Sunday, October 19, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,

Thank you for your heartfelt acceptance this past Sunday. After my sermon, the quiet pause that settled over our gathering, followed by Eric rising to embrace me, was a powerful symbol—one that a parishioner beautifully described as an anointing of my leadership among you. That moment revealed the soul of Talmadge Hill: a community unafraid of silence, willing to let meaning unfold rather than rushing to fill the space, and trusting that the Spirit speaks through both word and gesture. How fitting that it happened on Poetry Sunday, when we celebrated a church that has always understood that poetry, music, and beauty are not ornamental but essential—languages that can hold the complexity and wonder of this liminal season we're walking through together.

This coming Sunday, as we observe the National Observance of Children's Sabbaths, I invite you to show up with open hearts as we contemplate how Talmadge Hill is called to walk into what Parker Palmer calls the "tragic gap"—that tender space between the world as it is and the world as we know it could and should be, between our deep commitments and our present reality. Palmer reminds us that this gap is where all significant transformation happens, but only if we learn to stand in it rather than flee from its discomfort.

A significant portion of our budget flows toward the welfare of children through direct assistance and the work of justice and mercy. This is a testament to our unwavering commitment to the most vulnerable among us. Yet each Sunday, we also experience the bittersweet reality that our own children's ministry has changed significantly. This liminal space brings both growth and anxiety, grief and possibility.

True to the spirit of Talmadge Hill, we are not asked to suppress these complex feelings but are invited to live into them with courage and authenticity. Henri Nouwen teaches us about the paradox of the "wounded healer"—the understanding that our own wounds, when acknowledged and offered with compassion, become sources of healing for others. This is a comforting truth that we hold dear at Talmadge Hill. Nouwen writes: "Nobody escapes being wounded. We all are wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not 'How can we hide our wounds?' so we don't have to be embarrassed, but 'How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?'

Similarly, Palmer's concept of "standing in the tragic gap" calls us to hold the tension between our reality and our vision without succumbing to either corrosive cynicism or irrelevant idealism. Instead, we remain faithfully present to what is, while keeping our hearts open to what might yet emerge.

On Sunday, we will contemplate Mark 10:13-16 as we explore the sermon theme, "Living as the Beloved." In our busy, achievement-oriented lives, it's easy to believe our worth is something we must earn, prove, and constantly protect. We see this very human impulse in the disciples when they try to keep the children away from a seemingly important Jesus, as if childhood itself disqualifies someone from the presence of the holy. But the children in the story model a completely different, more freeing way of being. They don't perform or strive; they come with open hands to be held and blessed. They embody what Nouwen calls our "belovedness"—the foundational truth that we are loved not for what we do, but for who we are.

Join us as we reflect on this liberating call from Jesus: to lay down our anxious striving and learn to live from our most authentic identity as God's beloved children. In a season where Talmadge Hill itself is learning to receive God's blessing rather than manufacture its own security, this ancient story speaks with particular power.

I am looking forward to seeing you in worship on Sunday.

Mooi Loop,

Dries

Sunday, October 12, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,

What a privilege it was to co-lead worship for the first time here at Talmadge Hill with Cheryl Bundy, who delivered a thought-provoking sermon. On a day when we celebrated both the Feast of Saint Francis and World Communion Sunday, Cheryl invited us to consider a challenging question posed by Rabbi Angela Buchdahl: "Is our capacity for empathy so finite, our hearts so small, that if we increase our empathy for some people, we have to reduce it for others?"

In a world marked by division and what Rabbi Buchdahl calls "zero-sum empathy," Cheryl reminded us that both Saint Francis and World Communion Sunday proclaim the same gospel truth: love is never diminished by being shared; it only grows. Through the story of Francis, who saw the spark of God in every living thing, and through our shared communion table that transcends all borders, we're called to practice an empathy that makes space for all of creation—even what we don't understand.

The worship itself was filled with beautiful moments that embodied this spirit. Many of you brought pictures of your beloved animals and plant families to celebrate St. Francis Day. Poignant was the inclusion of a photograph of Jane Goodall, who passed away on October 1, 2025, at the age of 91. How appropriate it was to honor her on St. Francis Day, as she embodied the saint's same spirit of deep compassion and connection to all living beings, seeing the divine spark in all of creation. And in a moment that seemed almost divinely choreographed with Cheryl's sermon, Rob's piano duet with the canary became its own sermon—a perfect illustration of how all creation joins in worship!

This spirit embodies the heart of Talmadge Hill Community Church: we embrace the entirety of creation and our wonderfully diverse human family. This learning transforms us, helping us grow into the likeness of God and bring about the kingdom of God on earth.

As Cheryl beautifully proclaimed, "Here, everyone has a place. Here, everyone is welcome."

This Sunday, we will continue the vital conversation about identity and belonging, guided by the story of the ten lepers healed in Luke 17, now translated as people living with a "defiling skin disease." We will explore how their ailment was not just a physical condition, but an exile from community. In their culture, the priest's role was the only path back to communal life. Yet, in this story, one man—a Samaritan—makes a radical choice. Instead of seeking restoration from the old system, he returns to Jesus, recognizing him as the true source of a new identity and a new community.

This crucial insight shifts the story's focus away from a simple lesson on gratitude and toward a profound exploration of what it means to be made truly whole. To explore this, I will share my own journey of navigating stigma and isolation, and the wholehearted, life-saving power of being restored to a welcoming, Christ-centered community. We will consider how, like Jesus in this story, we can offer a new identity and true belonging to all who seek wholeness, particularly as we navigate our interim space and discern who God is calling us to be.

I am looking forward to being with you in community on Sunday. I hope to see you in worship!

Mooi Loop,

Dries

Sunday, October 5, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,

This week marks my first month here at Talmadge Hill, and I am so grateful to sojourn among you. The initial transition and onboarding phase are now complete, and I look forward to deepening my work and continuing to learn from your stories and experiences.

The interesting contrast throughout this professional and geographic change has been the tension between my genuine excitement for this new calling and the surprising increase in my own internal anxiety. I have come to understand this not as a personal failing, but as a completely normal human response to transition: our brains are wired to keep us safe, and they do that by preferring the known over the unknown. When everything around us is new—new routines, new rhythms, new sights—our brains interpret that ambiguity as a kind of threat. Our bodies respond with anxiety, restlessness, and even exhaustion. Add to that the sheer number of decisions and adjustments that come with any significant move or change, and it's no wonder we feel tired or on edge as we navigate this "in-between" psychological space.

This journey of understanding how the process of change affects me helps me realize how change affects all of us. Our Talmadge Hill community has undergone significant change over the past year. Carter's retirement brought with it the grief of a ministry era that began with Mich—a season still mourned and celebrated more than six years after his passing. We stand now at the end of something profound, wondering what's next and how we will move forward. And here's the paradox: our instinct is to work harder, to do more, to prove we're okay. But we are being called to something counterintuitive.

This is not the time for business as usual. This is not the season to rush into big new initiatives or to demonstrate that everything is fine. Grief and anxiety cannot be managed away through busyness. This is a time to step back, to breathe, to honor what has ended, and to notice what we're feeling and what's shifting beneath the surface.

Nature herself is teaching us this lesson. As we mark the beginning of October, autumn is truly here with its invitation to slow down and let go. The trees release their leaves not as an act of loss, but as preparation for new life. They teach us that letting go is not abandonment—it is faithfulness to the rhythm of transformation.

Throughout October, our worship will walk alongside this season of letting go and liminal space:

  • This Sunday (October 5): We mark St. Francis Day with Cheryl preaching on Genesis 1:20-31 in her sermon titled "The Friendly Beasts." Sunday's worship also coincides with World Communion Sunday, symbolizing the oneness of believers in Christ despite differences in tradition, language, and liturgy.

  • October 12: We gather for a Service of Poetry followed by The 7th Annual Mich Zeman Poetry Fest—a beautiful way to honor memory while making space for what wants to emerge.

  • October 19: We contemplate our Mission and Justice outreach to children through the ecumenical celebration of Children's Sabbath.

  • October 26: We reflect on our own identity within the Reformed tradition at Talmadge Hill as we observe Reformation Sunday—a day that itself commemorates profound letting go and courageous reformation. We will make time in worship for you to name your losses and reflect on your feelings.

This is a time to let go—not of our faith or our mission, but of the pressure to keep everything exactly as it was. To release our grip on the familiar just enough to make room to rediscover our identity and open ourselves to what God might be inviting us toward. To grieve fully so we can eventually hope fully.

This past week, I've been intentionally establishing new rhythms for myself: working out regularly, meeting with a counselor, and building friendships here in Stamford. These practices are helping me navigate my own anxiety and grief as I ground myself in this new chapter of my life here at Talmadge Hill.

So here is my invitation—not just for this week, but for this season:

  1. Name what this change has stirred in you. Where do you feel it? In your body? In your emotions? In your prayers or in your silence? What are you grieving? What makes you anxious? What small spark of hope are you afraid to acknowledge?

  2. Share your story with someone. Don't carry this transition alone. Let it be witnessed! Tell a friend over coffee. Write it in your journal. Verbally say it in prayer.

  3. Practice one small act of letting go. What old pattern, expectation, or way of being is no longer serving you or this community? What might it feel like to release your grip, even just a little?

  4. Bring what you've discovered to worship on October 26. On Reformation Sunday, we will create space together to name our losses and practice letting go as a community—just as the Reformers did centuries ago when they released what no longer served the Gospel.

Let's give ourselves—and each other—permission to be in this threshold space. To feel what we're feeling. To grieve what needs grieving. To let go of what needs to be released. And to trust that God is present with us, especially when the ground feels unsteady.

Please join us this month in worship as we intentionally reflect on our grief, our anxieties, and what we are being called to release. Your presence and participation are not just welcomed, but vital and make a significant difference. We need you with us on this journey.

With gratitude and hope,

Mooi loop,

Dries

Sunday, September 28, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,   

I am filled with joy and gratitude for this time away, joining Beth and our children to celebrate our son's wedding. As I wrote last week, blending a family brings both beautiful complexities and rewarding challenges. This weekend's celebration reminded me that when one of our children gets married, our family circle expands. Their love ripples outward, drawing new people into relationship with us.

This joyful experience has me contemplating the parable of Lazarus and the rich man from Luke 16:19-31, which we will explore together this Sunday in a sermon titled "Between the Gate and the Table." While celebrating this wedding, I was struck by how the loving posture a family creates can offer a space of welcome. Yet, it doesn't automatically guarantee that everyone experiences true belonging. Love alone isn't sufficient to bind us together in our fractured world; it requires the intentional, sacred work of moving people from outside the gate to a cherished place at the table.

Grace Lee Boggs reminds us that "We never know how our small activities will affect others through the invisible fabric of our connectedness. In this exquisitely connected world, it's never a question of 'critical mass.' It's always about critical connections." The rich man in Jesus' parable possessed a critical mass of wealth, status, and abundance. Still, he lacked the vital connections that could have transformed Lazarus from a fixture by his gate into a beloved family member at his table.

As we navigate our own season of transition and growth at Talmadge Hill, what does it mean for us to move beyond 'welcome' to 'belonging'? How do we continue cultivating the critical connections that deepen our community—one where everyone feels valued, heard, and truly at home?

I look forward to seeing you on Sunday as we explore these questions together. Your insights and experiences enrich our collective understanding as we seek to deepen our practice of extravagant hospitality and belonging through vulnerability.

Mooi Loop,
Dries   

Sunday, September 21, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,   

This week, I am in Minnesota to officiate at the wedding of my stepson, Harrison Wood, and Alayna Gifford. For Beth and me, this moment feels especially meaningful given our journey together as a blended family.

Harrison and I have navigated our share of challenges over the years as we have worked to build trust and understanding. Family blending is not always smooth, and we have had our moments of struggle. Yet, through it all, I am deeply grateful for how our relationship has been forged into a stronger and more resilient bond. This journey has taught me so much about how a deeper connection can emerge from moments of struggle. It is a parallel to a congregation's interim time, reminding us that everything cannot be solved immediately and that transition takes time.

Thank you for graciously allowing me this time away, especially so soon after I began my ministry here. The wedding date was set long before I knew where I would be serving this September, and your understanding and support are invaluable to me. Beth and I are so looking forward to being with all of our five children this weekend: her three from a previous marriage and our two boys, whom we adopted together from Ethiopia.

While I am away, you are in excellent hands with our guest preacher, The Reverend Dr. Daniel Lee. Dr. Lee brings a unique perspective, being both a fourth-generation Presbyterian minister and a third-generation concert violinist. He currently teaches baroque performance practice at Yale University and has served congregations across Connecticut, Missouri, New Jersey, and New York. He beautifully explores how arts and spirituality intersect to inspire harmony in our communities, something I know will resonate with many of you.

I look forward to returning to Talmadge Hill next week and will be attending the Bible study on Thursday morning, September 25th, and co-leading worship on Sunday, September 28th.

Mooi Loop,

Dries