Sunday, November 2, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,

This Sunday, we invite you to bring pictures of past saints—loved ones whose lives reflected God's grace—and place them in the liturgical area. In worship, we join Christians around the world to celebrate All Saints' Day, honoring those who have gone before us and the "holy ones" living among us now.

The history of All Saints' Day is rooted in honoring the countless faithful and in highlighting the spiritual unity we share with all believers—the "communion of saints." In the Reformed tradition, a saint isn't just someone who has been canonized; a saint is any baptized believer in Jesus Christ, and here at Talmadge Hill, we extend that definition to all members of our human family. This day is a profound reminder that we are surrounded by a "cloud of witnesses" (Hebrews 12:1), from the historically influential to the ordinary family members who nurtured our own faith. You are a saint, set apart by God's grace!

During our worship service, you will have a special opportunity to participate in our celebration. We will provide index cards for you to write the names of the saints in your life—siblings who have joined the great cloud of witnesses and the ones living among us. The names you submit will be read aloud during our All Saints' Communion, binding us together in prayer as a testament to God’s enduring grace.

Our scripture focus, John 11:32-44, tells the powerful story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, and my meditation, "Resurrection in the Present Tense," will explore how the power that raised Lazarus is not just a historical event but a life-giving force actively at work in our lives today. It's the power of God's grace mending our brokenness and calling us to wholeness.

In preparation for worship, I invite you to meditate on the words of Brother Roger of Taizé, "We are not myths of the past, nor are we saints of the future; we are just people of today, and we are called to be the saints of today."

See you in worship!

Mooi Loop,

Dries

Sunday, October 26, 2025

Dear Talmadge Hill Family,

This coming Sunday, October 26, is Reformation Sunday, a Protestant Christian observance commemorating the 16th-century Reformation, specifically the posting of Martin Luther's 95 Theses on October 31, 1517. It is typically celebrated on the last Sunday of October. It not only serves as a reminder of the historical events that led to the Protestant Reformation, but also invites us to contemplate anew what it means to be part of a faith that is reforming and always as reforming.

By contemplating the Reformation on Sunday, I am not making any assumptions about the beliefs at Talmadge Hill. I am asking how a historical event that changed Christianity calls us to reflection. As a 'critically-minded,' independent community, what does Reformation Sunday mean for us? We don't just celebrate a historical event; we are a people committed to the courageous present-day work of expressing ourselves. Our sermon this Sunday is "Be Still and Know: The Grief That Reforms Us," inspired by Psalm 46, a central Scripture of the Reformation. We often rush to the "be still" part of that psalm, but it begins with a world in chaos: with the earth giving way and mountains shaking.

For us, that 'earthquake' is often the disorienting, personal side of our ongoing search for identity. This courageous search for self is a creative and sometimes unsettling journey. So, how do we honor both the grief we readily recognize and the grief that masks itself—the losses that hide beneath the surface when our most familiar beliefs begin to shift? When grief remains unacknowledged, it often expresses itself in unexpected and sometimes unhealthy ways. How do we become intentional about naming and expressing what we've lost, bringing it into the light where healing can happen? How do we find the stillness of God, not despite this, but in the very midst of it? Join us as we explore how this vulnerable, reforming work is at the heart of our life together.

This same spirit of active, responsive faith is also guiding our Missions work. As we head into the holiday season, we are called to be a tangible presence of God's love for our neighbors. You'll see details below in "The Happenings" about our plans to provide food, warmth, and joy—from our November Breakfast Run and holiday food card collections to the Halloween Candy Drive and our traditional Angel Tree. These are simple, powerful ways we can live out our mission and respond to the world's needs.

Please join us this Sunday as we reflect on this time of transition—both at Talmadge Hill and in our own lives. Whether in worship, in service, or in the quiet wrestling with questions that matter, may we discover God's presence in the midst of our shared journey.

As we continue this work of discernment and spiritual formation, I invite you to join us in our ongoing practices:

Contemplative Prayer in Community meets weekly on Wednesdays from 5-6 pm via Zoom.

Bible Study meets weekly on Thursdays from 9:30-11:00 am, both in person and on Zoom.

These practices ground us, connect us, and open us to God's leading as we navigate this threshold time together.

Mooi loop, 

Dries

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