Dare to Feel Joy

IN TIMES LIKE THESE by Phyllis Cole-Dai

The wound is the place where the light enters you.  —Rumi

In times like these we must dare to feel joy.
We cannot wait till every line

of thunder has marched through to the east.
Our job is to make love to this world now

when the luminosity of love being made
can reveal how everything matters.

There is no storm this light cannot enter,
no dark so turbulent, dense, and hard

this light will not break through— 
light will keep coming for you

like a mama bear who hears your forsaken cries 
and huffs over the river rocks to save you. 

It’s still the dead of night when she spots you
high in the pine tree fear made you climb.

Are you not glad to be found?

+++

To see images of reunited families has brought me to tears this week— how rare it has become to see any embodiment of joy on the faces of Jewish or Palestinian people for the last two years. Seeing the relief and joy of the hostages coming home felt like watching a miracle. Likewise, to see Palestinian prisoners released to their families was like watching rain fall in the desert. 

With this amazing joy there is also so much grief, rage, and wreckage left behind. It feels like only a courageous path of vulnerability will be able to transform deep-seated resentments toward a way of hope and healing. My prayer for peace in the Middle East is a prayer for the kind of deep, ongoing reckoning exhibited through the process of restorative justice.

In the wake of news we have prayed for and news we are weary of, I take on Phyllis Cole-Dei's words to heart "in times like these we must dare to feel joy." Always we are on the brink of beauty just as we could be on the brink of breaking, so let us find ways to find joy in the hope of right now. Let us remember what it's like to be held tightly by those who love us. From that space of love, let us have ears like the mama bear who hears the cries for rebuilding, for healing, for peace-making, and finds a way to create a safe place for those in our care. Perhaps it is in these actions we can find a way toward that kind of abundant hope we so crave in our world. Perhaps it is in these things our true purpose resides: to hold what is good, keep safe the vulnerable around us, and dare to feel joy on the journey.

With Joy and Gratitude,
Pastor Laruen

Angel of the Get Through - Andrea Gibson

Angel of the Get Through - Andrea Gibson

August 13, 1975 – July 14, 2025

Best friend, this is what we do.
We gather each other up.
We say “The cup is half
yours and half mine.”
We say, “Alone is the last place you will ever be.”

On Monday, the world lost one of its fiercest hearts. Andrea Gibson (they/them)—beloved poet, activist, truth-teller—passed away, and the grief that followed was not quiet. It bloomed loudly, openly, in shared poems and stories, in whispered thanks and loud declarations. Queer and trans communities across the globe have gathered to mourn, to honor, and to celebrate the life and legacy of someone who gave voice to what so many of us were never sure we were allowed to say out loud.

For so many of us, Andrea’s words were the first ones that told us we weren’t broken. That being queer, trans, tender-hearted, or feeling deeply wasn’t something to hide, but something holy and something to be cherished. Their poems didn’t flinch from pain. They reached into the pain and pulled out something honest, beautiful, and deeply human.

Andrea taught me, how to live largely and love loudly. Their poetry gave permission to take up space, to feel too much, to cry in public, to dance alone in the kitchen, to love your friends and community so fiercely you can’t help but say it out loud. They showed us that vulnerability is a true kind of strength, and that community is also built through many soft moments. The soft moments that show up through shared meals, laughter, and on quiet nights when someone stays on the phone with you when you need it the most.

We build Beloved Community as daily practice. We text our friends to remind them we love them, or even pick up the phone to call them and let them know. We show up with soup when someone is sick. We forgive each other’s small (and sometimes large) failings. We create art that helps someone feel less alone, that helps our own bodies feel less alone. We organize, we listen, and we build safe havens where people can show up authentically.

We remind ourselves that Beloved Community isn’t a utopia. It’s messy and real and human. It’s built through daily care and collective responsibility. It’s the chosen family that shows up. It’s the refusal to let anyone disappear into loneliness.

So, in honor of our Beloved Andrea, we keep going, not alone, but gathered up saying the cup is half yours, and half mine. Alone is the last place you will ever be.

I say, let us hold each other a little closer. Let us keep building a world where no one has to hide, no one has to go it alone, and love is always loud.

Rest in power, Andrea. Thank you for showing us a way.

With Love,
Pastor Eli

Meditation During Eastertide

Every Thursday we have a ritual of receiving the eBlast. Perhaps, you open it in the morning and peruse it over coffee. Or perhaps, you take a peek later in the day for inspiration and to be reminded of upcoming events. I request that within your ritual eBlast engagement you slow down a wee bit more to meditate on the following Eastertide statements. If you are willing, I challenge you to set a timer for 59 seconds of meditation for each statement.

Statement 1

On Sunday, Pastor Lauren shared, “In the middle of our grief, we need to be reminded of what we know.”[1] Grief ebbs and flows. Hope lives through our cyclical or unexpected or resistant grief. In whatever state of grief you currently occupy, what do you still hope for? Invite God to that space.

Statement 2

Pastor Lauren opened her sermon with the poignant reminder that “You are beautiful. You are the people that God chose to live in, that Jesus is resurrected through.”[2] Hm, Jesus resurrecting through me, you, us. How do you feel Jesus resurrecting through you? Invite God to that space.

Statement 3

Pastor Lauren stated that “Jesus inspires us to love even in the gloomiest circumstances."[3] But what she didn’t say is that love compromises our existence or requires us to ignore or forego our and others’ very real needs. Love tends to all of our very real needs. Where do you need love to show up for you? For a loved one? For a stranger? Invite God to that space.

Statement 4

For our last meditation, we turn to Pastor Lauren’s urging to “Look in the direction of hope." We are the beauty that Jesus resurrects through. What an awe-some connection to wonder and beauty. Even if for a moment, we can venture to the mountaintop of hope to imagine life’s beauty that could be if only we “believe.” I invite you with God to venture to your hopeful mountaintop; pause to witness the beauty you can imagine; and pray “For What You Find on the Mountaintop” by Cole Arthur Riley.

God above,

We thank you for allowing us to journey up. That we would be able to see a place not just from within it but from a distance is a gift we do not readily comprehend. Here, as we look out at what seems as if it can fit in the palm of our hand, remind us of beauty’s vastness. In this moment may we be both large and small…Grow in us wonder that is willing to bow to the beauty of the natural world, [which includes our healthy imagination], that it would be a path to humility and not ego. That we would understand it does not exist for us, but it is our divine fortune that we would be moved by it. And we are moved, God. May this view form us and keep us, as we allow our souls to remain stirred when we return to the ground we’ve known. May it be so.[4]

[1] “Everything [in] Between: Sunday Morning Worship,” livestream, Grief & Hope (St. Louis, Mo: Metropolitan Community Church Greater St. Louis, April 20, 2025), http://www.mccgsl.org/live.

[2] “Everything [in] Between: Sunday Morning Worship.”

[3] “Everything [in] Between: Sunday Morning Worship.”

[4] Cole Arthur Riley, “For What You Find on the Mountaintop,” in Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Staying Human (New York: Convergent Books, 2024), 35.