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UPDATE: From our COVID Advisory Team
January 15 As we start the new year, we want to share the COVID Advisory Team's decision to stay the course with remote worship through the end of March, at which time we will reevaluate for the next quarter. We remain cautious given the vaccine is still in early stages of distribution, the impact of the new virus variant is to be determined, and Norfolk County's COVID incidence rate is high (a daily average of ~50 per 100,000 residents over the last 14 days vs. our stated maximum benchmark of 8 per 100,000 residents). The Mass Department of Public Health (MDPH) updates these metrics every Thursday in the “COVID-19 Weekly Public Health Report”: https://www.mass.gov/info-details/covid-19-response-reporting. We will eagerly monitor the vaccination's progress towards building "herd immunity", and will evaluate Q2 in-person gathering options as we get closer to April. Thank you for your patience and ongoing care of each other in the meantime, The COVID Advisory Team |
A pastoral letter regarding the events of January 6, 2021
1/6/2021 @ 7:15pm
Dear Friends,
Unprecedented. As we all know, there is good-unprecedented and there is bad-unprecedented, joyful and distressing. Today is a day when both senses of that word are in full effect.
This morning we witnessed history being made in Georgia in the run-off elections for that state’s two senate seats, particularly with the election of The Rev. Dr. Raphael Warnock, the first African American to represent a former Confederate state in the United States Senate since Reconstruction. Regardless of our political views, it is stirring to see so many people exercising their right to vote, letting their voices be heard at the ballot box, especially folks whose full franchise has been systematically suppressed for so long.
This afternoon and evening, however, we are witnessing another kind of history being made in Washington, D.C. Armed supporters of President Trump stormed the Capitol where our elected officials gathered to discharge their constitutional duty to ratify the results of last November’s election. This news is deeply disturbing—again, regardless of one’s political affiliation. Their actions represent a direct assault on not just a building or an institution, symbols of our democracy, but on our most cherished democratic ideals. The peaceful transition of power, especially between parties with widely varying viewpoints, is the cornerstone of our national political life that makes everything else possible, and today some are seeking to shatter it.
I am shaken to my core, and I am not ashamed to say I fear for our nation, for the soul of our nation. Having spoken with my parents, whose political participation stretches back nearly three-quarters of a century, through other tumultuous times, I know they are and they do, too. Many of you may feel similarly.
In this moment, in this merely latest in a long series of both acute and chronic crises facing our United States, I hope you will join me in prayer for our neighbors and our nation.
I pray for a swift end to today’s violence and the falsehoods that fuel it. I pray for the law enforcement officers at the Capitol, local and state police, and national guard troops whose duty puts them in harm’s way as they work to keep the peace and protect the vulnerable. I pray for the members of Congress and staff on both sides of the aisle who were terrified and endangered by today’s events. I pray for all of us, stretched so thin already, and for our children, watching, listening to the news and aware, even without words, of the terrible costs of this moment.
I pray that leaders in every party and at every level would seek the commonwealth of all persons and not their own narrow interests alone. I pray for those who agree with me politically and for those with whom I disagree, neighbors, strangers, and enemies, that we all may recognize at once the grave dangers of this path of division we are on. I pray for the Church, and for our church, that we may be inspired to preach and embody real healing—not some temporary, temporizing salve but a deep, just, and wise shalom, God’s way, that will transform the world.
And most of all I pray for peace, no cheap or easy peace, but that deep, strong, and abiding peace that we, as followers of Jesus, know as the peace of Christ, that this peace may take root in our hearts and in our hands, in our thoughts and deeds and in our land, to cast out any voice but the loving and life-giving voice of our God of many names.
As Senator-Elect Warnock said to his neighbors in Georgia this morning, “In this moment in American history, we all have a choice to make. Will we continue to divide, distract and dishonor one another or will we love our neighbors as we love ourselves?” In these uncertain times, as we stand on this precipice together and face this choice once more, may you trust that God holds you close.
You are not alone. We will seek a way forward. We will lift one another up when we stumble, We will hold one another accountable to the Gospel and offer one another grace. We will shelter one another in the storm. We will walk into the future together.
In the good and strong name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.
Rev. John MacIver Gage
Senior Minister
Dear Friends,
Unprecedented. As we all know, there is good-unprecedented and there is bad-unprecedented, joyful and distressing. Today is a day when both senses of that word are in full effect.
This morning we witnessed history being made in Georgia in the run-off elections for that state’s two senate seats, particularly with the election of The Rev. Dr. Raphael Warnock, the first African American to represent a former Confederate state in the United States Senate since Reconstruction. Regardless of our political views, it is stirring to see so many people exercising their right to vote, letting their voices be heard at the ballot box, especially folks whose full franchise has been systematically suppressed for so long.
This afternoon and evening, however, we are witnessing another kind of history being made in Washington, D.C. Armed supporters of President Trump stormed the Capitol where our elected officials gathered to discharge their constitutional duty to ratify the results of last November’s election. This news is deeply disturbing—again, regardless of one’s political affiliation. Their actions represent a direct assault on not just a building or an institution, symbols of our democracy, but on our most cherished democratic ideals. The peaceful transition of power, especially between parties with widely varying viewpoints, is the cornerstone of our national political life that makes everything else possible, and today some are seeking to shatter it.
I am shaken to my core, and I am not ashamed to say I fear for our nation, for the soul of our nation. Having spoken with my parents, whose political participation stretches back nearly three-quarters of a century, through other tumultuous times, I know they are and they do, too. Many of you may feel similarly.
In this moment, in this merely latest in a long series of both acute and chronic crises facing our United States, I hope you will join me in prayer for our neighbors and our nation.
I pray for a swift end to today’s violence and the falsehoods that fuel it. I pray for the law enforcement officers at the Capitol, local and state police, and national guard troops whose duty puts them in harm’s way as they work to keep the peace and protect the vulnerable. I pray for the members of Congress and staff on both sides of the aisle who were terrified and endangered by today’s events. I pray for all of us, stretched so thin already, and for our children, watching, listening to the news and aware, even without words, of the terrible costs of this moment.
I pray that leaders in every party and at every level would seek the commonwealth of all persons and not their own narrow interests alone. I pray for those who agree with me politically and for those with whom I disagree, neighbors, strangers, and enemies, that we all may recognize at once the grave dangers of this path of division we are on. I pray for the Church, and for our church, that we may be inspired to preach and embody real healing—not some temporary, temporizing salve but a deep, just, and wise shalom, God’s way, that will transform the world.
And most of all I pray for peace, no cheap or easy peace, but that deep, strong, and abiding peace that we, as followers of Jesus, know as the peace of Christ, that this peace may take root in our hearts and in our hands, in our thoughts and deeds and in our land, to cast out any voice but the loving and life-giving voice of our God of many names.
As Senator-Elect Warnock said to his neighbors in Georgia this morning, “In this moment in American history, we all have a choice to make. Will we continue to divide, distract and dishonor one another or will we love our neighbors as we love ourselves?” In these uncertain times, as we stand on this precipice together and face this choice once more, may you trust that God holds you close.
You are not alone. We will seek a way forward. We will lift one another up when we stumble, We will hold one another accountable to the Gospel and offer one another grace. We will shelter one another in the storm. We will walk into the future together.
In the good and strong name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.
Rev. John MacIver Gage
Senior Minister
Statement from the National Officers of the United Church of Christ
on the continued lynching of Black folk in America.
with preface and postlude by Rev. John MacIver Gage
May 31, 2020
There is a funny church meme, if that’s not an oxymoron, that actually predates the internet. It’s one of those things I used to see copied out and pinned up in the office of my church growing up, or on the bulletin board next to the mailboxes at seminary. You may know it. It goes like this:
Dear Lord, so far I’ve done alright. I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent. I’m really glad about that. But in a few minutes, God, I’m going to get out of bed. And from then on, I’m going to need a lot more help.
Well, I sort of think of that as a preacher’s prayer, too. My prayer today, in fact. And so would you pray with me: Heck, would you pray for me?
Dear Lord, so far, I think I’ve done alright. I’ve been nice and positive and supportive and uplifting. I haven’t said anything too challenging, too hard, too offensive. But in a moment, God, I am going to start to preach. And from then on, given what’s going on in your world today and to your children today, I’m going to need a lot more help. Amen.
As I begin my reflection today, I want to offer for our consideration this definition of lynching, from an article written by journalists Jamile Lartey and Sam Morris, writing in The Guardian newspaper for the opening of the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, commonly called the Lynching Museum, in Montgomery, Alabama in 2018:
Historians broadly agree that lynchings were a method of social and racial control meant to terrorize black Americans into submission, and into an inferior racial caste position. They became widely practiced in the US south from roughly 1877, the end of post-civil war reconstruction, through 1950.
A typical lynching would involve criminal accusations, often dubious, against a black American, an arrest, and the assembly of a “lynch mob” intent on subverting the normal constitutional judicial process. Victims would be seized and subjected to every imaginable manner of physical torment, with the torture usually ending with being hung from a tree and set on fire. More often than not, victims would be dismembered and mob members would take pieces of their flesh and bone as souvenirs.
In a great many cases, the mobs were aided and abetted by law enforcement (indeed, they often were the same people). Officers would routinely leave a black inmate’s jail cell unguarded after rumors of a lynching began to circulate to allow for a mob to kill them before any trial or legal defense could take place.
With that context, I share with you this message, shared this week by the national officers of our United Church of Christ denominational family. It is true that in our congregational polity, our way of being church, we are not beholden to our national leaders. We have that freedom. But we also are bound together in covenantal relationship with them for the purpose of doing together for the Kingdom of God what none of us could do alone. And if ending the reign of white supremacy that has plagued our nation for 400 years doesn’t fall into that category, I don’t know what does. And so just as these leaders among us are prayerfully bound to listen to us, we are prayerfully bound listen to them. Let those with ears hear:
A man was lynched by police in Minneapolis this week. George Floyd was lynched on the streets of Minneapolis, Minn., with the knee of an officer who needed no noose. As comrades looked on, reminiscent of the public lynchings of the past, George Floyd pleaded for breath for over 5 minutes as the callous, vigilante actions of four officers hooded in blue ignored his plea. The unrestrained white rage that stalked Colin Kaepernick “taking a knee” on AstroTurf to protest violence against black bodies escapes this country’s watchful gaze as an authorized officer “takes a knee” on the throat of a black man pinned to the asphalt. Is this how white supremacy prays?
A man was lynched by vigilantes in Brunswick, Ga., on Feb. 23 this year. Ahmaud Arbery’s life was choked out from his body by bullets plowed through his chest, fired from the gun a white vigilantes self-deputized to guard white fragility from the threat of a black man free enough to run where he chooses, as comrades looked on. No charges were filed initially and we might never have known, except such violence is never fully satisfied without public display. The taping of their triumph sealed their fate. Is this how white supremacy celebrates?
A woman was lynched by police in Louisville, Ky., on March 13 this year. Breonna Taylor’s sleep was interrupted by death as officers broke into her home unannounced and riddled her body with 8 bullets in search of a black man who did not live there and was already caged. Breonna was an EMT, risking her life daily for the well-being of others. Her profession placed her at high risk for COVID-19. Her black body placed her at higher risk for the death she endured. Breonna’s work was essential. Her life was not.
White supremacy is not simply an ideology, it is an evil. It is not simply born of ignorance but also of intention. This religion of white supremacy is so deeply seeded in the blood- drenched soil of our country that white people will do anything to protect its fragile roots. Black bodies are lynched by police in America so that white supremacy can breathe, white fragility can rage, and white entitlement can pretend not to see.
A black man was almost lynched in Central Park this week. Amy Cooper intended to steal his breath. She knew the gravity of a white woman’s plea to be saved from the throes of a Black man in America. Her words were deliberately weaponized with fragility. White women’s tears are their own eyewitness. She knew exactly what she was doing, so much so that she warned the victim she was armed with whiteness and would weaponize it if he did not submit to her demands. This is what “Stand Your Ground” looks like for those who believe they actually own the ground.
Murder by law enforcement is the insidious mutation of vigilante lynchings. Both public executions are violations of the 4th and 14th amendments — violations too often upheld by the highest court in this land. But state-sanctioned murder carries the endorsement of our judicial system for America to be at war with itself. The authority to savagely murder black people and mutilate their bodies in public displays suggests the desire to stop a power beyond one's ability to kill. How many bullets does it take to stop a black body? How long must a choke hold last to make the weak feel powerful when confronted with a resilience that cannot be comprehended?
Too often images flood our screens of whiteness raging out of control. Picnics and postcards with lynched bodies on display have been replaced by live-streams and private videos with the murdered on display. We can no longer suffer the luxury of looking away. We must speak truth with power for the salvation of us all.
Black people were lynched in America yesterday, and all the yesterdays before. Lynched by vigilantes who Stand Their Ground. Lynched by religious zealots that have white-washed God. Lynched by the silence of white liberals. Lynched by those sworn to serve and protect.
And yet. As we enter this season of Pentecost we are reminded that the breath of God still blows where she wills, the fire of God’s righteousness still burns within those who believe, the power of God still emboldens us to tear down every stronghold, and the Will of God still reigns supreme.
In the strength of that power, we must be compelled to: Speak up. Stand up. Show up. In Minneapolis, in Brunswick, in Louisville, in New York, in Ferguson, in Cleveland, in Baltimore, in Chicago, and in every city across the land. Somehow we must garner the strength to call out this evil. We must bolster the courage to face this head on and call it by name. Only when we choose to face the evil can we cast it from our collective being. This is the work of the entire church.
Justice was lynched in America yesterday. But thanks be to God, Justice refuses to die.
This is me talking again now: Beloved of God and my beloved friends, The choice is ours: Are we we going to be a safe church, a tame church? Or are we going to be a good church?
This afternoon, I am choosing to show up with clergy colleagues from across Massachusetts to march peacefully and powerfully, to roar a bit, to walk with the residents of the Roxbury neighborhood of Boston police headquarters downtown.
What are you going to do?
If you are looking for something, I want to offer you this: There is an online worship service tonight, called “The Cross and the Lynching Tree: a Requiem for Ahmaud Arbery” and a panel discussion with our UCC national leaders, from 6pm-7:30pm. You can find more information and register on the website at www.ucc.org.
Ask yourself, is this not the very least you can do?
There is a funny church meme, if that’s not an oxymoron, that actually predates the internet. It’s one of those things I used to see copied out and pinned up in the office of my church growing up, or on the bulletin board next to the mailboxes at seminary. You may know it. It goes like this:
Dear Lord, so far I’ve done alright. I haven’t gossiped, haven’t lost my temper, haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent. I’m really glad about that. But in a few minutes, God, I’m going to get out of bed. And from then on, I’m going to need a lot more help.
Well, I sort of think of that as a preacher’s prayer, too. My prayer today, in fact. And so would you pray with me: Heck, would you pray for me?
Dear Lord, so far, I think I’ve done alright. I’ve been nice and positive and supportive and uplifting. I haven’t said anything too challenging, too hard, too offensive. But in a moment, God, I am going to start to preach. And from then on, given what’s going on in your world today and to your children today, I’m going to need a lot more help. Amen.
As I begin my reflection today, I want to offer for our consideration this definition of lynching, from an article written by journalists Jamile Lartey and Sam Morris, writing in The Guardian newspaper for the opening of the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, commonly called the Lynching Museum, in Montgomery, Alabama in 2018:
Historians broadly agree that lynchings were a method of social and racial control meant to terrorize black Americans into submission, and into an inferior racial caste position. They became widely practiced in the US south from roughly 1877, the end of post-civil war reconstruction, through 1950.
A typical lynching would involve criminal accusations, often dubious, against a black American, an arrest, and the assembly of a “lynch mob” intent on subverting the normal constitutional judicial process. Victims would be seized and subjected to every imaginable manner of physical torment, with the torture usually ending with being hung from a tree and set on fire. More often than not, victims would be dismembered and mob members would take pieces of their flesh and bone as souvenirs.
In a great many cases, the mobs were aided and abetted by law enforcement (indeed, they often were the same people). Officers would routinely leave a black inmate’s jail cell unguarded after rumors of a lynching began to circulate to allow for a mob to kill them before any trial or legal defense could take place.
With that context, I share with you this message, shared this week by the national officers of our United Church of Christ denominational family. It is true that in our congregational polity, our way of being church, we are not beholden to our national leaders. We have that freedom. But we also are bound together in covenantal relationship with them for the purpose of doing together for the Kingdom of God what none of us could do alone. And if ending the reign of white supremacy that has plagued our nation for 400 years doesn’t fall into that category, I don’t know what does. And so just as these leaders among us are prayerfully bound to listen to us, we are prayerfully bound listen to them. Let those with ears hear:
A man was lynched by police in Minneapolis this week. George Floyd was lynched on the streets of Minneapolis, Minn., with the knee of an officer who needed no noose. As comrades looked on, reminiscent of the public lynchings of the past, George Floyd pleaded for breath for over 5 minutes as the callous, vigilante actions of four officers hooded in blue ignored his plea. The unrestrained white rage that stalked Colin Kaepernick “taking a knee” on AstroTurf to protest violence against black bodies escapes this country’s watchful gaze as an authorized officer “takes a knee” on the throat of a black man pinned to the asphalt. Is this how white supremacy prays?
A man was lynched by vigilantes in Brunswick, Ga., on Feb. 23 this year. Ahmaud Arbery’s life was choked out from his body by bullets plowed through his chest, fired from the gun a white vigilantes self-deputized to guard white fragility from the threat of a black man free enough to run where he chooses, as comrades looked on. No charges were filed initially and we might never have known, except such violence is never fully satisfied without public display. The taping of their triumph sealed their fate. Is this how white supremacy celebrates?
A woman was lynched by police in Louisville, Ky., on March 13 this year. Breonna Taylor’s sleep was interrupted by death as officers broke into her home unannounced and riddled her body with 8 bullets in search of a black man who did not live there and was already caged. Breonna was an EMT, risking her life daily for the well-being of others. Her profession placed her at high risk for COVID-19. Her black body placed her at higher risk for the death she endured. Breonna’s work was essential. Her life was not.
White supremacy is not simply an ideology, it is an evil. It is not simply born of ignorance but also of intention. This religion of white supremacy is so deeply seeded in the blood- drenched soil of our country that white people will do anything to protect its fragile roots. Black bodies are lynched by police in America so that white supremacy can breathe, white fragility can rage, and white entitlement can pretend not to see.
A black man was almost lynched in Central Park this week. Amy Cooper intended to steal his breath. She knew the gravity of a white woman’s plea to be saved from the throes of a Black man in America. Her words were deliberately weaponized with fragility. White women’s tears are their own eyewitness. She knew exactly what she was doing, so much so that she warned the victim she was armed with whiteness and would weaponize it if he did not submit to her demands. This is what “Stand Your Ground” looks like for those who believe they actually own the ground.
Murder by law enforcement is the insidious mutation of vigilante lynchings. Both public executions are violations of the 4th and 14th amendments — violations too often upheld by the highest court in this land. But state-sanctioned murder carries the endorsement of our judicial system for America to be at war with itself. The authority to savagely murder black people and mutilate their bodies in public displays suggests the desire to stop a power beyond one's ability to kill. How many bullets does it take to stop a black body? How long must a choke hold last to make the weak feel powerful when confronted with a resilience that cannot be comprehended?
Too often images flood our screens of whiteness raging out of control. Picnics and postcards with lynched bodies on display have been replaced by live-streams and private videos with the murdered on display. We can no longer suffer the luxury of looking away. We must speak truth with power for the salvation of us all.
Black people were lynched in America yesterday, and all the yesterdays before. Lynched by vigilantes who Stand Their Ground. Lynched by religious zealots that have white-washed God. Lynched by the silence of white liberals. Lynched by those sworn to serve and protect.
And yet. As we enter this season of Pentecost we are reminded that the breath of God still blows where she wills, the fire of God’s righteousness still burns within those who believe, the power of God still emboldens us to tear down every stronghold, and the Will of God still reigns supreme.
In the strength of that power, we must be compelled to: Speak up. Stand up. Show up. In Minneapolis, in Brunswick, in Louisville, in New York, in Ferguson, in Cleveland, in Baltimore, in Chicago, and in every city across the land. Somehow we must garner the strength to call out this evil. We must bolster the courage to face this head on and call it by name. Only when we choose to face the evil can we cast it from our collective being. This is the work of the entire church.
Justice was lynched in America yesterday. But thanks be to God, Justice refuses to die.
This is me talking again now: Beloved of God and my beloved friends, The choice is ours: Are we we going to be a safe church, a tame church? Or are we going to be a good church?
This afternoon, I am choosing to show up with clergy colleagues from across Massachusetts to march peacefully and powerfully, to roar a bit, to walk with the residents of the Roxbury neighborhood of Boston police headquarters downtown.
What are you going to do?
If you are looking for something, I want to offer you this: There is an online worship service tonight, called “The Cross and the Lynching Tree: a Requiem for Ahmaud Arbery” and a panel discussion with our UCC national leaders, from 6pm-7:30pm. You can find more information and register on the website at www.ucc.org.
Ask yourself, is this not the very least you can do?
A Special Message from
Rev. John MacIver Gage, senior minister
May 20, 2020
Dear Beloved Friends,
As I’m sure you all know by now, this past Monday Governor Baker announced his administration’s guidelines for a phased re-opening of the Massachusetts economy and easing of the stay-at-home orders that have helped us blunt the curve of the on-going COVID-19 pandemic in our communities. Houses of worship are included in the first phase, meaning communities of faith may once again return to their buildings if they choose, albeit with exacting restrictions designed to try to safeguard against a deadly rebound of coronavirus infections.
Our Board of Directors and Deacons have been meeting frequently and prayerfully through this crisis, and we discussed this issue specifically last week in anticipation of the Governor’s announcement. Both boards agree unanimously that our congregation will not return to worship in our building until at least next fall. This isn’t because we don’t miss being together. We do, intensely, and we look forward to the day we may gather in-person again, safely. But I am reminded in this moment of the words of the Apostle Paul: “All things are lawful, but not all things are beneficial” (1 Corinthians 6:12).
For as we reflected on those things in the life of our church that we are unable to do remotely—most notably singing together and just being physically close—and determined that we still wouldn’t be able to do either safely were we to choose to gather in person sooner, we came to the conclusion that it’s simply not worth the risk, especially to most vulnerable among us (and there are many). We make this difficult decision in faithful response to our call from Christ, the Good Shepherd, to shape our life together around our concern for the welfare of our neighbors, to leave the 99 safely at home for the sake of the one.
So we will continue to gather online for worship and meetings and continue to coordinate care for one another one-on-one, leaning into both the very newest and very oldest ways of being church. In this extraordinary and trying time, I am grateful for the ways leaders in our congregation have stepped into new duties to shepherd the church and for the technological tools that, while not perfect, have been a godsend in this moment, allowing us to see and hear and share and support one another safely. I certainly hope we’ll take some of the lessons we’re learning now into the next phase of our life together, whenever that day arrives. In the meantime, I am excited to work with you in the months ahead to come up with creative, safe ways to live out our faith particularly our desire to help our neighbors in need and our passion for justice.
I am grateful for you all, as well, for the grace and good humor and honest-to-God faith you model for me as we live through this crisis together, apart. You demonstrate daily the truth of one of my favorite passages of scripture, also from Paul, from Romans 8:38-39:
For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Peace,
John
Dear Beloved Friends,
As I’m sure you all know by now, this past Monday Governor Baker announced his administration’s guidelines for a phased re-opening of the Massachusetts economy and easing of the stay-at-home orders that have helped us blunt the curve of the on-going COVID-19 pandemic in our communities. Houses of worship are included in the first phase, meaning communities of faith may once again return to their buildings if they choose, albeit with exacting restrictions designed to try to safeguard against a deadly rebound of coronavirus infections.
Our Board of Directors and Deacons have been meeting frequently and prayerfully through this crisis, and we discussed this issue specifically last week in anticipation of the Governor’s announcement. Both boards agree unanimously that our congregation will not return to worship in our building until at least next fall. This isn’t because we don’t miss being together. We do, intensely, and we look forward to the day we may gather in-person again, safely. But I am reminded in this moment of the words of the Apostle Paul: “All things are lawful, but not all things are beneficial” (1 Corinthians 6:12).
For as we reflected on those things in the life of our church that we are unable to do remotely—most notably singing together and just being physically close—and determined that we still wouldn’t be able to do either safely were we to choose to gather in person sooner, we came to the conclusion that it’s simply not worth the risk, especially to most vulnerable among us (and there are many). We make this difficult decision in faithful response to our call from Christ, the Good Shepherd, to shape our life together around our concern for the welfare of our neighbors, to leave the 99 safely at home for the sake of the one.
So we will continue to gather online for worship and meetings and continue to coordinate care for one another one-on-one, leaning into both the very newest and very oldest ways of being church. In this extraordinary and trying time, I am grateful for the ways leaders in our congregation have stepped into new duties to shepherd the church and for the technological tools that, while not perfect, have been a godsend in this moment, allowing us to see and hear and share and support one another safely. I certainly hope we’ll take some of the lessons we’re learning now into the next phase of our life together, whenever that day arrives. In the meantime, I am excited to work with you in the months ahead to come up with creative, safe ways to live out our faith particularly our desire to help our neighbors in need and our passion for justice.
I am grateful for you all, as well, for the grace and good humor and honest-to-God faith you model for me as we live through this crisis together, apart. You demonstrate daily the truth of one of my favorite passages of scripture, also from Paul, from Romans 8:38-39:
For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Peace,
John