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Dear friends and members of University UMC:
I’ve been thinking of you—this lovely community of readers. Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts each Friday. It is good to be here again, after not writing the last couple of weeks. It is a new year. But, it is difficult for me to type the words—HAPPY New Year! The calendar has turned to the year 2026. This is true. But, happy?
Yes, I have moments of joy thanks to the company of family and friends and an amazing, dynamic faith community of which I am a part. But it is difficult to say “Happy New Year” when so many unhappy things are taking place. Many of you are carrying concerns that are overwhelming—the death of loved ones, the reality of cancer, the worry about children and parents, and all their futures. Then there is the news—local, national, and global. My guess is: if you have moments of happiness, they are living beside moments of sorrow.
The Brazilian poet Adélia Prado writes, “I am beginning to despair and can only see two choices: either go crazy or turn holy.” |
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Maybe it’s both/and instead of either/or. I’ve moved through sacred services of late, including our Longest Night worship gathering, Christmas Eve, and our regular Sunday morning worship hours. And I’ve felt all at once crazy and holy. The horror of injustice causes me to fret and pull at my hair. The beauty of candles lit in prayer and supplication floods me with peace in the midst of this storm in which we are living. |
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| Christmas Candlelight at UUMC, 2025photo by Henry Kellison |
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| This time of the year, I often reminisce about time spent with my in-laws. For years, in the days after Christmas, we’d travel to visit them. My mother-in-law and father-in-law have both passed away years ago, and we no longer make the yearly journey north, but in my memories, I visit the time spent with them at their sweet home in St. Paul, Minnesota. And because I married a Minnesotan, I feel a special connection to the state. When news broke about the murder of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis earlier this week, I fell to my knees. Varying narratives circulate, but video footage from the day exposes the truth. She was murdered by ICE while protesting the administration’s unjust policies surrounding immigration and while concerned about the safety of her neighbors. Jaylani Hussein is the executive director of CAIR-MN, the Council on American-Islamic Relations Minnesota. CAIR-MN is a grassroots civil rights organization dedicated to empowering American Muslims and marginalized communities throughout Minnesota. Speaking about this tragedy, Hussein said: |
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| “She was peaceful, she did the right thing. She died because she loved her neighbors.” |
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| The words stop any of us in our tracks: “She died because she loved her neighbors.” Poet Amanda Gorman wrote a poem for Renee Nicole Good, and you can read it below.
This Sunday, we begin a sermon series titled “Prophets Are Still Speaking.” It was weeks ago that Pastor Earl and I settled on this series, and it’s been eerie for me to ponder the parallels between prophets of the Bible and modern-day prophets. One can easily romanticize the life of a prophet, but it is a life both courageous and vulnerable. This Sunday, the prophet John the Baptist appears on the scene; as his story continues to unfold in the scriptures, we find he is ultimately beheaded by Herod. I grew up thinking this was a foreign and antiquated topic, yet here we are lamenting the murder of a 37-year-old woman who was speaking up for the way of love.
Christ, have mercy.
Being a prophetic voice is dangerous business. We know this is tragically true. A recent issue of Sojourners magazine shared the story of Rev. David Black, who became a focal point during the ICE raids in Chicago. It was earlier last Fall, in September, that he was struck in the head by pepper balls several times. This happened, he said, as he was literally reading the words of Jesus. Moments later, he would be sprayed in the face with pepper spray by masked ICE officers. Rev. Black, pastor of The First Presbyterian Church of Chicago, went on to say: |
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| “I’m the center of the spectacle right now, but this story is not about me. If they are doing this to pastors who are praying and protesting who are singing songs, holding hands, chanting, and peacefully showing up to voice their conscience, then it makes me shudder to imagine what they might be doing to our neighbors behind closed doors and in these outsourced internment camps. I was proclaiming the good news, calling sinners to repentance in deep compassion because I believe that all bullies are frightened children who deserve to be well, and whom God wants to deliver from the spiritual forces of evil that have overtaken them.” – Sojourners: Faith in Action for Social Justice. December 2026. |
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| Like others alive and awake to the world these days, my prayer list continues to grow. Brave prophets who, in their determination and passion, refuse to be silent are among those for whom I am praying.
Bishop Lanette Plambeck, resident Bishop of the Minnesota area UMC, lamented in a recent pastoral letter about the way violence is being normalized. Her words are words of challenge, calling all to the way of love and to remember “authority is given for the sake of the common good.” You can read the entire pastoral message below, as well as a prayer she wrote.
Thank you, dear friends, for being who you are. You do not hide from the truth, as ugly as it can be. You open yourself to the suffering of the world, as hard as it is to feel. In a time of violence, I see you choosing the way of peace. At a time filled with hate, I see you choosing the way of love. You may feel like you’re going a little crazy at times, but I’m convinced those are the times we might likely bump against the holy as well. All who are paying attention know these are troubling times. May all who are brave enough to stay awake to the reality of this moment find that God is, indeed, close to the brokenhearted.
What a joy to be your pastor!
Teresa |
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| For Renee Nicole Good Killed by I.C.E. on January 7, 2026by Amanda GormanThey say she is no more, That there her absence roars, Blood-blown like a rose. Iced wheels flinched & froze. Now, bare riot of candles, Dark fury of flowers, Pure howling of hymns. If for us she arose, Somewhere, in the pitched deep of our grief, Crouches our power, The howl where we begin, Straining upon the edge of the crooked crater Of the worst of what we’ve been. Change is only possible, & all the greater, When the labour& bitter anger of our neighbors Is moved by the love & better angels of our nature. What they call death & void, We know is breath & voice; In the end, gorgeously, Endures our enormity. You could believe departed to be the dawn When the blank night has so long stood. But our bright-fled angels will never be fully gone, When they forever are so fiercely Good. |
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| Photo from the altar at The Chicago Temple, a United Methodist Church in downtown Chicago |
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| | God of mercy and nearness, we come to you with heavy hearts. We grieve a life lost and hold close all who mourn. Be near to those whose hearts are broken, to those who are afraid, and to all who are waiting for truth to come into the light.
In this tender space between tragedy and understanding, teach us to lament honestly, to seek justice with humility, and to walk gently with one another. Guard us from haste, from hardened hearts, and from the temptation to let fear or violence shape our way.
We place our hope in you, O God of resurrection. When death and grief seem to have the final word, remind us that life and love endure. Make us instruments of your peace, and keep us faithful in the days ahead. We offer this prayer in the name of Jesus, who brings life out of death and hope out of sorrow.
Amen.– written by Bishop Plambeck |
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