I am hardly an expert in game theory, but its basic idea intrigues me: our choices affect others, their choices affect us, and together those interactions help shape what happens next. Looking back, I think I began learning that as a child. My father pastored small churches and often worked other jobs to support our family. When I was in second grade, we lived in Hotchkiss, Colorado. The church was a charming log building, and the rectory was a large old house that had once been a funeral parlor. My three brothers and I were convinced it was haunted. Behind that house was my kingdom. With dirt, sticks, rocks, bottle caps, and imagination, I built forts, nations, armies, and navies. Naturally, I was G.I. Joe. My mother wasn't thrilled. She worried someone might see the preacher's son playing in the dirt with discarded beer-bottle caps and wonder about us. Mother had definite ideas about proper behavior. But something was happening in that dirt. I was learning that one action leads to another. Choices have consequences. People respond to one another. And perhaps that is true of our spiritual lives as well. None of us are formed alone. Parents, friends, teachers, strangers, churches, disappointments, kindnesses, and acts of grace all leave something behind in us. We affect one another, and in the process, we become different people. The Christian life is not a zero-sum game where I must lose for you to win. Grace works differently. Compassion can create more compassion. Generosity can awaken generosity. One person's hope can become another person's reason not to give up. Perhaps that is part of the beauty of the Church at its best. We encourage, disappoint, forgive, challenge, and love one another. And somewhere within that complicated give-and-take, God is at work. Maybe I began learning that long ago, moving bottle caps through the Colorado dirt. The games get more complicated. The lesson remains simple: we help shape one another. As iron sharpens iron so one person sharpens another. Proverbs 21:17 Blessings for Advent, Father Dave
Every seventh week, from Tuesday through Thursday, Naomi and I find ourselves walking a familiar path—one paved with ancient songs, whispered prayers, and the quiet joy of recognition. The Psalms of Ascent—Psalm 120 through 134—rise up in our Daily Office readings like old friends returning for a visit. And we welcome them with open hearts. These fifteen psalms, traditionally sung by pilgrims journeying to Jerusalem, carry the cadence of movement and longing. They speak of valleys and hills, of danger and deliverance, of community and solitude. Historically, they were likely chanted as travelers ascended toward the Temple, each step a prayer. In the rhythm of the Daily Lectionary, we read the entire book of Psalms every seven weeks. That means each psalm becomes a companion we meet again. Some are challenging, others comforting. But the Psalms of Ascent? They’re ones we look forward to. They’re the ones that feel like a warm jacket on a cool desert morning. There’s something way cool about reading scripture this way—systematically, repetitively, relationally. Over time, verses become familiar not just because we’ve memorized them, but because they’ve memorized us. They know our seasons. They’ve seen us through grief and celebration. And when they return, it’s not just reading, it’s a reunion. So, when Tuesday rolls around in that seventh week, Naomi and I smile. We know what’s coming. We know who’s coming. And we say, “Welcome back, old friend. Let’s enjoy our time together.” I will close with a Psalm of Ascent (Psalm 122) beginning in Hebrew but ending in English. Enjoy. Blessings on your day, Father Dave Madsen
I am hardly an expert in game theory, but its basic idea intrigues me: our choices affect others, their choices affect us, and together those interactions help shape what happens next. Looking back, I think I began learning that as a child. My father pastored small churches and often worked other jobs to support our family. When I was in second grade, we lived in Hotchkiss, Colorado. The church was a charming log building, and the rectory was a large old house that had once been a funeral parlor. My three brothers and I were convinced it was haunted. Behind that house was my kingdom. With dirt, sticks, rocks, bottle caps, and imagination, I built forts, nations, armies, and navies. Naturally, I was G.I. Joe. My mother wasn't thrilled. She worried someone might see the preacher's son playing in the dirt with discarded beer-bottle caps and wonder about us. Mother had definite ideas about proper behavior. But something was happening in that dirt. I was learning that one action leads to another. Choices have consequences. People respond to one another. And perhaps that is true of our spiritual lives as well. None of us are formed alone. Parents, friends, teachers, strangers, churches, disappointments, kindnesses, and acts of grace all leave something behind in us. We affect one another, and in the process, we become different people. The Christian life is not a zero-sum game where I must lose for you to win. Grace works differently. Compassion can create more compassion. Generosity can awaken generosity. One person's hope can become another person's reason not to give up. Perhaps that is part of the beauty of the Church at its best. We encourage, disappoint, forgive, challenge, and love one another. And somewhere within that complicated give-and-take, God is at work. Maybe I began learning that long ago, moving bottle caps through the Colorado dirt. The games get more complicated. The lesson remains simple: we help shape one another. As iron sharpens iron so one person sharpens another. Proverbs 21:17 Blessings for Advent, Father Dave
Every seventh week, from Tuesday through Thursday, Naomi and I find ourselves walking a familiar path—one paved with ancient songs, whispered prayers, and the quiet joy of recognition. The Psalms of Ascent—Psalm 120 through 134—rise up in our Daily Office readings like old friends returning for a visit. And we welcome them with open hearts. These fifteen psalms, traditionally sung by pilgrims journeying to Jerusalem, carry the cadence of movement and longing. They speak of valleys and hills, of danger and deliverance, of community and solitude. Historically, they were likely chanted as travelers ascended toward the Temple, each step a prayer. In the rhythm of the Daily Lectionary, we read the entire book of Psalms every seven weeks. That means each psalm becomes a companion we meet again. Some are challenging, others comforting. But the Psalms of Ascent? They’re ones we look forward to. They’re the ones that feel like a warm jacket on a cool desert morning. There’s something way cool about reading scripture this way—systematically, repetitively, relationally. Over time, verses become familiar not just because we’ve memorized them, but because they’ve memorized us. They know our seasons. They’ve seen us through grief and celebration. And when they return, it’s not just reading, it’s a reunion. So, when Tuesday rolls around in that seventh week, Naomi and I smile. We know what’s coming. We know who’s coming. And we say, “Welcome back, old friend. Let’s enjoy our time together.” I will close with a Psalm of Ascent (Psalm 122) beginning in Hebrew but ending in English. Enjoy. Blessings on your day, Father Dave Madsen
