Walking with Anxiety - 5/17/26

​

In our lives, there is an "emergency alarm" that never seems to turn off: anxiety. Questions like "What if I face poverty?" or "What if I lose my way to survive?" are natural reactions stemming from our human survival instincts.

However, we must make a clear distinction: Not all anxiety is a sin. Feeling instinctive concern is a natural sense God gave us as "sheep" to sense danger. But trembling in fear because we do not fully trust God is something we must be careful of. In Matthew 6:30, Jesus looked at those worrying about tomorrow and said, "O you of little faith," pointing out the heart that continues to fail to trust in His sovereignty.

In other words, while the sensation of anxiety is natural, allowing that anxiety to dominate our hearts and blind us to God's plan is "unbelief" that we must overcome.

I want you to remember this: the opposite of anxiety is not 'the absence of fear' or 'a peaceful state,' but 'faith.' That is to say, even if we achieve peace, it might be only temporary, and other worries will bring back anxiety. Therefore, we need "trust" in God. While we may not be completely free from the unwelcome guest for the rest of our lives, that trust enables us to take steps forward even in the midst of such circumstances.  

Dear HRUMC friends, instead of trying to force your anxiety away in your life, I invite you to practice trusting God while there is still anxiety. We may still feel afraid, but the hand of God that holds us is much greater than any fear we face. This is how we, believers, overcome it.

​​​

​

​​

​​​​​​​​​​The Shepherd's Voice - 05/01/26

​

When you think of the "noise" of our world, what images come to mind? For me, I think of the endless line of cars entering Manhattan via the George Washington Bridge, or the chaotic traffic jam in the opening scene of the movie 'La La Land'. The sound of honking horns and the sight of people struggling toward different destinations feel like a miniature version of the world we live in. We often find ourselves fighting just to stay on track in this "chaotic mess of noise".

In the midst of such overwhelming noise, we Christians must do one thing well: we must listen to the voice of our Shepherd. This is why Jesus used the analogy of the shepherd and the sheep. Interestingly, the "sheep" we are compared to have a fatal weakness for survival. Sheep have very poor eyesight and cannot easily distinguish obstacles right in front of them. They have no natural weapons to protect themselves and are, in a sense, "optimized for getting lost". However, God gave sheep a very keen sense of hearing instead of eyesight. For a sheep, hearing the shepherd's voice is not just a choice—it is a survival strategy to keep from falling off a cliff. While the noise of the world makes us anxious and exhausted, the Shepherd's voice becomes the only standard that truly gives us life.

In his book, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson says that faith is not the step of a "tourist" looking for exciting attractions, but the "long obedience" of a "pilgrim" walking steadily toward a destination. The noise of the world distracts us and pulls us in every direction, but the Shepherd's voice gives us our true direction and creates a steady rhythm for our lives. We don't find our way because we are particularly smart or capable. We simply listen to the voice of the One who knows us better than we know ourselves, and we follow Him one step at a time, day by day.

Dear HRUMC family, what if we lower the "volume" of the world just a little bit this week? When we tune our hearts to the low, steady voice of our Shepherd over the loud honking of the world, we will finally find a peace that does not get lost in the noise. We may not know the whole path ahead, but our Good Shepherd knows the way—and that is enough.

​

​

 

 

 

 

Beyond 'My' Ideals - 03/26/26

​

On social media, we are busy polishing our lives. We apply filters to our photos and refine our resumes to showcase an "ideal self." In an era of self-promotion, wanting to present our best side is natural, and I do not intend to simply criticize that.

The real problem begins when we project these "ideal images" onto others and our communities. We set perfect standards—how a person should act or how a church should look—and try to force reality into that mold. When this happens, relationships begin to crack. The church is often where this tension is most visible.

In his classic book, Life Together, the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer warns us about this. He calls our rosy illusions about community the "Wish-dream." He cautions that this dream can be a deadly poison. In other words, it becomes a serious problem when we try to manipulate and control a community to fit our personal dreams.

This principle applies to our most intimate relationships as well. Whether in marriage, parenting, or friendship, we often unconsciously apply a "filter" to those we love. We think, "My spouse should be like this," or "My child must follow this path." Demanding that others fit our "ideal" prevents us from developing a healthy relationship. It is not truly loving the person; it is loving the idol we have created.

Bonhoeffer’s insight poses a heavy question: Are we loving the people around us, or are we just loving "the dream" we want to achieve through them? When we feel disappointed or judgmental because a fellow believer or a family member fails to meet our standards, we are not loving God’s community. We are simply resenting those who "interfere" with our dream. A person who clings to their dream becomes a "living reproach" to others, eventually destroying the very relationships they claim to value.

This is why Bonhoeffer offers a paradoxical piece of advice: "The sooner disappointment comes over the individual and the community, the better for both." Why? Because it is only when our illusions are shattered that we stop relying on our own efforts and start clinging to God’s grace.

When our expectations collapse, the spiritual reality of God’s grace finally has room to enter. When we accept one another without filters—in all our brokenness and weakness—the church ceases to be a mere social club and becomes a true community in Jesus Christ.

Real love is not about fixing people to match our desires. It is about letting them be free as God’s unique creations. This week, let’s set aside our "filters." Let’s remember that the person who disappointed us might actually be the very gift God sent to teach us about real grace. May we grow together into a "real community" where unpolished, authentic grace flows freely.

​

 

 

 

The Art of Reconciliation - 03/11/26

​

During the season of Lent, words like "peace" and "reconciliation" flow easily from our lips. They sound noble and spiritual. However, bringing those high-minded concepts down to the gritty reality of our daily lives is a different story altogether.

Actually, it is not the "grand" or "global" conflicts that rob us of our sleep. Instead, it is the small, sharp thorns of daily life—a dismissive tone from a colleague, a misunderstanding with a friend, or a clash of preferences within our families. These minor irritations can cause us to lose focus on the grace we are called to embody, leaving us frustrated and restless.

Yet, we should remember that where there are different people with different backgrounds, values, and temperaments, conflict is inevitable—it is normal. In fact, a community that claims to have no conflict at all should perhaps be viewed with suspicion. It might mean that people are simply hiding their true selves or have grown indifferent to one another. Then, our goal is not to flee from conflict but to learn how to face it with maturity.

In his work "Life Together," Dietrich Bonhoeffer offers a profound insight:

"Christian brotherhood is not an ideal which we must realize; it is rather a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate."

This means the church is not a "utopia" filled with perfect people. Rather, it is more like a hospital where those "sick at heart" gather for healing. Those sick at heart may usually give hard times to people around them. So the church becomes the ultimate practice ground for reconciliation. While we might simply walk away from those we have conflicts with in the world, we are called to stay and work through it in faith communities.

The starting point for this work is the acknowledgment of our own weakness. When we realize, "If Christ could forgive a person like me, He can certainly forgive the person standing in front of me," the door to reconciliation swings open. When we recognize that the person we are clashing with also bears the Image of God (Imago Dei), we find the space to be patient.

The Scripture reminds us:

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Overcoming relational conflict does not require us to "torture" ourselves into a state of infinite human patience. It simply requires us to admit our weakness and make room for Christ to work. When we step back and let His grace lead, we find that the same mercy extended to us is more than enough for our neighbor as well. That way, Christ's power is made perfect in our weaknesses.

This week, I invite you to view your points of conflict not as obstacles to avoid, but as a "practice field" where you can experience the living presence of Christ.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What time Is it in Your Soul? - 02/27/26

 

"What time is it?"

Whenever we hear this question, we instinctively glance at our wristwatches or tap our smartphone screens. Checking the time for an appointment or our next meeting is a natural part of our daily rhythm. However, for the early Christians, this ordinary question was a profound and heart-stirring confession of faith. Under the severe persecution of the Roman Empire, as they gathered in dark catacombs and secret house churches, they would greet one another in low voices: "What time is it here?"

They weren’t asking about the position of the sun or the numbers on a clock. They were asking where they stood within God’s grand clock—the majestic drama of salvation for humanity. From the birth of the Christ child and His public ministry to the suffering of the Cross, the victory of the Resurrection, and the coming of the Holy Spirit, they sought to confirm their place in the great flow of Salvation History. Through this question, they strengthened one another’s faith, reminding themselves that even in a harsh reality, believers are not people consumed by the world’s time, but those who dwell within God’s time.

At this point, we encounter two concepts of time: Chronos and Kairos. In ancient Greek, Chronos is the physical, quantitative time we measure with clocks—time that flows inevitably in one direction. Kairos, however, means 'chance' or 'proper timing,' indicating qualitative time. It is "God’s time," where His purpose and grace break into our ordinary lives and meaning is discovered. So, even in the painful Chronos of persecution, the early Christians lived in the Kairos connected to Christ, holding onto an unshakable hope.

Friends at Halethorpe-Relay, I want to ask you again: "What time is it here?" Our answer is clear: It is Lent. It is the time to remember and participate in the trials of the wilderness and the suffering of the Cross that our Lord endured to save us. Lent is a season to momentarily pause the busy ticking of the world’s clock (Chronos) and align the needle of our souls with God’s time (Kairos). It is not merely about filling forty days on a calendar, but a blessed opportunity to rediscover God's wonderful plan of salvation hidden within our mundane daily lives through deep reflection on Christ’s passion.

Let us walk together into that eternal Kairos, where the love of the Lord—who walked the way of the Cross for us—remains, rather than being chased by the anxieties and urgencies of the world.

So - do you have the time?  :)

​

​

​

 

The Scared Season of Lent - 02/19/26

​

As we begin this sacred season of Lent, I find my heart still lingering on the quiet beauty of yesterday’s joint service at Catonsville UMC. There is something profoundly moving about gathering with our brothers and sisters from the Catonsville Hub Area, standing together as one body to receive the ashes. As our foreheads were marked by the ashes, we shared a recognition of our own fragility—and the beginning of something much deeper.

Lent is often misunderstood as a season of "giving things up," but it is truly a season of becoming. It is forty days to sit with the weight of the Cross and the intentionality of a Savior who chose the path of suffering to restore us.

During the service, Rev. David offered two invitations that felt less like religious rules and more like a map for the soul. He spoke of "Hidden Practice"—those private, sacred rhythms like early morning prayer or quiet fasting that exist only between you and God. In a world that demands we perform, these hidden moments rebuild our intimacy with the Father. Then, he challenged us toward Reconciliation. If we are following the One who bridged the gap between Heaven and Earth, we must have the courage to mend the broken bridges in our own lives.

These forty days aren't a temporary spiritual sprint; they are a training ground. We practice these devotions today so they can become our way of life for all 365 days of the year.

The way to glory is unfolding before us. It is a journey that requires both grit and grace, but it is a path we were never meant to walk alone. Let’s step into the mystery together.

 

 

​

 

 

Finding Peace in the Divine Rhythm - 02/13/26

 

A few days ago, the world outside was unrecognizable. The wind howled, the roads vanished under white drifts, and for a moment, the rhythmic hum of our daily lives came to a grinding halt. In the face of a Maryland snowstorm, there is a certain "holy disruption." We are forced to stay still, to wait, and—if we are honest—to feel a little bit out of control.

It is easy to feel a flicker of anxiety when the storm rages. We worry about the power flickering, the ice on the driveway, and the mounting list of cancelled appointments. But as the clouds break and the sun begins its work, we are reminded of a fundamental truth: The storm is seasonal, but the Order is eternal.

The prophet Jeremiah spoke of God’s "fixed order" of the day and night (Jeremiah 33:25). Just as the snow falls by His decree, it melts by His warmth. The slush on the pavement and the sound of dripping eaves are not just signs of rising temperatures; they are echoes of a promise. They remind us that no matter how harsh the "winter" in our personal lives may feel, the sun eventually returns, and the earth continues its turn.

Peace does not come from knowing when the storm will end, but from knowing the One who holds the thermometer. When the snow melts and the roads clear, let it be a visual sermon for your soul. Life returns to normal not by chance, but by the steady, merciful hand of God.

May you find peace in the thaw, knowing that His mercies are as certain as the changing seasons.

 

 

​

 

Who Is Prodigal? - 01/14/26

​

We all grew up with the story of the "Prodigal Son," didn’t we? It’s a story so familiar that we almost don’t have to think about it anymore. A rebellious kid, a broken heart, and a long walk back home. 

But recently, I found myself pausing over that word: Prodigal. To be prodigal means to be recklessly extravagant—to spend so much that you’re left with nothing. So - in this story, who is truly the most "prodigal" person?

​At first, we point to the son. He spent his money on all the wrong things. But as I look closer at the heart of the story, I see another kind of "prodigality" entirely. I see a Father who is recklessly extravagant with his love.

This is the heart of what the late Tim Keller shared in his book, The Prodigal God. He challenged the way we’ve always read this story by showing us that the Father’s love is even more "reckless" than the son's rebellion. To the younger son, who came home smelling of failure, the Father didn't offer a lecture. He ran. In that culture, for an elderly man to run was to "waste" his dignity. But he didn't care. He threw his reputation away just to reach his child.

​And as Keller poignantly reminds us, the story doesn't end there. To the older son, who stood outside the party in bitter self-righteousness, the Father went out again. He didn't scold him for his pride; he pleaded with him. He "wasted" his patience and resources(food, clothes, and even His own reputation)on a son who thought he was too good for grace.

​Then, we see that this Father is the "Prodigal God." A God who refuses to keep a ledger of our debts and instead spends the infinite riches of His mercy on us. He is the Father who "spent" everything—ultimately giving His own Son, Jesus—so that we wouldn't have to earn our seat at the table.

I’ve found so much comfort in this thought this week. Whether you feel like the younger brother today, weighed down by your mistakes, or like the older brother, exhausted from trying to be perfect, there is a Father waiting for you. He isn't interested in your "record." He is only interested in bringing you home.

May we all find rest this week in the beautiful, reckless, and life-changing extravagance of our Father’s love.

 

​

 

 

 

Letting Go of Yesterday to Embrace His "New Thing" - 01/09/26

​

Happy New Year, beloved church family!

​As we stand at the beginning of 2026, many of us are trying to move forward, yet we feel a heavy pull from behind. It’s the weight of "bitter roots" from past conflicts, the "what ifs" of last year’s regrets, and the lingering pain of wounds that haven't quite healed.

We often think that time alone heals, but as believers, we are called to a more intentional act: the grace of letting go. To "let go" of 2025 does not mean we ignore what happened. It means we refuse to let the failures and hurts of the past season define our identity in this new one. If we remain anchored to the bitterness of yesterday, we will lack the strength to sail into the blessings of today.

God’s word in Isaiah 43:18-19 gives us a clear command and a beautiful promise:

​"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs forth; do you not perceive it?"

​God is asking us to clear the space. He is ready to pour out new wine, but He needs us to offer Him empty, clean wineskins. This week, I invite you to bring those specific bitter roots and regrets before the Lord. Name them, surrender them, and literally let them go into His capable hands.

The God who makes "a way in the wilderness" is not hindered by your past. His grace is greater than your deepest regret. Let us step into 2026 with light hearts and open hands, ready to perceive the "new thing" He is already unfolding in our lives.

The past is gone. His mercies are new. Let us begin again.

​

 

​

 

 

Advent in the Checkout Line 12/13/25

 

Last month, I walked into the store with a simple mission: to buy a birthday gift for a friend’s five-year-old kid.

My schedule was packed tight with meetings, so I had zero margin for error. I grabbed a toy, scanned the registers, and picked what looked like the "fast lane."

That was my first mistake.

The person in front of me didn't just have a cart full of groceries; they had questions. They needed a price check. Not just for one item, but for multiple items. One by one. I checked my watch. I tapped my foot. My blood pressure started to rise.

Then, the drama escalated. Just as it was finally my turn, the cashier ran out of receipt paper. We waited while she fumbled with the roll. Then, she couldn’t find the item code on her list. And then, the grand finale: The system crashed. The screen went black.

After twenty minutes of agonizing waiting, the manager looked at me and said the words I dreaded most: "I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to move to the back of the next line."

I stood there, defeated, holding a toy for a five-year-old. And ironically, inside my heart, I felt like I was the five-year-old—ready to throw a temper tantrum because I couldn't get what I wanted, when I wanted it.

We often treat waiting like that checkout line—as a "system failure." We think that if we have to wait, something has gone wrong. We assume God’s plan has crashed, or He is disorganized, or He is just wasting our time.

But this is the season of Advent. It reminds us that the most important event in history—the arrival of the Savior—didn't happen instantly. It took centuries of longing. It took generations of holding onto a promise when nothing seemed to be happening.

God doesn't experience system crashes. When He makes us wait, He isn't sending us to the back of the line because He made a mistake. He is preparing us to receive something far greater than we planned.

If things aren't moving according to your schedule today, take a deep breath. You aren't stuck in a broken line. You are simply in the season of Advent. The gift is coming, and it is worth the wait.

 

 

 

 

 

God's "Yes, And" 11/20/25

​

In the world of improv theater, there is one golden rule: “Yes, And.”

Imagine a scene where one actor shouts, “Look! The building is on fire!” If the other actor replies, “No, we are in the middle of the ocean,” the scene instantly dies. The story hits a wall. But if the actor replies, “Yes, the building is on fire! And, look—here comes a fire truck driven by a clown!” the story continues, moving in a direction no one expected.

Our lives are much like a grand improvisation with God. Often, when we face unexpected hardships or broken plans, our instinct is to scream, “No!” We want to tear up the script. But God never panics. He never says “No” to the reality of our lives. Instead, He speaks a powerful “Yes, And”—affirming our reality while expanding our possibilities.

A "Yes, And" from the Chesapeake Bay

Here is another story. Many of us in Maryland know the story of Joni Eareckson Tada. In 1967, a diving accident in the Chesapeake Bay left her a quadriplegic. At first, she begged God for a "No"—to reverse the accident. But God offered something deeper. He said “Yes” to her reality: "I am with you in this chair." “And” He added a new purpose: "You cannot use your hands, and I will teach you to paint with your mouth. You cannot walk, and your story will travel the world." By embracing God's "Yes," her life was redesigned from a tragedy into a masterpiece of hope.

Miracles in the Wilderness 
We see this in the feeding of the 5,000. The disciples saw scarcity and shouted "No." But Jesus looked at five loaves and two fish and said “Yes”—He accepted the meager lunch exactly as it was. Then, He looked to heaven for the “And.” He blessed it, and scarcity became abundance. Jesus didn’t reject the smallness; He used it as the ingredient for a miracle.

Here is a note to my Church Family. If you feel stuck, remember- God does not put periods where there is still life to be lived. Rather He would say "Yes, dear." And after that, He'd add "And, what next? Let's think about that. I will be on your side." 

God looks at us today—our limits, our failures, our unfinished dreams—and His "Yes" is far over these. SAYS, “Yes.” He accepts you fully. He has more for you. He wants to change your "No"s to His "Yes"s. There we, HRUMC, may find one simple but powerful reason not to stop what we've been doing.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." — 2 Corinthians 12:9

 

​

 

 

 

The Patient Ferment - 11/05/25

​

If you ask a church leader today, "What’s your strategy?" you’ll likely hear about five-year plans, digital outreach metrics, and engagement funnels. We have become experts at planning, branding, and building. We are, in many ways, obsessed with human intention.

But what if the church was never meant to be a "plan"?

In my recent studies, I’ve been captivated by the counter-intuitive story of the early church. How did a small, marginalized group of "resident aliens" in the Roman Empire manage to grow? As scholar Alan Kreider notes, it wasn't through "aggressive evangelism."

Instead, the church grew by being "odd but intriguing."

Alan Kreider, in his book The Patient Ferment of the Early Church, attributes their growth to this quality. Like yeast, this growth wasn't loud or explosive, but a slow, persistent, life-altering presence. He terms it a "life-giving deviance." 

This "deviance" is key. Nijay Gupta, in Strange Religion, notes early Christians seemed bizarre. Why? Because they lived by a "new set of ethics" that directly collided with Roman values. They cared for the poor, valued every life, and rejected the empire's definitions of power and status.

This "strangeness" didn't repel people; it made them curious.

The first church wasn't a product of human intention. As the Book of Acts shows, it was "born naturally" when disciples gathered in the Spirit. It was a community formed by God, not a corporation built by men.

This challenges us. While successful programs are practically important, perhaps our primary calling is to be that "patient ferment" in our lives. To live by Kingdom ethics so "oddly intriguing" the world asks why. That may be the most powerful "growth strategy" of all.

​

​

​​

 

 

Combination Robot - 10/22/25​

​

​Do you remember combination robots? Those wonderful toys where small robots would transform and combine into one magnificent giant robot?

​I have such fond memories of those. As a child, I would save up my allowance—earned through chores, good grades, and listening to my mom—to buy each piece, one at a time. First the torso, then an arm, then a leg. The waiting was hard, but the joy of finally connecting all the pieces together? That feeling stays with me even now.

​Recently, I found myself thinking about those robots again, and it struck me: The Church is kind of like a combination robot.

In Ephesians 1:22-23, Paul writes that Christ is "the head over everything for the church, which is his body." And in 1 Corinthians 12:27, he reminds us, "Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it."

​Christ is the head. And we—each one of us—we're the different parts of his body. Each person matters. Each person belongs.

The beautiful difference, of course, is this: I bought those toy pieces with my small allowance. But Jesus purchased us—his Church—with something far more precious. Acts 20:28 tells us that the Church was bought "with his own blood."

​One by one, Jesus has been gathering us. Calling us. Drawing us close. Some of us have been here for years. Others have just arrived. But all of us have been carefully chosen and dearly loved by him.

​When those little robots came together, they became something wonderful—something stronger and more beautiful than any single piece could be alone.

​The same is true for us.

When we gather as the Church, we become the hands and feet of Jesus in this world. Together, we can bring his love to places that need it. Together, we can serve, welcome, encourage, and heal in ways we never could by ourselves.

​But a combination robot doesn't work if the pieces stay in the box.

​So I want to invite you—gently, warmly—to consider where you might fit in this beautiful body. Maybe you're someone who loves to serve. Maybe you have a heart for children or youth. Maybe you're gifted at welcoming others or creating beauty through music. Maybe you're called to support God's work through your giving, helping to sustain the ministries that reach our community.

Whatever your gift, HRUMC needs you. Not because we're incomplete without you—but because Jesus has a place for you here, and we would be honored to serve alongside you.

​If you've been wondering how to get more connected, this is your gentle nudge. You belong here. You're already part of this family. And when we come together under Christ, our head, something beautiful happens.

We become his presence in this community—moving with his love, serving with his hands, walking where his heart leads.

And honestly? That's more wonderful than any toy I ever had as a child.

​​​