• A blessing for weeks when everything seems to be changing

    As we begin this new week, we are a people hungry for healing — healing of our hearts, healing of our relationships, healing of our land. And yet we recognize that we can never heal from that which we cannot name, for there is a particular blessing that comes when we humbly confess all the ways we’ve gotten it wrong. Today, God, would you lead us to repentance? Lead us to the space where we can acknowledge all the ways we have been complicit in the broken systems that hurt and divide us. Show us a better way, a way of narrow paths that lead to wells of justice and springs of water in the desert of our polarized world.

    And for those who begin this week with a spark of hope, I urge you to protect your joy. Tend to it, nurture it, care for it as you would something that is precious, like a new life in its first hour outside its mother’s womb. Your joy matters. Your hope is a gift. May you be blessed as you laugh and dance and celebrate and organize and plan and look ahead. May you be blessed by a dawn that looks, somehow, just a little bit brighter than it did yesterday.

    And for those who begin the week with the weight of disappointment sitting in your belly, I pray you will find comfort. May you receive the gift of being humbled by the realization that Something far greater than ourselves is holding this all together. And may you know the peace of letting go what was so that you may make space for something beautiful and new.

    And for all of us, may kindness be our language, and gentleness be our home. May we be quick to listen and slow to anger, as our God has taught us. May we grieve if we need to, dance if we must, and may we recognize that God is big enough to meet us in both. May we learn to have conversations again, conversations about hard things like race and politics and systemic change, without name-calling and jabbing insults. May we take care of one another this week, and may we become as careful gardeners, weeding out bitterness from the soil of our own hearts. And may we be watered with the knowledge we, as a people, have been called to strive towards what is good, what is right, what is true, what is kind, what is lovely, and that we are blessed when we are pure in heart, for then we shall see God.

    You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.
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  • A blessing for weeks when we’re holding our breath

    As we go into this new week, there are many of us who feel uncertain. Anxious. Even fearful. May we somehow feel peace in our weary bones and worried hearts. May we remember to be gentle with ourselves this week, and get enough sleep, and drink our water. May we dare to hope. May we dare to dream, and dare to plant good seeds, seeds of forgiveness and friendship, in this world’s thirsty soil. May we be nourished by the ministry of good books, and cozy hot beverages, and gooey baked goods, and friends who text us just to say hello. May we practice one of life’s most difficult lessons to learn–the art of saying, “you first”, not “me first” or “mine first”. May we hold our loved ones near to us this week, either in our arms or in our memories, and may we not be afraid to cry if we need to, because tears are medicine, too. May we take the higher road whenever it is offered to us, and may we keep our eyes fixed on the things that will never pass away. May we keep toiling towards that new kingdom, where things will be right, and things will be just, and the table is wide, and the welcome is for all. May we get glimpses of that great feast, and may it feed us as the days grow shorter and the dark longer. May we feel the warmth of love this week, and may we remember to take deep breaths.

    We are a world in waiting, O God. Will you meet us in our unknowns this week, and may we know the gift of your presence with us? And if/when it becomes harder to breathe, may we be restored to the gentle rhythms that will restore us to life.

    You are loved this week, friends. This week, and every week.

    Amen.