Coming alive together

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by Brandon Beck

On her own website, Nnedi Okorafor’s 2025 bestselling novel Death of the Author is described in these words:

In this exhilarating tale by New York Times bestselling and award-winning author Nnedi Okorafor, a disabled Nigerian American woman pens a wildly successful Sci-fi novel, but as her fame rises, she loses control of the narrative – a surprisingly cutting, yet heartfelt drama about art and love, identity and connection, and, ultimately, what makes us human. This is a story unlike anything you’ve read before.

Her bio describes her as “the global leader of Afrofuturism,” saying,

She writes speculative fiction for adults, young adults, and children…One of the most lauded writers in modern science fiction and fantasy, her honors include the Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature, Nebula, World Fantasy, Locus, Eisner, and multiple Hugo and Lodestar Awards. Born in the United States to Nigerian/Igbo immigrant parents, Nnedi draws deeply from African cultures to create captivating worlds, unforgettable characters, and powerful, evocative stories. She holds a PhD in Literature and two Master’s degrees in Journalism and Literature.

Death of the Author is her latest adult novel, but Okorafor’s repertoire includes the all-ages graphic novel The Space Cat, released in 2025, many series which have been optioned for screen, the Marvel’s Black Panther series: Shuri, Wakanda Forever, and Long Live the King, and numerous other works of sci-fi and fantasy in the genre of africanfuturism and africanjujuism for adults, young adults, and children.

In Death of the Author, Okorafor crafts a narrative in which the main character, Zelu, herself an author, writes a sci-fi novel that changes her life and the lives of her family. Zelu, a paraplegic since a childhood fall from a tree, exists in a marginalized world in many ways – she’s female, Naijamerican, uses a wheelchair, is a writer in a family of doctors and lawyers, rebels against the family’s traditions, has debilitating panic attacks. After her novel gains her fame and fortune, her marginalization takes a new form: wealthy entrepreneurs seek her out to be a part of their fame, and she becomes a part of futuristic science projects that take her beyond the dreams of current humanity, but her family and friends and fans reject her for making the choices she does.

Author Nnedi Okorafor

“This is a story unlike anything you’ve read before,” though, remember. As often as I’ve read theologian Howard Thurman, something he teaches hasn’t ever quite made sense to me until I read Okorafor. One of those Godwink moments happened to me as I read Death of the Author, and it brought one of Thurman’s key concepts of justice work alive for me.

As I was finishing my read of Death of the Author, on Tuesday, March 17, 2026, Joe McDaniel, Jr., and Canon Annette Buchanan of The Executive Council of The Episcopal Church shared a letter they penned entitled, “Awake the Church: Justice, Transparency, and the Freedom to Speak.” In that letter, they say:

Howard Thurman offers a complementary spiritual exhortation for those who would resist complacency: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” Disrupting structural remnants of white supremacy requires not only critique but moral vitality, the courage to act even when action risks discomfort or conflict. Thurman’s charge is to find the sources of moral courage that make one “come alive” and to let those sources compel action for transformation.

McDaniel and Buchanan write in the same spirit as Okorafor; they write against an invasive and persistent White supremacy that refuses to be moved yet must be. Okorafor’s fiction dreams a future of freedom; McDaniel and Buchanan create an action plan to get there.

Through Zelu, Okorafor depicts the same message that McDaniel and Buchanan proclaim in their March 17 letter: we achieve our justice goals when we do what Howard Thurman suggests, when we ask what makes us come alive. And that’s what makes Death of the Author unlike anything you’ve read before. Zelu finds what makes her come alive, over and over again, despite all odds. And, in turn, brings those around her to their aliveness.

By coming alive and bringing others alive, Zelu critiques the oppression all around her and demands that it flex and change not just to accommodate her but to embrace her. Okorafor uses Africanfuturism to demonstrate for us what it feels like to dream the work that McDaniel and Buchanan want us to do here, now.

One of the characters that changes the most in the course of the novel is Zelu’s mother, a Yoruba princess immigrant. She becomes Zelu’s biggest champion and also one of the strongest voices for justice and change, and that takes a lot of personal growth and change on her part. She calls out to American society, “You all spin everything that is not familiar to you as either terrible or less than you. You only see things through your narrow lens and personal experiences.” (238) While Zelu is taking futuristic, sci-fi risks, she is teaching her mother to take ideological risks. Together, they call all of us as readers to challenge our own assumptions and biases and to consider taking risky actions for justice, hope, and a future fit for all people. I feel alive just recognizing the connections between Thurman and Okorafor, McDaniel and Buchanan. How much more alive might we all feel if we step into their dreamed future by waking up and coming alive together?

Keep the light ablaze

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Photo by Peyton Clough on Unsplash

by Brandon Beck

Based on a sermon given at Reconciliation San Antonio, Sunday February 22, 2026

In Sunday’s reading from Genesis we heard this:

the Lord God commanded the man, “…of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.” the woman saw that the tree was good…it was a delight…the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband. Then the eyes of both were opened.

Canadian singer-songwriter Alanis Morrisette, in her song “Ablaze,” which she wrote to her children, gives us an important perspective to listen to about this passage:

First thing that you'll notice is some separation from each other
Yes, it's a lie we've been believing since time immemorial
There was an apple, there was a snake, there was division
There was a split, there was a conflict in the fabric of life
One became two, and then everyone was out for themselves
Everyone was pitted against each other, conflict ruled the realm
All our devotions and temperaments are pulled from different wells
We seem to easily forget we are made of the same cells
My mission is to keep the light in your eyes ablaze
My mission is to keep the light in your eyes ablaze

Now, some people who have a lot of power and privilege, and have had for millenia, don’t want us to know that this passage from Genesis might be about something other than sin and separation, other than men over women, other than people becoming afraid of God. Morisette reminds us of something that we have to hear: separation is a lie. We are all created from the same cells.

We might be tempted to hang on everyone being pitted against each other. But we can resist that lie through our love. That’s the way we keep the light in our eyes ablaze.

What does that blazing light in our eyes look and feel like? How do we keep it burning when times are difficult? When the news is bad? When we’re frustrated or hurt by others?

The Episcopal Church of Reconciliation in San Antonio, Texas has five Core Values that embody our dedication to this practice of keeping the light ablaze:

  • First, we are authentic. We embrace transparency and spontaneity in order to be true to ourselves, to God, and to one another.
  • Second, we are inclusive. We welcome all persons into our common life and celebrate the gifts and growth that come with diversity.
  • Third, we are creative. We experience the fusion of the Divine and the human when we express and celebrate all of God’s gifts.
  • Fourth, we are liturgical. We connect with God in worship through traditional and innovative symbols, rituals, and the arts.
  • And Fifth, we are community. We become more fully alive and one with God as we connect, care and collaborate.

Still, we can always become more authentic, more inclusive, more creative. We can learn and grow in the ways we connect with God and others in liturgy and community. We can remember our same cells more and let the light in our eyes shine brighter.

We do that work of growth in what is called the grace margin.

The grace margin is a concept I learned from the Rev. Dr. Eric Law, founder of the Kaleidoscope Institute. The Rev Dr. Law says that the grace margin is this place of action between our comfort and our fear. He says that when we are in active Christian community, striving for justice and peace among all people, we have to get into that grace margin, that space between our comfort and our fear, because that is where we can be present for God to do what God does even in the lives of people we just don’t want to be around.

Church of Reconciliation was founded and continues to work in this grace margin. We actively seek ways to learn and grow between comfort and fear. Our Core Values emphasize exactly what the Rev Dr. Law is describing when he talks about the grace margin between comfort and fear, that working space where we have to get out of our own way to let God be God, even when times are difficult, even when the news is bad, even in the lives of people with whom we disagree.

I can sense this grace margin in each and every one of our Core Values, but we also have to acknowledge the growth margin that goes along with the grace margin.

And even though we have that grace margin built into our very DNA at Reconciliation, we’re still sometimes uncomfortable admitting it when something is difficult or news is bad or, especially, when people trespass against us. Sometimes, that discomfort leads to fear. However, we can admit our discomfort and fear to God and each other here. Being able to admit our own trespasses is exactly what allows for growth. We have to ask, how do we get past our discomfort and fear and take action to get back to the blazing light that is in all our same cells?

I offer you this four-part strategy from feminist theologian the Rev. Dr. Kwok Pui Lan, who writes out of her experience growing up in the British Colony of Exploitation known as Hong Kong. She advocates four ways a community can take action to create change in the grace margin. She offers us the challenge of the 4 Ds of Decolonial Theology: Disperse, Disrupt, Develop, and Deepen.

The Rev. Dr. Kwok believes, and I agree, that if we fully intend to remember that we’re all made from the same cells, fully intend to keep the light in our eyes ablaze, then:

  • We actively disperse power when we remove hierarchical barriers that separate people from God and each other.
  • We actively disrupt old narratives and interpretations when we listen to stories of real people.
  • We actively develop theologies when we celebrate local needs and learning styles.
  • We actively deepen our spiritual life in both body and mind when we pay attention to the physical needs of all people, especially those who have been marginalized.

Here in the grace margin between comfort and fear at Church of Reconciliation our Core Values draw us near to the Rev. Dr. Kwok’s call to disperse power, disrupt old narratives, develop celebratory theologies, and deepen spiritual life for all people.

Even though we ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge and our eyes are open, open to the truth of our oneness with God and each other, we cannot grow complacent or think that our work is finished. We have to remember why we’re here and renew our commitment to our mission in order to keep growing. Our core values matter more than ever as we work to grow in the grace margin so that justice and peace are ever more present among all people. Our mission is to keep the light in our eyes ablaze. Our mission is to keep the light in our eyes ablaze.

Striving to be one with God

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Photo by Lisa Fotios

Reprinted from “Living God’s Mission,” Jan. 24, 2025

by Pam Tinsley

During this past two weeks, we have collectively remembered two individuals who dedicated their lives to seeking and serving Christ in each person they met. One was a pastor – Martin Luther King, Jr. – who dedicated his short life to civil rights and racial justice. The other was a statesman – President Jimmy Carter – who dedicated his long life to improving innumerable lives through his geopolitical and humanitarian work, in addition to his faithful support of Habitat for Humanity.

As I was reflecting on these two individuals and the many challenges facing our nation and the Church today, the following reflection from Forward Day by Day landed in my inbox:

Ephesians 4:6 One God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.

The Message adds another sentence to this verse that helps me see the implication of Paul’s words: “Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness.” Imagine what our lives, and what the world, would be like if we truly believed this, knew this to be true, and lived this truth out every day.

If those of us who say we know and love God acted as though God was Father of all, above, through, and in all – all people, every living thing on earth, the very earth itself – and that we are permeated with Oneness, how would things change? I think we can begin living this out by offering everyone kindness and compassion. This, then, grows into dignity and respect, which eventually evolves into harmony and peace and ultimately becomes simply Love. This is a world I want to inhabit. It begins with me, now and in each moment. May I live into the Oneness I know exists with God, my neighbor, and all things, and may you, too.

MOVING FORWARD: What step can you take today to living into this Oneness?

I’m reminded that – even in the most challenging of times – each of us is an instrument of God, called to reveal God’s love for all despite the many obstacles. We have voice, and we have agency because we serve the God of love, justice, and peace – and love will cast out fear.

Absorbing God’s abiding light

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Photo by Oskar Kadaksoo on Unsplash

by Demi Prentiss

Isaiah 60:1-6
Arise, shine; for your light has come,
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.

For darkness shall cover the earth,
and thick darkness the peoples;

but the Lord will arise upon you,
and his glory will appear over you

In a sermon “for dark times,” sub-titled “Why Bullies Fear the Dark,” Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber points out that this passage from the Book of Isaiah, a reading for the Feast of the Epiphany, speaks to her of the Magi, the kings who visited the infant Jesus in Bethlehem.  She contemplates whether Isaiah the prophet was reminding his Jewish hearers of “Let there be light” from the Biblical creation story, or perhaps of the pillar of fire that led them out of slavery in Egypt toward liberation. She wonders, “Maybe Isaiah’s audience needed reminding as we do, that those who walk in darkness can still see great light.”  She adds, “I think maybe The Magi carried the light of Christ within them because they had been close enough for it to soak in. And that is what lit their path [on their way home].” She’s thinking, “Phosphorescence.”

She continues:

“Phosphorescence in case like me, you forgot, works like this: the energy goes in quietly. The transformation happens unseen. And only later—often much later—does the light begin to show, but it’s only visible in the dark. Which is frustrating, frankly, for those of us who prefer immediate results or visible proof….

Phosphorescence.

Maybe this is how a life of faith actually works.

We tend to think of faith as something we work for. A virtue we strive to inhabit. A spiritual New Year’s resolution we keep.

We in the West are very determined people. We set a goal, determine the steps, take action, work hard, and achieve the thing. And look—that works great if you’re training for a 10K or trying to get your real estate license.

But the life of faith operates within a different order of reality. You do not, in fact have to create, muster, manufacture, or maintain your own light. I promise you have been absorbing enough of it for long enough to shine with it.

You have been absorbing God’s light all along—even when you don’t believe it, even when you aren’t paying attention, even when you are phoning it in, even when you are pious as all get out.

Because that is just what gently happens when we get to do things like baptize babies while renouncing evil in the process. This is what quietly happens when we light candles and say prayers, and read Scripture aloud and sing hymns… even when we don’t really “feel it”.

So if you too don’t feel particularly radiant right now—if it feels like Isaiah describes, that darkness covers the earth and thick darkness the peoples—and you are convinced you cannot possibly rub two sticks together to somehow create a spark, just know this:

Maybe you don’t have to. In fact, I wonder if manufacturing our own brightness can obscure a gentler light that God has provided for the path ahead.

And so when things get dark—and they will—the light of God’s word, shines enough to be a lamp unto our feet. Stumbling, maybe. Dancing, sometimes. But always the next step is lit. Not because you have made yourself dazzling.

But because the Light has already found you.

And no. I still do not know what the future holds.

All I know is that in Christ, in prayer, in word, in sacrament, we have quietly, unsuspectingly been absorbing everything we need to phosphorescently light the path before us wherever that leads.

Because the light of Christ does not vanish when the world goes dark.

It lingers.

It lingers in those of us who have sat in the presence of forgiveness—and thought nothing was happening.

It lingers in the children in these pews who seem distracted by coloring, but who are absorbing Scripture without realizing it.

It lingers in all who have heard that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

And then one day—
when the power fails,
when the star disappears,
when certainty collapses—

there you are.

Glowing just a bit.Not because you are shining with your own goodness or faith. But because you were once close enough to the Light of the world that it soaked into you. And that kind of light has a way of leading people by another road.

Love as resistance

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Love in Action at Church of Reconciliation quarterly parking lot, drive-up Food Bank distribution and come-and-take clothing swap with donuts, tacos, and coffee. In December, a special visit from Mr. and Mrs. Claus with free photos for families accompanied the event. Blog author Brandon Beck is shown accompanying Mrs. Claus. Photo courtesy of Brandon Beck

by Brandon Beck

Dr. Natalya Cherry of Brite Divinity School, in a lecture to an Introduction to Christian Theology course, said, “We have to define theology so it doesn’t get co-opted by our oppressors” (Jan. 17, 2026). As a staunch post-modernist, I resist defining anything. I often quote Inigo Montoya from the 1987 Rob Reiner classic film The Princess Bride, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” While Inigo Montoya spoke these words to his companion Vizzini in response to his repeated misuse of the word, “Inconceivable!” with intention to point out Vizzini’s error, I use them in order to register my belief that all words defy definition and are merely “sound and fury, signifying nothing.” (Shakespeare’s Macbeth).

Yet, Dr. Cherry’s words have caused me to pause. If she is correct and defining theology prevents it from being co-opted by our oppressors, then it stands to reason that defining other foundational words would protect them from co-optation as well.

The art of definition and the very act of putting words into the world takes on an entirely new weight and significance when we are charged with preventing oppressors from co-opting them.

In a world overrun with words everywhere from classrooms to social media, the sides of buses to the skins of cars, sweatshirts to yard signs, how can we make our words mean what we want them to mean? How can we align our words to Jesus’ genuine Love? How can we prevent our words from being co-opted by our oppressors?

What if it has less to do with the words themselves and more to do with how our actions align with our words? I believe that our words are defined less by more words and more by the way we live them out.

In the First Letter from John, we learn a little more about aligning our words with Jesus’ genuine Love and our actions with those words:

For this is the message you have heard from the beginning, that we should love one another. (3:11)

Do not be astonished…that the world hates you…we have passed from death to life because we love… (3:13-14)

Little children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth. And by this we will know that we are from the truth and will reassure our hearts before [God] whenever our hearts condemn us, for God is greater than our hearts, and [God] knows everything. (3:18-20) (NRSVUE)

John teaches us as he was taught by Jesus to love not in word or speech but in deed and truth. Our words matter, but the way we behave matters more. Most importantly, we have to act in love.

And herein we return to that powerful call to define. If we don’t define love, then it will be co-opted by our oppressors. Jesus’ genuine Love is the love we must define and then with which we must act in the world. We must define Jesus’ genuine Love and then act with that genuine love against the oppressors.

Fortunately, Paul defined Jesus’ genuine Love for us already:

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs;it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Cor 13:4-7 NRSVUE)

All that’s left for us is to live out that genuine Jesus Love.

By another way . . .

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Photo by Lee Young on Unsplash – Three Kings (Magi)

by Demi Prentiss

On Jan. 6, The Feast of the Epiphany, we enter the green season of ordinary time, formerly known as the season of Epiphany.  I’ve always liked having a whole season of revelation, or recognition, right there between Christmastide and Lent.  It’s a time when the church focuses on how the life of Jesus cast new light on how God is active in the world.  It’s a time when I try to pay better attention to what God might be doing right in my neighborhood.  I’m drawn to seeking to discover where God is working and, as Jewish scholars have said, seeking to be “covered in the dust of my rabbi” – following Jesus so closely that I’m wearing the dust kicked up by his passing.

Br. Lucas Hall, SSJE, describes this as participating in divine life. He writes, “God is active, because life is active. Life moves. Life responds. God gave life, not as a static dispenser of some good gift, but rather by living, and inviting his whole Creation – including us – to participate in that divine life.”  Often, participation with God takes us down unexpected paths. I think of the magi, after their encounter with the Christ Child, being warned in a dream to avoid returning to Herod.  Matthew’s Gospel tells us they “left for their own country by another road.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkZ1JJlJa14

Inspired by the kings’ journey home, singer-songwriter Christopher Grundy offers a spine-stiffening song of resistance  in “Take us Home by Another Way”:

Spirit, take us home, take us home by another way, 
take us long way ’round the tyrants and their schemes, 
Give us strength to walk Show us dreams of a better day 
and we’ll pave the way with justice going home by another way.

Grundy’s song echoes the Black church’s conviction that God “makes a way out of no way,” bringing creativity, agency, and resilience to combat oppression and discrimination.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes offers inspiration for daily life, as we confront the need to go home by another way:

 By another road
         
         They left for their own country by another road.
                  —Matthew 2.12

Life is one different road
      after another. 

Even now, on the twelfth day of Christmas,
       it's not too late to be changed. 

God is seldom on the road we planned
      but one we were forced into.

Jesus' miracles and parables are other roads;
      grace is always a detour.

Holy One, give me faith to let go, to turn, 
      to see grace where there was none.

Give me faith to be nudged, and to trust.
      Give me the courage of new roads.

“Grace is always a detour.” May the words of the poem become our prayer as we walk through the weeks following Epiphany:

“Holy One, give me faith to let go, to turn, to see grace where there was none.
Give me faith to be nudged, and to trust. Give me the courage of new roads.”

With thanks to Diana Butler Bass for introducing me to the songs of Christopher Grundy.

Honoring the heart of a stranger

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Photo courtesy of Pam Tinsley

by Pam Tinsley

I was struck by an essay, The Greater Good, which the Irish Jesuits posted last month on their Sacred Space website:

In an individualist culture, perhaps more than ever, we need to learn from the lesson placed before us by Christ the King. We are our brothers’ and our sisters’ keepers. ‘We live in each other’s shadow,’ as one Irish saying puts it. While independence is all fine and well, inter-dependence is the greater good – a kind heart and open hand. The plight of war refugees has been well documented, but there were and are disquieting voices raising opposition.

The Irish Rune on hospitality says:
     We saw a stranger yesterday.
     We put food in the eating place,
     Drink in the drinking place,
     Music in the listening place.
     And with the sacred name of the triune God
     We were blessed, and our house,
     Our cattle and our dear ones.
     As the lark says in her song:
     Often, often, often goes the Christ
     In the stranger’s guise.

It is not uniquely Irish, of course, for many cultures instinctively know that we need to honour the heart of the stranger; we need to recognise how much like us the person is; we need to remember the humanity of each and every person. Welcoming the stranger blesses us as well as it aids the recipient of our hospitality.

In God’s family, there are no strangers, only kin or clan, as we might say. Kinship is God’s dream come true. It’s about imagining a circle of compassion and then imagining no one standing outside that circle. For whatever you do with love has eternal value.

Today Christ the King says to us, ‘What you do for others, you do for me.’ – Tom Cox, The Sacred Heart Messenger, November 2023

During this past month, I’ve found myself being the recipient of love and care rather than being the giver – to which I’m much more accustomed. As I’ve begun preparation for a bone marrow transplant, the importance of community speaks deeply to me. Although I’m certainly embraced by family, friends, and parish communities, I’m now being embraced by an ever-expanding network of caregivers, i.e., a new community. Outpatient clinic and hospital providers come together to form a team, of which I’m also an integral part. It’s clear that we are all walking this journey together, step by step. We were strangers yet now we are a community, dependent upon and honoring the particular gifts each one offers to complete the whole and pointing toward something greater than any one of us. And I am blessed not only by their professionalism, but also the warmth and hope that each person radiates.

Blessed are the ready

Posted on by livinggodsmission
Photo by Benoît Deschasaux For Unsplash+
Photo by Ka Ho Ng on Unsplash
Photo by Brad Barmore on Unsplash

by Demi Prentiss

Jesus’s Beatitudes – known by some as the “be”-attitudes – help us recognize that, surprisingly, the marginalized, the despised, and the supposedly powerless hold a special relationship with God: the power of incarnating God’s relational power to transform a position of vulnerability to one of transcendence.  Authenticity, single-heartedness, and humility are the hallmarks of the blessedness that Jesus celebrates as signaling “the kingdom of God.”

Christians mark Advent as the season of hopeful expectation of the in-breaking of God’s reign, anticipating the counter-intuitive blessedness of those who suffer – the poor in spirit, mournful, meek, seeking, merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers, persecuted.  Advent reminds us that being equipped to proclaim the coming of the kingdom obliges us to cultivate another blessedness – being ready.  Ready to perceive God at work. Ready to stand with those who suffer. Ready to be brave. Ready to be open.

Poet Steve Garnaas-Holmes joins Matthew in reminding us to be ready:

                       Be ready

       You must be ready, for the Human One is coming 
       at an hour you do not expect.
                               —Matthew 24.44

Grace flits in, a butterfly in winter.
Forgiveness dismantles gallows.
A child, frightened, stands anyway.

The minds of the dulled 
are on other things.
Heaven passes unnoticed.

The naive keep waiting
for the white horse, the sword.
Foggy opera glasses.

Cynics, fearing the mystery, 
can always prove otherwise.
The lock snaps shut.

The faithful are not sure
but open,
watching for the luminous.

A spirit, wholly given,
emerges 
like a song among many.

Blessed are the ready, watching,
over and over, 
for the world made new.

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve
__________________ 
Steve Garnaas-Holmes 
Unfolding Light 
www.unfoldinglight.net

Running with Jesus

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Photo by John Tinsley

by Pam Tinsley

Last fall we were thrilled to watch our six-year-old granddaughter Sienna run cross country. (Yes, we are that kind of grandparents, the ones who beam with pride at pretty much anything she does.) When you run cross country, you encounter many obstacles: the terrain, the weather – especially in the wet Pacific Northwest, and your body itself. And running cross country was a huge milestone for Sienna because she suffers from severe asthma.

Despite her asthma, Sienna ran faithfully throughout the season. Not only did she work out with her teammates, but she also ran with her dad. And, whenever she ran, she had one goal. It wasn’t winning. It wasn’t how she placed.

Her sole goal was to do her best, to persevere and to run her race. And her favorite part of one race venue was running up the hill – at the end!

I’ve thought a lot about how healthy Sienna’s approach is. It’s also counter-cultural in today’s world which seems to value only winners, where the goal seems to be to find some way to “win” without doing the hard work that our values and our dreams demand.

We can apply this to our own spiritual lives when we seek to live our faith to our best – with love. Following Jesus isn’t easy. Following Jesus means to keep going, to persevere. It means putting one foot in front of the other, as we encounter obstacle after obstacle in the challenges and disappointments of everyday life. Just like Sienna’s obstacles to running her best in cross country are unique to her, our obstacles in living our faith to our best are also unique. And Jesus is with us always: during the easier stretches, through the unexpected obstacles, when we trip or fall, and as we persevere up the hill at the end of that long run after we’re already tired. In the end, it doesn’t matter to God whether we come in first or if we come in last. Instead, it simply pleases God when we live our faith to the best of our ability, every day.

The Lord is near

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Photo by Alfons Taekema on Unsplash

by Demi Prentiss

The holy days we’ve just celebrated – All Hallows’ Eve (Hallowe’en), All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day (Día de los Muertos) – form an autumnal triduum that, for me, is a hinge point in the Christian year, much like the Easter Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. These autumnal days are marked with rites and readings that point our imaginations toward end times and our mortality, alongside the Northern Hemisphere’s season of first frosts, fall color, leaf-raking, putting the garden to bed, and hibernation.  The ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (say “SAH-win”) recognizes the season as a time when the veil between the living and the dead is thin.  Many seasonal customs – pumpkin carving, bonfires, wearing masks and costumes, and even trick-or-treating – have grown out of Samhain traditions. The observance of Veterans’ Day early in November echoes the theme as we honor the lives of service members, living and dead and acknowledge their sacrifices.

The “autumnal triduum” offers us a chance to recognize that death is a part of life.  Just as the trees celebrate the harvest by going dormant, the shortening days call us to reduce activity and value what stillness and silence can teach us. We can begin to grapple with the mystery that dying can free us, disencumber us, so we can resonate with the “new thing” that God is beginning to set in motion. Fields that lie fallow for a season are primed for bearing fruit when the time is right. The cycles of nature remind us that this is an eternal, God-formed pattern.

This year’s lectionary readings between All Saints and Advent 1 continue to explore the immanence of the reign of God:

  • “For I know that my Redeemer lives…and at the last…I shall see God.” Job 19:26-27
  • “But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings.” Malachi 4:2
  • “Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.” Luke 20:38
  • “Surely, it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.  For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, and he will be my Savior.”  Isaiah 12:5-6
  • “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has come to his people and set them free.” Luke 1:68
  • “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1
  • “Be still, then, and know that I am God….“ Psalm 46:11
  • “He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” Colossians 1:14
  • “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” [Jesus] replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Luke 23:43

As we claim our baptismal identity as beloved and called children of God, the autumn triduum reminds us to reflect on the paradox that shapes our calling:  truly, “we are but dust” AND “we are the image and likeness of God.”