Sometimes we need someone to witness the pain in holy stillness.

I would have loved it as a kid to have a church that encouraged us to listen to our heartfelt yearning of self.

We are the hands and feet of love. And sometimes its fingernails, too.

We teach girls to be likeable, to be nice, to be false. And we do not teach boys the same. This is dangerous.

The drag show was heaven broken open, given to us for the evening. Everything for a little while was perfect—and I saw the face of my God.

The road not taken is not a fork. That’s too simple a thought, flipping some coin. Either/or. Nope. It’s not this or that. No or yes. It’s nor/ neither and all of the above and more. The road taken goes every way at once. There. There. They. Them. Go. Now. Live.

We people, gathered here today on the quest for truth and meaning, bear witness. We bear witness. To the record of human lives extinguished, simply because these people dared to live authentically, we bear witness. To the lives and reported deaths of (number) transgender people, globally, so far...

My heart broke the day my son stood in the bathroom crying. He handed me a pair of scissors and told me to just cut it. I told him how beautiful his hair was and how sad I would be to see him cut it.

"How complicated it is to break silence: to open all of the secrets in all of our broken hearts. But silence does break; truth seeks the light. We're unraveling silence because we have determined that our power with one another is greater than the power someone once had over us."

"The thing that's really slick about whiteness, if you will, is that most of the benefits can be obtained without ever doing anything personally......

In religious community, we share our joys and our triumphs, our sorrows and our broken places. In this circle of care, we make space for the complexity of life, the myriad experiences that bless and break our hearts....

By the time I was in my late twenties, I was convinced that I would never find love. I had had a few boyfriends, but over and over again, I was exiled to the dreaded Friend Zone. I always suspected that it was because I was “too much”: too smart, too feminist, too radical, too fat, too...

How to discuss the truth that some men love men, and some women, women, and some, both, with the children in the church school and church home? Nonchalantly. Without drum-rolls. Without tip-toe preparations. Without calculating and predicting to the nth degree. With candor. With open ears. With...