I want to pause here and speak directly to those who lean conservative, consider themselves evangelical, or Republican. I do so as someone who has, at different points in my life, considered myself conservative, evangelical, and Republican — and who still understands why those commitments feel meaningful, especially in uncertain times.

… If you feel caught between what your faith is asking of you and what your community expects from you, you are not alone.

This post is not a call to abandon conservatism or to embrace a different tribe. It is a call to something older and deeper: the freedom to remain loyal to Jesus even when that loyalty complicates our political identity.

 If faith is trust, if religion is really about what you trust enough to organize your entire life around, then what are those of us who call ourselves “nones” supposed to do with that? […] in this particular moment of instability and violence and fear and anxiety, I keep wondering: what lessons are religious leaders offering that might matter to those of us outside their communities? […] But how can they function as conversation partners—helping us ask better questions even if they can’t give us answers?

Psalm 88 ends with a sentence no one has ever cross-stitched onto a pillow: “Darkness is my closest friend.” And yet… the ancient community kept this psalm. They copied it. Prayed it. Sang it. Preserved it as Scripture. Why?

There is so much life and evidence of creativity in the space left behind when they tore down the building. The large green space now has the potential to become a park, or a field for kids to play soccer, or a sculpture garden, or a home for a new family, or space for birds to fly, or…

Octavia Butler and Mary the mother of Jesus both show us that love in the midst of chaos is not naïve; it is revolutionary. It is courageous. It is, quite literally, a world-making force.

What images have disillusioned me into believing that I am unworthy to sit in beautiful spaces with my golden locs, richly melanated skin, and full body? How did I convince myself that the being once called “good” by the creator needs to be transformed into standards enculturated by modern society?

As someone who is lonely and lost and is in the process of reconstructing their life, this experience of walking the labyrinth with a bunch of people I’ve never met was the most welcoming church experience I’ve had in decades.

When kids spill out onto the sidewalk in laughter or race down the block on bikes, we catch a glimpse of the divine extravagance.

I thought that there were two ways to go through life – toiling hard to be good (and being perpetually exhausted), or giving up and being selfish. I thought that life was fight, flight, or freeze. I am learning that the way of Jesus is neither toiling and spinning, nor giving up.

A man disconnected from others is more vulnerable than strong—and more dangerous than heroic. His high walls may look like strength but in truth they are purpose-built for hiding, not protection. In his isolation, he becomes a threat to himself.

A friend once said to me, “the truth that sets you free is the truth you’re willing to know.” Is that the problem, as we approach Juneteenth? Are we not willing to know the truth?

We imagined a future of the world in 2070. Positive and negative. We imagined a future of spirituality in the world in 2070. Positive and negative. We imagined what we would want for spirituality and church in that year.

Masculinity is a mirage, not a destination. This pernicious illusion doesn't merely deceive our eyes; it torments our souls with the promise of an unattainable ideal.

Masculinity is a mirage, not a destination. This pernicious illusion doesn't merely deceive our eyes; it torments our souls with the promise of an unattainable ideal.

By denying ourselves access to the halls of grief we also deny ourselves access to what is sacred, healing, and vital.

All of us could take a lesson from Elphaba in valuing the lives of neighbors who are too quickly pushed into the background ... or minimized and subjugated by those occupying roles of privilege and authority.

Revelation was intended to give hope to a people going through impossible chaos. And God’s vision at the end of Revelation, the last word, so to speak, is incredibly hopeful. We need that now.

I've become convinced that if Luke had chosen a picture of the gospel instead of 24 chapters of writing... [he] would have drawn for us a big table, wooden and worn and homey.

"God’s abiding among us happens precisely amid, alongside, within the complexities of our experiences with home and with belonging."

The Rev. Winnie Varghese delivers a sermon covering indigeneity, Elijah's sojourn in the wilderness, and how to connect with those who show us hospitality.