At the Center
It’s hard to believe, but this is my second-to-last Link message to you.
This year together has been one of movement—within us, among us, and around us. I want to take a moment to remember where we’ve been. Not just to mark time, but because reflection is one of the ways we stay grounded in who we are, and who God is calling us to become.
I began with my first Fall reflection, including a little Autumn spiritual practice to “shake it out”—a moment to acknowledge the weight many of us were carrying and to gently, prayerfully ask, What is God saying to us now? It was a small start to a big year of listening.
In November, we remembered the saints of Faith Lutheran Church, especially Janene Dahlquist, with tenderness and joy during a beautiful and well-attended All Saints/All Souls celebration. Then came Advent, and with it, a fresh take on the season—progressive altar paraments that unfolded week by week, inviting us to slow down and see with new eyes. Christmas Eve came early—11 am, to be exact—with a Messiah sing-along and brunch. It was joyful, well-attended, and a blast was had by all. That evening, a smaller circle gathered for a simple, intimate Christmas liturgy. It was quiet, reverent, and powerful—I hope it continues with whomever is here for Christmas in the coming years.
January arrived with new rhythms. Some of us read Our Unforming by Cindy Lee (if you didn’t, I still recommend it!). Epiphany brought us Star Words, and I hope yours is still tucked into your mirror, your wallet, or your heart.
February brought a new kind of Lent. We joined with Pr. Lindsey and Christ Church, Pr. Diana and First Congregational, and Pr. Laurie at Windsor Community Church. Ash Wednesday was packed—an overflowing sanctuary, a full choir, and a spirit of shared reverence. Then came our mini pilgrimage through Santa Rosa, where we learned about the needs of different people and organizations in our community—and maybe even discovered more about ourselves in the process. Remember: we’re only whole when all our needs are met, and our neighbors are also made whole because their needs are also met.
In March, the Strategic Planning Committee began its work. April brought Holy Week and a joyful Easter morning. May marked my graduation from GTU, and May and June held a lot of travel for interviews for potential calls for me (including at a university!). All the while, the Strategic Planning Committee continued its faithful work—crafting and refining a mission statement, values, and our “four rocks.”
Let’s not forget Pentecost—a literal fire kindled as we sang “Blessing by Fire,” written by my friend Diana Macalintal. July has nearly passed, and with it, a major milestone: we gathered on July 27 for a full-community update on the progress of the strategic plan, and you—thanks be to God—affirmed the committee’s work and suggestions up to this point with love and genuine support.
And here we are.
All of these moments—worship, study, singing, risk-taking, planning, celebrating, grieving, experimenting, little pilgrimages, visioning for a future—they’ve been about one thing: listening. Seeking. Staying awake. Staying centered in the way of Jesus.
When we keep ourselves centered in discernment and in each other—continuously trying, praying, experimenting, and engaging with our neighbors—we keep Christ at the center too. When we honor one another well, we are honoring God well.
And yet, staying centered in the right things takes real trust, real openness, real humility…and real continuous practice. So— I’ll close this reflection with a prayer from Walter Brueggemann that’s been speaking to me in my devotions, lately. I offer it as a word of blessing—and a gentle nudge to stay rooted in what is unfolding among us here at Faith Lutheran:
Ourselves at the Center
by Walter Brueggemann, from Prayers for a Privileged People
We are your people, mostly privileged competent entitled.
Your people who make futures for ourselves,
seize opportunities, get the job done and move on.
In our self-confidence, we expect little beyond our productivity;
we wait little for that which lies beyond us,
and then settle with ourselves at the center.
And you,
you in the midst of our privilege,
our competence our entitlement.
You utter large, deep oaths beyond our imagined futures.
You say—fear not, I am with you.
You say—nothing shall separate us.
You say—something of new heaven and new earth.
You say—you are mine; I have called you by name.
You say—my faithfulness will show concretely and will abide.
And we find our privilege eroded by your purpose,
our competence shaken by your future,
our entitlement unsettled by your other children.
Give us grace to hear your promises.
Give us freedom to trust your promises.
Give us patience to wait and humility to yield our dreamed future to your large purpose.
We pray in the way of Jesus, who is your YES over our lives.
with joy,
Intern Pr. Sam +
PS: A mid-July update: Praise God and every single person who I’ve shared life with– I’ve been approved for ordination! These things don’t happen in a vacuum. If we’ve crossed paths, one way or another you’ve contributed to this moment.
Photos: 1. I was in Southern CA when approved, so I’m also pictured here in front of one of my favorite murals in Santa Monica, next to Dogtown – one of my favorite coffee shops (Love + Action….how can you go wrong?) just before heading back up to NorCal 2. And, one bonus photo of Winnie and me, because how could we not share photos of an office doggo who is like this?
Especially The Crumbs
“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62)
I really enjoy looking back, to be honest. I have a pile of photos and old programs and what not tucked away into storage boxes (even some recitals and performances on cassette tape and probably a mini-disc or two). It can be really grounding to look at where I’ve been, occasionally. And so, sometimes this line from Luke’s Gospel kind drives me bonkers— when it’s misused, anyway. Remembering and cherishing our history is a sacred part of knowing who we are today. As James Baldwin so aptly observed, “history is not in the past, it is the present. We carry our history with us. We are our history.” The author of Luke has an important point with this line about hands on plows and being unfit if you’re looking back… and the point is that we simply must stay open to the road we are currently on, and what’s ahead—even when it’s unfamiliar, uncertain, or winding. If we’re trying to move in the now and forward while only looking back…well, that’s likely to come with some extra messy results, no?
Which brings me to Henry.
Recently, Henry—our favorite Faith Lutheran big little man— has started coming up to the altar. He stands between his Mimi (Joyce) and me. Sometimes he’s dancing around a bit with a few proverbial ants in his pants. Always ready to help deliver collection plates and break bread. Each week after we break the bread, as I pray the remaining words of the eucharistic prayer, Henry happily snacks on the crumbs that have fallen from our communal loaf. Tiny pieces of crust, gathered in the most reverent three-almost-four-year-old way, delicately placed in his mouth as if no one were the wiser. Tasted with, as far as I can tell, total joy.
Honestly? It might be the best part of the whole entire Sunday morning for me. Here is this human, right there at the table, relaxed and 
enjoying a snack while we pray. Not particularly phased by the scene, just…present. What might worship be like for all of us, if we were able to enter that fully, simply gathered around table just as we are, all the time? Isn’t this just exactly what we’re all invited into for weekly nourishment? Maybe crusty crumbs isn’t quite what you have in mind when you think of what brings you joy and relaxation at table, maybe you’re more of a sip from the cup kinda person. But the concept is the same— to simply be present in the joy of what is and revel in just that. And, I can’t help but notice how much more joy ripples out to everyone around Henry, just because of his simply being himself in these moments. He’s doing his own version of putting his hand to the plow and being very fit for the kingdom of God. And look just how quickly that joyful kingdom of God spreads to the rest of the room in response! How powerful we Christians can be, when we are able to choose to just be there at the table in our joy, not too phased, just relaxed and enjoying a meal among one another— and then allowing that to radiate outward into the world.
Luke’s Gospel reminds us not to live looking backward—not because memory isn’t sacred, but because the kingdom of God is here. And we can miss it entirely if we keep our eyes set on the “what has been” and the “what was.” Every one of us is fit for the kingdom. Not because any one of us has figured everything out, but because we can trust that the finite in life carries the infinite. God is here with us, beckoning us toward rest and joyful being—even in the smallest, most ordinary ways from the smallest most ordinary places—especially in breadcrumbs picked up from the altar.
-Intern Pr. Sam
Let those Pentecost fires burn, for the world is always about to turn:
A little project that will become a big gift, titled “The World is About to Turn” | June 2025
Well, here we are. The world is blooming, the sun’s sticking around longer, the scent of sunscreen and charcoal is in the air, creativity is flowing, and Pentecost reminds us that the Holy Spirit is right here living and breathing among us- inspiring us to one turn after another–over and over again!
I remember being a young girl, sitting outside my home parish as my mom weeded the front garden, having just placed red banners all around the interior of the church. Mom, telling me that it was Pentecost, as I mused on how much I liked the drape and color of the red fabric while the sun beat down on my skin, warming it past golden brown and into pink-ish red. I received a bit of a sunburn that day. And, I imagine the disciples received a bit of a burn (proverbial or literal) on their own initial day of Pentecost, too. Encounters with the Holy Spirit change you. It’s inevitable, and important. And so, as we engage our annual celebration and commemoration of that first Pentecost, or just as we work our way through the year…we re-member that part of our intention is, indeed, to be changed, to be transformed, by the fires of the holy.
And, one of those holy fires is our strategic planning work. You might not think “strategic planning” screams Pentecost energy—but I’d argue it does. Because discernment is spiritual work. Every time we ask, “Who are we? What are we here for?”—that’s Holy Spirit work. And soon, when the committee presents our new mission and identity statement, we’ll be handed something that’s not just a sentence to memorize and take to heart—it’s a filter. A lens for looking at ourselves and all of our decisions going forward. A way to hold up all our choices and ask: does this line up with who we say we are and who we say we want to be?
Because that’s what the Spirit does. She reminds us who we are. Who we’re committed to becoming. She breathes life into dry bones, transforms with heat and pressure, and keeps moving the church toward resurrection living, even when we’re trying to cling to more familiar deaths.
And summer, with all its warmth and openness, is a pretty great metaphor for that kind of Spirit energy. It’s not a flash-in-the-pan blaze. It’s a slow, steady burn—sustaining us through the seasons, keeping our hearts soft and our minds open long after the fireworks fade.
The mystic and theologian Howard Thurman once said:
“Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
This Pentecost, may we have the courage to let that heat ignite something in us, and come a little more alive. To let the Spirit move us into clarity, into boldness, into the new thing. Even if it scares us a little. Even if it sets something old on fire and means allowing the ash to become the soil for the new thing God wants us to see them doing.
Amen Amen, I say to you— let us enjoy this special Pentecost season!
-Intern Pr. Sam