May the words that I speak remind others that they are beloved.

Death is a regular part of my job, which makes small talk weird for me at parties.

Just as I can believe in others, I also believe in me.

A script for commissioning an affiliated community minister.

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

May love guide you on your journey forward

Let us imagine washing the feet of someone who has wronged us. Their feet, too, are calloused and muddy from the road.

Your minister is not, cannot be, your friend.

None of us are mission-making machines.

May we release ourselves from the need to fit every truth neatly into our own language.

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

What I do know for sure is that hope matters. One of the best things we can do is to hold hope for someone when that person cannot hold it for themselves.

A haircut, a cup of coffee, or just an honest “How are you?” can be transformed into a powerful moment between two people living in a hard world.

Surrender is the last thing, often the only thing, available. And so we give ourselves to it. We fear it is our end. Sometimes—with grace or luck—we find it is our liberation.

This work isn’t all prayers and beautiful moments, nor is it laments and trauma. It’s not even both/and, because this work is something greater than you, greater than us, greater than the whole of those we serve. This work is a calling. And we’re doing it. Day after day, night after night,...

We light this chalice to honor our work, to celebrate our community, and to bring hope and determination to our mission in the wider world....

We light our chalice this morning in the spirit of gratitude, Thankful for years of ministerial service to this church, For celebrations of life and death, dedications, and communions, For leading worship, grounding our congregation in spiritual practice, Helping us to navigate the wonders and...

I light this chalice for all the times you have lit this chalice; For every time you struck the match Or flicked that zapper thing Or empowered a nervous parishioner to do the same. I light this chalice for all that you've done: For all you've fostered and cultivated and nudged; For all you've...

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.

Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, is a novel that takes the form of a letter or journal that a dying, elderly Congregationalist minister in Gilead, Iowa, writes to his 7-year old son in 1956 – written so that one day the boy will know something about his father’s life and character. In this passage...