I Screamed at God
by ullie-kaye
I screamed at God
in my car today.
If my steering wheel
wouldn’t have heard it
then my pillow would have.
Or the tides.
Or the trees.
And I don’t know
if I should beg Him
for forgiveness or
if He’s happy that
the words I bring Him
aren’t always pretty.
Because most days
I’m not strong.
I’m just a weak human
with a strong God.
What I Learned from My Mother
I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewings even if I didn’t know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once you know how to do this, you can never refuse. To every house you enter, you must offer healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.
zacdbzacdbzacdbzacdbz
I found the gripping reflection by Julia Kasdorf, above, in a book recently added to my library, The Good Funeral: Death, Grief, and the Community of Care, by Thomas Long & Thomas Lynch. It seemed appropriate for this week.
In recent months, Clarke and I have returned to having a schedule that allows us to share in a daily devotion together, and we have chosen to revisit one of our favorites: Common Prayer: a Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals, written by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, and Enuma Okoro. Today, I thought I would share this reflection on the challenges of Peacemaking.
Peacemaking begins with what we can change—ourselves. But it does not end there. We are to be peacemakers in a world riddled with violence. That means interrupting violence with imagination, on our streets and in our world. This peace that is “not like any way the empire brings peace” is rooted in the nonviolence of the cross, where we see a Savior who loves his enemies so much He died for them. Peace is often not our instinct, which is why it must be cultivated and grown in us. Even Jesus’ key disciple, Peter, picks up his sword when the soldiers approach Jesus. Jesus’ response is brilliant: He scolds Peter, and then He heals the wounded persecutor, only to be dragged away and hung on a Roman cross. If ever there were a case for “just war” or justified violence to protect the innocent, Peter had it. Yet Jesus rebukes his logic of the sword.
The early Christians said, “When Jesus disarmed Peter, He disarmed every Christian.” For hundreds of years, Christians were never seen carrying swords, and they followed the way of the Prince of Peace even unto death, loving their enemies and blessing those who curse them. It does not look like a good strategy for running an empire, but it is the narrow way that leads to life. Undoubtedly, it does not always seem to “work.” As we look at history, and even as we read the Scriptures, there seems to be evidence that violence has worked at times and failed at times, just as nonviolence has worked at times and failed at times. In the end, the question is, Which looks most like Jesus? For we are called not just to be successful but to be faithful to the way of the Cross, even unto death. The way of the cross did not seem to work on Friday, but the promise is that Sunday is coming. In the end, Love wins.
Jesus walked among the people and spoke the words of peace and brotherhood to any who would listen.
Suppose we did that.
Just imagine it!...
What if we really did it?
What if we dropped our conferences and
our high-level politics
and our big-time lectures and our capital investments
and went out among the people
as brothers (and sisters) and (people) of God—
Might we find the divine spark in our own time:
Might we not find followers,
hundreds, then thousands, our brothers/sisters and fellow (citizens)?
What if we touched the chord that set the chorus?
What if we uttered the word that started the prayer?
All the longing of the people
who we have left behind,
all the hope of men (and women)
who yet may seek,
all the profound yearning of the children of God—
waiting to be set in motion.
What if we dared?
--O brethren,
let us pray.”
Shared from October 1950 issue of The Gospel Messenger, Invocation for Another Conference. Authored by Kermit Eby, adapted by Werner Bloomberg & (Melody Capsel)
God of every people and every language, you spoke creation into being and called it good.
You formed many cultures, many songs, many stories, and breathed one Spirit through them all.
Forgive us when we have feared difference, when we choose comfort instead of community, when we listen to reply instead of to love.
Teach your church to accept one another as a gift, not a threat.
Slow down our speech and deepen our listening. Let humility be our strength, and curiosity be our attitude.
At your table, remove the walls we rebuild. Where accents differ, foster understanding.
Where history wounds, heal; and let patience develop. Where power comes together, teach us to share.
Make us a people who notice who is missing. People who create space before taking space, who learn before leading, and who follow Christ together rather than alone.
Send us into our neighborhoods as neighbors, gentle in spirit, courageous in justice, and loyal in friendship across all boundaries.
May our life together declare that your kingdom is not one culture welcomed, but everyone reconciled in love.
In the name of Jesus, who gathers us and transforms us into one body. Amen! ! !
Shared from June 2026 issue of Messenger Magazine. Authored by Founa I. Augustin Badet, Director-Intercultural Ministries for the CoB.
“First, we must accept the circumstances we constantly find ourselves in as the place of God’s kingdom and blessing. God has yet to bless anyone except where they actually are.”
~ From The Divine Conspiracy by Dallas Willard
Far too often, I fall into patterns of thinking about how amazingly blessed I am going to be when…
…the house is finally organized the way I want.
…my devotional and prayer life has reached a certain level of discipline.
…that debt is paid off and there is finally more financial freedom.
…I retire and finally have more free time.
…the situation I am most worried about is finally resolved.
On its face, there is nothing wrong about looking with an expectation of hope towards the future. It is arguably an important discipline of our faith. However, when I find myself only concentrating on the potential joys of future blessings it becomes easy to miss the moments of blessing that are occurring in my messy and chaotic life. Right now. When and where I least expect it. And once I start to notice, once I follow the advice of that old hymn, I find that the blessings I already have are beyond count and I realized that God never waits to provide us with blessing. God isn’t waiting for enough to have been accomplished or a more opportune, organized moment to divvy out blessings. After all, today is
all we are really promised anyway.
Rather, God has already woven blessing into the very fabric of our lives, into the nature of creation itself. We are blessed. Where we are and as we are. We just have to be willing to see what God has already done.
Take His Peace
©1976 by William J. Gaither and Gloria Gaither.
When the whirlwinds of doubt, churn their way into your soul, Take His peace.
When your world’s reduced to ashes, leaving nothing pure and whole, Take His peace.
There amidst the broken wreckage in the midnight of your day,
In the apex of the storm cloud, He’s the quiet place to stay. Take His peace.
When you’re worried and you’re fearful for the children you hold dear,
Let a loving Heavenly Father share each joy and dry each tear, Take His peace.
God has promised if we lead them and we guide them from the start,
Then the seed of truth and peace shall find rich soil in their heart. Take His peace.
When your mind gropes for answers to the questions that you face;
When your past comes back to haunt you and you need amazing grace,
Aww, there’s an answer beyond question…it’s the truth for which you yearn,
There’s forgiveness without merit, there’s a love you needn’t earn, Take His peace.
When you’re weary of the struggle and you need a place to rest,
When you lose more than you’re winning, and you’re failing every test, Take His peace.
There’s no need to fight a battle that’s been fought and won before,
You can lay back in the victory, freely share His boundless store,
Take His peace. Take His peace!
Father's Day Prayer
by Kirk Loadman
Let us praise those fathers who have striven to balance the demands of work, marriage, and children with an honest awareness of both joy and sacrifice. Let us praise those fathers who, lacking a good model for a father, have worked to become a good father.
Let us praise those fathers who by their own account were not always there for their children, but who continue to offer those children, now grown, their love and support. Let us pray for those fathers who have been wounded by the neglect and hostility of their children.
Let us praise those fathers who, despite divorce, have remained in their children's lives. Let us praise those fathers whose children are adopted, and whose love and support has offered healing.
Let us praise those fathers who, as stepfathers, freely chose the obligation of fatherhood and earned their step children's love and respect. Let us praise those fathers who have lost a child to death, and continue to hold the child in their heart.
Let us praise those men who have no children, but cherish the next generation as if they were their own.
Let us praise those men who have "fathered" us in their role as mentors and guides. Let us praise those men who are about to become fathers; may they openly delight in their children.
And let us praise those fathers who have died, but live on in our memory and whose love continues to nurture us.
One of the unexpected joys of Spring in my home in Indy has been the humming birds. We’d never actually seen any hummingbirds in our area, and I wasn’t really sure that in a major city there was actually going to be much of a population of them. Much to our delight, they started showing up immediately and would even hover at the windows eye level with our cats (much to their excitement and frustration). Now we have come to expect them as a typical harbinger of warmer weather. When the windows are open, even when we aren’t looking, we know that they are there, because we can hear the tell-tale sound of their particular wings fluttering at that amazingly rapid pace. It’s beautiful and calming and always brings a smile to my face. It also always surprises me though. My logical brain is taken aback that the sounds of the smallest bird in the world’s fluttering wings can be heard so clearly over the street sounds of a city of almost 900K very loud and noisy humans. It seems like such a thing would be impossible. Maybe I hear them because I am listening for them.
This is how I imagine it is with us and the Spirit. The Spirit is always present, even when we haven’t taken the time to previously notice or pay attention, and once we become aware of it and attuned to listening for it, all the background noise and distraction can’t prevent us from hearing it. God is ever speaking to us, through the Word, through Creation, through our Neighbors and our Fellowship of Faith. The only question is if we are listening.
Poured Into Our Hearts
A Blessing for Trinity Sunday
by Jan L. Richardson
"And hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love
has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit
that has been given to us."
–Romans 5.5
Like a cup
like a chalice
like a basin
like a bowl
when the Spirit comes
let it find our heart
like this
shaped like something
that knows how to receive
what is given
that knows how to hold
what comes to fill
that knows how to gather itself
around what arrives as
unbidden
unsought
unmeasured
love.
Pentecost
by Malcolm Guite
Today we feel the wind beneath our wings
Today the hidden fountain flows and plays
Today the church draws breath at last and sings
As every flame becomes a Tongue of praise.
This is the feast of fire, air, and water
Poured out and breathed and kindled into earth.
The earth herself awakens to her maker
And is translated out of death to birth.
The right words come today in their right order
And every word spells freedom and release
Today the gospel crosses every border
All tongues are loosened by the Prince of Peace
Today the lost are found in His translation.
Whose mother tongue is Love in every nation.
I’m not particularly good at being still. When I consider the words of the hymn, “Peace, be still, and know that I am God,” I long for a magic day, a blessed season of life, when I will finally have a pattern of living that will be settled enough or secure enough that I can finally make regular, sustained time to just be peaceful and still with God. I wish for more than just the few blessed moments that I can be snatched here or there in the usual chaos of my life. This isn’t necessarily surprising, having grown up in a culture and society that often equates busyness and productivity.
Sometimes, even my prayer and devotional time can fall into the patterns of productivity. Placing completely self-inflicted expectations surrounding checklists of who to pray for, or needing to read a certain amount of scripture in a specific timeframe, or only giving myself time in my day for meditation and reflection if it will be able to have “real quality” to it. And yet those words from Christ in scripture, “Peace be still,” are not spoken as advice for a more grounded spiritual reflection, but rather a command to a literal storm he and the disciples find themselves in.
While peace and stillness can be cultivated in spiritual discipline, it would serve me well to remember that more often, stillness is something we must learn to demand in the middle of life’s storms. Something we faithfully carve out in the middle of life’s chaos, when we are most busy or feeling overwhelmed, and when we seem to have the least time. Not because God needs it from us as a demonstration of faithfulness and devotion, but because we need it for ourselves, so we might better know God’s peace.
The history of our modern Mothers’ Day is a complex one. The version of Mothers’ Day celebrated today is rooted in the work of Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (1832–1905) and her daughter, Anna Jarvis, who established the holiday to honor her mother. After having more than a dozen children, most of whom died from diseases such as diphtheria or measles, which were common during her day in the Appalachian area of Virginia, Ann Maria worked hard in her community to try to help other mothers and families avoid the tragedies she had suffered. She organized “Mothers’ Work Clubs” and promoted special “Mothers’ Work Days,” when women would collaboratively collect trash and undertake other projects to improve local environmental conditions and their neighbors’ understanding of hygiene. The focus of Jarvis’ work changed with the Civil War. Her region was deeply divided with local soldiers fighting on both sides of the conflict, and guerilla warfare was rampant. Jarvis insisted that the women’s groups she organized help both Confederate and Union troops who were sick or wounded, and she worked to promote peace and unity following the war. In 1868, despite threats of violence, she organized a “Mothers’ Friendship Day” to bring families from both sides of the war together to try to restore a sense of community. It was her deep belief that women—and especially mothers—were best suited to bring people together with a goal of peace.
Her daughter, Anna, set out to honor her mother’s legacy by establishing a national Mothers’ Day on the second Sunday in May, the day her mother had died. Anna, who never married or had children of her own, did not focus the holiday on peace activism but on the idea of honoring one’s own mother. Anna succeeded in her quest for official recognition, and President Wilson issued a proclamation of the first national Mothers’ Day just before the start of World War I in 1914. Anna Jarvis, however, soon grew discontented as she noted increasing commercialization of the celebration. What she had wanted to be an earnest “holy day” had become, in her eyes, a crass holiday benefitting florists and greeting card companies more than honoring the mothering work done by women. Anna was so distraught over the way Americans observed the holiday she had worked hard to establish that she started a petition to have it recalled in 1943.
Mothers’ Day provides an excellent opportunity to reflect on and honor the role of mothers in our own families and in the rich and complicated history of our nation.
A fellow pastor once shared the story of when his normally outgoing and boisterous father was in the hospital following a major heart surgery. While he was with his father, members from his father’s church came to visit and pray with him. His father looked frail and was hooked up to lots of machines, so he was not in the setting or in the emotional or conversational state that the fellow members were used to seeing him in, and the pastor observed that the visitors seemed awkward and uncomfortable at times while they fumbled with what words to say. The pastor noted and recognized their kindness and commitment in visiting during such a difficult time, but also could not help to think that they weren’t very good at it. In the end though, none of that apparently mattered, because upon their leaving his father turned to him and said with great conviction, "Anyone who doesn't have a church home is stupid."
While both my fellow pastor and I would strongly hesitate to use his verbiage as an outreach effort or argument for the importance of the role of a church community in people’s lives, the intention of the sentiment is nevertheless appreciated. There are times when God's people do not live up to the expectation to love one another which Jesus so clearly lays out for us. However, this is often less because we do not care, but rather out of fear. Fear that we won't do it right. Fear that we won't be enough. Fear that we will intrude where we might not be welcome. And yet, we have also experienced ourselves over and over again what love looks like in the company of God's people, in spite of (and perhaps sometimes because of) its imperfection. The kind of love that shares time, resources, hopes, and prayers even when they aren’t as polished as we might wish. Love lived out through the sort of folks who, though far from perfect, often do what they can to build up, to support, to simply walk alongside those in need. To walk in the footsteps of Christ to the best of their ability. Leading with presence rather than perfection.
Growing up, I encountered many Christians who scoffed at the environmental movement, insisting that God had given us “dominion” over the earth and we were entitled to take anything and everything we wanted from it, that it was all ours anyway. When I pressed some of these folk on the potential destruction of our world through mistreatment of the gift of creation, I was often met with responses that amounted to “God will never let that happen” or “then God will just fix it for us.” Even as a teenager, such a dismissive and entitled response to the amazing gift of creation seemed like a slap in the face to the Divine.
Dominion, in the OT context, refers to the authority and responsibility given by God to humans to govern, manage, and steward creation. It is rooted in the idea of stewardship, where humans are seen as caretakers of the earth, accountable to God for their management of God’s creation. Dominion implies a God-given authority that is both a privilege and a responsibility. It is not a license for exploitation or abuse but a call to stewardship and care. The biblical mandate for dominion is closely tied to the concept of being made in the image of God, which suggests that humans are to reflect God's character in their authority over creation. This includes exercising justice, mercy, and wisdom as they engage in that work.
Earth Day (April 22nd) was founded in 1970. The desired outcome was that we as human beings would begin to shift our thinking, and our actions, away from seeing the world only as source of “resources” to be pillaged and consumed and instead begin to recognize the earth as a provider of all we need to live and sustain ourselves. One that can only do so through a delicate balance. We, as people of faith, should always remember that we bear both the privileges and the responsibilities of being appointed the caretakers of one of God’s greatest gifts to us. Happy Earth Day!
~ PASTOR’S NOTE ~
I don’t know about you, but I am really uncomfortable with not being in control. I understand that one of the most basic Christian understandings is that God is in control and we are to trust in that, but I find it much easier said than done. See, I am a helper. It seems to be something that is baked into my DNA, and when you combine that with my theological understanding that, as disciples, we are called to be the hands and feet (and even at times, face) of Christ in this world for those in need, it is easy for me to slip into a headspace where I am never able to do enough.
Then there are those in the faith who are content to lean into the idea of God being in control as a way to shrug their shoulders and say, “only God’s in control and therefore, only God can fix it.” This too often becomes a justification for not engaging with the pain and the need and the struggles of the world. And I’m not comfortable with that approach either. There is so much need and so much hurt in the world, and that suffering is being inflicted on beloved children of God, those created in the Imago Dei (image of God), who we are charged to love and seek justice for. I am struck by the words of Pirkei Avot, known as Ethics of Our Fathers, one of the best-known and most cited of the Jewish texts, and the apothegm, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.”
So, it is mine to do, but not all of it. God is in control, but I am not allowed to sit back and coast on that truth. Today I will simply need to have faith that God made me enough for this moment. For what does the Lord require of us, but to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God.
Every year, in the days following planting the first seeds in my garden for the year, I worry. I stare at the barren soil and wonder, “Did I screw it up somehow?” I fret that I have over or under watered the seeds, especially in the early Spring when the weather and temperatures are so changeable and unpredictable. Logically though, I know that there hasn’t been enough time for the seeds to germinate, or that just because the seed package says that it is going to only take a certain number of days doesn’t mean that it’s going to be totally accurate. I remind myself that patience is the key in this process just like every growing season that has come before. And yet, I still cannot help wondering once more, “is this going to be the year that nothing grows?”
Often, when I find myself entering into a spiritually challenging season of life or taking on a new ministry role, I fall into the same pattern of worry. “Am I doing too much or not enough?” “What if I don’t have enough experience to accomplish this new thing?” “Will God still be able to create something positive even I screw it all up?” Just like in my garden, it is essential for me to remember that I am not being asked by my Creator to control the end result, but rather I am being charged to faithfully plant seeds. Even in the midst of worry, doubt, and inevitable mistakes, I am called to keep on sowing.
God will take care of the rest.
Lost & Found
by Rev. Sarah Speed
Mary wept.
Standing in the garden,
soft dirt under her feet,
sun still tucked away,
sleeping under the horizon.
The other disciples left,
but Mary stayed.
Mary wept.
Shoulders shaking,
tears running down her face.
She said, They have taken my Lord away,
and I don’t know where they put him.
But here’s what Easter taught me:
if you think you’ve lost God,
if it feels like heaven has slipped through the cracks,
if you feel like the night will never end,
then know, there is no hide-and-seek with the divine
that doesn’t end in you being found.
Stay still.
Keep breathing.
God is closer than you think.
Where are you headed?
by Rev. Sarah Speed
We are trains on a track,
moving through life at warp speed.
Please keep all arms and legs
inside the moving vehicle
at all times.
The years pass like a flipbook,
faster than we can absorb,
but the train does not stop.
We press our faces to the windows
to try and get a good view
and we ask each other,
Where are you headed?
And there on the train
we decide—
We want to head toward
the promised day.
We want to head toward crowded tables
and long, healthy lives.
We want to move in the direction of joyful children,
and hopeful communities.
We want to move closer to God
with every mile of track,
and that does not happen by accident.
So it’s time to ask,
Where are you headed,
and who’s driving that train?
the answer is yes
by Rev. Sarah Speed
It’s the question we ask at the end of our rope,
when the storm is raging,
when the monsters under the bed have
introduced themselves.
When everything around us seems to be on fire.
It’s the question we ask when hope slips through like sand in a bottle,
when the mockingbirds stop singing,
when the news reporter leads with another mass shooting.
It’s the question we ask when the depression moves in,
making herself at home, making a mess of it all.
It’s the question we ask
when we’re not sure if Easter will come.
Will it be Lent forever?
Will the sun ever rise?
Will this hope lead to something?
Can these bones ever live?