January 22, 2026
At our 8:30 service each Sunday, we light candles during the Prayers of the People. They are small beeswax candles that we light from a larger common candle, all placed in a bowl of sand that resides in the middle of our gathering. These are the words I say before the prayers: "As we enter into a time of prayer, I draw your attention to the bowl in the middle of the room. It is filled with sand, which represents our ancestors' journey through the desert and our own desert times in our lives. In the middle is a candle, representing the Light of Christ. If you have a special prayer to bring to the Light of Christ today, you are invited to light a candle and place it in the sand."
Things are hard right now, across the country and especially here in Minnesota. Gut-wrenching and scary and heartbreaking, at times. It's easy to feel overwhelmed and isolated. But I think it's helpful to remember we aren't the first people to go through difficult times. We stand on the shoulders of ancestors who walked through their own deserts. People who also feared and doubted sometimes. People who came to know that God did not abandon them in the wilderness, but dwelled with them there, and called them to carry Light for one another. We stand on their shoulders, we lean on their strength, and we are wrapped in their care.
When we light our 8:30 prayer candles, the Light of Christ does not float magically above our struggles, it is planted right in the sand with us. What we're doing is boldly claiming that love can be found right in the middle of pain, fear, and worry. And all the candles together in the same bowl remind us that we belong to one another, that no one walks in the desert alone, and that together we are brighter and bolder and more hopeful.
I'll miss you while I'm away from Saint Anne's over the next few weeks. My prayer for you is to be bright, and bold, and hopeful, and together. My prayer is that you remember that you are held you are held by the energy of goodness and promise that we call God, you are held by the ancestors, and you are held in my prayers, too, every day.
January 9, 2026
Many of you have reached out to let me know how the events in Minneapolis this week have impacted you in body, mind or spirit. You've shared anger, shock, disbelief, worry, grief. Me too. All of the above. For those who are not on Facebook, or who don't follow Saint Anne's on Facebook (what?!), this is what I shared there on the evening of the shooting:
Our faith teaches that every human being bears God’s image and deserves care and protection. Each of us shares the responsibility to uphold that care in our families, communities, and society. That responsibility was broken today by an immigration officer who killed someone who posed no threat. This is not just a violation of law, but a profound moral failure that demands grief and outrage.
In our Baptismal Covenant, we make a promise to respect the dignity of every human being. Following Jesus means rejecting violence and refusing to accept a world where violence is normalized.
A woman died today. A wife and a mother, a neighbor and friend, and a beloved of God's in her own right. We grieve her death. We stand with our community. We reject the systems of violence that empowered her killer. And we recommit ourselves to the hard work of justice, protection, and care that our faith demands of us.
Lord have mercy.
Since that writing, I continue to grieve this, and I do also see signs of mercy. I see prayer vigils with people singing "This Little Light of Mine". I see people doubling down on efforts to support one another. I see neighbors offering free day care where schools are closed, and teachers who take actions to protect their students where schools are open. I see immigrant business being supported. I see all of you, and your loving, open hearts, and all the ways you look to support and give and show up in the world as the face of, and the hands and feet of, Love.
Scripture tells us that light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. It did not, and does not, and cannot. I believe that to be so. My prayer for you this week is for that promise to live in each of your hearts too.
January 2, 2026
After a bustling Advent and Christmas season at Saint Anne's, I have spent the last week hunkered down with family: playing Uno with my nieces and nephews, reading, going on snowy hikes, organizing, and watching movies (the new Knives Out moviehas some pretty decent theology in it!). I've popped in and out of social media only a few times and have pretty much ignored the news. I'm (almost) ready to get back to the good work to be done out in the world, but it has been nice to live in a Christmas haze for a few days.
It can be easy to move through our days and weeks - busy ones and quiet ones, joyful moments and tiring ones - without really noticing how much the pace of life shapes us. But some might say (ha) that to everything there is a season. My prayer for you, this week and always, is that you’re able to find a good balance: time to do meaningful work, time to play and enjoy the people around you, and time to truly rest. May each season in 2026 meet you right where you are and give you exactly what your spirit needs.
December 19, 2025
One of the local school social workers contacted me this week with an urgent request to support families who feel unsafe leaving their homes right now. The need is simple: food and food delivery. This social worker and I have worked together on many occasions; she is someone I trust and admire, and she does incredible things on a shoestring and a prayer. So when she sounds the alarm, I know it's with good reason. Sure, I can help, I said, and I'm sure I know others (*wink wink*, that's you) who would love to jump in as well.
We exchanged a few emails, and on my way home from church I popped over to the grocery store to pick up a few needed items. I was thinking about how grateful I am for this social worker, and all she does for so many, when I heard, "Jennifer!" from across the aisle. It was her. We exchanged delighted surprise, chatted about the icy conditions and the needs in the community, and agreed that the best part of right now is seeing so many people respond with compassion and kindness to the needs right now. So many eager to love their neighbors. And if running into each other at just that moment wasn't a Spirit thing, then I guess I don't know what is.
If you would like to donate any funds to the school's efforts, they are collecting money via Venmo and 100% of everything connected will be used to buy food for local kids and families. You can email me for the Venmo account. Gift cards from El Burrito Mercado are also being accepted. There will likely be some more hands-on ways to help in the new year. I'll keep you posted as I know more.
Additionally, our Christmas Eve plate offering at Saint Anne's will be donated, in full, to this effort. I cannot think of a better way to celebrate the birth of the one who came to teach us to love.
My prayer for you this week is for Spirit to put just the right people in your path, at just the right moment. People who stir up delighted surprise. People who remind you that the world is full of love and compassion. People who offer the world their best, and spur you to do the same. My prayer is that you remember that you are that person for someone else, too.
December 12, 2025
This season can be hard. Both the season of short days and gray skies, and this season where the news is heavy, and many are carrying more personal burdens than we say out loud. I feel the weight of it, and I know many of you do too. And, I also do my best to find and carry hope. I suppose that is my natural inclination because it's what my parents taught me to do, and because it's what God taught me to do. God's kind of in the hope business. And I'm kind of in the God business, so... I try. Not to dismiss or ignore reality, but to remind myself, and anyone else who cares to be reminded, that even when things feel heavy, gray days are not the whole story. Even during a storm, the sun is still shining above the clouds somewhere.
Here are the things I'm noticing right now that keep me anchored in hope:
The Angel Tree gifts so many of you brought in for families who could use some help
The ways you Saint Annians check in on and care for each other without making a big deal of it but just because it's who you are
The slow, steady rhythm of Advent, reminding us that waiting is a part of the cycles of life
Counting down the days until the Winter Solstice (9 from today!)
Neighborhood whistle giveaways
Our Little Free Library
Newer Saint Annians jumping in to our community life
The new bird feeder out by the crabapple trees near the red doors. Our middle schoolers, along with compadre Doug Rude, make sure it’s filled each week. Every time I see a bird land there (I've seen woodpeckers and cardinals, and chickadees, and jays), or I see a squirrel - or a turkey! - come to snack on the hulls that drop below it, it's a reminder that life is beautiful, even when it's not, and that little things make a big difference.
None of this fixes the big, hard things. But it does remind me that the goodness of the world hasn't disappeared. My prayer for you this week is for glimmers goodness to come into your view when you need them the most. My prayer for you is for glimpses of beauty, glimpses of kindness, and glimpses of God, that remind you that even in the grayest days, hope is present and love is at work.
December 5, 2025
Yesterday, a gaggle of Saint Annians braved the negative wind chill temperatures to head over to the Westminster Town Forum in Minneapolis, to hear the Rt. Rev. Marianne Edgar Budde speak. You may remember that Bishop Budde is the current Bishop of Washington, D.C. who received high praise from some, and death threats from others, when she offered the homily at the January 2025 Interfaith Prayer Service following the presidential inauguration. Bishop Budde has also written several books, the most recent being How We Learn to Be Brave.
Bishop Budde’s talk was titled Courage Is Contagious, and offered a glimpse into how she navigates some of the difficult moments in her own life. She reminded us that courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward anyway. And that our small acts of boldness, from speaking truth to standing with the vulnerable, create ripples far beyond what we can see
So what helps us choose courage? For Bishop Budde, it begins with choosing hope. Each day invites us to decide whether we will carry hope into the world or surrender to cynicism and despair. Hope, she said, is an act of defiance that requires faith, practice, and community. When we dare to hope, we become more courageous, and when we are more courageous, we help others find their courage too. We can't all do it every day. But maybe we can swap days when we need to. It matters. Because one brave heart can change many. And many brave hearts can - and will - change the world.
If you'd like to hear Bishop Budde's talk, you can watch the video right here. Don't skip Ann Reed, the opening musician. Her songs of hope and courage brought the house down!
My prayer for you this week is to be bearers of hope and courage where and when you can. And in those moments you just can't - look around. Maybe it's a Swap Day and someone else is holding hope and courage for you.
November 28, 2025
I hope you each had a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving, full of love and blessings. I also know that isn't always the case for everyone.
Sometimes it feels as if blessings appear right in front of us, shaping the very path we walk. Other times it feels as if the path is bare and we can’t find a single marker. Most of the time, it’s a mix of both - the way forward twists and turns, but if we look for them, we can still find blessings along the way. Sparks of unexpected joy and hope as we continue on. Sometimes we just need a quiet moment, or a shift in perspective, to see the light they offer. Or some time to remember that even when our road seems shadowed, the blessings don’t disappear; they simply glow beneath the surface. In their own time, their light rises and guides us on.
Whatever path I am walking, I truly count Saint Anne's, each of you and who we are together, among the greatest of my blessings. Together we offer each other, and hopefully the community around us, guideposts and glowing light and sparks of joy along the way. My prayer for you this week is that you feel the blessing that you are and, in turn, can feel blessings all around you, whatever path you're walking right now.
November 21, 2025
Like many of you, my heart has been aching since the death of Saint Annian Jay Wiederholt earlier this week. So many have checked in to express your sorrow and to offer Jay's family your prayers. Your care and kindness is so wonderful. Thank you.
In honor of Jay, I commend to our attention:
Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who walk the way with us. So be swift to love. Make haste to be kind. The God of peace and compassion, the God who knows no death but only life abundant, will go with you.
November 14, 2025
Greetings from Rochester, home of the 2025 Convention of the Episcopal Church in Minnesota. Your Saint Anne's delegates - Corinne Hamlin and Cathryn Bashore - as well as Bob Furniss and I make up the Saint Anne's contingent this year; we are here through Saturday. And those of you who aren't with us in person are still very much a part of this in spirit. Earlier this week, Bishop Loya wrote the following about this annual ECMN gathering to do the business of the church, and to connect with each other:
Each time we gather, as I sit and look at the assembly, I can feel the real presence of all of our ancestors gathered with us. There is no challenge that we face today, that our forebears have not also faced at some point along the way. We are not simply meeting to conduct the necessary business of institutional life; we are incarnating and giving voice to the mystical union that we have been given in each other, with all those who have come before us, and with all those who will come after us.
In each of our local congregations, and as a diocesan family, we have been in entrusted with something we did not create. We will hand off to others work that is not ours to finish. But we have been given this moment and this work. What an astonishing thing.
We do have extraordinary challenges right now in terms of shaping a world that is more Christ-like, but It is good to frame it as work are trusted with it, and good to remember we don't it alone. We at Saint Anne's are members of a larger body, one that cares just as much about loving our neighbors as we do. One that wants health and safety for all, just as we do. One that can find joy in even the difficult work, can celebrate the little things, and is always looking to what's next, just as we do.
My prayer for you this week is that, wherever you are, you feel the support and encouragement of this larger family, that our shared hope buoys you, and that you know whatever lies in front of us, we never walk alone.
November 7, 2025
My niece Harlow turned seven this week. Seven! On the afternoon her birthday, I drove four hours down to Madison with a set of early-reader chapter books wrapped in rainbow paper - because this bright seven-year-old loves to read and loves all things rainbow — and joined our family to celebrate, sing, and watch her blow out her candles. Then, I turned around and drove four hours back home. Every mile felt like a prayer of thanks.
Many of you know that when Harlow was six months old she was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. Her first round of treatment did not go as hoped. Neither did her second. For a time, reaching her first birthday wasn't certain. Then, through a series of events that felt like they were orchestrated by angels, a specialist in Boston took her case. The road was rough, but through a convergence of grace, timing, love, and circumstance, she made it through. She is now seen yearly at the Survivor's Clinic and we celebrated her seventh birthday this week with cake and ice cream and a few tears of gratitude.
I may never understand why some are healed in this way and others are not. Still, I do know this: every laugh, every candle, every ordinary day that we are given is a quiet miracle. Sometimes life shows us that in very real ways. Harlow's illness changed our family - both in painful ways, and in unexpectedly beautiful ways. We are well aware that no one is promised tomorrow. But I thank God every day for the gift of her life and the time we have together, and for the ways this has shown us the beauty and strength of every day.
My prayer this week is that we never stop feeling the holy wonder of the present moment in front of us and never stop celebrating the gift of this life.
October 31, 2025
One of my all-time favorite pieces of writing is from Bishop Steven Charleston, offered several years ago, for the occasion of the Feast of All Saints:
Can you hear them?
Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me.
"Be still" they say, "Watch and listen.
You are the result of the love of thousands."
Can you hear them?
Can you hear them as they pass by?
Can you feel them standing just beside you?
They are the ones who have gone before, saints who have touched our lives.
They are the family to which we belong, ancient and never ending.
Our ancestors watch over us, their constant vigil keeping.
Their wisdom surrounds us.
Their healing a river through channels of time.
Can you hear them? They speak of a love they have seen, love beyond imagining,
love that holds us safe, until we rise to meet them.
Be still, they say. Watch and listen. I love the idea that the veil between this life and the next is not a wall, but a doorway. I love the idea that when we listen deeply, we hear encouragement and wisdom from the ancestors. I love that they are teaching us to trust what is unseen by our eyes, but known by our hearts.
Their healing a river through the channels of time. I love the idea of our ancestors reminding us that what feels broken can be mended. That their steady presence moves through time - flowing through us, watering roots beneath the soil, teaching us to endure, to reach for one another, and to look deep for support when we struggle.
They speak of...a love that holds us safe, until we rise to meet them. I love the reminder that we, too, are part of an unbroken circle of life and love, and that one day we will be welcomed by their embrace.
These days are difficult in our common life. My heart breaks a dozen times a day lately. Parents gone from their children, not enough food on tables, broken systems and structures, turmoil and division out of control. And yet, the ancestors are near, reminding us that endurance and love are in our bones.
I can't wait to speak their names and celebrate their lives with you on Sunday. My prayer for all of us is that what the ancestors began in courage, we will continue in hope.
October 24, 2025
Earlier this week, when I was taking my daily "church walk" down Charlton Road, I remembered I wanted to call my brother to chat about my niece's upcoming birthday. As I was waiting for the call to go through, I passed by my favorite tree on Charlton. As one does, I stopped to say hello to the tree and tell her how pretty she looked in the October sunshine. Not realizing my brother's voicemail had picked up the call by that time, I accidentally left him a voicemail that said in a very sing-songy voice, "Well, hello, don't you look soooo pretty today!". The voicemail may or may not have (it did) gone on about smelling good, and something about thank you for being so welcoming to birds and squirrels. It may or may not (it did) end with a very sing-songy "I looooveeee you!" before realizing I was leaving a voicemail.
I then had to call my brother back and leave another voicemail to say, "Sorry about that, I was talking to a tree."
I definitely felt silly, but was also relieved - if I’m going to embarrass myself by leaving unintended voicemails, at least I wasn't grouching at traffic, or swearing at the state of the world, or crabbing about any of the things I could be crabby about. Thank God for trees and birds and sunshine!
Truly, I thank God for these things. I also thank God for the ability to take a long walk, for a brother to call, for my niece's birthday (Harlow will be seven years old, and she is healthy and happy and our gratitude is endless!), for the good work there is for us to do together (see below for all the opportunities to love our neighbors right now), and for so many things. Including each of you. I really do thank God for each of you, each and every day. You inspire me, and laugh with me, and challenge me, and plot and plan with me, and you offer me endless grace. Thank you, for being you. And if you ever get a voicemail from me, sing-songing about birds and squirrels, well, that's what the delete button is for, right?!
My prayer this week is for all we do, intentional or not, to be done through the lens of gratitude for all that is, and all that can be. We may have some work to do right now to shape this ol' world into the realm of God, but we also have the ability to do it. And each other to do it with. Thanks be.
October 17, 2025
Over the last week, over 950 faith leaders from more than 70 counties across Minnesota joined together to call on state lawmakers to pass reasonable gun control measures. I have been proud to be part of that group. On Wednesday of last week, we delivered a letter to the governor, outlining why, as people of faith, this issue is critical to us. That launched 7 Days of Prayer and Action that included a daily prayer service on the Capitol steps. On Tuesday of this week, I had the honor of helping to lead the final prayer service. A group of Saint Annians braved the drizzle and chilly temps to stand on the steps too: we prayed together, and requested action together. Singing Amazing Grace with this gathered group of people from different faiths and denominaitons, but with the same hope for our future, was powerful.
I don't know if anything tangible will come of this effort. But it felt good to do something. It felt even better to do something together.
My prayer for all of us this week is to gather the heart and courage to stand up and speak up, the way Jesus has taught us, for the health, safety, and dignity of every person. Especially those most vulnerable. My prayer is that our courage be rooted in love, our actions shaped by justice, and our may our voices be heard. Amen.
October 10, 2025
It’s been a full week. Many ups, some downs. More meetings than usual - including one that, much to my chagrin, slipped off my radar and I completely missed. I am grateful for the grace of others! Overall though, I am so thankful to have meaningful work to do in this season of our life together. There’s been a lot of hopeful planning for things ahead, which is much needed right now; I'm excited to share all of that with all of you. But yes, I’m a little worn out, too. Maybe you know the feeling.
In my "I need a pick me up" state of mind, I remembered a Mary Oliver poem that Ren Stokesbary shared with me not too long ago. I pulled it up to re-read, hoping it would be the balm I needed in the moment. Yes, indeed. The second (probably 5th or 10th by now) read of this poem gave me the same spiritual boost, as it did the first time around. In case you're in need too, i wanted to share it with you:
Why worry about the loaves and fishes?
If you say the right words, the wine expands. If you say them with love and the felt ferocity of that love and the felt necessity of that love,
the fish explode into many.
Imagine him, speaking, and don't worry about what is reality,
or what is plain, or what is mysterious.
If you were there, it was all those things.
If you can imagine it, it is all those things.
Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle. Accept, too, each spoken word
spoken with love.
- Logos by Mary Oliver
My prayer this week is for all of us to feel the ferocity and necessity of the love Jesus spoke of, deep in our souls. My prayer is for that love to carry us through the changes and chances of life, accepting all the miracles our hearts can imagine.
October 3, 2025
A car never dies at a convenient moment. My car's, if not quite death then at least severe injury, this week seemed particularly inconvenient: it happened when my husband was out of town, and my son Nolan, who lives at home and commutes daily to the University of Minnesota, had his car also die a few days earlier. (Unlike mine, his is, sadly, dead-dead. RIP to Earl.)
So my week had some extra hoops to jump. But there were also some silver linings. I ended up taking the car to an auto shop that was only two miles from our home - a very walkable distance, especially with the gorgeous fall weather. We chose the place partly for convenience, but also because I recognized the name as one of the community sponsors of West St. Paul Pride. We at Saint Anne's are also sponsors of Pride and we are good people. By my reasoning, this auto shop would be full of good people, too. And - they were! They had the car diagnosed and fixed within about 24 hours, at a reasonable (for car repairs) rate, and with kindness.
And then there's the fact that I don't know the last time I spent 24 hours at home. Of course, the phone, Zoom, and Taylor Swift's internet make it easy to carry on. And it happened that for this particular 24 hours, anything on my calendar which required driving could be easily adjusted. So most things went on, business as usual. But for 24 hours, there was no running to the store, no running an errand, no running anywhere, unless I was using my feet. I didn't have to worry about construction traffic, or trying to squeeze just one more thing in. That left me with more time. More time to catch up on some planning I needed to do. More time to do some studying and writing. More time to connect with people on the phone. More with my dogs while I did it it all!
I had expected the car issue to be a big hassle. Instead, I found ease: from the mechanics, to the weather, to the calendar. As it turned out, I didn't feel stuck in any of the ways that matter.
My prayer for you this week is for a perceived inconvenience to reveal itself to you as a blessing in disguise. My prayer for you is that the bumps in your week are gentler than they first appear; maybe even blessed in their own way?
September 26, 2025
A few weeks ago, I was invited to attend an interfaith seminar called Lighthouse Statewide Clergy Summit, a seminar offering resources for clergy as we confront the rise of Christian nationalism, and as we all face more challenges in the work of compassion and care for the most vulnerable among us. I accepted the invitation, not entirely sure what the three-hour seminar would entail, but felt pulled toward it. The gathering was yesterday, and it turned out that 300 other clergy from across Minnesota felt that pull, too.
The crowd was a full spectrum of clergy: various Christian denominations, Muslims, Jewish people, Unitarians, Buddhist monks, and others. Over the course of the afternoon, we heard talks from community organizers, Baptist preachers, Imams, Rabbis, and even Governor Walz. Each speaker emphasized the growing need to care for one another during this time, and the increasing importance of staying grounded in our faith and the unity it provides, as fear and division seem to be taking hold more broadly across the nation.
Organizers are already working to extend this message more broadly. Those plans will include not just clergy, but also members of faith communities - that means you! - and more will come as takes shape. For now, I wanted to share how inspiring in was to be in the presence of passion and wisdom from across so many spectrums. Traditions and faiths may differ in custom, language, or practice, but at the heart, we all have shared values: compassion, justice, connection with something bigger than ourselves, and the longing for a better world. Being there made it so clear that there’s beauty and joy in finding common ground, and nothing to be gained from clinging to what keeps us apart. We know that, of course. But it was good to see and feel it.
One of the speakers at the event said, “Division is built on fear. But my God never taught me to be afraid.” My prayer for you this week is for you to experience a sense of unity that rises above the fears that try to keep us apart. My prayers is that you have a chance to connect with someone different from you which brings you a sense of community, commonality, and hope.
September 19, 2025
Most days when I’m at church, at least during the warmer months, I try to squeeze in a short afternoon walk down Charlton Road to Delaware and back. It's just over a mile and doesn't take long, but the road is quiet with lots of pretty roadside flowers, so it feels like a little outing. Especially when I'm doing sermon prep, it's a nice little way to stretch my legs and clear my head a bit.
Yesterday afternoon, though, I misjudged the weather. Well, to be more accurate, I didn't even think about the weather. I had an unexpected window between Zoom calls and figured I’d take advantage of the time, so I headed out without even glancing at the sky. (Dear Reader, it was dark!) I was almost to the end of Charlton when the rain started. One minute not raining, the next a downpour. I didn’t have an umbrella, of course, so I took refuge under a tree "until it slowed down". It never really did: I waited as long as I could and then I needed to get back for my Zoom, rain or no rain. (Dear Reader, there was rain!)
I arrived back at church soaking wet. Luis Rojas saw me come in and said, "I saw you leaving and thought you were crazy!" He’s not wrong. But there was also a huge smile on my face. It had been a long time since I’d been caught in a warm summer rain, and this may have been the last really warm one for a while. It felt like one final gift from this season. A wild, uninvited, a little ridiculous, and somehow still sacred, gift.Though my shoes were squishy for the rest of the day, and I could have done without that, being soaked in the rain reminded me that sometimes it's ok to be caught unprepared. It can be a chance to be in the moment. To laugh at yourself. To embrace what is, and to find joy where you can.
My prayer for you this week is for a bit of something unexpected that fills your heart with the goodness of the world, the goodness of God dancing all around us (whether in raindrops or otherwise!). My prayer for you this week is for a wild, sacred, interruption somewhere in your day that offers you a surprise moment of joy.
September 12, 2025
On our Monday Adventure this week, William and I took a nice long hike at one of our favorite places: Crosby Farm Park, along the Mississippi River. It's a quiet, calm, peaceful place, and we often walk in silence, just soaking it all in. At one point our favorite trail becomes sandy and narrow, as it follows the river. This time of year the brush and flowers along the path are thick and tall, and it's hard to see around the curves of the trail. It was in a spot like this, when William was up ahead a little bit, and out of sight due to the thick brush, that another hiker came up behind me. Before I even realized she was coming, she called out, "I'm right behind you!". I turned to say thank you, and she said, "I didn't want to scare you." I thanked her again and then kept reflecting, for the rest of our hike, on how much I appreciated her simple act of consideration.
In a world that can feel so broken sometimes, in yet another week marked by violence across our nation, maybe we can learn something from a moment like the one offered by my fellow river-trail-walker. Maybe if we can't yet manage to love like Jesus did, with endless grace, radical welcome, and gentle peace, we can at least take a first step.
We can try not to scare one another.
We can speak gently. Approach with care. Give warning before we round the metaphorical corner. We can try to remember that everyone, even strangers, deserve care and compassion. A bit of putting ourselves in their shoes. Even if we can do no more than that, maybe it will be enough. At least for now. At least it's a start.
My prayer for you this week is that you find a few moments of quiet and calm for yourself - a place to breathe, a place where green things grow and God meets you in peace. And may you also be that place for someone else, reflecting God’s love and light by moving gently, speaking kindly, and offering a bit of warmth and calm in a world that so desperately needs it.
September 5, 2025
Over Labor Day weekend, William and I decided it was finally time to tackle our garage. After 20+ years in the same house, with three kids who played every sport imaginable and countless home projects, the garage had become a catch-all for just about everything. Even more than we'd realized, because what we thought would be a one-day job turned into the full three-day weekend, and included three carloads to the dump, two to the thrift store, and the installation of a new storage system when we discovered the old one was in worse shape than we realized.
I will never argue that ignorance is always bliss, but in this situation, it certainly was. If we had known what we were getting into, we might never have started. But standing in a clean, organized garage three days later, I realized how powerful it can be to simply begin - not with a master plan, but with the intention to “just do a little.”
And I don’t just mean with garages.
In life, too, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by everything that needs attention. There are habits we want to change, relationships that need extra attention, and goals or dreams we’ve put off. Getting started can be intimidating. But in the stories of Scripture, God rarely reveals the full path upfront. More often, there's just a nudge to take the next small, faithful step.
Maybe we should take better note of that.
My prayer for you this week is that you remember you don’t have to have everything all figured out to begin. You just need to start with one step, one act of faith, one conversation, one small decision. One drawer at a time, so to speak. God will walk with you the rest of the way.
August 29, 2025
“Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted, for they are no more.” —Jeremiah 31:15
In this passage, Rachel symbolizes the grieving mothers of Israel, weeping for their children, who are being taken into Babylonian exile. The verse is part of Jeremiah's "Book of Consolation" that foreshadows the future restoration of Israel after their suffering and exile. It honors their deep losses, offers God's message of comfort, and promises a time to come when their struggles will be over.
In our time, Rachel is still weeping. As for me, I am at the "refuses to be comforted" stage. As yet another act of gun violence has torn through our community, and lives of even more precious children have been taken, I find myself heartbroken, of course. I also find myself furious. Why do we, as a society, allow this to continue, when there are things that can be done?
For those who have not seen it, here is an excerpt from Bishop Loya's statement yesterday, which is likely far more helpful to you than my anger:
The fact that we live in a nation where children are shot and killed while at worship or in school would be unimaginable if it wasn’t so common. Over decades, our elected officials have proven unwilling to take even the smallest steps toward addressing the fact that in many parts of our nation, it is easier to purchase a gun that is designed only to kill large numbers of humans than it is to get a license to drive a car. As a nation, we have chosen access to guns over the ability to assemble in our most sacred public spaces without fear. This crushing grief is simply what that collective choice costs.
In moments like this, we all feel helpless, angry, and afraid. But as followers of a savior who was executed by a broken and corrupt political establishment, we know a few things for certain. First, the resurrection of Jesus that we proclaim week in and week out in our congregations establishes forever that God’s love is the most powerful force for change and healing in the universe, and that love will one day break down and recreate even the most corrupt and broken systems we inhabit. So in the hardest moments, we double down on our commitment to be people who live by the law of love in a world that is ruled by narrow self-interest... Click here to continue reading the Bishop's message.
Saint Anne's Peace & Justice team has plans for a speaker on gun safety to come to Saint Anne's in November (this was pre-planned) and I hope you'll all be able to attend. Meanwhile, our work continues.
I am holding you all close in this tender time. My prayer for every last one of us this week is that one day the weeping will be no more.