God rarely gives us strength for imaginary troubles;

He gives it for present duties.

The following reflection captures that reality with uncommon clarity and a memorable personal example of how fear strangely disappeared when real crisis demanded action.

“There is one thing which seems to me to have always and invariably hampered and maimed me, whenever I have yielded to it, and I have often yielded to it; and that is Fear.

It can be called by many names, and all of them ugly names—

anxiety, timidity, moral cowardice.

I can never trace the smallest good in having given way to it.

Face to face with it, it has a strength, a poignancy, a paralyzing power, which makes it seem like a personal and specific ill-will,

issuing in a sort of dreadful enchantment or spell, which renders it impossible to withstand.

Yet, strange to say, it has not exercised its power in the few occasions in my life when it would seem to have been really justified.

Let me quote an instance which will illustrate what I mean.

I was called upon once in Switzerland to assist with two guides in the rescue of an unfortunate woman who had fallen from a precipice, and had to be brought down, dead or alive.

We hurried up through the pine-forest with a chair, and found the poor creature alive indeed, but with horrible injuries—

an eye knocked out, an arm and a thigh broken, her ulster torn to ribbons, and with more blood about the place in pools than I should have thought a human body could contain.

She was conscious; she had to be lifted into the chair, and we had to discover where she belonged; she fainted away in the middle of it, and I had to go on and break the news to her relations.

If I had been told beforehand what would have had to be done,

I do not think I could have faced it;

but it was there to do,

and I found myself entirely capable of taking part, and even of wondering all the time how it was possible to act.”

 

"Imagine two men walking through the vilest streets of a great city.

One is filled only with selfishness and the love of self-indulgence.

The other burns with compassion,

perhaps searching for a lost child,

or longing to rescue some man or woman

whose blazing sin has made those streets a very hell.

Why is it that one man absorbs the evil through which he walks, steeping himself in its corruption,

while the other comes out with garments all the whiter for having passed through the fire?

Is it not what Jesus meant when He said,

'These signs shall follow those who believe...

if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not harm them'?"

Phillips Brooks.

This reminds me when my son worked with an organization to rescue pre-teen girls captured in the child trafficking trade

where he was required to go into the most vile and depraved parts of Thailand in search of girls.

They were only to be found in brothels, strip clubs and houses of prostitution where danger and sin ran its course without restraint.

The deadly potion and the venomous snake loomed at every door,

and but for the mission of charity and the protection of Christ,

one dare not go there and hope to come away unscathed.

 

HOW DO WE UNDERSTAND GOD?

In the following quote, the author's point is

that God is known most deeply not by mastering ideas about Him,

but by living in fellowship with Him.

Theology has its place, but living communion with God is the source from which true theology should grow.

"We believe this is Mr. Mansel's first, and perhaps deepest, mistake. Seeing that we have no complete theory of God, he concludes that we have no real knowledge of Him.

Yet the simplest facts of life teach otherwise.

Do we possess a complete theory of any human being? Certainly not.

Yet our relationship with others is far more than a collection of ideas about them.

Indeed, rigid, "fixed ideas" about people often reveal a narrow mind.

Mr. Mansel makes the same mistake about God.

He treats our ideas of God as though they reveal Him,

when they often conceal Him.

We have no shortage of notions about God,

but genuine experience tears through these hardened concepts.

When we come to Him with a loving heart and an awakened conscience, many of our fixed ideas dissolve like mist before the morning sun.

To know God is not merely to possess ideas about Him,

but to live in direct communion with Him.

This is precisely where knowledge is deepest,

though complete explanation is impossible.

We know the mystery of personality, and we know love and hatred,

yet no theory can fully explain them.

So it is with God. We know Him better than we know ourselves,

yet cannot construct a complete theory of Him

because we stand beneath Him, not above Him.

We can recognize Him, trust Him, and learn from Him,

but never fully comprehend Him.

It is therefore a mistake to suppose that true knowledge depends on constructing a philosophical or theological system.

Our deepest knowledge comes through shared life and experience; complete theories belong only to

the simplest and most abstract sciences."

 

I've read many pieces on "Baby Boomers." But this is the best one yet --

"We are often called “the elderly,” but that quiet label hides a truth most people rarely pause to consider: we are the last living witnesses of a world that no longer exists.

If you look closely, you might notice gray hair, slower steps, or the quiet patience that time alone can teach. But if you truly listen to our stories, you will discover something far more extraordinary. We are not simply older people moving through the final chapters of life. 

We are the survivors of one of the most breathtaking transformations in human history — a generation that walked from the slow, deliberate rhythm of an analog world into the dazzling speed of a digital one without ever losing our sense of humanity along the way.

Our journey began in a very different place.

Many of us were born in the 1940s, 1950s, and early 1960s, when the scars of World War II were still fresh across Europe and Asia and the world was slowly learning how to hope again. Cities rose from rubble. Families rebuilt lives after years of uncertainty. Childhood unfolded in ways that would feel almost unrecognizable to younger generations today. 

Our toys were simple: marbles played in dusty yards, hopscotch drawn on cracked sidewalks, checkers and cards gathered around kitchen tables while the smell of dinner filled the house. When the streetlights flickered on in the evening, it was the universal signal that childhood adventures were over for the day and it was time to go home.

There were no smartphones, no streaming videos, no endless scroll of digital distractions. Instead, we built our memories in the real world — with scraped knees, laughter echoing down neighborhood streets, and friendships that formed face to face, without the mediation of screens.

Music became one of the defining soundtracks of our youth. The 1960s and 1970s arrived like a wave of color and rebellion. We watched culture shift around us, carried by electric guitars and voices that dared to question the world. 

For many of us, gatherings like the legendary Woodstock Festival of 1969 symbolized something powerful: the belief that peace, music, and community could reshape the future. Hundreds of thousands of young people stood together in muddy fields, listening to artists who poured raw emotion into towering speakers known as the Wall of Sound. Those concerts were not merely entertainment; they were moments when strangers felt like a single generation singing the same hope under an open sky.

Education looked different then, too. Our notebooks were filled with handwritten notes carefully copied from chalkboards. Research required patience, long hours in libraries, and stacks of heavy books rather than a quick internet search. We learned to slow down and think through ideas because information did not arrive instantly. Mistakes were corrected with erasers and ink, not with the click of a delete button.

Love carried a different rhythm as well. We fell in love while vinyl records spun on turntables and cassette tapes clicked softly inside plastic players. Music became the background to first dances, long conversations, and dreams about the future. Those relationships grew into marriages, families, and lives built step by step through the 1980s and 1990s — decades that saw technology begin to reshape the world around us.

Yet nothing compares to the bridge our generation has crossed. We are the only generation to have experienced an entirely analog childhood and a fully digital adulthood. 

We remember waiting days — or sometimes weeks — for handwritten letters to arrive in the mail. We remember rotary telephones and party lines where neighbors could accidentally overhear conversations. Communication required patience and anticipation. Today, we can see the face of a loved one across the ocean instantly on a screen small enough to fit in a pocket.

The world changed in ways few could have imagined. We watched humanity land on the Moon in 1969, a moment when millions of people sat in living rooms staring at black-and-white televisions as Neil Armstrong took humanity’s first steps on another world. 

We saw the rise of personal computers, the birth of the internet, and eventually the arrival of smartphones that placed entire libraries of knowledge in our hands. Machines that once filled entire rooms now exist on devices lighter than a paperback book. We moved from punch cards and mechanical tools to artificial intelligence and global networks connecting billions of people instantly. And through every shift, we adapted.

Our bodies carry the marks of the times we lived through as well. We grew up during fears of polio and tuberculosis, illnesses that once terrified entire communities before vaccines helped bring them under control. We witnessed the global challenges of pandemics and health crises across decades, including the recent silence and uncertainty of COVID-19, which reminded the world that resilience is still required in every generation.

Science itself transformed before our eyes. We saw the discovery of the structure of DNA in 1953, the decoding of the human genome at the turn of the century, and the early steps into gene therapy and advanced medicine. Transportation evolved from simple bicycles and steam engines to hybrid vehicles and electric cars gliding almost silently through city streets.

Few generations have witnessed such sweeping change. And yet, despite everything that evolved around us, certain things remain unchanged. We still understand the joy of a cold glass bottle of lemonade on a hot afternoon. We still remember the taste of vegetables picked straight from a garden. We still know the value of a long conversation that unfolds slowly without a keyboard or screen interrupting it.

Our memories stretch across decades. We have celebrated births, mourned losses, watched friends depart, and carried their stories forward. Those of us who remain share something rare: the experience of standing at the crossroads of history, holding memories from a world that younger generations know only through photographs and stories.

But we are not relics. We are living bridges. Our perspective reminds the modern world that progress does not have to erase wisdom. The speed of technology does not have to replace patience, kindness, or reflection. We remember what life felt like before everything moved so fast — and that memory carries quiet lessons worth sharing.

So when someone calls us “elderly,” we can smile. Because behind that word lies something extraordinary. We are the generation that crossed two centuries, witnessed eight decades of transformation, and walked from the age of handwritten letters to the era of artificial intelligence.

What a life we have lived. What a remarkable story we continue to carry. And if you belong to this generation, take a moment today to look in the mirror and recognize something powerful. 

You are not simply growing older. You are living history. You are part of a generation that will always remain one of a kind. And perhaps, in the quietest and most meaningful way, you are becoming legendary." 

 

I've always wondered why it is, or what it is, that causes the almost overwhelming feelings I have when working with those in crisis? Are the emotions purely spiritual or are they a mix of natural feelings? I'm not sure what the final word is on the subject, but when I studied the human hormones and neurotransmitters I see what the feelings are. Now they are clearly evident in the descriptions below -- 

Dopamine - Dopamine is often called the "feel-good" neurotransmitter or hormone. It plays a central role in the brain's reward system, contributing to various positive feelings and driving behaviors that lead to rewards.

Helps you want and pursue;

Gives the feeling of anticipation, motivation, accomplishment, 

and “yes, that felt good — let’s do it again.”

Euphoria or Reward "Rush": 

Intense dopamine surges can produce feelings of elation, excitement, 

or a powerful sense of reward. 

This includes the anticipation and pursuit of something desirable. 

Happiness, Positivity, and Alertness: that contribute to

emotional responses that contribute to overall well-being. 

Dopamine boosts interest in ideas, learning, exploration, making you feel engaged.  

In short, dopamine helps turn positive experiences into motivation for more of them, supporting feelings of pleasure, drive, excitement, and focus that make life feel rewarding.

Serotonin

Often associated with contentment, emotional balance, and calm, as well as impulse control.

Serotonin supports longer-term well-being and behavioral flexibility. 

Serotonin can modulate dopamine release.

Endorphins - Sometimes called the "helper's high," 

serving others can elevate mood and increase feelings of well-being. 

Endorphins primarily help the body cope with stress and discomfort.

They produce feelings of well-being, bliss, or a “natural high.”

Endorphins stimulate feelings of gratitude, emotional tears, experiences of triumph.

They lower stress, reduce anxiety, and promote a positive state of mind, helping you feel calmer and more resilient.

Oxytocin - Oxytocin produces bonding, trust and emotional warmth, genuine emotional connection.

It plays crucial roles in social bonding, and emotional regulation. 

Oxytocin is particularly tied to interpersonal connection and trust. 

It fosters feelings of closeness, trust, and emotional connection.

It enhances feelings of safety with others, promotes empathy, compassion, and prosocial behaviors like cooperation and kindness. It can make you feel warmer and more open. 

Norepinephrine - Closely related to dopamine, it supports goal-directed behavior, decision-making, and the ability to handle challenges. 

It can produce feelings of confidence and determination. 

It helps you wake up, focus, and engage with the task in front of you. 

Alertness & Energy

it enhances performance under pressure, contributing to feelings of exhilaration or accomplishment after demanding tasks.

The “good feelings” from norepinephrine are more activating and energizing than purely pleasurable — think focused excitement, clarity, and readiness rather than calm contentment or euphoric bliss.

Gaba – Gaba acts like the brain’s “brake pedal,” reducing excitability. 

Gaba produces relaxation and calm, emotional stability and a sense of safety, 

and handle stress without becoming overwhelmed. 

It quiets racing thoughts, reduces mental chatter, and produces a soothing, centered feeling.

My conclusion is: all these hormones are released when ministering in whatever our calling is; for me, it's to the poor, downtrodden, oppressed and those in crisis. It is deeply emotional and now I understand how they all work together to equip us for the work. 

I chose this painting because the teacher is dressed in armor, the Lord is pouring out His anointing, without which, nothing on the spiritual level is accomplished. 

 

 The following quote isn't exactly orthodox Christianity because it focuses on self-reliance, and Christianity teaches radical dependence on God, not self. But I like a lot of the practical elements of the quote, especially - "we cannot foresee dangers no matter how vividly they are described to us," I preach at the jail weekly and every person there can relate to that. 

“We all have to learn that no one can help us except ourselves. 

Other people can sympathize and console, try to soothe our injured vanity, 

And try to persuade us that the dangers and disasters ahead 

are not so dreadful as they appear to be, 

and that the mistakes we have made are not irreparable. 

But no one can remove danger or regret from us, 

or relieve us of the necessity of facing our own troubles; 

the most that they can do, indeed, 

is to encourage us to try again.

But we cannot hope to change the conditions of life; 

and one of its conditions is, 

as I have said, that we cannot foresee dangers. 

No matter how vividly they are described to us, 

no matter how eagerly those who love us try to warn us of peril, 

we cannot escape. 

For that is the essence of life—experience; 

and though we cannot rejoice when we are in the grip of it, 

and when we cannot see what the end will be, 

we can at least say to ourselves again and again, 

"This is at all events reality—this is the business of life and faith!" 

For it is the moments of faith, endurance, energy and action 

which after all justify us in living, 

and not the pleasant spaces where we saunter among flowers and sunlit woods. 

Those are conceded to us, 

to tempt us to live, to make us desire to remain in the world; 

and we need not be afraid to take them, to use them, to enjoy them; 

because all things alike help to make us what we are.” A. C. Benson

 

John  Ruskin was considered the brightest mind of the 19th century, and what a joy it is to read his thoughts on just about anything! And he wrote on almost everything!

In this quote he considers that life's confusion, suffering, and seeming lack of purpose are not meaningless. 

Rather, they serve a deeper purpose in shaping the soul.

THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

So much of life,

in spite of its glimpses of joy and light, 

seems so aimless, so perplexed, 

so unaccountable, with its mysterious satisfactions, 

its disproportionate sorrows. 

But the best and noblest of men have seemed to see in it 

a chance of having something done for our spirits which can be done in no other way. 

It is a discipline, when all is said and done. 

But there is something deeper than that. 

"Depend upon it," said old Carlyle, 

"the brave man has some how or other to give his life away."

We are called upon to make an unconditional surrender. 

It is a surrender to a great and awful Will, 

of whose workings we know little, 

but which means to triumph, 

whatever we may do to hinder or delay its purpose.

But sooner or later we must yield our wills up, 

and not simply out of tame and fearful submission, 

but because we see at last that His Will behind all things is 

greater, 

purer, 

more beautiful, 

more holy than anything we can imagine or express. 

There is no peace without that surrender, 

though it cannot be made at once;

there is in most of us a fibre of self-will, 

of hardness, of stubbornness which we cannot break, 

but which God may be trusted to break for us, 

if we desire it to be broken. 

If the light is clouded, and the joy is blotted out, and the energy burns low, it is a sign not that we have failed, 

but that the mind of God is bent still more urgently upon us. 

What we may pray for and desire is courage, 

to live eagerly in joy and not less eagerly in sorrow; 

to be temperate in happiness 

and courageous in trouble.

John Ruskin, A Study in Personality.

 

The Holy Ache - Epithymía

She was there

when the ruach 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

Artwork: The Expulsion of Adam and Eve

Arthur Trevethin Nowell, 1897

When Secretary Walsingham arrived at retirement age,

he retired to the country to spend his days in quiet.

Some of his former companions came to see him,

and tried to cheer him in his melancholy.

He answered,

"No, I am not melancholy, but I am serious;

and it is very proper that we should be so!

Ah, my friends, while we laugh everything is serious about us.

God is serious, who exercises his patience towards us;

Christ is serious, who shed his atoning blood for us;

the Holy Ghost is serious, who strives against the stubbornness of our hearts;

the Holy Scriptures are serious books;

they present to our thoughts the most serious concerns in all the world;

the holy sacraments represent very serious and awful matters;

the whole creation is serious in serving God and us;

all in heaven are serous.

How then can we be merry and trifling?"

 Let’s discuss a Biblical topic – Vomit

I came across this verse and knew it had to be important because of its deliberate repulsive image.

Is. 28:8 “All the tables are covered with vomit and there is not a spot without filth!”

This is such a repulsive image, meant to shock us, meant to stop us so we can use our imaginations to consider how this message could apply to us?

There are other verses where vomit is used to grab our immediate attention. In Jer. 48:26 - Concerning Moab.

"Moab also shall wallow in his vomit..."

This is intentionally humiliating imagery.

The nation that once boasted of its greatness would become an object of shame. A drunkard lying in his own vomit is a picture of complete disgrace, self-inflicted ruin, and public humiliation.

Using such shocking imagery covers several truths -

Pride ultimately degrades the one who embraces it.

Sin contains the seeds of its own humiliation.

Those who exalt themselves will eventually be brought low.

Jesus said - "For whoever exalts himself will be humbled,

and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

I'm sure other verses come to mind using these startling and jarring words of warning.

The Bible breaks through our polished and sophisticated handling of Gospel truth, draws back the curtain, and lays bare or sins.

 I’m reading “Florence Nightingale: A Biography” by Annie Matheson free online by way of “The Project Gutenberg.” In chapter 8 is the call to Florence Nightingale to run the hospital during the war. 

“Dear Miss Nightingale, —You will have seen in the papers that there is a great deficiency of nurses at the hospital of Scutari. The other alleged deficiencies, namely, of medical men, lint, sheets, etc., must, if they ever existed, have been remedied ere this, as the number of medical officers with the army amounted to one to every ninety-five men in the whole force, being nearly double what we have ever had before; the deficiency of female nurses is undoubted; none but male nurses have ever been admitted to military hospitals. It would be impossible to carry about a large staff of female nurses with an army in the field. But at Scutari, having now a fixed hospital, no military reason exists against the introduction; and I am confident they might be introduced with great benefit, for hospital orderlies must be very rough hands, and most of them, on such an occasion as this, very inexperienced ones.

I receive numbers of offers from ladies to go out, but they are ladies who have no conception of what a hospital is, nor of the nature of its duties; and they would, when the time came, either recoil from the work or be entirely useless, and consequently, what is worse, entirely in the way; nor would these ladies probably even understand the necessity, especially in a military hospital, of strict obedience to rule, etc....

There is but one person in England that I know of who would be capable of organizing and superintending such a scheme, and I have been several times on the point of asking you hypothetically if, supposing the attempt were made, you would undertake to direct it. The selection of the rank and file of nurses would be difficult—no one knows that better than yourself. The difficulty of finding women equal to the task, after all, full of horror, and requiring, besides knowledge and goodwill, great knowledge and great courage, will be great; the task of ruling them and introducing system among them great; and not the least will be the difficulty of making the whole work smoothly with the medical and military authorities out there.

“This is what makes it so important that the experiment should be carried out by one with administrative capacity and experience. 

A number of sentimental, enthusiastic ladies turned loose in the hospital at Scutari would probably after a few days be mises à la porte (Ushered out) by those whose business they would interrupt, and whose authority they would dispute.

“My question simply is—would you listen to the request to go out and supervise the whole thing? 

You are the only person who can judge for yourself which of conflicting or incompatible duties is the first or the highest; but I think I must not conceal from you that upon your decision will depend the ultimate success or failure of the plan.... Will you let me have a line at the War Office, to let me know?”

Of course, history records she said yes. 

In choosing the nurses to go with her she once wrote to Sir Bartle Frere of “that careless and ignorant person called the Devil,” and she did not want any of his careless and ignorant disciples to go out with her among her chosen band. 

Nor did she want any incompetent sentimentalists of the kind brought before us in that delightful story of our own South African War, of the soldier who gave thanks for the offer to wash his face, but confessed that fourteen other ladies had already offered the same service.

 

Indeed, the rather garish merriment of that little tale seems almost out of place when we recall the rotting filth and unspeakable stench of blood and misery in which the men wounded in the Crimea were lying wrapped from head to foot. 

No antiseptic surgery, no decent sanitation, no means of ordinary cleanliness, were as yet found for our poor soldiers, and Kinglake assures us that all the efforts of masculine organization, seeking to serve the crowded hospitals with something called a laundry, had only succeeded in washing seven shirts for the entire army!

Miss Nightingale knew a little of the vastness of her undertaking, but she is described by Lady Canning at this critical time as “gentle and wise and quiet”—“in no bustle or hurry.” Yet within a single week from the date of Mr. Herbert’s letter asking her to go out, all her arrangements were made and her nurses chosen—nay more, the expedition had actually started.