Taking the Long View

Dear FBC Family,

What a gift to be home! I carried you in my heart while walking the ancient streets of Ávila and Toledo, following the paths of 16th-century Spanish mystics Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross. Our pilgrimage days were grounded in prayer and reflection, with a gentle pace that created space for solitude and contemplative silence—along with plenty of laughter among fellow travelers.

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The iconic walls surrounding the city of Ávila were constructed over a period spanning from the 11th to the 14th centuries.

I'm grateful to Pastor Eric for his thoughtful preaching and pastoral care during what became two weeks of difficult news: The murder of Senator Melissa Hortman and her husband, the Southern Baptist marriage resolution, the Supreme Court's decision on gender-affirming care in Tennessee, and the escalating conflict between Israel and Iran. Reading Sunday morning's headlines that the U.S. has entered this war left me struggling for words. As followers of Jesus, Prince of Peace, my heart grieves whenever nations—especially my own—turn to violence as a solution.

History’s Perspective

Walking through centuries-old Spanish cities reinforced for me how much we need historical perspective when our culture feels divided. The Spanish Inquisition offers a striking example.

In 1478, Ferdinand and Isabella began a brutal institution that would plague Spain for almost four centuries. It targeted anyone considered religiously suspect, particularly Jewish and Muslim converts to Christianity. Using interrogations, torture, public rituals, and penalties from spiritual correction to death, the Inquisition sought to maintain religious conformity and political power.

Many of us feel worn down by policies that change dramatically with each new presidential administration. We have historical company.

Near its end, the Inquisition faced identical cycles of reversal: Abolished in 1808, restored in 1814, abolished again in 1820, restored again in 1823—until it finally ended in 1834 under the reign of Isabella II. People spent generations wondering: Will it come back? Is my family safe? What is my neighbor saying about me? The constant anxiety must have been crushing.

Learning from the Mystics

Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross lived under constant threat from this nightmarish system. The Inquisition viewed mystical experiences with suspicion, questioning whether direct encounters with God bypassed church authority. Both faced investigation; their writings were scrutinized for heresy.

Yet they persisted. Teresa wrote with courage about her prayer life and visions. John composed poetry capturing the soul's journey toward God (and is widely viewed today as Spain’s greatest poet). They found faith not despite the turmoil around them, but through practices that sustained them within it.

Walking where they walked, I thought about how different their faith was from the institutional religion that threatened them. While the Inquisition used fear and control, Teresa and John embodied the invitation of Jesus—to come and find rest, to abide in love, to trust in God's grace. Their mystical encounters weren't about bypassing the church but about discovering the heart of the Gospel: that God draws near to us in love, not condemnation.

Beyond the Headlines

Their example offers us a way of being present to pain without being consumed by it. These ancient Christians show us how to remain rooted in what matters most when the ground shifts beneath us. They remind us that taking the long view isn't about detachment from the world's pain but about engaging from a deeper place with God.

When fear drives the headlines, we can trust that God's purposes—revealed in Christ's life of compassion, justice, and mercy—unfold across centuries, not news cycles.

Paz y bendiciones,

A Pilgrimage to Spain: Gracias!

A Pilgrimage to Spain: Gracias!

Dear FBC Family,

One of the many things for which I am deeply grateful is the continual encouragement I receive from our congregation to care for my own soul. As one of my mentors said to me years ago: "The best gift you have to give to your congregation is a whole, healthy, God-centered you." Thank you for all the ways you support our entire FBC staff as we endeavor to lean into wholeness.

As a way of nurturing my spirit, next week I will fly from Dulles to Madrid to embark upon a contemplative pilgrimage to the historic cities of Ávila and Toledo, Spain, led by the Shalem Institute. There I will walk in the footsteps of two profound 16th-century Spanish Catholic mystics—Teresa of Ávila and John of the Cross—whose teachings on spiritual deepening and the "dark night of the soul" have served as contemplative guideposts for nearly five centuries.

Timeless Wisdom in Troubled Times

What makes Teresa and John's spiritual insights particularly compelling is the context in which they lived. They ministered during Spain's golden age, when it was the most powerful empire in the world—yet this was also the era of the Spanish Inquisition, when fear and religious persecution cast long shadows across the land. The church had become entangled with state power in ways that brought heaviness and oppression to ordinary people.

In the midst of this darkness, Teresa and John discovered profound pathways to divine intimacy. Their mystical writings emerged not from comfortable circumstances, but from wrestling with God in times of institutional corruption and societal upheaval. Perhaps this is why their wisdom resonates so deeply today, as we also grapple with the tension between political power and spiritual grounding, between the noise of our troubled world and the still, small voice of the Holy.

Vacation vs. Pilgrimage

While I'll certainly savor the delights Spain offers—the architecture, the food, the culture—there are meaningful differences between a pilgrimage and a vacation.

Pilgrims move at a slower pace. As I am fond of saying, "We live in a rocket-speed society, but we have wagon-train souls." An unhurried rhythm allows us to be more fully present to each experience, each prayer, each moment of wonder.

A pilgrimage also carries a deeper intentionality—the focused practice of looking and listening for the presence and voice of the Holy in ancient stones, quiet chapels, and the stories of those who walked this path centuries before us.

Each day will be grounded in prayer and reflection, with a relaxed pace that allows for spacious moments of solitude and contemplative silence. I'm hoping to draw from this deep well of spiritual nourishment and return refreshed for the important work we share together.

Gratitude and Return

Thank you for this precious gift of time for rest and renewal. I'm grateful to our gifted staff and lay leaders, and especially to Pastor Eric for preaching on the two Sundays I'm away. Your generous spirit in supporting this journey means more than you know.

I look forward to being with you again on June 29th as we celebrate what God has done in and through our church this past year at our Annual Meeting. Perhaps I'll even have a story or two to share about walking in the footsteps of saints.

If you'd like to follow along with the itinerary, you can find it here.

Que Dios los bendiga (May God bless you all)…

Pastor Julie

As I Have Loved You

Reflections on Sunday’s Sermon
(May 25, 2025)

On Sunday we wrestled with Jesus' radical commandment: "Love one another as I have loved you." 

Picture Jesus in that upper room. He sits with all twelve disciples around him, and knowing all that is to come, washes each of their feet:  

He washes the feet of Judas, knowing Judas will betray him. 
He washes the feet of Peter, knowing Peter will deny him. 
He washes the feet of Thomas, knowing Thomas will doubt him. 

This is unconditional love, love that expects nothing, yet gives everything—even to those who will cause us pain.

"As I have loved you, so you are to love one another."

Throughout history, some have dared to love this way.

In the year 295, a young Christian, Maximilian of Tebessa, was drafted by the Roman army but refused to serve. His only loyalty, he said, was to God. This brought great shame to his father—a veteran who knew his son's decision meant death. At his beheading, Maximilian noticed the shabby clothing of his executioner and called to his father in the crowd: "Give this man my new clothes."

During the 1994 Rwandan genocide, Immaculée Ilibagiza, a young Tutsi woman, watched as Hutu extremists murdered nearly a million people—including most of her family. She survived by hiding in a tiny bathroom with seven other women for 91 days while killers searched for them. When the genocide ended, Immaculée faced an impossible choice. She met one of the men who had killed her mother—now imprisoned and broken. Instead of seeking revenge, she looked into his eyes and said, "I forgive you." And her love didn't stop there. She began caring for the orphaned children of those who had murdered her family.

Laramiun Byrd’s mother Mary and Oshea Israel

In 1993, 16-year-old Laramiun Byrd was shot and killed at a party in Minneapolis. The shooter was Oshea Israel—also 16—who was convicted and sentenced to 25 years in prison. Laramiun's mother, Mary Johnson, was consumed with hatred and a desire for revenge. But twelve years later, she sensed God calling her to visit her son's killer in prison. She told Oshea, "We need to lay down the hurt and forgive each other." When Oshea was released, Mary helped him rebuild his life. Today, he lives next door to her. She calls him her "spiritual son."

Who is the Christ We Follow?
 
How do we practice this kind of love in a world full of injustice and pain? When our government prioritized white Afrikaners from South Africa for refugee status while people from other countries have languished for years in perilous conditions, I felt a deep, burning sense of injustice. The timing and selectivity of this resettlement effort feels deeply troubling, particularly when white South Africans—7% of the population—continue to own some 72% of the country's prime agricultural land.

Faith communities have been forced to wrestle with an impossible question: How do we love as Jesus loved when the institutions we’re committed to partner with perpetuate the very injustices we are called to oppose?

The Episcopal Church chose to end their migration resettlement partnership with the government rather than participate in what they believe is a discriminatory process. Reaffirming their steadfast commitment to racial justice and reconciliation, they reject the preferential treatment given to the Afrikaners over other refugees who have been waiting for years.

Meanwhile, Welcome House Raleigh, an organization affiliated with Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, after much discernment chose to welcome the Afrikaners. “We are against racist ideologies like apartheid in South Africa,” said one leader, “and we know the role Afrikaners had in that. And we are fully aware of our own history as white Baptists in the South. So, it took a lot of time and discussion, but it came down to the question of, ‘Who is the Christ we follow?’”

Friends, this is hard discipleship. In truth, I believe both groups honored the gospel. 

A Holy Invitation

I love what Barbara Brown Taylor says about costly love: “I do not know what is right. All I know is whom I love, and how far I have to go before there is no one left whom I do not love. If I am wrong, then I figure the Word of God will know what to do with me. I am betting my life on that.”

This is the holy work before us: to stretch our hearts until there is room for everyone, trusting that God will guide us in the loving.

Breath prayer for this week:  

Inhale: As you have loved me...
Exhale: so help me to love.

Being Led Where We Don't Want to Go

Sunday’s Sermon in a Nutshell
(John 21:15-19)

None of us gets to sketch the blueprint of our own becoming. We may set intentions and chart courses, yet life leads us down pathways we never imagined—and sometimes to destinations we would flee from, if we could.

In John's Gospel, Jesus speaks tenderly to Peter: "When you were young, you dressed yourself and walked wherever you wished, but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands while another clothes you and carries you where you do not want to go." These words hold both the gentle ache of aging and the deeper mystery of what it means to follow.

Discipleship calls us to both active and passive faithfulness.

We lean forward into prayer and service, into generosity and justice-making. And we learn, too, the sacred art of receiving—accepting what comes, opening our hands to what God asks, discovering grace even in the circumstances we never would have chosen.

In these days when dehumanizing the "other" has been perfected to an art form, Peter's story whispers something our souls need to hear: The apostle upon whom Jesus promised to build his church died as a non-citizen—an immigrant lacking legal status in Rome.

Unlike Paul, whose Roman citizenship afforded him the dignity of a swift beheading, tradition says Peter was crucified upside-down in Nero's arena, subjected to the full brutality reserved for foreigners deemed dangerous to the state.

This detail pulses with more than historical significance—it carries the heartbeat of the gospel itself. The foundation of Christ's church was laid by someone the powerful dismissed as outsider.

What does this mean for us, here and now?

• The love of God recognizes no borders

• Christ's call cares nothing for documentation or national identity

• In God's kin-dom, citizenship in the realm of Love matters most

• We are called to wrap our arms around those our society pushes away

Our congregation already lives this beautiful truth through your openhearted welcome of all people and your faithful, persistent advocacy for justice. In these times when fear and "othering" fill the airwaves, let us lean even more deeply into this gospel calling.

Jesus invites us to follow—sometimes toward places our hearts would resist, but always toward places where Love is needed most. Today, those places include standing shoulder-to-shoulder with our immigrant neighbors, offering the kind of hospitality that heals, and remembering that in Christ's eyes, we are all foreigners welcomed home.

The same Jesus who said "Follow me" to Peter calls us to stretch out our hands—not in surrender to fear, but in embrace of those whom those the world would render invisible.

Where is Christ leading you today?

Peace and every good...

A Shepherd Among Us: Remembering Pope Francis

Francis. Even his chosen papal name signaled a different kind of shepherd. Electing to honor the humble saint of Assisi, known for his devotion to the poor and creation, Pope Francis signaled a papacy marked by compassion. This past Easter Monday, at 88, we mourned his passing, a loss felt far beyond the Catholic Church.

For twelve years, Francis offered spiritual leadership rooted in humility, peacemaking, and a profound love for all God’s creation, especially the marginalized. He chose simplicity, residing in the Vatican's guesthouse rather than opulent papal apartments, a living testament to his values. He knelt and kissed the feet of South Sudan's rival leaders, imploring them to make peace. He washed the feet of prisoners and laughed with children. He possessed a rare ability to connect, to see and be seen.

Francis’ 2015 visit to Washington D.C. captivated the nation. I recall watching from our house in Atlanta as he addressed Congress, a historic moment. His gentle spirit, calling them “dear friends,” and his heartfelt advocacy for immigrants and refugees, social justice, and environmental stewardship moved me to tears.

Pope Francis's engagement with global issues flowed from a deep, personal faith in Christ. He sought to make Christ's love tangible, particularly for those on the peripheries of society. His was a ministry of presence, of walking alongside those who often felt unseen.

Interestingly, while his emphasis on mercy and pastoral accompaniment resonated deeply with many outside the Church, it sparked debate within. Some questioned whether his approach risked doctrinal ambiguity. This tension, between mercy and law, between pastoral application and doctrinal clarity, is a familiar one, mirroring the very theological polarizations Baptists have grappled with for decades.

Pope Francis, in his own way, wrestled with these questions, seeking to embody the mercy of Christ in a world often marked by division and despair. He reminded us that we are all part of a larger flock, a global family bound by our shared humanity.

Let us remember Pope Francis with warmth and gratitude. May his legacy of love and service inspire us to reflect Christ's light in a world longing for mercy.

Thank you, Francis. Rest in Christ’s loving embrace.

A Holy Week Letter from Pastor Julie

My Beloved FBC Family,

As we walk through this sacred Holy Week, my heart is deeply intertwined with yours. I carry a profound ache within me, mirroring the anxieties and griefs I know many of you carry. The state of our nation and its reverberations across the globe weigh heavily on our collective spirit.

I am acutely aware of the concerns that ripple through our congregation, concerns that echo my own. The uncertainty surrounding jobs, livelihoods and retirement plans casts a long shadow. The fear for our neighbors, for our Black and Brown siblings, for the lives of immigrants, for our LGBTQ+ family, and for our poor and marginalized communities is palpable.

We witness with dismay the disregard for due process, the pain of unlawful deportations, the chilling effect on free speech, and the erosion of the very principles of law we have cherished. The silence and capitulation of those who know better amplify our feelings of helplessness.

And perhaps most heartbreaking of all is the daily grief of witnessing millions who profess the name of Christ actively celebrating these developments, a stark contradiction to the very essence of the gospel we embrace. This dissonance can leave us feeling isolated, helpless and afraid.

In the face of such heavy realities, it is easy to feel overwhelmed, lost in a sea of anxiety and despair. And yet…it is precisely in this darkness, in this profound sense of human frailty and societal brokenness, that the unwavering light of Holy Week shines most brightly.

For this week reminds us that even Jesus, the Christ, walked through the valley of the shadow of death, experiencing betrayal, abandonment, injustice, and the crushing weight of the world’s sin. Jesus knew fear, sorrow, and the agonizing silence of those who should have stood by him.

But thank God, the story doesn’t end there. The darkness of Good Friday gives way to the radiance of Easter Sunday. The tomb, meant to be the final word, becomes the beautiful testament to the unfailing, unshakable love of God. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is a living, breathing promise that death does not have the final say. Injustice does not have the final say. Fear does not have the final say.

This Holy Week, let us all draw closer to the heart of Jesus. Let us lament the brokenness we see, both within ourselves and in the world around us. Let us acknowledge our fears and our feelings of helplessness.

And…let us also cling fiercely to the unwavering truth of God’s love, a love that conquered death itself. And let us open ourselves to the tender, transforming presence of Holy Spirit, who empowers us to be instruments of God’s peace, agents of God’s justice, and channels of God’s love in a world desperately in need of these.

Friends, may this Holy Week be a time of both honest reflection and profound renewal for each of you. Know that you are deeply loved, and that we walk this journey together, held in the embrace of a God whose love never fails.

With deep love and gratitude for you,

We are All on the Same Boat

“Any immigrant who lives with you must be treated as if they were one of your citizens. You must love them as yourself, because you were immigrants in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:34)

“I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” (Jesus, Matthew 25:35)

Friends, words are coming hard these days. The volume and velocity of the chaos and cruelty being visited upon the American people (and the world) in this moment defy description. 

Some of you, I know, are feeling the pain in personal ways. Your jobs are in jeopardy. Your personhood is under threat. Your very existence is maligned. I am praying for you daily. 

This afternoon, my heart and mind are with the thousands of immigrants and asylum seekers in our country. People who pay their taxes, contribute to our communities, strengthen our churches, enrich our schools and are some of the best neighbors imaginable are terrified right now. 

A few weeks ago, while walking our dog Charlie around campus at Catholic University of America, we passed through CUA’s Welcome Plaza where Canadian artist Timothy Schmalz’s striking sculpture, “Angels Unawares,” was blanketed with snow. 

The 3.5-ton bronze piece is the second casting; the original artwork was commissioned by the Vatican and unveiled by Pope Francis in September 2019 in St. Peter’s Square for the World Day of Migrants and Refugees.

The 20-foot sculpture depicts 140 diverse migrants and refugees from different countries and historical eras huddled together on a boat as if seeking a safe harbor. 

The figures in the front of the boat include a Muslim woman fleeing Syria, a Jewish man holding suitcases while escaping Nazi Germany, a pregnant woman from Poland, and an Irish boy leaving home because of that country’s potato famine. 

In the back of the boat is the figure of a Cherokee man clutching his face in grief as he is forced from his tribe’s lands during the “Trail of Tears.”

And in the boat with all the rest of the immigrants and refugees is the Holy Family, shown on their flight into Egypt with Joseph holding carpentry tools and Mary cradling the baby Jesus in her arms.

Rising from the middle of the figures standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the boat is a set of large angel wings. The sculpture includes the quote from Hebrews 13:2, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” 

As I stood there with Charlie, the freezing, gray day and stark snow seemed to amplify the desperation of those in the boat. Every immigration story carries with it anticipation and anguish, longing and fear.  

“Don’t mistreat or oppress an immigrant, because you were once immigrants in the land of Egypt,” says God to the people. (Exodus 22:21) In other words—we are all in that boat. 

Friends, if we want to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, who himself was a refugee, and to see Christ in all people, especially those who are vulnerable, then we need to understand that ours is a story of connectedness, not separateness.

When “Angels Unawares” was unveiled in St. Peter’s Square six years ago, Pope Francis said, “We have realized that we are on the same boat, all of us fragile and disoriented, but at the same time important and needed, all of us called to row together, each of us in need of comforting the other.”

May it be so in our time.

Hopelessness is Always Premature

Dear FBC Family:

Oh, friends. What a week this has been (after only three days!). I’m writing to you this morning from my mother’s dining room in Clermont, Florida, where Tim, Taylor and I are enjoying some vacation time with my mother.

We flew down Tuesday night on a plane brimming with celebratory folk returning home from the inauguration. When the pilot announced that our route would bring us close to the “Gulf of America,” the plane erupted with whoops and cheers. I didn’t fault the giddy people around me (though I did take umbrage with the pilot). Who doesn’t like to feel like a winner? I spent the two-hour flight wondering how many of the dear people around me on that plane belonged to a Christian church and, if so, what kind of spiritual guidance they were receiving from their pastors.

Plenty of prayers and declarations came this week from a variety of faith leaders, mostly Evangelical Christians. While too many sounded like partisan endorsements, the humble entreaty for mercy upon our nation’s most vulnerable ones from Mariann Budde, Episcopal Bishop of Washington, was a message one would expect to hear from a prophet of God.

Some pastoral words from the heart.

Siblings in Christ, I am holding you in the Light today.

To you in the LGBTQ+ community who are feeling anxious and derided, know that you are cherished, seen and surrounded by this faith community. Your validity is not dictated by an executive order.

To undocumented children of God in our congregation, know that you are cherished and surrounded by this faith community. You belong to the Eternal God whose love knows no borders.

To you who feel abandoned by the assault on diversity, equity and inclusion programs, know that you are beloved by your faith community. You are not alone. Your church will walk with you.

To dedicated government employees in our congregation who are feeling unappreciated or uncertain about the future, know that you are cherished and valued by this faith community. Your worth as a worker is not determined by any executive action.

How do we stay grounded in the months and years ahead?

My goodness, I’m still figuring this out for myself! But I’ll offer three modest encouragements here for keeping your spirit balanced and your soul focused:

1. Practice the Presence of God. No fancy instruction here. Just be yourself and be aware of divine presence in this moment. Rather than reprocessing the past or worrying about the future, let yourself be aware of Christ’s presence right here, right now.

2. Don’t get pulled into the vortex of outrage. As Richard Rohr reminds us, “We need the wisdom of a ‘full prophet,’ one who can love and yet criticize, one who can speak their words of correction out of an experience of gratitude, not anger. God must allow us to come to a place of freedom, a place of peace, and a place of fullness before we can speak as a prophet. A prophet must hold on to the truth of their anger, especially as it is directed toward injustice—but the danger of the anger is that when we let it control us, we’re not a help anymore. That’s why we have so many false prophets in America and in the world today.”

3. Keep asking “What is mine to do?” My mind has returned more than once this week to the Mines of Moria in Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring, and the scene in which Frodo Baggins laments to Gandalf, “I wish it need not have happened in my time.” Gandalf replies, "So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” Dear beloved of God, you cannot fix the world—nor is God calling you to fix it. You can only endeavor to do what is yours to do. What if we discern together what is ours to do?

I’ll be back in worship on February 2. This Sunday, Pastor Eric will preach from Luke chapter four, which seems tailor-made for a week like this one:

[Jesus said,] “The Spirit of Yahweh is upon me. God has anointed me and sent me to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to liberate the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of God’s favor.”

The Spirit of Yahweh is on you, too, and on all of us together. And that is worth celebrating.

With hope,

Our Way Forward: Seeing with the Eyes of the Heart

Friends, it did my soul good to be with you in worship on Sunday. As our nation feels caught right now in a hurricane of words—anxious projections, angry accusations, frantic dissections—please remember and never forget that we are the church, the living body of Jesus Christ. We belong to the God in whose image we are made, the God whose mercy is everlasting and whose truth endures in spite of what humans do.

Wherever you fall on the optimism-despair continuum, I hope these words from Sunday’s sermon may offer fresh encouragement for this day.

“If I told you I believe that the most life-affirming way to respond to the present moment in our nation is to nurture a contemplative life, I would expect raised eyebrows. You might reply, with reason, that, no, now is the time for action.

I hear that. And I get that. Anyone with eyes to see and ears to listen knows we have reasons for concern about the future of our country and the fabric of social life in the U.S.  The crisis we’re facing should, one might rightly argue, spur us to action.  Contemplation sounds too much like retreat, detachment. Real contemplation, though, is anything but. Contemplation invariably leads to action.

Contemplation, remember, means to gaze, to observe, to pay attention.

A contemplative is simply someone who’s learning to pay attention to divine presence; someone who’s learning to see beneath the surface and to listen beneath the noise—as Elijah did, outside his cave, straining to hear the still, small voice. As Mary did at the Annunciation, absorbing the angel’s impossible words, ‘The baby in you will be called the Son of God,’ and pondering, contemplating them in her heart.

The work of contemplation includes three key dimensions:

1. We see the world as it is.

2. We see God present in the world as it is.

3. We remain open to what God is up to in this world, and then offer our own, genuine, God-given response.

As Anglican priest and author, Rachel Mann says, we turn our face toward the horror of a world on fire…while simultaneously seeking to respond to the situation in the love of God.”[1]

Desmond Tutu, the South African Anglican bishop and theologian known for his work as an anti-apartheid and human rights activist, said: ‘There is still much work to be done to fulfill God’s dream and bring about the transfiguration of the suffering that exists in our world.

‘But before we can address this suffering from a place: of love and not hate, of forgiveness and not revenge, of humility and not arrogance, of generosity and not guilt, of courage and not fear—we must learn to see with the eyes of the heart.”

FBC family, may God make it so in your life…and mine…and in this nation and world we love.

Peace,

Pastor Julie

PS: I recommend as more soul food for today this article Beyond a Fetal Position — Church Anew posted by Walter Brueggemann a day or two after last week’s election.

[1] Rachel Mann, Facing a world on fire, The Christian Century, June 2024, p. 31.

On Election Day

FBC Family, I am holding you in prayer today. These are tumultuous days! I took great comfort in the candlelight vigil and prayer service last night. I brought the little worship guide home with me. The responsive prayer on page 3 is now affixed our refrigerator and I’ve found myself returning to it repeatedly today, whispering the words in my kitchen.

I shared the story in worship on Sunday of how, in 1952, at the threshold of the Cold War, Harry Emerson Fosdick, a Baptist minister and founding pastor of the Riverside Church in New York City, spoke to students and faculty at the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, California. After acknowledging the uncertainty and chaos in the world at that time, he spoke these now-famous words: “The highest use of a shaken time is to discover the unshakable.”

This is the Church’s task in tumultuous times: we return to the unshakable. We come back to the Source that does not move. We listen to our spiritual ancestors who, amidst cataclysm and uncertainty, raised their voices to sing:

God is our refuge and strength...
And though the whole earth should change,
we will not fear. 
Though the mountains themselves should tremble
   and fall into the seas…
   we will not be afraid.
For God, our God, is with us,
   a refuge and strength." (Psalm 46)

As the political, social and religious structures roll and quake beneath our feet, may we return again and again to that which cannot be shaken.

What remains constant following the election? The love of God. The calling of Christ. The empowerment of the Spirit.

Come Wednesday…and Thursday…and Friday—what will the community of Christ do, regardless of the outcome?

We will love and worship God.
We will love and serve our neighbors.
We will pray.
We will act.
We’ll speak up for the voiceless.
We’ll stand with the powerless.
We’ll come alongside the hopeless.
We’ll plant seeds and paint pictures.
We’ll sing songs and hug our children.
We’ll do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with our Maker.
We’ll break bread with friends and strangers.
We’ll invite people to take a chance on God.
And maybe we’ll even take some fresh chances ourselves.

In other words, some things remain the same after Election Day. All the best things.

Peace and every good…

Pastor Julie

The Good Help of Silence

“Silence is God’s first language.”

~ John of the Cross (1542-1591)

I am writing to you today from the beautiful Bon Secours Retreat Center in Marriottsville, Maryland, where I am immersed in a four-day contemplative prayer retreat with the Shalem Institute. Bon Secours means “good help,” and good help is just what my soul receives whenever I’m here.

 The cherished heart of the retreat is the “Great Silence. ” For 40 hours—from Monday evening to Wednesday at noon—we eat in silence, journal in silence, walk the labyrinth and the wooded paths in silence, circle the pond in silence, and bow in silence as we pass one another in the hallways.

 And in the silence, of course, we pray. We hold in deep, focused prayer the troubles and sufferings—as well as the hopes—of the world, our families, and our communities.

 In her book, Psalms for Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness, Nan Merrill offers this paraphrase of Psalm 132:

Enter into the Silence, into the
Heart of Truth;
For herein lies the Great Mystery
where life is ever unfolding.
Herein the Divine Plan is made known,
the Plan all are invited to serve.
Listen for the Music of the Spheres
in the resounding Silence of the universe…
Enter into the Sacred Altar within;
converse with the Beloved in sweet communion.
Blessings of the Great Silence be with you
as you help to rebuild the heart of the world with love.

 I have prayed for you this week, FBC family. As the Great Silence began, I tucked this week’s prayer list in my heart: Frank. Jay. Dinh. Pat. Andy. Paul. Sadye. Violet. Chris. Maya. Jeannette. Amareo. Tony. Elise. Daniel. Mary…

 Working my way through twelve months of birthdays, I’ve prayed for just about every person who calls First Baptist home. And of course, I have prayed for our fractured country and world.

 If you’ve not experienced an intentional, extended period of silence lately (or ever), I highly recommend giving it a try. Start with an hour, then two. Before you know it, as you “enter into the Sacred Altar within” and “converse with the Beloved in sweet communion,” you’ll find your spirit spreading its wings…your heart opening like a flower.

In the Great Love,

Pastor Julie

The Church of Bear Spray and Binoculars

Dear FBC Family,
 
This moment feels to me like a jumping-off place. A fresh season awaits First Baptist Church—not only the promise of cooler days ahead, but also a Spirit-breathed invitation to embrace some new expressions of our mission and ministry, including new leadership teams, new governance structures, new nomenclature—even a brand-new building!

Sometimes churches that have been around for as long as ours find themselves fixed in familiar patterns that have become rote and predictable. Congregational life begins to resemble running around the same track in the same stadium, again and again and again.

This season feels to me like an invitation to trade the stadium track for a hike with Jesus in the deep woods. These days I imagine First Baptist Church wearing backpacks and headlamps, carrying bear spray and binoculars.  I imagine us traipsing over fallen logs and sometimes taking a holy tumble into the stream below, laughing as we climb up the bank and try again.
 
This new season isn’t about reaching a destination. It’s about embracing the adventure of the journey as we allow God to surprise us, delight us, and lead us deeper into relationship with each other, our community, and the Christ who goes before us.
 
So, let's lace up our boots, grab our binoculars, and set out together with curiosity and wonder.
 
Here we go…

Pastor Julie

Halló from Iceland!

Dear FBC family, Halló from Iceland! All of you have been very much in my heart these past few weeks. I have carried you with me in prayer.

“Thank you” doesn’t begin to convey my gratitude for this time away. This sabbatical so far has been characterized by the image of earth as a “cathedral of earth, sea and sky.”

Time spent on the ancient, sacred Isle of Iona was food for my soul. And now, experiencing the midnight sun in Iceland has brought metaphors of light and new life to the surface of my mind and heart.

Much love, friends. See you in August. In the meantime,

Guð blessi ykkur öll (God bless you all)…

Shalem pilgrims in the Iona Abbey.

We arrived on a gloriously sunny day.

St. Columba began building the abbey in the year 563. It now is cared for in partnership with the National Trust of Scotland.

The home where Leslie Mason and I are staying in Iceland. (Photo taken at 10:00 pm.)

Breathing in peace with every step.

From Pastor Julie: Stepping Away

Dear First Baptist Family:

The time has come to step away for my sabbatical—a time made possible by your kindness and generosity.

The 20th century author Brenda Ueland gave some advice to writers that really is for everyone. She said, “The imagination needs moodling—long, inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering.”

Our souls need “moodling” time, too, and I am deeply grateful to you for investing in my soul through the gift of a renewal leave.

Enormous thanks to Pastor Eric and the rest of our talented staff—Dave Ryder, Sarah Hodges-Austin, Tim P-R, Sean Burns, Carolyn Roebuck, Julia Bradley, Mia Owens, Lynwood Coles and Ray Jules—for all the extra ways they are leading and serving during my absence.

Sabbatical Intentions

A handful of sabbatical intentions have emerged from my prayers and “moodlings” over the past several months, as I’ve prepared for this renewal leave. I ask you to hold these in your prayers while I’m away:

1. Savor spacious time away with Tim.

2. Cherish spontaneous outings with Taylor and Lucy.

3. Enjoy time with my mother in Orlando.

4. Encounter God’s presence in the beauty of nature—the Scottish Isle of Iona, the wild landscape of Iceland, the tropics of Florida, the high desert of New Mexico, the Sierra Nevadas, the Willamette Valley of Oregon, and our beloved San Francisco Bay Area.

5. Practice “beginner’s mind” as I travel, approaching new experiences with curiosity, playfulness, and wonder.

6. Remember daily that I am not defined by what I produce or accomplish.

7. Reconnect with my love of creative writing.

8. Pray this summer for every person in the FBC community by name.

I will miss you, FBC family.

I will miss worshiping with you, laughing with you, serving alongside you.

I will miss joining you for Rise Against Hunger and Capital Pride.

I will miss hugs from FBC’s children and teenagers.

I will miss your insightful questions and reflections.

I will miss the sound of you singing in the sanctuary.

I will miss being part of the congregational farewell to Eric at the end of July.

Your support means the world to me, and I look forward to returning in August refreshed and renewed.

With love and gratitude,

P. S. For your information, I’d like to share with you the general itinerary of my sabbatical travels (click on the images for a larger view):

May-June: Scotland, Iceland, Florida

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Pilgrimage to the Isle of Iona

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Rental home by the sea in Iceland

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Time with my mom, Barbara Pennington, in Orlando

July: New Mexico, California

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Time with Tim at Monastery of Christ in the Desert

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Time with family and friends in San Francisco

August: Oregon

Mother-Daughter time with Lucy at the University of Oregon in Eugene

Beginnings

Dear First Baptist Family:

I am still marveling at last Sunday and the giant step we took together into a new season of life and ministry for this congregation we love.

Deepest of thanks to our Moderator of the past seven years, Rod Coates. During Rod’s tenure, FBC affirmed full inclusion of LGBTQ+ siblings; began the process of renovating the sanctuary building, tearing down the old office and education building and replacing it with a new, fully accessible community building; launched a capital campaign; and hired Ministry Architects to help FBC reimagine congregational life in the 21st century.

Rod, as you lay your gavel down, we say thank you, Mr. Moderator, for your many labors of love in service of Christ and First Baptist Church.

An Invitation to “Beginner’s Mind”

Now, as we move forward together, I invite you to the same practice as last summer, as we were beginning our journey with Ministry Architects. As First Baptist Church learns new rhythms of congregational life, please let yourself adopt a posture of “beginner’s mind.”

Whenever you and I are beginners at something—whether gardening, or parenting, or Pickleball—we come at the experience with a sense of curiosity, humility, and even wonder. We have no idea what the outcome will be. There’s an innocence to our approach, a little like the way children engage the world.

By the time we’re deep into adulthood, a lot of us find ourselves trapped in what we might call “expert mind.”

Especially if we’ve done something before, our familiarity can hinder us from imagining new possibilities and different outcomes. Navigating the day in expert mind is a little like running around the track in a stadium. We see where we’re going. We’ve measured every step. We know what the finish line looks like. No surprises.

On the other hand, navigating the day with a beginner’s mind is more like exploring the deep woods with our flashlight and binoculars and compass.  We leave room for curiosity and surprise and wonder.

When we come at things with a beginner’s mind, we get to experience the enthusiasm, curiosity, and joy of doing something as if for the first time:

• Baking a cake.

• Writing a poem.

• Arguing a case.

• Leading a Bible study.

• Joining a small group.

• Attending a meeting.

• Reading the Bible.

There is a prayer I love by John Philip Newell that essentially asks for a beginner’s mind:

Open us to visions we have never known;
Strengthen us for self-givings we have never made;
Delight us with a oneness we could never have imagined…

May it be so.

In the Great Love,

What Feeds Your Soul?

FBC family, after a year of anticipation and planning, it’s hard to believe my sabbatical is just five weeks away. I continue to pray that each of you will find your own souls refreshed in surprising ways this summer. 

As a reminder, this Sunday in worship we begin a 5-week series of messages—The Powerful Pause: Reclaiming Your Soul Through Sabbath—intended to help all of us become more attuned to the holy rhythms of advance and retreat…stepping in and stepping back…breathing out and breathing in. I hope you’ll join us.

It’s a joy to continue sharing with you some of the plans coming together for my upcoming renewal leave. A few weeks ago, I told of the planned pilgrimage to Iona in June—my first visit to that ancient, beautiful “thin place.” 

Today I want to share another favorite spot—a place so breathtakingly beautiful, I’ve returned three times in ten years and will travel there again in July, this time bringing my dear husband with me. 

Monastery of Christ in the Desert

Seventy-five miles north of Santa Fe is a high desert canyon so ancient and primordial, one expects to see pterodactyls flying overhead instead of hawks. Just off US route 84, a narrow, thirteen-mile dirt and gravel road follows the path of the Chama River. As you drive, you can see elk grazing beside the riverbank far below,and beavers as big as bear cubs dragging sticks from the woods to their dams in the deep-green water.

At the end of the dirt road, nestled at the foot of a towering mesa, is Monastery of Christ in the Desert, where some twenty-five Catholic monks from a dozen countriesseek to be in union with God and each other. In the way of Jesus and St. Benedict, the brothers share their lives with one another and with the guests who come to pray and work alongside them. Hospitality is deeply embedded in Benedictine practice.

The brothers (and guests) gather in the adobe chapel seven times a day for prayer, starting with Vigils at 4:00 a.m. and ending with Compline each evening at 7:30. They pray the book of Psalms each week, then start over again. And I do mean all the psalms—even the “cursing” ones that call for God’s wrath on the psalmist’s enemies. I can report that “Happy is the one who takes your babies and smashes them against the rocks” feels slightly less appalling when set to Gregorian Chant.

Along with prayer, the brothers work several hours each day and invite their guests to join them. During past visits I have pulled weeds in the cemetery, hauled big rocks in a wheelbarrow, and worked in the “holy hops” field. (The monks used to brew and sell their own beer, called Monk’s Ale. "Brewed with care and prayer” it said on the label.)

The silent beauty of the Chama River Canyon, the simple rhythm of worship and work at the monastery, and the generous hospitality of the Benedictine brothers makes Monastery of Christ in the Desert a “soul space” for me. 

What feeds your soul?

So, friends, where does your spirit come alive? 

Take time to name it for yourself.

Have you ventured there lately? If not, why not? 

You don’t have to flee to the desert, you know. As I write these words, a brilliant redbud tree outside our dining room window is aflame with color and beauty. From this “burning bush” God is waving at me.

The poet Mary Oliver celebrated her soul space in these beautiful words:

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

Friends, what makes your soul come alive? Name it. Nourish it. Your soul is worth the effort.

In the Great Love,

To Be a Pilgrim

FBC family, it’s my joy to begin sharing with you some of the plans coming together for my upcoming renewal leave. As I shared in last week’s Update, I am prayerful that each of you will find your own souls refreshed in surprising ways this summer.

Iona. 

The word itself evokes a deep breath, a hand to the heart, a turning inward. This small island, bathed in the ever-changing light of the Hebrides, is a place where the earth itself seems to hum with a deep, ancient song that resonates in the soul.  

 When the Irish monk Columba and his twelve companions stepped onto the rugged beauty of Iona in the 6thcentury, they weren't merely seeking refuge, but sowing seeds of a faith that would blossom for centuries to come. Widely known today as the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland, through the centuries Iona has attracted many thousands of pilgrims on their own spiritual journeys. 

 For me, this pilgrimage to Iona is not about ticking a box on a bucket list. It's about shedding the layers, the noise, the constant busyness that often defines life in Washington. It's about surrendering to the rhythm of the waves, the bleating of the sheep on the hillside, the slow, steady pace of my own breath.

 My heart’s intention for the time on Iona is to give myself fully to stillness, more silence, and deep listening for the voice of the Beloved in this place the Celts call “The Cathedral of earth, sea and sky.”

To Be a Pilgrim
Maybe you've never considered yourself the "pilgrimage type." Maybe visions of dusty roads, cold monasteries and obligatory silence don't exactly spark joy.

But a pilgrimage doesn't have to be some other-worldly adventure. In truth, every day offers an opportunity to be a pilgrim.

A quiet moment in your tiny, urban garden.

Holding a baby.

An unhurried walk in the park.

These can become doorways to a deeper presence. As you walk, letting the rhythm of your steps connect you to the earth—are you present?  Do you feel the cool grass beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun on your face? 

There is an inherent holiness in the ordinary: the miracle of a blade of grass pushing through the earth. The way sunlight dances on dust motes. The simple act of human connection. 

This is the essence of pilgrimage: not some grand escape, but a way of seeing the sacred woven into the fabric of our everyday lives.  To be a pilgrim is to slow down, pay attention, and open oneself to Divine Presence in this moment.

So, friends, where will your pilgrimage take you today? Maybe it's a stroll on the National Mall, a cup of tea savored in silence, or simply taking a few deep breaths before you walk into your next meeting. 

Wherever you are today, may you find yourself a pilgrim on this sacred journey and may you discover Holy whispers waiting to be heard.

 In the Great Love,

PS: In the spirit of Iona, I leave you with this timeless Gaelic blessing:

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
Deep peace of Christ,
of Christ the light of the world to you.
Deep peace of Christ to you.

The Power of Pause

Dear FBC Family:

I am beyond grateful to you for partnering with me in my upcoming sabbatical, now just 10 weeks away. In almost 40 years of ministry this will be my second extended rest and renewal experience. Thank you.

Perhaps you are curious about this renewal leave (at least I hope so!). In his book, Planning Sabbaticals: A Guide for Congregations and Their Pastors, Robert Saler names some common congregational questions when a pastor and church are preparing for the pastor’s renewal leave. These are just a few:

Q: What is a pastoral sabbatical?

A: A pastoral sabbatical is any extended period in which the pastor steps away from the day-to-day practices of ministry to focus on their spiritual nourishment with an eye toward returning to the church with renewed energy for ministry.

Q: What’s the difference between a pastoral sabbatical and a vacation?

A: The difference between vacation and sabbatical has less to do with activities and more to do with intent. A vacation is intended for pure relaxation and refreshment. A sabbatical is designed with this question in mind: “What endeavors will renew the pastor’s heart and mind for future ministry in the congregation?” A vacation is recreation; a sabbatical is focused renewal.

Q: What takes place during a pastor’s renewal leave?

A: Sabbatical itineraries are as varied as the pastors and congregations that plan them. Possibilities are endless. A pastoral sabbatical can involve travel abroad to experience new cultures. It can be intensive time spent with loved ones since the demands of ministry are often placed upon the pastor’s whole family. It can involve deep study—of theology or the Bible or history or the lives of inspiring people. It can be a focused period of creating—art, photography, painting, writing. It can be a time spent regaining health—exercising more, sleeping more deeply, eating better. It can be a time of recommitting to spiritual practices. It can be pilgrimage. It can be serenity. The best sabbaticals will embrace a variety of activities, all with the goal of finding the rhythm that speaks to the pastor’s soul.

Q: Will the church be able to thrive without the Pastor?

A: This concern is often a compliment! When churches love and trust their pastors, it’s natural for them to feel some anxiety about what might happen when the pastor is away. Will attendance drop? Or giving? Who will handle all the tasks, known and unknown, that pastors attend to during the week? How will the remaining staff members be supported in ministry? Renewal periods can give congregations courage: courage to realize that their members have gifts—known and unknown! Sometimes during a pastor’s sabbatical, previously quiet members “come out of the woodwork” to take on new tasks.

Practically speaking, our Personnel Team and others are planning for some additional help for Pastor Eric, who wears so many hats at FBC. At the same time, I pray that many of you will find courage and joy to lean into some new task for the benefit of the church and your own spirit.

In the coming weeks I will share more about my own sabbatical plans, as well as plans for guest preachers, special worship services, and congregational care while I’m away.

On Sunday, April 14, I will begin a 5-week sermon series titled The Power of Pause: Reclaiming Your Soul through Sabbath, which will conclude on May 12, my final Sunday before stepping away. As much as I’m looking forward to my own renewal period, I am excited and prayerful that you, First Baptist Church, will find your souls refreshed in surprising ways this summer.

In the love of the One who leads us beside still waters and restores our souls,

Pastor Julie

Truth Beneath the Ashes

When it comes to my own dust, I tend toward one of two responses...

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More than a few years ago in Waco, Texas, a couple hundred of us gathered for a crack-of-dawn Ash Wednesday service led by a team of seminary students. All kinds of folk—university students, doctors, construction workers, grandparents—gathered at the shoreline of Lent, sleepy-eyed and somber. Fiddle music beckoned, “Come, ye sinners, poor and needy…”

No Ash Wednesday service would be complete without the imposition of ashes and pronouncement from Genesis: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We spilled into the aisles, ready to receive the mark of the cross, after which we would turn and mark the forehead of the person behind us. Just ahead of me in line stood a college student, a kind, cheerful young woman named Rae. We waited our turn, then Rae received the ashes and I stepped forward to receive mine from her. That’s when things went…um…slightly askew.

Rae pushed my bangs aside and smudged the sign of the cross on my forehead, according to plan. But as she drew her hand away, somehow, she got some of that inky schmeer on my nose. Horrified, she tried to wipe it off and, in the process, managed to spread the greasy mixture to my cheeks, my chin and, as best I can recall, one of my earlobes.

Finally there was nothing to do but laugh at this epic Ash Wednesday fail. I hugged poor, mortified Rae and returned to my seat, looking like a coal miner.

But as I sat there, blotting my face with a tissue, it occurred to me that what Rae had just done, quite unintentionally, was to paint a picture of how it really is with me.

When it comes to my own dust, I tend toward one of two responses: As with those ashes tucked conveniently beneath my bangs, either I try to cover up my sin so that no one will see—or I try to “pretty up” my sin to make it appear more respectable. I’m okay wearing my dust in a neatly drawn cross on my forehead, along with everyone else. In fact, when worn that way, the dust becomes an outward sign of my spirituality. But the greasy truth is this: my sin is all over me, in blotchy smears from head to toe.

The Apostle Paul also found himself covered in dust one day—sprawled face-down in the dirt of the Damascus Road, blind as a bat. But even as he lay there, picking grit from his teeth, a promise began to stir inside his heart and mind which, later, he would put into words for all of us: “So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.”

That’s my story. I’m gratefully sticking to it.

Pastor Julie

An Unexpected Christmas Treasure

Shortly before Thanksgiving this year, Brenda Rozier Clark said to me, “I’m ready to let them go.” She arrived at my door holding the clergy robes and stoles worn by her husband, Paul, throughout decades of ministry. Paul Clark, a pastor, poet, leader and dreamer, passed away on April 3, 2020, from ALS. I wrote about Paul and shared one of his poems in a blog post There is Wonder in the World in December 2019, four months before he died.

Throughout this holy season, it has been my joy to wear Paul’s beautiful Advent stole around my shoulders like a hand of encouragement. I treasure my memories of Paul. And Brenda’s courageous journey through her own valley of grief has inspired me deeply. The faith, wisdom and strength of those who travel with us, and those who’ve gone before us, are gifts that nourish our lives. Thanks be to God for the body of Christ.

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If you are in town this weekend, I hope to see you at the Christmas Eve service this Sunday at 4:00 as we celebrate the holy moment when, as George Buttrick put it, “God climbed down the back stairs of heaven with a baby in [God’s] arms.”

In the Great Love,