What Are Friends For?

Our summer men’s group has been reading and discussing Matt Smethurst’s Tim Keller on the Christian Life. As I reflected on the chapter about friendships, I saw a pattern.

God’s love was not merely an objective reality for mankind. From the seed of his agape (unconditional, self-sacrificial) love, he always summons us in three directions: Out, Up, and Down. Never In. All three work together and constantly move back and forth:

© Matt Taylor

The Out-Up-Down pattern binds Christian relationships in a unique way:

• God summons us Up in a level-up kind of way through the relationships among the ekklesia. Through those leaders over us, his creates in us a cognitive dissonance where the mere presence and Word-speak among the body of Christ draws our attention vertically. Many believers might consider this Sunday-centered experience as the center of their Christian life. But this is why Upward, alone, cannot be our only focus.

• God always sends us Out on mission into the world. This is actually our purpose (Ephesians 2:10). This occurs through the roles he’s given us (Christian, parent, child, boss, employee, ministry leader, etc.). When we only stay Upward, we tend to feel a kind of plateau in our faith journey. We form certain bonds through mission differently than the Upward sphere. God creates communitas through mission. Communitas is that flavor of community that He forms when a group of people share a mission together. If you’ve ever been on a sports team or a short-term mission trip and experienced this magnified bond within a short time frame, that’s communitas.

• But God also calls us DOWN. He roots the gospel in our soul’s soil over time through the context of the Christian community (differently than the relationships of the Sunday gathering context). These friendships are the ones where we can be more vulnerable about our struggles to follow Jesus. They are people who provide safety, and with whom we feel truly seen and heard. But these close relationships don’t let us stay where we are at. They summon us to deeper belief and conformity to Christ. They nudge you to find your identity as a fellow believer in a community and, as Lewis notes, keep the focus continually turning outward from the friends themselves.

This image isn’t perfect (just some visual ideating).

But one thing I know for sure: Each of these relationships get our eyes off ourselves—our pride. They kill the Me Monster, that Mayor Humdinger constantly crying, “What about Me?!”

One might say, “But don’t each of these (Up-Down-Out) impact me?” Of course they do.

But here is the irony. God new-creation’d you to provide purpose through community: to serve in the trenches of the world alongside others, to nourish one another, and to commit to leveling up as apart of others. The irony is these three kinds of relationships, not merely make your life about IN. No, God designed much blessing to your own life through these three “eyes-out” frames.

He Was Everyone’s Best Friend

Boy, what a testimony about Glen Hansard. May we all live such a testimony.

A Normal Kind of Failure

If engaging in God’s mission leaves you feeling drained, isolated, or quietly battling imposter syndrome, you aren't failing. You’re normal.

We’ve been conditioned to believe that ministry suffering equals personal failure. But 2 Corinthians offers a radically different paradigm: weakness isn't a glitch in kingdom work—it’s the exact "clay jar" reality God uses to display His power.

Cruciform labor knows no boundaries. Whether you’re a cross-cultural worker, a lay leader, or a creative finding your footing, carrying heavy loads in hard soil is exhausting work. I have walked through false starts, shifting roles, and complex seasons that made me question my place in the mission.

Fatigue isn't proof that God is done with you. It’s an invitation to anchor your confidence in resurrection life rather than your own strength.

Oral Irony

Recently, I was at a local library for a book sale. 

One book caught my attention: A book about musical harmony. 

Reading about singing will never make you an expert on the matter.

On Decapitating the Imagination

One of my lowest moments as an artist was when I led a worship team years ago.

I told one of the other worship leader not to do a certain song because it contained a metaphor in it. And that metaphor itself was not in the bible.

I reasoned that not everyone would understand the metaphor (which is ridiculous now that I remember).

This was my lowest art moment because it is the fruit of decapitating the imagination.

Paul uses roughly 30 metaphors just in his 3-chapter letter to Titus. Think about that: a letter explicitly written to bring order to a chaotic church relied heavily on poetry, mental imagery, and the arts to get its point across.

When I killed that song, I thought I was protecting the integrity of God’s word. Little did I know I was policing the very vehicle God designed to make doctrine stick.

Do Not Love The World…

But love the people.

Love the community and culture you reside.

They are not the same as loving the world.

Permission to Scream

“The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That’s the deal.”

— C.S. Lewis

With the news of Glen Hansard’s death this week, I found myself revisiting some of his live performances.

I remember first seeing Once and getting chills when I heard him sing Say It To My Now.

I wasn’t alone.

Glen’s authenticity trickled through his fans ever since. I love seeing these live clips of his unplugged versions of this song.

Glen had a depth of wisdom about songwriting, performing, and community.

It’s actually been many years since I’ve listened to Glen’s music. Life goes by I guess. But deaths come with reminders. This is why Lewis’ quote rings with me, “The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That’s the deal.”

Thanks Glen for being part of my creative DNA.

Always Losing Heart (and Never Praying)

In Luke 18:1-8, Jesus tells his followers a parable so they’d always pray and not lose heart.

It is quite easy to reverse these: always be weary and never turn to prayer.

Sometimes, customizing a story as a response to a precise angst is the most Christlike thing you can for someone.