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

May you rejoice in the unknown. May you hug uncertainty to you tight.

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

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.

This litany is intended to be read antiphonally (the congregation, split left and right, reading it to one another). Here I am, my sibling. Here I am. Can you hear me? Here I am. Saying you . . . You. Here. Now. We. We are. Here. Us. Together. Can you. Hear me here? I am calling to you....

There’s no package called hope. Nothing at a shop to look for. Hope won’t store like hay in a barn. It is a last leaf on a branch in deep winter. It is a singular thing, firm when it’s found—a hand reached out. A word to the marrow. Hope is fine-grained, like lavender gone to seed. Gossamer,...

We light this chalice remembering and honoring our own tradition and celebrating the rich diversity of traditions among us. As we search for justice, meaning, and purpose, may we remember that justice, meaning, and purpose live first in deeply listening to one another. This chalice lighting was...

For the setting sun from an airplane window; for the rising sun from a train window after riding all night; for the rising sun and setting sun in directions that feel foreign; for the sunlight even when we are lost. For the times the heart has longed to be alone. For the times the heart has ached...

Late in his life, the philosopher Richard Rorty — a well-known atheist — was asked by an interviewer if he could define holy. Perhaps the interlocutor thought the aging and dying Rorty would be stumped by the question or would fall into some traditional language of reverence. But Rorty was not...

Our light is the light of the sun, keeper of all we love; our light is the light of the earth, provider of sustenance; our light is the light of all living things, life precious like our own....

The Solstices teach us that darkness comes, that darkness goes. The Solstices teach us that light comes, that light goes. The Solstices teach us, calmly, silently, to be calm, silent. Learning. The Solstices teach us as we circle the sun that everything flies....

In 1935, a US government truck pulled up to my grandfather’s house, a two-room sharecropper’s shack in which sixteen people lived. They were starving to death. Not malnutrition. Starvation. The truck brought surplus food, which on that particular visit consisted of a gallon of mustard. My father...

Advent, adventus, means waiting. And the holiday season is nothing if not waiting—to get done the chores; to find the right gift; to find time for quiet moments; to accept that our loved ones will not be as we wish them to be....

We unite in our differences in background and belief; We unite—with gratitude and hope: Hope for a world of differences; Hope for a world that honors difference; We unite in community With gratitude for difference. Source: Association Sunday 2009...

In this time of loss In this time of asking why We light a flame of sharing We light a flame of commitment. In this time of why We light this flame Sign of our searching Sign of our sharing Sign that together we remember Together we ask why Together in sadness and joy We share light. Together we...

I grew up on my family farm in the southern part of Illinois. There was nothing about it that was a golden age. And I’m NOT nostalgic about the good old days. I don’t like carrying water from the well out back. I don’t like going to an outhouse at 4 a.m. in the snow. I don’t like the wasps...