This winter, a small group discovered the ripple effects of simple habits like drinking 2 liters of water daily. Keystone practices—cornerstone habits that inspire intention and connection—can transform your days and relationships. Wood & Water Retreats invites you to reclaim or begin practices that ground and renew you. Start your year with one meaningful step.

The bar has been raised, and is rising even higher, as we all scramble to improve our use of web conferencing, live streaming, and video editing. As spiritual directors and retreat leaders, we are eager to pool our learning about accompanying others online so that we can all exercise our listening and leading as effectively as these times demand.

Life has become a crash course in discernment. The learning objectives? Acknowledge pressures at a pandemic scale, turn to witness, and practice life.

This reflection continues an exploration of the unknown in our inner worlds, sometimes called the shadow. Part 1 took up the question “What Is Shadow?” while parts 2 and 3 follow the questions “What Do We Do with Shadow?” and “What Is the Gift of Shadow?”

This reflection continues an exploration of the unknown in our inner worlds, sometimes called the shadow. Part 1 took up the question “What Is Shadow?” while parts 2 and 3 follow the questions “What Do We Do with Shadow?” and “What Is the Gift of Shadow?”

This reflection kicks off a three-part exploration of the unknown in our inner worlds, sometimes called the shadow. Part 1 takes up the question “What Is Shadow?” while parts 2 and 3 follow the questions “What Do We Do with Shadow?” and “What Is the Gift of Shadow?”

If I were to boil Enduring Ministry down to two essential actions, both would relate directly to vision. Most importantly, take time for solitude with God and anchor yourself in the vision of being unimaginably loved and cherished. There is no better orientation for ministry. Then, stay connected with those who hold you to a wholesome vision for ministry and who support you in your ongoing discernment.

On the far edge of winter

a frozen lake quakes and groans

as a warm sunrise hints at Spring.

Part of effective Christian leadership is learning when to reach beyond and when to accept our own limitations. A spiritual director offers some thoughts and advice on how to do that. This article was first published on 7 Mar 2017 in Faith & Leadership from Leadership Education at Duke Divinity. Editor's note: This reflection is adapted from Rahberg’s book, “Enduring Ministry: Toward a Lifetime of Christian Leadership.”

This past week I found myself right at home in Mark 6. The disciples are sent out two by two, preaching, casting out demons, and anointing the sick. After a time they return to Jesus and tell “him all that they had done and taught” (6:30, NRSV) Jesus replies, "Come away by yourselves to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while" (31). Sometimes that's exactly what we want to hear, the expectation we have as we climb into the boat with Jesus. Listen for what really happens: “Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them” (33). The disciples did not get the deserted place they wanted. What the disciples do get is a boat ride with Jesus between crowds. This book and this evening is about the boat ride. What happens, what needs to happen when we're sent out, when we're serving, and when we're on the boat journeying with Christ on the way to the next crowd so that we get off the boat and continue serving like Jesus? “As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things” (34). Whatever happened on that boat, Jesus sets foot ashore and demonstrates an enduring ministry.

The real journey is finding our home. Life becomes simple and whole, painful as well as beautiful. Where we already are is the path and the goal. Release habits of grasping, aversion and fear. Circumstances of life will insist on getting our attention. Stop evading the truth. Spiritual life is not about knowing much, but about loving much. Meet each personas brother and sister. Service is the expression of the awakened heart. One step at a time, one person, one moment. This moment.

I find it easier to practice boundaries within the context of spiritual direction than I do the flow of life and responsibilities outside of those relationships. This became clear to me after re-reading Boundaries by psychologists Henry Cloud and John Townsend [Zondervan, 1992].  Nearly twenty years after first reading this best seller, I still surprise myself some days by being clear and relaxed as a spiritual director, only to lose my sense of groundedness moments later in another setting. What can we learn from spiritual direction relationships that helps us keep practicing boundaries in others?

It is curiously liberating to realize that tensions become life-giving. Christ walked in constant awareness of the world’s pain and beauty. I must accept myself in contradictions and contradictions in me. In Christ all things are held together. Recognize Christ’s love. Let yourself receive that love.

Benedict of Nursia (ca. 480-547) is one of the voices from Christian tradition who continues to help us understand what it means to walk together toward Christ the Light. The grand finale to the Rule of St. Benedict (RB) comes in chapter 72 on the topic of what Benedict calls "good zeal". (Bit of trivia: scholars agree that RB 73, the actual last chapter, functions as a bibliography). Having reached the bookend of all the wisdom collected in previous chapters, we might rightly wonder about Benedict's punch line for this vision of life in Christian community.

Neither too hot nor too cold

is the greater danger

to common life.

Hot heads fuel fear,

cold hearts still harmonies,

yet nothing sours the will for good

like the bite of indifference.

“Behold,” the Holy One calls, “I stand at the door and knock.”

We may not have

the fire to drive him away

nor the ice to refuse him,

but let us not be caught

humming to ourselves,

pretending he’s not there.

Set down tepid ways,

rise up,

and put a hand to the latch.

Community is a reality created by God in Christ.

We are reverent listeners and participants in God’s sacred story.

In fellowship we learn to be alone; in aloneness we learn to live rightly in fellowship.

Ultimately, we have no charge but to serve our brothers and sisters, for they stand as signs of God’s truth and grace.

By the time you find yourself drawn to the phrase "befriending your limits," you have likely built a home between a mountain and a shoreline. The desire to seek new perspective may well be an invitation that involves some element of discomfort . . . and a dash of hope. This peculiar mix suggests to me that God is at work and that it is time to pay attention. We cannot help but respond with honesty.

Most Christian leaders can understand the way the most sincere intentions for well-being too easily give way to the everyday demands of ministry. Even so, with the new year upon us, something deep inside refuses to dismiss the impulse of grace and promise in a new beginning.

As a spiritual director, I hear people express both the desire for new beginnings and the sense of being stuck. This reminds me that I am not alone.

Death is not failure. Death is normal.

Sooner or later independence will become impossible.

Medicine has transformed life into a long, slow fade.

The trouble is we expect more from life than survival.

When life’s fragility is primed ,goals and motives shift completely.

T

Were I to sit with the setting sun

warm upon my face,

she might cast a long shadow

of the man I want to be.

The dark form waits patiently,

watching, growing

whether or not anyone looks on.

When brightness makes clear

what does not belong,

it shows more clarity and depth

than cold refusal.

The shadow is sure and ever-faithful,

sometimes cloud-hidden,

never truly absent.

Should darkness fall it does not flee

but settles calmly into

grace-filled unknowns.

May I become one such shadow—nearly unnoticed—a steadfast reminder of the sun.