joescheets

Show the same diligence so as to realize the full assurance of the hope to the very end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. (Hebrews 6:11-12 NRSV)

Show the same diligence so as to realize the full assurance of the hope to the very end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. (Hebrews 6:11-12 NRSV)

With gratitude to Christina Lorey —

In my church, we often sing a song called “All Are Welcome,” but sadly, that’s not true. Catholicism excludes MANY people.

But in other denominations, that’s thankfully changing…

In a tiny Kansas town, Rev. Lora Andrews posed a question to her congregation:

“What systems today would have Jesus flipping tables?”

Immigration raids, said one attendee.

Health care costs, said another.

“Billionaires,” said a third.

“Tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy? He would not stand for that,” said another.

The question was an opportunity for Andrews, an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, to focus her small but growing flock on the ways that their new congregation, which she calls Roots, can be an oasis of progressive values.

Roots goes beyond merely welcoming young, liberal, diverse worshipers, Andrews said.

The church strives to make their congregants’ experiences, including acknowledgment of harms the church may have caused in the past, central to its services.

Christa Cooper, who was raised Presbyterian, married and divorced a man before coming out as queer at age 45. At the first Roots service she attended, Cooper said she wept as congregants sang along to Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club.”

“This is the church l’ve been waiting for my whole life,” she said.

: The Washington Post

— What say you? RSVP

Show the same diligence so as to realize the full assurance of the hope to the very end, so that you may not become sluggish, but imitate those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. (Hebrews 6:11-12)

Bible summary:

God loves you!

COPIED —-

My name is Teresa. I’m 75 years old and I live alone in a small apartment in Bologna.
Since I retired, more than ten years ago, my life has grown increasingly silent. At first, I thought: “Finally, some time for myself.”
I imagined myself calmly embroidering, strolling through Margherita Park, taking that painting class I’d always wanted.
But day after day, the silence began to weigh more than any tiredness I had ever known.

I have two children: Marco lives in Milan, Chiara in Naples. Each with their own family, their own commitments, their own lives. I truly understand that.
But sometimes I feel as if I’ve been forgotten.

My grandchildren have grown up far from me.
I’ve never taken them to school, never baked a cake with them, never told them a bedtime story.
They’ve never invited me to a party or a Sunday together. Not even once.

Once I asked my daughter:
“Why don’t you want me to visit? I could help with the children…”
And she replied, her voice calm but cold:
“Mum, you know… My husband isn’t very fond of you. You always meddle, you have that way about you…”
I stayed quiet. It hurt.
Because I didn’t want to impose, only to be near. But the message was clear: “You’re not welcome.”

My ex-husband lives in a small town nearby. We haven’t seen each other for years. At Christmas, maybe a message. Cold. Mechanical.

And here I am, in Bologna.
My days all look alike: I wake up early, sweep the balcony, go buy bread, cook just for myself. I leave the television on, just to hear some voices in the house.

At first, I thought it was just a phase. But then strange symptoms arrived: palpitations, dizziness, fear of dying alone in my sleep.
I’ve seen so many doctors. Test after test. Everything fine.
Until one of them said to me:
“Mrs. Teresa, you’re not sick. You’re lonely.”
And that sentence hurt more than any diagnosis. Because there’s no medicine for loneliness.

Sometimes I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashier’s voice. Other times I sit on a bench with an open book, pretending to read, hoping someone will speak to me. But everyone is in a hurry. Everyone is rushing somewhere. And I… I stay here.

I often ask myself: Did I do something wrong?
I raised my children alone. Their father left early.
I worked without rest, cooked, cleaned, ironed, sacrificed.
I was strict, yes, but to protect them. To raise them well.
And now… I’m alone.

I’m not looking for pity. Only answers.
Was I truly a bad mother? Or is this simply the rhythm of modern life, where there’s no longer room for an old woman?

Some tell me: “Find a companion, try the internet.” But I can’t. I don’t trust it. After so many years alone, I no longer have the strength to start over. And my health isn’t what it used to be.

I can’t even work anymore. Before, at least, there were colleagues, chats, laughter. Now only silence.
A silence so dense I turn the TV on just to avoid hearing my own thoughts.

Sometimes I think: if I disappeared tomorrow… would anyone notice? My children? My grandchildren? The neighbor upstairs?

Then I get up, make myself a herbal tea, sit in the kitchen and tell myself:
“Maybe tomorrow someone will remember me. Maybe someone will call. Will write. Maybe I still matter to someone.”

As long as I have even a thread of hope… I’ll stay here.
I no longer expect grand gestures.

A phone call once a week would be enough to change my days.
A video call to see my grandchildren’s faces. A sincere “How are you, Mum?”

I don’t want parties, gifts, or big words.
I just want to know that somewhere, there’s still a little corner in the heart of those I raised with so much love.

That’s why, if you who are reading this have an elderly mother…
Don’t wait for a special date.
Don’t wait for her to ask.
Call her. Go visit her. Listen to her. Hug her.
Because time—the time that runs so fast—one day will take everything away.
And it will never come back.

Dear Lord,

Help us to remember

that you are with

us in every season of our life:

every struggle, uncertainty, and sorrow;

never forsaking us,

even for a moment.

Amen.

“One of the great uses of Twitter and Facebook

will be to prove at the Last Day that prayerlessness

was not from lack of time.” — John Piper

With that in mind….

I’d like to direct our attention (maybe that should be “our attentions” or even “our intentions” — you tell me, please) to prayers from a series that’s benefitted me longer than I’ll admit.

Its current version is The Upper Room Disciplines2025: A Book of Daily Devotions. Each week’s material is written by a different author from one of the widest smatterings of traditions I’ve ever seen.

Each day follows a familiar format of Scripture, reflection, and a prayer, just like The Upper Room series itself. Over the spread of 7 days and following the ecumenical lectionary, Disciplinesxxxx gives each writer space to dig in more deeply and share the connections of the texts.

And then there are the prayers! For example —

God, forgive our empty quarrels and divisive natures. Grant us humility. Free us for joyful obedience. Amen.
Meet me back here tomorrow.

“One of the great uses of Twitter and Facebook

will be to prove at the Last Day that prayerlessness

was not from lack of time.” — John Piper

With that in mind….

The rest of November I’d like to direct our attention (maybe that should be “our attentions” or even “our intentions” — you tell me, please) to prayers from a series that’s benefitted me longer than I’ll admit.

Its current version is The Upper Room Disciplines2025: A Book of Daily Devotions. Each week’s material is written by a different author from one of the widest smatterings of traditions I’ve ever seen.

Each day follows a familiar format of Scripture, reflection, and a prayer, just like The Upper Room series itself. Over the spread of 7 days and following the ecumenical lectionary, Disciplinesxxxx gives each writer space to dig in more deeply and share the connections of the texts.

And then there are the prayers! For example —

God, sit with us in our hurt over what we have lost, and encourage us not to miss out on the celebration that remains. Amen.

Meet me back here tomorrow.

Most folks don’t know this, but many Native Americans don’t “celebrate” Thanksgiving the way the rest of the country does. For us, it’s a National Day of Mourning. It’s a time to honor our ancestors, remember the truth of what happened on this land, and hold space for all the lives, cultures, and traditions that were nearly erased.

It’s not about guilt or pointing fingers. It’s about truth-telling. It’s about respecting the people who were here long before colonization, and acknowledging the pain, the resilience, and the stories that still deserve to be heard.

So while many gather for turkey and thanks, we gather in remembrance, in ceremony, and in strength. We honor our relatives who carried our traditions through generations of hardship. And we keep our culture alive by speaking openly about our history—because healing doesn’t happen through silence.

If you’re observing tomorrow, whatever that looks like for you, I hope you do it with awareness and an open heart. – PS- I personally love Thanksgiving dinner and I love hosting and cooking. For me it’s a moment of gratitude and community.