I chose a different word

Introducing the Sacred Wayfarer

It’s Thursday afternoon. Sermon prep. I’m watching the raindrops slowly descend the window, quietly admiring the jagged trail of moisture they make as they trickle down the glass. My colleague scans my manuscript, carefully refining my words to ensure clarity and flow, while my anxious mind tries to read his. As much as I like getting the opportunity to preach, I always need to tell myself during these meetings: The critiques are not attacking you but making the sermon better. Ben looks up from the pages, and I snap back to attention.

“You say the word journey a lot.”

“…and that’s a problem?”

“No…well…. it’s not. It’s just an overused word that can mean nothing after a while.”

And he had a point.

“Just be careful about buzzwords like this. I’ve gone through and circled where you’ve used it. Try to think of something else. ”

There were a lot of circles.

We joked around a bit after this. I found it funny that I didn’t realize how often I used that word.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s excellent advice. However, the sermon I was preparing was for a much older congregation. The church had a specific speaking style and expectations for how preaching would be handled, so I made the adjustments. No more journey.

Yet, “journey” describes much of my life.

I often think about how I no longer live in the city where I grew up. I left for college and never truly returned home. When I began my career in pastoral ministry, I found myself in communities where people had spent their entire lives in one place. Their way of thinking and being was deeply shaped in the city they had always known, with families and people who had done the same. Over my time as a pastor, I’ve stepped into countless stories and immersed myself in the histories of churches, people, and places that shape my work. In many ways, the transition to each community has been a process of remembering who I am, finding fresh starts, gaining new perspectives, and collecting experiences that continue to shape me.

This past summer, my grandmother passed away, and my family and I returned to the San Fransico Bay Area. We drove around familiar places, revisiting spots I had cherished as a child and sharing them with my kids. While there was a certain beauty in returning to my old stomping grounds, it felt strangely empty. Some places that remained unchanged instantly transported me back to my childhood. Yet, I couldn’t help but quietly grieve a little that the people I grew up with had moved on or were no longer there. The memories feel almost unreal in those moments, even when I try to recall them.

As we lowered my grandmother’s ashes into the grave, I glanced at the other headstones. Next to her were both her parents, my grandfather, and his mother. I couldn’t help but notice that their final resting place was probably not what they expected. A country that was foreign to their own. All of them were forced to flee Estonia when Stalin annexed the Baltic states, risking everything in pursuit of safety and freedom. Their journey took them to the fruited plains that would one day become Silicon Valley, driven by the hope of the American Dream.

1 Peter 2:11 reminds us that as disciples, we are "sojourners" and "resident aliens" in this world, never entirely “at home” in our present reality. Life with Jesus calls us to look beyond our temporary dwelling, fixing our eyes on what will come. As the great Puritan John Bunyan envisioned, the Christian life is more than a journey. It is a pilgrimage, a sacred quest toward the celestial city where God dwells among His people. Along the way, we encounter triumph and trial, joy and sorrow, each step shaping us for the glory that awaits us. As we watched the dirt close over the small hole in the ground, I reflected on how their journey to the States had been woven into the fabric of our family’s story. Leaving had been difficult, but what truly mattered was how the journey had shaped them.

If the Christian life is a pilgrimage, the pastoral vocation is also a distinct and often arduous journey. No pastoral pilgrimage is without risk. It is never easy, rarely comfortable, and sometimes, it may leave you questioning whether anything you did truly mattered. The fruit of our labor may remain unseen, but one certainty remains: God is always at work within us. Through the calling of pastoral ministry, he uses it to shape and refine our character, our thoughts, and our dependence on Him. It is a sacred vocation that extends far beyond “the friends we made along the way.”¹

I envision this space as a way to reflect and mark new spots in the journey. A place to process the deep thoughts inside my mind that I can’t seem to speak for themselves. It’s for the times when I wish I could spill the interior content of my mind on a canvas. The thoughts that never make it into the sermon. The conversations I can’t have with my fellow seminarians over a pint after class. The stray thoughts that pop into my brain while in the shower, on the drive home, or at 2 a.m. when sleep won’t come, and I’ve exhausted every podcast on aliens or every documentary on North Korea.²

So, welcome to all who wish to follow along. And I chose a different word for journey.

This is The Sacred Wayfarer.

1. The worthless treasure cliche always cracks me up. I had to. Sorry.

2. Welcome to my strange fascination with this country.