January 10, 2021 | God’s Kitchen Table
Epiphany, January 3, 2021 | Joe Shares
December 27, 2020 | Those Who Dream: First Sunday of Christmas
December 13, 2020 | Those Who Dream: 3rd Sunday of Advent
December 6, 2020 | Those Who Dream: 2nd Sunday of Advent
Courtney and Reuben Sharing
Courtney Sharing
Reuben Sharing
November 29, 2020 | Those Who Dream: 1st Sunday of Advent
November 22, 2020 | Vera and Robert Sharing
November 15, 2020 | Drick Sermon
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November 1, 2020
October 25, 2020 | Tim Schellenberg
October 18, 2020 | Katie Tan Preaches Parable of the Talents | Sower
October 4, 2020 | Reflections on Sabbatical
September 27, 2020 | Poetry Sunday
God’s Grandeur
BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS | shared by Sophia Gant
When I Am Among the Trees
BY MARY OLIVER | shared by Sherri Michalovic
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
The Layers
We Grow Accustomed to the Dark
BY EMILY DICKINSON | shared by Carol Martin Johnson
We grow accustomed to the Dark –
When light is put away –
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye –
A Moment – We uncertain step
For newness of the night –
Then – fit our Vision to the Dark –
And meet the Road – erect –
And so of larger – Darknesses –
Those Evenings of the Brain –
When not a Moon disclose a sign –
Or Star – come out – within –
The Bravest – grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see –
Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.
Ashes
BY ANGELINA HORST | shared by Angelina Horst
There is beauty, I say, in church bells
Hosannas sung, palms flung
by knee-high humans, in homes visited
meals shared, flowered clover given
by your father’s
other lover.
It’s been two years
since you started this poem
severed lines about tulips and divorce
of the ashes that come with Lent
of the ashes you wear year round.
Lent leads to palms leads to
crosses, draped in white, empty
promises of life
in a world burnt black,
barren.
There is beauty, I say, in church bells
Palm Sunday, flowered clover
repotted on your dinner table—
in a husband who loves you,
who rubs the back that hurts, vacuums the chores away,
but can’t undo the pain your parents left
like a tomb you need to open
and open and open again
each time hoping
the ashes will turn to palms,
Hosannas to a Savior,
a new story
green as clover.
September 20, 2020 | Mennonite World Conference & Peace
Katie Sauder and Chris Esh Sharing | September 6, 2020
Brenda Rich | August 30, 2020
August 9, 2020
Anne Yoder | Rest and Respite
July 26, 2020 | MCC 100 years
July 12, 2020 Sermon with Chris Kimmenez
July 5, 2020 Sharing with Drick
June 28, 2020 Sermon
Toppling Empire and Following Jesus
June 21, 2020
June 14, 2020
June 7, 2020
May 17, 2020 Sermon
Take Heart with Alex
May 10, 2020 Sermon
Take Heart with Andy
May 3, 2020 Sermon
Take Heart
Easter Sunday April 12, 2020
April 5, 2020 Palm Sunday Reflection
March 29, 2020 Scripture and Sermon Rev Steven Lawrence
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