For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. - Psalm 139:13-14 (NRSV)

Happy PRIDE Month, First Church! Celebration of our LGBTQIA+ siblings is a time-honored tradition for us; last month marked 32 years as an officially Reconciling Congregation.

“Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people.” (Revelation 21:3)

The United Methodist clergy credentialing process is chock full of interviews, papers, and vote after vote. Sometimes, these votes are painful. Sometimes, they are a delight! On Monday, the clergy session of the Texas Annual Conference voted and prayed over Paul and I, releasing us from covenant and membership with them.

The thief enters only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that they could have life – indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest. - John 10:10 

Some translations of this text say “I have come so that they could have life, and have life abundant.” However you put it, Jesus makes it clear that he has come so that people may not just survive, but thrive. 

Much to the chagrin of the rest of the household, our house is ready for new furniture.

We have sofa shopped for two years, never quite finding the perfect fit. We weren’t in a hurry, as the existing couch was… fine. Despite its shredded upholstery far from the possibility of patching, the couch had plenty of cushion. Only half was covered with blankets and sisal to prevent our 13-pound shredding machine from scratching loose its thick threads (a serious feline digestive hazard).

There are so many women on whose shoulders we all stand: champions of justice and faith, stewards of our stories and our souls. For the women who have raised us up in the faith, I give tremendous thanks!

By the time you read this, I will have wrapped up my time at City Hall for the week. On Wednesday I, along with a whole crew of other clergy, met with the mayor’s immigration representative and housing bureau representative to talk about the biggest challenge our immigrant neighbors have named to us – their housing.  

Families are afraid to leave their home for work, meaning their income for rent and mortgages suffers. Families who have had a breadwinner taken from their household are struggling, too, and for many, it is a matter of time before their housing is at risk (if it isn’t already). There are not enough resources to go around to support these families, and even in our congregation, the assistance we can offer is minimal at best. 

We met with the mayor’s representatives to ask what could be done about this and left with some clear next steps for meetings to have with others and programs we might pilot to support our neighbors. 

“Happy are those who don’t see and yet believe.” John 20:29b

When this note goes out, I will be on a brief hiatus from the work of ministry. Fear not, I’ll be back for Sunday!

When Paul and I decided to get married and knew that both of us were going to share a whole lot of our time with the church, we picked our wedding date to have the greatest chance of celebrating our anniversary not at work, but together. This meant it would be past Lent but not on another Holy Day, and before the typical Methodist conferencing season.

Methodists, Midwesterners, and many worldwide cultures are conditioned early to hold sacred the art and practice of the potluck.

As a child I was lucky to have over 20 members of my extended family living in Seattle (often a dozen of us in our house alone). For a period, Sundays were synonymous with potlucks at the house. We didn’t always have traditional Filipino food like on holidays and birthdays, but we could always rely on Tita Josie supplying Albertson’s deli fried chicken and jojos. Another person would inevitably bring a bucket of KFC (to provide variety??), and around these Sunday staples would crowd the rest of the meal.

“In all of this emptiness… you have this oasis, this beautiful place that we get to exist (in) together... we got to get through this together” -Victor Glover, Orion/Integrity pilot

Millions have followed the journey of Christina Koch, Reid Wiseman, Jeremy Hansen, and Victor Glover of the Artemis II mission as the Orion spacecraft slingshots around the moon and begins to make its journey back to earth. In the midst of a rather… murky… season, it has been an unexpected source of awe and wonder. I have not followed the livestream closely (they launched right in the middle of Holy Week!!) but have nonetheless been captured by its welcome infusion of wonder into our world.

“...Then those who are righteous will reply to him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink? When did we see you as a stranger and welcome you, or naked and give you clothes to wear? When did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’” 

“Then the king will reply to them, ‘ I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these siblings of mine, you have done it for me.’” - Matthew 25:37-40, CEB 

The people of First Church are skilled in many things. Until this weekend, I did not know that one of those things was pie. Even with 120 people packed around tables in Collins Hall, we each needed to eat much more to finish the 35 delicious pies you all brought to the party!

Pie Day was just one of the many lively and meaningful moments we’ve had this month: from the yoga retreat to advocacy with our Portland city councilors to Lenten dinner/dancing/disability study. We’ll round out the month with the start of Holy Week as we wave our Palm Sunday branches in both praise and protest (stay tuned or sign up for the FUMC Advocates email tree for more information on Palm Sunday actions).

Spiritual community has a precious gift: the power to transform strangers into friends. These strangers are often from remarkably different backgrounds; much more so than relationships you might form through the workplace, school, or club. The thing you have in common? Your soul’s yearning. Perhaps nothing else.

And still, despite the dearth of evidence to support our words (what with the teeming variety of persons assembled at any given moment), we have the audacity speak upon all in the gathered congregation to say, “You belong here. We belong together.”

They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more (Isaiah 2:4)

Oh my dear ones, what a tremendously troublesome week.

I do not relish in the exhausting pattern of daily response to the perils of our world (my goodness, our nervous systems need a break!) but when our faith is represented with terribly harmful theology, we have a responsibility to name what we hold true.

Following a night of Lenten activities with our respective congregations, Paul and I drove up to Seattle to celebrate my mom’s birthday. 

It’s not a traditional milestone unless you count the Lunar New Year cycle (at 72, we’re back to the year of the horse!) but every benchmark on the long wilderness road of dementia feels poignant. It is a strange and holy thing to celebrate the gift of ongoing life, having acknowledged the limitations of that gift through a POLST form. It is extremely Lent is what it is. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust: in Lent the marvel and confines of our humanity are laid bare. Through barren wilderness we are brought into abundance; in confession we are surrounded by grace. What a wonder!

Jesus replied, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)

We’re kicking off our Bread of Life series this week. Together we will walk through scriptures that tell us about Jesus and his call to feed the hungry. In a world that feels heavy, divided, and uncertain, our hearts ache, our minds seek peace, and our souls hunger for hope. Amid injustice and tragedy, we will remember together we must first gather around the table for strength and sustenance that we may respond to the aches of the world with love and grace.

Look! I’m doing a new thing;
now it sprouts up; don’t you recognize it?
I’m making a way in the desert,
paths in the wilderness.
-Isaiah 43:19 (CEB)

What a year it’s been! 

Oh wait. 

It’s January 22. 

And friends, I am exhausted. 

I am energized by the ministry I am doing, excited by the possibilities of collaboration that have arisen, and leaning into places where I might be more fully myself in this coming year. 

And. I am tired. 

My daughter will be 5 in April. She recently started preschool here in Portland. We drive the seven minutes every day from our home to the school. On the way there she asks lots of questions. Like, lots of questions. 

Where does it hurt?

Everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere. It hurts in our hearts. In our gut. In our very bones.

It hurts everywhere.

Even as we hold so tightly on to the hope of the light of Christ in one hand, the grief we have collected in the other hand is heavy, sticking, and exhausting.

“God willing and the creek don’t rise!” we used to say. This meant we would move forward as planned unless some extreme event prevented normal function. Houston’s many creeks were regularly one heavy rain away from flooding roads and neighborhoods, so it always felt like a relevant saying. We sometimes used it as if to say, “well, here’s hoping!” as we waited for that other disruptive shoe to drop.

Each morning, I check the weather and the news. Between the two, it seems that the creek is indeed rising!

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