In our lived lives, family comes in different shapes and sizes and constellations.It is in this variety—this diversity—that our lives are made fuller and our individual selves made more whole. It is in this variety, it is in this diversity, that we look back to the ancestors, recognizing no...

There was an audible gasp when they heard he* was gone A whoosh of air that sounded exactly like the bottom falling out of his mother’s** world the winds of mortality brushing his father’s** face the last breath of a kind soul All the years of struggle have settled into silence: Unsought,...

Sleep will come upon our eyelids and they will not ever be lifted again.

The words we cast to fill the silence left by one we loved never are enough.

We gather because we need community to do all of this holy work.

When we feel overwhelmed, we gather to find a path, to find new ways forward.

In my small-town congregation, our beloved dead seem to linger with us for a little while.

Remembering is the art of holding a memory and sharing it; it’s drawing upon that memory so it can help us to grow into people who live lives of meaning and service. As a practice, remembering connects us deeply to each other and to the love that sustains us.

They once dwelled among us, the people of memory.

In the ­struggles we choose for ourselves, in the ways we move forward in our lives and bring our world forward with us, It is right to remember the names of those who gave us strength in this choice of living. It is right to name the power of hard lives well-lived. We share a history with those...