SOCL, Easter7C

Sunday June 01, 2025

See

We champion independence, yet crave belonging. Modern life promises freedom through separation—curated social feeds, gated communities, personalized everything. But isolation masquerates as choice. We mistake proximity for connection, confusing networks with relationships.

True unity demands vulnerability. It requires dismantling the walls we've built to protect our carefully constructed identities. Like fingers learning they belong to the same hand, genuine connection happens when we stop competing for individual recognition and start moving together toward shared purpose.

The deepest human longing isn't to be understood—it's to understand that we're already part of something larger. Unity isn't uniformity; it's the recognition that our differences serve a common wholeness, like instruments in an orchestra discovering they've been playing the same song all along.

Listen

Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 97 (96); Apocalypse 22:12-14, 16-17, 20; John 17:20-26

Reflect

(John 17:20-26)

Consider the relationships where you feel most isolated or misunderstood. What walls have you built to protect yourself, and how might these barriers also prevent genuine connection with others around you?

Jesus prayed for unity that reflects divine love—not agreement, but deep communion. How might viewing disagreements as opportunities for deeper understanding transform your approach to conflict and difference in relationships?

Where in your daily interactions can you choose vulnerability over self-protection? How might opening yourself to others' experiences create the kind of transformative connection that changes communities?

Pray

Loving God, whose unity encompasses all diversity, break down the walls we build between ourselves and others. Help us see beyond our differences to recognize our shared humanity. Transform our communities from collections of individuals into living expressions of your love, where justice flows and mercy prevails for all.

SOCL, Easter6C

Sunday May 25, 2025

See

We construct elaborate monuments to presence—constant connectivity, curated feeds, endless documentation—yet feel increasingly hollow. The more we amplify our visibility, the more we disappear from ourselves. This frantic accumulation of evidence masks a terrifying suspicion: perhaps we exist most fully in the spaces between our performances.

True intimacy operates through strategic withdrawal. The parent who steps back allows the child to discover independence; the teacher who remains silent creates space for genuine questions to emerge. Love that clings destroys what it claims to protect, while love that releases creates conditions for authentic encounter. We mistake possession for connection, surveillance for care.

The deepest dwelling happens not through accumulation but through evacuation—clearing space for what cannot be summoned or controlled. Peace arrives not as the absence of disruption but as the presence of something uncontainable by our systems of security. We are most at home when we stop trying to construct home everywhere else.

Listen

Acts 15:1-2, 22-29; Psalm 67 (66); Apoc 21:10-14, 22-23; John 14:23-29

Reflect

(John 14:23-29)

Think about a relationship where you've tried to control outcomes through constant attention, checking, or managing—perhaps monitoring someone's social media, over-texting, or micro-managing a project. Notice how this hypervigilance creates anxiety rather than connection, pushing away what you're desperately trying to hold close.

Jesus promises that divine presence emerges through love expressed as faithful action, not emotional intensity or constant contact. Consider how stepping back from controlling behaviors might create space for genuine encounter—allowing others to choose freely, trusting without evidence, loving without possession or surveillance.

Where in your life could you practice "strategic absence"—reducing your need to monitor, control, or constantly connect? How might withdrawing your anxious attention actually create space for deeper intimacy, allowing both yourself and others to breathe, choose, and show up authentically?

Pray

Lord, you inhabit the spaces we cannot construct or control. Grant us courage to release our grip on relationships, trusting that love grows through freedom rather than surveillance. Help our communities discover intimacy through respect rather than intrusion. Transform our fear of abandonment into faith that true connection survives distance, silence, and the terrifying gift of choice.

SOCL, Easter5C

Sunday May 18, 2025

See

We excel at performative connection—masters of the visible metrics while our souls starve in isolation. Our phones buzz with notifications while our hearts ache with absence; we count followers while feeling fundamentally unseen. The digital age has perfected the illusion of intimacy without its substance.

The revolutionary command to love isn't about warm feelings but costly presence. True connection requires precisely what we fear most: vulnerability that risks rejection, attention that sacrifices efficiency, and commitment that transcends convenience. We've constructed elaborate systems to appear connected while remaining fundamentally untouchable.

The path forward isn't found in perfecting our presentations but in surrendering our protections. Like water that can only nourish by being absorbed, love only transforms when we allow ourselves to be changed by the encounter. Our greatest fear—being truly known—remains our deepest hunger.

Listen

Acts 14:21-27; Psalm 145 (144); Apocalypse 21:1-5; John 13:31-35

Reflect

(John 13:31-35)

Consider a relationship where you maintain careful distance—where you've chosen safety over vulnerability, efficiency over presence, or control over surrender. What walls have you built to protect yourself from the mess of authentic connection?

Jesus challenges us to measure our love not by comfortable emotion but by uncomfortable action. How might your relationships transform if you loved as he did—with a willingness to be inconvenienced, even wounded, for the sake of genuine presence?

Reflect on one small step toward authentic connection you could take today: a difficult conversation you've avoided, a boundary you've hidden behind, or a person you've kept at convenient distance. What single act of presence might begin to shift everything?

Pray

Lord,, you know us more deeply than we know ourselves. Dismantle our carefully constructed barriers to authentic connection. Transform our fear of vulnerability into courage for true presence. Teach us to recognize the sacred invitation in each uncomfortable encounter, finding you in the faces we've learned to avoid. Make us vessels of your revolutionary love in a world starving for genuine communion.