From Pastor Adam

Grace and peace to you, beloved church,

We recently baptized a baby at church and it was beautiful.

The space was full. Kids were running around. Voices lifted in song. Even Ms. Rosita made an appearance at the organ. It was one of those Sundays where you could feel it; something deeper than just a gathering. My heart was full.

Every day we gather as a church is a good day. But this one, in particular, felt like one of those thin moments where the veil between heaven and earth feels just a little more open. Where time itself feels a bit… loose. Where the Holy Spirit breaks in.

Just as the Spirit descended on Jesus at his baptism, so the Spirit was descending on us, too. We also celebrated Daughters’ Day, giving thanks for all the ways women have contributed and continue to contribute to the work of God in the world. It was a day full of life. Full of promise.

And yet, just the day before, I found myself in a very different kind of holy moment.

I was in Wisconsin for my aunt’s funeral.

Family dynamics can be complicated. Our lives rarely resemble a Norman Rockwell painting. Relationships strain. Break. Sometimes distance, measured in years or even decades, settles in. It had been a long time since I had seen parts of my family. And yet, even in the midst of grief, even in the presence of old wounds, something unexpected happened.

There was reconnection.

Stories were shared. Gaps were filled in. I learned where some of my ancestors are buried. I sat with cousins, aunts, and uncles I hadn’t seen in years. And somehow, quietly, gently, there was healing.

It reminded me that we are people who believe in a God who does new things. A God who brings life out of places that have known death. A God who restores what feels lost.

And that’s where Psalm 23 has been echoing in my heart:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me.”

The same God who meets us in the joy of a baptism is the God who walks with us through grief. The same Shepherd who gathers us into green pastures is the One who stays with us in the valley. We do not live in one place or the other all the time. Life holds both. Moments of laughter and singing. Moments of loss and longing. But in all of it, God is present.

I am grateful for both of these moments last week: the fullness of life in baptism and the quiet, complicated healing at the funeral.

Both were holy. Both were places where God was at work. And both remind me that life is always blossoming, even when we can’t see it yet.

Blessings,

Pastor Adam