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Dear Covenant Friends,
Greetings on this icy day in Cleveland. I hope you are staying warm and safe. Winter in northeastern Ohio can be a good time to reflect on our spiritual lives, our deepest values, and the concerns of our hearts. The latest news has a way of drawing us in to the announcement, the storm, the fear, the crash, the executive order of the day. God’s Spirit draws us into prayer, the discipline of hope, the collective call to action, the reminder to delight in God’s creation.
In the past week, I’ve been inspired by people who come to church or Tuesday noon concerts, to be immersed in worship and the beauty of music. I’ve attended a national gathering of over 1000 people for a Bread for the World event in DC and online, focused on ending global hunger, including the “hidden hunger” on college campuses. I’ve watched Covenant members and staff organize to buy beds for our Congolese friends, so they don’t have to sleep on the floor. I’ve heard the proud history of the University Circle area in the era of the Underground Railroad at our most recent Sunday Seminar. And I’ve rejoiced at the resurgence of United Protestant Campus Ministry with new leadership and students eager for fellowship and connection.
On days when the world feels like too much, I give thanks for all the ways God is at work among us and within us. This morning as I spent time in reading and prayer, I was inspired by this poem, written by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer.
So I can’t save the world—
can’t save even myself,
can’t wrap my arms around
every frightened child, can’t
foster peace among nations,
can’t bring love to all who
feel unlovable.
So I practice opening my heart
right here in this room and being gentle
with my insufficiency. I practice
walking down the street heart first.
And if it is insufficient to share love,
I will practice loving anyway.
I want to converse about truth,
about trust. I want to invite compassion
into every interaction.
One willing heart can’t stop a war.
One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.
And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,
I tell myself what’s the use of trying?
But today, the invitation is clear:
to be ridiculously courageous in love.
To open the heart like a lilac in May,
knowing freeze is possible
and opening anyway.
To take love seriously.
To give love wildly.
To race up to the world
as if I were a puppy,
adoring and unjaded,
stumbling on my own exuberance.
To feel the shock of indifference,
of anger, of cruelty, of fear,
and stay open. To love as if it matters,
as if the world depends on it.
From The Unfolding (Wildhouse Publishing, 2024).
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