We are an angry and beautiful people.

I learned that love and support can be expressed in many different ways by different people.

It’s through our shared interdependence that we are sheltered and saved.

In these days of so much uncertainty, may we choose honesty over comfort, love over complacency, and truth over convenience.

One day, I’ll have to care for my mother as she once cared for me. I’m not ready to handle the truth that our relationship must change.

A new disease, without any cure, is pushing us apart. And, yet, we cannot escape one another. We need one another. Whether I acknowledge it or not, the guarantee of safety does not exist.

I’m confident in our human ability to together muscle our way into renewing our world.

“Game” is no longer the proper metaphor to guide my thoughts and actions. We are—all of us—in liminal space, at a threshold confronting immediacy, shrouded in fog.

Years ago, I did one of those mud run obstacle races. There were eight physical obstacles on the course, but my biggest learning was that we all had a ninth obstacle.

In this community, we hold hope close. We don’t always know what comes next, but that cannot dissuade us. We don’t always know just what to do, but that will not mean that we are lost in the wilderness. We rely on the certainty beneath, the foundation of our values and ethics. —Rev. Theresa I.

When you’re the only black man in a sea of whiteness, purses still get clutched, and people still cross the street, and hellos still get lost in the void.

It was disruptive and strange to know that someone had died to bring this hope, and to wonder how the donor’s family mourned at the same time we rejoiced.

As a hospital chaplain, I often listen to painful stories. We call it compassionate presence, but I may be crying inside. When words fail, I pray and sing.

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.

Who are the angry birds in my life? What are the sticks I carry in my heart so as not to be hurt again?

This is a story of in-the-middle for those wondering how their story ends.

Spirit of Compassion, help us draw strength from all that we are. Give us new language with which to claim our wholeness, a new litany of joy built out of words that wounded.

Life is full of seesaws: it offers us moments of extreme wonder and moments of fear. Sometimes you have to live through the fear for the wonder to arrive.

Our whole life is a series of signs. Any slight action: a dim semaphore. Our redemption, if it happens, will mean somebody tried.