If you’ve spent much time with our community, you know we have tended to be pretty experimental in how we “do” church together. We are not afraid of trying new things, like meeting in nature or gathering on the back patio of a brewery - like not having official membership or deciding to launch a “community space” instead of just having a building of our own. 

Letting go of some cultural assumptions of what it means to be the church has been freeing, but it has also given us the opportunity to decide what we still grounds us in the Way of Jesus. Some of those things have been exploring scripture in community, learning spiritual practices, story-telling & sharing communion. Along those lines, something else that has helped to ground us are the seasons of the church year. Moving through various seasons together has helped to give shape & rhythm to our life together and to ground us in Something Bigger.

It seems like we just finished Advent, a time when we prepared for the coming of Light within the dark, and now it’s time for Lent. But what is the season of Lent & why do we bother to make a big deal about it?

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This past weekend, we hosted two days of conversation, story & community around Faith, Sexuality & Belonging. It was a weekend full of laughter, tears, truth-telling, connection, and…need I say, discomfort. If the stories and sex talk on Saturday had not already made some of you sense some discomfort, Sunday’s drag-queen-led gathering did it for a number of us - including me. [click on image to continue reading]

I still remember the reaction of a colleague when I told him about The Well’s practice of pausing each 5th Sunday to encourage everyone (even the pastor) to receive the gift of rest.

What if people show up and you’re not there? What if someone is having a crisis and the doors are closed?

What I heard him say was: You can’t do that! That’s not what churches do.

I’ve thought about this reaction a lot over the past 10 years of sabbath Sundays, and the many other times we’ve changed courses or meeting places. We have had people show up and find no one there. We’ve had people forget or not get the memo, but these little disruptions have highlighted the need to pay attention, to challenge assumptions, and to reflect on why we do what we do in the first place.

Is the church here to provide a service & fulfill expectations or is our purpose to practice the life-giving, love-centered way of Jesus together? [click on image to continue reading]

Advent begins this Sunday! Advent means “coming” or “arrival” and it refers to the 4 weeks leading up to Christmas. During Advent, we light candles, sing songs and share the stories as we wait for “the Light of the world”. It’s a time to lean in, to pause, to look, to listen & to pay attention. [click image to continue reading about how we’ll move through Advent together]

During Sunday’s annual thanksgiving community brunch, we re-visited our core practices, one of which is “collaborating”. While this has always been a core value of The Well’s, it has been a tough one to live out.

Collaboration sounds fun until you actually put it into practice!

Creating something together is messy, unpredictable and invites us to listen patiently instead of rushing in with our own agendas. It also forces us to give up control of the outcome. Through the years, I have not only uncovered my own blind spots when it comes to collaboration (have I mentioned I love control?!), but I’ve also discovered just how tricky it can be to find co-collaborators... (click image to continue reading)

Earlier this year, our Well community began a new monthly meetup designed to help us support, encourage and learn alongside one another in our efforts toward racial justice. Our facilitator & fellow-learner on the journey, Mae Beth Ragland, shares her thoughts here about what this group has meant to her… [click on image to continue reading]

“We drink from wells that we did not dig. We sit under the shade of trees we did not plant. We stand on the shoulders of and are shaped by those who went before us, even those we cannot see.”

- Stephen Lewis

When I read these words, I was immediately reminded of how seldom we take the time to remember, to reconnect and to honor those whose love and lives are part of ours. All Saints Day was created with such a purpose in mind. It has been celebrated by many in the Church since the 600s AD as a day to remember those who have died and to give thanks for the saints who have inspired us throughout the ages.

In the spirit of All Saints’ Day & in a year when many have endured much loss, we are… (click on image to continue reading)

The book of Ruth tells the story of Naomi (the bitter, grieving mother-in-law) and Ruth (the Moabite daughter-in-law who refuses to let her mother-in-law walk this dangerous journey alone). After suffering horrendous losses, these women return to Naomi’s hometown and ultimately seek food & refuge with Boaz. Boaz and Ruth eventually marry and have a son together. Lots happens in between, but you get the gist: the storyline moves from emptiness to fulfillment.

At the end of the story (where we landed on Sunday), it becomes clear that this is not just Ruth & Naomi’s tale; it’s the story of a community, too. The town women have been paying attention to all that has taken place and they joyfully testify to what they’ve seen unfold in the life of Naomi. They have walked through the dark night & into the light of day with her. They have witnessed her reversal of fortunes. They’ve seen some new life, some restoration, some resurrection from the dead!

Being in community with others affords us these beautiful moments together.

As we share our stories and our lives with one another, as we look for glimpses of the Divine together, as we show up repeatedly in the good, the bad, the ugly & the uncertain, we witness moments of ridiculous grace & goodness. Community can be a healing force in a hurting world.

And community is also imperfect. [click on image to keep reading]

“Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable. Imagine if every church became a place where we told one another the truth. We might just create sanctuary.”

- Rachel Held Evans

Yesterday on the back patio of a brewery that shares their space with us, a group of five courageous storytellers shared the nitty-gritty details of their journeys with addiction. “Addiction, Recovery & Resilience” we called it, and it was part of a series exploring the question, “What in the hell just happened and where do we go from here?” It was a morning full of truth-telling, tears, laughter, wisdom and courage. It was a morning filled with head nods, heart-felt “me toos” and the presence of life-giving community. It was a time of deepening connection for those who shared similar stories and for those who saw themselves in the stories shared.

And, if we are being honest, it was also uncomfortable.

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“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets,

how much a heart can hold.” 

- Zelda Fitzgerald

Nobody has measured, but it seems like we have been testing the limits, doesn’t it? How much can our hearts, our souls, our bodies withstand? How much pain, grief, change, anxiety or uncertainty?

We don’t know when the next wave of the pandemic will surge. We don’t know when the flood or fire or hurricane will strike. We can’t predict when a change of heart or mind or a loss impacting our community will happen. We can’t know when the rug will be pulled out; all we know is that it will. 

Change is part of being human; and thankfully, so is resilience.

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We are re-setting the table together during our Sunday gatherings and adding a different symbol of the Way we are invited into. This week we added a pair of sandals to symbolize the ongoing conversation we are being invited into. Click on the title or image for the blog post.

As we begin to inch forward from the past year and a half of pandemic living, we know by now we are not returning to normal. Something new is on the horizon - in fact, something new has been on the horizon. And in the midst of all that is changing, shifting & awakening in and around us, in the words of Sonya Renee Taylor, “We are being given the opportunity to stitch a new garment, one that fits all of humanity and nature.”

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I recently listened to an OnBeing podcast interview with filmmaker Tiffany Shlain, who has been practicing an intentional weekly time of unplugging from technology with her family for the last 10+ years. As she described the 24 hours of freedom from technology, I was inspired to reflect on not only my relationship to technology but my understanding of sabbath.

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Too many humans for way too long have tried to take the message of Jesus and the bigger Life he pointed to & reduce it to something very manageable, most often a set of “right” beliefs about God.

But Jesus did not hand us a set of beliefs.

Instead, he taught & lived “the kingdom (or kin-dom) of God”, which was another way of being in the world. He was always pointing to Something Greater. He told stories, asked powerful questions & upended old, harmful ways of seeing God, ourselves & our neighbors.

He invited people on a journey. He invited them to be learners of a better Way of being human. He keeps inviting us, too.

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In countless ways, we have been conditioned to avoid what makes us uncomfortable. That may be in large part why we’ve had such a difficult time collectively doing what’s necessary to get a pandemic under control. We resist discomfort - we don’t like it - and we are told, If you don’t like it, then don’t do it.

Yet, anyone who’s undergone any serious transformation will tell you that clinging to comfort did not get them there. More often than not, real growth comes through discomfort.

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Had we been meeting all together this Sunday, we’d have explored Luke 6:1-16, a story about Jesus upsetting religious fundamentalists by healing on the Sabbath. Jesus responds to their criticism with a question: “What kind of action suits the Sabbath best? Doing good or doing evil? Helping people or leaving them helpless?”

He was redirecting them from lives of rigid rule-keeping to lives grounded in Love. Sometimes Love leads us to act and other times it leads us to rest. Sometimes it leads us deeper into gathering in community and other times to withdraw into solitude. We have to pay attention or we just might miss the invitation.

Each 5th Sunday, The Well practices a Sunday Sabbath. It is a day for us to … [click image to continue reading]

Transactional approaches to life & faith abound. Formulas for how to achieve success are everywhere and they are oh-so-inviting.

If only we could believe more, envision better, pray the right words, etc. etc., maybe we would finally get the thing that helps us live more comfortably.

But is that really the story we find unfolding in Scripture? Is that really the message of Jesus?

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In his painting entitled “Annunciation”, Irish artist Adam Pomeroy imagines Mary as a contemporary young Irish woman. What do you notice?

I was first struck by the portrait’s simplicity. So often it seems like Mary is so decorated that she ends up looking twice her age & way more wealthy than she actually was. With less ornamental attire and embellished scenery, it was easier to focus on Mary’s seemingly stunned expression.

She seems unable to process what is happening to her. She is totally taken off guard. Rightly so.

This is one of the stories in the gospel of Luke that prepares us to meet Jesus. Luke begins his account by telling us about not just one, but two impossible pregnancies and the reactions of the parents who receive their unexpected news. It’s like Luke is laying the groundwork for a story where disruption is not the exception, but the rule. He’s trying to warn us: if we aren’t prepared, we’ just might miss it.

It’s been a year of disruptions, and sometimes I have felt like Mary looks in this portrait: dazed, confused & unable to move. But, it’s here, in the chaos and uncertainty, in the tension & the unsettledness, in our unknowing & our longing that we are invited into a story.

It’s a story in which disruptions are not only normal…

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Advent starts in the darkness. Our journey toward Christmas begins in a place we do not like to be. It starts in the wilderness, where we can easily experience disorientation. That seems particularly relatable this year.

Writing to a people in exile, the author of this portion of Isaiah promises a way forward that will lead to return and restoration. His vision is full of rich & compelling imagery: tender loving care for crying Jerusalem, a voice crying out in the desert, all people seeing together, flocks being fed and gathered in the arms of a shepherd.

This is where our Advent journey begins. In the wilderness, we are invited to prepare to experience God-with-us. In the darkness, we are invited to prepare the way for the unimaginable.

But, how do we prepare?

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