A Prayer for Courage, Compassion, and Love

A Prayer for Courage, Compassion, and Love

Tomorrow, on Friday, November 7, the Supreme Court may decide whether or not to hear a petition seeking to overturn the historic Obergefell v. Hodges decision, a ruling that made marriage equality the law of the land. At the same time, a video has been circulating of a bishop from a gay-affirming church declaring that he is “no longer gay,” sharing a story of how he claims to have "overcome" his previous life.

For many of us, these headlines and moments stir up something tender in us, not only fear and anger, but a familiar ache. Because this far from the first time our love, our lives, or our very identities have been called into question and called into question under the name of loving God. This is not the first time we have seen people try to deny who they are in the name of faith, conformity, or righteousness. Our communities have been fighting this very fight for decades. Many of us have been fighting for our right to love, to marry, to build our families, and to be our whole and authentic selves for the majority of our lives. 

And so, each time these wounds are reopened, we feel it. We feel the hurt, the confusion, the exhaustion of being told, yet again, that our dignity and worth are up for debate. So if you are feeling weary or frightened know this: you are not alone. You are not alone. You are loved and seen and known. We are in this together.

Let us remember: we have lived through scary and challenging times before. We have endured defeats, losses, and setbacks. We have been told to hide, to change, and to disappear. And yet still, we are here. Despite it all, we have persevered, persisted, and prevailed. We love, we fight, and we make a way even when it seems there is no way.

So may our prayers in the coming days be ones of courage, compassion, and steadfast truth.
May we hold one another close and closer still.
May we speak truth in the face of fear.
May we pray for our Supreme Court Justices, that they be moved with compassion, justice, and mercy for all people they serve.
May we pray for those who feel divided in their own bodies.
May we pray for those fighting battles that we do not see or do not understand and may we be moved with compassion, justice, and mercy for all people.

And may we continue to love, to build community, and to believe in a world where all can truly be free. For no matter what the courts decide or the headlines declare, as Bishop Yvette Flunder reminds us:

“Our calling is clear — to proclaim that God’s love is expansive, inclusive, and unrelenting; that our sexuality [and gender identity] are not obstacles to holiness but doorways to understanding the God who is Love.”

Love will remain no matter what.

And so will we.

Love,
Your Pastors

Happy Halloween!

While my mom and I cut bats from construction paper for our Halloween decorations, we loved watching Hocus Pocus—the fun story of witches freed for one night to cast their spells of immortality, when the veil between life and death grows thin. I loved the costumes, the mischief, and the courage of the kids determined to make sure the mystery of death was not overcome by the wrong people, even as I proudly wore my own witches' hat.

Halloween was once all about seeing how much candy I could stuff into my pillowcase. Now, I find myself drawn to the deeper traditions of All Hallows’ Eve—a time rooted in Western Europe’s ancient rituals that honor the thin space between the living and the dead. As the world around us sheds its color—leaves falling, greenery fading—we are invited to ponder what has passed and what is yet to come. This season of bright leaves and dewy mornings beckons us to contemplate life’s mysteries and to welcome what we can only glimpse through a veil.

As we open our doors to trick-or-treaters and listen to their sometimes cringy jokes, may we also remember to turn inward once the porch lights go dark. Let us welcome the spirits of our ancestors, making space for the saints who continue to guide and shape us. As you mark All Hallows’ Eve and All Saints’ Day, light a candle for those who have shown you the way—honoring the saints, seen and unseen, who help us navigate the beautiful mystery of life.

Let us pray: 

In your wisdom beyond our understanding, you have placed a veil around this life. We don’t know what was before; we don’t know what’s after. All we know is the passing from one to the next and the holy in-between in which we live all of our days. Our lives are only a brief glimmer in your eternal glory, one flickering candle with a borrowed flame. [...]⁠

Let our brief flames ignite and inspire others, passing on what we have received from the saints you have placed in our lives. And as our lights dim, grant us the peace of rest in your holy darkness and your eternal glory. May we then come to fully understand the mystery of our faith:⁠

Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. Amen."⁠

⁠—excerpt of a prayer from "Liturgy for All Saints Day" by Rev. Anna Strickland

Blessings,
Rev. Lauren

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

Moving from Scarcity to Plenty

Moving from Scarcity to Plenty

Mark Nepo reminds us of an old story: "A young man [is] freezing on the side of the road in Alaska. He's hitching a ride to Miami. He's so cold he can barely hold up his handmade sign. After a long wait, a friendly trucker stops and says, 'I'm not going to Miami, but I'm going as far as Fort Lauderdale [the city just north of Miami].' Dejectedly, the young man says, 'Oh,' and turns the ride down. This folk myth of our modern culture warns us against our want for perfection…”

Nepo asks us: “How often do we refuse our fate under the guise of holding out for the right thing? How often do we turn down the path presented like a gift because it's not exactly what we're dreaming of? How often do we hold out for the perfect partner, the perfect job, the perfect house? How often do we martyr ourselves to some imagined ideal? How often do we lose sight of what we're really after, insisting on all or nothing, when there is so much abundance?”

This week, we are starting a new series: Six Stone Jars, where we focus on the economy of Jesus rather than the economy of the world. In our time, it would be easy to believe there is not enough of anything. Not enough land, not enough jobs, not enough healthcare, not enough room in our hearts for people who are different. While it may be true that our politics embody a world with not enough compassion, not enough empathy, and not enough care, we might miss what there is more than enough of so many things. How might we be transformed as we look around and see not scarcity but plenty? How can we see something new when we let go of the notion that perfection is the goal? How will we embrace the opportunity to work with the world as it is instead of only seeing things as it could be? 

God of abundance, we thank you for the infinite ways there are to do good. When we find ourselves looking for that “perfect” thing or way of being, restore our vision for the world to notice all the many paths we can take toward restoration, wholeness, and goodness. Transform our understanding so that we can focus our attention on the plenty that surrounds us. 

Remembering Dr. Jane Goodall

Remembering Dr. Jane Goodall (1934–2025)

“Each one of us matters, has a role to play, and makes a difference. Each one of us must take responsibility for our own lives, and above all, show respect and love for living things around us, especially each other.”

― Jane Goodall, Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey

Jane Goodall was one of my childhood heroes. A funny fact about me: because of Jane, as a young child, I used to collect stuffed animal monkeys. I probably had 30 or 40 of them!

Dr. Jane became known around the world for her 65-year study of wild chimpanzees in Gombe, Tanzania. In 1960, she made the groundbreaking discovery that chimpanzees not only use but also create tools. She observed them stripping the leaves off twigs to “fish” for termites. This is significant, because at the time, science held the belief that tool-making was uniquely human. Her discovery fundamentally redefined what it meant to be human and helped widened our understanding of the connections and similarities we had to all of God's creation. 

But Jane showed us much more than tool use. She revealed that chimpanzees express emotions such as grief, joy, rage, and reconciliation. Through her work, she forced us to re-examine many of the definitions that were linked to humans alone, such has intelligence, morality, and meaningful relationships. She awakened us to the urgent need to protect chimpanzees, along with countless other species and ecosystems, from extinction.

What made her so inspiring was not only her brilliance, but also her way of connecting with and respecting all creatures. She reminded us that every living being is worthy of compassion, care, and respect. For many of us, she sparked a lifelong love of animals and nature. She helped us realize we are still only beginning to get a glimpse at the vast intelligence, beauty, and mystery held by the living world. Sometimes we just need to take the time to look with love and curiosity to discover what has been there all along. Paying attention and not looking away are forms of activism in of themself.

So today, as we remember and honor Dr. Jane Goodall, I find myself asking: How are we called to be stewards of this Earth? How can we continue to learn to see every living thing as part of the greater family to which we all belong? How do we remember that there isn’t a day that goes by where we do not have an impact on this planet?

So let us remember that each of us, ourselves included, has the power to shape the future we long for. We are ones we have been waiting for. We must care for all living things. We must believe that the greatest and most loving discoveries of our world are still ahead of us. And these discoveries that will come if we continue to look with curiosity, humility, and care.

Rest in power, Jane. Thank you for showing us another way of living and being. Thank you for showing us your love.

With love,
Pastor Eli

A Bethany Fellows Reflection

A Bethany Fellows Reflection

As the sunset over Bellwether Farm, I reflected on my last retreat as a Bethany Fellow. Since 2020, I have had the incredible privilege of being a part of a group of pastors serving their first parish. The Bethany Way is rooted in prayer, silence, contemplation, and community. We take time to share our questions, our growing edges, and what we notice about the movement of the Spirit in our lives, churches, and world. We engage in learning wise practices from other ministers during a day of continuing education. We listen to the Spirit and rest in a day of silence. And we explore the local area in an afternoon and evening of adventure. 

This time, as I journaled during the sunset in my last day of silence as a Fellow, I thought about our growth as a community and mine as a minister within it. I gave thanks for this community so rooted in abundance and learning. And, I thought about how comfortable I have become with silence. 

My first retreat, I entered the day of silence with anxiety and a plan. I scheduled myself for each hour of the day, a writing prompt here, meditation there, reading two chapters before lunch etc. This time, I entered into silence with only unanswerable questions and no plan. It was a most holy day of exploration, rest, and reflection.  

Before entering into silence we meet in small groups to discuss what we are carrying into it. Watching the shadows grow long across the farm, I realized have come a long way from expecting a quick answer from God. I realized I have become more comfortable with the silence, with the questions, with sitting on the liminal. 

Coming out of silence with the same small group, I shared with them my urge for reconciliation, for answers, for a landing place — and how during this silence I came to understand how following the Bethany Way is not about seeking silence for the purpose of hearing a specific answer from God but instead is about befriending the liminal, befriending the silence, befriending the questions. 

Thank you, church, for your support of my participation of this program that has taught me how to befriend the silence. This weekend, I wonder what wisdom you might find in yourself if you too befriend the Bethany Way, accepting the invitation to sitting in the questions, befriending the liminal, and welcoming the silence.  

With gratitude and thanksgiving,

Pastor Lauren 

Lost by David Wagoner 

Lost

Stand still. 
The trees ahead and bushes beside you

Are not lost. 
Wherever you are is called Here,

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,

Must ask permission to know it and be known.

The forest breathes. Listen.
It answers,
I have made this place around you.

If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.

No two trees are the same to Raven.

No two branches are the same to Wren.

If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,

You are surely lost. Stand still. 
The forest knows
Where you are. 
You must let it find you.

The Psalmist Who Cries, Laments, and Rages

Beloved Community,

My bones and my heart continue to ache these days. We are living in a time of deep violence. And perhaps, truthfully, we always have been. Earlier this week, two lives were lost in ways that demand our attention. A 21-year-old Black man from Mississippi, Trey Reed, was found hanging from a tree. That very same day, Cory Zukatis, a 36-year-old white, unhoused man, was also found hanging from a tree.

Within hours, the police disregarded the details surrounding his death and ruled out foul play in Trey Reed’s death. To accept vague explanations surrounding his death without deeper investigation is to echo a long legacy of silence, denial, and complicity. We cannot and will not forget the long and devastating history of racial terror and anti-Black violence in Mississippi and across this nation. It dishonors Trey, his family, and his community who loved him so dearly. His loved ones deserve truth, transparency, and justice. And we, as part of the human family, deserve the same. We must hold onto truth. We must demand truth. We must speak truth even if our voices shake. We must speak up even when we don't always know exactly how to say it.

As we dwell in the psalms together at church, I am reminded of the psalmists who cry out, who lament, who even rage at God. They remind us that it is faithful to grieve, faithful to cry out, faithful even to shout our anger at God. It is faithful and holy work to name violence, to grieve, and to cry out for something better. And still, in the midst of lament and fear and the unknown, the psalmists remind us that hope has the last word. Love has the last word. Justice has the last word. 

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Change is often slow, and often painful, but it does come. Love will win. Justice will win. Truth will win. And we do not say these words with empty actions. We must know that the arc does not bend on its own. It bends because we refuse to let white supremacy, state violence, and systemic neglect be the final word. We are invited and called to be part of that love, part of that justice, part of that hope that makes the world a better place for us all.

So let us pray and dream together, with the words of Mark Miller’s song, “I Dream of a Church”:

I dream of a place we all can call home
I dream of a world where justice is flowing
With hope and peace growing,
Where God’s will is done

O God fill our hearts to reach out in welcome 
Make us to see your vision once more 
Let's dream of a world 
Where our hands are your hands 
We offer ourselves O God make it so

O Holy One, we truly pray for the day when we believe our hands are Your hands. Your hands of healing, of welcome, of justice, of peace. Make it so, God. Make it so.

With love, grief, outrage, and hope,

Pastor Eli