Demand Freedom from ICE

Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! - Emma Lazarus

These words, penned to raise money for the pedestal that houses the Statue of Liberty, hark a kind of welcome to the immigrant, to the fearful, to the migrant that couldn’t feel more distant from reality. Perhaps it’s right to remember that this country has always held the balance between creative, expansive imagination and brutality. We live on stolen land. We stole forced labor and separated people from their families, from native culture, land, and language. 

Yet, throughout time, we have seen the impact of resilience as people have turned cities into thriving communities where difference is celebrated, people share resources, and wealth is built through sharing, not taking. In too many places, these are ideals to be lived into, not yet realities, but I refuse to lose hope that our country can heal toward the ideals that we are shaping every day through resilience and having bigger dreams than our founders.

Most importantly, I refuse to lose focus on our mandate as a people of faith to “proclaim good news to the poor, proclaim freedom for the prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free… “ (Luke 4:18-19). 

In light of the cold-blooded murder of same-gender-loving mom and poet, Renee Nicole Good, 37, by ICE I couldn’t agree more with what Rev. Cameron Trimble wrote of this moment: 

“What we are witnessing now is what happens when fear is institutionalized.

When enforcement becomes militarized, judgment collapses into reflex. When people are reduced to targets, the possibility of restraint disappears. When a system is designed to move fast, to overwhelm, to dominate, death becomes not a failure but a risk casually accepted.

This is not law and order. It is yet one more moral rupture.

It places an unbearable burden not only on migrants and communities, but on those tasked with carrying out these policies. Systems that reward aggression and punish restraint deform everyone inside them. Violence spreads outward and inward at the same time.

For people of faith, this moment asks of us more than outrage. It demands clarity.

• Clarity that a person’s life cannot be collateral damage in the pursuit of policy.

• Clarity that public safety cannot be built on terror.

• Clarity that borders do not erase humanity.

We must, all of us, see this clearly: a nation that responds to migration with lethal force has lost its way.

And yet, even after all the trauma we are absorbing, I must encourage us. Faith refuses despair.

Faith insists that heartbreak is not the end of moral responsibility—it is often the beginning. It calls us to grieve fully, to name what has gone wrong, and to labor for a different way. Not a naïve way. A human one.” 

So, if you are feeling full of rage, that’s good. Jesus flipped tables at the ways people were exploited. Let your rage fill your belly so you speak out in the face of injustice. 

If you are feeling full of grief, that’s good. Job’s friends tore their garments in solidarity with their friend who lost everything. Let your grief draw you near to those who suffer and to your own suffering. 

If you are full of despair, that’s okay. You are like the disciples who stayed paralyzed in the Upper Room after Jesus’ death. Let your despair find home in a journal or prayer, but let it not be the last word.

Remember, God stands with the just, God speaks to us in the whirlwind, God returns to us in our sorrow to show us the way toward peace and creates a pathway to liberation. 

Dear ones, I don’t know what the days to come will hold, but I do know we will get through them with faith, with peace that demands courage, and with love that is stronger than fear. If you want to be around others tonight, meet us on Manchester and Sarah at 6pm.

In Deep Rage, Deep Grief, and Deep Faith, 
Pastor Lauren 

Wishing You Ease and Tenderness As You Step Into A New Year

As the year continues to draw to a close, know we will be surrounded by an overwhelming amount of reminders. There are end-of-year videos, listening statistics, photo recaps, and carefully edited summaries of who we were and what we did. Every platform invites us to remember our year in neat highlights, to capture it in ways that feel acceptable to show the world.

But what is truly important to remember as this year ends?

We have been taught, in so many subtle and not subtle ways, to only show the pretty and polished parts of our lives. There is a culture of sharing the moments that feel impressive, joyful, and put-together. And yet, every life holds far more than what could ever fit into a recap. There are so many sides to each life and each story that we see. Rarely do we see anything that happened moments before or moments after the picture was taken. So much of what we will see at the end of this year is shaped by what we think is safe or worthy of being seen.

Andrea Gibson names this beautifully in their poem Boomerang Valentine:

“Picture the 738 selfies I deleted
before I took one I was willing to show to the world.
Picture me wishing I could get all of them back—
my so-called flaws stacked like baseball cards
I know will be worth something someday,
like compassion, like tenderness,
like my capacity to think myself a catch just because
I have never seen a chandelier I didn’t want to swing from.”

I hope each of us can look back at this year and hold with love the moments we are proud of, the moments we are not, the moments that made us smile, and the moments that made us weep. 

I wish end of the year recaps showed us how many times you told your friends that you loved them, how many times your friends told you that they loved you, how many strangers we made smile, how many moments brought us to tears or moved us in deep ways, or how many days we made better by the small acts of kindness we did for another person.

Much of what matters most, happened off camera. In the quiet moments we sometimes forget even happened. In the moments of kindness and love, that you might never know changed the course of another persons life. As this year ends, let us end it with gentleness and tenderness for ourselves. For all that we showed the world, and for all that we felt we had to keep hidden. 

If you remember anything this year, I hope you:
Remember your goodness.
Remember how loved you are.
Remember how important you are.
Remember that you are the best thing that has ever happened to you.
With compassion for all that you showed the world, and all that you did not,

Pastor Eli  

Merry Christmas Eve

“And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room.” - Luke 2:7

Merry Christmas, friends!

Tonight, as we gather around candles, at church or in our hearts, we cradle the light of Christ that came in on a night when everyone was full of fear. When Mary and Joseph finally found refuge from a long and arduous journey, they did not get to go right to sleep — even a fitful sleep that often accompanies a first night in a new place. Instead, their worst fears came true: away from the comforts of home, Mary would deliver her baby. Childbirth was much more dangerous than it is now, and I can only begin to imagine the questions Mary had when the labor pains began. 

Despite the fears, she had no choice but to surrender to the ancient process of bringing life into the world, trusting her body and the people around her to know what to do, no matter what happened next. I can imagine the relief on her face when her baby was brought to her chest to lie as they both found a way to breathe, Jesus for the first time, and Mary for the first time in a long time. 

Perhaps the tradition to join our lights and hearts together in the stillness of night reflects this moment more than Jesus’s actual birth, which must have been chaotic, full of fear, and messy. When we sing Silent Night, perhaps we are doing so to give into that sense of relief that follows fear. 

In Luke’s account of Jesus’s birth, this detail of Mary wrapping Jesus in bands of cloth strikes me as something of a miracle. In a fearful time, in a messy birth, with scraps, God incarnate - fully dependent on the hospitality and love of other humans - is laid to find a peaceful night’s rest in the midst of a terror-filled world. In the years to come, Jesus would stand toe-to-toe with the power of the world, combating it with the power of love. But for now, a miracle baby sleeps in a borrowed bed, in a borrowed room, with an exhausted family. 

Friends, as we, together, birth the way of Love into the world, may we feel the peace of our labors even just for a moment, as we cradle the light of Christ born anew on our hearts and in our world. 

With Tidings of Comfort and Joy, 
Pastor Lauren 

Art: "Mary Breastfeeding Baby Jesus" by Kelly Latimore

Befriending the Dark

Some wonder if the star of Bethlehem
Occurred when Jupiter and Saturn crossed;
It’s comforting to look up from this roof
And feel that, while all changes, nothing’s lost,
To recollect that in antiquity
The winter solstice fell in Capricorn
And that, in the Orion Nebula,
From swirling gas, new stars are being born.
— Timothy Steele, from “Toward the Winter Solstice”

As the days grow shorter leading up to the Winter Solstice, I am mindful of how the news of the world can pull us into its own shadow. We follow reports of mass shootings, including violence at a Hanukkah celebration on a beach in Australia and a school shooting at Brown; the spectacle of a president mocking other leaders through name-calling, memorialized on bronze plaques; the criminalization of gender-affirming care; and yet another brown American detained simply for existing. It would be easy to remain in the shadows and stop looking for the light.

And yet, while all of this is true, so is this: an all-night prayer vigil was organized to warm people without shelter on the coldest night of the week. Grants were awarded to help people find refuge from violence. Someone invited a grieving widow to Christmas dinner. Someone else paid an electric bill to keep a neighbor's heat on. Today, thousands of Christmas cards were exchanged. Homemade ornaments traveled home from school backpacks. Someone received an acceptance letter to the college of their dreams. Birds splashed in baths filled with fresh rainwater, and squirrels balanced on fence posts, munching on the last fresh nuts of the season.

Suffering and violence are not new. But neither are comfort nor resistance. Like stars that shine through the darkest nights, love breaks through—especially in times that feel unprecedented.

So, as the nights lengthen, may our longing draw us closer to one another, closer to the mystery within, and closer to the wonder of the stars—steady in appearance but really ever-changing, just like everything else.

If you are looking for companions to share how this season holds both beauty and grief, comfort and longing, join us Saturday for a Wild Grief Walk or Sunday evening for our Blue Christmas service (details below).

May you find peace in your heart, and space to welcome the light of Love into your body and your home once again. Let us prepare for the light that is coming.

Advent Blessings,
Pastor Lauren

Practicing Gratitude

Practicing Gratitude

The practice of gratitude has always been an important one in my life, especially in times when gratitude can feel so far out of reach. My sister and I picked up our gratitude practice again since the passing of our father. We text each other every day, simple things that we noticed in our lives that we want to give thanks for. This is a practice to intentionally help us look at the goodness that is in each of our lives. To help us notice the small or big kindnesses that we see in our lives. To name the love, the light, and grace that is all around. 

This practice is not one to negate or override the feelings of grief or frustration that come with loss, especially around the holidays, but to simply help ground us in the reality that love and goodness are all around too. Gratitude doesn't have to, nor should it, eclipse the deep pains or fears we feel. 

So as we practice gratitude and name things we are thankful for with loved ones in the coming days, let our gratitude and our grief come together. Let us know that gratitude and grief can co-exist; that they are two sides of the same coin; that they are friends who know each other all too well.

No matter how this holiday season finds you, may you embrace the warming practice of gratitude by noting the small kindnesses in your life; may these kindnesses bring you and yours peace and comfort.

As you reflect, we invite you to embrace the type of kindness Danusha Laméris writes about below:

Small Kindnesses by Danusha Laméris

 I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us Honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

What is a small kindness someone has done for you that sticks with you? When did someone enter into your life at just the right moment? This week, we invite you to share it with someone. Think expansively. Reflect deeply. Either way, share it with someone and know that when gratitude is shared, that kindness can radiate to all whom it touches.

And lastly, if you are looking for a blessing for your Thanksgiving table, consider this by John O'Donohue:

For Equilibrium, a Blessing

From: To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings
Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,
May the relief of laughter rinse through your soul.
As the wind loves to call things to dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.
Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth,
May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect.
As water takes whatever shape it is in,
So free may you be about who you become.
As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,
May your sense of irony bring perspective.
As time remains free of all that it frames,
May your mind stay clear of all it names.
May your prayer of listening deepen enough
To hear in the depths the laughter of God.

Blessings,

Pastor Eli

A Prayer for Honoring Transgender Day Of Remembrance

A Prayer for Honoring Transgender Day Of Remembrance

The weight of this year's Transgender Day of Remembrance feels heavier and more personal as anti-trans violence is on the rise across the United States and globally. Anti-trans legislation appears on ballots across nearly every state. Threats, erasure, and hostility continue to come from multiple levels of government.

There is also new data from TGEU’s Trans Murder Monitoring 2025 that reveals dangerous shifts. There is a growing number of murder victims who are trans movement leaders and activists. The TGEU report states that over the past year, trans activists accounted for about 14% of reported murders, nearly doubling from the previous years. Thus, making activists and movement leaders the second most targeted group globally. 

Locally, we feel that weight as Metro Trans Umbrella Group reported a threat made against the Trans Memorial Garden here in St. Louis. MTUG is taking the necessary precautions to protect our community, yet it is heartbreaking to know that such hatred sits so close to home.

So today, we call to mind all our trans, nonbinary, and gender expansive beloveds who have died by senseless violence. We call to mind all those who died by suicide because they could not find safety or belonging or hope in their own lives due to the hatred that fills our world today. We remember all those who went unnamed, misnamed or who were never known as their true selves. We draw upon their strength, their bravery, and their self-love. We give thanks for the way they lived their lives as their authentic selves and for all teachings they bestowed upon us. We pray for the courage to carry on their legacy and know their names. We mourn and grieve their deaths as every person taken from us deserved a lifetime of love, safety, and celebration.

God of Many Faces, God of Many Genders, God of Infinite Holy Expressions, grant us strength to carry on their legacy of bravery, courage, and self-love. Help us to remember them. Help us to honor their lives. Help us to protect one another with fierce, enduring care, because the only way we get through all of this grief is with one another.

To every trans, nonbinary, and gender-expansive person who hears or reads these words: as a community, we offer prayers of deep love and gratitude. Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your existence. The world is better because you are here, exactly as you are. God of Infinite Love, we ask that You strengthen every heart that feels afraid; comfort every heart that grieves; and steady every heart that worries about what comes next.

Holy One, help us rise in voice and spirit. Help us challenge and stand against hateful rhetoric. Help us to live authentically and safely. Remind us that our power cannot be stolen, because we are so powerful together. Remind us that trans people have always existed, in every generation, in every culture, in every place and time. Remind us we will continue to exist with beauty, brilliance, and strength.

And may hope take root in all of us. A fierce, steady, and unshakeable hope. A hope that insists on life, insists on dignity. A hope that insists that the world can and will be transformed into a world where trans people are protected, uplifted, and alive.

Love and strength to each of you,
Pastor Eli

P.S. If you would like to learn more about the statistics and who is affected by transphobic violence, you can click here.

Mug Of Grace

Mug of Grace

Most summers after I turned 9, I flew with the unaccompanied minor program to Bradenton, FL where my grandparents lived in a townhouse with a pool. I spent the days helping with things around the house, putting together desserts for my grandma’s tea parties, and spending endless hours in the pool. I woke up early most mornings, spending time with my grandpa who liked the early morning hours and sat in the darkness for an hour or so before the sun rose. Together, we would “read” the paper - I would look at the comics while he read more serious things. 

A black coffee drinker, he would make me a hot chocolate — the day’s first practice of grace and generosity with tablespoon after tablespoon of chocolate heaped into the already chocolate Nesquik mixture. 

This week, we celebrated my grandpa’s 98 years of life by touring around the places he and my grandmother raised their 3 children and holding a small service outside of the former Naval base near Detroit that included military honors. It was amazing to drive past the places he and my grandma made a mark on: the park they helped build with all recycled materials, the hospital they volunteered at, the many stories of things gone wrong, and grandpa sitting down with the kids to attend to them with grace, even when big things happened like car accidents.

To live a life that is centered in grace and generosity is the life modeled to us by God’s economy: one where scarcity is met with abundance; fear met with assurance; early mornings met with hot chocolate so thick the spoon could stand up in it. This week, as we prepare for our congregational meeting and as we enter into the last of this series on abundance, let us open our senses to the overflow all around us. 

With Love,
Pastor Lauren

Photo: My grandfather, David A. Bennett and grandmother, Beverly Bennett just before grandpa left to work as a morsecode operator during WWII.