Come. Gather. Not into a common space— sharing a physical closeness we long for, precluded by wise choice. But come, gather into this common time and a common space. We need to be together. We yearn for connection....

The chalice, as a symbol of Unitarian Universalism, arose as a beacon of hope in an atmosphere of tyranny. The chalice arose as a sign of promise that the marginalized would neither be forgotten nor ignored, because they are beloved and precious from the perspective of the Holy. This morning, we...

The most life-giving coping strategy—for me—is to attune to a voice calmer and wiser than mine, and allow that seeking to be its own expression of faith.

The assumption that all people remember the same set of events, or enjoy the same set of things, puts enormous burdens of assimilation onto members of marginalized communities.

Mini-webinars explaining the liturgical and technological ways to create sensory-rich Zoom worship services.

Q: “I’m really struggling with my anger lately. I just feel angry all the time. What’s wrong with me?” There is nothing wrong with you because you are angry. Anger is a normal human instructional emotion, just like joy. It’s just that we as women—just like every marginalized...

It often feels like we’re shouting into the void. It was a gift to be reminded that sometimes someone is listening.

Spirit of Life, Spirit of Love, we come today carrying our grief, our memories, and our love. We gather around screens and devices, reaching out with our minds and hearts to join in this most ancient of human customs: honoring one whom we loved who has died....

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.

"I believe firmly that to practice love is to disrupt the status quo which is masquerading as peace." —posted on Austin Channing Brown's Instagram, June 17, 2020...

I learned the hard way that there is a deep difference between the Jesus that Black folks worship and the Jesus that white Christians worship.

I miss the way things were, and I know they’ll never really be the same.

We light this chalice, symbol of our purpose to bring more love and justice into the world. We light this chalice, knowing our congregation as a church dispersed across communities, not bound by walls but connected through the web of life.

Sheltered in our homes, Or going to work, at risk, For week after week after week, We’re edgy, tired, a little raw. We are tender, vulnerable, Open. A little more open than usual. Those of us who are white, Who, before, might have been distracted Who, before, might have been too busy Who, before,...

Our conversations about the history of our country—the actions of our ancestors—can be made new and relevant and understandable. We can and must have these conversations.

May we all remember how inextricably we are linked in this fight for justice and freedom.

My mother and father armed us with this truth: The world is awful, magnificent, and belongs to you as much as it belongs to anyone else.

Deep in the shadow of night, down near the crossroads and cemetery gates, with bitter liquor and cigar smoke wafting, I greet you. Clad in white, upon the floor before shrines, following the names of the Ancestors being uttered, I greet you. You are the sacred and righteous rage of my people.

Once there was a wise woman named Athenerva.* Athenerva would travel from town to town in her country, spending a few days, maybe a week in each town. People came to her with difficult problems or arguments they were having with others, and she would help them find their way toward satisfying...

I hope that this Great Silence, which has come alongside the suffering, holds the beginnings of our healing.