Dear Beloveds,

I write to you from a place of deep reflection and inspiration. This week, I have the profound honor of attending the Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference, a national annual gathering dedicated to nurturing, sustaining, and mobilizing the African American faith community. It is a space of wisdom, courage, and collective power, where faith and justice meet in ways that challenge the mind, stir the soul, and call the body into action.

I cannot fully describe the experience, but I will try. To be a guest—a minority in a cultural space—offers a broadening perspective. It is humbling. It compels me to listen more deeply, to step outside my own context, and to witness faith in a way that is embodied, urgent, and alive. There is a deep invitation here: an invitation to alterity, to step into another’s lived experiences with an open heart and an open mind. And when we do, we are transformed.

In this sacred space, I have seen a radical commitment to justice—not just in words, but in action. I have seen a people standing firmly in faith, unshaken by fear, and bound together by the belief that liberation is not just a hope but a divine calling. I have heard truth spoken from the pulpit with boldness and conviction. I have felt the energy of a congregation that does not sit passively but engages with their whole being.

When the preacher says, “Every good leader feels the suffering of his people” (Rev. Dr. F. Bruce Williams, Sr.), the people respond with audible assent. When the call is made, “The most effective tool of oppression is the oppressed mind” (Allan Boesak), the room erupts in claps of affirmation. And when the truth is spoken about “…the psychopath in office who uses the power given to him by the people *on* the people,” the people rise to their feet in a collective declaration that they will not be silent, that they will not be moved.

This kind of worship does not allow for passive spectatorship. It evokes full, embodied participation. It calls us to bring our whole selves—our joys, our struggles, our righteous anger, and our relentless hope. Friends, I wish you could be here with me to witness it. But know this: you are here in my heart. You are present in my prayers. And I carry back with me not just stories, but an invitation—for us all—to listen more deeply, to love more boldly, and to come alive for justice.

With love and solidarity,

Emma

Especially recently, overwhelm seems to be the name of the game. With so many crises unfolding at once—both globally and in our personal lives—it can feel impossible to keep up. Sociologist Jennifer Walter recently posted about this phenomenon, calling it the “shock doctrine.” She describes how this strategy is intentionally used to disorient and overload people into disengagement, making it harder for us to stay present and active in our communities. It’s true—we can’t follow every issue all the time, and we certainly can’t expect ourselves to carry the weight of it all alone. That’s why we must lean on each other, sharing the cognitive and emotional load.

As I talked about in my December 29 sermon: we do what we can, we work together, and we take it in shifts. No one person can—or should—carry the full burden of justice, care, and community-building. Instead, we sustain each other by stepping in when needed, offering support, and allowing ourselves to receive it in turn.

So, I ask you: What helps keep you sustained for the long haul? What keeps you grounded, connected, and feeling resourced when you’re feeling the weight of the world?

One of the things that continually renews my spirit is witnessing the deep mutual support and authenticity within this congregation. At UCE, I see people showing up for each other in profound ways—pastorally, personally, and professionally. I hear members sharing their joys, their struggles, and their milestones, both during service and outside of it. I see the ways we distribute the load, whether it’s parents stepping in to help when my own children started bickering mid-intro (yes, from the pulpit!) or the board’s chefs preparing a homemade holiday dinner with love and care. I see the creativity and generosity of our members, like a talented graphic designer contributing to our next pledge drive or thoughtful conversations about what it means to create an inclusive, beloved community. The acts of care and generosity are countless.

Beyond these larger acts of service, I also find deep renewal in my one-on-one interactions with you. There is a healing power in witnessing each other and in being witnessed. It is humanizing, connective, and deeply sustaining. These moments remind me why this work matters and why, together, we can continue to move forward—one step, one shift, one act of care at a time.

In service,

Emma