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