Why I’m Inviting a Few Men to Scotland
Some thoughts on faith, friendship, and making room for what matters.
I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to spend a whole week getting things done without thinking much about the person I’m becoming.
I can answer messages, chase an idea, solve a problem, and start three more projects before lunch. I enjoy that kind of energy. But I also know how easily activity can keep me from asking harder questions.
Am I living what I say I believe?
Do the people I love feel loved by me?
What am I passing on through the way I actually live?
Those questions have become personal for me. I know what it is to have a painful distance between my convictions and my actions. I know that good intentions don’t erase the hurt we cause. And I’m still learning how the grace of Christ gives us courage to face the truth, take responsibility, and keep growing.
That’s part of what’s behind Reformers & Rebels, the Scotland pilgrimage I’m putting together for April 2027.
I want to gather a small company of men, walk through some remarkable places, and make room for conversations we might otherwise keep postponing.
And yes, I’d also like to explore a castle, enjoy a good meal, and learn a little more about Scotch. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.
I could use some room to pay attention.
I suspect I’m not the only one.
There are good reasons our lives are full. People depend on us. Work matters. Bills remain remarkably uninterested in whether we’re feeling rested.
But I’ve noticed that when I’m always responding to whatever is most urgent, the deeper things can go unattended. I can spend more time thinking about what I need to finish than about how I’m treating the people around me.
I’m drawn to the idea of stepping away long enough to look at my life with clearer eyes.
There’s something about walking an unfamiliar street that helps me notice things again. History does that for me, too. It interrupts the assumption that my circumstances are the whole world. Other people have wrestled with fear, responsibility, ambition, faith, and failure before I ever arrived.
I want us to have time to consider their lives—and our own—without checking the clock every few minutes.
I want friendships where I can give an honest answer.
I suspect I’m not the only one.
There are good reasons our lives are full. People depend on us. Work matters. Bills remain remarkably uninterested in whether we’re feeling rested.
But I’ve noticed that when I’m always responding to whatever is most urgent, the deeper things can go unattended. I can spend more time thinking about what I need to finish than about how I’m treating the people around me.
I’m drawn to the idea of stepping away long enough to look at my life with clearer eyes.
There’s something about walking an unfamiliar street that helps me notice things again. History does that for me, too. It interrupts the assumption that my circumstances are the whole world. Other people have wrestled with fear, responsibility, ambition, faith, and failure before I ever arrived.
I want us to have time to consider their lives—and our own—without checking the clock every few minutes.
History has been asking questions of me.
As I’ve worked on this pilgrimage and written A Faith Worth Leaving, I’ve spent time with the stories of Scotland’s Reformers and Covenanters.
I didn’t expect people from several centuries ago to feel quite so familiar.
Their circumstances were vastly different from mine. But beneath the old names and unfamiliar clothing, I recognize the desire to be respected, the fear of losing something important, and the temptation to confuse being right with being faithful.
I’m moved by their courage. I’m also interested in their contradictions.
I want to understand what they believed, what they risked, where they failed, and how their stories might help me examine my own life more honestly.
In Edinburgh, we’ll consider Scripture and authority in the places associated with John Knox. In St Andrews, Patrick Hamilton and George Wishart’s stories will bring us face to face with the cost of conviction. In Stirling, we’ll explore the tangled relationship between faith and power. And through the Covenanters’ story, we’ll consider what one generation leaves to the next.
Along the way, I want to ask questions like these:
* Where am I willing to let Scripture correct me?
* When does my desire to be liked make me less honest?
* What does my family experience when I’m convinced I’m right?
I’m asking those questions as someone who needs them.
My hope is that we’ll keep returning to Christ. His grace allows us to stop polishing our stories long enough to tell the truth. It also calls us to act on what we discover.
I want us to enjoy ourselves.
I’m looking forward to the food, the old buildings, the landscapes, and the conversations that continue because nobody is quite ready to leave the table.
I want to hear what a distiller notices that I would walk straight past. I want to appreciate the patience and skill behind something well made. I want to stand somewhere beautiful and resist the urge to experience the whole thing through my phone.
There will be opportunities to taste Scotch. There will be plenty to enjoy if whisky isn’t your thing, too. Drinking is optional; belonging is not.
I think we need room for delight. I know I do.
I want faith to shape the way I receive a good day as much as the way I endure a difficult one. Gratitude, laughter, and friendship belong in this journey.
So does a decent raincoat. I’m trying to keep my expectations of Scottish hospitality separate from my expectations of Scottish weather.
Most of all, I want the trip to matter when we get home.
I’ve come home from meaningful experiences with big intentions before. Then the routine resumes, the notebook disappears beneath a stack of mail, and the changes I was going to make become something I’ll get back to.
I want to think about that now.
Our field guide will give us space to reflect throughout the pilgrimage. I’m hoping each of us will come home with a few things we can actually practice: a conversation we need to have, a relationship that needs attention, a small habit that helps us become more present.
I’ve also created Bringing Scotland Home, a short family companion to help dads share what they experienced with their children.
My favorite part is called “Dad Goes First.”
Before asking our children what they need to learn, we share something we’re learning. Before giving advice, we might admit where we’ve been impatient, distracted, or wrong.
That feels like a meaningful place to begin.
I want the people closest to me to see what repentance and grace look like in ordinary life. I want what I learn to become something they receive through the way I listen, keep a promise, or ask forgiveness.
That is the kind of legacy I’m thinking about.
Join me in Scotland April 17–23, 2027, for Reformers & Rebels.
We’ll spend five full days exploring Edinburgh, St Andrews, Perthshire, and Stirling—walking through Christian history, opening Scripture, sharing meals, visiting distilleries, and asking what faithfulness looks like in our own lives.
I can’t promise a week away will sort everything out. I do believe there’s value in making room to listen, learn, and walk alongside other men who are still growing.
I’d love to have you with us.
If you’re interested, send me a message. I’ll share the itinerary, pricing, and how to reserve your place.
Scotland Is Calling. Come Along.'
Following Christ in the Company of Imperfect Men
