Messages

The only way I can imagine leaping—with joy—into the unknown is to know that God leaps with me. To know God’s presence is not necessarily to know certainty—to the contrary, to know God is to embrace the mystery of not knowing, not to escape that mystery.

In Sunday School, we have considered that the groundhogs that Fairview Meeting has not been able to displace from the basement may be showing us the way. One of the reasons it is difficult to evict groundhogs is because they have so many different tunnels leading away from their main chambers, and some of these tunnels have exits at least a quarter of a mile or further from the burrow. So we have been talking about this Christian colony in the cave of the winds, with Niagara Falls thundering at the entrance, but with tunnels leading away from the cave allowing passage into the world of empire. Then the question becomes what will these incognito Christians do in the world of empire to begin to light the darkness? I am wondering whether the very little, possibly almost inconsequential actions, of saying—not something like this, but precisely THIS—thank you and good job, could, in fact, be the beginning of colonizing empire with love.

I think about Koinonia Farm and Habitat for Humanity, I think about rust-resistant barley, I think about mustard seeds, I think about God’s time versus human time. It is true that terrible things keep happening in our world. How long does it take a mustard seed to become a tree? But eventually it does.

As I’ve thought about the difference between the calm that comes with knowing we’ve done what we could, and not knowing what we can do, I’ve remembered the Hebrew bible instructions like, “You shall not wear cloth made from wool and linen woven together. You shall put tassels on the four corners of the cloak that you wrap around yourself.” Maybe these are the things God gave them to do to assure themselves that they were faithful, that they had done, at least, what they could do. Maybe we need the same kinds of things in our life. Not tassels. Not separating wool from linen. But other things. What would it take for me to feel as though I had been at least a minimal amount of faithful?

Dan explores the Quaker belief in "that of God in everyone," emphasizing that this divine presence is not a human trait but a reflection of God's relationship with each person. He warns against mistaking human goodness or conscience for the presence of God, as people often fail one another. Using a parable about a horse judge who sees beyond physical traits to true quality, Dan illustrates how God perceives people beyond external characteristics. He urges listeners to recognize every person's value as a child of God, striving to see through human flaws with divine perspective, even when difficult.