"When the lower orders mix with the higher, 

it is to maintain themselves and earn money; 

and if they are honest, they will do their work faithfully: 

but it is amongst their equals that they seek for affection, applause, and admiration; and there they meet with it. 

It matters very little in what rank a man is, provided he is esteemed and reckoned a man of consequence there. 

The feelings of vanity are exactly the same 

in a countess' daughter dancing at court, 

and a milk-woman figuring at a country dance."  Anna Laetitia Barbauld. 

 Following Christ gives us the freedom to “mix” with all the orders of life.

Rich or poor, famous or obscure; high and lifted up or lowly and downcast; learned or unlearned, powerful or powerless, honored or despised, celebrated or forgotten, prosperous or struggling.

We may sit at the table of the wealthy and walk beside the poor; speak with the learned and listen to the simple; stand among the honored and stoop beside the broken.

For Christ teaches us to look beyond rank, reputation, wealth, and station—and to see, beneath it all, a soul made in the image of God.

That being said, I feel more comfortable whirling with the milk-woman.

Becoming

One of the quiet burdens I often see in young people, especially those between eighteen and twenty-eight, is the feeling that they must already be.

There is an urgency to arrive.

An anxious insistence that they must already know who they are, what they believe, where they are going, and what they will become.

But perhaps one of the great mercies of God is that He does not ask us to arrive before our time.

When we are children, we understand that we are growing. We are learning, changing, stumbling, and discovering. 

No one expects a child to possess the wisdom of age. Yet somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, many begin to believe they should already be finished.

So we defend ourselves fiercely. We cling to our opinions. We mistake our present selves for our permanent selves.

And then, by the grace of God, life teaches us otherwise.

A year passes. We learn something. We suffer something. We love someone. We fail. We repent. We see more clearly.

And we change.

What once seemed certain may no longer seem so. What we once valued may lose its shine. What we once dismissed may become precious. This is not always inconsistency. Sometimes it is growth.

I have seen many young people discouraged—even plunged into despair—because of who they are at the moment. They look at someone farther down the road and compare their unfinished life with another person's maturity.

They see virtues they do not yet possess. Wisdom they have not yet gained. Accomplishments they have not yet achieved.

And they forget:

They are still becoming.

They have mistaken the workshop for the finished house.

But God is not finished with them.

The early years of adulthood are often the years when we begin to discover what we consider noble, beautiful, valuable, and true. We begin to recognize the kind of person we hope to become.

And then comes the long and holy work.

We gather some things.

We shed others.

We learn to embrace what is good and release what is destructive. We repent of some things. We outgrow others. We carry a few scars into wisdom.

Little by little, year by year, the soul is shaped.

And if we walk humbly with God, even our failures need not be wasted.

Perhaps that is the wonder of becoming: God does not merely command us to grow; He walks with us while we grow.

He is patient with the unfinished.

He is not startled by our weakness.

He does not confuse our present condition with our final destination.

The Scriptures tell us that we are being changed from glory to glory. The work is not finished in a day, or a year, or even a lifetime. We are pilgrims, travelers, works still beneath the Master's hand.

The process of becoming lasts as long as we live.

The tragedy is not that we have not yet arrived.

The tragedy is only when we cease to seek what is good, cease to rise after falling, and cease to follow the light we have been given.

So be patient with yourself.

You are not merely what you are today.

You are also, by the grace of God, what you are becoming.

Carl Sandburg expressed something of this beautifully:

“I love you for what you are, but I love you yet more for what you are going to be. I love you not so much for your realities as for your ideals. I pray for your desires that they may be great, rather than for your satisfactions, which may be so hazardously little.

Not always shall you be what you are now. You are going forward toward something great. I am on the way with you and therefore I love you.”

May we have the grace to be patient with the unfinished work in ourselves and in one another.

For we are still becoming.

And God is still at work.

The Voice That Calls Us Away

"The goddess Venus loved Adonis, a mortal.

Beautiful Venus loved the beautiful Adonis.

She often pleaded with him:

“O Adonis! Be content to be crowned with flowers beside the fresh fountains,

to feed upon honey and nectar,

and to be lulled to sleep by the warbling of birds.

Do not expose your life by hunting the tawny lion, the tusky boar, or any savage beast.

Take care of that life which is so dear to Venus!”

We all have a voice calling us away from our duty—tempting us to exchange sacrifice for comfort,

danger for ease,

and holy vision for earthly pleasure.

There will always be a voice saying,

Stay here. Be comfortable. Protect yourself.

Do not venture into the places where the battle is fierce.

But in a world where savage beasts roam every city and lane, where souls are wounded and wandering,

will I not answer Christ’s call to kingdom work?

Venus called Adonis away from the beasts because she loved his life.

Christ calls us toward the beasts because He loves the souls who are in their path.

The question is not whether there is danger.

The question is whose voice we will obey.

For there is a love that says, “Protect your life.”

And there is a greater love that says,

“Lay down your life.” Anna Laetitia Barbauld. 

“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.”

— Matthew 16:24

“My letters of ordination are my zeal, my charity, 

and if I were more learned, I would add my knowledge, 

but alas! we all know very little; 

to man every error is pardonable but lack of humility.”

I've known a lot of "Street Preachers," have you known any? 

The ones I've known came in all types. 

I knew one called Preacher Ray, a white guy that used to preach downtown Portland in the 70's and he was the first street preacher I ever met that truly had the anointing with power that was unmistakeable! 

Such boldness, such clarity of mind, absolutely unashamed of the gospel of Christ. 

He would arrest the attention with his bold call to the crowd, 

and in minutes there would be a crowd around him; listening, heckling, shouting amens, but never ignored. 

I used to tag along with another street preacher years later and he too, had that holy boldness and arresting spirit. 

I remember a Pastor, Duane Driver, he too would share Christ anywhere! 

In his tiny little church that ministered to the transient people of Portland, 

or in a bar where he would take his guitar, and his talent, and sing about Jesus, 

or giving puppet shows to children in the park.

When he was behind the pulpit his preaching blistered the paint right off the walls! Pierced the heart as though you were sitting at the feet of Jesus!

These, and many others, truly had the gift of preaching, 

not some smooth, talent that intrigued and impressed, 

no outward show or manipulation of the emotions, 

no carefully crafted performance, 

but raw, real, authentic power 

that resonated in your heart, 

humbled your spirit, 

and made you hunger for more of God, 

whether you had great faith, or no faith at all.

They preached with a fire that can't be manufactured or taught in seminaries or classrooms. 

I rarely see or hear anything that comes near what 50 years ago was pretty common. 

Sermons with passion, proportionate to the times, Spirit led words that bore fruit, power that led to revivals. 

A message of Christ's love that would shake the leaves off the trees! 

"We live in the age of forgetting.

The world has been mapped,

measured,

monetized.

Desire is tagged and tracked.

Every ache is answered

with an advert.

We no longer seek—we scroll.

We no longer ache—we click.

We no longer rise at midnight

to search the city for the One—

we settle

for mirrors and phantoms.

Even love

has lost its scent.

No longer spiced with mystery,

or slow as song,

but made instant,

hollow,

and safe.

But the dragon still whispers

from within the pixel and the algorithm.

He sings songs of disembodiment.

He names our ache “weakness”

and sells it back as illusion.

He tells us to grasp,

to gorge,

to objectify.

He disenchants.

He digitizes.

He devours.

And so the chaos deepens.

Bodies become currency.

Desire becomes commerce.

Love becomes contract." 

- Rev’d Jon Swales See less

 

Jesus said - "Learn of me for I am meek and lowly of heart."

"The lowliness of Christ may be clearly seen in yet another point of view.

He is not only willing to receive the poor, and to receive the ignorant, but he is also ever ready to receive men, despite the vileness of their characters.

Some ministers can stoop, and freely too, to both poor and ignorant;

but they cannot stoop to the wicked.

I think we have all felt a difficulty here.

“However poor a man may be, or however little he knows,” you say, “I don’t mind talking with him, and trying to do him good;

but I cannot talk with a man who is a rogue or a vagabond, or with a woman who has lost her character.”

I know you cannot; there are a great many things Christ did which we cannot do.

We, who are the servants of Christ, have attempted to draw a line where duty has its bound.

We are above our work.

We are so fastidious, that we cannot go after the chief of sinners, and the vilest of the vile.

Not so, Christ. “He receives sinners and eats with them.”

He, in the days of his flesh, became familiar with the outcasts.

He sought them out that he might save them;

He entered their homes;

He found his way into the slums, He was willing to lodge where they lodged, eat at their table, and associate with their class to find them out.

His mission was to seek as well as to save.

Oh, see him stand, with arms wide open!

Will that thief, who is justly executed for his crimes, be recognized by him? Yes, he will.

There, with his arms outstretched, he hangs; the thief flies as it were to his bosom, and Jesus gives him a most blessed embrace -

“To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.”

Christ has received the thief with open heart and open arms too.

And there is Mary. Do you see her? She is washing the feet of Jesus.

Why, she is a bad character, one of the worst women in the town.

“Thy sins, which are many, are all forgiven,” saith He,

and she goes her way in peace.

There are many people you and I might not think worth noticing that Christ will take to heaven at last;

for he is “lowly in heart.”

He takes the base, the vilest, the scum, the offscouring, the filth, the garbage of the world, and out of such stuff and matter as that, he builds up a holy temple, and gathers to himself trophies for his honour and praise."

Excerpts from Charles H. Spurgeon's sermon - "The Meek and Lowly One." - Matt. 11 : 28-30

 

Last night, as I left the jail after ministering to the men, I was deeply moved by the way the Word of God works in our hearts. What may seem like an incidental verse can suddenly leap out and strike the heart of an unsuspecting listener. Mercy! It pierces them, humbles them, speaks directly to them, and directs their steps. What a joy it is to witness that!

I couldn’t help but reflect that what is truly required to begin preaching—or any ministry—is confidence in God: the settled assurance that He will take His message and deliver it precisely to the place of greatest need. Whether speaking to one person or to a crowd, we can do so without anxiety, nervousness, or fear when we have prepared the message, prayed over those who will hear it, placed our full trust in His assistance, and then walk in with humility, recognizing that God alone is responsible for what happens next.

I repeat: confidence! Not confidence in ourselves, but in His anointing, His presence, His compassion, and His love for all. Anything else we stand on is sinking sand.

“Fashion is a fickle tyrant that rules harshly over what Taste alone should govern. 

She imprisons the slender woman in a huge hoop skirt and burdens her with heavy ornaments, 

though she knows she would move more freely, look better, and spend less in a simpler dress. 

Fashion may command her to cut off her beautiful hair and look like a schoolboy, and she obeys without complaint. Winter comes, she is cold, 

yet Fashion orders her to leave off half her clothes and stay out half the night. 

She complies, even at the risk of her health and life. 

Much more could be said of this tyrant, but we have said enough for now.”  

Anna Laetitia Barbauld

"I believe a huge part of the church in recent days has focused too much on the academia part of Scripture…

Who by doing so have inflamed their heads rather than their hearts, and thinking that by the Scriptures alone, through the letter of the law,

they would find life…"

I can't recall who said that but I think it echoes Jesus in John 5:39 -

"You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; it is these that testify about Me;"

John 5:39 has been interpreted in different ways, and the commentaries reflect a variety of opinions.

But when I read it, I see a warning that can apply to those who diligently study the Word of God, yet fail to carry its spirit into the world by seeking to imitate the deeds and compassion of Christ.

Like the Pharisees, they may have the holy, life-giving Scriptures stored in their minds, yet overlook the humanitarian work of the heart.

They search the Scriptures for truth, but may fail to let that truth move through their hands, their feet, and their lives— loving the forgotten, comforting the suffering, and serving those in need.

If you notice on his notebook under "Bible Study" he lists "Read, Study, Understand, Teach. But the one thing needful he neglects is -- ACT. 

 

"My mother is no longer the terror or trouble she used to be to my younger self. 

I have come to see her small suicides, her death-defying leaps, her dragging her sons into the depths, her tragedies and triumphs in ways that only years of loving and living can help me interpret.”

"I share this because I talk with so many who carry intense childhood adversity, and my hope is that this quote offers something to hold onto: what once looked like ruin can, in time, be recognized as a woman swimming as hard as she knew how, in water she never chose to enter. 

That understanding doesn't excuse the depths a mother may pull her child into — but it can be the difference between drowning in them and finally coming up for air. If you are still there, in the cold of your own childhood, know this: understanding does not require forgetting, and peace does not require pretending. It only asks that you keep living long enough to see the whole shape of the story — and to write, at last, your own ending."

The Holy Ache – Epithymía

She was there

when the ruach (breath,Spirit) of God

stirred the dust,

a whisper of desire,

a holy ache,

woven into the soul.

Before the fall,

before the shame,

before the grasping,

there was longing.

A pull toward the Other.

A hunger not of lack,

but of love.

In the cool of the evening,

they walked with God.

Naked.

Unashamed.

Every ache was an invitation.

Every desire,

a direction.

But we forgot.

We traded wonder for knowledge,

mystery for mastery.

We left the garden,

not just with thorns in our heels

but with a dislocated hunger

gnawing in our bones.

Now,

we chase shadows in neon temples.

Scroll.

Swipe.

Consume.

We feed on illusions

and call it satisfaction.

Even our prayers feel

packaged.

Predictable.

Safe.

We do not wait anymore.

We click.

And so desire,

that once holy ache,

becomes compulsion.

We light incense to the

gods of dopamine

and name it freedom.

We ask the algorithm to soothe us.

We drink,

not because we thirst,

but because we cannot bear the silence.

But still,

something stirs.

A deeper ache,

a quieter hunger.

It comes in the stillness,

between breath and breath,

between grief and grace.

It comes when the addict

lights a candle instead of a pipe.

When the lonely one

lifts bread to her lips,

not to fill the stomach,

but to remember love.

Every ache is an altar.

Every hunger,

a bell,

calling us not to indulgence,

but to the slow Eucharist

of being known.

We lift our hearts.

We bring our ache.

We say with trembling lips:

Lord, I am not worthy,

but only say the word.

For this is no shameful thing,

to long,

to yearn,

to ache.

It is the soul’s memory of Eden.

It is the ember of glory

still glowing beneath the rubble.

And so I offer this ache

not to the market,

not to the screen,

not to the dragon

in the pixel,

but to the One

who kissed dust into life,

who became flesh

to bear our ache in his own.

O Beloved,

I have desired with desire,

not always rightly,

not always gently,

but I bring it now

as offering.

Let it burn holy.

And one day,

when time is torn

and all things made whole,

when the ache gives way

to the Answer,

we will feast.

And longing will sing.

And the fire of our ache

will become

the flame of communion,

joy without end.

—

Holy One,

in the depths of our restless longing,

teach us to hold desire with grace,

not as a hunger that devours,

but as a flame that illuminates the path to you.

Turn our compulsions into worship,

our restless ache into patient hope,

our shadowed cravings into the bright fire of love.

Come, kindle in us a desire for justice,

a yearning for mercy,

and a holy ache for your kingdom.

Until that day when all longing is fulfilled,

walk with us in the silence between breaths,

and let our hearts be restless only for you.

Praise be to you,

Jesus.

Creation groans.

Our hearts yearn.

For your return.

Amen.

Rev’d Jon Swales, 2025

I've never forgotten a fella from my high school days. He drove a flashy red muscle car with mag wheels, a competition rake, and all the bells and whistles. To look at it, you would have thought it was the fastest car in town. But when you popped the hood, there sat this tiny little engine that a kid on a fast Schwinn bicycle could probably beat!

I can't help but see the spiritual parallel.

A flashy gold cross around the neck. “I Love Jesus” bumper stickers. Quoting Scripture like a verse-a-blender. Greeting everyone with a loud, “Hey, Brother! Have you got the victory?”

But then draw back the curtain on the inner life, lift the hood, and what do we find?

Snakes. Scorpions. Pride. Bitterness. Lust. Greed. Hatred. And all manner of darkness slithering and crawling beneath the polished exterior.

The outside may look like a spiritual muscle car—but God is not impressed by the chrome. He looks under the hood.

"Years and years and years ago, when I was in college, 

there was a stunning, beautiful girl I often watched from afar. 

She was a quiet beauty, with a powerful life. 

She had such a gracious spirit for life.

 

When I finally had the opportunity, 

imagine my surprise to find that she was deaf. Not that deaf women aren't beautiful, because they are, 

but because of the way she stood 

in her beauty, unfazed by that different circumstance of her life. 

Would that I could have snipped a petal of a soul 

so content in how God had made her, 

in His perfection, not her own, I would have done so. 

It became one of the lessons I did 

not squander.

I found the beauty and fragrance 

that weeps joy 

and plays the music of God.” Ann Stewart Porter.

I love to hear about people that are gracious, self-possessed with a strong but humble dignity. I was struck by the last line – “I found the beauty and fragrance that weeps joy and plays the music of God.” 

What does it mean to “weep joy?” 

I asked A.I. and this is what it said – 

"Given the next phrase, “and plays the music of God,” I think the author may be describing a beauty that is deeply spiritual and emotionally overwhelming—not merely cheerful, but so pure, tender, and radiant that it brings one close to tears and seems to participate in something divine."