Author: Isaac Morehouse

As a truth seeker, I bristle at the idea that there is any knowledge that’s dangerous to have. But there is.

Not in an absolute sense. I don’t believe there’s any knowledge that is always and forever dangerous. But I think almost all knowledge can be dangerous at the wrong time.

It’s easiest to see with children. There are plenty of facts and types of know-how that can damage a child if conveyed too early. No one would deny this.

It’s also hard to deny that all grown humans are still at various stages of maturity, always with room for more. Humanity as a whole is also very young in many ways.

Putting these things together, it logically follows that there is always knowledge that is dangerous to individuals and humanity as a whole.

Does this mean shadowy agencies and secret societies should censor and hide it, cloak and dagger style? No.

Really the only implications worth considering are personal. Recognizing that, on the individual level, there may be knowledge that does not help you but harms you if you are not yet ready for it can help you slow down a little. And remembering the same about others can take the edge off the urge to proselytize.

I sat there listening to someone confidently explain something completely wrong.

I don’t know a lot about a lot, but I just happened to know enough about this subject to know that this surface level pop take was not just off, but absolutely backwards; the opposite of the actual meaning.

It didn’t make me mad, it just made me tired.

I didn’t know this person well, and didn’t have much to lose or gain by them being correct or not. Should I say something? Should I argue in front of others? Or maybe later, privately share the info they are unaware of?

The thought of doing that made me more tired.

So I just let it pass.

This happens more often as I get older. Usually, it’s something trivial said by a younger person, about a date or pop-culture reference or the meaning of a word. The kind of thing you are prone to get wrong unless you lived through it. I rarely say anything, because the energy required to be “um, ackshually” guy exceeds the value of the correction.

But it also slowly alienates me from the world. My wife and I laugh about these little things privately. Not in a condescending way ( or at least we try not to condescend), but a sign of the absurdity of life and aging.

As I silently observe people confidently proclaiming incorrect information, a terrifying realization dawns. How often was I on the other end while some older person sat silently, letting me prattle on like a fool about things I didn’t know?

Then it hits harder. That can’t be something I did once upon a time. It must be something I’m still doing. No matter how much older and wiser I feel, there is someone else compared to whom I am a fool on just about every matter.

Whenever I open my mouth or hit my keyboard, I am spouting nonsense in someone else’s mind and they’re just too tired to let me know.

That’s a good reminder.

We assume the best stuff makes its way to us. Great books, great ideas, great songs, great inventions. They’ll rise to the top and be included in Best Of lists, popular collections, and history books, right?

Yet we all know from experience this is not true.

If you’re a consistent creator of any kind, you know that your best stuff is not your most well-known stuff.

There are things hidden in the thousands of posts I’ve written that I think are the best, deepest, and most important. I’d most like them remembered. Yet they are essentially unknown, even to the small number of people that read a lot of my stuff. And that’s in the internet age for a loud and public person.

Now compound that over every single mind in history, remove the ability to do any record keeping or distribution for most of it, and you start to realize that the majority of worthy things created have never been seen or have been forgotten.

This is exciting to me, not depressing.

The act of creation is about more than other eyeballs or ears enjoying it. It transforms the fabric of reality itself, even if never seen by another soul. We are living in a world partly shaped by acts of creation we’ll never know about.

Father’s Day today

Not really sure what to say

Good to be a dad

I tend towards a jam band type of life.

I don’t like to do a lot of practice or memorization or perfecting or repeating. I like to do it live, making it up as I go.

This is not always good, but I chaff against other approaches. So instead of fighting it, I try to roll with it.

What’s required to make this successful isn’t memorizing exactly what I’m supposed to do, but instead knowing the foundation in an out without even thinking. When I really know the core of something, I can jump in and plot a path across its crust on the fly.

I don’t want to live the same day twice, sing the same song twice, or write the same thing twice.

Innovation is a series of bundlings and unbundlings.

Entrepreneurial individuals see a bunch of disparate resources and pull them together into a whole more valuable than the sum of the parts.

Then things change. The next set of entrepreneurial individuals see value left on the table, and break the whole into parts, tweak them, and serve people a la carte in a way that creates more value than the whole.

These things are happening in both directions all the time, across all industries.

Education is in the early stages of a massive unbundling, which will inevitably be followed by rebundling in new ways.

First, everything got put into ever bigger bundles. School became the giant blob that absorbed all facets of the life of anyone under 18.

Then, more and more people began breaking away from that bundle and trying different bundles – private schools, alternative schools, homeschool programs.

Now, not just one bundle, but all the bundles are getting unbundled. The walls are breaking down. The lines blurred.

Education is beginning to open.

Kids can pick and choose items from any of the bundles. Music at the public school, two days a week at a private school, a homeschool co-op, a teacher, a little unschooling or worldschooling sprinkled in.

Each kid can have their own personal bundle, different each semester and season of life, comprised of the pieces they pick from these other big bundles.

No longer do you have to choose Mainstream Ed bundle or Alt Ed bundle – both made by others and intended to serve masses.

You can create your own bundle.

I’ve got my people. A collection of good friends who are my guys. The fellas. And we are almost all separated by several states, spanning thousands of miles.

Modern technology allows me to feel just as close to them as when we’ve lived in the same city (or even the same house in some cases). Since this tech came into being while I was already in my adulthood, I have mostly experienced it as a way to keep connected with those I already know, not a primary means of meeting people.

I have definitely met new people online, and even become friends with some. But I wouldn’t say those are my people. They are the second circle, not the core group. The core is people I’ve had lots of experiences with in person.

I don’t think it has to be this way. In fact, I hope it doesn’t for my kids sake. We have moved several times, and my kids of made some friends at each place. It’s early to know whether they have any lifelong friends among them.

The thing I’ve noticed about moving to a new city is you don’t know how easy it will be to find your people. Sometimes it’s really hard. I’d love to think that tech allows the whole world to be your city, but I can’t imagine a healthy way for my kids to really meet their people purely online. They’d have to spend so much time on platforms full of low-frequency attention harvesting just to bump into them. And never know for sure who they are, filtered through a crafted persona.

So far, tech seems great for staying connected to your people, but not so much for finding them. And kids are losing the skills needed to find people in real life. Even when together, they are posting and scrolling, attention diverted from each other.

I don’t want to be an old man shaking his cane at the clouds, but I feel for my kids and their generation. Making friends seems more complicated than it was for me, and my context was so different that I have little relevant advice or wisdom to offer. Simply staying off social media or limiting screen time can prevent some negative stuff, but it doesn’t by itself create the positive connections.

Making friends seems to require a lot of deliberate effort these days, something that I did not experience.

There’s plenty of inspirational pablum about “be yourself”. Being charitable, it’s all good and fine and hard to disagree with. But there might not be enough reminders to sometimes change yourself too.

I don’t mean simply allowing yourself to be molded and shaped by your environment while you passively float downstream, avoiding pain and conflict and becoming an amalgam of all the normies around you. I mean seeing tendencies or traits you have that aren’t great, and consciously choosing to change them, or model them after those who are better in those ways.

There are likely a few core things that you should never change about yourself. A few things that are part of your identity, and required for you to fulfill your calling and contribute what you were uniquely created to contribute to the world. But there’s a lot of other stuff that’s up for grabs, and you can choose what to do with it.

“Be yourself” can be an excuse to not work on any of these other things, but instead pretend they are core to your identity. For example, it’s doubtful being unreliable is a core part of your identity and worth preserving. But I have met people who seem to think, “Yeah, I’d stop being lazy and late to everything, but it’s kinda my thing to be unpredictable and show up late, and darnit I want to be myself!”

They bind the tardiness up with a good trait – say their creativity – and pretend like they can’t change one without losing the other.

Bollocks.

Be yourself on the core things that really matter. Don’t bend. Don’t cow to others. Don’t be shaped by forces outside your control.

But also take control of all your other traits and tendencies and choose which ones you want to change and shape and make them better.

We’ve been in a bit of a drought. It has a way of creating tension, stress, and even desperation.

Even though I’m not farming and suffer no major ill from the lack of rain, there’s something deep inside that feels a growing need for it. The land is parched, and it somehow feels like my soul is too.

The Israelites had a far more serious drought. It got so bad that they turned from the God of all gods and started entreating Ba’al, the storm god, for a quick fix. They tried everything, his prophets cutting themselves and chanting wildly. Nothing happened.

It didn’t rain until Elijah, the prophet of God, had humiliated the prophets of Ba’al and their god. It didn’t come until every other option had been exhausted; all the magic and spells and chanting and attempts to make nature and gods bargain with them ran out. They were broken, embarrassed, and without hope. The people had nowhere to turn except God himself, surrendering to his power over creation.

Then “a cloud no bigger than a man’s fist” appeared on the horizon, followed shortly by dark skies and a deluge.

This is the pattern of God’s creation in the natural world. The seasons and cycles push to the breaking point. When it appears the earth can’t take another day without rain, or another day without sun, or another day of freezing cold and snow, it breaks. Some things die off during the harsh season. They make way for fresh blooms and strong new growth.

This is no mistake. Our spiritual life is not separate from the created order. Creation is a teacher, a guide, and a companion. During the abundant season, we stray from Truth and seek folly. The early part of the drought doesn’t brings us back either. Instead, we seek to bargain with lesser gods, or go on our own strength. The drought persists and persists until we run out of options and are fully broken. Only then does that precious rain cloud appear.

One more detail from the story of Elijah. In the showdown with Ba’al, the final stretch of the drought needed to kill off what was corrupting, Elijah did something crazy. He setup and altar for sacrifice, but did not light the fire, saying God would do it and thus demonstrate his power. But he also dug a trench around the altar and called for many large barrels of water to drench the entire thing and fill the trench.

In the middle of a drought, where even the horses could hardly find a creek to water in, Elijah poured out large stores of water on the altar before God. A final act of complete surrender to His power and possibility.

God sent fire to consume everything. The meat, the wood, and even all the precious water on and around the altar.

Only after that did the tiny cloud come, just on time.

I’ve published over 2,200 articles under my own name, and over 700 as a co-author, editor, or ghostwriter.

The biggest difference is that ghostwriting takes more creativity.

Sounds counterintuitive, but to formulate concepts in a way that specific others would, rather than what comes naturally to you, requires a great deal of ingenuity.

The writing has to be sincere and real to be good. So how can you be sincere and real and also capture someone else’s voice – when they themselves aren’t sure how to capture their own voice?

Now that is a puzzle.

It takes more work. It’s sometimes annoying and constraining, but there’s a different kind of reward.

Writing for myself, the reward is mostly the feeling of having made something, produced something, said something I want to say. Writing with or for others, the reward is mostly the feeling of having solved a riddle or brain-teaser. It’s a playful pride in cracking the code.

I prefer writing under my own name, but writing with or for the right person(s) can be a great experience, and keeps my skills sharp, preventing me from falling too far into the chasm of idiosyncrasy.

Meant to write last night

Schedule, and avoid a fight

It’s done, so all’s right

“If you take away the Spirit the letter kills, and then what hope will remain?” — St. Augustine

Maybe I need to write this to resolve an inner conflict.

I grew up in a non-denominational, charismatic environment. I loved it. I connected deeply with Christ, the scripture, communion, prayer, giving, serving, teaching, worship, and fellow Christians.

As I matured and became more intellectual and had more experiences of human folly in and outside of the Church, I saw gaps and pitfalls. I saw the shallowness of evangelical protestantism, the rigidness and folly of sola scriptura in the more dogmatic denominations, and the tendency to go astray, blown by “every wind of doctrine.”

I explored Eastern Orthodoxy and Catholicism. I found much there that was missing from my own tradition and upbringing. But I found pitfalls and folly there too. Most of all, I found an aesthetic that was so foreign to my nature I hardly knew how to engage with the Church in that form. Like a fish trying to climb a tree.

As I moved through phases in life and moved cities many times, my priorities changed. A regularity for my children, a basic body of good people around, and some semblance of connection to the Church I knew became paramount, as we were uprooted many times.

I’ve spent chunks of time not going to church at all. I’ve spent much larger chunks not only going, but leading worship, mission groups, service groups, prayer groups, Bible studies, and small groups of all kinds. I’ve preached sermons in wood huts in Africa, played guitar in plywood and sheet metal shacks in Mexico, chanted in Greek with the priest at Vespers, and sung on stage in mega church arenas in Nashville.

I have experienced God in a three and a half hour black Southern gospel service as well as a four and a half hour Latin Mass on Holy Saturday. I have experienced him in thirty minute Reformed sermons, outdoor worship concerts, and midnight prayer vigils.

I am deeply drawn to the theology of the ancient faith found in Eastern Orthodoxy, and am an avid listener of podcasts like The Lord of Spirits and The Whole Counsel of God. I’m currently reading several Orthodox classics, as well as my constant diet of the Bible and C.S. Lewis (who is the closest thing to a spiritual mentor I’ve had).

Orthodoxy (mostly) makes sense to me. Yet when I attend the services, though I feel holiness and awe, I cannot help but feel that this is not my home.

I remember driving through rural Tennessee, at a time when I was attending mass at a small Catholic church every Wednesday morning while also attending a local satellite of a large modern evangelical church every Sunday. I would walk in the stations of the cross garden and pray, asking God what my role in His Church is.

The closest thing to an answer I got was a consistent, small voice every time I drove by any church of any kind. As I drove past a tiny country Presbyterian church, He said, “That is the body of Christ.” A few miles down the road, I drove by the flashy megachurch and again He said, “That is the body of Christ”. I passed the Catholic church, and again He said, “That is the body of Christ.”

It brought me to tears. It humbled me. This has continued on every drive for several years. I knew God was whispering a humbling reminder to me. I was not going to find the perfect version of Church, nor even be able to sort out all the correct and incorrect things about any one of them.

This doesn’t mean there aren’t correct and incorrect things about every Church, nor that some aren’t more off base than others, or even heretical. That is certainly true. But I don’t think I’m the person to make those calls, certainly not for anyone else. I am called to find the Church in the place and way that I can be a part of Her.

This meta-realization doesn’t make connecting with any particular body of believers easier. But it does help give me perspective.

Through all my searching, and all my love for the ancient Orthodox theology, ritual, and liturgical calendar, there’s one thing that has always been out of place: my deep and abiding love for “modern worship”. I feel like David when I cry out to God with my whole voice and my whole heart.

“Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.” — Psalm 150:4

I am overcome with joy, weeping, brokenness, wholeness, and the Holy Spirit when I listen to and participate in musical worship. I would go so far as to say I need it. It was put in me from my birth. I am called to it. I can feel the chains of the devil breaking, the heart of stone softening, the tears of grace flowing.

Musical worship with screaming electric guitars, drums, base, keys, and the full force of (sometimes cheesy) contemporary song is a decidedly low church phenomenon. It is often raw and undignified. It is not liturgical, and it is certainly prone to error and excess. Yet I cannot deny that the Spirit of God is in it.

“David was dancing before the Lord with all his might…with shouts and the sound of trumpets...when she saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord, she despised him in her heart…David said…”I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.”” — 2 Samuel 6:14-23

The low church is a mess. It is unconstrained and tends to get too weird, too emotional, and too intellectually thin. But it, too, is the body of Christ.

It is good to remember too that every form of the Church is prone to error. The low church likely errs more frequently than the high church, but the errors are also probably less dangerous. A child gone astray is less of a danger to the world than an adult who is corrupt.

In all these years and all this pondering and praying and searching and experiencing, I have also noticed something else: every land and every people has their own culture, mannerisms, norms, and traditions. And from the earliest days of the Church, these have manifest when Christians gather. Christ doesn’t squash them.

The Church in Jerusalem, mostly Jews, did not look the same as the uncircumcised believers in Greece. The Apostles had to figure out what this meant, and concluded it was normal, as a people came to Christ and were saved from the local gods who enslaved them, that they would bring their own traditions into the Church. Christ goes down to the very bottom and redeems everything. The unique aspects of each culture and people do not dissolve, they blossom in Christ.

“If the whole body were an eye, the body would not be able to hear. If the whole body were an ear, the body would not be able to smell anything. If each part of the body were the same part, there would be no body...And we give special care to the parts of the body that we want to hide.” — 1 Corinthians 12:17-23

I am an American. America is a young, brash, foolhardy, open, emotional, wild, passionate, immature, and sincere culture. We are too naive to be subtle and savvy; too foolish to know the dangers we flirt with. We are the children approaching Christ, oblivious to his great power; or the Centurion who didn’t deign to bother Jesus to come to him but thought, very practically, that he could heal from afar. We don’t know what we don’t know. But we go at things hard. We go all the way.

Maybe Americans need a little charismania. Maybe it’s in our blood.

I was born into the low Church. I value, respect, and am in awe of the high Church. But I am a ranger, a rebel, a frontiersman, and outcast, roaming the outskirts of the Kingdom, doing my best to serve the King in the wilderness.

I do not always do well. I am not always good. I am not always faithful. I am not always a servant. I can only hope that, by the Grace of God, at the resurrection I can stand side by side with my brothers and sisters from every variation of the Church across the globe and worship the Risen Savior together.

I love spreadsheets. I couldn’t run a business (or my life) without them.

But big strategic decisions and actions require more than spreadsheets. There’s another half to the equation.

You need to know it makes business sense in the columns and rows and cells. But you need to turn that business sense into a genuine connection with the market and make it a moment they feel.

This requires living in your market. Among your colleagues, customers, and partners. You’ve got to know how the spreadsheet logic will translate into market logic – into a feeling, a movement, that they value and can participate in.

This knowledge rarely effects the big decisions you make, but it absolutely should impact how and when you make and communicate those decisions, and be a major part of the smaller decisions and actions along the way.

Making business sense is not enough. You’ve got to make it make sense sense too.

I’ve got a packed day and I’m running behind. I’ve got to get my daily blog post in though, so here it is.

The only value here is to me, but I write for me anyway, so there.

When I start to feel stressed or overly intense, sometimes I will notice something absurd – in myself or the world – and it laugh-shocks me into a better state of mind.

I think, “You know, I need to try to make jokes to myself more often.”

Then when life gets serious, I forget.

I can think of many times I’ve been too serious. I can’t think of any times when I laughed too much (excepting moments of cruel, mocking laughter).

I guess I can laugh at the absurdity of my own inability to remember this.