We Remember Next week, when you walk into the sanctuary… you’re going to see shoes. One hundred sixty-eight pairs. But here’s the thing— they won’t just be placed there. They will be brought. By you. By all of us. From our homes. Small ones. Worn ones. Pairs that carry stories. Each one holding a life. We are remembering the 168 children and teachers killed in a bombing at a school in Iran— lives taken in a place that should have been safe. And we are choosing not to look awa

Even here, in the fragile pause, the light still holds I don’t know about you… but I’ve been paying attention this week. Not obsessively. Not glued to the screen. But enough to feel it. That sense that something important is hanging in the air. Because right now… we’re in a pause. The ceasefire talks between the U.S. and Iran didn’t land . No agreement. And yet—there’s still this short window. A two-week truce that runs out on April 22. And it feels like we’re living in that

Easter people—- There’s something about coming through Good Friday into Easter that never quite gets old. I’ve walked that road more times than I can count now. The shadows. The silence. The questions that hang in the air like fog. And then… the light. The name spoken. The surprise of life where we thought there was only loss. This year felt different. Maybe because I’m aware—more than ever—that this is one of my last Easter seasons in this role. I don’t want to overdo that,

A couple weeks ago, we took Sam’s in-laws out to the Olympic Peninsula. You know how it is when people come to visit from far away—you want to show them this place. Not just the postcard version, but the real thing. The moss. The water. The quiet that somehow feels older than you. We stood out at Ruby Beach with the waves rolling in, those massive rocks rising up out of the water like they’ve always been there—and always will be. And then we made our way into the Hoh Rain For

I thought joy came after the win. I’m not so sure anymore. Opening Day always does something to me. There’s a crack of the bat, the smell of the grass, the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this is the year everything comes together. And when it does? When the ball clears the fence? That’s my kind of joy. Touchdown joy. Home run joy. The kind that shows up when the result goes your way. I’ve lived a lot of my life there. And then there’s Julio Rodriguez. He plays the game like jo

Power doesn’t always look like power! There are a lot of ways to move through the world. You can push. You can force outcomes. You can try to bend the moment your way with enough strength, enough volume, enough control. That’s the way we’re taught. Be decisive. Be strong. Take control. And sometimes that works. But not always. I’ve been watching a baseball tournament this week—the World Baseball Classic—and it’s full of players who look like they were built for power. The kin

A Brady Bunch memory reveals the quiet tragedy of those who never chose the fight. I grew up sharing a bedroom with my two older brothers. Three boys in one room is not always the recipe for peace. One morning I woke up to the sound of them fighting. Not just arguing. Really fighting. Voices raised. Bodies moving into “stand off!” position! High noon at the McBride corral! The kind of tension that makes a younger kid lie still for a moment and wonder what to do. I was scared

Building the Beloved Community in a Time of War In these days it can feel as though the world is coming apart faster than we can hold it together. Wars rage across borders. Cities crumble under bombs. Families are scattered. The fragile structures that generations have tried to build—institutions meant to protect human dignity and restrain the worst instincts of power—are being tested and, in some places, deliberately torn down.   Many evenings lately I find myself sitting qu

Rauch; the breath of God Pneumonia is not a spiritual discipline I recommend. But it does preach. This week my lungs have been in charge. Every deep breath threatens a cough. Every attempt to power through gets overruled. It’s humbling to realize how much of life depends on something you don’t control. Breath. In scripture, breath and Spirit share the same word: ruach. You don’t manufacture it. You receive it. And that feels especially real right now. There are important thin

Here’s an op-ed piece i sent to seattle times today. Concerning a wonderful child i baptized and confirmed who is now being held by ICE. Tragic. It’s long but trying to share my Christian conviction for the world. Praying for Nathan’s family When Immigration Policy Separates Families We Know Immigration debates are often argued in statistics and policy language. But sometimes the story is a face you know — a child whose life unfolded in your own community, someone who feel

Sometimes what catches up to us in stillness is not failure, but grace. Most of us are running harder than we realize. We keep moving — finishing one task, solving one problem, carrying one more responsibility — rarely stopping long enough to ask what all this running is doing to our souls. There is a moment near the end of the film Forrest Gump  when Forrest, after running across the country for years, simply stops. No dramatic music. No grand speech. He turns to the people

One of my favorite stories about my parents is wonderfully simple. One night my dad went to bed early and, as a joke, turned himself around so his feet were on the pillow and his head was at the foot of the bed. When my mom came in, she followed her nightly ritual — leaning over to give him a gentle kiss goodnight. Only this time, she kissed his feet. The funny thing came next. She didn’t even notice. She just rolled back over, pulled up the covers, and started drifting off t

I wrote earlier this week about a small ritual I’ve fallen into over the years. Every Sunday morning, before I leave for church, I stand in front of the mirror for a few quiet seconds. Not to fix anything. Not to judge. Just to notice. It’s a way of asking a simple question: am I actually here? Or am I about to step into the world performing a version of myself I’ve learned to play? Lately it feels like something similar is happening at a much larger scale. As if, through ce

Every Sunday morning, I look at myself in the big mirror we have in our living room before I go to church. I don’t know when I started doing it, but it’s become one of the most honest moments of my week. I’m not checking how I look. I’m checking whether I’m there . Whether I’m present enough to hold other people’s fears, hopes, questions, and prayers. This Sunday, I caught myself thinking something I hadn’t thought before: when I retire, I won’t need this mirror anymore. Not

From Fear to Faithful Agency These past weeks, many of us have been carrying a quiet but heavy sense of unease. The news out of Minneapolis has shaken people. Some are angry. Some are scared. Some are simply tired. I’ve heard from families who are wondering what kind of future their children will grow up in. I’ve heard from people who feel helpless, as if events are moving faster than any one person can possibly respond. In moments like this, fear spreads easily. It moves thr

Uuu A reflection on replaying our lives, trusting grace, and discovering that God might be more joyful than we imagined. Let me start off with a secret confession this morning: I’ve been losing my soul to Seahawk football lately. I mean who can blame me! One more game and the Seahawks are in the Super Bowl! Amazing! I love this team! One of the fascinating aspects of football these days is the challenge flag! What,!?! you mean you can challenge a referee’s call!?!? Tha

For My Mother, on Her 96th Birthday McBride Family Reunion, 2019 Mom was 89–still being the string, still holding us together, still teaching all of our and hers to fly Today my mother turns 96. She is in hospice now, slowly slipping away, and yet today I find myself thinking about her not only in terms of letting go—but in awe. Years ago someone once described me as a kite—full of ideas, curiosity, and energy, always pulling toward the sky. But a kite doesn’t fly on its own.

Why faith isn’t magic or winning, but trust in the still, quiet way of love On Monday, before a big Pittsburgh Steelers game, a priest walked onto the field and blessed one end zone. Not both. Just one. Which immediately raises some fascinating theological questions. Did God receive the request and think, “I do love all my children… but I’m really feeling the Steelers today.” Did the kicker sense a sudden, unexplained spiritual unease? Did angels subtly nudge the football mid

Two things to know about me. First, I don’t make lists. Second, when something important is happening, my desk fills up with Post-it notes. Right now, the yellow ones are everywhere. Two car seats. Two cribs. Two adorable pairs of shoes. Two babies arriving soon who will have their own timing, preferences, and opinions—none of which I get to vote on. This isn’t my first time as a grandparent. Emerson has been around for eight years now, and she’s already taught me most of wha

Note: below is one of my favorite Christmas stories. I love telling it at Christmas Eve worship, but this year I decided to share it here. Maybe you can read it to your children or grandchildren? My hope is that it warms your heart this Christmas season! Merry Christmas! Your pastor and friend, trying live out this precious Christmas lesson, Brook ’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was not even a mouse…that is except for a 10-yr o