Standing in Solidarity

A core vocation of the church is to stand in solidarity with the stigmatized and disgusting – remembering that it is not the people who are disgusting, but society who is disgusted. Like our Lord, we should be “reckoned with the lawless” (Luke 22:37) such that at every stage of the disgust cycle, the church is standing with the stigmatized and is leveraging any power, privilege, or influence it has on their behalf, fully knowing that this means casting our lot in with a targeted and scapegoated community.

— Paul Hoard and Billie Hoard, Eucontamination, p. 192

Photo: Great Blue Heron, South Riding, Virginia, April 24, 2026

Finding Enchantment Here

Here’s our problem: it’s easy to experience enchantment on vacation. Anyone can feel a bit Celtic visiting Ireland or Wales. Anyone can feel closer to God on a beach or hiking in a national park. I don’t want to dismiss the restorative, spiritual magic of these beautiful places. We need these natural wonders and how they help us find God in nature. Redwood forests are life changing, inspiring, and holy. So is Llanddwyn Island. But if we only experience the enchantment of the natural world on vacation, I think we’ve missed the lesson the Celtic saints were teaching us. West Texas, where I live, is a long way from Wales. And way less enchanted, in the opinion of many people. Tumbleweeds aren’t as magical as shamrocks, I guess. But no matter where you live, the encouragement of the Celtic saints is this: enchant the place where you find yourself, right where you are standing. “Lord of all places,” the Celtic Christians prayed, “how good you are to praise.”

This is an enchanted world. God is the “Lord of all places.” In West Texas, in Wales, and where you are sitting right now. So let’s all declare, like Jacob, that our place – right here, right now – is the gateway to heaven. No matter where you find yourself, in sunshine and in rain, the grace of God enchants the day.

— Richard Beck, Hunting Magic Eels, p. 194-195

Photo: Yellow iris, South Riding, Virginia, April 24, 2026

Power With

But Jesus gave up power and privilege to stand in solidarity with humanity. In this way, the Spirit of God sets aside power-over in favor of power-with for the sake of justice. Where power-over is marked by dominance, coercion, and control, power-with is marked by collaboration and cocreation. It is a power rooted in collective action and relationship. A God who invites us to “argue it out” is a God of power-with, power shared. This God is dynamic: one who feels, who responds to our pleas, and who can be accessed by humans. This is a God many of us were not introduced to but had to discover on our own.

— Kat Armas, Sacred Belonging, p. 62

Photo: Bluebells at Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 3, 2026

Everybody Is Invited.

Salvation is not about choosing the right theological beliefs to avoid hell. It’s about recognizing the goodness and divinity in the despised “other” and joining in on the party God is throwing, where everybody is invited. Jesus never tells people they need to change their doctrine or convert to another religion in order to be saved from hell. Jesus doesn’t defend theology, he defends humanity of the vulnerable and the marginal. Jesus doesn’t explain the one correct statement of faith to his disciples; he meets real human needs, while calling out religious leaders for the hypocrisy of caring more about dogma than justice and mercy.

Hell is not a good Christian doctrine because it makes it impossible to show up in relationships with others like Jesus did. The spirituality of hell excludes and others people; Jesus includes the “other” and shows us that we are all more similar than we thought. We are connected, whether we are aware of it or not. Refusing to see this – that is hell. The true hell is exclusion and denying our shared belovedness. It is living in the delusion of superiority and separation. It is refusing to join the banquet where everyone is invited.

— Brian Recker, Hell Bent, p. 58-59

Photo: Tulips, Burnside Farms, Nokesville, Virginia, April 7, 2026

Practicing Lament

Practicing lament in the more common frustrations and less severe sorrows not only brings comfort but also develops a fluency in the language of loss. The heart behind this book is to help you discover the grace of putting lament into practice in ways that fit with all the pains of life. Regardless of what is causing you sorrow, let me encourage you to keep lamenting. Keep turning to God in prayer. Keep complaining. Keep asking. Keep trusting. In the same way that working a muscle trains it to carry greater weight, the spiritual exercise in lament prepares us for future hardship.

— Mark Vroegop, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, p. 163

Photo: Bluebells at Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 3, 2026

Children of Light

To be “children of light” – people in whom the gospel shines brightly – is different from being morally perfect or never failing. Any focus on perfection was an utterly false and illusory goal that made Christianity into a cult of innocence, whose adherents are so often full of blame and denial that they allow their fault to be projected onto others, unable to see similar failings in themselves.

When Jesus said we are “the light of the world” (Matthew 5:14), he said we must extend this light to “everyone in the house” (5:15) in the form of our own “good works” (5:16), not just exposing others’ bad works. But light does what light does. It clarifies, helps us see fully, and gives us the insight, freedom, and courage to perceive ourselves rightly. Divine light does not inflate us with the pride of “I know,” but illuminates those around us with the gratitude of “I am, too” – a kind of joining “everyone in the house.” Both light and love reveal not our separate superiority, but rather our radical sameness. That quality is, in fact, the way you can tell divine light from human glaring.

— Richard Rohr, The Tears of Things, p. 145-146

Photo: Tulips at Burnside Farms, Virginia, April 7, 2026

On the Wandering Path

“Not all who wander are lost,” writes J.R.R. Tolkien. You’re not lost, you’re right where you belong on this wandering path. It might be disorienting, there may be danger, but you’re not lost. You’re on the right journey. It’s just a different path than you were expecting when you were handed a brand of faith and told to cultivate and protect it at all costs. You’re becoming someone who is more loving, someone who is healing, who is more acquainted with the fragility and belovedness of us all. The deliverance that’s waiting on the other side of the wilderness isn’t a tidier, nicer version of you with new and better answers: your deliverance was always going to be more Love.

— Sarah Bessey, Field Notes for the Wilderness, p. 43

Photo: Bluebell Trail, Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 3, 2026

Step Back

As I age, I am more drawn to those who speak honestly to me. Nomatter how bitter the pill, no matter how long it takes to work, I do ant this medicine. Give me your truth and allow me to determine whether it is the right remedy for me. Time will reveal its efficacy.

I would rather hear a truth from a friend, and adjust my behavior accordingly, than meet the reactions of cold consequence which could be much more harsh.

Maybe it’s time to turn that old line from the prayer book around to read, “Speak now and try never to hold your peace.” Speak if you must, absolutely. Speak and then step back. Give room. They are God’s to teach, God’s to hold, God’s to heal.

— Margaret Dulaney, To Hear the Forest Sing, p. 103-104

Photo: Bluebells at Bull Run Regional Park, Virginia, April 3, 2026

Rest

We often see rest as a tool to help us be more efficient later or as a way to prevent burnout, as if burnout is the natural order of things. But here’s a truth I find pressing for our time: Never did Jesus say “rest now so you can work harder later.” Rest was never framed as something we do only to be more productive afterward. In a world obsessed with efficiency, where rest is seen as a way to recharge for more labor, Jesus shows us something else. He offers rest as an end in itself, as a way of being, a gift that is not earned but given freely. His rest is not about being more useful tomorrow; it’s about being fully human today.

— Kat Armas, Liturgies for Resisting Empire, p. 124

Photo: Tulips at Burnside Farms, Nokesville, Virginia, April 8, 2026

Chosen to Love

Think of the many, many stories about God choosing people. There are Moses, Abraham, and Sarah. There are David, Jeremiah, Gideon, Samuel, Jonah, and Isaiah. There is Israel itself. Much later, there are Peter and Paul, and, most especially, Mary.

God is always choosing people. First impressions aside, God is not primarily choosing them for a role or a task, although it might appear that way. God is really choosing them to be God’s self in this world, each in a unique situation. If they allow themselves to experience being chosen, being a beloved, being somehow God’s presence in the world, they invariably communicate that same chosenness to others. Thus the Mystery passes on, from age to age. Yes, we do have roles and tasks in this world, but finally they are all the same — to uniquely be divine love in a way that on one else can or will.

— Richard Rohr, Yes . . . And: Daily Meditations, p. 286

Photo: South Riding, Virginia, March 24, 2026