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About a mile from our home in Dún Laoghaire is a swimming area called the Forty‑Foot. No one really knows why it’s called that. Theories abound—depth of the water, height of the rocks, width of the old road—but the name remains a mystery. What isn’t mysterious is the practice: a cold plunge straight into the Irish Sea. I’ve made a habit of doing it three mornings a week, usually around six. It wakes me in a way nothing else does. The walk there has become its own kind of lit

Who do you think loses when someone focuses on enemies rather than solutions? Aaron Burr didn’t begin life as a villain. He began with ambition, talent, intelligence, and a genuine desire to shape the young nation. But somewhere along the way, Alexander Hamilton became the gravitational center of his imagination. Slowly, Hamilton became the center of his emotional universe. Burr stopped pursuing his own purpose and started pursuing a rival. And when our enemy becomes our f

What if the point was fun? It sounds almost irresponsible to ask it. There’s so much damage in the world, so much scrambling for control, so much effort spent trying to make things work the way I want them to work. People push and maneuver and exhaust themselves just to get their way—or to get others out of their way. In a world like that, “fun” feels like the wrong idea. Almost inappropriate. But still… what if the point was fun? What if God’s impulse in creation was somet

A long, long time ago, I learned that when evil gets quiet—especially after something seems to have tripped it up—that is when I need to be most watchful. Evil’s greatest weapon is separation, the slow work of isolating people. Its greatest weakness is the moment its own loneliness is exposed. Evil desires no contact, no relationship, no depth, no agreement. It is only for itself. So when something goes against evil, when those it has trained to see themselves as disconnected

We haven’t been all over the world, but we’ve been in places I’d only heard about — places as beautiful and inviting as we hoped. What has struck me most is how similar we all are. A group of teenage boys pushing and joking; two girls laughing over something on a phone; an elderly couple walking hand‑in‑hand; a businessman striding with purpose; a young woman running for the train. I could see these people in any city of my life. Whatever the language, skin shade, or country

In our time away I’ve rediscovered the quiet gift of stumbling upon. It’s such a simple grace when you admit you don’t know and stay open to whatever appears. You stand at a crossroads, look down a street, and say, “That looks interesting,” and off you go. Or you notice two promising directions and tell yourself, “We’ll come back to that one,” even though you know you might not. Sometimes the first path captures you so completely that you never return to the second. Your feet

Finding peace seems to be one of the fundamental goals of humanity. Whether it is at the end of the day or as a way of life people seek peace. Some do it by closing down in their home, or reading a good book, listening to music, writing their thoughts in a journal. Some seek it by fighting against something – stopping war, hunger, disease, poverty. Some do it through exertion – working out in a gym, or joining a game, or challenging themselves with puzzles. Some do it in a pu

One of the added enjoyments of beginning retirement with an adventure is the number of friends and family who have come to join us here. Their visits have brought a kind of doubled joy — the sharing of experiences as well as the chance to show them the “why.” Why we’re loving this area, this country, this time of life. Why the experience of different has settled so deeply into us. And people get it. They walk into the difference with us, and something in them relaxes. At leas

When was the last time you received good news? Most days it feels as if the world is shouting. Headlines erupt. Feeds churn. The loudest stories are the ones meant to provoke a reaction, to pull our attention toward whatever is most urgent, most alarming, most divisive. After a while, it can seem almost naïve to look or anything kind or generous or hopeful. As if noticing goodness means we’re pretending things aren’t as hard as they are. But what if all that eruptive noise

Every era has its signature mood. Ours is agitation. People wake up already braced for the next headline, the next argument, the next moment of civic whiplash. The pace of political life has become so relentless that many Americans now live in a state of low‑grade emotional exhaustion. They’re not disengaged — far from it. They protest, they post, they argue. But beneath the activity is a quiet plea: Can life please feel normal again? Normalcy is one of the most underrated fo

Dearest Friend, You taught us the joy of the Lord, though it never kept you from sorrow, anger, or pain. You showed us that joy runs deeper than any of these — a truth we struggle to trust when we’re in the thick of them. Sorrow, anger, and pain make us afraid. They intimidate us. They stretch us to the point where we feel out of control. You taught us that joy is the ground of our connection with the One who seeks not control but participation. You taught us that God longs

For most of my lifetime there has been a steady rise in interest around spirituality—around finding some way of being in touch with our spiritual nature. Much of this has centered on discovering my spirituality. Whether drawn from an eastern tradition, a particular pattern of meditation, or the life of the local church, the question many people ask is, “What works for me?” It has become normal to compare approaches: “That works for you. This works for me.” As spirituality bec

Fear has become the tool of choice in our culture. It doesn’t matter which camp you claim, fear is the branding iron used to mark “the others.” And when fear becomes the reflexive thing we reach for, we start using it like the proverbial “hammer”—even when the problem is a screw. And we’re all getting screwed because of it. We’ve been told—loudly, repeatedly—about the “MONSTERS” on the other side. Politicians, agents, protestors, victims, aliens… take your pick. The message

Retirement has made one truth clearer to me each morning: it’s easy to describe how I live, but far harder—and far more necessary—to remember why I live. The “how” is simple enough: income, meals, errands, the small logistics that fill a day. Leaving structured ministry only shifted the scenery. The routines remained, but the deeper question rises to the surface the moment I wake… why… For years, my “why” was woven into the work—an open office door, being part of counseling

With songs of praise still ringing in our hearts we dig into dessert. On Christmas Eve we begin to taste the full sweetness of our celebration. We are fortunate. Not because we earned a place at the table but because for us, to us, among us – a child is born. The celebration of this birth includes the news that we are received. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty G

The dessert has been brought out — the sweetness of Christmas is arriving. And as we receive it, we sing. Why? Because that’s who we are. We’re the people who sing because of how deeply we feel the truth of God’s love. We sing the praise of our Creator, the Founder of the feast. We sing because we are prepared — not by our own efforts, but by grace — for this great celebration. We sing because we have been taught to include singing. We remember Mary’s Magnificat…

The dessert comes to the table through the delighted efforts of the one who loves us best, teaching us that we are cherished… But, who, exactly, are we speaking of when we say “we?” Certainly this is the sentiment that fills our souls, but aren’t we claiming that the arriving celebration we have come through in Advent is a sentiment to fill our world? We live at a time when groups of people are tearing each other apart. Accusations of inhumane actions. Deh

We watch as the dessert of the feast comes through the kitchen door. New plates and silverware are being set on the table. And we’re all helping now. That’s because we’re part of the household — even if we still feel like guests. We’re in. We’re welcome. We’ve received the grace of belonging, even if it’s an experience we’re just beginning to accept. We've eaten the meal with all the rest who were invited. This is the experience of grace. Grace reveals that we are now able

As we come to the end of our Advent feast, we anticipate the last course — Dessert, the day and celebration of Christmas. For many, this includes the days leading up to it, especially Christmas Eve. But let’s stay with the feast for a moment. We’ve finished the meal. The dishes that were so lovely in their settings — the serving bowls, the utensils, the cups and glasses — are now a mess. Everything that was so delightfully displayed has been used. The last streaks of gravy, t

Throughout this past week, I’ve been writing about the unexpected, the elements of Advent that catch by surprise. As we step into the last days of this glorious season, we come to a moment that contemporary chefs will call “the pre-dessert.” It is a “sorbet moment,” a gentle sweetness that cleanses the palette, shifting one from the savory main course to the tasty dessert. It is, as an aspect of Advent... wonder. Think of the wonder in our Advent story. A