Acedia: The Noonday Demon

Posted on September 23, 2026 by Mark

Welcome to my suburban hermitage. Recent thunderstorms have left the grass green and trees lush even though the temperatures are high, so I can’t call myself a desert father in the making. I am, however, battling the same demons the desert fathers encountered.

Retirement, caring for Teckla, and moving from long-time friends in Oregon have combined to empty out our days. We go to church on Sunday morning and sometimes to soccer games, Saturday morning, and then to the store twice a month. Most days pass without us seeing anyone. Occasionally we walk over and get hugs from the grandkids a couple blocks away.

Each morning, Teckla and I read Scripture aloud, sing songs, and pray together. Then I settle in and read until a late lunch around two. Then I will pray for 10 or 15 minutes and try to do some writing. We weave some walks into the day if the heat is bearable. In the evening we eat something light, watch some TV. I try to conclude the day with a few minutes of prayerful self-examination and thanksgiving. Because of the care Teckla now needs this rule must be more flexible than a monastery.

This routine is not anything close to a Benedictine Rule or the ascetic practices of Desert Fathers, but it is enough of a rule to attract what has been called the noon day demon—acedia. No one word captures fully all the dimensions of acedia, but they include boredom, emptiness, apathy, restlessness, and melancholy. Later clerics make acedia a child of sloth. More modern writers like Sartre might call it nausea or ennui.

The fourth century desert father Evagarius Ponticus wrote the most about fighting acedia. He warns that we often fail to recognize the demon because of its disguises and because it attacks us at noon—not the dark hours of night. The restlessness it brings can be masked as a need to skip prayer so we can get things done. It is impatient with the slow process of spiritual formation through solitude, silence, prayer, and listening for God’s voice. Acedia asks, “When is the payoff?” In the bright light of noon, the invisibility of God is startling and discouraging. We are not hit by the presence of evil but by the emptiness of everything.

We are tempted in two contradictory ways. First, we long to flee prayer for novelty and distraction. This temptation is easy to recognize in ourselves and ever-present because of technology. A second temptation is to seek the novelty of a more extreme rule of devotion. We are bored with faithfully doing what God has asked of us and we long to do something more radical, more challenging—something that feels more like a real spiritual achievement. We want a humility worth bragging about.

This is not to say God never directs one to do radical or extreme things like long fasts, weeks of solitude, or whole nights in prayer. But we must be cautious about what (or who) it is that is calling us. Is it God or novelty? Is it faithfulness? Or our preening image of ourselves as radical followers of Jesus? One test in our media-soaked world is to ask ourselves if we will be content to never tell anyone about our extreme spiritual adventures. Can I resist the temptation to mention it in a blog post, so that my two dozen readers (bless you!) know how spiritual I am?

The first way to fight acedia is the simplest—just stay the course—keep doing what God has directed you to do. Avoid needing something new and different—refuse the addiction to novelty. Refuse to read another book about prayer instead of praying. Athletes and artists know that perseverance in the face of boredom is necessary to achieve excellence. We should bore the demon with our steadfast obedience. Bored demons leave.

A second way is to refresh our vision of Jesus. Most spiritual boredom comes from a dull familiarity with Jesus. We hit refresh by meditating on Scripture, especially the last supper and crucifixion of Jesus. When we fail to see, we fail to love. A clear vision of Jesus as the perfect revelation of God’s love yanks our eyes off our selves makes us marvel at the goodness of God. The Lord’s Supper does this when we give God our full attention. Love cures boredom. Many old married couples like Teckla and I know that it is hard to get bored with each other when you are passionately in love. Being together is enough.

A third way to fight acedia is to fully embrace our identity as children of God and joint heirs with Christ. The meek do inherit the earth. In the coming age and full breaking in of the kingdom of God, we will reign with Christ. Acedia often invites us to sink into our animal life of comfort and pleasure. Thomas Aquinas calls it faint-heartedness. Acedia distracts from our call to greatness in God’s kingdom. It is like Israel’s refusal to enter the promised land and lay hold of all God’s promises. For us, it is often apathy about possessing the fruit and gifts of the Holy Spirit. The cure is our “Yes!”  to all God has called us to be.

The most effective weapons against acedia will vary because this demon attacks us where we are the weakest. Acedia knows which mask to wear. We can sink into passivity and call it our surrender to the sovereignty of God. We can shrink back from God’s call and call it humility. Our sloth can be called “waiting upon the Lord.”

I have been mightily helped by quiet explosions of wonder as I walk through the woods and meadows of Kansas. The verdant fecundity of late summer as the oaks, hickories, and sycamores spread over the creeks testifies to the extravagance of God—life abundant in myriad shades of green. Virginia creeper and wild grape stitch the canopy together as the pawpaws sag heavy in the understory. Butterflies dance in the sun that slips through the leaves. Even at noon, praise Him.

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Sighs to Songs

Posted on September 13, 2026 by Mark

My Dad was a wood carver and had an assortment of knifes and chisels—even a few carving knives he made out of old straight razors. He also had a good collection of sharpening stones, his favorites being the Arkansas stones. These stones come in different colors, but Dad’s were jet black and smooth to the touch, so smooth you wondered why they could sharpen anything. These stones are called finishing stones, the ones you use after the coarser stones have created the bevel. Arkansas stones take off the little burs and slight irregularities your eye can’t see. They “set” the edge.

These days, late if not deep, into my walk with Jesus, I have found St. Ignatius prayers of Examen to be the spiritual version of Dad’s Arkansas stones. These are prayers of self-examination usually done before bed. It is simply presenting the good, bad, and ugly of your day before God. Thanking God for the blessings small and big. Asking forgiveness for the sins. And then giving time and room for God to comment on your day. Sometimes God draws my attention to something I need to do differently tomorrow.

For instance, the other evening I prayed Psalm 139:23-24:

Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me and know my anxious thoughts. And see if there is any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way.

It had been a hard day. Much of the day was spent putting back things Teckla had moved from one place to another. She had moved some spreading thyme seedlings I was growing and spilled dirt on the floor and turned a couple seedlings upside down. I also had to go through the trash to make certain Teckla hadn’t thrown anything valuable away. There are some things I still haven’t found.

I had thought I had done well because I had not directed any frustration or weariness toward Teckla. Usually, I said nothing. But the day was punctuated with a long string of heavy sighs. And not just any kind of sigh—the “put upon” and exasperated kind. As far as I could tell, Teckla took no notice of my sighs. But God was clear these sighs were a “hurtful” way”. I felt challenged not only to hold my “sigh”, but in those moments of weariness to thank God for these days with Teckla.

I imagine that at different times and with different people, prayers of self-examination could be a chainsaw, rasp, or file. God will make it what needs to be. But it has been a means of grace and a way of transformation for me.

I understand that heavy sighs may seem a small thing, like bur removed by an Arkansas stone, but it’s removal has changed my days. It has changed chores into a privilege and my sighs into songs.

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I Forgive You, Mrs. Ferguson

Posted on August 18, 2026 by Mark

“Who knows this word?” asked Mrs. Ferguson as she looked at the faces of kids in reading group one. I was in reading group two and was not supposed to be paying attention to the word she had written on the board. But none of the kids knew the word “pretty,” probably because we pronounced it “purdy.” I blurted out, “It’s pretty!” Mrs. Ferguson was furious and hissed at me to turn around.

Another time I was goofing off while waiting in line to go to recess. Mrs. Ferguson thumped me hard in the head and then lectured me on how shameful my behavior was and how the son of a teacher ought to behave better. My mother taught 4th grade at the same school. For some reason, I burst into tears and yelled, “That’s not fair.” I can’t remember exactly what I thought was not fair, but saying that I was an embarrassment to Mom seemed low and dirty.

I was in reading group two all of third grade. In fourth grade I was redeemed by Cheryl’s blue eyes and bright blond hair. On the wall was a poster with each of our names and stars in each box for every book we read. Despite Mrs. Ferguson, I read well and easily. I desperately wanted my stars to be right out there with Cheryl who was, I thought, the cutest girl around. I read like crazy to win the reading contest. Tragically, Cheryl never noticed. She did, however, kick me in the head at recess one day. I can’t remember why and I may have deserved it. It turned out she could be mean.

At the end of the fourth grade, we all took state mandated achievement tests. In those days neither the parents nor the students were told how they had done on the tests. But since my mother taught the other fourth grade class at the school, she saw all my scores. I was a happy boy, a free-range kid who climbed trees, waded creeks, caught snakes, and built forts. School was not a major concern. I was surprised when Mom took me aside and showed me how well I had done on the tests. I vaguely remember her pointing to some scores in the nineties.

But it was too late. Probably because I am lazy, I clung to my identity as a kid in reading group two. I was off the hook. Since I was a C and B kid, no one should, I thought, expect me to get A’s. Even worse and more addicting, I discovered I could get C’s and B’s without working much at all. I had no ambition to prove Mrs. Ferguson wrong. Her words may have been a curse, but I embraced the label as a blessing that took away any pressure to get good grades.

For the next eight years, the word “potential” kept cropping up on report cards. I partly blame my parents for my low level of academic achievement. They were wonderful and made me feel completely loved and accepted just as I was. They never made me feel that I needed to be more or do more to be loved by them. I never had to scramble to get their approval. When I really needed some neurosis to help me achieve, my parents failed me gloriously.

I graduated from high school with C+ average. I did almost no homework in high school. If I couldn’t do it during study hall or during class, I did not do it. In Myrtle Point if you didn’t go to college, you worked in the woods as a logger or pulled green-chain in the mills. Both my parents and my two older brothers had graduated from college, but I doubted I could make it in college. Mom and Dad convinced me to try one year of college.

It was not the fear of the Lord but rather the fear of flunking that helped me. I did something new—homework. Again, I was helped by a girl, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I met Teckla in the cafeteria the first week of college. It turned out that she studied in the library from 7:00 to 10:00 every evening. To my surprise, I found myself on the same floor of the library with all my textbooks not far from Teckla.  

My first semester I got three A’s and one B. I was amazed, but my parents weren’t. They were pleased, of course, but had always believed I could do better. For the next two years, I would always choose one class to get a B in because I could not imagine myself as a person who got straight A’s. Finally, I said to myself, “This is stupid. Why not get all A’s?” So, I did. I graduated with a 3.75 GPA and did well enough on my Graduate Record Examination to get accepted into Washington State College’s graduate school. I was also awarded a graduate teaching assistantship that paid for all my graduate work.

It took a while, but I finally got out of reading group two. I have repented of my sloth, and I have forgiven Mrs. Ferguson. I discovered as a college professor, that lots of kids have been told lies about who they are or aren’t. Early in my teaching career, I was walking around the classroom handing back essays I read. I stopped before one young girl, and said, “You don’t think this. But you are smart.” She burst into tears and said, “My father always called me “stupid.” We are still friends.

It is easier to recognize lies about us that are mean and ugly. But lies that are convenient instead of condemning are harder to identity, especially if you struggle with passivity rather than ambition. I could disguise my laziness as modesty. I was comfortable and at home in reading group two. And I think this is key, staying in reading group two was safe and risk free. What if I tried to get A’s and failed? I certainly had more anxiety in college, but it was the kind that made me study more, learn more, and eventually leave group two forever.

It is important for us to reject every lie spoken over us and repent over every way we made use of the lie. I am now content to let my identity be hidden with Christ in God as Paul says in Colossians 3:3. It is enough to know I am deeply loved by my heavenly Father and that He delights in me becoming who He created me to be. I almost 73, but I am letting God put on his finishing touches.  

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Love Walks With

Posted on July 27, 2026 by Mark

Teckla and I walk a lot. It used to be on the beaches of Oregon. Here it is usually on suburban sidewalks, occasionally on the park trails through scraps of woodland and prairie. In town we walk hand in hand, mostly for the sweetness of it, but also to avoid falling hard if one of us stumbles.

Because we have walked together so long and so much, Teckla and I usually hit a pace that works well. But the other day, I was puzzled and annoyed. Teckla was going slower than usual, and I felt like I was pulling her along. Despite me helpfully pointing out to her that she needed to walk a little faster, she plodded along at the same slow pace.

Perhaps stopping and stretching and then starting again at a faster pace would help, I thought. But no. I still felt as though I was dragging her along, like a teacher pulling a kid down the hall to the principal’s office. None of my exhortations to pick up the pace yielded more speed. Worst of all, my tugging her along made it more likely she would stumble or fall.

It is probably a sign of spiritual immaturity that in times like these I have to ask myself, “What would love do?” But I asked this question, partly of myself and partly of God. Immediately the answer came: “Love walks with.” I immediately slowed to Teckla’s pace, and we had an enjoyable walk.

The phrase “Love walks with” has echoed in my heart for days. I have thought about how it is a key to being a good father—walking with our kids instead running ahead and making them chase after our success and our love. As a father and grandfather, I walked bent over to hold the hand of a toddler carefully matching my steps to his.

I thought how the best husbands and wives walk with their spouses as they struggle to mature and become more like Jesus. There is no exasperated sigh or roll of the eyes, just encouragement and loving presence. (Thank you, Teckla!)

I also thought of the pastors who know their sheep and walk with them. They take time to explain how to get from A to B instead of scolding the people for not being where they should be. Instead of projecting an image of unattainable spirituality, they are transparent and travel the road to maturity with their sheep. As with Teckla, tugging people faster than their pace makes falling more likely. Or pastors just stop holding hands and let the distance grow between them and their flock. I am blessed to have had many pastors who have walked with me.

Most of all, I think of Jesus who laid aside his glory to put on flesh, so he can walk with us. When we fall in love with Jesus, we discover his burden is light and his pace is perfect.

Love walks with.

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Through Why to What

Posted on July 24, 2026 by Mark

Although I am by no means an intellectual, I do question everything and think deeply about my beliefs. By temperament, I am skeptical, which is both a blessing and a curse. But in my relationship with God, I have found my willingness to ask honest questions a real help.

We often make the mistake of not taking their biggest and most troubling questions directly to God. In counseling folks, I have often listened to people recite all their doubts and questions about a tragedy. I then ask them, “Have you asked God these questions and then waited for an answer?” The answer is usually “No.”

When faced with an unexpected tragedy, incurable disease, or crushing disappointment, our broken hearts cry out, “Why God?” But this cry, especially at first, is often more a complaint, or even an accusation, than a question we expect God to answer. When our complaint is based on the promises of God, God hears us. It is, however, important to move beyond complaint to asking God our thorniest questions directly.  

The reasons we avoid asking the big questions vary. First, we may live in, or have grown up in, a religious culture that regards unquestioning obedience as the highest value. Asking God questions are tantamount to challenging God—or talking back. However, reading Job and many of the Psalms shows us God is not offended by our questions and can handle our doubts. We can ask, “Why?”

Perhaps an even more common reason is that we don’t think God will answer. Even those of us who regularly talk to God, often don’t expect God to talk to us. We have low expectations for two-way communication. And we evangelicals often don’t expect to talk to an actual person on the heaven’s helpline and instead look in the Bible for the for the FAQs that address the cry of our heart.

A perhaps odd reason for not asking God is the sense that there is nothing new about our questions. People ask why about every tragedy, terrible scandal, or crushing disappointment and few people every come back and share an answer. It is not as though after thousands of years of asking why, God is going spill the beans to me! Nonetheless, it is important, I believe, to ask God our biggest questions—the especially the ones that threaten to derail us.

For example, much of my life has been shaped by the quest to see God moving in His people in power and holiness. Since I was sixteen and got baptized in the Holy Spirit, I have sought to see the church proclaim the message of the kingdom and do the works of the kingdom. Fifty years later many churches are drifting into secular humanism—embracing “a form of godliness but denying it power” (II Timothy3:15). On the other hand, charismatic churches have been deluged with scandals that cause many to question both the fruit and the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes it seems like God’s kingdom is going instead of coming.

So, I have asked God, why? The response I got was my mind being flooded with a list of variables: God’s timing, people’s responses, preparation for revival, need for unity. We also need humble leaders who can steward the power and presence of God’s kingdom. People need the vision and the courage to defy a culture of unbelief and rationalism. This was not merely a list of ingredients in a recipe; it is holy chemistry because all these ingredients interact with one another. Oh, we need new wineskins too.

In my prayer time, I had no sense that God was annoyed by my why questions. What God could explain, He did. Where the answer depended on myriad variables, God simply said, “This is beyond your understanding.” I felt God saying, “Mark, even if I wanted to explain the complexity of all these things, there is no way you could understand how all these variables work together. Can you leave the why and when to me? Ask me, ‘What now?”

The key to getting unstuck spiritually has been for me to ask, “What now?” God seems quick to answer this question. I don’t know why so few people are healed, but I know I ought to keep praying for the sick. I don’t know why there is so little prophecy that builds up the church and draws people closer to God, but I will keep listening for God’s voice. 

I still do not know all the reasons my son Peter tumbled into sin and addiction. What should we have done differently? So many variables: genetics, environment, decisions, friends, identity crisis, parenting, spiritual inheritances, and more. Why were all the promises about Peter turning to ashes? All God would tell us was, “Love, him.” So, we did, to the very end. When hammering heaven with questions after Peter died, I cried out, “But God, I loved Peter.” God’s reply to me was a gentle as a dove, “I loved him first.” This answer did not address all my questions about causes and effects, but it answered the question I needed answered. God had been, and still is, with me.

I have asked God why He has not answered my prayer and Teckla’s prayer, that she would not have dementia. Because I have always felt keenly how much God loves Teckla, I had assured her that God would not allow her to suffer with dementia. I have no answer to why God has allowed this. I asked God, “Should I stop praying for her healing?” I felt strongly that I needed to keep praying for her healing even though I had no promise healing would come. I have surrendered my why for a what.

If we live in a bramble patch of “whys”, we stay stuck—unable to move forward with God. Every pastor has encountered traumatized people who have been stuck for years after a tragedy or terrible disappointment. They may have grown bitter, they may have grown timid, or they become paralyzed by fear of the future.  If we simply ask, “What now?” we find God is specific enough to keep us moving, loving, and growing. However, I don’t think we can skip the “Why?” but rather should move through our why questions into “What now?” If we try to shoulder aside all the why questions, they often crouch like gargoyles in the corners of hearts stealing our joy and purpose.

Living with the “What now?” foremost in our heart frees us from fear. Past trauma can easily make us cringe and hunker down in fear of the future. Too much concern for the past or the future can blind us to the present—and the present is only gift we can really give to God.

Everyone moves from why to what at different speeds. For some it may take weeks, for others years. And we may often find that answers to our deepest questions come in installments and are answered by life itself rather than special revelation. What is important is that we are moving and Jesus walks beside us.

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And Proven Character, Hope

Posted on July 9, 2026 by Mark

For years I have been puzzled by the logic of this sequence in Romans 5:3. Here Paul lists what a right response to tribulations will bring:

And not only this, but we exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

This all makes sense to me until we get to “proven character” leading to hope. I would have put hope before perseverance. We endure and persevere because of the “hope of glory” mentioned in the previous verse. Isn’t hope what keeps us going? But I think, after a boatload of tribulations, I understand the sequence.

When we see God changing us, we have hope for the everyone else and the world. And there is nothing that makes us more certain of our own transformation than persevering in the midst of tribulation. When we are tested and remain steadfast, we know God’s grace has changed us. It is hard to hope when you are stuck in the same old swamp of sin, disobedience, and unbelief. But when we hold fast to our faith through storms and disappointments, we will see ourselves as we are. Simultaneously,  we see that we are a flawed character who, nonetheless, possesses godly character.

Not long after I moved to Kansas, my spiritual director asked how I was doing spiritually. Trauma after trauma had rolled over my family, and I was ready to declare myself a complete disaster. I had earned the right to fall apart and didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to mope and explore the exquisite pains of bitterness and despair. I hadn’t done much drinking, so I wasn’t sure whether to begin with whisky or rum. (Pirates drink rum and cowboys whisky.) To my disappointment, I had to confess that I was doing fine. That God’s people had surrounded Teckla and me and helped us with extraordinary generosity and love.

So what I had done? I wrote verses on 3/5 cards, sang hymns with Teckla, and cried out to God even though He seemed absent and silent. I complained to God that it would be nice if we could talk friend to friend. In other words, I didn’t do much but bellyache and challenge God to keep his promises.  

But this is the wonderful thing about perseverance, it is more about the things you don’t do. I didn’t quit. I didn’t accuse God. I didn’t seek comfort in sin. I didn’t build walls, get bitter, or let my wounds give me a license to wound others. I didn’t get caught up in some kind of victorious hyper-spirituality to escape the pain of a son dying and wife fading. I just kept plodding along. But to my surprise, and perhaps to the surprise of everyone, all that trudging along after Jesus resulted in deep changes in my character.

It is, of course, hard to judge changes in your own character, but I see a couple things. First, I am almost completely unentangled from a transactional relationship with God where I do things for God so He will do things for me. I will not love God less if He does not answer my prayers. Nor will unanswered prayer provoke doubts about whether God sees and loves me. I have no insight into my usefulness to God, but I know that I love the Father, I love the Son, and I love the fire of the Holy Spirit burning joyfully in my heart. I know that—not much else.

 I don’t know more about God, but I think I know God better. In the struggle to keep my son alive, and Teckla and I free from cancer, I could not hear God—despite praying the Psalms every day. But persevering through God’s silence (or my inability to hear) has sensitized me to all the small and big ways God communicates. We are friends, of a sort.

Second, I can tell that my economy is different. Small acts of kindness, remembering others, calling others, and giving to others are big deals now. It is more important to be fully present to God and others. Doing small things and being grateful for small things transforms your daily life.

For instance, the other day I had to take Teckla home before Ari’s baseball game was over. Ari was in the dug-out with his team waiting his turn to bat. Seeing us heading out, he yelled, “Love you Grandpa, love you Grandma.”  His freedom to yell out his love in front of all his friends broke and healed my heart in the same moment. My heart and my days run on the economy of heaven—which is an economy of love.

Seeing these changes in me gives me hope because I know these changes are only the beginning of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. God takes more of me each day. I am learning to quiet myself and let the Holy Spirit fill me with hope that does not disappoint. I am no longer dithering about whether God loves me. I am changing and will keep changing until changed by His appearing.

And yet I still think hope helps us persevere through tribulation. It is a loop of spiritual growth. When perseverance changes our character, we have hope, and that hope then encourages us to keep persevering. Because we see the good that God can wring out even the worse tribulation, we see that our trials are not meaningless. We are on an ascending spiral of transformation into the likeness of Jesus.

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Turtle Rapture

Posted on June 27, 2026 by Mark

In my neighborhood rocks are regularly used to landscape yards, but as I looked out my window, one of the rocks moved slowly down my neighbor’s driveway. I walked across the street to get a look at this suburban miracle to discover a red-eared slider headed into a desert of concrete and lawns. I picked him up and moved him further back under the trees, but in twenty minutes he was back in the front yard of the house, so I decided he needed rescuing.

He was old and big for a red-eared slider. The red markings on the side of its head were now dark brown. Sliders are pond turtles, so this one was probably washed into the neighborhood through the big pipes that drain this development. He had descended and arisen from the bowels of suburbia. Now he ventured to cross a great expanse of lawn, cement, and townhouses.

I trotted back across the street and gently set Odysseus in a big shoe box. I took Herman to meet the grandchildren who delighted in him. Then Teckla and I drove to the pond near the cemetery. I set him in the mud near the edge. He paused and then slowly moved across the mud and sank beneath the duck weed of Ithaca Pond.

Turtles probably don’t smile, laugh, or sing, but Herman seemed full of joy when he resurfaced wearing a bright crown of duck weed—adorned in green glory. He was home. Odysseus was fully in his element, and all was right with his world. His sojourn through the great desert called Suburbia was over, and now he had song of redemption to sing. In the cold of a Kansas winter, asleep in the mud, he would dream of the hands that lifted him up and brought him home.   

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In the Land of the Living

Posted on June 23, 2026 by Mark

Because of multiple tragedies barging into my life and stumbling over each other, I have clung to the promises of God like a drowning man after a shipwreck. In the process, I have recognized that most of God’s promises, certainly the most important ones, are for the other side of grave. We are promised transformation into the glory of Jesus, eternal life, and our full adoption as sons and fellowship with God forever. This side of the grave we are promised our basic needs, fellowship with the Father and Son through the Holy Spirit, and baptism into the Body of Christ. We are cleansed of our sins, set free to love and obey Jesus, and given a taste of the first fruits of the kingdom of God.

That is enough. It is, in fact, an incredible tidal wave of God’s grace and goodness that should leave us dripping with gratitude, adoration, and picking seaweed out of our hair. Yet, the list of what is not promised includes some devastating things. We are not promised:

  • that our children will be saved
  • that those we love won’t have senseless catastrophic accidents
  • that we or loved ones will avoid debilitating diseases that slowly kill us or rob us of every memory—even our own name.
  • that we will always experience (feel) God’s presence and hear God’s voice.
  • that we will have a happy or even functional marriage

We are promised the fact but not the constant experience of His presence. So even if we are steadfast in our faith that He will never leave us or forsake us, like Job, we may experience what seems to be His absence.

My response to all God does not promise in this life has been to focus only on the promises in the resurrected life. I have also pursued His invitation to abide in His presence, and I am enjoying intimate fellowship with Him in the Spirit. Most of my petitionary prayers have fallen away, as I bask in His presence. And yet something is amiss. I have fully embraced a God who loves me and desires to fellowship with me, but I have quit believing in a God who does stuff for me or those I love. I dutifully go through my laundry list of prayers for family, friends, and pastors, but I don’t expect much. I even pray for Teckla’s dementia to go away, but I don’t think it will.

The result of my low expectations is a grim, cringy, realism. I wonder what terrible thing will happen next. I am so braced for the next tragedy that I focus only on God’s abiding love and the future hope of glory. Between now and glory, I don’t expect much—at least not much in response to my prayers. It is easy for me to reframe this as me maturing and making my relationship more about who God is instead of what He does. I have not, at least, built walls or drawn away from God. Because I love Him more and expect less, it is easy to disguise this as a deepening of my relationship with God.

God has called out my attempt to disguise unbelief as maturity. I am challenged by Psalm 27:13: “I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (NASB 1995). Although not all translations include “I would have despaired”, they all emphasize the importance of hoping to see God’s goodness in the land of the living—not just in eternity. So how do I do this? I don’t know, but here where I am beginning.

First, I live as much as possible in the moment. I want to be fully present, alive, and responsive to the goodness and beauty of each moment. I cannot spend my days counting my losses instead of my blessings. And once prudent planning for the future is in place, I must turn my attention to how God’s goodness is present today.

Second, I let go of my expectations of what the past ought to have been and what the future should be. I am suspicious of what leaders and pastors call “vision-casting”. Too often when a vision or goal is not realized, pastors either blame themselves or blame the people who refused to “buy into” the vision. I think a more biblical approach is to faithfully respond to Jesus’s call, “Follow me!” So, I am expecting to see God’s goodness in the land of the living, but I have no demands as to what His goodness must look like. These days I just tell God, “Surprise me!” I need to embrace God’s creativity and let the currents of His wisdom carry me to joy.

Third, I must simply accept that this life is an exhilarating and heartbreaking mix of grace and tragedy. And sometimes both come in bunches. I will marinade in God’s blessing and goodness without anxiously looking over my shoulder for the next tragedy. In Christ there is no cringing. I have traded my fearful “What next?” for quiet “What now?”

Fourth, I do what faith does—obey. Recently,I was complaining/confessing to God that much of what I do—pray for people to be healed, pray for revival, pray for the lost, write my blogs—I do out of obedience, not faith. God’s response brought me to tears, “Mark, your obedience is faith.” I guess I was expecting a rebuke.

Last, I need to recognize that like the sower in Christ’s parable, I can still joyfully sow the seed of God’s love and kingdom. The other day Teckla wandered out the door and little way up the street. I have alarms on the doors, so I quickly caught up to her. I did not scold her for taking off; we simply held hands and declared it was a good day for a walk. We paused for a moment to let a car back out but were then surprised when the driver pulled over and rolled down his window, asking, “What is the secret to a happy marriage?” For several minutes I explained that in our 47 years of marriage Teckla and I had put God first and trusted that if we sought first His kingdom, God would (and has) add all the other things. Before driving away, this young black man asked, “So the secret is to put God first?” I smiled and said, “Yep. But it isn’t really a secret.”

The young man’s name was Geo—meaning earth. I am always hesitant to assign spiritual meaning to events like this. At the very least, however, it seemed to be a call to expect good things from God while still on the earth. In the mix of muck and miracle God is present and His goodness abounds.

Why does it matter? I know of many who face things that make them feel like their life is over. Divorce or the death of a spouse can make a person feel this way.  Giving up everything we wanted to do in retirement was hard for Teckla and me. The death of a child can make you feel alone and abandoned by the God you trusted to protect your family. As important as it is for hope to be anchored in our Savior, and our transformation into His likeness, we must have hope for God to work in the land of the living. .

Psalm 142:5 says, “I cried out to Thee, O Lord; I said, ‘Thou art my refuge, My portion in the land of the living.’” Until I take my last breath, Jesus is my portion in Kansas. He is my hope in the land of the living. Give us this day our daily bread.

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The First Church of Unmet Expectations

Posted on June 5, 2026 by Mark

The other day my pastor declared that unmet expectations are part of the Christian life.  I muttered, “You’re not akiddin.” I saw a lot of gray-haired folks nodding to the pastor’s declaration. The longer you live, the bigger your pile of disappointments. 

My pastor was right; unmet expectations have been an issue since the beginning. Many of the disciples, perhaps especially Judas, expected Jesus to reveal himself as a king who would deliver Israel from the oppression of the Romans. Judas may have felt betrayed by Jesus. But it wasn’t just Judas. After his resurrection the disciples kept asking:

So, when they had come together, they began asking Him, saying, “Lord, is it at this time that You are restoring the kingdom to Israel?”  

Jesus answered them by saying that “the times and seasons” are all up to the Father and that they needed to wait for the Holy Spirit to come upon them in Jerusalem.

Scripture is filled with God violating people’s expectations by how and when He does stuff. Because we know how the stories end, it is hard for us to feel the profound disappointment that Joseph and Abraham experienced. Abraham and Sarah watch the years roll by without seeing the promised child. Joseph had a dream of his whole family bowing down before him and is then sold into slavery by his brothers. Slavery is discouraging enough, but when things were just beginning to look up, his master’s wife falsely accuses Joseph of attempted rape and has him thrown into the dungeon. Of course, this story ends well.

The promise of Canaan, and land of milk and honey, is tested. Famine drove the descendants of Abraham into Egypt where they were eventually made slaves of the Pharoah. I imagine the promise of Canaan made to Abraham seemed ridiculous after 400 years in Egypt. I wondered how many of those clinging to God’s promise died disappointed. In the 400 years between the Malachi and Matthew, I wonder how many thought, “Now is the time for the Messiah to come.” Even Anna and Simeon, mentioned in Luke, almost missed seeing and holding the Messiah. How many faithful prayed and fasted like Anna and Simeon but died without seeing the promise of Messiah come true?

We Americans love a good success story where gumption and determination win the day and the underdog is vindicated. That’s why the stories of the prophets are so disturbing. With suffering and sacrifice, they embody and boldly speak their messages of judgment and repentance, but the people still reject them. Jeremiah goes into captivity with people who refused God’s call to repentance. You can do everything right and still have everything go wrong. Isaiah, tradition says, was found hiding in a log and sawn in half. The prophets’ lives scour away all delusions that God is committed to our success story.

But even after we surrender to the truth that God’s ways are not our ways, and our times are not his times, we can still be plagued with unmet expectations. One reason is that we slip out of a personal relationship with God and into a transactional one. Often this slip is almost unconscious. Several times I have done hard things out of obedience to God’s leading. Although I never said it out loud, I expected my obedience to be rewarded with things going smoothly. For instance, Teckla and I adopted four boys and were dismayed at how difficult the teens years were. I know Christian couples who have been profoundly disappointed in how their marriage fell apart. A happy marriage was one of the things they expected following Jesus to guarantee.

Contributing to this transactional relationship with God is our tendency to selectively read Scripture. For instance, we all love the story of Acts 12 where Peter is broken out of jail by angel. However, the same chapter begins with “James the brother of John being killed with a sword.” Some apostles like Peter have amazing deliverances and others are killed. We tend to let the stories of miraculous deliverances ghost-write the narrative of our own lives. When the story goes astray into tragedy, we are left with unmet expectations. We will almost always choose the narrative of Joseph over the story of Jeremiah. The “good testimonies” that we spotlight in church reinforces the transactional expectation that if we pray, God will deliver us from our suffering.

For much of my life I have sought a New Testament expression of the church that returned to the purity and power of the early church. I have been disappointed. But honestly, I should have read my New Testament more carefully. Not only did Jesus warn of false prophets, apostles, and messiahs, but Paul tells the elders of the church of Ephesus: “I know this, that after my departure, savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock.” Paul warns that some from their own midst will rise up and draw many away. No one can read Paul’s letters to the church in Corinth and long for the “good ole days” of early church purity.  

Another source of unmet expectations, one I hate to mention, is revivalism and the conviction that if we prayer earnestly enough we will see a mighty move of God. Genuine revivals have swept through cities and across college campuses. And in hindsight, people can often point to handfuls of people who faithfully prayed for the revival. It is therefore natural to assume revival came because these “prayer warriors” engaged in prevailing prayer. But what if all your life you pray for revival and never see it?

The unmet expectations of revivalism are turned up a notch within the charismatic tradition. Added to the expectation of revival are prophetic messages about when, how, and where that move of God is going to take place. And there is a terrible temptation to use prophecies about the coming move of God to attract and keep people. When the prophesied time of the revival comes and goes, it is common for leaders to reframe the prophecy or declare that the prophecy did happen but “only in the heavenly realm and not yet in the earthly realm.” Some buy the re-framing and stay; others grow disillusioned and leave. 

My dad, grandfather, and great grandfather were all pastors who struggled through unmet expectations. Those who answer the call of God often expect God to use them mightily to build His kingdom. Often, the reality is a slog and grind with congregations full of opinions instead of the Spirit. Some churches become the graveyards of pastors who find resistance at every turn. In a conversation with my dad the summer before he died of cancer, he told me with tears in his eyes that his one regret was that he had never been part of a revival. At his memorial service I spoke from Hebrews 11 where it talks about those who did mighty things by faith and those who endured terrible things by faith. Our faith is expressed not just through the triumphant victories we see, but by our faithful obedience when we see only defeat.

Like my dad, I have been praying for revival all my life. In high school, I got a glimpse of it as the Jesus Movement traveled up the coast to Oregon. I have been in services where the presence of the Holy Spirit was tangible, but I have not seen a move of God that would change a city or a nation. At times I have been manipulated by those proclaiming that a mighty move of God was right around the corner. I am 72, but it could happen.

Nowhere have my expectations been as profoundly violated as with the death of my eldest son Peter. I had prophetic promises for him, some given me by God and others given by his birth grandmother. From his birth and to his death, I prayed the promises, despite his headlong pursuit of sin. I got the opposite of every promise. The miracle never came.

The Scripture that has helped me most is the story of David praying for his son’s life. Nathan tells David that his son conceived in his sin with Bathshebawill die. David lays on the ground, fasts and cries out to God for his son’s life.  Servants are surprised that when he is told his son has died, David gets up, cleans up, worships the Lord, and then goes to home to eat. When asked about this response, David said, “While the child was alive, I fasted and wept; for I said, ‘Who knows, the Lord may be gracious to me, that the child may live.’” David prayed for his son’s life even though he had a clear word from God that his son would die. Why?

David prayed not out of revelation of God’s will, but out of a revelation of His character. He knew God was gracious. He knew and had experienced the forgiveness of God. If I got tattoos, I would get a face tattoo saying, “Who knows?” Against all my discouragement with unanswered prayer and unmet expectations, I raise the battle cry, “Who knows?” I have become comfortable knowing God’s goodness, but not much else. God, it turns out is better than I expected in every way and loves me more than I can imagine.

So, I still pray. I pray every day for my three sons and their wives, their children—including Peter’s son, Ari. I still pray for revivals, perhaps adding my prayers to those of my mother and father. I pray for the sick, even though fewer get well than I expect. I pray for drug addicts I know in Oregon who seem hopeless cases. I pray through the cloud of unmet expectations that buzz around my head like gnats. 

Sometimes, I pray with almost no expectations. I have never heard of God healing anyone of dementia, so I quite directly asked God if I could quit praying for Him to heal Teckla. He said, “No.”  And then said nothing more about her. He didn’t promise to heal her or explain why I ought to keep praying. I complained to God that I was praying only out of obedience. His terse reply was, “Obedience is faith.”

It is important that the seeds we sow outnumber the ones that bear fruit. Every prayer and act of obedience is a seed of faith. I keep praying big, throwing seeds everywhere. None of this transactional, I am fat and happy in the love of God, certain of His goodness. Regarding everything else, “Who knows?”

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Teckla’s Holy Puttering

Posted on June 4, 2026 by Mark

These days Teckla is unable to do much. Reading has become impossible because she can’t keep her place on the page—and increasingly she simply doesn’t remember what the words represent. Conversations have disappeared, even though I still chatter away. Most of what we say is by touch.

Teckla is restless, endlessly puttering around putting things away. All her puttering flows from a heart shaped to love and serve. She will approach me while I am reading; and hand me a book—often a child’s book. Her eyes will be bright and full of love. I don’t always have the heart to tell her I don’t need that book. Sometimes, I just thank her and set book beside me. Sometimes I read a few pages aloud, even though that is not what she wanted.

During a meal, she must be persuaded to eat everything on her plate. She will say, “The kids may be hungry. Maybe you need more.” At the end of a meal, she is quick to take my plate and put it in the sink (or a bookcase).

Sometimes she is moving and displaying the books for aesthetic purposes. Books will appear propped up in chairs so the covers can be seen—sometimes with a stuffed bear or orangutan.

So, I spend part of each day following Teckla as she putters. I take books out of the refrigerator and breadbox. I remove the coasters from inside the Bible and hymnal and put them back on the coffee table.

When I finally find the salt and pepper in bathroom or the book I had been reading in the sock drawer, she will hear my heavy sigh and ask, “Are you okay?” She doesn’t remember my name, but her concern is as deep as the sky.

I found, in prayer, God is not sympathetic to my plight. First, he quietly pointed out that love is the riverbed in which her life flows even now. My riverbed is still being carved out, it seems.

I also complained to God that I tire of undoing what she has just done, thinking she is helping. Immediately, I knew this complaint had stepped in it. So, for my kids and all those who I have tried to help over the years, forgive me. And thank God that He has followed me like I follow Teckla. I hope all my puttering has been half as holy as Teckla’s.

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