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.

What if we encouraged and celebrated each other for who we are? What if, instead of criticizing, we challenged with love, affirming the good we see in one another?

Out of the blue, the 5-year-old turned to me and said matter-of-factly, ‘You’re fat.’

Spirit of Compassion, remind us that our task as humans is not perfection, but faithfulness.

I’m not the same person who stood in that tattoo parlor eleven years ago. Still, I don’t for a minute regret being permanently marked with this snapshot in time, of my wounds and my hope.

I wanted so badly to break free and let loose—but I just couldn't. I was stuck in my own false ideas of the congregation's expectations of me. Luckily, there’s still time.

Spirit of Compassion, help us draw strength from all that we are. Give us new language with which to claim our wholeness, a new litany of joy built out of words that wounded.

Someone whispered to me, “Can you pray?” I had no earthly clue what to say. It was a profound gut-level panic. It was the moment I learned to speak the truth as best I understand it, and to hold space for it to bloom.

How many times do I need to make mistakes before I’m ready to admit that I’m not any better at this than the bigoted and willfully ignorant?

The offering that we take each Sunday isn't just a stale habit: it's an opportunity to recommit to this place, and to this people. Our offering is an affirmation—a “yes.” When we give, we say yes to something we value. With our gifts, freely given, may we say yes to the values of our faith.

“You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.”...

I pull another basket of steaming dishes out of the dishwasher in our church basement. My partner in kitchen clean-up grabs a clean dish towel to dab the pools of water from the upturned soup bowls. They ask, “So, what’s your undergrad in?” The conversations that happen in church kitchens are...

The 7 Jobs Capitalism Asks of All of Us: 1. Measure Self Worth by Work: Don’t believe in the inherent goodness of people. Instead decide that everyone’s worth is only as much as they achieve. 2. Accept that Oppression is the Norm: This starts with adultism the moment we are born and conditions...

“We are not primarily put on this earth to see through one another, but to see one another through.” — Author unknown Standing roadside, stranded, watching thousands of dollars rise in the smoke coming from under the hood, it’s easier to fight about who forgot to put oil in the car than to...

Worship Leader: In this moment of worship we call to mind those times of failure and regret common to all of us. We remember first, in silence, those times when we have failed to do all that we meant to do, or through our actions failed to be all we were meant to be....

Characters: Narrator, Very Important Person, Enemies (including Leader of the Enemies), Spider, and at least four Cave Rocks. Materials needed: Grey, silver, or white yarn Narrator: I’d like to share a story with you today – a story about a simple little spider who did an amazing thing. You’ll...

The blasphemy of body hatred has no place in this temple.

"What we need is here" is a perfect, simple song by Episcopalian priest Rev. Amy McCreath. Its five words are the closing sentence of a Wendell Berry poem, "The Wild Geese," which inspired Amy to write this tune....

The new year calls us forward, filled with mystery. As we turn toward that new year, we take a final glimpse of the past year, and reckon with all that it held for us. There are baskets moving through the aisles with pens and something called flash paper. It’s specially treated paper that...

An awakening passed through the whole theatre, and as if touched by some invisible hand, the people stood, clapped, shouted with joy, laughed, and wept… It was blessed to be connected to—no, to be a part of a community—a people. —Volker Kühn, in his essay about a cabaret performance during...