where they fell,

But I’ve resolved to let them stay along the path where they now lie,
And journey onward through this valley where my false-self came to die.

The Shepherd's Staff

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil for you are with me; 

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

(Psalm 23:4) 

Yesterday, we examined the way our Shepherd defends and disciplines us. His rod of correction and protection truly is a comfort to the flock. Today, we turn our attention to the shepherd’s staff, and the way it brings comfort to the sheep.

If there is one piece of equipment that defines a shepherd, it is his staff. Shaped like an over-sized cane, the staff is like an extension of the shepherd’s hand. When a lamb gets caught in a thicket, the shepherd uses his staff to pull away the thorny branches and release it. Or when it falls in a ditch, the shepherd can use the crook at the staff to pull the sheep back up to solid ground.

But the shepherd also uses his staff to guide and direct the sheep. He doesn’t do this by hitting them with it; rather, he lays the tip of the staff on the sheep’s side, and then he can gently apply pressure in the direction he wants to lead the flock. And in this way, the sheep are comforted because they don’t have to guess which direction to go.

Other times, a shepherd may simply lay his staff against the side of one of his sheep to remind it that he is near. They may walk this way for quite some time, like a parent holding a child’s hand.

In the same way, as we journey through this dark valley covered in the shadow of the coronavirus, we need the reminder of our Shepherd’s presence more than ever. And we get that reminder through His Holy Spirit resting gently upon us. 

Our Father may be in Heaven, but He has not left to walk alone. He has given us His Spirit to walk with us. Jesus himself told us that God’s Spirit would be our comforter and guide as we journey through this sin-scarred world. 

It is God’s Spirit who guides us through the messiness of life, gently, lovingly whispering in our ear, “come this way,” or “you don’t want to go down that path.” And when our hearts get tangled in the thorns of fear and discouragement, it is God’s Spirit who reminds us that we are not alone and begins to pull the barbs away so that we can regain our footing. 

But the presence of God's Spirit does more than simply help us get through. He reminds us of our identity as God's beloved children. The Apostle Paul recognized this when he wrote:

"For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children." (Romans 8:14-16) 

We live in a world that constantly demands we prove our value in order to be accepted, that we DO something praiseworthy in order to BE loved. But God's Spirit reminds us that we ARE loved just as we are, that we already have immeasurable value, and that our Father has accepted us just as we are. 

Because of the Spirit's presence in our life, when we look to our Shepherd for help in our time of distress, we don't need to fear that He is disgusted by our weakness or disappointed by our neediness. Instead, we can take comfort in the fact that He views us as His beloved children. In fact, we can call Him our Abba, our Daddy, which is without a doubt the most intimate name of God found anywhere in scripture. And since He's our Abba, we can come just as we are and find comfort in His embrace. 

So as you stumble through this trying time, along unfamiliar and treacherous terrain, know that you are not walking alone. Your Shepherd is right beside you. Or to be more specific, His Spirit is within you, comforting and encouraging you to keep going. You can ignore His consolation and resist His guidance, but why would you want to?

Let this be your prayer:
Holy Spirit, thank you for being my comforter and guide as I walk through this painful valley. I need the constant reminder that I'm not walking alone. I pray that you would help me to hear your gentle, quiet voice above the cacophony of my circumstances. Moreover, I pray that you would give me the faith to trust what you tell me. I need you now more than ever. Amen. 

The One Who Defends and Disciplines Us 

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil for you are with me; 

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” 

(Psalm 23:4) 

As I reflect on the broken path we find ourselves in this season, we truly are walking through a dark valley. The shadows cast by the unfamiliar terrain and the uncertainty each day brings could easily hide predators who have the ability to cause us great harm: COVID-19, financial hardship, bored children.

However, as we saw in the last devotional, we can find comfort in the fact that our Shepherd is right here with us. Not only has He led us into this uncomfortable place, but He calmly walks at our side as we pass through it. But, according to David’s psalm, our Shepherd doesn’t walk empty-handed.

When shepherds in David’s day were out in the field with the sheep, they would carry two items: a rod and a staff. This morning, we are going to focus on the rod.

The rod was similar to a security-guard’s night stick. It was a small club that is was easy to swing or throw. When a predator would threaten the flock, a shepherd would use it to defend the sheep. But a shepherd wouldn’t use it solely to chase off predators. The rod was also used to correct unruly or foolish sheep.

As Phillip Keller, shepherd and author of A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23, explains, “If the shepherd saw a sheep wandering away on its own, or approaching poisonous weeds, or getting too close to danger of one sort or another, the club would go whistling through the air to send the wayward animal scurrying back to the bunch.”

So the rod was used both for defense as well as discipline. And its presence in the shepherd’s hands brings the sheep comfort.

You might wonder how discipline can be comforting. Consider these words from Hebrews 12:

“My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when He rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and He chastens everyone He accepts as his child. Endure hardship as discipline. God is treating you as His children.” (Hebrews 12:5-7)

So the discipline we go through is a sign of God’s acceptance and love for us as His children. But His discipline isn’t primarily punitive in nature, but rather formative. The author of Hebrews continues:

“God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in His holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:10-11)

This season is painful. None of us would choose what we’re going through, and yet it has the potential to produce real spiritual growth in us if we are willing to lean in and trust our Shepherd. 

Admittedly, we could get mad at Him for allowing us to walk through this dark valley, and we’ll get nothing but out of this time but bitterness and disillusionment. 

Or we could fix our eyes on our shepherd and choose to trust Him as we walk with Him through it. If we do, then this season can produce a bountiful harvest of spiritual fruit in our lives: love for God and for those around us, joy and peace in the midst of uncertain circumstances, patience when things don't go as planned, and a greater sense of intimacy with our Heavenly Father to name a few. 

I don’t know about you, but it seems like an easy choice to me.


Father God, you are my Shepherd, and I trust you. I don’t like this painful place I find myself in right now, but I find comfort in the fact that you are with me in it. I’m grateful for the reminder that you defend me and you discipline me for my own well-being. Help me to keep my eyes fixed on you, and use this time to help me grow. Jesus, in your name I pray, Amen.

Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil for you are with me.” (Psalm 23:4)

If there is one metaphor in scripture that aptly describes this season we find ourselves in, it’s “the valley of the shadow of death.” Every time I open up my news feed, I see the ever-growing numbers of infected and dead around our nation and world. The only number rising faster is the unemployment rate, as schools and businesses shut up shop for the duration of this pandemic. This cannot help but take a toll on us. In fact, last week, two people from my church community were hospitalized for chest-pains, only to find out that it wasn’t a heart attack, but rather anxiety-induced stress. We truly are walking through a dark valley shrouded in death.

Now, the very name suggests that these valleys are places that we never want to find ourselves, and yet there is a reason why the Good Shepherd would lead his flock through them. As we discussed in my previous post, sheep are habitual creatures and will remain in a familiar area even if the grass is gone and the water is polluted. So a good shepherd will often lead his sheep towards better grazing areas. And the valleys are the most natural passage ways from one grazing area to the next. After all, why pick your way along a rocky hilltop when you can walk through the valley?

But David’s description suggests that these valleys are not comfortable places for the sheep. Not only are the unfamiliar territory, but the shadows could be hiding deadly predators who are waiting to tear the sheep apart.

We, too, find ourselves in unfamiliar territory, and the constant barrage of news articles and social media posts warn us of a merciless virus prowling our streets, lurking on doorknobs and flat surfaces, and possibly even floating on the breeze. It’s no wonder we’re fearful.

When sheep find themselves in the dark valley, they have a couple choices: they can run from it, trying to get out of that place as quickly as possible, leaving the shepherd behind in their attempts to reach safety. Or they can draw closer to the shepherd’s side, finding their comfort and confidence in his presence.

In verse 4, David declares his choice: “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me!” In other words, he trusts his shepherd more than he fears the lurking predators. And he knows that he is safest when he is close by his shepherd’s side.

We find ourselves in one of the darkest, most foreboding valleys in our lifetimes. We don’t know what tomorrow holds, let alone next month. And I suspect that many of us are tempted to bolt from this present reality. But while we don’t know where we’re headed, our Shepherd does, and He’s not afraid of COVID-19 or any other evil that stalks this sin-scarred planet.

So while this valley where we find ourselves is painful to be in – and it is – we are right where we need to be because our Shepherd is with us, and He knows where He’s taking us. So fear not, for you do not walk through this valley alone.

Father God, we confess that we are afraid. We don’t like being here in this dark valley, and we want to get out as quickly and painlessly as possible. And yet, as much as we fear this place, we trust you more. So we choose, here and now, to follow your lead and allow you to set the pace. We choose to remain at your side. Amen.

THE DONKEYS PERSPECTIVE OF PALM SUNDAY

The following story is inspired by Matthew's telling of the Triumphal Entry (Matthew 21:1-11)

******

It was an uncharacteristically busy morning in the usually peaceful village of Bethphage. The town was situated on a hillside that people referred to as the Mount of Olives, and it overlooked the sprawling city of Jerusalem. It wasn’t much of a destination. Nobody said, “Let’s go to Bethphage for the weekend.” It was just the final rest stop for pilgrims on their way to worship at the Temple in Jerusalem. 

But for Simon the donkey, it was home.

He lived here with his mom and their owner. Simon was still young, just a colt really, though he didn’t see himself that way. After all, he was almost a year old! Why, before long his owner would be riding him into the city to get supplies, he just knew it.

But today, Simon was distracted by the number of people walking along the road, heading into Jerusalem. He asked his mother what was going on.

“That’s right, this is your first Passover,” she brayed to her son. “Every year at this time, people head into the city for a great feast to celebrate the time God saved His people. It must be that time again.”

Simon grew excited. He’d heard of the Passover, the greatest feast day of the year, but this was his first time getting to experience it firsthand. In his curiosity, Simon began to wander towards the road so he could watch the pilgrims passing by. As he drew closer, he began to overhear bits of their conversations, and all of them seemed to be talking about the same thing: apparently some Rabbi named Jesus had raised a guy from the dead one village over. That must have been quite a sight. Simon wished he could have been there to see that. In his excitement to hear more, he began to follow a group of pilgrims down the road eavesdropping on their conversation as they went.

Suddenly, he heard the gruff voice of his master behind him. “There you are, you naughty donkey.” 

Busted! 

Simon hung his head in embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time he’d wandered off. But what did they expect? He was curious and the world was so much larger than his little village!

Simon’s owner led him back home, and then tied both Simon and his mother to a hitching post to ensure that the little donkey wouldn’t wander off again. Simon tried to look properly sorry for getting them both in trouble, but his mind was preoccupied with the thought a man who could raise people from the dead.

The day passed quickly with Simon lost in his thoughts, until his daydreaming was interrupted by a couple men in dusty robes who were walking down the street towards him. They must have been pilgrims, because Simon had never seen them before.

“There it is, just as the master told us,” one of the men said to the other. Then they boldly walked up to Simon and began to untie him. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Simon’s owner yelled.

“The Lord Jesus is coming and he sent us ahead to get a colt for him to ride,” one of the men replied. Surprisingly, Simon’s owner complied. Apparently, he had also heard the rumors of this Jesus, who had the power to raise the dead. He even sent Simon’s mother along in case Simon wasn’t strong enough to carry Jesus. But Simon knew he would be. He was almost a year old, after all.

The men led Simon and his mother out to the road, where a ragtag group of men and women were waiting. One of them threw a cloak over Simon’s back and then another of the pilgrims, a man who didn’t look all that different from the rest, climbed on.
This must be the Rabbi that everybody was talking about, though he didn’t look all that special to Simon.

The group began to make their way down the Mount of Olives and across the Kidron valley, heading towards one of the gates into Jerusalem. Simon and his mother were in the lead. As they drew near, crowds began to whisper, “It’s him.” “Here he comes.”
Simon was surprised that they even noticed him. After all, this was the first time he’d been out of his village.

One of the pilgrims ripped a palm frond from a nearby tree and laid it on the ground in front of Simon. Then another followed suit. Still others began to lay their cloaks down on the ground in front of him. And all the while, the crowds began to shout, “Hosanna.” “Hosanna in the Highest!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Simon didn’t know what those words meant, but he knew they were directed towards him. 

Simon was amazed at this unexpected welcome. He knew he was special - his mom had always told him so - but never in his wildest daydreams would he have expected this sort of reception! The crowd of onlookers grew larger and larger as Simon and his mother made their way into the gates of Jerusalem. Each step he took was upon a cloak or palm frond that had been laid at his feet, and all-the-while he was showered with the cries of “Hosanna!” He could get used to this.

The sun was setting as Simon and his entourage made their way into the city. When they came to the temple, Jesus promptly slid off of his back and the group of pilgrims made their way inside while Simon and his mother were led into the nicest stable he’d ever been in. 

Ok, it was the only stable he’d ever been in, but who’s keeping track. He and his mother spent the night there, though Simon barely slept– he was just too excited.

In the morning, he was up before the first rooster crowed. He couldn’t wait to bask in the adoration of the people again. 

Shortly after first light, Simon’s owner came to collect him. Simon was surprised his owner didn’t sing his praises, but perhaps he was just waiting until they got home.

As they made their way through the streets of Jerusalem and out the city gate, Simon waited to hear people shout, “Hosanna,” but the cries never came.

They crossed the Kidron Valley and began to make their way up the Mount of Olives, passing pilgrims along the way, but for some reason none of them stopped to lay a cloak or palm branch on the dusty road in front of them.

“They must not know who I am,” Simon thought to himself. “Just wait ‘til I get home! The villagers must be preparing to throw me a welcome-home party.”

But as they entered Bethphage, nobody looked up from their morning tasks.
Nobody so much as waved at him. 

Simon’s heart was filled with confusion and disappointment, but he did his best to hold it in. After all, he was almost a year old…and he was kind of a big deal.

His owner led him and his mother back to the hitching post and tied them up again. Now, maybe it was the familiarity of being home, or the indignity of being treated like a common donkey, but Simon could no longer hold his emotions in check.

He began to cry.

“What’s wrong, my son?” his mother asked.

“I don’t get it,” Simon replied, salty tears rolling down his dusty cheeks. “Yesterday, everybody loved me. Today it’s like they don’t even see me. What did I do wrong?”

His mother smiled as she comforted her son. “Oh, my child,” she whispered in his ear, “you did nothing wrong. But you misunderstood. 
It was never about you.”

HE LEADS ME ALONG THE RIGHT PATHS

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 

He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake.

One of the most unexpected and widespread effects of the ongoing crisis has been the disruption of our daily routines. Seemingly overnight, all the rhythms of our lives were thrown out of the window, and many of us (myself included) have struggled to adjust.

It makes me think about something I read in Phillip Keller’s book, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23. According to Keller, who spent years working as a shepherd, “sheep are notorious creatures of habit. If left to themselves, they will follow the same trails until they become ruts; graze the same hills until they turn to desert wastes; pollute their own ground until it is corrupt with disease and parasites.” (p.83)

If this continues unchecked, the sheep will grow increasingly anxious and restless as they become malnourished and sickly. So a good shepherd doesn’t leave the sheep to fend for themselves. Instead, he leads them along new paths into fresh fields and to clean watering holes so that the sheep can find true nourishment and rest. He doesn’t lead them aimlessly; he knows where He wants to take them.

Of course, the sheep aren’t always excited about leaving the comfort of their familiar foraging grounds. Sometimes the paths the shepherd leads them along are rocky and treacherous, but when the sheep trust their shepherd more than they fear the unknown, then they will discover that their shepherd knows what they need far better than they do.

I suspect a lot of us can identify with sheep. If left to our own inclinations, we will choose the comfort of familiarity to the discomfort of the unknown. Many of us have been doing the same routines, walking the same paths day after day, year after year. And then we wonder why we find ourselves walking in ruts, or why the same amount of effort produces less and less growth.

For anyone who’s ever tried to get in shape, it’s like doing the same exercise over and over. What starts out as challenging and strenuous can quickly become routine and boring. So, like a good personal trainer, God will change up the routine, challenging our spiritual muscles in different ways that will elicit greater growth. He will lead us to new, fresh pastures. He will allow us to go through experiences that remind us that He’s in control, we’re not. And He will ask us to trust His lead. Sound familiar? I suspect that your faith is getting a good work out right about now, huh?

We have the best of Shepherds, and He often leads us away from our familiar ruts, along new paths, to new grazing grounds. But He doesn’t just do it for our well-being. He also does it as a testimony of his competency.

“He leads me along the right paths for His name's sake.”

You see, a shepherd’s reputation is tied directly to the state of his flock. If the flock suffers, which happens when the sheep are left to fend for themselves, it reflects negatively upon the shepherd. And when the sheep flourish, when they grow strong and healthy, the shepherd’s reputation also flourishes. Our spiritual well-being is actually a testimony of God’s capability; it’s a sign both to us and to others, that our Shepherd knows what He’s doing with us.

I am well aware of how disruptive this season of self-isolation is for most of us. All of our rhythms have been thrown out the window and we may feel lost. But sometimes that’s exactly what we need in order to continue spiritually growing and thriving. Our shepherd knows this. So He invites us to follow Him out of the familiar, out of the places where we can rely on muscle memory and slip into autopilot for weeks on end.

What’s more, He knows where He’s leading us, even if we don’t. We may resist following, for fear that we’re going the wrong way, but what makes the paths we're walking "right" is that He is with us, leading the way. So long as we remain at our Shepherd’s side, it won’t matter whether our path runs through a green pasture or a dark valley, because He is with us, guiding and comforting us along the way.

So Jesus lead on. We will follow. We invite you to disrupt our rhythms, frustrate our independence, motivate us to move, and guide us where you want us to go. We are your flock, the people of your pasture, so take us where you want us to go. Amen.