The Gift of Uncertainity

Gift of Uncertainty 

One week after reading a particularly challenging book in book club, we discussed how it would be nice if everyone got what they wanted and none of the hard things happened. In the conversation, though, we realized that we’d never read a book where there is no conflict and everything is perfect -- uncertainty is the thing that binds us with the stories becuase life is uncertain no matter our plans or attempts to make it certain. The reason we are interested in a story is because we want to see the process of overcoming, we want to experience the embodiment of hope alongside the characters, we want to see good win over evil. 

When studying the Book of Revelation, many of us were upset by the idea that in heaven there might not be any more tears. Of course, I want an end of the tears that are shed because of violence and tragedy, but I want tears of joys, tears of laughter, tears of surprise in heaven. 

This week, we have been leaning into the gift of uncertainty, a quote from John Ortberg’s Faith and Doubt has stuck with me: “We all think we want certainty. But we don’t. What we really want is trust, wisely placed. Trust is better than certainty because it honors the freedom of persons and makes possible growth and intimacy that certainty alone could never produce.”

People look for new jobs when work feels stagnant. Marriages can unravel when spontaneity disappears. We put down books with no conflict. While there are forms of uncertainty — violence, illness, natural disasters — that we would never choose, I wonder how we might intentionally welcome other kinds of uncertainty into our lives.

What surprises might we find when we shake things up a bit? 

Start a conversation we’ve been avoiding.

Take a class in something we’ve always been curious about.

Pray without a script.

Invite someone new to the table.

Say yes when we would normally say no.

Perhaps the uncertainty we choose — the holy kind — is not chaos but possibility. Perhaps it is the space where trust grows, where love deepens, where we discover parts of ourselves we didn’t know were waiting.

What surprises might meet us there?

Blessings,
Pastor Lauren

Embracing the Gifts of the Dark Wood

This Lent, we are invited to embrace the Gifts of the Dark Wood. These are the moments when hope feels distant, when clarity fades, and when everything familiar falls away. These are not moments we would choose, but they are often the very places where something unexpected begins to grow. When everything else is stripped away, we are able to see what truly remains, what is unable to be taken away, and whose presence has been there all along. 

Lent reminds us that faith, wholeness, and even glimpses of heaven are not found in the absence of struggle, but in the very heart of it. This does not mean suffering is sent by God, is the result of inaction from God, or that hardship is something to be glorified. Rather, it means that when we find ourselves in those dark and tender places, we may discover what is most essential. We may discover what endures. We may discover a love that does not leave us.

And yet, if we are honest, it can be incredibly difficult to see God in the midst of heartbreak and hardship. It can be difficult to find any sense of meaning when we or those we love are hurting.

Rev. Lauren and I attended the Faith and Justice Rally on the Martin Luther King Bridge, and we heard countless stories of the fear and violence that is being done to our immigrant siblings and families. People who are human, people who have found a home in America, people who have children, people who have jobs, people who just want to live a happy life who are fearful and scared for their very lives. Tears fell down the faces of so many people as we heard and held these stories. 

And alongside that, we saw God in organizations that provide clothing, food, transportation, and safety to those who have been wrongfully detained by ICE. We saw God in voices lifted together in songs of resistance, in prayers of hope, in cries for justice. We saw God when our hearts broke open for one another instead of turning away. We knew standing there together, that God’s heart was surely breaking beside us all, crying out for all of us who were lost, uncertain, and exhausted.

We were a witness to something greater than our present circumstances, and being called to be courageous. We were being called to action. Called to be a beloved family. We saw hands reach for one another and refuse to let go. We saw courage rise in the face of fear and uncertainty. We saw people of different races, immigration statuses, and faith traditions stand together, united by love. I do not know if we can always see God in suffering itself. But I believe with my whole heart that we can see God in what rises from the ashes.

In this season of Lent, as we walk through our own Dark Woods together, in our own places of uncertainty, grief, and vulnerability, may we remember this truth: the dark is not empty. It is not barren. It is not the end of the story. It is the place where God meets us, holds us, and reminds us that even here, especially here, we are not alone.

In Solidarity,
Pastor Eli

Reverberations of Love in Community

I have to say, I am a sucker for the heart-shaped items that are prolific in the days leading up to Valentine's Day. This week, when visiting someone in the Heart Hospital, I delighted in the heart-shaped balloons that adorned the hallway while nurses sported hearts on their scrubs. While it's fun to think about St. Valentine and the revolutionary weddings he performed that led us to a weekend we celebrate romantic love, I was moved this way in celebration of the love of community. 

This week, at the Maplewood City Council Meeting, nearly 10 people spoke in support of an overnight prayer vigil that has taken place at Maplewood UMC during the coldest nights this winter. Maplewood, a city within St. Louis County, is a quirky municipality known for wholesome festivals, good restaurants, and a supportive community. So, it might stand out that there is a restriction that prevents an emergency shelter from being set up in the City of Maplewood. 

Maplewood UMC went into action. Knowing they couldn’t have a shelter, they set up an overnight prayer vigil for peace and justice to bring together anyone in the community who wanted to pray for their neighbors and pray for each other throughout the night. 

In the downstairs fellowship hall, adorned with twinkle lights and round tables, the room buzzed with sweet energy of communion when I came for my first shift at 4am. In our tradition, we celebrate communion as a sacred meal Jesus shared with his friends and disciples, a time to reflect, to mourn, to pray, and to prepare for the work of community away from the table. Communion does not need wine or bread, though. Communion is about sharing hope, delight, and space to be vulnerable. When I joined the table at 4am, I couldn’t tell who was a pastor and who a congregant; who a member of MUMC and who from the community. Surely some came to escape the physical cold, looking for warmth in the middle of the night. Others came to escape the chill of the heart reverberating in our news cycles, our fears, and our nightmares. At the table, we shared everything from very personal situations to national headlines. Prayer and communion were shared in the middle of the night, a time when most of us have to face our insecurities alone. Maplewood UMC made a way for us to share them on a night when vulnerability was felt even more acutely, when the thermometer read far below zero. 

Throughout the section for public comment, person after person (including our own Maplewood resident Deborah Sheperis) came forward offering loving support for such prayer vigils and told stories of love incarnate experienced in sharing a table, stories, and perhaps a nap in the middle of the night. 

As we celebrate the gift of love in our community, I am heartened by the city of Maplewood, whose residents and council members are finding a way to work within the system to support vulnerable people now while also trying to change the system for more substantive support later. 

How are you noticing the reverberations of love in your life? 

Blessings,
Pastor Lauren

From our Moderator, Rev. Elder Cecilia Eggleston

Today, receive the February letter from our Moderator, Rev. Elder Cecilia Eggleston:

"Finally, siblings, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things….. and the God of peace will be with you." (Philippians 4: 8-9)

Dear people of God,

You don’t need me to tell you how challenging life is around the world just now or how badly justice is needed. You know already that “justice is not a distraction from the Gospel. It is a demonstration of the Gospel” (Dr. Jemar Tisby - Historian and author). You are living it out every day.

In this letter, I want to focus differently. 

It is possible for many things to be true at the same time. 

We rage at the news one moment and then are astounded by the sunset the next. We feel lost and alone, then a stranger in a shop makes us laugh by the way they interact with their fractious child. We feel exhausted and weighed down, then a message comes through from someone we love with an invitation to have coffee…..and cake!

What is giving you joy at this time? 

What has caused you to catch your breath with awe and delight in the past week or so?  

What is bringing you a moment of peace or calm?

These are important questions. 

Someone shared recently about how there are Christians who interpret feeling fear as a lack of faith. They claim if we are fearful, we are not trusting God. I personally think that it would take a huge level of faith for many of us not to feel afraid now, or at other times in our lives. Even Jesus showed fear in the Garden of Gethsemane and asked God to spare him from the trials ahead.

Perhaps, amid all that can paralyse us with fear, we can give ourselves permission to see God in beauty, kindness, laughter and the strength of being in community. We can decide to do one or two things every day that intentionally shift our energy. It may be small and simple, yet done consistently it can make a difference. During the pandemic, one of my brothers, who lives alone, told me he started every day by watching an episode of a particular TV show that always made him laugh. Whatever the rest of the day held, he started the day laughing out loud and feeling buoyed up. However the day ended, he had a consistent plan to start the next day well.

Joy, creativity, beauty, music, dance, laughter are all spiritual gifts for us. It is important to lament and listen to our anger. It is also important to feed ourselves with what will nurture us. 

Our bodies, minds and souls need respite and relief. It might be a time to try something new, if what you have done before is not working at this time. 

This is why being in a spiritual community is so powerful. We feed each other, support each other, hold and encourage each other. I regularly worship online with MCC congregations around the world. It is always a blessing to see folk gathering together and to hear all that you are doing to serve the community where you are. What you are doing is a blessing to others!

In her book, “Return to the Root” Joyce Rupp describes being at an interfaith gathering after a deadly terrorist attack in New Zealand. The atmosphere was subdued as the audience listened to many different speakers. Finally, a Rabbi stood up. He spoke very briefly and then started to sing the Bill Withers song “Lean on Me”. After the first line, everyone joined in, and by the end of the song, the atmosphere had shifted to a surge of compassion and hope. Rupp writes “No one said it out loud, but I’m confident that we each felt we could be the arms of the Holy, welcoming who needed holding when they were hurting”.

We all need moments like this, on our own or collectively, where our hearts and our spirits are lifted and filled. Our God is a just and faithful God. We are followers of Jesus for the long haul, not just in easy times. The Holy Spirit is dancing in and through us, even when we can’t feel it. Someone else sees God when they see you. Take time to love and nurture yourself, even as you love your neighbour. 

God bless,

Rev. Elder Cecilia Eggleston

Moderator, Metropolitan Community Churches

How The Light Comes

I cannot say which I love best about the light:
that it gathers itself even in what goes hidden,
no stranger to the seed, the stone, the labyrinth of night,
or that it is wildly generous in where it lands, glad the same to
touch the face of the one in laughter, the one in tears, the one in trouble,
in fear, in pain.But it may yet be that this is what woos me most about the light: 
that it knows what to do with distance, how it arcs across the space between a heart
and a heart, illuminatingly that ache through which the farthest of stars might be seen.

⁃ Jan Richardson 

Last week as activists came together in Missouri, I was with activists in DC gathering together to coalesce around topics that breathe life into us, as others try to restrict that very breath. 

This year, we celebrated the 10th Anniversary of the Many Paths Gathering Space an interfaith center for contemplation, spiritual healing, and community at Creating Change, the nation's largest queer-centered conference. This space was created because of the ways religion has been a catalyst for reform, in ways that harm and in ways that heal. We know that in working toward freedom in the public space, we also have to work for freedom in the soul. And so, as a group, we held prayer vigils, we sung, we talked about the Bible, the Torah, and offered a space for daily Muslim prayer. We created walls to uplift queer saints who have shown us the way, and offered space for people to write down their prayers. On our altar, we had a station of dissolving paper where people could come and write something down to let go of, reminding all of us that we don't have to hold it all alone. Many people came right to this station and left, needing only to leave something behind, in which they could not carry alone anymore. 

As we consider what it means to be a people of daybreak, daylight, and, these days, as we often sit in the long shadows of evening, I’m reminded of the need for us to tend to the space between our hearts — to ache, to laugh, to subvert, and to release. 

Today, in the light of evening, what woos you about the light? What tends to the sighs of your heart? What binds you to the inner and outer work of a faith rooted in love but too often used for harm? 

With you in the shadows, 
Pastor Lauren 

For Such A Time As This

This past Tuesday, I traveled to Jefferson City to testify against the removal of the sunset on bills that could permanently ban gender-affirming medical care for trans youth in Missouri and permanently bar trans youth from participating in sports alongside their peers.

What happens in Missouri matters. Many states look to Missouri to see what is possible legislatively, so what gets passed here — and what does not — carries weight far beyond our borders.

As I’ve been reflecting on this week, I keep returning to our theme: By a Different Light. On Sunday, we will talk about day — about how daylight exposes what has been hidden, how it calls things out into the open. And that truth feels especially present right now.

There is a growing number of trans adults, parents of trans kids, and even medical professionals who are afraid to testify publicly against these bills. They are afraid of retaliation, professional consequences, harassment, and real harm. To speak in the light right now comes with real risk.

I am deeply grateful, and humbled, to serve in a role where I can speak not only as a faith leader, but as a trans faith leader, calling our representatives toward a deeper practice of justice, mercy, and compassion. To invite them into holy curiosity about the lives that are most impacted by these decisions. To ask them to truly listen to those who are being harmed.

On Wednesday morning, I also joined dozens of organizations from across the state at a rally in the Capitol rotunda. We linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder, singing and chanting, reminding one another that we show up for one another. We show up for Black lives. For immigrant lives. For trans lives. For queer lives. For workers’ lives. Because together, our voices carry a deeply moving power.

That rally was deeply needed after the heartbreaking and exhausting hearing on Tuesday. Missourians have been fighting these anti-trans bills for years now, and at times it feels as though those in power have not heard a word, as though harm is dismissed in the pursuit of an agenda at any cost.

And yet, I remain honored to be one voice among many who continue to speak love into the hearing rooms. Love for trans youth who desperately need to know they are not alone. Love for parents doing everything they can to protect their children. Love for trans adults who are not only advocating for today’s youth, but also for the younger versions of themselves, the children who always knew who they were.

For such a time as this, my friends, it is urgent that we keep showing up. Each in the ways we can. Whether that looks like someone who knits blankets for trans folks who testify, wrapping them in warmth and protection. Whether it means traveling to Jefferson City, attending a rally, having hard conversations with loved ones, or choosing to hope even when hope feels fragile and distant and perhaps beyond our reach.

This work is not easy. But it is sacred. And it matters deeply. When we share our light and our love, when we refuse to turn away from one another, we participate in bending the moral arc of the universe toward justice, peace, freedom, and love for all. May we keep showing up. May we keep loving boldly. And may we continue to believe that what we do, as we link arm in arm, truly matters.

In Solidarity,
Pastor Eli

φῶς

The word φῶς (phōs) appears more than 70 times in the Greek New Testament. When translated literally, it comes into English as light. As with most words, φῶς has more to it than a single-word definition. It carries more meaning than “this is that.” In scripture, the light can be the illumination that comes from the sun or from a candle. It can also serve as a metaphor for awareness—a spark of revelation.

In the season of Epiphany we celebrate the arrival of the Magi who saw a star on the night of Jesus’ birth and followed its light to him. In that light, Jesus is revealed to all of us outside of his immediate community. God is made flesh for all of us who will receive this revelation, no matter who or where we are. 

In this season of Epiphany, we are invited to be φῶς. Illuminating love and grace and hope. Bringing awareness to injustice and oppression. Revealing God’s enduring presence. The light is in us and all around us. The light is a gift we are given to carry into the world.

Last week, we began our series on light with DeMarco Davidson, and for the next 5 weeks we will continue to embrace light as we wrestle with how to be light for our times in the most expansive ways we can find it in scripture and in life.

In Light,
Rev. Tijuana Gray